The Wilder (The Trouble with Magic Book 1) Read Free

ushered his young charge into the small, stone-flagged room at the foot of the tower stairs, then crouched down and dragged a large tin bath from the dark space beneath the staircase. The room was chill, and Symon was exceedingly grateful that Grub’s stink didn’t seem quite so ripe as it had done out in the afternoon sun.
    He gestured towards the bath. “D’you know what this is?”
    To Symon’s surprise, the boy grinned widely. “Yes sir, but it’s a while since I had chance to use one. Always had to make do with the river.”
    Partly to conceal his own grin, Symon quickly ducked back under the stairs.
    His muffled voice echoed off the wooden treads. “Good, because that’s about to change.”
    He emerged with four large rope-handled leather buckets. Holding them up he peered at Grub. “D’you feel strong enough to help me fetch water?”
    The boy didn’t reply, simply stepped forward, took two of the buckets out of Symon’s hands, and stood waiting. Not wishing to delay any longer than was absolutely necessary, Symon hurried outside and set off down the path that led to the well behind the tower, Grub safely upwind and shuffling rapidly along behind him. Symon intended to ensure the boy was in front on the return, unless of course, the wind changed.
    The slow trudge back from the well gave Symon an opportunity to study a little of Grub’s physical make-up. The boy’s long limbs carried no spare flesh, and although the shackle sores on his ankles caused him to limp a little, he moved well, broad shoulders easily bearing the burden of two full buckets. At least a head taller than Symon, the little magician estimated that if Grub was only fifteen as he guessed, then he would easily reach six feet, possibly a little more, before he stopped growing.
    Just short of the door, Symon told Grub to put the buckets down. “I’ll take those in and fill the bath. You stay out here, get your clothes off, and leave them in a pile. When you come in, you’ll find soap, towels and a robe. Get yourself clean, take as long as you like, and holler when you’ve done.”
    He was about to turn away, then paused as something occurred to him. “Oh! and there’s some old clothes in that chest behind the door. You might find something that fits.”
    When Symon stepped outside for the second pair of buckets, he found Grub had placed his scuffed, down-at-heel boots and torn tunic carefully to one side, and was gingerly removing his ragged and grubby grey shirt. Dark bruises and angry red welts covered his shoulders, upper arms and lower back. Symon scowled but said nothing.
    Grub let the shirt fall to the ground as he spoke over his shoulder. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away?”
    Folding his hands inside his sleeves, Symon moved round to face the boy. “Not half as much as you are of doing so.”
    Grub’s dark eyes glinted. Clenching his fists, he banged them together in defiance. “I aren’t afraid of anything…nor anybody.”
    A light frisson brushed Symon’s skin as boy and magician regarded each other for a long moment.
    The magician’s mouth curved in a knowing smile. “Then you should be, young man. You should be.”
    Grub’s answering smile was cold. “Right. Now, are you going to clear off so I can get out of these stinking drawers?”
    Deciding to keep his thoughts to himself, Symon picked up the buckets and returned to filling the bath. When everything was to his satisfaction, he made his way upstairs. In his spotless little kitchen, he pulled the kettle onto the hob, then returned to his comfy fireside chair, filled his pipe and lit it. Smiling to himself he settled back to wait. He didn’t have to wait long. A chortle of delight echoed up the staircase, and Symon chuckled. It was such an easy spell, heating bathwater.
    Some twenty minutes later Grub called up the stairs. “Where shall I throw this dirty water?”
    Symon hurried down, stopping at the bottom of the staircase to appraise the young man who