Chapter Text
Master Jethro Gibbs, we seek admission to your halls,” said Seer Morrow formally.
“You are welcome,” came the equally formal reply, “And peace be on your sojourn.”
Seer Thomas Morrow gazed around Gibbs’ halls which actually consisted of a dimly lit basement area dominated by a large worktable and with a number of doors leading off.
“Jethro,” said Morrow, “This is Captain John McGee.”
Gibbs nodded to the captain who nodded back coolly. Morrow sighed; it seemed that neither of his companions was going to be talkative.
“You remember I told you about his son’s situation.”
Gibbs nodded again, this time in a manner that suggested duh, of course I do.
Captain McGee might not be talkative, but he was decisive and, on this occasion, decided to get straight to the point, “Mr Morrow says you might be able to help.”
Gibbs raised an eyebrow at this. It was unusual for someone not to give the Seer his honorific; somehow, he didn’t think it boded well for their encounter. “Maybe,” he said.
“Why don’t we sit down?” suggested Morrow. He was about to add words like get comfortable but refrained as they seemed completely inappropriate and unlikely to be fulfilled. “Captain McGee, why don’t you explain the position to Master Gibbs,” Morrow placed a slight emphasis on the word Master.
“My son – Timothy – had an accident a couple months ago.”
“Yeah?”
“His mother and I bought him a car for his 16th birthday … and, of course, he took it out for a spin right away …”
“And?” prompted Gibbs.
“And … he says he was trying to work out to how make the windshield wipers work … don’t know why, it wasn’t raining. Anyway, something went wrong and he managed to smash into a bus.”
“OK,” said Gibbs, “And that brings you here – why?”
“I’ve been told,” said the captain stiffly, “That it happened because my son … because my son did some sort of magic.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“Tim says he doesn’t remember much more than trying to work out the wipers and then looking up and seeing a bus …”
“Then why do you think it was magic?” asked Gibbs sceptically, “Sounds like a kid getting confused to me.”
Morrow coughed, “Marcus was there.”
“Ah,” said Gibbs. Master Marcus Gilroy was a client of Gibbs. He was an elderly man with a terrible sense of direction, a penchant for mischief and one of the sharpest minds Gibbs had ever encountered.
“Yes, he says he sensed something out of control … and before he could work it out, he heard a huge smash and he looked up to see Tim McGee’s car colliding with a bus,” said Morrow.
“It seems extraordinary to me,” said McGee a little peevishly, “Nothing like this has ever happened in my family before.”
“And you want me to do, what?” asked Gibbs.
“I want you to fix him.”
“Fix?” asked Gibbs coolly.
Morrow decided it was time to intervene, “I’ve explained to Captain McGee that if his son does have magic then the best thing is for him to learn to control it. And I told him that I don’t know anyone more qualified to do that.”
Jethro raised a sceptical eyebrow at this unexpected praise but realised that the captain was probably only interested in the best.
“And you’ll be able to tell if he has this magic in him?” prodded McGee.
“I’ll know,” replied Gibbs laconically.
McGee gazed at him for a few seconds and then, apparently satisfied by what he saw, deflated slightly, “OK, I trust Mr Morrow’s judgement. How long will it take?”
“Excuse me?”
“How long will you need to have Tim with you.”
“100 days should be enough.” Gibbs watched to see if this lengthy parting from his son was going to cause a problem.
“Captain McGee and his wife are due to be posted to Okinawa, Japan. It was already planned that Timothy would stay behind for school so that suits fine,” said Morrow.
“He won’t be doing schoolwork,” said Gibbs brusquely.
Captain McGee gave an unexpected laugh, “Yeah, good luck with that! My son loves his books.” There was an odd mixture of pride and despair as he talked about his son.
“When do you want to bring him?” asked Gibbs.
“His mother and I are flying out on Tuesday. Monday?”
“Fine.” Gibbs gave the impression of being bored with the discussion and wanting it to be over.
McGee got up to go but turned back as he reached the stairs, “I love my son, Master Gibbs. I just don’t … understand him most of the time.”
Gibbs nodded and the captain nodded back in farewell.
“How do you know this guy, Tom?” asked Gibbs when he was alone with the Seer.
