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Authors: Caroline Stevermer

BOOK: A Scholar of Magics
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“I'm afraid so. Evidence for the inquiry, you see. Transporting
them to Glasscastle will be a challenge, but well worth the effort. When we remove the spells, we want the purest restoration possible. As it is Glasscastle magic, it will work best to remove it at Glasscastle.”
Jane's worry was clear. “Are you sure?”
“That's the conclusion the Provosts have reached,” said Porteous. “I have every confidence in them.”
Lambert held the door for Porteous. Jane thanked Porteous again as she sent him on his way. Once he was finally out of earshot, she muttered something under her breath.
“Sorry, what was that?” asked Lambert, smiling as he leaned close. “Didn't quite catch it.”
“Oh, I should think you could guess.” Jane looked up at him and Lambert saw that all the forced cheerfulness she'd mustered for Porteous was gone, along with the annoyance Porteous had provoked in her. She was completely grave as she gazed at him in silence, her fatigue unmistakable.
Lambert looked back at her. He gave a start of surprise when she reached out and touched him, just the lightest brush of her palm against his cheek. Her hand was very cold. Lambert looked at her inquiringly.
“I couldn't touch you before,” said Jane. “I've been wanting to.”
Lambert felt as puzzled as he had when Jane had let him try the spindle over the map. Greatly daring, he took her hand in his to warm it. She let him, for a moment. Then Jane pulled away and turned all her attention to the armchair. “I promised myself a good look at this thing before we go.”
“Want to borrow my penknife again?” Lambert offered, bewildered by her change of mood.
“Yes, thanks.” Jane used the knife to tease a few threads of upholstery from the underside of the chair, but did no other damage before she returned it to Lambert.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked.
“I don't know yet.” Jane ignored the illusion as she inspected the armchair minutely. “Strange that Porteous should be so sure everything is Glasscastle magic.”
“Well, it would be, wouldn't it? If Voysey created it?”
“I suppose so. Still, it was excellent advance planning on Voysey's part to catch me off guard at the Feathers.” Jane tilted the chair until her illusion left it indignantly, then she overturned it and studied the underside. “Neat work.”
“Just as well it was Glasscastle magic, or Porteous might not have been able to free you so easily.”
“It was easy, wasn't it?” Jane said, absently.
Suspicion sent a chill down Lambert's spine. “You don't think he helped to set the spell up? That Porteous knew how to break the spell because he helped create it?”
“No.” Jane pushed the chair upright again but she took care to seat herself in the chair Fell had used. “But I do think someone helped Voysey. Someone powerful.”
To Lambert, she looked smaller than usual, and extremely tired. He didn't like it. “I think we should get out of here. Find somewhere that the water is safe to drink, the food is safe to eat, and the furniture doesn't have quite such a grip.”
“Good idea.” Jane rose, looked back at the armchair thoughtfully, and started for the door. Her illusion trailed along a pace behind. “I could just do with a cup of tea.”
Lambert stifled a groan at the thought. “Your motor car is
outside if you feel up to driving. At least, when I got here it was outside. If it's still there, no one can stop us using it.” He felt confident about making that statement. Anyone who did try to stop them would have one cross American to reckon with.
“I can drive. If I can rely on you to manage the crank for me to start her up?”
“Of course.” Lambert held the door for both Jane and her illusion. “What about your double? Hadn't you better do something about it before anyone takes fright or decides to see a doctor about his eyes?”
“She might prove useful,” said Jane. “I'm going to need a chaperon, after all. Anyway, at this point, it will take more strength to end the illusion than to continue it. Best to wait until we're safe somewhere and the driving is finished before I make up my mind. I've grown rather fond of her.”
“Strange to say, so have I,” said Lambert. “She's very restful company.”
Jane's illusion looked pleased.
 
I
t was blue twilight by the time Jane settled herself behind the wheel of the Minotaur. The illusion was with her, a faint sapping of her concentration that went almost unnoticed in the wide variety of Jane's more physical discomforts. She was hungry and thirsty and dirty and tired and sore, she'd come close to making a fool of herself with Lambert, and worst of all, her clothes were a disgrace. No question about it. Informal travel did not agree with her. Perhaps it was a bad idea, a motor car of her own. Perhaps she should avoid all
travel in the future. Perhaps she should find her way back to Greenlaw and stay there, term in and term out. Travel was simply not worth the filth and fatigue.
Lambert was rummaging in the wicker chests stowed in the back. Just as Jane was about to ask what on earth he thought he was doing, he returned.
“Split it with you?” Lambert was holding out the last of the stem ginger cake, darkly sticky in the paper wrapping.
“Oh! Yes, please.” Glad she'd managed to restrain the urge to carp, Jane seized her half and ate it greedily. Heedless of the breach of etiquette, she even licked her fingers afterward. It put heart into her, but she dearly wished for a decent cup of tea to accompany it. “That was delicious. Thank you.”
