Magic Below Stairs (14 page)

Frederick had been alone as long as he could remember. Since he had never known anything different, it had not troubled him. Now, living in a house packed with busy people, he felt lonely. Sometimes he missed Billy Bly's companionship so much, he wished he had never had it in the first place.

Frederick complained to Bess one day as she helped him air out Lord Schofield's bedchamber. “I wonder sometimes if Billy Bly was anything but a dream.”

Hands on hips, Bess regarded him with deep displeasure. “If he was only a dream, I shall give you such a wigging.”

Frederick handed her a stack of freshly aired bed linen. “There's been no sign of him since he gave me the warning about the curse. Nothing.”

Bess set about making up the side of the bed nearest her. “Perhaps that nice Mr. Pickering banished him while he was consulting on the curse.”

“Without a word?” Frederick made up his side of the bed. Working with Bess made it an easy task. They smoothed linens and tucked blankets in as if they had been practicing together for years. “Wouldn't he have mentioned it, at least?”

“Perhaps he did. Perhaps he told Lord Schofield in private.” Bess put the finishing touches to the bed and moved on to the cushions on the furniture. She gave each plump feather pillow a few slaps, as if she were spanking it, then placed it to look its best.

Frederick picked a last bit of lint off the freshly swept carpet. “If Lord Schofield knew Billy Bly was here, wouldn't he have shouted at me about it? Done something?”

“Why should he?” Bess had her hands on her hips again, but this time she was surveying the bedchamber with approval. “It's his house, after all. He does as he pleases. If I had to guess, I'd say Billy Bly is playing least in sight because he's ashamed of how he lied to you over the curse. And so he should be, too.”

“Perhaps he is. Oh, I wish I could see Billy Bly again. I wouldn't even ask him any questions. I just want to know he's all right.” Frederick sighed. “Thanks for the help.”

“Don't mention it,” said Bess. “You promised you'd help me with the cobwebs in the big pantry.”

“So I did,” Frederick said. Even to his own ears, he sounded a bit hollow.

“Now would be an excellent time to dust for cobwebs,” Bess hinted broadly.

Frederick didn't have the heart to argue.

Another month passed and Frederick detected no sign of Billy Bly. Summer gave up and autumn took its place. Not so much as a speck of soot appeared where it was not supposed to be. Frederick heard no squeaks whatsoever. The only roaring came from Lord Schofield. Those occasions were all related to the tightness of his cravat or the closeness of his shave.

In his heart, Frederick knew perfectly well that Billy Bly was no dream. He went over every detail he remembered about Billy Bly, from his fondness for fresh cream to his love of counting.

I could no more walk away from counting mustard seeds than I could walk into a church on Easter morning.
That's what Billy Bly had said, the night Lord Schofield conjured him into a chalk circle and banished him from the London house.

Frederick went to the kitchens to talk to Grant. He chose his moment with care, at a time when Grant was not so busy that he would shout at Frederick to go away, but not so much at leisure that he would want to know any details about the need for mustard plasters. He chose the time well, for Grant let him have half a cup of mustard seeds with not a single question asked.

The next time he was left alone to sleep in Lord Schofield's dressing room, Frederick pulled out the mustard seeds. He'd tied them in an old silk stocking, clean but worn, one of Lord Schofield's discards.

It was late on a rainy night, when all Lord Schofield's clothes were put away, when the floor was swept, and the fire in the hearth burned down to embers, with all the household gone to sleep, Frederick untied the knot.

“Billy Bly, Billy Bly,” said Frederick softly as he held the stocking by the toe and shook out the seeds on the floor, “please come to me.”

The mustard seeds were small and dark. They bounced and scattered much farther into the corners of the dressing room than he'd expected. They had a sharp scent to them. Frederick knew he had his work cut out for him, trying to clean spilled mustard seed so thoroughly that Lord Schofield would never guess what he'd done.

“Billy Bly,” Frederick whispered, “please come.”

For a moment, all was still. The only sound was the sound of rain and the hush of the wind outside.

“Frederick!” The door opened with such force, it banged against the wall. Lord Schofield walked in, candle held high, and his scowl was terrible. “What do you think you are doing?”

Frederick stared up at him, mute with fear. The darkness of the room balanced the glow of embers on the hearth, the brightness of that single candle. The sharp scent of mustard seed crushed by Lord Schofield's tread mixed with the sudden sweat of fear that pricked him all over.

Lord Schofield was waiting for an answer, and the only sound in the room was the spatter of rain on the windows.

Frederick's fear was eased by a twist of pure anger. Who did this man think he was, bellowing down at a boy half his size? For a moment, his rage distracted him from his terror. It calmed him enough he could choke out an answer. “I was trying to call Billy Bly, my lord.”

“In my dressing room?” Lord Schofield roared. “Without permission?”

“Yes, my lord.” Frederick met Lord Schofield's wrath with defiance. “I wasn't calling him here from London. He is already at Skeynes, my lord.”

“Is he? Yet you never thought to mention it.” Lord Schofield's voice had gentled, but his anger was plain.

“I knew you'd only banish him again. But he followed me here. He followed me.” Frederick had to break off to steady his voice. He was not about to cry. Not if it killed him. When he had conquered the lump in his throat, he continued. “Billy Bly it was who warned me about the curse. That's why I couldn't tell you how I knew. But ever since Mr. Pickering came and said it was all just residue, Billy Bly is nowhere to be found.”

