Small Magics by Erik Buchanan Page A

winked at him. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief and rose to his feet. “I beg your pardon,” he said, giving the best court bow he could manage. “I assure you that nothing of the sort shall happen again while I am a guest under your roof.”
    Magda rolled her eyes and did her best not to smile. “There’s an easy promise to keep, since I’m sending you straight home.”
    Thomas looked to his friends. Neither looked at all comfortable, and Thomas guessed that neither had told their parents what had happened. Thomas tried to find words, but in the end only said, “I’m to go home tonight.”
    “Tonight?” Magda shook her head. “No, you’ll be going home right after breakfast, if I have to drag you there myself.”
    Thomas took a deep breath. “I can’t.”
    “Can’t?” repeated Lionel. “Why not?”
    His conversation with his father came back to Thomas in a rush. He had no desire to explain, he realized. He tried to keep his tone light as he said: “My father prefers me to come home tonight.” He smiled around the bitter words. “Properly attired, to meet his guests.”
    “ ‘Properly attired?’ ” Magda’s voice rose on the words. “If it was George or Eileen, we’d have the doors open to them if they were dressed in rags and the king himself was here.”
    “Aye, well…” Thomas avoided Magda’s eyes and took his seat again. “Father probably just wants to give me a proper welcome. You know, throw a big party; have his son make a grand entrance.” Assuming he lets me in the door. “He even had me get a new suit for the occasion.”
    “Did he now?” asked Lionel.
    “A very nice one, from the fabric,” said Eileen. “The tailor will have it ready for him this afternoon.”
    “Well, he must have something planned, then,” said Lionel, leaning back and taking a sip from his tea.
    Magda shook her head. “Stranger and stranger. Still, if that’s what your father wants…” She turned a critical eye over Thomas’s travelling clothes. “Do you have something other than that to wear?”
    “In my bag,” said Thomas.
    “Then get it.” Magda poked George’s shoulder. “Take Thomas out to the smithy and get some water heated up for a bath. And loan him your razor. We’ll have you looking presentable, Thomas. That way your father will have no cause to complain.”
    “Not that he won’t anyway,” Lionel snorted. “Did George tell you what he said to—”
    “Now you stop that,” scolded Magda. “The boy has enough trouble as it is.” She turned back to Thomas. “Get yourself cleaned up, then spend the day at the fair.”
    “We’ll keep him out of trouble,” promised George.
    Magda looked at her off-spring and snorted. “You two? You’ll put him in it, you mean.”
    “We never got Thomas into trouble,” said George.
    “True,” agreed Eileen. “It was always his idea.”
    “It was not!” protested Thomas to the laughter of the siblings.
    “Enough!” Magda shooed them all towards the door. “Out!”
    Still laughing, George and Eileen led Thomas out of the house. Thomas waited until they were out of parental earshot before speaking. “I take it you didn’t tell them about Timothy.”
    “I told them as little as possible,” said George, leading Thomas towards the smithy. “Said we spent the night drinking at the tavern, then sat by the mill pond talking until dawn.”
    “Good thing, too,” said Eileen. “Ma hates it when we get in fights.” “And do you get into fights often?” asked Thomas, remembering her habits of throwing rocks and kicking shins when he and George teased her. “Not anymore,” said Eileen, smiling sweetly at him. She scooped up a bucket and tossed it to him. “Now hurry up. There’s a fiddler at the tavern today.”
    ***
    It was most of an hour later when Thomas emerged, clean, dry, and wearing a clean white shirt and brown pants from his bag. The bath had been steaming hot and exactly what Thomas needed. He had shaved away the