“From my Navy days. He’s a highflyer, dedicated and focussed. I get the impression that family life takes second place to career.”
“And the boy?”
“Difficult to know. He’s very bright and has been seen as a math genius …”
“I sense a but.”
“Since the car incident it’s made his family wonder if the brilliance was actually him using magic unknowingly.”
“He could be a math genius and magical,” said Gibbs in an offended tone which suggested he disapproved of the idea that magical people couldn’t be intelligent.
Seer Morrow lifted his hands in mock surrender, “Hey, I know. You’re preaching to the choir here. But you’ve seen him, he doesn’t approve of magic so he’s going to think the worst.”
“And you’re sure the boy does have magic?”
“I trust Marcus.”
“Huh, I guess. But it might be a …”
“Coincidence?” said Morrow with a twinkle in his eye, “Thought you had a rule against those, Jethro!”
Gibbs grinned reluctantly, “I guess.”
“Whatever happens, I think Tim will benefit from being with you, Jethro. Are you still up for this?”
“Said so, didn’t I?”
“So you did. And it’s been a while … maybe it’s time to have another …”
“He won’t be an apprentice,” snapped Gibbs.”
“All right, I’ll see you on Monday … but this might be good for you, Jethro – as well as good for the boy.”
“Fair passage on all your journeys,” said Gibbs in a tone designed to send Tom on his way.
“And a blessing on your endeavours,” replied Morrow.
XXXXXX
Early on Monday, the Seer arrived with Captain McGee and an anxious looking tall thin boy. Morrow observed the formalities,
“Master Jethro Gibbs, we seek admission to your halls.”
“You are welcome,” came the equally formal reply, “And peace be on your sojourn.”
“Master Gibbs, you remember Captain McGee – and this is his son Timothy.”
“Say hello,” said McGee to his son who seemed almost paralysed with nerves.
“Uh, hello. It’s …” the boy trailed off. He had thought about saying nice to meet you, but he was innately honest and wasn’t sure it would be true.
Gibbs nodded.
An awkward silence fell which Morrow, ever busy and anxious to keep things moving, broke, “Timothy, you understand that you’ll be staying with Master Jethro for 100 days …”
“So he can get rid of my magic,” said Tim.
Morrow frowned at the way the stay seemed to have been put to the lad, “Not exactly. If you have magic …”
“I don’t,” insisted Tim.
“Can’t both be true,” said Gibbs.
“W-what?”
“Well, you said I’d get rid of your magic and that you don’t have it in the first place. Which is it?”
“I-I don’t think I have magic. But if I do, then you’ll help with that.”
Gibbs gazed thoughtfully at the boy and seemed to decide he was happy enough with that response.
“Then let’s get to the agreement,” said Morrow briskly. He nodded to Gibbs who summoned a piece of paper. “Master Gibbs agrees to take Timothy as a pupil for 100 days. You both agree to that and Timothy agrees to abide by his rules. You all need to sign.”
Captain McGee hesitated and spoke to his son, “This is the best thing for you boy, you understand that, don’t you?” Tim looked at him with wide eyes, he wasn’t used to being given options. He nodded anxiously. “OK then,” said McGee and he signed his name.
Tim followed suit before Gibbs signed too.
“As my witness to the agreement, I will sign and we will also clasp hands over the paper,” said Morrow.
Captain McGee looked a little askance at this but did what he was told. Tim’s eyes widened even further as a beam of light enveloped the joined hands and illuminated the paper.
“Timothy, you are Master Gibbs’ pupil now. I bid you to be obedient to him,” said Morrow formally. And then, less formally, he added, “It will be fine. Now, why don’t you and your father go upstairs and say goodbye?”
“That won’t be necessary,” said McGee briskly, “We … er … said our goodbyes this morning at the house. And Tim’s leg will hurt him if he climbs those stairs again. Goodbye, Son,” he drew Tim into an awkward hug which Tim returned equally awkwardly.
“Fair passage on all your journeys,” said Gibbs.
The captain had done some homework since his last visit and made the expected reply,
“And a blessing on your endeavours. And thank you, Master Gibbs.” He patted Tim on the shoulder and left.
“I must go too,” said Morrow. He also patted Tim on the shoulder and then he left.
“I’ll show where you’ll be sleeping,” said Gibbs.
