Authors: Caroline Stevermer

A Scholar of Magics (12 page)

BOOK: A Scholar of Magics

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Fell looked glum. “At one time I was considered an authority on the prevailing studies of that subject. My monograph, âEvidence for the Existence of Historical Wardens,' was favorably reviewed. Recently, er, it has been made manifest to me that I am supposed to play a certain role in the structure of the world. In simpler times, the term was warden
of the west. You needn't stare, Lambert. Imagine my feelings on the subject. I can hardly express the mortification I felt when I learned I'd been mistaken all along.”

“If you know you're the new warden, why have you been avoiding me? Not to mention ignoring Faris,” Jane added. She knew from personal experience just how difficult it was to ignore Faris Nallaneen for more than a few minutes at a time. Truculent and touchy, the young noblewoman from Galazon had been Jane's fellow student at Greenlaw.

Fell folded his arms. “I know I am intended to be the new warden. I'm not yet prepared to enter that particular prison.”

Jane stared. “It's hardly a prison.”

“Whatever it is, I have my own priorities. There are more important matters I must see to.” Fell was firm.

Lambert looked from Fell to Jane and back again, as if taking in a tennis match.

“More important?” Jane knew that with a little more provocation, her unruffled demeanor would be a thing of the past. Already she felt a faint warmth in her cheeks. She suspected that she might be coloring unbecomingly. The knowledge did nothing to soothe her. “You've been ignoring Faris because you have more important things to see to?” Jane fell silent, because she feared her voice would tremble if she said another word.

Jane had helped Faris to come to terms with Faris's expulsion from Greenlaw. On the journey back to Faris's home in Galazon, Jane had been one of Faris's few allies. From Galazon, Jane had accompanied Faris onward to Aravis. Through discomfort and danger, Jane had helped Faris Nallaneen all she could. Things had simplified somewhat when
Faris took up her full duties as warden, with authority to match her responsibilities.

Faris's first duty as warden had been to close the rift created when the previous warden of the north destroyed herself with an overly ambitious spell. The rift torn by the miscast spell had been growing slowly since 1848. By the time Faris closed it, the wardens of the west, south, and east had been trapped in their wardenships for more than sixty years. Faris had freed them.

Jane knew how reluctant Faris had been to accept her new role as warden of the north. For Fell to cavil at the responsibility infuriated her.

Lambert looked as if he couldn't decide which astounded him more, Jane's behavior or Fell's tranquil acceptance of the existence of the wardens of the world. “You're the warden of the west,” he said to Fell. He sounded as if he were trying out the words, testing them, yet not believing them. “You're the new warden of the west.”

“Please, Lambert. Don't rub it in. That is the idiom, is it not?” To Jane, Fell said, “If anyone in my position has ever had a more realistic notion of the duties this entails, I'd like to see the documentation. It's intolerable. Furthermore, it's untenable.”

“Delay is futile.” Jane was stern. “What good does moaning about it do? The other wardens are doing their part. Time you did yours.”

“The other wardens are welcome to please themselves.” Fell met Jane's glare with resolute calm. “I refuse to further the imbalance. I can't take up my duties as a warden until the distortion is rectified. It would be worse than futile.”

“What imbalance? The rift is mended. Surely you must have noticed.” Jane had been in the vicinity when Faris mended the rift on the heights of Aravis. She could not imagine anyone, least of all another warden, failing to notice. Jane struggled to find words to describe the experience. Wild geese going over in numbers that darkened the sky and the best hat she'd ever owned exploding like a time bombâJane gave up on description and settled for bald fact. “That is why it was possible for the wardenships to change.”

Fell's keen expression was belied by the chill in his voice. “The rift itself may be good as new. Something, however, is very wrong. Sixty years of imbalance since the rift originated have created a distortion within the structure of the world itself.”

“You mean there's an imbalance independent of the rift?” Jane asked.

“The imbalance was caused by the rift. The wardens who remained when the rift was torn could not move on. Their efforts to hold the structure of the world intact lasted until the rift was mended. When the rift was mended, the wardens moved on. The new wardens are left to deal with that imbalance. It must be rectified.”

“Working together, all four of the wardens should be able to rectify anything,” said Jane.

