The Plastic Magician (A Paper Magician Novel) Page 4

  Alvie followed her, her bare feet dragging on the carpet. “Uh . . . well, I’m going to the polymery today, doing my lessons. Hopefully some real work. So slacks and a shirt.”

  “A preference to your shirt?”

  “Uh . . .”

  Emma entered the closet and returned with two of Alvie’s blouses on hangers: a white one and a lavender one. Alvie pointed to the second. Emma set it and a pair of black slacks on the foot of Alvie’s bed, then set about straightening the coverlet for her.

  “I can do that . . .”

  Emma smiled. “It’s what I’m here for. Do you want help dressing?”

  Alvie hadn’t had help dressing for fifteen years. “No.”

  Emma fluffed a pillow and tucked the blankets like a professional, then turned back to Alvie. “How about your hair?”

  Alvie pinched some of the frizzy waves in her fingers. “Oh. There’s not much that can be done with this.”

  “I have a serum we could try to smooth out the waves.”

  “Oh . . . if I’m working today, I thought I’d just put it up.”

  “What style would you like?”

  “Not . . . styled?”

  Emma smiled patiently. Alvie tended to get a lot of patient smiles like that. “If you change your mind, just ring the bell. Do you need anything else?”

  “No?”

  Emma nodded, offered a small curtsy, and left the room. Alvie noted that the room didn’t have a lock, but servants usually knocked, right? At least when their charges weren’t unconscious?

  She grabbed the lavender blouse and stepped over to a long mirror nailed to the wall just outside the closet. Her hair was a lopsided, frizzy mess, as it usually was in the morning. Her glasses took up most of her face, which had never been especially pretty. At least, Alvie didn’t think so, and she was certain the boys in secondary school and at the Jefferson School agreed. She did, however, have a nice figure. Her mother had said so, anyway. Alvie grabbed the seams of her nightgown and pulled them back to see it better, then tugged the gown off and dressed, cinching the waistband of her slacks at her navel and donning a pair of gray shoes with low heels. Alvie couldn’t walk forward or backward in high heels, and she had never dared to attempt sideways. Fortunately, she wasn’t short enough to really need them.

  After twisting her hair up into a bun and tying her apron, Alvie creaked the door open and peered up and down the large hallway with its fancy carpet and dim, magical lights. She only vaguely remembered where everything was from yesterday. It had been a very long tour. She thought that, perhaps, she recalled where the kitchen was, so she might as well venture out for breakfast. Or was there a special room for breakfast? She couldn’t remember.

  Slipping from her room, she walked slowly and took in her surroundings, enjoying the adventure of navigating the halls. After finding the stairs, she went down two floors and emerged into the main hall, a giant of a room with a ceiling that went up two stories. Morning sunlight shined through domed windows at its top. She turned about for a moment before selecting a door. The music room, with a pianoforte and a harp that looked like it hadn’t been used in some time. She began to retreat, but heard a man’s muffled voice from the next room. Mg. Praff?

  She crossed the music room and opened the door, finding a narrow hallway. Another door was cracked open across from her. The salon, if she remembered right. She pulled the door open and peeked in.

  The only occupant of the room, which was furnished with cream-colored chairs and a matching sofa, was Mg. Praff, who stood in the far corner near a large, pristine mirror and elaborate candelabra. In the mirror was the image of an Englishwoman, perhaps in her late forties. Her hair was a similar color to Alvie’s, but it was stick straight and pulled back in a painfully tight bun. Silver spectacles, small and dainty, sat on the bridge of her nose. She wore a dark-brown dress suit with a stiff collar and had her hands clasped behind her back.

  “—paperwork is finished, and I expect things to go well,” Mg. Praff said.

  The woman in the mirror nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. We’re striving to increase our foreign diplomacy, for lack of a better word, through these exchanges. I’m hoping to get a Folding apprentice here in a year or so, after the magician I have in mind is through her confinement.” The woman’s face turned to Alvie. “Seems we have a guest.”

  Mg. Praff turned around. Alvie was about to utter an apology, but he cut her off. “Alvie! You’re up. Have you eaten?”

  She hadn’t even brushed her teeth. “Not yet. I thought to find the kitchen, but got lost.”

