Small Magics Read Online Free Page A

volition. It was much higher in quality than Thomas’s blade, and the man wore it as if it were an extension of his body.
    Thomas switched his attention back to the clergyman, who was watching Thomas with a slight smile on his lips. “Well, young man,” he said. “Who am I?”
    Thomas was pretty sure he knew, but looked down to the man’s hands anyway. The thick gold ring with the large ruby in the middle, symbol of the man’s office, confirmed what he’d thought. “Bishop Malloy,” Thomas said. “First of the servants of the High Father. Your Grace honours our household.”
    “Thank you.” The bishop extended his hand and Thomas bowed to kiss his ring.
    “I knew that there was company in the house,” Thomas said as he straightened, “but I had not expected my father to be in a meeting.”
    “Indeed.” The bishop’s voice was light, surprising in a man of his size, but with a smooth tone that insinuated its way through the air. “I had thought as much. Or, at least I had assumed that you would not normally appear before your father’s guests in this condition.”
    Thomas felt a sudden need to straighten his ragged clothes. He suppressed the urge, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. “I have been travelling, your Grace—”
    “And sleeping in ditches, I should say.” The bishop turned his attention to Thomas’s father. “If this is where your money is going, I would say it is not well spent.”
    “I am certain that my money went to the lad’s schooling, rather than his wardrobe,” said John Flarety, his voice flat. Thomas recognized the tone and guessed that whatever business his father had with the bishop, it was not going well.
    The bishop raised an eyebrow. “A young man who dresses in tatters and carries a sword hardly seems the type to do much studying, though I suppose one shouldn’t judge a man by his weapons.”
    He certainly is a pompous creature, Thomas thought. With a deliberate motion of his head he took his gaze from the bishop to the man standing behind him with the rapier at his side. “No, one shouldn’t.”
    The bishop followed Thomas’s gaze and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Randolf is my familiar; my personal servant. He has chosen to give himself and his blades to the church.”
    Randolf bowed to the bishop, and when he straightened, his eyes were on Thomas. They were as grey as Thomas’s own, and as cold and dead as the sea under a winter sky. “It is my pleasure to serve,” he said, his voice as cold as his eyes, “in whatever capacity his Grace requires.”
    Including running me through on the spot, Thomas thought. A shiver started to work its way up Thomas’s spine. He suppressed it and turned to the bishop. “Perhaps your Grace should permit me to withdraw, so I may change into something more presentable.”
    “No, no,” said Bishop Malloy. “After all, if you consider this the proper clothing to see your father in, why should it not be fit enough for me as well?”
    Thomas risked a glance to his father, who was looking less and less pleased. “Still, I should hate to interrupt your conversation—”
    “Your father and I were merely discussing business.” The bishop turned to John Flarety. “He is attempting to convince me that the price he offers for his cloth is the best he can give.”
    “It is, your Grace,” said John Flarety, his tone still flat. “In fact, it is the best price you will find in the county.” “I am afraid your father is finding me harder to convince than most,” the
    bishop said, smiling. “What do you think, Thomas?”
    “I’m no merchant,” hedged Thomas. “That is why I was sent to study.”
    “You must have an opinion,” said the bishop, his eyes still on Thomas’s father. “All the Royal Academy’s scholars have opinions, no matter their knowledge of the subject.”
    Thomas took a moment to swallow the first, very succinct reply that leapt to his mind and measured out a response. “My father is an honest