“I disagree. I think that if all four wardens carry on balancing the world from here, the distortion will be impossible to erase. For all I know, it may be impossible to erase no matter what anyone does.” Fell added, “My conscience, however, is not so flexible that it permits me to ignore the problem or to behave as if it does not exist.”

“I must admit it is better to have a warden who regards the position with suitable respect than with greed for power, but I'm sure Faris never contemplated a warden who is too skittish to assume his duties.” Jane didn't try to keep the coldness out of her voice. “What makes you so sure there's a distortion?”

“Close your eyes,” Fell said.

After only a moment's hesitation, Jane obeyed.

Fell struck a match, let it burn for a few seconds, then shook it out. “Open your eyes,” Fell ordered as he disposed of the blackened remains of the match. A tendril of smoke twisted in the air between them and then dissipated.

Jane looked around. Fell was impassive. Lambert looked puzzled. “You decided against smoking in here?” Jane asked dryly.

“Is that what I did?”

“You lit a match.”

“How do you know?”

Jane's voice was perfectly level but the effort it took to keep it there was starting to tint the edges with annoyance. “I closed my eyes. I didn't lose consciousness.”

“Your senses informed you, in other words.”

“Is that what you're telling me? Your senses informed you of the distortion? Couldn't you have said that more directly?”

Fell nodded. “Certainly. My first impulse was to poke the back of your hand with a fork, but they took all the cutlery when they cleared the table.”

“Probably wise to keep pointed things right out of reach,” Lambert muttered.

Fell ignored him, all his attention focused on Jane. “What
I'm trying to convey to you is that I am as aware of the distortion as I would be of the discomfort if I put my shoes on the wrong feet. It's there. I'm aware of it.”

Jane scowled at him. “All right. I believe you. Tell me about the distortion. When did you first become aware of it?”

Fell let out a long breath. “Immediately. You seem well versed in matters concerning wardenship. One can no more ignore impending wardenship than one can ignore falling out of bed. The moment my situation dawned on me, I was aware of the distortion as an unseated discomfort. I can't say what it would seem like to another warden, one who accepted the position without hesitation. To me, it is like music out of key, or an itch I dare not scratch. For a time, such was my mortification at the position in which I found myself, I was too distracted to fully appreciate the discordâor discomfort, rather. Unfortunately, either the imbalance is intensifying or my sensitivity is increasing.”

Jane didn't like the abstracted look Fell was wearing when he mentioned discomfort. “You're in pain?”

“No.” Fell seemed embarrassed by the mere suggestion.

Jane pursued the point anyway. “But your discomfort grows?”

“Yes. It is made worse by the cold truth that I can't possibly teach myself enough about the structure of the world to rectify the problem before I'm forced to accept the wardenship in full. My studies have been cursory at best. As it is, it takes most of my attention to refrain from being the warden.”

“Could you bring yourself to communicate with the other wardens?” asked Jane. She knew from Faris's account that
with mutual consent, wardens could communicate directly, despite the vast distances separating them. It was the failure to establish such communication with Fell that had driven Faris to ask for Jane's help.

“Not directly. Not without becoming one of them. If I knew their precise locations, I suppose I could compose a message and send it by telegram. It would be lengthy. I'm not concerned with the cost,” Fell hastened to add, “but with the accuracy of the transcription.”

“I'll tell Faris,” said Jane. “She can speak with the others. Well, perhaps speak isn't the right word. She'll do whatever it is wardens do. She'll communicate with them.”

“You seem very sure of her cooperation,” said Fell.

“I am. I'm also certain of Faris's interest in the subject. It's your cooperation that interests her most keenly.” Jane added, “From your description, she must be aware of the distortion herself.”

“I suppose she must.” Fell seemed far from convinced of it. “You'll send her a wire?”

“Don't worry. I'll be as accurate as possible when I communicate your point of view,” Jane said absently. If conditions were right, communicating with Faris could be far more direct than sending a telegram. Far more swift, too.

Fell's earnestness grew. “I trust your accuracy. I trust your discretion as well. Permit me to offer you advice: use some form of code or cipher in your message. I prefer my problems remain my own.”

Jane's brows shot up. “Who is spying on you?” If Faris and the other new wardens weren't the only parties interested in Fell, that changed matters. Jane congratulated herself
on taking the precaution of questioning Fell well away from Glasscastle. “Was that why the man in the bowler hat broke in to your study?”

