Magic Below Stairs Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1 - IN WHICH FREDERICK MAKES HIMSELF USEFUL

  Chapter 2 - IN WHICH FREDERICK FINDS PAID EMPLOYMENT

  Chapter 3 - IN WHICH FREDERICK LEAVES HIS WORK UNFINISHED

  Chapter 4 - IN WHICH FREDERICK MEETS HIS FIRST WIZARD

  Chapter 5 - IN WHICH FREDERICK GOES UP IN THE WORLD

  Chapter 6 - IN WHICH FREDERICK LEARNS SOME HISTORY

  Chapter 7 - IN WHICH FREDERICK FEELS AT HOME

  Chapter 8 - IN WHICH FREDERICK LEARNS WHAT HE HAS BEEN MISSING

  Chapter 9 - IN WHICH FREDERICK DELIVERS A MESSAGE

  Chapter 10 - IN WHICH FREDERICK SEES MORE THAN HE SHOULD

  Chapter 11 - IN WHICH FREDERICK MEETS HIS SECOND WIZARD

  Chapter 12 - IN WHICH FREDERICK ISSUES A CALL

  Chapter 13 - IN WHICH FREDERICK LEARNS THE FIRST THING ABOUT MAGIC

  Chapter 14 - IN WHICH FREDERICK IS ORDERED TO HUNT RATS

  Chapter 15 - IN WHICH FREDERICK DEMONSTRATES HIS SKILL

  Chapter 16 - IN WHICH FREDERICK TIDIES UP

  Chapter 17 - IN WHICH FREDERICK TRAINS HIS REPLACEMENT

  ACCORDING TO BESS

  MEET BILLY BLY

  The sound of a deep soft voice counting had brought Frederick back to his senses. When Frederick woke—if he woke—there was still a bit of light from the fire. In the glow, he could just see a little old man, a very little man, hardly bigger than a cat, toiling away intently. The little man gathered peas and beans, counted them, sorted them, and darted back into the shadows after more.

  As he worked, the little man sang very softly. “Peas and beans, corn and rye, who can work like Billy Bly?”

  Frederick tried to make himself believe his eyes and ears, but his eyelids were too heavy and soon sleep overwhelmed him completely.

  When Frederick woke the next morning, the kitchen floor looked freshly scrubbed. All he had to do was take credit for work he had left unfinished.

  FIREBIRD

  WHERE FANTASY TAKES FLIGHT™

  To Julia, who knows Bess better than I do

  FIREBIRD

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by Dial Books for Young Readers,

  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2010

  Published by Firebird, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2011

  Copyright © Caroline Stevermer, 2010

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE DIAL EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Stevermer, Caroline.

  Magic below stairs / by Caroline Stevermer.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Ten-year-old Frederick, who is surreptitously watched over by a brownie,

  is plucked from a London orphanage to be a servant to a wealthy wizard,

  and eventually his uncanny abilities lead him to become the wizard’s apprentice.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-52907-2

  [1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Orphans—Fiction. 3. Wizards—Fiction.

  4. Household employees—Fiction. 5. Great Britain—History—1800–1837—Fiction.]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.S84856Mag 2010

  [Fic]—dc22

  2009025100

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  1

  IN WHICH FREDERICK MAKES HIMSELF USEFUL

  The first time he met Billy Bly, Frederick thought he must be dreaming. Billy Bly looked like a little old man dressed all in green, and came just to Frederick’s knee. He was small enough to have no difficulty retrieving the dried beans and peas that had been scattered under the cupboard and into the farthest darkest corners of the kitchen. In fact, he seemed delighted to count and sort them, his voice as deep as the hum of bees, and he worked so steadily that the rattle of them in the buckets made a soothing sound like raindrops falling.

  The peas and beans had been scattered everywhere as punishment. That winter night Mr. Makepeace—the director of the orphanage where Frederick had lived for as long as he could remember—had discovered Frederick in the kitchen breaking the rules. Frederick had been helping Vardle the cook peel potatoes, in return for all the peelings he could eat. If the peelings were clean enough, Frederick could eat a surprising number of them, and he had.

