Page 41 of Hawk & Sparrow

“Here, allow me.” Maximilian picked the mug up by its handle, then placed his other hand underneath it. He murmured something under his breath as a furrow appeared in his brow. He closed his eyes and continued to speak, and Vesper remembered that he’d done the exact same thing during Francis Gladwell’s exhibition. In that moment, there was a real reverence in the sorcerer’s face, a gentleness as he spoke the Thaumaric incantation. Just as quickly as he’d begun, he stopped speaking and opened his eyes. Then he slid the mug back across the table. “Try it now.”

Vesper eyed the mug, dubious.

“Good grief, Evans.” The sorcerer rolled his eyes. “It’s not poisoned.”

Vesper lifted the mug to her lips. The cider was now the perfect temperature, not too scalding to drink, but still hot enough to send pleasant warmth through her body as she swallowed. She stared down at the steaming mug a moment, then looked back at Maximilian. “What did you just say?”

“Pardon?”

“To rewarm my mug.” Vesper gestured toward it. “You did that back at the modiste’s too, when we were having tea. So how do you do it? How do these Thaumaric incantations actually work?”

Maximilian gestured to the mug. “I used the Thaumaric word for heat, then focused on the molecules of the cider itself to make them vibrate rapidly, which in turn created thermal energy and heat.”

Vesper stared. “That’s just basic molecular science.”

Maximilian nodded. “I took an entire course in molecular chemistry in my first year of university.”

“It’s really that simple, then,” said Vesper. She looked at the steaming mug with new appreciation. “With the right words, and a bit of scientific understanding, anyone could use a Thaumaric incantation, just like Mr. Gladwell indicated.” She looked up in time to see that the sorcerer’s expression had changed.

“It’s not as simple as that,” he murmured. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh?” Vesper raised a brow. “It certainly doesn’t sound complicated.”

The sorcerer clasped his hands and stared at them a moment as though in deep thought, then:

“When you’re learning a new language, you begin by learning basic vocabulary and grammar, right?”

Vesper nodded.

“From there, you learn how to conjugate verbs, how to string words together to form increasingly sophisticated sentences,” he continued. “But one of the last things you learn, one of the hardest things, are the nuances of a given language. When we say, ‘it’s raining cats and dogs,’ we don’t literally mean that animals are falling from the sky, but that’s what it would sound like to a non-Victerran speaker trying to directly translate the words, because they lack the context needed to understand that the translation isn’t meant to be literal.”

“All right,” said Vesper. “So what’s your point?”

“Thaumaric is the same way,” said Maximilian. “It’s a language, full of nuances and quirks. Learning the vocabulary is easy enough with the right resources, but it still takes years of study to learn and understand its idiosyncrasies, of which there are many. To perform sorcery safely and correctly, it’s imperative that a person understands those idiosyncrasies before attempting an incantation. Otherwise, the consequences can be catastrophic. It’s not enough to memorize the words; you have to understand what putting them together in a certain order means, what laws of science you’re manipulating or, in some cases, outright violating. It’s an extraordinary power to dabble in.”

The word extraordinary shook a memory loose in Vesper’s mind. She remembered the words the sorcerer had said the night they met.

“You said once that you didn’t trust ordinary people with extraordinary power,” she recalled. “But if a machine like Mr. Gladwell’s allowed people to safely produce Thaumaric incantations that might better their lives, I still don’t understand why you’d be against that.”

Maximilian’s nostrils flared. “Weren’t you listening to what I just said?” He leaned forward. “An artificial machine is not the same thing as a human being. The flick of a switch or the press of a button does not replace years of honing a craft. To imply as much is an insult to every trained sorcerer who has dedicated their lives to the study.”

Vesper crossed her arms. “So, this is all about pride?”

Maximilian took another long sip of his latte before he answered. “I began training in sorcery when I was a Year Five student. At eleven years old, I was attending lectures and demonstrations, following a rigorous curriculum complete with practical and theoretical testing. Everything I can do now? It’s a direct result of that training. I am proud of the work I’ve done, and I have every right to be. But that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about, Mr. Kite?”

Maximilian looked her over. “Tell me a way you think incantations could make the world better for the general populace.”

Vesper considered. “Incantations can be used to clean the air, I saw as much in Stonehaven. Why not do that in other parts of the city?”

Maximilian steepled his fingers. “Spoken incorrectly or without the proper knowledge, the same incantation that adds oxygen to purify the air could poison it.” He pointed to her mug. “The same Thaumaric incantation I just used to warm your mug could set this entire coffeehouse ablaze.”

Vesper shivered.

“There’s a reason sorcerers undergo years of training,” said Maximilian. “The Gladwell Machine allows people to bypass that. Think of all the time you’ve spent honing your craft as a writer. Imagine if someone could just press a few buttons on a machine and call themself a writer too.”

“That’s hardly the same thing,” said Vesper.