  “You’d startle the cook, no doubt. You need only ring the bell.” He waved Alvie into the room. “Let me introduce Magician Patrice Aviosky, head of the Board of Education for England’s Magicians’ Cabinet.”

  “Oh.” She was very important, then. “Um. Hello.” Alvie tried for a curtsy.

  “I’m eager to see what you have in store for us, Miss Brechenmacher,” Mg. Aviosky said. Alvie wondered if she was a Gaffer or if Mg. Praff had merely paid a great sum to have a pre-enchanted communication mirror. Her father had promised to invest in one himself after hearing Alvie was moving so far away. “Polymaking is a new frontier. There is much to learn, much to discover.”

  Alvie nodded. “I won’t disappoint.” What if Alvie created a new Polymaking spell? Wouldn’t that be something? Her papa would polka with glee.

  “Oh, Mg. Aviosky, I have a proposition for you.” Mg. Praff turned back to the mirror. “Alvie arrived late last night; we’re doing her bonding this morning. If you have the time, would you like to be the witness?”

  Butterflies erupted up Alvie’s throat, and she pressed her lips together to keep them from flying out her mouth. Someone from England’s Magicians’ Cabinet might be acting as her witness? Could this apprenticeship get any better?

  Mg. Aviosky thought for a moment before saying, “I think that should work. I can arrive in an hour. It will give Miss Brechenmacher some time to eat.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you at the vestibule mirror.”

  Mg. Aviosky nodded, and her image blurred in a swirl of silver before the mirror stilled, reflecting only Mg. Praff and the salon behind him.

  Later, Alvie ate in the breakfast room by herself, as the family had dined earlier. Mg. Praff had left the day’s newspaper on the table, so she read that while helping herself to soft-boiled eggs and crumpets. Apparently another bill had been pushed to ban opposite-sex apprenticeships in England, but it was recently rejected, given that it would hinder new students from completing their apprenticeships if there was a shortage of teachers of either sex. What a relief—such a thing would have kept Alvie from studying here.

  Finished, and unsure of what to do with the dishes, she left them on the table and wandered out of the breakfast room. The salon was adjacent to it, and a corridor separated the salon from a pretty flower garden, which also opened up to the main hall. She passed the butler, Mr. Hemsley, who eyed her slacks with a cross expression as he walked in the opposite direction. She watched him go, checked her slacks for spilled food, and, finding none, continued to the main hall. There wasn’t much point to wearing a skirt when the family had already seen her in her travel-wrinkled clothes, was there?

  She had good timing, for the moment she entered the large space, she heard the clicking heels of their visitor. Mg. Aviosky strode into the great room beside Mg. Praff. She was taller than Alvie had supposed, and she carried an air of authority that tied Alvie’s tongue in knots, despite the fact that Alvie hadn’t been trying to say anything. The best way not to look foolish was to stay silent, so she clasped her hands together and waited for the magicians to approach her.

  “Ah, Alvie, perfect. This way,” said Mg. Praff. He led them down a hall that hugged the salon, toward the back of the house, past some sort of greenhouse that, yes, looked to be made of plastic. As they approached a large back entrance, one of the footmen spotted them and hurried to open the door. He offered a bow as Alvie passed him.
It made her feel far more important than she was.

  A long path led across a manicured lawn and between two gardens of dwarf trees. It boasted the same shimmering, shifting metal blocks as the one at the front of the house, and the effect was even prettier in the sunlight. Mg. Aviosky, who did not seem easily impressed, commented on the skill behind the spell.

  The path ended at a structure about the size of Alvie’s home in Columbus. It had a much more robust exterior, made of brick, and each window bubbled out in a plastic dome that let in sunlight while obscuring the view. The polymery. Alvie’s steps quickened with anticipation, and she stepped on the back of Mg. Aviosky’s heel. Muttering an apology, Alvie inched over to the edge of the path and ogled the building. This was where she’d be working. This was where she’d make her bond.

  The bonding. It was happening. Now. Her blood felt like air inside her veins. If only her parents could be here with her.

  “Right this way.” Mg. Praff pulled a key from his pocket. “I always keep it locked. You’ll receive a key as well, Alvie, and Mr. Hemsley has one.”

