A Distant Magic Read Free

well," Macrae said imperturbably. "This is the
right thing to do, Jasper. I know it."
    Nikolai's nervous fingers shredded a piece of the sourdough bread. His grandmother had once foretold that he would become a gentleman. He'd laughed, of course, unable to imagine a position in life beyond that of common sailor.
    He should have known that his grandmother did not make such mistakes. He thought of her dark, ageless face wistfully. Leaving the graves of her and his mother would hurt, but both of them would have urged him to seize this opportunity. Macrae meant him no harm, of that Nikolai was sure.
    His hand tightened convulsively over the bread, squeezing it into a shapeless mass.
"I will go with you and be your son," he told Macrae.
    The Scot grinned. "I'm glad of that, Nikolai. I'm sure you will
be, too."
    Nikolai glanced at Polmarric with wicked mischief and said in French,
"And you need another language if you want to speak privately in front of me."
    To his credit, Polmarric joined Macrae's laughter.
    Men who could laugh and all the food he could eat. The ancestors were looking out for him. Nikolai sliced another chunk of cheese, and wondered happily how he would look in the clothing of a gentleman.

Chapter

TWO
    N ikolai woke before dawn, enjoying the gentle rocking of the schooner
Hermes.
The ship had become his home in the month since Macrae had casually, completely, changed his life. Polmarric owned the ship, so they were all treated very well.
    After a week's stop in Sicily, the
Hermes
was heading back to London, her homeport. The weather had been good, with steady winds filling the sails and driving the ship at a brisk pace. They were in the western Mediterranean now. In a day or two they would pass Gibraltar and enter the stormy Atlantic for the final leg of the journey.
    He closed his eyes, lulled back toward sleep by the soft splashing of waves against the schooner's hull. Though he'd been raised on an island with the sea ever present, he hadn't guessed just how much he would enjoy sailing. There was freedom and purity in the winds and waves. This could be a good life for a man.
    He'd also learned that life as a gentleman's son was far sweeter than scratching for survival like an alley rat. He'd had a month of fine clothes, safety, and, most of all, food. All the food he could eat. So much that he no longer felt the need to gobble whatever was set on the table before it could be taken away.
    He even had privacy. This tiny cabin was scarcely more than a sail locker, but it was his. Macrae and Polmarric shared a larger cabin at the back of the vessel, but Nikolai enjoyed his cubbyhole near the bow, which felt very close to the sea.
    He reached under the bunk and touched his small, brass-studded trunk, which contained the clothing of a gentleman's son. After Nikolai had agreed to go with Macrae, he'd been taken to the
Hermes
and scrubbed so hard his skin had lightened several shades. Then Macrae took him to the best tailor in Valletta.
    The tailor had made a coat and breeches of blue silk brocade and shirts of the best muslin. Wise in the ways of boys, Macrae had also ordered several sets of garments made of rugged linen and wool. Though Nikolai loved his fashionable costume, he felt more comfortable in the plain, everyday garments. Even they were far superior to anything he'd ever owned before.
    But he refused to give up his coarse linen trousers and shirt, ragged though they were. His grandmother had sewn them herself, and he could not bear to let them go.
    Macrae hadn't argued, merely insisted that the garments be washed. Nikolai's old clothes proved perfect for scrambling up the masts and lines of the
Hermes.
The sailors were a rough but friendly lot, and they taught him the ways of sailing.
    Every waking moment was devoted to lessons of one sort or another. Macrae and Polmarric taught him of the history of Guardians and how magic could be used. He was also instructed in basic techniques of control. Though