Lambert said, “He didn't break in. The door wasn't locked.”

Fell replied, “I'm afraid your insistence upon the urgency of this conversation has delayed my inquiries into that incident, Miss Brailsford. There may be a connection, although I doubt it. Yet to err on the side of caution does no harm.”

Jane had the distinct impression Fell was holding something back, as if unwilling to make an accusation he couldn't prove. She let his denial go unchallenged, but resolved to tax him with it as soon as he was suitably off guard. “I'll be discreet,” she promised. “I'll be prompt, as well. In fact, the sooner I inform Faris of all this, the better. If you gentlemen are ready, I'll run you back to Glasscastle now.”

Fell gathered himself. “Yes, I have work to do.”

“We'll be there in record time,” Jane assured him.

“Oh, splendid,” Lambert murmured as he followed them outdoors.

Jane's hearing was excellent. She stopped to look up at Lambert. “Are you referring to the weather?”

Lambert smiled crookedly. “Nope. Just thinking that if I had known that was going to be my last meal, I would have had a pint of ale to go with it.”

Fell echoed Lambert's concern. “Our velocity on the way here was a matter of research, purely in the pursuit of knowledge. To what excessive speeds will you force that motor car now you have reason to hurry?”

Lambert said, “I can't help but wonder what you'll do to that motor car now your heart is in it.”

“I've been warned the twenty-miles-per-hour speed limit is strictly enforced here,” said Jane. “Don't worry. You're both perfectly safe with me.”

“'Tis most true that musing meditation most affects the pensive secrecy of desert cell”

F
ell and Lambert extricated themselves from the Brailsford motor car in the street outside Glasscastle's great gate. With a flutter of gauzy scarf, Jane drove jauntily off, leaving them with their baggage. No sooner were they past the gatekeeper and through the gate than Fell touched Lambert's sleeve to halt him.

“I intend to send the baggage with a scout. I have something more important to do than unpack.”

Lambert waited while Fell summoned a scout, issued orders, and sent the man off to the rooms in Holythorn with a bag in each hand and one tucked under his arm.

“Well, aren't you the Tsar of all the Russias.” Lambert watched the scout go. “Why can't we carry our own bags? We're headed that way ourselves.”

“No, we are not.” Fell led Lambert in the opposite direction.
“First, I think we need to take a turn around the botanical garden.”

Despite Fell's sudden fit of decisiveness, he seemed in no hurry as he followed the paths around Midsummer Green and then as carefully around the quads in front of Wearyall and St. Joseph's. Lambert measured his steps to match Fell's stride. The leisurely pace Fell set made a contrast to the sense of urgency at Nether Petherton. Although Lambert preferred to be moving under his own volition, after motoring with Jane their progress along the gravel path seemed almost unnaturally slow. “You didn't have to be back at work so urgently after all, I take it.”

“Oh, I'm back at work now.” Fell sauntered through the open gates of the garden and under the triumphal stone arch that marked the only way in or out of the botanical garden. The shadow of the arch was surprisingly cool after the warmth of the afternoon sun, but the momentary chill faded as soon as they were in the garden itself. “We're both working.”

“We are?” Lambert followed Fell through the first garden, a complicated knot of lavender, rosemary, and about fifty other herbs he didn't recognize, and down the central path of the second garden, an axis that cut a sun-drenched promenade through fiercely pruned roses. Even in late summer, the scent was dizzying. “Nice work.”

Fell did not pause to admire so much as a single blossom. He held his pace through the second gate, this one set in a wall all but concealed by ivy. Pear trees heavy with fruit lined the inner walls, pressed up against the masonry as if they were being punished. At the heart of the innermost garden
grew a labyrinth of boxwood groomed with topiary precision into a maze only waist high. Patiently turning and returning as the path twisted its way through the right angles of the pattern, Fell led Lambert into the center of the green labyrinth.

Lambert had been to the botanical garden before. This time, prompted by Jane's architectural lecture, he took a good long look. Sure enough, the sum of the lengths of herb garden and rose garden was to the innermost walled labyrinth as the length of the walled labyrinth was to the whole. The golden section held true even here.