  Mg. Aviosky said, “You’ve heard of the Turner break-in, then.”

  “I have.” Mg. Praff unlocked the door. “Though it’s always been my policy to safeguard my work.”

  Alvie glanced between the two magicians. “Turner break-in?”

  Mg. Praff sighed. “There have been two polymery burglaries in the last year. The first was at the home of a magician near Liverpool. The second was at the Turner Polymery near Parliament Square—a lab that rents space to Polymakers and their apprentices.”

  “Neither of which seemed successful,” Mg. Aviosky added. “Little was stolen.”

  Mg. Praff gestured inside, letting Mg. Aviosky pass through first and Alvie second. Alvie stepped into air that was almost too warm and smelled strongly of oils, lubricant, and plastic. The foyer was round in shape, with a few smaller rooms branching off from it and a set of stairs leading to a second floor. A large plastic mobile hung from the ceiling, and on it spun translucent shapes of circles and triangles, as well as some handcrafted birds and turtles. It turned without wind. There were a few tables and chairs in the large room, and a model skeleton crafted of plastic stood on a plastic stand. It looked real enough to move. There were model boats, model gliders, model automobiles.

  The door to one of the larger rooms was open, revealing long counters atop drawers and cabinets. A large rectangular island with a granite countertop swallowed the middle of the floor, and a few stools were tucked under its ledge. An array of beakers and tubes took up a great deal of both counter and island space, and there were shelves and scales and vats and other things Alvie couldn’t identify.

  She wanted to know how all of it worked.

  “This is incredible,” she murmured.

  “It is.” Mg. Praff came to her shoulder. “And you will have access to all of it as my apprentice. There is only so much to learn, but a whole world to discover.”

  Gooseflesh danced across Alvie’s skin. “Incredible.”

  “Your enthusiasm is a good sign,” Mg. Aviosky said. “The sooner we have you bonded, the sooner you’ll be able to start your studies. Have you set up everything, Mg. Praff?”

  The Polymaker gestured to another side room, this one much smaller. It had a short counter with cupboards beneath, as well as two cupboards attached to the wall. A desk and chair were arranged along the opposite wall, and there was a small workbench with a magnifying glass and some empty vials. One of those bubbled windows let in light.

  “This, Alvie, will be your personal workroom.” Mg. Praff crossed the room’s length toward the window while Alvie grabbed the counter to keep from fainting.

  “This is for me? My own space?”

  “Of course.” Mg. Praff pressed his hand to the window and said, “Clarify.”

  The bubbled window cleared to an almost glasslike transparency. Outside, Alvie saw a well-trimmed hedge, some irises, and the edge of what looked like a garage. She moved to the window, taking in the view, the clear sky, and then the empty work space that would soon be filled with her own creations, her own knowledge. She could have cried for the joy of it.

  “Haze will darken that again, if you prefer.” Mg. Praff opened one of the high cupboards and pulled from it a short, thick piece of plastic and an easel. He set them both on the counter. “Here it is. Nothing fancy. Polymaking isn’t a pretty magic like Folding or Gaffing, if you’ll excuse the description, Magician Aviosky.”

  The woman simply nodded.

  “I-I memorized the words.” It was a requirement to graduate: memorizing the words that would permanently bond her to plastic. A bond that could never be undone. Her mouth went dry.

  Mg. Praff stepped back. “Go ahead.”

  Alvie stepped up to the easel. Lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips to the cool plastic. She didn’t hesitate. This was what she wanted more than anything else.

  She took a deep breath. “Material made by man, your creator summons you. Link to me as I link to you through my years until the day I die and become earth.”

  The plastic warmed beneath her touch, and heat like a breath flooded her hand and traveled up her arm, cooling somewhere between her shoulder and her collarbone. The plastic tingled against her fingers.

  She smiled.

  She was a Polymaker.

  CHAPTER 4

  OR AT LEAST AN apprentice to one.

