A Matter of Magic (11 page)

“It does indeed,” Mairelon said. “And I’ll lay you odds that’s where our coach is headed.”

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Kim said, though without a great deal of conviction. The trail they followed did not, at the moment, appear to head in the direction of the bonfire, but that did not mean it would not shift its bearing on the far side of the next bend.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Mairelon said with his most charming smile, and, turning, he headed for the bonfire.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kim followed. Sticking with Mairelon was certainly safer than trying to continue after the coach alone and in the dark, and she was decidedly uninterested in going back to the camp and explaining all this to Hunch without Mairelon’s support. Besides, she was at least as curious about the bonfire as she was about the coach and Mairelon’s interest in it.

The fire was farther away than it looked; it took ten minutes of brisk walking to reach the foot of the short, steep hill with the fire on top. Kim was a little surprised at the way the hill poked up out of the flat ground, but
she supposed that things were different in the country than in London. The hill was bare of trees except for a single large trunk at the top, clearly visible in the firelight, and the grassy slope had been recently scythed.

Several young men stood around the fire in the positions of people waiting for something and rather bored with doing so. One was staring down the far side of the hill; three others squatted over a game of dice, while two more watched and contributed unrequested advice; another drank surreptitiously from a pocket flask. Their voices carried clearly to the edge of the forest.

“Meredith’s late again,” the man with the flask commented.

“So’s Robert,” one of the others said. “Maybe they’ve got better things to do on a cold, damp night like this.”

“What, in the country?” said the man next to him.

“No main,” said one of the dicers. “Throw again.”

“It’s Robert’s turn to bring the girls,” a fifth man spoke up. “He’ll probably come along with them.”

“I told you he had something better to do!”

“Eight for a main,” announced the second of the gamblers. “Shoot again.”

“Robert’s coach is just turning in at the lodge,” said the man who was watching the far side of the hill. “He’ll be here in a minute or two. I hope he has sense enough to leave the rest of his party there. We don’t need any bits of muslin giggling over the ceremony.”

“Good, that’s everyone but Meredith,” said the man with the flask. “We can start without him.”

“Not tonight,” the watcher said without turning.

“Burn it, Jon, are you going to make us stand here all night?” the man with the flask expostulated. “Meredith may not even come! He’s missed meetings before.”

“Two guineas on the fader’s point,” said one of the dicers coolly.

“If you don’t like it, Austen, finish your flask and go,” the watcher said. “But remember that you swore an oath—”

“I didn’t know it was going to mean standing out in a cold wind in the middle of the night, scorching my boots at a great stupid fire while you prose on at me!” Austen said in tones of deep indignation.

“If your boots are scorching, you’ve only yourself to blame,” said a cheerful voice, and a new figure climbed over the far edge of the hill and into the firelight. His arms were full of something that strongly resembled a very large bundle of laundry. “You don’t see anyone else standing close enough to the fire for ashes to fall on his coat, do you?”

“Ashes!” Austen leaped backward, brushing at his cloak. He peered closely at his garments, then gave the newcomer a reproachful look. “Burn it, Robert, if that’s your idea of a joke—”

“Don’t get in a stew about it,” Robert advised him. “Here, take your robe before I drop the lot of them in the mud.”

This thinly veiled warning caught the attention of the rest of the group, and for the next few minutes they crowded around the newcomer, laughing and shoving and tugging at the bundle in his arms. Kim glanced at Mairelon, to see whether he had had his fill of watching this strange gathering. By now it was too dark to make out much of his expression, but he seemed to be concentrating closely on the hilltop group.

“Who are those coves?” Kim whispered.

Mairelon glanced down as if he had just remembered her presence. “A pack of imbeciles,” he answered. “And if I’m not mistaken—ah, yes. See for yourself.”

Kim looked back at the hilltop. About half of the men were pulling long, baggy, light-colored robes over their heads. “They look like Bedlamites to me,” Kim muttered. “Who—”

“Ssh!” Mairelon said as the man called Jon said something to Robert that Kim did not catch.

“No, I didn’t,” Robert said, evidently answering Jon’s question. “The girls and the robes were almost more than I could manage as it was. I left it with Meredith after the last meeting.”

“And Meredith’s still not here.” Jon’s voice sounded grim. “If he doesn’t come, you’re for it, Robert.”

