Small Magics by Erik Buchanan

years had added a pleasant stoutness to her build. With great embarrassment, Thomas realized that they must have been standing there when he’d stumbled through the kitchen moments before. He opened his mouth to apologize, but was swept into Magda’s arms for a hug and kissed on both cheeks before he could say anything.
    “You are too thin,” she declared, stepping back and looking him over with a critical eye. “We’ll do something about that right now.” She turned to Eileen. “Go fetch your father and brother from the smithy.”
    “No need.” George stepped into the kitchen, looking none the worse for wear save for slightly bloodshot eyes. Thomas was amazed and envious all at once. “We spotted him in the yard.” George grinned. “How are you this morning, Thomas?”
    “I’ve been better.”
    “I’ll bet you have,” laughed Lionel, clapping Thomas heartily on the back and sending him stumbling. The smith was a match for his son in height and several inches wider. His face had the well-earned wrinkles and scorches of a man who spent his years before the forge.
    “George told us something of last night,” Magda said, catching Thomas’s arm and pulling him upright. “Though how you ended up here instead of at home with your family is beyond us.” She held up a hand to forestall Thomas’s answer. “You can explain it all to us over breakfast.”
    “She’ll have five pounds on you before you leave the house tonight,” said Lionel, smiling. “And good thing, too; your father will never recognize you looking like that.”
    How very true, thought Thomas. “Now go and finish getting dressed,” said Magda. “Breakfast will be on the table when you come down.”
    ***
    Thomas did not do much talking after he sat down at the table. He tried, but the food grabbed his attention and held it. The table was stout enough to knead dough on without making it shake, and strong enough for twelve-year old George to stand on before his mother caught him. Today, though, Thomas was certain he could hear it groan under the weight of the food Magda had put on it. There was crisp bacon and hot, honeyed porridge and fried eggs fresh from the hen-house and a loaf of bread that was so fluffy that Magda must have let it rise on the hearth overnight. Thomas worked his way through two helpings of everything.
    “That,” he said finally, mopping up the last bit of egg with a slice of fresh bread, “was the best breakfast I have eaten in two years.”
    “Now, surely you exaggerate,” beamed Magda.
    “Not in the slightest,” protested Thomas. He held up the bread. “In the city, a warm piece of bread in the morning is considered a luxury.”
    “No wonder you’re so thin,” said Magda. “Your mother must be appalled.”
    Thomas had managed not to think about his family at all while he was eating. The mention of them brought back all that had happened the day before and turned the taste of the fresh, warm bread to ashes in his mouth. It took him a moment before he could force himself to swallow. “She was.”
    If his tone revealed his feelings, Magda hadn’t noticed. “And speaking of your mother, you’ll be heading home right after breakfast,” she scolded. “Your first night home and you spend it here! And did you really think you could all sneak in at dawn without waking us up?”
    Magda threw a glare around the room, pinning her own children to their chairs. Thomas, hoping for some defence from his friends, quickly realized none was forthcoming. “One had hopes—”
    “Aye, I’m sure you did.” She smacked him lightly on the back of the head with the flat of her hand. “And that’s for not letting us know what the three of you were up to. Bringing my daughter home so late.” She shook a finger at Thomas. “If her brother hadn’t been with you, I’d have had Lionel take the stropping leather to you!”
    Thomas wasn’t sure if Magda was actually angry or just teasing him until Lionel caught his eye and