There were cherry and plum trees at the far corners of the garden, their middling height a relief to the stern geometry of the boxwood hedges, but they were not tall enough to cast much shadow. No shade disrupted the sunlight that flooded the place, no breeze stirred the foliage, and in the drowsy warmth of the afternoon, the loudest sound was the hum of bees. Lambert looked but saw no bees, nor any blossom to tempt bees near the hedges. The place was full of light and warmth, the scent of sun-warmed greenery, and the changeless sound of the bees. So clear was the sunlight that Lambert felt he could see the gray-blue shadow of each individual leaf of the boxwood hedges, each small pebble on the graveled path. Though the labyrinth was level, Lambert felt he was at the center of a bowl of light.

Lambert tried and failed to remember a time in his experience when bees had ever held to just one note, had ever stayed so still. The drone never rose or fell, but held to one constant pitch. That unchanging drone, too perfectly stable for any
sound in nature, brought him to a standstill. Despite the sun's warmth on his shoulders, the back of his neck went cold.

As if he sensed Lambert's discomfort, Fell looked back. “Don't be alarmed. We're safe here.”

“Hear that?” Lambert cocked his head. “You do hear that?”

“Of course. It's Glasscastle itself you hear. We're very near the wards here, the heart of its protection. It will protect us, I hope.”

“From what?” Lambert felt goose bumps come out on his arms.

“I don't yet know. But this close to the wards, there should be no chance we are overheard.” Fell halted in the six-sided space paved with flagstones to mark the center of the labyrinth. He turned to Lambert, eyes keen. “Describe the man you saw leaving the archive.”

Lambert did his best to repeat the account he'd given Fell as they rode in the Minotaur. It was hard to concentrate. The warmth of the place, the brilliance of the sunlight, and the steady sound had worked together to blanket him with comfort. A groundless sense of well-being had conquered the unease he felt, and the chill at the back of his neck was all but forgotten.

Fell frowned. “No, I mean really describe him. Tell me everything you remember, every detail, no matter how unimportant it may seem. Think of it as one of Voysey's tests and spare nothing.”

Lambert thought back. “Not a big fellow, but sturdy. Moved like a ferret. Even when he ran, he didn't seem to be in a hurry, but he covered a lot of ground. Kind of a lope.
Fast and easy at the same time. His clothes looked all right, nothing to attract attention there.”

“You're not the best judge of that,” Fell pointed out. “If we were in the streets of Laredo, I'd trust your opinion, but not here.”

Lambert considered reminding Fell that Laredo was not in Wyoming. Or that not everyone in America came from Texas. It didn't seem worth the effort. “Miss Brailsford didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and I reckon she is a reliable judge of such matters. She said something about his bowler, that's all.” After a moment's consideration, he added, “I've never been to Laredo.”

Fell was still focused on his study and the intruder there. “You saw the man arrive. You saw him leave. How long do you estimate that to have taken?”

“Miss Brailsford and I walked around part of Midsummer Green while we were talking. We went into St. Mary's. By the time we saw the man leaving the archive, I suppose a half an hour might have passed, no more than that.”

“Not long. Not long at all, given the amount of material in my study. Was anything else in the archive disturbed?”

“We didn't have the authority to look in any closed rooms. So as far as I know, only your room was touched. Russell didn't seem to find anything in the incident to bother himself about. I didn't tell him about the plans I found on your desk.”

Fell's eyes gleamed. “Ah, yes. Those plans that weren't there when I left. I thank you for your discretion. I'll have to see if there's anything else he brought me.”

“Why would he turn the place upside down if all he wanted to do was leave something?”

“Isn't it interesting to speculate?” Fell tugged hard at his moustache. “Whoever the intruder was, he must have known just where to look. I wonder who told him which was my study?”

“Why would anyone have to tell him? Maybe he just picked yours at random. You hinted to Jane that someone was keeping an eye on you. Who do you think it is?”

“I don't know. If I did, I would have a word with him, whoever he might be. But someone must have arranged for your man in the bowler to have the credentials he showed the gatekeeper, don't you think? Whoever did that might have given him directions.” Fell clapped Lambert on the shoulder. “That's your task for the afternoon. Find the gatekeeper he spoke with and see what he has to say.”