“As good as I thought it would taste,” said Lambert, and went to light the lamps fore and aft. He cranked industriously until the motor caught, and slid in beside her. “And I thought of it a lot.”
“I thought of soap and hot water,” Jane confessed.
There wasn't enough light left to see it clearly, but from the smile in his voice, Jane could tell Lambert's mouth had crooked up at the corner. “I could use a dose of that too. Let's go find some.”
Jane felt uncomfortably exposed, driving without hat, veil, goggles or gloves, but she didn't want to waste another moment searching for her things. Even with acetylene lamps ablaze, and half the scholars of Glasscastle on hand to counter the misdirection spell on the place, Jane found it difficult to thread her way between the trees to the gate.
Only when the Minotaur was purring along the road to
Ludlow did Jane dare to relax her grip on the wheel and drive more naturally. “Comus Nymet. Thank goodness we've seen the last of that place.”
“Have we?” Lambert sounded skeptical.
“If I have anything to say about it, we have. Beastly place.” Jane took a turn with such care she had to downshift to compensate for her loss of speed. Despite the relief she felt at being free of the crooked house in the crooked wood, she knew she was losing her strength rapidly. “I wish we'd seen the last of Ludlow too, but I don't think I can drive much farther.”
“Ludlow will be fine.” Lambert's calm was reassuring. “I'd like to have a word with Bridgewater if he's back at the castle there. Thank him for his help.”
Jane took a firm line. “If you go, you go without me. I'm much too filthy to meet anyone at the moment. One look at me, and his lordship's servants would send for the police.”
“You may have a point there. We'll have to find rooms somewhere, then.”
“I refuse to stay at the Feathers again. It will have to be the Angel for me. Where would you like me to put you down?” Jane asked Lambert.
“Nowhere.” Lambert's voice was calm but firm. “I'll find another pub after we get you settled at the Angel.”
There were some points Jane was never too tired to argue and propriety was one of them. “It will be far better if I arrive alone.”
“It would be, but you aren't alone, are you? As long as you have your double to attract attention, who's going to notice me?”
Jane had been almost unconscious of her illusion, who
was now driving the Minotaur with her, coinciding in every detail but for the fact that Jane was windblown and dusty and the illusion wasn't. “You have a point. I'll have to keep her with me exactly and stay in the shadows myself.”
“Good idea,” Lambert was calmer than ever. “I'll do the talking. If the place passes muster, I'll even help bring up your luggage. But you're staying nowhere unless I get a good look at the armchairs first.”
As good as his word, Lambert inspected the room he booked for Jane, supervised the arrival of her luggage, and left to see to the safe disposition of the Minotaur before heading to his own rest.
By the time she and her illusion were alone in her room, Jane was so tired that fifty enchanted armchairs could not have kept her awake. She performed a sketchy toilet and retired. Never had a mattress felt so comfortable, nor an eiderdown so soft.
“He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints,
And crumble all thy sinews.”
I
t was late morning, bright, breezy, and cool, when Lambert returned to the Angel Inn, the second-best hostelry in Ludlow. Lambert had chosen to spend the night in plainer
surroundings, opting to hire a room, tiny but spotless, over another pub. Breakfast at the pub had been wonderful. Portions were substantial. Everything that was supposed to be hot and crisp had been hot and crisp. Everything that was supposed to be steaming and strong had been steaming and strong. Everything that didn't come with butter came with cream.
After his meal, Lambert felt qualified to face fresh perils, including Bridgewater's staff. His call at Ludlow Castle was fruitless, however. His lordship was not at home, the butler informed Lambert. Lambert wrote a note of thanks and left it for the butler to deliver. Probably just as well. Lambert didn't like to leave Jane to her own devices for too long.
When Lambert joined her, Jane was supervising the rearrangement of her luggage in the back of the vehicle. Her illusion was on hand, though it was careful to stay quite still and keep in the deepest shade. Lambert was glad to see that yesterday's exhausted girl with the cold hands was gone. After a good rest, Jane looked her usual self again, brisk and bright. She was sporting her full motoring regalia, tinted goggles and all.
Lambert greeted her as she tipped the groom who had been helping with the luggage. “You look wonderful, Miss Brailsford.”
“Thank you. In fact, I do feel a bit full of wonder.” Jane paused to admire the morning. “Sometimes on days like this, I feel I could move mountains, or at least rearrange them in a more becoming pattern.”
“I take that as proof that you slept well and had a good breakfast.” Lambert moved to the front of the vehicle, preparing
to do his duty at the crank. “All settled up and ready to go back home?”
“All settled up,” agreed Jane. She walked into the shade and let her illusion walk out with her, discreetly coinciding in every detail as she climbed into the driver's seat. “Ready to go back to Glasscastle.”
