Song: “There Will Be Blood” by Kim Petras

Kadralkin had his opinions:

A disorganized warlock is a dead warlock—and, more importantly, a disgrace.

Ginger belongs in tea, not potions.

Beings who eat pineapple are not to be trusted.

He imparted this wisdom and more to his apprentice, a boy of twelve whose freckles and willingness to absorb produced a striking resemblance to a sponge—and, like a sponge, he cleaned all Kadralkin’s messes. If Kadralkin spilled a cauldron, the boy appeared with a mop. If Kadralkin enacted a bad business transaction, the boy appeared with a mace.

The boy, Phil, carried his master’s teachings everywhere; he was known in the village to tidy merchants’ stands and torch wayward pineapples. Even so, Phil spent most of his days in Kadralkin’s shop, ensuring that every item sat in its rightful place on the alphabetized shelves. He rarely received any task more exciting—until Kadralkin marched in one day with a torch.

“The peasants on the other side of the river have not paid tribute in some time,” Kadralkin said. “Go educate them.”

Phil leapt from the ladder and took the torch.

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