  But no orphan was allowed in the kitchen. That was one of the many rules. Mr. Makepeace never liked to see the orphans getting anything extra to eat, for he believed it only made them more likely to be disobedient. Vardle the cook ignored lots of Mr. Makepeace’s rules, especially when he wanted help in the kitchen. Vardle liked Frederick.

  Mr. Makepeace disliked orphans in general. Ever since the day Frederick, shoved by one of the bigger orphans, had fallen downstairs and landed on Mr. Makepeace’s hat, which was never the same again, Mr. Makepeace had disliked Frederick in particular. That was one reason Vardle the cook liked Frederick.

  Mr. Makepeace had shouted at Frederick and sworn at Vardle. Then he emptied a five-pound bag of beans and a three-pound bag of peas right in the middle of the kitchen floor. It was like scattering gravel. Peas and beans went everywhere.

  “Pick those up,” Mr. Makepeace ordered Frederick. “I want them cleaned and sorted and the floor freshscrubbed by morning, or it’s a day locked inside the still room for you. Use those buckets there. No tricks, like sweeping them up and rinsing them off. Pick them up with your dirty hands, you dreadful boy.”

  To the cook, Mr. Makepeace snarled, “He is to have no help from you, Vardle. Understand?” He went on and on. Frederick got to work while Mr. Makepeace made his threats.

  If Vardle the cook did anything further that Mr. Makepeace could complain about, he would be sacked, out of a job. That was why Vardle hardly spoke a word to Frederick the rest of the evening, even though Frederick was on his hands and knees underfoot the whole time the cook prepared dinner and cleaned up afterward.

  Frederick couldn’t blame him. Vardle liked his job.

  And besides, it wasn’t Vardle who would spend the next day hungry in the still room if he failed to sort the peas and beans to Mr. Makepeace’s satisfaction. Frederick had been shut in the still room before, and each time it happened, he hated it more.

  The still room was a small damp storage area with a heavy lock on the door. It served as the orphanage prison cell, where offenders could be locked away alone for hours, nothing to do but sit still and repent their sins. Without a single window, even in daylight the room was dark as night. Beetles loved the still room. No one else did.

 
As Frederick worked with only raw potato peelings in his belly, dinner smelled better than usual, but he didn’t dare ask Vardle for even a taste. Vardle may have liked Frederick more than most of the orphans, but not well enough to risk the sack.

  Frederick did his best to keep his mind off the still room beetles by counting the peas and beans he picked up. Every time he reached one hundred, he let himself imagine he had the keys to the still room. He pictured Mr. Makepeace locked up in the dark, swearing with fury as he swatted beetles away. Then it was back to work until he’d picked up another hundred.

  For hours, Frederick sorted peas and beans and beans and peas. At last, the cooking and serving and washing up was all done. Vardle put out the oil lamps and went to bed, leaving Frederick only the light of the kitchen fire to work by.

  It was hopeless. Frederick rubbed at his stinging eyes with sore fingers. He would never be finished by morning. But if he gave up and tried to slip into the dormitory now, one of the bigger boys would be sure to catch him and turn him in to Mr. Makepeace. That would only get him locked in the still room sooner. Might as well keep at his task, Frederick judged.

  One by one by one by one, Frederick picked up beans and peas until his knees hurt and the tips of his grimy fingers were raw. At last, weariness claimed Frederick. He was so tired, his ears were buzzing, a soft rustling sound. At first it made him think of beetles, but soon it became dry leaves in the wind. Exhausted, his task little more than half finished, he slept where he lay on the damp stone floor of the kitchen.

  The sound of a deep soft voice counting had brought Frederick back to his senses. When Frederick woke—if he woke—there was still a bit of light from the fire. In the glow, he could just see a little old man, a very little man, hardly bigger than a cat, toiling away intently. The little man gathered peas and beans, counted them, sorted them, and darted back into the shadows after more.

