“John Dee is a trusted adviser to the queen of England.”
“I think his official title is Arrogant Spy,” Petra retorted.
“He is also a former ambassador to the prince of Bohemia. I am merely trying to suggest that John Dee may have useful information to share with you. Can you afford to make no effort to gain it? Dee promised to help you one day, if you ask for it. You should try contacting him to learn what the prince knows about you, and what he might do with that knowledge.”
“Even if—if—I agreed with you, I have no idea how to tap into Dee’s head. What am I supposed to do, go to the top of a hill and shout, ‘Hey, Dee! Speak to me, you annoying, smirking—’?”
“It is a pity we cannot consult Neel. If his people know as much about mind-magic as he claims, he might be able to ask one of them about this situation.”
“Neel is someplace warm and sunny. Not here.” Petra tried not to care. Why should you miss someone you will never see again? It wasn’t fair. Feelings like guilt and anxiety and missing people should have a certain life span. Like fruit flies.
“But perhaps—” Astrophil continued.
“Astrophil? You know what’s so great about books?”
“Why, many things. I am so glad you asked. They possess many wonderful properties. They awaken the imagination, inform one about history—”
“And they close. Like this subject. I don’t want to talk about John Dee. He threatened my father and me, and made me destroy the clock’s magical power, all for the sake of his precious English queen.”
“You would have done that anyway, once you knew the havoc the clock could wreak.”
“Maybe, but John Dee got to sit snug in his little velvet chair, doing nothing to risk his neck while you, Neel, and I could have gotten caught and killed. Dee’s always looking out for his best interests, and any help from him would come with so many strings attached I’d be tied up like a trussed pig. I don’t want anything more to do with Dee, or to even think about him.”
Astrophil’s green eyes glowed with frustration. But he knew Petra. It would be easier to coax a stone to grow into a flower than it would be to make her listen to an idea she hated. “Very well. Shall we begin by running through a series of positions? I have consulted several books on sword-fighting. This took me some time because most of them were written in Italian, but I have translated several passages.”
“Let’s just do what we’ve been doing for weeks.”
“Would that be: I watch while you slash at the air until you are tired?”
“Yes.”
Astrophil sighed. “You could at least comment on how well my knowledge of Italian is progressing.”
“Bravo,” Petra said, and crouched. She felt ridiculous, shuffling back and forth over the snow and swinging the invisible sword. But she did it anyway.
“You can grip that hilt with both hands,” said a voice behind her.
Petra spun around.
Mikal Kronos stepped forward. “You’re letting your left hand dangle at your side. That’s a waste. This sword is thin and light, like a rapier, but not as long as one. I thought a true rapier would be too long to keep unnoticed when sheathed. Of course, even an invisible sword isn’t easy to hide. But if you’re going to forge one, you obviously have some interest in secrecy, so why not do what you can to maximize that?
“Now, what did I want to tell you? Ah, yes, the left hand. Since the blade is on the short side, your ability to thrust it at your opponent is limited. Your reach is limited. So that means that you need to compensate by learning how to use your left hand, too. With that hand you can hold a dagger, and use it to block blows and swipe at your opponent. What happens if your dagger is knocked away? There’s room enough for your left hand as well as your right on this hilt. That will give your blows more force. Do you feel the swirls of steel arcing over the hilt? That’s to protect your fingers, in case someone tries to make you drop the sword by hacking at them. Remember that a master of fencing should be able to wield a sword just as well with the left hand as with the right. If you let your left arm stick out uselessly like a tree branch, it will get lopped off like one.”
Petra stared. She had often wondered what would happen if her father ever caught her with the sword he had made and hidden away. Usually, she imagined a lot of yelling. Not this.
Mikal Kronos noticed her surprise. “I thought carefully about how to craft a sword that would work best for you.”
“You really made it for me?”
He nodded. “You’re a tall girl, Petra, and quick. But slender. The sword had to be light enough for you to wield easily. That”—he tapped the invisible sword and it rang like a bell—“is made with crucible steel. It has a hard spine yet also enough spring to absorb shocks. It won’t break. This blade is double-edged, which gives you the freedom to cut from many directions as well as thrust at your opponent with the sword’s point. This sword is meant to do damage, Petra, and I mean for you to do damage against anyone who tries to hurt you. Anyone.”
These words were so unlike Petra’s gentle father, who always shook a log free of beetles before placing it on a fire. “How do you know so much about swords?”
“Now, really, Petra,” said Astrophil. “Where do you think I found books on fencing? Where else but Master Kronos’s library?”
“But, Father, you never told me you know how to fence.”
“I don’t. I only know the principles. You have to know the basics of fencing in order to forge a sword.” He hesitated, and then said exactly what Petra hoped he wouldn’t: “If you were able to go to the Academy, you would be taught how to use a sword properly.”
Petra gritted her teeth. This argument wasn’t old, but it felt that way. “Well, I can’t go to the Academy. And I don’t want to. You never even asked me if I wanted to.” The Academy was a school for magic that admitted only children of high society, not lowly villagers like her. Petra’s father had hoped, however, that an exception would be made in her case, and that is why he had agreed to build the prince’s clock.
“Petra, you should have the opportunities I didn’t. You’ve been gifted with a magical ability. If you learned how to use it, you could be better than I am—”
“No, I couldn’t!” she burst out. “I can’t do anything!”