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Authors: Caroline Stevermer

BOOK: A Scholar of Magics
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“Go on.” Jane and Lambert both prompted Fell.
Fell appeared to enjoy every moment of the coaxing. At last he yielded to their curiosity. “Very well. This story is not one you may repeat. There is no documentary proof and any references to it are to this day met with charges of libel. Once upon a time, a few years after the Egerton family encountered Comus, the Civil War began. You see, King Charles misunderstood the nature of law completely. He bungled things so badly, he had to go to war against his own people.”
Jane cleared her throat and said gently, “I'll explain the origins and causes of the Civil War to Lambert later, just in
case he's unfamiliar with ours. You can get on with the story.”
“Please yourself.” Fell was mildly affronted. “The Egerton family, albeit far richer than most, was no different from many other families. One brother sided with Parliament, the other with the King. There was no way to stay out of the conflict. Lady Alice Egerton found herself confronted with the prospect of losing at least one brother, possibly both. So much is undeniable. It's the next bit that will bring out the libel suits. To protect her family and to preserve the castle they counted as their home, she took up the wand and studied magic in order to exploit its power.”
“Where did she study?” Jane demanded. “She couldn't just pick up the wand and teach herself to use it.”
“I know.” Fell held up his hands to still her protest. “I know. It's impossible. Still, there are all manner of magics and all sorts of wild talent. The fact remains, Ludlow Castle was never besieged. Her brothers survived the war unharmed. Lady Alice was revered for her wisdom and power. The Egerton family fortunes have flourished ever since. Witness the evident accomplishments of the current Earl of Bridgewater, who would be Lady Alice's many-times-great-nephew. The man is II Cortegiano brought up to date. He has climbed mountains, sailed more than one seacoast, mastered painting, poetry, change-ringing, and eleven languages. Men like him have never been common, but there hasn't been a throwback of his magnitude in over a hundred years.”
“The Egerton wand belongs to the Earl of Bridgewater?” Lambert frowned over the drawings in his lap. “What's it doing in the Agincourt device?”
Fell pushed his chair back and Lambert knew that for once he had his friend's undivided attention. “What are you talking about?”
Lambert pointed to the labeled detail. Fell, intrigued, took up the plans and spread them across his worktable as Jane and her illusion craned to see.
“Comus was unable to do more to the Earl's daughter than confine her to a chair. Chastity is still a shield in Someone's theoretical framework,” said Fell.
Lambert winced.
“The constraints still apply,” Fell continued. “You tell me the weapon Voysey constructed had no effect upon Miss Brailsford. That curious armchair is the only thing that constrains her. Frankly, I'd be surprised to learn Voysey was solely responsible for that armchair.”
“You haven't answered Lambert's question,” said Jane. “How did this artifact come to be incorporated in the Agincourt device?”
Fell tugged at a corner of his mustache. “I'd like to ask Bridgewater that. In fact, I have several questions I'd like to ask him.”
“Bridgewater delivered that lecture you attended in London,” said Lambert. “Does he know mathematics, in addition to all his other talents?”
“By Jove, I'd quite forgotten my calculations for a moment. Bridgewater is an authority on the history of the armillary sphere, not the uses of it. He may know more of mathematics than you do, Lambert, but I'm afraid I found him a sad disappointment.” Fell put the plans for the Agincourt device aside and turned his attention back to his papers.
“Thanks for the reminder. I must get back to work.”
“I knew it couldn't last,” Jane said gloomily.
“I should have known.” Lambert folded the plans and put them back in his pocket. “I guess I'll go back to being seen and not heard.”
Fell looked up at Lambert, his eyes piercingly bright. “What did you say?”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “He heard something. That's progress of a sort, I suppose.”
“You said something about being seen but not heard.” Fell's eyes narrowed. “But what if you had said ‘heard but not seen'?”
“If I had said that,” Lambert answered cautiously, “I would have made no sense.”
“No novelty there.” Fell stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “Not you specifically, Lambert. People in general seldom make sense. Fortunately we're so used to that fact, we understand one another quite well despite it”
“I'm not so sure I do,” said Lambert.
“I've been concentrating on calculations that I can see.” Fell flicked the sheets of paper spread before him. “The key was right in front of me the whole time I was watching that gramophone record spin. Mathematics can be heard as well as seen.”
“Music?” Lambert glanced over at the gramophone. “Bach's Little Fugue in G minor?”
“Music of the spheres,” Fell replied, abstractedly. Lambert eyed him narrowly. “What are you talking about?”
“Thank you for the idea, Lambert.” Fell seemed to be
looking at something far away. “Now if I could have just a moment or two without further distractions” His voice trailed off as he returned to his work. A few moments later, Fell's absorption in his calculations could have been no more complete if he'd been alone in the room. Eventually, Jane and her illusion went back to watching for errors. Lambert paced until he wore out his fit of restlessness, then went back to sit on the floor and rest his aching head against Jane's armchair. At least the gramophone had run down.
 
