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Authors: Caroline Stevermer

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“Until I tried to get away from Voysey at St. Hubert's, I never took lethal aim at anyone,” Lambert confessed, “let alone pulled the trigger. It wasn't any easier the second time than it was the first, even if it was a different weapon.”
“Thank you for doing it. The relief was considerable, I assure you.”
“What would have happened if I hadn't?”
“Who knows? Bridgewater had the wards of Glasscastle.
down and me in his power. Jane too, for that matter. It would have been very hard on all of us if he'd gone on much longer.” The understatement hung there like one of Fell's misshapen smoke rings until Fell tapped the ash off his cheroot into the seashell ashtray. “There's something I wanted to ask you about.”
Warned by Fell's change of tone, Lambert braced himself for a total change of subject. “Yes?”
“How does it happen that a fine young man like you achieves the great age of—” Fell hesitated. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three” Lambert answered with reluctance. “Why?”
“You have achieved the great age of twenty-three without so much as a single amorous dalliance?” Fell's disbelief flavored every word.
Disgusted, Lambert corrected his friend. “What you mean to say is, how can I still be a virgin? Not that it's any of your business. Women don't exactly grow on trees, you know.”
“They do in London. In certain locales, they positively teem. I don't imagine any other city lacks them either.”
“I don't mean that sort of woman.” Lambert sighed. “They're all clean and half of them are virgins, to hear them tell it. Oddly enough, I don't believe them. I don't want to pay for a few minutes of pleasure and contract a social disease that will last for the rest of my life. I'd sooner go to the opera.”
“You're a strange young man,” Fell observed. After a few meditative puffs on his cheroot, he added, “There are other kinds of women.”
“So there are,” Lambert agreed. “The kind who view a wedding ring as essential equipment. Time enough for that when I've seen a bit more of the world. I could have stayed in Wyoming if that was all I wanted out of life.”
“I thought you liked Wyoming?”
“I do. But when I lived there, I'd never heard of Glasscastle. Who knows what else I've never heard of?” For the first time, Lambert felt a sense of optimism about leaving Glasscastle. If the world could hold something as wonderful as Glasscastle, who knew what else it contained? Who knew what other surprises life had in store for him? “It's a big world.”
“So you're off in search of high adventure?” Fell made the suggestion sound like something out of a dime novel. “Exploring forgotten corners of the Old World looking for excitement?”
“No, not for excitement. I've had enough of that to last me.” Lambert thought it over. “If there are other places like Glasscastle out there, maybe those forgotten corners are worth exploring too.”
“Wait a moment. You aren't suggesting that Glasscastle is a forgotten corner of the world, are you?”
Lambert ignored Fell's indignation. “It's funny. I never thought of getting an education when I was back home. It never crossed my mind. When I first came to Glasscastle, I just thought it was pretty here. Not a patch on Wyoming, you understand, but pretty. Then I heard the chants. It wasn't until peace soaked into me that I noticed what I'd been missing.” Lambert struggled to express himself. “There is a calmness here I've never run across anywhere else. A clarity.”
Lambert gave up the search for the right words and let his voice trail off to silence.
Fell grimaced. “How, knowing Porteous, can you say that and keep a straight face?”
Lambert didn't let Fell's joking deter him. “You know what I mean. It's in the air here. There's such a thing as truth. People care what it is. For all the time they spend reading and arguing and making up new theories and torturing each other with them, they're only doing it to get at the truth.”
“I think you take an overly optimistic view of academic life.”
“Maybe I do. But all the same, there could be other places where that's the rule. Who knows? There might be. Miss Brailsford doesn't say much about Greenlaw, but it sounds as if that's the way things are there. Maybe there is somewhere I could go. Somewhere else. Somewhere I would fit right in.”
“But you won't look for that place back home in your own country?” Fell asked.
“Home in my own country?” Lambert could not keep the wistful note out of his voice. “Don't get me wrong. I am American. But if Glasscastle isn't my own country, I guess I haven't found my true home yet. I have to keep looking.”
The clock on the wall struck the hour and the bells of Glasscastle, near and far, began to echo it. The bells seemed unusually sweet and clear to Lambert. He put it down to fatigue.
“I can hardly blame you for this sudden case of wanderlust,
as I suffer from the same complaints. Our paths diverge, that's all. A pity.” Fell stood and shrugged into the black academic robe he wore as a Fellow of Holythorn. The smooth fabric concealed a multitude of rumples and Fell looked almost elegant again. “I'll be late for dinner if I don't leave now. I am bidden to Mount Olympus itself. Stewart of Wearyall wants to curry my favor, even if Stowe of St. Joseph's doesn't, so they're asking for my guidance on who should be named Provost of Holythorn now that Voysey is disgraced. They're in a hurry to settle that little matter so they can go straight for each other's throat over who will be chosen the next Vice Chancellor.”
“Flattering,” said Lambert. “Try not to overdo the nectar and ambrosia. Do you think they want you to be next Provost of Holythom?”
Fell paused, thunder-struck. “By Jove. What a revolting thought. It would be just like them. As if I don't already have more responsibility than I need. No, Brailsford is their man. That's what I'll advise. If we of Jove's nectar sup, I assure you I will take pains to sup in moderation. As for you, my advice is have a good dinner and a proper night's rest. The Tegean opens bright and early. The inquiry will too.”
 
P
romptly at nine the next morning, Lambert arrived at the top of the steep steps that led to the carved and gilded doors of the Tegean Theater. He was far from the first arrival. As the doors opened to let their party file in, Lambert joined Robert and Amy Brailsford, Nicholas Fell, and Jane, who looked her trim Parisian best. The night's rest had restored
all her vitality and she seemed to look forward to the proceedings as if to a high-stakes horse race in which she was sure she had backed the winner.