  Mg. Praff had started to teach her rudimentary spells that first day, and now, a week after her bonding, she had five under her belt. An empty breakfast tray sat near the door of her work space. Mr. Hemsley always brought food out to the polymery now, since Alvie didn’t want to waste time dining when she had magic to discover. It was Mr. Hemsley, and not Emma, who did the errands, for he was the only servant entrusted with a key to the polymery. For an openly friendly man, Mg. Praff was private about his work, but Alvie understood his reasons. Still, she’d rather have Emma venturing out to the polymery. Mr. Hemsley was one of the grumpiest men she’d ever met.

  Alvie took a flat square of off-white plastic, tested its give, and savored the faint tingle it emitted under her fingers, reminding her of the new magic coursing through her capillaries. Mg. Praff had given her dozens of these squares to practice with, all with different levels of flexibility. Some snapped right back after she bent them in half, others broke apart like peanut brittle, and still others were so flimsy they’d bunch up and stick to themselves.

  She eyed the apple sitting in front of her, saved from yesterday’s lunch tray. She rested the plastic square, which had an area of about sixty-four square centimeters, atop its stem. The stems were the tricky part, she’d learned.

  “Soften,” she commanded, and the plastic gained flexibility. She wiggled it a little as she centered it on the apple, waiting for the dent of the stem to appear before speaking the next word. “Melt,” she said, and the plastic warmed beneath her touch. Had she warmed it over a fire or electric bulb, it would have burned her, as Mg. Praff had so kindly demonstrated on her second day as his official apprentice. But the magic didn’t hurt her. She imagined it was the same for Pyres, who wielded fireballs and made flames dance in elaborate shows of nonindustrialism. Granted, the warm plastic was nowhere near the temperature of a flame.

  As the plastic drooped down the sides of the red apple, Alvie pulled her left hand away and scooped up the fruit, turning it slightly to help the plastic cover it. The Encompass spell danced on her tongue, but if the ends of the melted plastic couldn’t “see” each other, they wouldn’t merge completely, and she’d have another botched vacuum form. So she waited, watching the plastic slowly dribble down the sides of the fruit.

  “Encompass,” she commanded, and the melting plastic lurched forward to join itself. “Conform.” And it sucked in close to the apple, as though she’d stuck a straw in its core and was sucking with all her might. “Harden.”

  The plastic turned hard once more. In her hand, she held a plastic-coated apple. T
he polymer hugged all its contours, though the very tip of the stem poked out from the plastic. Almost perfect. Almost.

  She tossed the apple into a growing pile of vacuum-formed fruit near the window.

  “It’s looking well.”

  Alvie started and slammed her knee into the edge of her desk. Biting down on a curse, she turned toward the door and Mg. Praff standing in its doorway.

  “I apologize for startling you.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” She eyed her plastic fruit pile.

  He followed her gaze. “No worries, you’ll get it. If nothing else, they’re well preserved.”

  A smile touched Alvie’s lips.

  “It’s a slow-going magic.” Mg. Praff stepped into the narrow room and folded his arms across his chest. “Not as slow as Smelting, of course, but not nearly as quick as Folding, Pyring, or even Gaffing. The spells drag out and take a good deal of practice to correct.”

  “I’ll correct them.” By tonight she would get the small-scale vacuum form right, and then Mg. Praff would teach her something else. Her blood tingled at the prospect.

  “Then we’ll move on to molds and plastic preparations. Every good Polymaker can process his—or her—own monomers. I’ll deliver some reading to you this afternoon on that. But I came here to discuss your volunteer hours.”

  Alvie turned in her chair. “Volunteer hours?”

  “A requirement for all of my apprentices.” He held up two hands as though she had objected. “I know it’s not standard, but volunteering keeps a person humble, and we can use a lot more of that in this world.” He paused. “Or, at the very least, it forces them to leave the polymery.”

  “Ah.” Alvie scratched the back of her neck. Since the bonding, she’d spent more time in the polymery than the house. Thus the breakfast trays. “Did you have many self-absorbed apprentices?” She wasn’t self-absorbed, was she?

  “Not really, no. But I met a Folder once who was as full of himself as a man could be, which gave me the idea. I require my apprentices to donate a minimum of two hours a week, and I can help with the arrangements. There’s the poorhouses, food banks, hospitals, elderly homes, schools . . . I don’t know if you have a preference.”