  As he worked, the little man sang very softly. “Peas and beans, corn and rye, who can work like Billy Bly?”

  Frederick tried to make himself believe his eyes and ears, but his eyelids were too heavy and soon sleep overwhelmed him completely.

  When Frederick woke the next morning, the kitchen floor looked freshly scrubbed. There beside him was a bucket of beans and a bucket of peas, and no sign of anyone in the kitchen, large or small, except Vardle. Frederick could not understand just how, but he knew he was saved from the still room. All he had to do was take credit for work he had left unfinished.

  “Blow me down but you’re a hard worker, lad.” The cook put a bowl of gruel down in front of Frederick. “Get that inside you. You’ve made a proper job of it, no mistake. Someday when Mr. Makepeace isn’t looking, I’ll show you how to clean fish.”

  Mr. Makepeace came down to the kitchen no doubt ready to shout and swear some more. But when he saw the floor clean and the buckets full, his eyes bulged. He ran his hands through the beans and the peas.

  “Not a grain of sand,” Mr. Makepeace marveled. “Not a speck of dirt.” He glared at Vardle.

  The cook said, “I never. He did it all by himself.”

  Mr. Makepeace stared at Frederick. “Who helped you?”

  Frederick was an honest young fellow, but he knew it was best not to tell people like Mr. Makepeace things they would not care to know. He hesitated.

  Mr. Makepeace roared at Frederick. “Who helped you?”

  Frederick’s ears began to buzz a little, a soft sound like dry leaves rustling. At last Frederick answered, “No one.”

  Mr. Makepeace poked once more at the beans, as if he couldn’t believe they were real. Then, glaring so hard the whites of his eyes showed, he looked all around the room. At last, he said, “Frederick, from now on, you’re the kitchen boy. Do as Vardle tells you or it will be the worse for you.”

  Frederick did not understand what had happened. He was just grateful to be free of the still room and its beetles. But from that day on, Mr. Makepeace stayed well away from the kitchen, and Frederick stayed well away from Mr. Makepeace.

  “I do like a quiet life,” Vardle said one day. “I reckon I have you to thank for it, lad. Now Mr. Makepeace has taken such a misliking to the very sight of you, he isn’t down here as often, so there’s far less fuss and botheration.”

  This encouraged Frederick to ask, “Mr. Vardle, have you ever heard of anyone who saw little men dressed all in green?”

  Vardle laughed. “Little men dressed all in green? Do you mean leprechauns? They see them all the time in Ireland, so they say.”

  “Not in Ireland. Here.”

  “I myself never saw or heard of such a thing, not even in the Royal Navy.” Vardle looked Frederick over carefully. “If I were you, I wouldn’t mention little men, green or any other color. Keep a silent tongue in a wise head, young Frederick. That’s good advice for anyone.”

  Frederick knew better than to ask any of the other orphans about the little man. He didn’t fancy being pushed down the stairs again. He kept his mouth shut, his thoughts to himself, and his eyes and ears wide open.

  Day by day, Frederick worked in the kitchen. Soon the floor no longer seemed so damp and dirty. Indeed, the whole place seemed cleaner and tidier, if no warmer. Winter was slow to take its leave that year, and spring even slower to come. Frederick was glad of the kitchen scraps he earned and happy to spend most of his time away from the other orphans.

  In the kitchen, Vardle taught Frederick his duties.

  “The first thing to know about cleaning fish,” he told Frederick, “is that you need a sharp knife.” Fish by fish, he showed Frederick the best way to remove the innards and scales. He showed Frederick which fish were worth the trouble of taking the bones out and which were not. He even showed Frederick how to make a fish stew tasty enough that the orphans would eat it every Friday without much complaint.

