“It’s decorative,” she answered.
“Very astute,” Mg. Thane said, lifting a pair of scissors. “There is one cut that the snowflakes must have in order to become cold. Observe.”
He held up the triangle and pressed his scissors into its thickest Fold, cutting just a centimeter below the highest point. He sliced out a small almond-shaped portion of paper and let it tumble onto his board.
“Chill,” he commanded. Nothing happened to the paper that Ceony could see, but when he handed it to her, it felt frosty. The coldness soothed her blister.
“The rest is creative inclination,” he said.
By Monday the kitchen had run low on groceries.
“I can fetch them myself,” Ceony said. “I don’t mind.”
Mg. Thane looked up from his desk, where a small ledger sat open, its cover pinned down on one side by a mug of lemon tea and on the other side by a butter knife. He held a pen in his left hand. “That’s not a requirement, Ceony,” he said.
“I don’t mind,” she repeated, smoothing the pleats in her skirt. “If I’m going to live here I might as well pull my weight.” And I wouldn’t mind taking a break from this house. “I can’t keep making decent meals with the scraps left in your cupboards, if I may say so.”
Mg. Thane smiled, again more in his eyes than in his mouth. “Also not a requirement. How is your reading coming?”
“I’m finished with human anatomy, and nearly finished with the Tao one.”
Mg. Thane turned around in his chair and scanned the shelves behind him. Leaning down, he pulled a thick volume from the bottom shelf to his right and held it out to her. Its cover read Anatomy of the Human Body Volume II .
Ceony frowned and took the book.
“But if you insist,” he went on, “I can call a buggy for you. Don’t be out too late.” He tapped the uninked side of his pen to his lips. “I suppose I should teach you animation. When you get back, then.”
He handed her several bills—she was surprised that he trusted her with his money already—and went back to his ledger.
Her lessons in animation didn’t actually start until her second week of tutelage. She began by prepping an eight-inch square of yellow paper with all its Folds, which she had to name as she completed them. The result was a crinkled square that had a starlike pattern pressed into it. Prepping the paper would make subsequent Folds easier to make, though the final creation would be more sluggish—so Mg. Thane explained.
“Now,” the paper magician said, demonstrating on his own square of paper without preparation Folds, “we’ll start simple. A frog.”
Ceony remembered the demonstration of the paper frog from her first day. She remembered it well enough that in her mind’s eye she could see Mg. Thane’s fingers forming every Fold, and she felt confident she could create an identical creature without additional instruction. However, she kept this information to herself and watched the paper magician work, searching for any Folds her memory may have missed. She found none and mentally patted herself on the back.
“Breathe,” Mg. Thane commanded his paper frog, and the animal shook with spirit and hopped from his hand. The paper frog made it two feet from Mg. Thane’s knee before the magician commanded it “Cease” and left it inanimate once more.
Despite the seeming simplicity of the spell, Ceony’s hands itched to complete it. She steadied them, not wanting to appear hotheaded, not wanting to shirk Mg. Thane’s lesson. She waited for his permission to Fold.
Her back stiffened just a bit, and she glanced to her yellow square of paper, retracing memories from the past several days. When had that strain of discipline entered her head? She couldn’t recall making the decision to sit as obediently as a paper dog.
She glanced to Fennel, who scratched behind one of his paper ears in the corner by the door.
Licking her lips, Ceony began Folding, regardless, following the same steps Mg.
“Very astute,” Mg. Thane said, lifting a pair of scissors. “There is one cut that the snowflakes must have in order to become cold. Observe.”
He held up the triangle and pressed his scissors into its thickest Fold, cutting just a centimeter below the highest point. He sliced out a small almond-shaped portion of paper and let it tumble onto his board.
“Chill,” he commanded. Nothing happened to the paper that Ceony could see, but when he handed it to her, it felt frosty. The coldness soothed her blister.
“The rest is creative inclination,” he said.
By Monday the kitchen had run low on groceries.
“I can fetch them myself,” Ceony said. “I don’t mind.”
Mg. Thane looked up from his desk, where a small ledger sat open, its cover pinned down on one side by a mug of lemon tea and on the other side by a butter knife. He held a pen in his left hand. “That’s not a requirement, Ceony,” he said.
“I don’t mind,” she repeated, smoothing the pleats in her skirt. “If I’m going to live here I might as well pull my weight.” And I wouldn’t mind taking a break from this house. “I can’t keep making decent meals with the scraps left in your cupboards, if I may say so.”
Mg. Thane smiled, again more in his eyes than in his mouth. “Also not a requirement. How is your reading coming?”
“I’m finished with human anatomy, and nearly finished with the Tao one.”
Mg. Thane turned around in his chair and scanned the shelves behind him. Leaning down, he pulled a thick volume from the bottom shelf to his right and held it out to her. Its cover read Anatomy of the Human Body Volume II .
Ceony frowned and took the book.
“But if you insist,” he went on, “I can call a buggy for you. Don’t be out too late.” He tapped the uninked side of his pen to his lips. “I suppose I should teach you animation. When you get back, then.”
He handed her several bills—she was surprised that he trusted her with his money already—and went back to his ledger.
Her lessons in animation didn’t actually start until her second week of tutelage. She began by prepping an eight-inch square of yellow paper with all its Folds, which she had to name as she completed them. The result was a crinkled square that had a starlike pattern pressed into it. Prepping the paper would make subsequent Folds easier to make, though the final creation would be more sluggish—so Mg. Thane explained.
“Now,” the paper magician said, demonstrating on his own square of paper without preparation Folds, “we’ll start simple. A frog.”
Ceony remembered the demonstration of the paper frog from her first day. She remembered it well enough that in her mind’s eye she could see Mg. Thane’s fingers forming every Fold, and she felt confident she could create an identical creature without additional instruction. However, she kept this information to herself and watched the paper magician work, searching for any Folds her memory may have missed. She found none and mentally patted herself on the back.
“Breathe,” Mg. Thane commanded his paper frog, and the animal shook with spirit and hopped from his hand. The paper frog made it two feet from Mg. Thane’s knee before the magician commanded it “Cease” and left it inanimate once more.
Despite the seeming simplicity of the spell, Ceony’s hands itched to complete it. She steadied them, not wanting to appear hotheaded, not wanting to shirk Mg. Thane’s lesson. She waited for his permission to Fold.
Her back stiffened just a bit, and she glanced to her yellow square of paper, retracing memories from the past several days. When had that strain of discipline entered her head? She couldn’t recall making the decision to sit as obediently as a paper dog.
She glanced to Fennel, who scratched behind one of his paper ears in the corner by the door.
Licking her lips, Ceony began Folding, regardless, following the same steps Mg.
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