he's been working on lately—they're embossed in gold filigree in the old Prague style, but reduced to the tiniest scale! He works in little outlines of animals and flowers, in perfect detail, then embeds tiny pieces of ivory and precious stones inside. Only Dad can do stuff like that."
"They must cost a fortune when he's finished," Kitty said.
Jakob spat out a grass shoot he was chewing. "You're joking, of course," he said flatly. "The magicians don't pay him what they should. Never do. He can barely keep the factory working. Look at all that—" He nodded up at the body of the house, with its slates skew-whiff on the roof, the shutters crooked and ingrained with dirt, the paint peeling on the veranda door. "Think we should be living in a place like this? Come off it!"
"It's a lot bigger than my house," Kitty observed.
"Hyrnek's is the second biggest printer in London," Jakob said. "Only Jaroslav's is bigger. And they just churn stuff out, ordinary leather bindings, annual almanacs, and indexes, nothing special. It's we who deal in the delicate work, the real craft. That's why so many magicians come to us when they want their best books bound and personalized; they love the unique, luxurious touch. Last week, Dad finished a cover that had a pentacle fashioned in tiny diamonds on the front. Ludicrous, but there you go; that's what the woman wanted."
"Why don't the magicians pay your dad properly? You'd think they'd worry he'd stop doing everything so well, make it lousy quality."
"My dad's too proud for that. But the real point is they've got him over a barrel. He's got to behave, or they'll close us down, give the business to someone else. We're Czechs, remember; suspicious customers. Can't be trusted, even though the Hyrneks have been in London for a hundred and fifty years."
"What?" Kitty was outraged. "That's ridiculous! Of course they trust you— they'd throw you out of the country, otherwise."
"They tolerate us because they need our skill. But what with all the trouble on the Continent, they watch us all the time, in case we're in league with spies. There's a permanent search sphere operating in Dad's factory, for instance; and Karel and Robert are always being followed. We've had four police raids in the last two years. The last time, they turned the house upside down. Grandmama was taking a bath; they dumped her out in the street in her old tin tub."
"How awful." Kitty threw the cricket ball high into the air and caught it in an outstretched palm.
"Well. That's magicians for you. We hate them, but what can you do? What's the matter? You're twisting your lip. That means something's bothering you."
Kitty untwisted her lip hurriedly. "I was just thinking. You hate the magicians, but your whole family supports them: your dad, your brothers working in his workshop. Everything you make goes to them, one way or another. And yet they treat you so badly. It doesn't seem right. Why doesn't your family do something else?"
Jakob grinned ruefully. "My dad's got a saying: 'The safest place to swim is right behind the shark.' We make the magicians beautiful things and that makes them happy. It means they keep off our backs—just about. If we didn't do that, what would happen? They'd be on us in a flash. You're frowning again."
Kitty was not sure she approved. "But if you don't like the magicians, you shouldn't cooperate with them," she persisted. "It's morally wrong."
"What?" Jakob kicked out at her leg with genuine irritation. "Don't give me that! Your parents cooperate with them. Everyone does. There's no alternative, is there? If you don't, the police—or something worse—pays a visit in the night and spirits you away. There's no alternative to cooperation—is there? Is there?"
"S'pose not."
"No, there isn't. Not unless you want to end up dead."
5
Kitty
The tragedy had occurred when Kitty was thirteen years old.
It was high summer. There was no school. The sun shone on the terrace tops; birds
"They must cost a fortune when he's finished," Kitty said.
Jakob spat out a grass shoot he was chewing. "You're joking, of course," he said flatly. "The magicians don't pay him what they should. Never do. He can barely keep the factory working. Look at all that—" He nodded up at the body of the house, with its slates skew-whiff on the roof, the shutters crooked and ingrained with dirt, the paint peeling on the veranda door. "Think we should be living in a place like this? Come off it!"
"It's a lot bigger than my house," Kitty observed.
"Hyrnek's is the second biggest printer in London," Jakob said. "Only Jaroslav's is bigger. And they just churn stuff out, ordinary leather bindings, annual almanacs, and indexes, nothing special. It's we who deal in the delicate work, the real craft. That's why so many magicians come to us when they want their best books bound and personalized; they love the unique, luxurious touch. Last week, Dad finished a cover that had a pentacle fashioned in tiny diamonds on the front. Ludicrous, but there you go; that's what the woman wanted."
"Why don't the magicians pay your dad properly? You'd think they'd worry he'd stop doing everything so well, make it lousy quality."
"My dad's too proud for that. But the real point is they've got him over a barrel. He's got to behave, or they'll close us down, give the business to someone else. We're Czechs, remember; suspicious customers. Can't be trusted, even though the Hyrneks have been in London for a hundred and fifty years."
"What?" Kitty was outraged. "That's ridiculous! Of course they trust you— they'd throw you out of the country, otherwise."
"They tolerate us because they need our skill. But what with all the trouble on the Continent, they watch us all the time, in case we're in league with spies. There's a permanent search sphere operating in Dad's factory, for instance; and Karel and Robert are always being followed. We've had four police raids in the last two years. The last time, they turned the house upside down. Grandmama was taking a bath; they dumped her out in the street in her old tin tub."
"How awful." Kitty threw the cricket ball high into the air and caught it in an outstretched palm.
"Well. That's magicians for you. We hate them, but what can you do? What's the matter? You're twisting your lip. That means something's bothering you."
Kitty untwisted her lip hurriedly. "I was just thinking. You hate the magicians, but your whole family supports them: your dad, your brothers working in his workshop. Everything you make goes to them, one way or another. And yet they treat you so badly. It doesn't seem right. Why doesn't your family do something else?"
Jakob grinned ruefully. "My dad's got a saying: 'The safest place to swim is right behind the shark.' We make the magicians beautiful things and that makes them happy. It means they keep off our backs—just about. If we didn't do that, what would happen? They'd be on us in a flash. You're frowning again."
Kitty was not sure she approved. "But if you don't like the magicians, you shouldn't cooperate with them," she persisted. "It's morally wrong."
"What?" Jakob kicked out at her leg with genuine irritation. "Don't give me that! Your parents cooperate with them. Everyone does. There's no alternative, is there? If you don't, the police—or something worse—pays a visit in the night and spirits you away. There's no alternative to cooperation—is there? Is there?"
"S'pose not."
"No, there isn't. Not unless you want to end up dead."
5
Kitty
The tragedy had occurred when Kitty was thirteen years old.
It was high summer. There was no school. The sun shone on the terrace tops; birds
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