Magic Below Stairs (15 page)

Nothing happened. Frederick felt silly. Lord Schofield kept on with the muttered incantation. Then Frederick saw the air over the circle shimmer, but it might have been the candle flames fluttering. Frederick closed his eyes hard and opened them wide for another look. The shimmer was still there.

Then the light of every lamp and candle in the room jumped and guttered at once. The shadows remade themselves, and the mustard seeds scattered as if blown by a bellows. Seeds skittered across the floor in every direction to disappear into the shifting gloom.

Frederick was filled with wonder. The spell may not have worked, but it did something. His very first try! In a quiet corner of his brain, Frederick found time to admire the steadiness of Lord Schofield's mumble. The wizard didn't falter. The air shimmered again, and there was Billy Bly in the circle, wearing something like a shiny black belt around his middle.

But that was wrong, Frederick knew. Something about that belt was wrong. No. Everything about that black thing was very wrong.

Twisting and turning, yellowed teeth bared, Billy Bly struggled with the belt and drew one end of it up to his mouth. His teeth were nothing like human, shiny and small but wickedly sharp. He bit at the belt. Once his teeth were clamped in it, he shook his head, worrying at the black thing. Like a dog with a rabbit, he shook the belt.

Not a belt, Frederick understood. Not a snake either, although it resembled a snake as it twisted this way and that.

The black thing coiled tighter. With a low whine of pain, Billy Bly doubled up and fell to his knees.

Lord Schofield called out a word Frederick didn't understand. The mere sound of it made every lamp and candle burn more brightly for a moment.

With a sound like a whip-crack and a smell like wet ashes, the black thing was gone. Billy Bly was alone, sitting in the center of the chalk circle, spitting and gasping for breath.

“Billy Bly!” Frederick felt his heart lurch with joy and concern at the brownie's reappearance. “Are you hurt?”

When the brownie had recovered enough to answer, his deep voice rumbled indignantly. “It got away. You let it get away! I had it! It was at my—my mercy!”

“Was it indeed? I beg your pardon. Appearances can be so misleading,” said Lord Schofield. “Thank you for coming at our call.”

“
It
nearly had
you
!” Careful to stay outside the chalk circle, Frederick crouched down as close to Billy Bly as he dared. “Are you all right?”

Still catching his breath, Billy Bly nodded. Cheerful as a fox, he grinned at Frederick as he panted. “You again.”

“Was that it?” Frederick asked. He kept his voice soft, as if mentioning it would call it back again. “Was that thing the curse?”

“Residue of the curse,” Lord Schofield corrected. At Frederick's look of disbelief, he raised his eyebrows. “Mere residue.”

“It tasted bad. Bitter.” Recovered, Billy Bly stood. “Right, then. I'll be off.”

“You won't.” Lord Schofield loomed over them. “Talk. Tell me why you are here.”

Frederick looked up at his employer and held his ground in silence, sheltering the brownie with his body. He wouldn't let anyone threaten Billy Bly, not even Lord Schofield.

“I take orders from no mortal.” Billy Bly shut his mouth with a snap and glared up at the wizard.

“We don't want to give you orders. We just want to know what to do,” Frederick assured Billy Bly. “Please help us.”

Billy Bly said nothing. Every line of his body made his defiance clear.

“He's hungry. Just like Pickering. Useless until you feed him. Nip down to the kitchen and find him something to eat. I'll hold the spell steady for you.” Lord Schofield handed Frederick an oil lantern. “Bring some brandy with you.”

Small chance of finding food and drink at that hour, Frederick knew. He didn't waste breath questioning his orders. Fortunately, when he closed down the kitchens for the night, it was Mr. Grant's custom to leave out a dish of cream. Frederick knew where to look for the saucer. He brought back the cream, half a loaf of bread, three apples, and the brandy decanter from Lord Schofield's bedchamber—all the rest of the brandy in the house was kept locked up. Mr. Kimball had the key, but Frederick didn't fancy waking him to explain why he needed it.

“I won't eat your food,” Billy Bly told Lord Schofield when Frederick returned, arms full.

“I thought you might feel that way,” Lord Schofield replied. “Very well. I give this food to Frederick. Will you accept it from him?”

“I give it gladly,” Frederick added.

Billy Bly thought it over a moment longer, then yielded. “I could do with a morsel, I'll grant you that.”

When the food and drink had been distributed, the brandy to Lord Schofield and everything else set before Billy Bly, Frederick settled back into his place beside the chalk circle.

“Ready?” Lord Schofield asked him. “Balance the circle, then.”