“Whom will they call first?” Jane asked the group at large. “Does the defendant begin?”
“The Provosts and Senior Fellows are here to find out what happened and to decide if there is reason to file charges. If they determine that a crime has been committed, and that the defendants should be brought to trial, they will refer the cases to the appropriate court,” Robert Brailsford answered. “Voysey, at least, has been examined and has delivered his testimony in full.”
Fell added, “Poor devil isn't permitted to sleep until he does. That's him under guard. The restraining spells they've used on him are what give him that cobweb effect. Bridgewater is in the terrarium on the table beside him.”
“Devil is the word.” Amy was uncharacteristically stern.
“They deny the man sleep? That's medieval,” Jane protested. “It's cruel and unusual punishment.”
“I don't think he's worthy of your pity. Voysey brought all this on himself.” Amy said, “I'm just glad there's something they could do to compel the beastly man to cooperate.”
“You thought he was charming,” Jane reminded her.
Amy's eyes flashed. “Honors even, so did you.”
“I did not! I thought he was patronizing and vain.”
While taking the seats the ushers had allotted their party, Lambert and Robert insinuated themselves between the ladies and put an end to their conversation.
The Tegean Theater was stark simplicity in comparison to the theaters Lambert was used to. No velvet, no gilt. The
stage was nothing but a bare wooden platform surrounded on three sides by the space allotted the audience. High above, the ceiling was painted with gods in a chariot riding through a handsome assortment of clouds. The plaster walls were ornamented with sculpted laurel garlands, white against white. The windows high above, already opened from the top in anticipation of the heat to come, circled the room with light. With no curtains and very little furniture, sound reverberated. To the audience, even the squeak of a footstep on the planks of the wooden stage was audible in the last row.
With the booming rap of a beadle's mace, the proceedings were brought to order. Stewart and Stowe, the Provosts of Wearyall and St. Joseph's, presided over the inquiry. The places that would have been filled by the Provost of Holythorn and the Vice Chancellor of Glasscastle were taken by Russell and Porteous. The four of them, robed and hooded in full academic garb trimmed with ermine and velvet, sat in a row at the center of the dais. Lambert compared the splendor of the academic robes with the war bonnets and ceremonial costume of some of the Indian chieftains in Kiowa Bob's show and decided the chiefs would have looked right at home in such getups.
The defendants were held to the left of the dais, facing the Provosts. Voysey was seated comfortably enough, though cobwebs seemed to hold him in his chair. On the table beside him rested a glass box containing the tortoise that had been Bridgewater.
Ranged around the other three-quarters of the circular space were rows of chairs for the audience. Only a third of the chairs were full.
“Closed inquiry,” Robert explained when Lambert asked. “Admission by invitation only. Otherwise the place would be crammed to the gunwales with journalists”
The beadle's mace rapped again. “The inquiry calls Robert Brailsford to be questioned.”
Robert sidled along their row of chairs, came down the steps, ascended to the stage, took his place standing before the Provosts, and was sworn in. Bareheaded and simply dressed, Robert Brailsford held his own before the Provosts.
The Provosts consulted one another in murmurs. Finally the question was boomed out by Porteous. “Robert Brailsford, will you tell the Provosts why you left Glasscastle for Ludlow without troubling to leave any official notice of your departure?”
Robert answered readily. “I did not know whom I could notify without betraying my knowledge of the attempt to abduct Nicholas Fell. When Samuel Lambert gave me the plans he found on Fell's desk after the intrusion, I was alarmed. The highly classified nature of the information surprised me. At the first opportunity, I visited Fell's study myself. Among the papers there, I found what I believed to be a cipher letter selling the plans to the German secret service.”
This news caused a mild sensation in the audience. The rising whispers sounded like wind in the trees to Lambert. At a Provost's request, the beadle rapped for order and got it.
Porteous's next question boomed out. “If the letter was written in cipher, how could you know what it said?”
“It was a childishly simple code, character substitution without altering word length.” Robert looked apologetic. “Any schoolboy could have deciphered it in five minutes.
The clumsiness of the effort put me on guard. I thought it had been planted there, along with the plans, to cast suspicion on Fell's disappearance. Accordingly, I took the letter and the plans with me when I went to consult Lord Bridgewater.”
“That is why you went to Ludlow, to call upon Bridgewater himself?” Russell asked the question. Compared to the booming of Porteous, he sounded like a choirboy.
Robert was candid with Russell. “I certainly intended to. His lordship was not at home. His secretary referred me to St. Hubert's and like an idiot, I went. My suspicions of Voysey's malfeasance were confirmed when Voysey held me prisoner there.”
“Unfortunate that you hadn't shared your suspicions with anyone before your departure,” Porteous observed.
“It was.” Robert looked up into the audience to where Amy was watching him with a proprietary air. “I won't make that mistake again.”
Amy's expression changed to one of unqualified approval.
“At the time you confronted Voysey at St. Hubert's, were you aware that he had the Agincourt device in his possession?” Stowe asked.
“If I had known, I would have been a great deal more circumspect. To the best of my knowledge, no one had yet built a working prototype of the device. Voysey's claims surprised me and I admit I scoffed at him.” Robert lifted his chin, as if his collar had abruptly grown too tight. “As it happened, my first sight of the finished device was the last thing I saw before I was transformed into a beast.”
“You were but one among many to be changed,” Stewart reminded him. “No need for embarrassment.”
BOOK: A Scholar of Magics
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