“How much longer are you planning to wait, Jon?” one of the white-robed men asked. “Have we got time for a few more throws?”

“Can’t you think of anything but your dice?” Jon snarled.

The man gave a cheerful, unrepentant shrug. “Well, there’s the doxies at the lodge, but I have the feeling you wouldn’t like that much of a delay.”

Some of the others laughed. Jon looked as if he were about to explode, but before he could deliver whatever rebuke he had in mind, Austen said, “There! Isn’t that him?”

Heads turned, and someone said, “That’s Freddy, all right. Nobody else sits a horse that badly; you can spot him even in the dark.”

“Hurry it up, Meredith!” Austen shouted.

“Quiet, you fool!” Jon said, rounding on him. “Do you want to be heard from here to the village? Do you want people to come spying on our Sacred Rites?”

“Oh, really, Jon, don’t get carried away,” Robert said. “There’s a dozen light-skirts in the lodge who can see us from the windows if they want to bother.”

“They are here by our permission,” Jon said loftily.

His dignified effect was spoiled by someone at the back of the group, who snickered and said audibly, “I should hope so!”

Jon glared around him, but could not locate the speaker. He turned away, and a moment later another figure came panting over the crest of the hill. Robert handed him the last of the robes, and he struggled into it hastily while the others pointed out the difficulties his tardiness had caused them.

“Didn’t mean to be so late,” said the newcomer in a muffled voice from halfway inside his robe. “I . . . had to make a stop on the way here.”

“There will be time to hear your explanations later, Meredith,” Jon said. “Now we must begin. To your places, gentlemen!”

The white-robed figures spread out in a circle around the fire and drew the hoods of their robes up over their heads. It made them look suddenly eerie, almost terrifying, and Kim shivered slightly. One of the anonymous figures raised his arms above his head, and Jon’s voice cried loudly, “By the Sacred Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! By the Three Wise Birds and the Three Generous Kings! By the ineffable Name Itself! The rites of the Sons of the New Dawn are now begun!”

The white-robed figures lowered their heads and began a strange, droning chant. Kim shuddered again as sonorous phrases drifted down the hill, and she jumped when Mairelon touched her arm.

“I’m going to see if I can get a little closer,” Mairelon said, looking at her quizzically. “You can wait here, if you’re feeling jumpy.”

“Wait here, with them frog-makers up there mumblin’ spells?” Kim whispered indignantly. “What do you take me for?”

Mairelon snorted. “Spells? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s the most preposterous rigmarole I’ve ever had the misfortune to have to listen to. Don’t let it worry you.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re mixing magic at random, from the sound of it. Half of it’s Welsh, half of it’s Scottish, and half of it’s cribbed from someone’s classical education, with a few things that are entirely out of someone’s imagination thrown in for good measure. They’ll never get anywhere if that’s the tack they’re taking.”

“That’s too many halves,” Kim said, frowning. “And whatever it is, it sounds pretty impressive to me.” The words didn’t have the crystalline quality of Mairelon’s magic, but they had a portentous power of their own that was just as striking.

“That’s because you’ve never read Homer in the original Greek,” Mairelon said. His attention had returned to the hilltop, where the white robes were now marching solemnly around the fire. Kim reached for his arm, anticipating his next move, but she was an instant too late. Mairelon slipped out of the trees and started up the hill, crouching low to avoid the firelight. With a sigh and a string of mental curses, Kim followed.

To her relief, Mairelon did not try to sneak all the way up to the edge of the hilltop. He stopped about halfway up the slope, near enough to
hear every word clearly but still well below the level where a casual glance might see a careless silhouette. Kim stopped beside him and flattened herself against the ground. Mairelon looked at her, then, with visible reluctance, did the same.

The cold and damp seemed to penetrate Kim’s clothes almost instantly. She ignored the discomfort as best she could, knowing from years of Mother Tibb’s somewhat irregular training that an unnecessary movement was likely to attract unwanted attention. Beside her, Mairelon lay just as motionless, and Kim tried to distract herself by wondering where he had learned the trick. Had someone told him about it when he went off to spy on the French, or had he figured it out for himself the hard way?

The chanting stopped at last, and Kim heard Jon’s voice announce, “So is the beginning ended, and the Central Mysteries begun.”

