A Proper Wizard Read Online Free Page A

tiny dragon clung to the boy’s shoulder, further shredding his knitted sweater with its claws.
    Verent saw, on the east bank of the river, a set of neatly laid-out city streets leading to a fine palace on a hilltop.
    â€œAnd the Twilight over there,” Conn added.
    Ah. A much smaller and darker part of the city, on the other bank of the river. That was where his ship had landed. “The Twilight is full of thieves and other riffraff, I suppose,” Verent said with a sniff.
    For some reason, that made Conn smile. “And pickpockets, sure as sure,” he said. He looked up at the tree that spread its black branches over their heads and set down the things he was carrying. “This is a good place.” The little dragon hopped to the cobblestones and cocked its head, watching.
    Being extra careful not to drop anything, Verent set down the wooden box he was carrying. Then he laid one of his scented handkerchiefs on the cobblestones and knelt on it—to protect his trousers from the damp and mud. “Why must we do the experiment out here?” he asked.
    Connwaer was pulling vials and bottles from the box. “Oh, well.” He paused. “I blew up Heartsease.”
    â€œBlew it up?” Verent repeated, aghast.
    â€œMore than once,” Conn said, with a wry shrug.
    â€œThat’s terrible,” Verent said. The doubts were rising again. A proper wizard would never take such dangerous risks, would he?
    The boy’s keen blue eyes were studying him again. “D’you think wizards never make mistakes, Verent?”
    Verent blinked. “I wouldn’t think— I mean . . .”
    â€œYour master never makes any mistakes at all?” the boy went on.
    Verent thought of stern, gray-bearded Senior Wizard Poulet, who scolded every time Verent put a foot wrong. “No,” he said bleakly. “I don’t think he does.”
    â€œWell, then he doesn’t ever do anything interesting,” Conn muttered.
    â€œMy master is a very great wizard,” Verent said stiffly. Trusting this young scamp with the health of his city—it was not a good idea. He knew what Master Poulet would say: This was a terrible idea, and Verent was being an incompetent fool—as usual—for going along with it.
    â€œHold this,” Conn said, and handed him a glass vial. Verent inspected it. Inside the vial was some kind of black liquid, or extremely fine powder, and the slightest movement sent it swirling into smoky eddies. “And this,” Conn said, handing him another vial that was icy cold to the touch but filled with what looked like purple sand.
    â€œRight,” Conn said, sitting back on his heels and surveying the pyrotechnic materials he’d set out on the cobblestones. “This could be interesting.”
    What did he mean, exactly, by interesting ? “I’m—I’m not sure—”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Conn reassured him. “We’ll be careful.”
    Careful , was it? From a boy who’d blown up his own house more than once? Still, even though he knew his master would not approve, Verent watched with growing interest as Conn assembled the pyrotechnic spell, trying to follow the boy’s explanation of what he was doing. They wanted a small explosion, he said, precisely controlled, just enough to get the parasite’s attention, and then a banishing word—but not enough to alarm Danivelle’s magic in any way. It was all highly esoteric and difficult to follow. Verent pulled a small notebook and pencil from the pocket of his apprentice’s robe and started jotting down hurried notes, his handwriting worse than usual. Hopefully he’d be able to make sense of it later. “You put the shadowbane in next?” he asked.
    â€œNo!” Conn said, and gave Verent a wide-eyed look. “That would be, well, not a very good idea.” With scarcely a pause for breath, he rattled off a