“So you set out to call him.” Lord Schofield studied the seeds scattered across the floor. “That has the ring of truth, at least.”

Frederick's anger rose again. “I don't tell lies, sir. I wanted to see Billy Bly again, just to make sure he was all right. And perhaps to ask him about the residue, to make sure that was all right too.” Frederick blew his nose on the silk stocking, crumpled it up, and put it in his pocket. “I'm sacked, aren't I?”

“I think that's the least you deserve, don't you?” Lord Schofield. “Sweep up that mustard seed and come with me to the workroom. We have much to discuss.”

In his days at the orphanage, Frederick had sometimes been awake far into the night. Back then, he knew he had nothing to fear. Darkness was just darkness. But that October night the wizard's workroom looked much darker and larger than usual, the ceiling much higher. As he followed Lord Schofield downstairs to his workroom, the shadows cast by the flickering candle grew deeper by the moment. The rattling at the windows seemed more than just the wind outside.

“Lock the door.” While Frederick put his dustpan of mustard seeds carefully on the worktable, Lord Schofield lit lamps around the room. “I suppose it's my own fault, for not guessing you had such a fascination with magic. If you dared to set out to summon Billy Bly with no more than a handful of mustard seeds and no training whatsoever, I think you are in dire need of a lesson in the
dangers
of magic. Just this once, I'll show you.”

Caught between joy at the attention and fear for his job, Frederick helped Lord Schofield assemble the materials for the spell. The wizard lectured Frederick all the while he gathered his tools.

“First you must clean your work space, and not just the spot you'll use for the spell. Clean the entire surface. Floors are best. You can't fall off the floor. While you clean, you must think clearly about what you're about to do.”

Frederick nodded. He was afraid to speak, lest Lord Schofield stop talking and start to roar again.

“Once you have a clean work surface, you must define the boundary of the spell's influence. Chalk is good, but use what you like. If you have any choice, choose to keep it small. Ground the spell. Use four elements and six directions.”

“Six?” Frederick asked.

“East, west, north, south, up, and down.”

“Oh.” Chastened, Frederick hesitated but could not help asking another question. “Will I need to use a wand?”

Lord Schofield didn't look up from his work. “If a spell should demand it, a wand could be used. One may use almost anything. I once witnessed a spell that stopped an armed man in his tracks and held him fast for ten minutes, a spell that was cast with nothing but a daisy-chain. Don't try it. Such elegance requires great skill and great strength of will. Someone like you should keep things as simple as possible. No wand.”

Frederick asked, “I'd just wave my hands, then?”

“Not even that until you are grounded. Remember, all this time you are fixing your position, you
must
keep the purpose and meaning of your spell firmly in mind. When you are grounded and have the whole structure of the thing clear, then you may cast the spell. Not until then, or you will find yourself dealing with inequalities inside and outside the area you've chosen.” As Lord Schofield nattered on, the shadows of the workroom grew less threatening. It became just another room, and watching the magic was like watching anything else.

Frederick soon discovered the first thing he needed to know about magic was that Lord Schofield had to be stopped from distracting them both with explanations of more advanced things to know about how to cast a spell. The best way to keep Lord Schofield on the subject was to ask him questions. “How?”

At Lord Schofield's glare, Frederick rephrased his question. “I mean, how do I cast the spell? What do I say exactly?”

Lord Schofield's glare mellowed into an everyday withering look. “If you think I'm going to give you some sort of motto or a special enchanted word to blurt out whenever the fancy strikes you, you may think again.”

“But what do I say?” Frederick persisted.

“What you would say would be dictated by what you intended. For our purpose tonight, we will confine ourselves to the simplest measures. Just the imperative verb—for you command, do you see?—and the name of whoever it is you dare to command.”

“Impera—” Frederick broke off. “What?”

“Imperative. Never mind. Keep it simple.
Come.
How is that?”

“So I say ‘come' and ‘Billy Bly'? That's it?”

“That's it.”

“And that's casting the spell?”

“In part. The moment you call the name, cast the mustard seeds into the area you have delineated—”

“Delin—” Frederick gave up and just pointed to the floor between them. “You mean the circle you drew with chalk?”

Lord Schofield sighed. “Yes.”

“And that's casting the spell?”

“Not entirely. Meanwhile, you must balance the flux of force within the area you have delineated—” At Frederick's unspoken confusion, Lord Schofield broke off and tried again. “Inside the circle, I mean. Balance that against the flux of force outside the circle. Unless you truly study the theory, you must at all costs remain outside the circle yourself. Including yourself in the interior flux of force complicates matters.”

Frederick held up his hand. “How?”

Lord Schofield hunted for words simple enough to explain. Finally, he said, “It makes it more dangerous.”

“Oh.”

“Precisely. Oh. Stay outside the
O
.”

With care, Frederick and Lord Schofield worked together through the steps. Frederick understood Lord Schofield's instructions better once he saw the actions he took, but he did not understand any of the words Lord Schofield muttered. “What's that you're saying?”

“An incantation. An incantation is a set of sounds intended to help me focus.”

“Oh. Magic words, you mean. Aren't you going to teach me?”

Lord Schofield growled. “No, I am not going to teach you a magical incantation. If you think I'm being unfair, too bad.”

At last, with the chalk circle drawn, with Frederick's thoughts as focused as he could make them, with Lord Schofield's mumbling a constant undertone, Frederick called, “Come, Billy Bly,” and scattered the mustard seeds in the circle.