Lambert cranked until the motor turned over and then took the passenger seat. “Not your home, Glasscastle. I understand. Where is home for you?”
Jane's eyes, intent behind her goggles, held his for a long moment. “For now, Greenlaw is my home. Where is your home?”
“For now?” Lambert hesitated. Already his work at Glasscastle had come to an official end. Before the day was over, he might see its unofficial end. Yet something in his heart made Lambert answer finally, “Glasscastle. For a little while longer.”
“And after that?” Jane's eyes were as gentle as her voice.
“I don't know.” Lambert made himself smile. “I'll have to see.”
Jane smiled back. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking it's such a pity you are a man. But then again—” She broke off, as if taken aback by what she had been about to say.
“Then again, what?” Lambert looked at her curiously.
All Jane's attention was on the motor car as she put the Minotaur into gear and started on her way. A bit gruffly, she answered, “Then again, maybe it isn't.”
 
T
hat it was not quite five o'clock when the Minotaur drew up at the great gate of Glasscastle owed more to Jane's utter
disregard for the laws against driving to the common danger than it did to Lambert's navigation. Their traveling luck had improved, Lambert decided.
“At last.” Jane, her illusion held so close a casual onlooker couldn't see it, was out of the dusty vehicle as soon as she'd shut off the engine. She pulled off her goggles and ran to the gatekeeper. At the gatekeeper's refusal, she turned to beckon Lambert to sign for her admittance.
Lambert followed more slowly. “Are you sure you want to leave the Minotaur right there by the bench?”
“It will be fine there for the moment.” Jane composed herself while Lambert signed the visitors' book, but impatience shimmered around her like heat off a roof. “I must see Robin as soon as possible.”
“We don't even know that they've brought them all back yet. That was a lot of livestock for anyone to move,” Lambert pointed out. “Mixed stock, at that.” He was just glad he wasn't the man in charge of the herd.
The gatekeeper spoke up. “The transformations, you mean? They're back. Came by special train last night. They've been quartered on Midsummer Green. It took hours to change the trespassing spell so they would all be safe on the grass. Quite a sight, it is. There's no end to the number of would-be gawkers I've had to turn away.” The gatekeeper's expression made it clear that he would be only too glad of an excuse to turn Lambert and Jane away too.
“Excellent. Good work. Keep it up” Jane swept Lambert after her through the arch. Once inside Glasscastle, she stopped in her tracks. “Oh, dear.”
Before them, scattered across Midsummer Green, tranquil in the steeply angled shadows and deep golden sunlight of the summer afternoon, were the denizens of St. Hubert's. There were not just deer, cats, rats, and dogs of every description. There was a badger, a seagull, several hedgehogs, and a fox. The serenity that kept them in place was as palpable as the scent of fresh-cut grass, a drowsiness that was almost audible in the perfect silence. They were people shaped like animals, not true animals at all, but they were remarkably calm people.
A handful of undergraduates displayed the only signs of energy. Prompt to exploit the novelty of being able to walk on the grass, they'd brought cricket gear and set up an impromptu pitch. Play had not yet commenced, due to a spirited disagreement over who would umpire.
Caught up in the peace of the place, Lambert started to yawn and stifled it. “What a spectacle. All we lack are some of the buffalo from the show.”
Porteous, carrying a black leather satchel the size of a violin case, joined them in time to overhear Lambert. “It does resemble one of the more detailed Netherlandish
Adorations of the Lamb
, does it not?” Porteous paused to reconsider. “Perhaps I mean
Adoration of the Lambs.
No. I certainly do not. Adorations, definitely.”
“Is that Robin with Amy?” Jane asked, at the same moment Lambert asked, “Where's Voysey?”
“Please.” Porteous held up his hands. “One at a time.” To Jane, he said, “I believe that is your brother,
couchant
just over there.” He pointed to a black-and-white border collie lying at
the feet of Amy Brailsford, who was sitting on the grass, resplendent in white linen. “We sent for her. We thought your brother would prefer it that way.” To Lambert, he said, “We aren't positive by any means, but we think Voysey is the fox.” Porteous patted the satchel at his side. “We're safe enough. He'll not get at that infernal device of his again.”
“Where's Fell?” Lambert and Jane asked together.
“Now that's a curious thing. We took him under our care, for his own protection, you understand?” Porteous paused to make sure that they did indeed understand. “But now we can't seem to find him anywhere.”
Jane and Lambert exchanged horrified looks.
Porteous looked rather horrified himself. “Yes, I know. He can't have escaped on his own. Someone must have helped him.” He hailed Jack Meredith as he passed. “Any sign of Fell yet?”
“Hello, James.” Meredith answered Porteous as if he were the only one there. “They're still searching the Holythorn quad, but no. Not yet. Another hour, perhaps.” He walked away without waiting for more questions.