“T-thank you, Sir.”
“Don’t call me Sir.”
“S-Sir?”
“I said don’t call me Sir. You can call me Master Jethro.”
“Y-yes S-Sir … I mean, yes, Master Jethro.”
“Follow me.”
Tim moved in the direction of the stairs assuming the bedrooms were in the house above, but Gibbs led him towards one of the doors leading off the work area.
“You’ll sleep here,” announced Gibbs.
Tim saw a simple room furnished with a bed, a set of drawers and a desk.
“There’s a bathroom through there,” Gibbs nodded towards another door. “Unpack and come through when you’re ready.” Gibbs rethought his words. Somehow, he suspected that Tim would never be ready enough to re-join him. “Or in fifteen minutes. Whichever is sooner.”
Tim nodded anxiously but didn’t say anything. As Gibbs turned to go, a large grey cat came through the door.
“You’ve got a cat!”
“More than one,” said Gibbs a little gloomily. “Is that a problem?” he asked as he saw an increase in Tim’s already high level of anxiety.
“I’m allergic.”
Gibbs waved a hand, “Not to these cats, you’re not,” he said confidently. Somehow, Tim found himself believing him.
XXXXXX
Tim emerged from his bedroom 14 minutes and 40 seconds later and stood uncertainly by the worktable. He reached out a tentative hand to stroke Jasper but something in the cat’s cool gaze made him withdraw it.
“Um, what do you want me to do?” he asked.
“You watch.”
“Er … w-watch what, Sir … M-master Jethro?”
“The people who come. You help them sit down …”
“Excuse me?”
“Some of them will need help to sit down. You help them.”
“How will I know?” asked Tim anxiously, “I mean, t-they might be offended if I offer to help them and they don’t think they need it. Even if they do need it, help, I mean. Master Jethro.”
“You’ll know.”
“I will?”
“Yes. And most of them won’t mind being helped. They’ll like it.”
“They will?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. What else do I do? Apart from helping people to their seats? Master Jethro,” he added.
“You’ll listen to what they say. And what I say. And then you’ll do what I tell you.”
“Um …”
“What?”
“What will you tell me to do? Master Jethro.”
Gibbs sighed, “I don’t know. It depends on what people want. But I’ll probably ask you to bring me a book.”
“A book?” Tim’s face brightened at the thought.
Gibbs waved a hand towards a wall filled with bookshelves. “I’ll tell you which one I want.”
“OK. Um, do I get to read the books?”
“You want to? They’re books about magic. Didn’t think you were interested.”
“Well, have you got any books about computers?”
“Nope.”
“Science?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll read the books about magic,” said the logical Tim, “I like books.” He looked quickly in the direction of the books.
“What?” asked Gibbs.
“Excuse me?”
“Why did you look at the books? Did you hear something?”
“N-o-o,” said Tim unconvincingly.
“Huh. Look lively, someone’s coming,” said Gibbs.
Tim looked anxiously at the door as he wondered if he’d know whether or not to help the new arrival to their seat.
“Master Jethro, I seek admission to your halls.”
“You are welcome. And peace be on your sojourn, Patty.”
Tim hurried to pull a chair out for Patty who was large and breathless and, to Tim’s eyes, incredibly ancient.
“Thank you, young man,” said Patty, “See you’ve got a new helper, Jethro.”
“Hah! Don’t know how much help he’s going go to be,” said Gibbs morosely.
“It’s nice to see someone else down here,” said Patty, “You’ve been on your own too long, you know.”
“Huh.” Tim could see this was not a subject up for discussion, “What can I do for you, Patty? You off on your travels again?”
“I would be, but I’ve lost my …” Patty trailed off.
“Your passport?” suggested Tim helpfully.
Patty looked at him blankly, “No, not my passport …”
Tim wondered if the right answer was that she’d lost her mind but somehow suspected this would not be an acceptable suggestion. “Broomstick?” he offered.
“Broomstick?” said Gibbs coldly.
“Well, you know …”
“No, I don’t know,” said Gibbs in the same tone of voice.
“Well, I thought … you know … that that’s what you … people use to get around on.”
“You people?” repeated Gibbs.