L
ambert stirred. From the pain in his neck as he straightened, he deduced that he'd dozed off leaning against Jane's armchair. He took his time about yawning and stretching and rubbing his eyes. There was nothing in particular to do, after all, but sleep. He just hoped he hadn't been snoring too loudly.
There was sunlight from the single barred window, but it was the diffuse light of a cloudy day. Lambert's sense of direction was no better than it had been in the woods. He couldn't tell which direction the window faced, nor could he see anything from the window but trees. The disorientation nagged at him. Without his internal compass to guide him, Lambert found his surroundings difficult to believe in. He might have been on a stage set or in an artist's studio. The light was wrong and he couldn't be sure of the way in which it was wrong, nor was he even certain why he thought so. The discord of the place was too basic for him to identify. He only knew it disturbed him.
Jane and Fell were still at it. Fell had moved his worktable over to Jane's armchair so that she could see his calculations
better. The illusion of Jane was still there, smiling down on them benignly. Jane, looking more wan than ever, was reading the notes Fell held up for her inspection. Fell was looking harried. He'd pushed his chair away from the worktable. It was the scrape of the chair legs on the floor that had awakened Lambert.
“You aren't following my logic,” Fell informed Jane.
“No surprise there,” said Jane. “I don't think there is any to follow.”
Lambert rubbed his sore neck. Clearly, he hadn't missed a thing.
Fell said, “You don't see the greater structure. Perception and will are the foundation of all magic. I can't correct the imbalance until I can perceive it. The only way to do so fully is to find an adequate description of the structure of the world as it should be, our world nested in the center of the celestial spheres. Then, if I can manage to describe the structure of the world as it actually is since the imbalance occurred, I need to exert sufficient will to perceive those two structures as they coincide.”
“I thought you said the imbalance is a distortion of time. You've been describing space.” Jane could not gesture toward the calculations so the illusion of Jane did it for her.
“Where does magic come from? Why should human perception or human will have any influence over anything? It comes from the juxtaposition of the celestial structure of the world, perfect spheres nested in the harmony modeled by the armillary sphere, and the structure of the actual model of the planets circling the sun. Every true perception implies both. The degree of will required to employ that influence
varies according to how great or small the differences are in that juxtaposition.”
“They teach these matters differently at Greenlaw,” said Jane.
Fell ignored her. “I can't reset a clock until I know the correct time. I'm trying to juxtapose the model of the world we have at the moment, the model that contains the implicit imbalance, with the model of the celestial structure. Instead of perfect spheres, I'm trying to find a way to use a spiral. If I could only perceive both those structures simultaneously, I'd be prepared to will them to coincide.”
Jane looked cross. Her illusion looked mulish. “You can't use a spiral.”
Fell retorted, “
You
can't. I must at least try.”
“Parallel lines do not meet. They never meet. They can't. The spheres can't be anything but what they are. Spheres.” Jane all but shouted the last word.
Fell was patience incarnate. “The spheres met once. Or we wouldn't have had the rift to begin with.”
“The rift was created by a warden. Wardens' magic is different,” Jane said.
Fell's harried expression returned. “Don't presume to tell me what wardens' magic is and isn't. I've studied the sources. I know what wardens have done and can do, time out of mind.”
Jane's voice was ice. “They balance. They don't juggle.”
“The greatest warden is the one who does the least, I know. But I'm not a warden yet. I can only use the tools I have.”
Jane sighed and leaned back to gaze at the ceiling. Her illusion
looked at her, concerned. “This will never work. You're never going to get there.”
“Not with these constant interruptions, no,” agreed Fell. “Still, one must grasp the nettle.”
“Grasp the right nettle, as long as you're at it,” said Jane. “Make up your mind. Your use of points seems to be Euclidean. You assume points exist independently of the planes you are describing. That's what you meant, isn't it? But in the rest of your work, your planes are constituted of points. Two different conceptions—Oh, forget it. You could keep a team of mathematicians, real mathematicians—
accurate
mathematicians—at work for years on end and never arrive at a useful model. You're wasting your time here, Fell. You're wasting everyone's time.”
“Is that why Voysey has been such a perfect host?” Lambert asked.
Fell's attention snapped to Lambert as if he'd forgotten he was there. “What do you mean?”
“Voysey had you brought here and made sure you had to stay here. But he let you have your work and he gave you time to get on with it. He gave you a gramophone and some records to play. Doesn't that seem fishy to you?”
Fell looked thoughtful. “You have a point.”
“If Voysey had any worries about you, it wasn't that your work would interfere with his,” said Jane. “He's been letting you amuse yourself with it. To keep you out of his way, I assume.”
“Or to keep Fell out of someone else's way,” Lambert suggested. “If you had succeeded in getting Fell to act as a warden, would that be something that Voysey could handle?”
“Probably not,” said Jane.
“But Voysey knows you failed. Fell still doesn't want to be warden. Who would be the next person to try to persuade Fell to act?” Lambert asked. “Maybe Voysey brought Fell here to keep him away from whoever that is?”
“If that's the case, Voysey wouldn't have shut us up together unless he were absolutely certain that I had no chance at all of persuading Fell to act as warden. Ever.” Jane looked decidedly peeved. Her illusion added ferocity to Jane's expression.
Jane went on. “Voysey is just as sure that you'll never get anywhere with your calculations. And there, he's quite correct. You have to give up, Fell. Doing it your way won't work.”
“The fact you were able to find a few errors in my calculations doesn't qualify you as a critic.”
“Any competent individual could find errors in your calculations, sir.” Jane leaned on the courtesy until the rudeness beneath it emerged. “Face it. You're the warden of the west. Accept that and act accordingly.”
Fell resumed his work. “A time will come when I can't resist any longer. That time isn't here yet. While I can work, I must work.”
The illusion of Jane looked as cross as Jane did. There was a strained silence in the room.
Lambert crossed the room to peer through the grille in the door. The corridor outside was empty. “What do you suppose Voysey plans to do with the Agincourt device now he has it working?”

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