“That's strange.” Porteous was looking at his pocket watch. “It's past five o'clock. Did you hear the bells strike the hour?”
Lambert ignored the older man's fussing, annoyed at the way Meredith had given him the cut direct. The message was clear. Now that the Agincourt Project was over, now that he was of no immediate use to Glasscastle, Lambert was no longer of any interest to Meredith.
“My dear child, what are you doing?” Porteous was staring at Jane with a combination of outrage and repulsion.
“You assured me you could manage your
duplicare
spell by yourself.”
Lambert put Meredith's discourtesy out of his mind and turned back to see that both Jane and her illusion were now clearly visible. The illusion was frightened. It had already faded to sepia, and was walking rapidly away from Jane across the velvety turf of Midsummer Green.
The effort it took to exercise her magic within Glasscastle had turned Jane herself pale. She was ashen, as white as whey under her veil. Plaintively, she tried to call her illusion back. The illusion walked on, ignoring her. Jane gave up and followed it across the green.
“See here, you can't do that,” Porteous called after her. He turned to Lambert. “She can't
do
that.”
But Jane was following the illusion toward the quadrangle in front of Wearyall. Both were walking, but the illusion was walking faster. It moved with the air of someone who was being pushed along by a high wind, or pulled along against her will. The hem and cuffs of the motoring coat it wore, a faded duplicate of Jane's, seemed to flutter and blur at the edges, as if some unseen force consumed them. Jane followed, first on grass and then on gravel.
Lambert saw what was coming and felt every bruise he carried come to life in empathy. The spell on Midsummer Green had been adjusted, but every other green in Glasscastle was as dangerous as ever.
Lambert grasped Porteous by the elbow and jostled him after Jane and her illusion. “Come on. The illusion can walk on the grass of any green, not just Midsummer. Jane can't. Unless you catch up with Jane, the illusion will give Jane the
slip when she can't go any farther without a Fellow of Glasscastle as escort.”
Protesting vigorously as the satchel banged his thigh every step of the way, Porteous yielded to Lambert's urging. “It's past five o'clock,” he protested.
“It's been a long day for me too,” Lambert replied, “but you have to keep up with Jane.”
“You don't understand. Listen!” Porteous shook off Lambert's grip and sketched a gesture that took in all of Glasscastle. “Why have the bells stopped?”
At last, Lambert noticed the silence. The drowsy serenity of Midsummer Green grew deeper still as they skirted the quadrangle in front of Wearyall College. “I don't know why. Just hurry up.” Lambert hustled Porteous along at a half run that brought them to Jane's side.
“No chanting, either. This is bad,” said Porteous. “This is very bad.”
Lambert kept after him. “I don't care. Keep going.”
It was all too easy to keep up with Jane now. Her pursuit of the illusion had flagged until she could hardly take two steps together. The illusion cut across the green of St. Joseph's quadrangle and increased its lead. Lambert let Porteous go and took Jane's arm. He felt her sag against him, still walking, but only with his help. Her breath was coming fast and shallow, her skin waxen and damp with sweat. Lambert tried to halt her. Jane forged on.
“Easy, Jane.” Lambert steadied her. “Just hold up for a minute. Catch your breath before you go on.”
Jane's words came out in gasps. “I can't. She
pulls
. She's draining me.” She staggered on, panting.
“Something's wrong,” said Porteous. “No bells. No chanting. That means something's gone wrong with the wards themselves.”
Together they followed Jane's illusion through the gates of the botanical gardens, through the sudden chill shade of the triumphal arch, and into the sun-baked afternoon heat of the herb garden. The illusion, now pale almost to invisibility, moved faster as it crossed the rose garden to the second gate. They lost it for a moment, too faint to see in the dark blue shadows of late afternoon, but when they joined it in the walled labyrinth, there it was, moving swiftly through the pattern of the boxwood hedges.
Lambert stopped at the mouth of the labyrinth. When he had accompanied Fell there, days before, the hum of Glasscastle's wards had been a steady drone, a single constant note. Now there was utter silence. No hum. No bells. No birdsong. Lambert's heart sank.
“The wards are down,” said Porteous. He sounded as if he were praying. “The whole place is open.”
Jane dropped to the ground at Lambert's feet.
Lambert knelt beside her. “What's wrong?”
Jane's eyes were terrible. “It's too strong.”
“
What
is?”
“The drain. It—pulls.” Jane made a dreadful soft sound—pain stifled. “It has her now.”
Lambert looked up from Jane to see where the illusion was. He had to rise to his feet to see over the boxwood hedges. Difficult to be sure, for by this time the illusion was little more than a troubling of the air, but he thought he saw it move into the hexagonal center of the labyrinth as it faded
completely. Eyes strained to catch further sight of the illusion, Lambert realized he could see, drifting in the center of the labyrinth, what he had never beheld before.

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