“Oh, that's my task, is it?” Lambert didn't try to conceal his exasperation. “While you'll be doing God knows what, I suppose. What is all this tomfoolery about you being warden of the west?” Lambert remembered Meredith's joke. “Is that what makes you an ancient and legendary glory of Glasscastle?”

“A bit less of the ancient, if you please. Believe me, you could not possibly find it less likely than I do.” Fell looked sheepish. “A voice woke me from a sound sleep one winter morning. Although I was alone, someone spoke to me and it was not a voice for my outer ear. It was a voice inside my head, thought to thought. It said four words, no more. I shall never forget the message, though it is not a voice I have heard before or since.
See to the clocks,
he said.”

“See to the clocks?” Lambert blinked. “What clocks?”

“I wish I knew. There is something about an order, some
quality of tone perhaps, that often makes one peculiarly reluctant to obey immediately.”

Lambert tried to imagine Fell ever obeying an order, any order, without at least a cursory protest or demand for clarification. Lambert failed.

Fell continued, “I was suspicious of the voice. Once I was awake, I had the conviction that someone, or something, was prying at my mind. A most unpleasant sensation.”

“I smell an understatement,” said Lambert.

Fell acknowledged Lambert's accuracy with a faint smile. “At first I hoped it was a nightmare, the aftermath of too much Stilton or one glass of port too many. Alas, I could not reason myself out of it. The sensation did not ease until I took a few old-fashioned measures to banish intruders from my thoughts. My studies since then have confirmed the source of the intrusion is the wardenship. If I yield to the intrusion, at the very least, I will be confirming things as they are now.”

“What choice do you have? How can you do anything else?”

“I don't know. I have exhausted my own resources. I have exhausted the resources of Glasscastle as well, at least insofar as the resources I trust without reserve. Since that first night, I have overcome the reluctance to follow an order. I put my faith in the message I received in the very beginning. I know nothing about clocks and less than nothing about time. But that's where I hope to find a hint of what I should do and how I should do it.”

“âSee to the clocks,'” Lambert repeated. “Why don't you ask Miss Brailsford if she knows what it means?”

Fell's tone turned stubborn. “Miss Brailsford is hand in glove with the warden of the north. I dare not look to her for help, lest she pull me into the wardenship too soon.”

“Would that really be so bad?”

“It's difficult to express how wrong it feels. It's more than discomfort. It's more than disquiet. It's a deep-seated conviction that things should not be this way. Something needs to be done. I only wish I had some idea what.”

“Could you ask one of the other wardens?” Lambert marveled that he could make the suggestion with a straight face. “Somewhere I suppose there must be a warden of the south and a warden of the east.”

Fell looked glum. “I dare not come closer to the wardenship than I am now. It is all I can do to refrain from yielding to the sensation.”

“But haven't you even tried to find out how to stop it?”

“I know how to stop it. Surrendering would stop it. But what would happen then? I have no desire to surrender.” Fell's stubborn expression did not budge. “I'd appreciate it if you would keep all this entirely to yourself.”

“Don't mention anything to Miss Brailsford, you mean, in case she tells the warden of the north?” Lambert found it troubling to think of Jane as a potential spy.

“Don't mention it to anyone at all. Even if you're questioned on the subject.”

“Who would do that?” Lambert was starting to find Fell's vague warnings as annoying as they were alarming. “Who would bother?”

“I have no idea. But if anyone does bother, you will tell me, won't you?”

“Of course.” Reluctantly, Lambert surrendered the idea of asking Voysey or one of the Provosts for help. It must have occurred to Fell. Perhaps he'd done so by now. “I'll try to find the Fellow who was doing duty as gatekeeper yesterday, see if he noticed what was going on.”

“Excellent idea,”

“I'll see if he remembers anything I don't about the man or his papers.” After a moment of silence, in which Lambert hoped Fell might volunteer something of his own plans, he gave up and prompted him directly. “What will you be doing?”

“Me?” Fell was all innocence. “Oh, I'll be back at my studies.”

“Cleaning up your study, you mean. Russell was kind enough to offer to let you make a formal complaint if you find that anything's missing. Big of him, wasn't it? I'll come by later and help you tidy up.”

Fell shook his head. “No need for that. Kind of you to offer, though.”

“Kinder than you think. You haven't seen it yet”

BOOK: A Scholar of Magics

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