  Frederick picked things up fast. The second thing he learned about cleaning fish was that Vardle wasn’t nearly as careful to remove bones, scales, and innards as he could have been, probably because Vardle wouldn’t be among those eating the result. The cook made his own meals separately out of the best of the orphanage supplies left after Mr. Makepeace had had his share.

  When Frederick begged him to, Vardle, who had learned to read in the Royal Navy, used a bit of chalk on the kitchen floor to show Frederick numbers and letters of the alphabet and how to read and write them. After a few months, Frederick could read the labels on crates and sacks of provisions as well as Vardle could.

  One day when Frederick was helping, he said, “It helps you that I know the right way to clean fish, doesn’t it, Mr. Vardle, sir?”

  “That it does, lad,” said Vardle. “The first thing you need is a sharp knife.”

  “Yes, Mr. Vardle, sir.” Frederick did not mention that Vardle had told him so at least a dozen times. “It would be useful if I could sharpen the knives for you, wouldn’t it?”

  “It might be.” Vardle added fresh stains to the dirty apron he wore as he scratched his round belly. “You want something, or you wouldn’t be calling me Mr. Vardle, sir. Spit it out, lad.”

  “I want to learn how to sharpen a kitchen knife, that’s all. Couldn’t you teach me?” Frederick did his best to look trustworthy.

  Vardle frowned. “The first thing to know about sharpening a knife is that you can cripple yourself if you aren’t careful.”

  “I could have guessed that,” said Frederick. “What’s the second thing?”

  “Oh, all right then. Since you’ve taken a notion to learn, the good Lord above knows why, I’ll show you. Take a close look at the edge, see what you’ll be working with.” The cook brought out his sharpening stone. “Put your stone like this. Hold the knife so. Now, bring it toward you. What did I tell you about crippling yourself? Slower, lad.”

  Step by step, Vardle taught Frederick the best way to sharpen knives. After that, in addition to his usual chores, Frederick sharpened all the kitchen knives regularly.

  One day Vardle told Frederick he had nev
er worked anyplace where knives were better cared for. “You’ve the knack of it, no question, and lucky it is you do, for a dull knife is the most dangerous thing in any kitchen. A sharp knife cuts what you want it to cut. A dull knife cuts only what it pleases.”

  “The most dangerous thing in this kitchen is Mr. Makepeace,” said Frederick. “But he doesn’t come down so often these days. Why doesn’t he?”

  “Why do you think?” Vardle countered.

  Mr. Makepeace had kept well away from him ever since the night of the bean and pea punishment, and Frederick wondered if Mr. Makepeace suspected something about the little man in green. It hardly seemed wise to bring that up to Vardle. So he said, “Maybe we’ve just been lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Vardle laughed heartily at the idea. “Good luck is more than half hard work. Mr. Makepeace knows things are shipshape down here, so he doesn’t need to spare the effort.”

  One day when he was scrubbing beets for dinner, Frederick said, “Mr. Vardle, sir—”

  “Here it comes,” said Vardle. “Less of the best lamp oil, if you please.”

  “Lamp oil?” Frederick had no idea what Vardle was talking about.

  “I mean less of the Mr.-Vardle-sir. Can tell you were raised in an orphanage. You have no more idea how to polish the brass than a sparrow would. Less, if anything.”

  “Brass?” Frederick wondered if Vardle had lost his wits. “I’m scrubbing the beets, not the brass.”

  “You only talk respectful—polish the brass, that is, or use the lamp oil—when you want me to teach you something.” Puffing with effort, Vardle brought over another large bag of beets. “What is it this time?”

  Frederick watched Vardle tear open the burlap bag with his big red hands. “I was only going to say you must know lots of useful things. When I grow up and join the Royal Navy, I will need to know lots of useful things myself. But since you mentioned it, what else can you teach me?”

  “I already taught you all the things I know best: cleaning fish, sharpening knives, and reading the alphabet. I don’t rightly know what else I know.” Vardle presented Frederick with the open bag. “Scrub these like a good fellow while I think it over.”