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Authors: Caroline Stevermer

BOOK: A Scholar of Magics
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Lambert could tell from the undergraduate's manner that they had stumbled across yet another of Glasscastle's civil disagreements.
“Smell is one of the lower senses,” the archivist replied patiently. “Taste, smell, and touch are inferior to sight and hearing.”
“Is not smell transmitted through the air?” the undergraduate asked.
Lambert debated the merits of asking the archivist if he'd noticed an intruder but decided to do so later, if at all. It took a lot of intruding to get someone to notice an outsider here. Better to run a quick check of the scholars' studies that filled out the remainder of the building.
This time Lambert had to take Jane's elbow to get her to follow him away from the reading room. Even so, she looked back wistfully over her shoulder as they went on.
“None of that,” said Lambert as he started up the more modest stairs to the studies on the topmost floor. “Remember what happened to Orpheus and Eurydice.”
“That was hell. This is heaven.” Jane followed Lambert. “You've studied Greek, then? Or at least the Greek myths?”
“I told you where I went to school. Must you make me come right out and admit I never studied much of anything?” Lambert urged her on. “When I was in London, I went to Covent Garden a few times, that's all. I saw the opera there.”
“Did you like it?”
“It was pretty good.” Lambert couldn't help smiling. It had been wonderful.
“What on earth led you to the Royal Opera?” Jane asked.
“Well, I went to the Metropolitan Opera House in New York City quite a few times. That's how I found out I liked opera.”
“But what made you decide to go in the first place?”
“It was a stunt to plug the show back when we were playing New York. Some of us went along in full costume to see that new one by Puccini.
The Girl of the Golden West
.”
“You liked that one?”
“Never laughed so hard in my whole life. But the music was kind of pretty.” After a moment, Lambert added, “Yes. I liked it.”
On the next floor, a corridor ran in a rectangle around the perimeter of the structure, with small rooms opening off either side. Each Fellow of Glasscastle had a right to a room devoted to his own research somewhere on the premises. Fell's study was just one of many in the orderly warren of the place. Even here, the peaceful energy and scholarly hush of the place was undisturbed.
“What's your favorite?” Lambert asked softly.
Jane looked puzzled.
“Your favorite opera,” he prompted.
“Oh.” Jane took her time about thinking it over. “
The Magic Flute,
I suppose. Though some aspects of the magic bear as much resemblance to what they teach at Greenlaw as
The Girl of the Golden West
bears to your true golden West.”
Lambert did not dare open any of the doors that were closed, for fear of annoying possible scholars within, but he led Jane through a quick survey of those rooms with doors ajar. None seemed a bit out of the ordinary. There might be books stacked on the floor until there was no room to walk to the desk. There might be scholarly journals stacked in the corners like straw or hay. But there was order to the disorder everywhere they looked. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. Nothing, that is, until they reached Fell's study, where the door had been left open a few inches.
Lambert rapped on the door as he opened it farther and peered inside. “Uh-oh. Fell is not going to think much of this.”
The room was deserted Lambert sidled in and took a good look around.
From one side of the room to the other, papers littered the confined space. A study lamp had been knocked to the floor, its green glass shade broken, though no oil remained in it to cause a fire hazard. If there had been a robbery, nothing seemed to have been taken and many objects of considerable value remained. There were gleaming brass astronomical models in each corner of the room, three armillary spheres and an orrery. An astrolabe lay half buried in paper on the desk. The glass-fronted bookshelves seemed undisturbed but every other surface was in complete disarray.
Among the chaos covering Fell's desk, Lambert found a set of plans, drawn with painstaking care, for a weapon that appeared to combine the properties of a telescope, a cannon, and a slide trombone. Either the cannon was incredibly small or the gun sight incredibly large. Lambert didn't waste a moment figuring out the scale. He scanned the mechanical drawing long enough to spot the words “gun sight,” “Egerton wand,” and in larger letters “confidential” stamped on each sheet. He folded the papers hastily and slipped them into his pocket while Jane inspected the door lock.
“What kind of a scholar of magic needs a lock on his door?” Jane's disapproval was clear. “A very ordinary lock at that.”
“Was it forced open?”
“Judging from the marks here, yes.” Jane traced the gouged wood and scratched metal. “It wasn't locked. Someone
didn't even bother to try the knob first, just slid a knife blade in and pushed.”
“He must have been in a hurry.” Lambert started picking up papers and stacking them in no particular order. It would be easier to clean the place up once the floor was clear.
Jane studied the room with sharp-eyed interest. “Whoever works here is a devil for armillary spheres.” She flicked a speck of dust from one of the nested rings of the largest armillary sphere and set the gleaming metal into silent motion. “Is this an orrery?” She moved along to the mechanical model of the solar system. She touched the crank and glanced up at Lambert. “Shall I give us a little extra spin?”
Lambert said, “It's an inaccurate model. The earth isn't really in the center. The sun is. Earth and the other planets spin around it.”
“Just like Glasscastle, in other words.” Jane moved the crank gently until the polished wooden planets eased into motion around the ivory orb representing the earth. Old as it was, the device had been well cared for. The mechanism made only the softest of clicks and whirrs to accompany the stately motion of the model.
“What?”
Jane watched the planets slow. “Glasscastle stays unchanged while England spins around it, the British Empire spins around England, and the rest of the world spins around the British Empire.” The planets stopped.
Lambert tried to decide if Jane were serious or not. “That's an exaggerated view of the importance of England, don't you think?”
“But not of Glasscastle?” From Jane's expression, she was only serious about hearing Lambert's reaction.
Lambert hesitated. “Well, Glasscastle is part of England, after all.”
“No, it isn't. Not really.” Jane gave the crank a more vigorous turn and the planets took up their smooth clockwork dance again. “The Fellows of Glasscastle ransomed it from the Crown at the Dissolution. Paid for the cost of the lead on the roofs and settled down in comfort and privacy to master the theory and practice of magic.”
“They aren't just working for themselves.” Lambert wondered what Fell would make of Jane's cynical reading of Glasscastle's history. Mincemeat? Or would he have an even more satirical version? Probably. “They swear fealty to the Crown.”
“Diplomatic to a fault. They give each new monarch a fresh bit of invention as a coronation gift. A microscope here, a telescope there. The Fellows of Glasscastle are loyal only to Glasscastle.”
“That's not true. The Fellows of Glasscastle devote themselves to the advancement of human understanding.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Jane's attention was entirely on the motion of the planetary model. She seemed amused by it. “Did you say a friend of yours works in this room?”
“Nicholas Fell. He's going to be tolerably cross about this. He doesn't like anyone disturbing his work and I've probably set him back six months just tidying up his papers.”
“What is Fell working on? Do you know? Our friend in the bowler didn't visit this room for nothing.” Jane lost interest in the orrery and leaned forward to make a cursory inspection
of the papers spread across the desk. “Is there anything that should be here that isn't?”
“I don't know.” Lambert frowned at Jane. “Can we be sure that's what really happened? The man comes in here, throws things on the floor, and leaves in a big hurry? Even if that's what he really did,
why
? What was he doing here?”
“Is there anything here that shouldn't be?” Jane seated herself behind the desk and began working through the papers in earnest. “What is your friend's field of study? To judge from this, it looks like he makes clocks.”
Mindful of the plans stuffed into his pocket, Lambert decided to ignore Jane's first question for the time being. “History of magic. But for the past few months he's abandoned his thesis completely to study the measurement of time.”
“What kind of work is he doing?” Jane looked puzzled. “Physics?”
Lambert shrugged. “Just—time. He's interested in it.”
The orrery ran down again and Jane frowned at the arrangement of the planets without seeming to see it. “That man in the bowler was looking for something—or he found it.”
Lambert looked again at the surrounding mess and winced at the thought of what Fell would have to say. “We'd better report this.”
“You're right. I shouldn't have delayed you. I'll wait here until you find the proper authority.” Jane went back to her careful examination of the papers.
Lambert hesitated, then gave up on any attempt at tact. “Please come with me. I don't think Fell would approve of me leaving you alone with his papers.”
Jane looked surprised. “Why? What harm could I do?”
“No harm. Not that.” Inspiration struck Lambert. “But this way, we can be witnesses for each other's good behavior.”
“Do you think me capable of anything less?” Jane's words held a distinct edge. “What are you implying?”
“I'm not trying to imply anything.” Lambert settled for absolute honesty. “If I leave you here alone, I think you might snoop.”
Jane bristled. “Oh, do you?”
“Forgive my bluntness, Miss Brailsford, but I try never to underestimate a woman. Particularly not an Englishwoman.”
Lambert was perplexed by Jane's sweet smile in response. “Very well, Mr. Lambert. In that case, I concede that I am quite capable of snooping. Let us go and find the proper authority together.”
 