Tim thought he was probably in a lot of trouble but was diverted by Patty dissolving in gales of laughter, “Oh, Jethro! Can you imagine what I’d look like on a broomstick! As if you could find one strong enough to take me!”
Gibbs’ lips twitched reluctantly as he tried to picture the amply proportioned Patty trying to balance on a broomstick, “So what is it you’ve lost, Patty? And Tim, we don’t need any more suggestions from you …”
“I’ve lost my mirror.”
Tim longed to answer why a mirror was vital to travel plans but knew he had to be quiet until invited to speak. Gibbs wasn’t at all puzzled about the loss of the mirror, “Pupil Timothy, bring me the yellow book. The one on the bottom shelf.”
Tim nodded humbly and went to get the book, “It’s stuck,” he said after a few moments trying to tug it off the shelf. Gibbs frowned and the book fell into Tim’s hand.
“Oh,” said Tim.
Gibbs looked at the boy closely, but he just gazed back. “Find the Locator Lyric,” he ordered.
Tim looked at the book, “Is it in alphabetical order?”
“Look.”
It took a while, but Tim found the lyric by dint of turning every page. He handed the book to Gibbs who glanced at it, waved his hand and produced a hairpin, “It’ll make a noise when it’s near what you’ve lost,” he said as he handed it to Patty.
“Thank you, Jethro. You’re a lifesaver. You know I can’t go anywhere without the mirror.”
Tim looked at Patty’s untidy hair, crumpled dress and sack like purse and decided that a mirror would indeed be a useful thing for Gibbs’ friend.
“Here,” she said, delving into the purse and bringing out a pumpkin, a string of sausages and a carton of milk. She hesitated, “What’s your name, boy?”
“Timothy … er … Tim, ma’am.”
Gibbs coughed, “Address Patty as Mistress Patty.”
“Sorry, Sir … I mean, Master Jethro. I’m Tim, Mistress Patty.”
Patty smiled and looked into Tim’s eyes, “Hmm,” she said, “Interesting. Here, give this to your master.” She handed Tim a bag, “Donuts,” she said with a twinkle, “Some with sprinkles and some without.”
She heaved herself to her feet and got ready to leave.
“Fair passage on all your journeys,” said Gibbs.
“And a blessing on your endeavours,” replied Patty, “And Tim, good luck. And don’t apologise so much.”
“Well?” asked Gibbs after she had gone.
“Sir? I mean, Master?”
“Any questions? What do you want to know?”
“What did you give her?”
“A hairpin.”
“I know. Just a hairpin?”
“It’ll help her find her mirror. It’s a locator pin.”
“Oh. And why did she give you food?”
“You’ll find out.”
“Oh.” Tim remembered the book and thought he might be able to sneak a look at the spell but when he looked at the table, he saw that the book had gone. “Where’d it go?”
Gibbs shrugged, “I guess it got bored.”
“Bored?”
“Went back to its place.”
“On its own?”
“Sure. The food goes in the store. Through there,” Gibbs pointed to another door.
There was a steady flow of visitors for the rest of the day. Tim put out chairs for them, told them his name, fetched the books for Gibbs and then put away the food offered in payment. He wondered what his master would do with a sack of potatoes, a pot of blackberry preserves, two watermelons, a dozen bread rolls, six tins of baked beans and a dozen eggs.
“Last job of the day,” announced Gibbs when he had dismissed the latest caller, “Clean the table.”
Tim looked around for a cloth and suppressed a feeling of irritation that his pupillage seemed to consist of fetching and carrying.
“Not like that. We have to clear it of spilled magic. Bring me the green book.”
Tim went and fetched the required book.
“Find the Immediate Inventory Illumination,” Gibbs watched as Tim thumbed through the book until he found the right page. “Read it. To yourself.” He waited until Tim looked up again, “OK, now do it.”
“Do what?”
“Perform the spell. Get rid of the magic.”
Tim looked at him with terrified eyes, “Me? Do magic?”
Gibbs suppressed a pang at a memory of another boy who had vibrated with excitement at the thought of doing magic, “You heard me,” he said firmly.
“But I can’t,” protested Tim.
“Maybe not,” shrugged Gibbs, “One way to find out.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. Master Jethro, no.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I won’t do it. I mean I can’t do it anyway but I’m not going to try.”
