Carry On
Page 4No. 3—The football pitch
I don’t get to play football as much as I used to. I’m not good enough to play on the school team, plus I’m always caught up in some scheme or drama, or out on a mission for the Mage. (You can’t reliably tend a goal when the bloody Humdrum could summon you anytime it strikes his fancy.)
But I do get to play. And it’s a perfect pitch: Lovely grass. The only flat part of the grounds. Nice, shady trees nearby that you can sit under and watch the matches …
Baz plays for our school. Of course. The tosser.
He’s the same on the field as he is everywhere else. Strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless.
No. 4—My school uniform
I put this on the list when I was 11. You have to understand, when I got my first uniform, it was the first time I’d ever had clothes that fit me properly, the first time I’d ever worn a blazer and tie. I felt tall all of a sudden, and posh. Until Baz walked into our room, much taller than me—and posher than everyone.
There are eight years at Watford. First and second years wear striped blazers—two shades of purple and two shades of green—with dark grey trousers, green jumpers, and red ties.
You have to wear a boater on the grounds up until your sixth year—which is really just a test to see if your Stay put is strong enough to keep a hat on. (Penny always spelled mine on for me. If I did it myself, I’d end up sleeping in the damn thing.)
The upper years—that’s me now—wear green blazers with white piping. Plus red jumpers if we want them. Capes are optional, too; I’ve never worn one, they make me feel like a tit, but Penny likes them. Says she feels like Stevie Nicks.
I like the uniform. I like knowing what I’m going to wear every day. I don’t know what I’ll wear next year, when I’m done with Watford.…
I thought I might join the Mage’s Men. They’ve got their own uniforms—sort of Robin Hood meets MI6. But the Mage says that’s not my path.
That’s how he talks to me. “It’s not your path, Simon. Your destiny lies elsewhere.”
He wants me to stand apart from everyone else. Separate training. Special lessons. I don’t think he’d even let me go to school at Watford if he weren’t the headmaster there—and if he didn’t think it was the safest place for me.
If I asked the Mage what I should wear after Watford, he’d probably kit me out like a superhero.…
I’m not asking anybody what I should wear when I leave. I’m 18. I’ll dress myself.
Or Penny will help.
I should say “our room,” but I don’t miss the sharing-with-Baz part of it.
You get your room and your roommate assignment at Watford as a first year, and then you never move. You never have to pack up your things or take down your posters.
Sharing a room with someone who wants to kill me, who’s wanted to kill me since we were 11, has been … Well, it’s been rubbish, hasn’t it?
But maybe the Crucible felt bad about casting Baz and me together (not literally; I don’t think the Crucible’s sentient) because we’ve got the best room at Watford.
We live in Mummers House, on the edge of school grounds. It’s a four-and-a-half-storey building, stone, and our room is at the very top, in a sort of turret that looks out over the moat. The turret’s too small for more than one room, but it’s bigger than the other student rooms. And it used to be staff accommodation, so we have our own en suite.
Baz is actually a fairly decent person to share a bathroom with. He’s in there all morning, but he’s clean; and he doesn’t like me to touch his stuff, so he keeps it all out of the way. Penelope says our bathroom smells like cedar and bergamot, and that’s got to be Baz because it definitely isn’t me.
I’d tell you how Penny manages to get into our room—girls are banned from the boys’ houses and vice versa—but I still don’t know. I think it might be her ring. I saw her use it once to unseal a cave, so anything’s possible.
No. 6—The Mage
Like in our sixth year, when he practically ignored me. Every time I tried to talk to him, he told me he was in the middle of something important.
He still tells me that sometimes. I get it. He’s the headmaster. And he’s more than that—he’s the head of the Coven, so technically, he’s in charge of the whole World of Mages. And it’s not like he’s my dad. He’s not my anything.…
But he’s the closest thing I’ve got to anything.
The Mage is the one who first came to me in the Normal world and explained to me (or tried to explain to me) who I am. He still looks out for me, sometimes when I don’t even realize it. And when he does have time for me, to really talk to me, that’s when I feel the most grounded. I fight better when he’s around. I think better. It’s like, when he’s there, I almost buy into what he’s always told me—that I’m the most powerful magician the World of Mages has ever known.
And that all that power is a good thing, or at least that it will be someday. That I’ll get my shit together eventually and solve more problems than I cause.