A Proper Wizard by Sarah Prineas

 
    V erent wasn’t sure why he’d been chosen for this mission. As an apprentice in his last year of schooling, he’d been ordered to go to Wellmet, a cold, rough, industrial city of the north, to meet with the wizard Connwaer, one of the great magisters of the age, who had written a revolutionary paper on the true nature of magic. Verent’s master thought that this wizard Connwaer might be able to help their own city, Danivelle, with a particularly sticky magical problem. Verent wanted to think he’d been chosen because he was the only one who could be trusted to complete the mission. But he suspected that wasn’t the reason. He knew his master thought he was a bumbling oaf of an apprentice.
    Well, this time he would not make any stupid mistakes. No, this time he would prove his competence. Even if he really was just a messenger boy, he would bring back the solution to his city’s magical problem—he would save the day.
    Wellmet itself didn’t make him feel very hopeful, though. As Verent stepped out of the boat that had ferried him from his ship to the dock, he surveyed the wharfs and warehouses of what seemed to be a very rundown, dirty part of the city. It stank of old fish and of . . . unmentionable things. Carefully Verent pulled a scented handkerchief from the pocket of his velvet apprentice’s robe and held it to his nose. He kept his other hand in his other pocket, gripping his coin purse. No doubt there were nasty pickpockets and thieves about.
    Wellmet was very different from his own city, Danivelle, with its mighty towers, its wide bridges and clean, tree-lined streets. The magic here was promising, at least. Though Master Poulet had convinced him that he was a poor excuse for an apprentice, Verent was a wizard, and he could feel it, a doubled magic far more powerful than the magic of Danivelle. Powerful and possibly dangerous, just like the great wizard Connwaer. Verent shivered in the chilly wind.
    Not to worry. Master Poulet had sent a letter ahead of him. Verent didn’t know what it said, but he knew he was expected. Also he was wearing a brand-new suit, his shoes were polished to a shine, and he was wearing a most elegantly scented cologne. He was determined to make a good impression.
    The wizards of Wellmet, he knew, lived on islands in the river. It didn’t take him long to find a man with a boat willing to row him and his trunk of clothing and books and other magical supplies from the filthy docks to Heartsease.
    â€œYou’re a big fellow!” the boatman exclaimed, as Verent awkwardly lowered himself into the rowboat.
    His size was perfectly obvious, Verent thought, and the man should speak more respectfully. Anyway, he wasn’t particularly large, for a man of Danivelle. It was just these Wellmet people were so small. Underfed, probably, given how poor and rundown the city was.
    With a shrug, the boatman finished strapping down Verent’s trunk and settled in at the oars.
    â€œWizard, are you?” the boatman asked, looking over his shoulder to check their course.
    â€œYes,” Verent answered, not bothering to explain that he was really just an apprentice. He pulled back his velvet robe to reveal the locus magicalicus pinned to his coat. The stone was polished, as was the style in Danivelle, a hard green rock flecked with red.
    â€œBeen lots of wizardly doings here of late,” the boatman went on.
    â€œYes, I am aware of that.” Verent had heard many stories about the wizard Connwaer’s amazing magical feats. It was enough to make him nervous, the prospect of meeting a wizard of such eminence, such power. “Mind your oars, boatman,” he added crossly.
    It didn’t take long before they arrived at Heartsease, the boatman casting worried eyes on the water slopping over the sides of the boat. Both Verent and his trunk were really too much cargo.
    â€œAll right and tight,” the boatman said with a