The Paper Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy, #1)(19)

She thought again to contact Mg. Aviosky, but didn’t. What would she say? Today, at least, she had no desire to get Emery Thane in trouble, so she busied herself with chores to take her mind off of things.

She fried fish and chips for lunch, enough for one. She wiped down the countertops and swept out the kitchen. She gathered her laundry to wash it.

Outside her bedroom, Ceony peered down the hallway to Mg. Thane’s bedroom door, which he had left closed. It would be kind to wash his, too, wouldn’t it?

Leaving her own dirty clothes in a pile near the stairs, Ceony let herself into the paper magician’s bedroom and spied around.

His bed was larger than hers, understandably, and the window across from its foot was larger as well. Three different candlesticks sat atop the dresser by the door, which was missing three of its bronze handles. A collection of beads, some sort of jewelry box, and a variety of paper gadgets that looked like chunks of machinery sat all around them. A bottle of brandy and a glass sat on the nightstand beside a novel without a cover, a bottle with a ship inside of it, and a tall paper box painted gray, violet, and peach.

There was a shelf stacked with larger sheets of paper, writing utensils, and books; a closet full of more long coats and dress slacks; and a hamper brimming with dirty clothes.

She put her hands on either side of her face like a horse’s blinders and went straight for the hamper. No snooping today. She was nineteen years old—she could respect a man’s privacy.

She washed clothes until her knuckles turned red, then hung them on a line in the backyard to dry.



Ceony woke up alone again the next day. After finishing her anatomy book, she took down the laundry and folded it. Unsure of where Mg. Thane kept the particulars of his clothing, she left it on his bed for him to put away when he returned.

She paused at a bookshelf on her way out. Good heavens, the man owned a lot of books. She perused the titles, wondering why these books had been kept in his room instead of in the library. Not snooping, not really. Just curiosity.

She found only a handful of textbooks—most of the volumes appeared to be leisure reading, both by popular and unpopular authors. She found a second copy of A Tale of Two Cities and a poetry book by Matthew Arnold. At the end of that particular shelf she found a hymnal.

“Strange,” she said, pulling the leather-bound book off the shelf. Her fingers left prints in the dust sprinkling its cover. Mg. Thane didn’t seem the religious sort. He didn’t say grace at dinner. The spine cracked. Ceony flipped through the pages, noting the excellent condition of the book’s spine.

Then she discovered the gold-etched inscription on the cover. It read “The Thanes.”

“Thanes?” she asked aloud. Who was the other Thane? Mg. Thane certainly wasn’t married, and the book looked too new to belong to his parents. Perhaps the paper magician had a bastard child out in Norwich and this had been someone’s clever way of blackmailing him.

She laughed at the idea and flipped back through the pages again, spying hymns both familiar and unfamiliar.

Something fell out from the back pages—pressed wildflowers.

Crouching, Ceony picked up the purple and orange blossoms with a soft touch and examined their brittle beauty. She wasn’t sure what sort of flowers these were. Which of the Thanes had kept them here?

Fennel barked from the hallway. Ceony returned the hymnal to its place on the shelf and wiped her dusty fingers on her skirt. She stepped out of her mentor’s room and shut the door behind her.

She didn’t enter it again.



A few days later, at approximately six in the morning, Ceony woke to a loud pounding on her bedroom door. She shrieked and jumped to her feet, remembering first Mg. Thane’s admonition to keep the doors locked—

“We’re learning about paper boats today!” Mg. Thane’s cheery voice said from the other side of the door. “Bright and early! Up we go!”

Ceony’s pulse pounded in her neck. Pulling the top blanket off her bed and hiding her nightgown with it, she cracked open the door. Mg. Thane stood there just as he had left, fully dressed and donning that indigo coat.

“I . . . when did you get back?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just now. Where did you put Jonto?”

“In the . . . ,” she began, but instead said, “How did things go? Did you see this friend of yours?”

“Things went, at least,” he answered. “And thank you for doing my laundry, but you didn’t need to, as I wasn’t here to wear it. Library in ten minutes.”

He clapped his hands once and strode down the hallway.

Six days. The man had been gone six days, and that was all he had to say about it?

Ceony shut the door and rubbed the back of her neck. Then again, what right do I have to know where he goes?

Shaking her head, she dressed and combed through her hair, braiding it behind her left ear. At least he hadn’t mentioned more testing.

By the time Ceony made it to the library, Mg. Thane had already taken his usual position on the carpet with his board on his lap. A few pieces of rectangular paper rested beside him. Ceony studied him as he approached. Unsoiled clothes, clean shaven, but his shoulders had a slight stoop to them, and faint circles lined his eyes. Tired, then, but from what? Why make the effort of another lesson when he should be getting some rest?

Ceony sat across from him and didn’t ask. Let him keep his secrets, then.