Michael Foster - The Young Magician

The first days with his uncle and aunt passed painfully slowly, with more and more tasks appearing for Samuel, until he was run ragged from dawn until late each night. His aunty had scoffed at the mention of schooling and asked what need had he of such things as writing and reading . Even at home, he would go to see Mrs Tincup twice each week for tutoring. He was not as smart as his brothers and not even a little bit as educated as Sarah, but Samuel knew much more than Tom did. Tom was always busy with his mother in the store, or with his father at their home and it left very little time for him to see Mrs Tincup. Tom never did seem to mind. In fact, he disliked any schooling, but Samuel had always felt proud when he could show his father something new he had learned.

Father had always told him that an education was important to a man, so that he could measure the results of a day’s work and read the Imperial notices when they were tacked to the village board, should he feel the need. Mother would agree when he said this, but add with a smile that news always moved faster over people’s tongues than paper. Samuel knew this to be true, for the women of the village liked to talk very much and they always knew of things long before the men.

Jessicah was being schooled occasionally by a tutor that came to the inn. She agreed to help Samuel and some evenings, when there was time, they would try reading the scraps of papers her father left around regarding his market orders and such, which was good because there were also sums and simple calculations on them. Jessicah was much better than he was and Samuel was appreciative of her company and so tried very hard to impress her. Even when he was frustrated, she was patient and considerate. Samuel never saw her in a foul mood or heard her criticise others, as her mother and father always did. She was always trying to find time to be with Samuel so they could play together for a few short moments, until, inevitably, her mother and father would call for either of them to do some chore or other. Samuel sometimes wondered what they actually did for themselves.

Samuel quickly learned it was best to avoid his aunt and uncle as much as he could and, that way, his life was much easier. They barred him from entering the inn because he always smelled terrible, and Jessicah suggested he should bathe as often as possible, which he didn’t like to do as the stable was so cold and draughty. There were public bathhouses but, of course, Samuel had no money to visit them. He could only throw water over himself on occasion and scrub his skin with the coarse, brown, smelly soap he used on the horses.

Alone in his stall, he ate the meals that Jessicah brought to him, but she was called away again almost at once. Samuel’s aunt obviously disliked her spending any time with him and his uncle always found some reason to pull or slap his ear when he could. Samuel wished he could at least have stayed with Tom and his parents. He did not understand why he had to come and stay with such terrible people. He did not understand why they were always so foul and bad-tempered towards him. Jessicah was his only comfort. If it were not for her, he thought, he would probably just lie down and die.

Samuel soon knew his way around the streets and markets and found pleasure in spending as long as possible on the occasional errands he was given. This inevitably brought on more punishment, but it was worth a few more bruises or another laborious chore for a short bout of freedom. He saw the other young boys playing games in the streets and, at times, they would let him take part. His uncle and aunt always made comments on how slow and lazy Samuel was, but their comments, so often said, had little meaning for him. If they had set an example, he would not mind, but they did little to help with the chores themselves. He soon realised that he hated them and any time he heard that some guest had crept away without paying, or some other bad thing had happened inside, he felt jubilant and laughed aloud at their misfortune.

The guests of the inn were usually rude to Samuel, too. It seemed to be the accepted way of treating stable boys and Samuel heard his uncle telling one customer to take to him with a stick if he was too slow. The patrons were often full of precise instructions regarding their horses and Samuel quickly learned when to follow them with exactness and when to ignore them altogether. He could tell that some people were fastidious and would check his work with strict scrutiny. Others were either trusting or lazy and would never know if their horses were properly fed or not.

His uncle taught him how to check the horses’ feet, shoes, teeth and general health, but the lessons were never enjoyable with the ill-tempered man and most of the jobs ranged from difficult to impossible for Samuel as he was just too small. Some of the horses were pleasant, quiet animals, while others matched the disposition of their owners-malicious, stubborn and prone to kicking.

One afternoon, long after he had lost any hope of salvation from his new existence, Samuel returned to the inn, having fetched a sizeable leg of salted ham from the butchers as he had been instructed. He had spent probably five times longer than necessary on this errand and had only returned home when he had exhausted all other possible distractions for the day.

‘Uncle,’ Samuel called out innocently from beside the kitchen door. Within moments, the door burst open and his uncle’s great hairy fist plucked up the ham, flinging it behind him onto one of the kitchen benches. Samuel immediately recognised an evil temper and turned to be off.

‘Stay right there, you little son of a bastard!’ his uncle roared and Samuel froze in his steps.

The rotund man struggled out through the kitchen door and stood over Samuel. He was sweating and stank, even to Samuel, who was criticised for his stench by strangers and locals alike on a daily basis. His uncle’s hairy arm shot out with surprising speed for such a monstrous man, and threw Samuel hard against the wall. Samuel gasped as his legs buckled underneath him.

‘You filthy little thief!’ his uncle yelled. ‘Is this the thanks I get for helping my own flesh and blood?’ Spittle was flying thick and free. Samuel stayed on all fours, not willing to get up and be struck again, hoping for the fire to burn down in his uncle’s temper. ‘I’ve been worried sick that thieves had made off with my valuables and then I find one of my best lamps hidden in your room!’

A booted foot took Samuel by surprise as it came crashing into his ribs. It made him yell and his eyes began watering, but Samuel refused to cry in front of his uncle.

‘If I catch you stealing again, the gods help me so I won’t kill you myself!’ He turned to move inside. ‘Damned brat!’ he yelled and slammed the door shut.

Samuel slowly pulled himself up and limped back to the stable. Every moment, every breath, brought a knifelike stabbing into his chest. He sat on his cot, clutching his side and wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. He would have his revenge on both of them, he promised himself. He vowed they would regret the way they treated him and he began to imagine all the terrible things he could do to them.

‘Samuel?’ came a soft voice from the doorway, but Samuel turned away from her.

Jessicah came in and sat beside him. She put her arms around him and said nothing. Samuel’s stubbornness quickly dissipated at her touch and he began to cry in her arms.

‘Don’t worry Samuel. I’ll take care of you. It doesn’t matter. It was only a lamp. I’ll get you another.’

He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes and looked away. ‘I don’t care about it.’

She sat with him in silence while he cried out his tears. When his sobbing had slowed, she spoke softly. ‘I hear you late at night, Samuel. It’s all right to cry.’