Gibbs looked at the panicked expression in his pupil’s eyes and decided, on this occasion, not to push it, “OK. For now. You can watch instead.”
Tim nodded in relief and watched as Gibbs performed the spell although, as the table looked the same as before, he couldn’t tell if anything had worked.
“We’ll eat now,” announced Gibbs as he watched the green book float gently back to its place.
Tim felt slightly sick after the excitement of the day, but he sat down eagerly enough, “What are we having?”
“Wait and see.”
A few minutes later an assortment of dishes bobbed through from the kitchen. Tim peered at a stoneware baking dish, “What’s that?”
“Toad in the hole.”
Tim recoiled in horror, “Toad?”
“Sure,” said Gibbs with a straight face, “We eat what we’re given here.”
Tim looked again, “You didn’t get given eye of newt as well, did you?”
“What?”
“You know. In Macbeth, the witches have a pot with toe of frog and eye of newt … and other disgusting stuff.”
“Macbeth?”
“Shakespeare play.”
“I know what it is,” said Gibbs a little huffily, “And no, it doesn’t have eye of newt in it.” He frowned at Tim, wondering what sort of research into magical people he had done for coming to the basement if he thought of them in terms of witches on blasted heaths flying on broomsticks. “And it’s not toad, it’s sausage.”
“Then why’s it called toad in the hole?”
Gibbs shrugged again, “Who knows? It’s sausages in a batter pudding. To – someone I know, went to England and brought the recipe back.”
“Oh,” said Tim uncertainly.
“Help yourself,” said Gibbs, “It won’t bite you.”
Tim helped himself to a small portion and looked at the other dishes. He saw a pot of baked beans and a bowl of mashed potatoes and he realised that Gibbs meant what he said about eating what he was given. The toad in the hole turned out to be delicious and Tim was somehow not surprised to discover that dessert was watermelon served with blackberry preserves.
“You can take a book to your bedroom,” said Gibbs with the air of someone conferring a favour.
“No thank you,” said Tim politely. He looked quickly at the bookshelves as if he had heard something.
“Thought you liked books,” said Gibbs mildly.
“Not tonight.”
“What you going to do then?”
“I’ll practise my mental gymnastics.”
“Your what?”
“Mental gymnastics. It’s doing mental arithmetic. And I’m developing my own binary language … and learning the periodic table.”
Gibbs was rarely surprised, but he found himself baffled by the first hint of excitement he had seen in his new pupil’s face since he arrived. “Off you go then,” he said in what he felt was a weak voice.
Tim fell asleep in the midst of writing, “I am a sorcerer’s pupil living in a basement with Master Jethro,” in binary. For some reason, he found that combination of words to be difficult to render into binary.
XXXXXX
Tim had wondered what time he was supposed to get up in the morning but, in the event, he found that the light in his room gradually intensified and woke him up. Somehow, he thought that lying in bed was not an option, so he got up and got ready.
“Morning,” said Gibbs from his seat at the worktable.
“Good morning, Master Jethro,” said Tim as he joined him. Jasper gave him an appraising gaze from his place at the end of the table before starting to clean himself. Tim was just beginning to wonder if Gibbs believed in breakfast when he became aware of a change in atmosphere. The books on the shelves began to jiggle up and down, Jasper stopped his ablutions and looked towards the stairs and a small, but fat, black and white cat emerged from Master Jethro’s room. Jethro himself looked mildly interested.
The door opened and Tim found himself ducking as the books swooped off the shelves and thronged around a tall young man who stood by the door with a grin on his face.
“Hey! Careful!” he cried as the books circled him. Jasper deigned to rise and walk towards the man who gave him a respectful stroke. He then swooped on the other cat and picked her up, “You’re a fatty catty,” he crooned as she draped herself around his neck, purring all the while.
“You’re late,” said Gibbs.
“Not very.”
“Still late. You can make breakfast.”
“Happy to, Master. And who’s this?” he asked, pointing at Tim.
“My new pupil.”
“Pupil! You have a pupil? Since when?” There was something odd in the new arrival’s voice, suggesting he wasn’t entirely pleased.
“Since yesterday. You’d have known if you’d been here. Pupil Timothy McGee, this is Tony DiNozzo. Tony, this is Tim.”