I
t took Lambert some time to track down the right person to inform of the disturbance in Fell's study. The young man responsible for the reading room sent to someone with more authority, who sent for someone else. Finally Russell, one of the senior Fellows, arrived and took a look at the place.
“To be honest, it doesn't look much worse than usual.” Russell poked at a stack of papers. “Fell can make a formal complaint if he notices anything is missing. Leave it alone until then.”
“What about the man in the bowler hat?” Lambert asked.
“If you see him again, ask him to come in and answer a few questions. Not much we can do unless he returns.” Russell ushered them back out to the corridor. “It was very conscientious of you to report this.” To Lambert, his tone made
it plain he thought Lambert and Jane were a pair of officious fussbudgets intent on making a mountain out of a molehill.
Lambert noted with interest that Jane seemed to interpret Russell's tone just the way he had, for she looked peeved as Russell escorted them out of the archive and left them on the front steps.
“That's that, then.” Jane surveyed the prospect before her with no sign of enthusiasm. “Vigilant Glasscastle at its finest.”
“That's a sour look, Jane.” Robert Brailsford hailed his sister cheerfully as he and Adam Voysey joined them on the steps. “Lemons for lunch, was it?”
“I haven't had anything for lunch.” Jane brightened considerably at the mere thought. “Is it already time for lunch?”
Robert greeted Lambert, and said to Jane, “I see you've found a more congenial guide to squire you through the place. I might have guessed you would.”
Lambert hadn't noticed the resemblance between Jane and her brother until he saw them side by side. Their coloring was not dissimilar, but the set of the head and the line of the jaw clearly marked them as kin. Beside Vice Chancellor Voysey's lean height, Robert Brailsford seemed stocky, compact yet not unathletic. In Jane, economy of build turned to grace.
Jane's attention was all on her brother, and most of it was reproachful. “You forgot me, didn't you?”
Robert did not hesitate. “I did. Completely and utterly. Jane, may I present the new Vice Chancellor of Glasscastle and Provost of Holythorn, Adam Voysey? Adam, allow me to present my sister Jane Brailsford, a scholar of Greenlaw.”

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