A murmur of agreement rose from the assembled figures. As the muttering died, Jon went on in a much brisker tone, “Tonight we are to dedicate the Sacred Dish, the first of the Four Holy Things. Austen, you’re the Bearer; George, you and Quembly-Stark can do the Escorts, and Robert can act as—”

“Uh, Jonathan, I’m afraid there’s a bit of a problem,” someone put in tentatively.

“You forgot to bring the dish, didn’t you?” Jon snapped. “Well, I’m not putting off the ceremony again just because you have a bad memory, Meredith. This time you can just ride home and bring it back.”

“That’ll take hours!” someone else objected. “Especially if he came on that broken-down nag of his; the creature can’t move above a trot even with a good rider in the saddle.”

“As long as we can wait down at the lodge instead of up here in the wind, who cares?” another of the men retorted.

“No reason to wait at all,” Meredith said. Cautiously Kim raised her head. As she had expected, all eyes were on the bland and rather foolish-looking Meredith. “I can’t get the thing, you see,” Meredith explained. “So there’s no point in my going back, and no reason to wait.”

“Can’t get it?” Jon’s voice rose. He put back his hood and glared at Meredith. “What do you mean, you can’t get it?”

“I just can’t,” Meredith answered with dogged stubbornness. “That’s all, and there it is. No use going on at me about it; might as well finish up and go on down to the lodge.”

“Explain this . . . this recalcitrance!” Jon commanded.

“Yes, Freddy, just why is it that you can’t bring the dish out tonight?” Robert asked.

“If you must know, I haven’t got it any more,” Meredith said. “Now can we go down to the lodge and eat?”

Jon goggled at him, all but speechless with rage. “You haven’t
got
it?”

“Got a problem with your ears, Jon?” Meredith asked with interest. “M’grandfather’s been having a bit of trouble that way, but you expect it in a man his age.”

“What have you done with the Sacred Dish?”
Jon grated.

“Lost it in a card game,” Meredith said. “Debt of honor, pay or play, you know. So it’s gone.”

“How
dared
you!” Jon shouted, waving his arms for emphasis. “That dish was ours, the property of the entire Order! How dared you even
think
to appropriate it for your own uses!”

“Actually it wasn’t,” Meredith said almost apologetically.

“Wasn’t what, Freddy?” Robert asked.

“Wasn’t the property of the Order. Bought it myself, never been paid. Logically the thing was mine. All quite in order.” Freddy Meredith nodded, as if to emphasize the logic and propriety of his actions.

Jon turned a fascinating shade of purple and opened his mouth. “Freddy’s got a point, Jon,” Robert said hastily. “If he didn’t use the Order’s funds to buy it with—”

“What funds?” Austen put in. “This Order hasn’t got any funds; nobody’s paid their subscription fee in over six months. Including you, Jon.”

“There, you see?” Freddy beamed.

“You idiot!” Jon said. “Do you know how long it took me to locate that platter? We must get it back!”

“It’s quite all right, Jonathan,” Robert said. “We’ll just buy it back from whoever won it from Freddy. Who did win it, by the way? Not Lord North, I hope.”

“No, no, I don’t play at his table,” Freddy assured him. “Been around long enough to know a flat from a leg, you know. No, I was playing whist with Henry.”

“What does Henry Bramingham want with the silver dish of the Sons of the New Dawn?” someone asked.

The grass beside Kim quivered as Mairelon tensed, but she could not tell what had provoked the reaction from him. Surely it couldn’t have taken him this long to guess that the “sacred dish” these culls were so nattered about was the Saltash Platter he was looking for?

“Only stake I had left by the end of the night was the platter,” Meredith explained. “Henry cleaned me out. Last hand, that went, too.”

“Who cares?” someone else said. “It’s obvious that we’re not going to dedicate the Sacred Dish tonight, so let’s finish up here and get inside where it’s warm.”

This suggestion produced a round of enthusiastic cheers, and the entire group threw off their robes and started down the hill despite Jonathan’s grumbles and the glowering looks he continued to throw at the oblivious Freddy Meredith. None of them bothered to check the far slope of the hill, so Mairelon and Kim escaped detection. Even so, Kim did not really relax until the last sounds of merriment were muffled by the solid closing of a door.