Frederick did his best to do as he was told. When Lord Schofield was satisfied, the spell eased in around him. Little by little, the air in the room seemed to thicken. To Frederick, the place grew heavy with smells. He almost tasted each bite of bread and apple, every sip of cream that Billy Bly lapped from the saucer. When Lord Schofield poured more brandy, the sharp scent made Frederick's eyes water.

Billy Bly licked his fingers clean of cream and any crumb of bread, then pocketed the last apple as he pushed the empty saucer away.

“Better?” asked Lord Schofield. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. You were to speak.”

When Lord Schofield said the word
speak,
Frederick felt it as a shiver deep in his bones even as he heard it with his ears. Billy Bly crouched low, flinching from it.

“Stop it,” said Billy Bly. “I came here uninvited, but I don't deserve punishment. On your behalf, I have hunted this creature. Day and night I keep it in check lest it trouble those in your care.”

“You came here to hunt?” Lord Schofield asked.

“No. I followed Frederick,” Billy Bly replied. “I like him.”

Touched by this, Frederick tried to reassure him. “There's no need to worry. Lord Schofield knows enough magic to protect himself, and the creature poses no danger to anyone else.”

Billy Bly glared at Lord Schofield and made a rude noise. “I did not come to the countryside in search of sport. But when rats are in the grain, one must hunt.”

“You hunt nothing but the dregs of a broken spell,” said Lord Schofield. “Let it go. When you make it your prey, you lend it strength.”

“Let it go? How can I?” Billy Bly indicated the mustard seeds scattered in the corners of the workroom. “As well ask me not to count these seeds. What I begin, I must finish. This creature, whatever you choose to call it, has free run of your dwelling. That cannot be.”

“Enough.” Lord Schofield took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. “I will not rest until I have freed you from this quest of yours. I'll cleanse us of this residue tonight.”

“Before you call it back, free me.” Billy Bly made the spell holding him shake. Frederick felt it as a prickle moving through him just beneath the skin. “Release me. Please.”

With a wave of his hand, Lord Schofield let the summoning spell go. Thrown off balance as it melted away, Frederick rocked back on his heels and then sat down hard on the floor. There was a sharp scent of mustard and he knew he had crushed some of the seeds as he landed. His keener senses were gone, vanished with the spell that had brought them.

“I thank you, sir.” Billy Bly remained crouching in the chalk circle, watching Lord Schofield mistrustfully.

“You are, within limits, welcome.” Lord Schofield rubbed his hands. “Now. Let's rid ourselves of this nonsense once and for all.”

Frederick helped by fetching equipment as Lord Schofield prepared to cast a second spell. He could see similarities to the first. Lord Schofield drew a much larger chalk ring on the floor. Because he was watching for it, Frederick saw Lord Schofield's quick gestures up and down and to each point of the compass. The rest of the spell was done too quickly for Frederick to follow. Lord Schofield muttered his incantation. Frederick strained his ears but could not make sense of a single word of it.

Stillness filled the room. Heat gathered as Lord Schofield muttered. The smell of mustard faded. The stink of mold replaced it. The room grew cold. Then every candle flame shuddered and nearly went out. From the corner of his eye, Frederick thought he saw the shadows move. One moment the chalk circle was empty and the next it held a coiled serpent, the sleek black thing Billy Bly had struggled with before.

Frederick felt the back of his neck turn cold. Billy Bly stayed in his place but he bristled at the sight of the thing.

Lord Schofield roared another word Frederick did not understand. The black thing dwindled into itself. It shrank. The chill and stink in the air faded as the black thing grew smaller and smaller. Warmer and warmer the room became, and the scent of mold gave way once more to the friendlier smell of mustard. The candle flames grew tall again. Frederick felt the back of his neck return to normal.

When there was nothing left in the ring but a handful of ashes, Lord Schofield said no word that Frederick heard, made no sound, nor moved so much as a fingertip. Yet the spell shifted. For an instant, Frederick felt the magic shift as surely if he himself were holding the spell. The ashes vanished. Nothing remained in the spell's chalk circle, not so much as a fleck of soot.

Frederick frowned. Hadn't Billy Bly said bits of it came off easily? Strange that Lord Schofield's spell hadn't made more of a mess.

Lord Schofield sighed and straightened. He looked old and tired as he called for soap and a basin of water and washed his hands. As he took the towel from Frederick, he murmured, “I haven't felt such hate in years. I hope I never encounter it again.”

To Billy Bly, Lord Schofield said, “I thank you for your kind vigilance.”

Billy Bly bowed to him. “Thank you for cleansing this place. May we all, at last, find rest.” With that, he was gone, leaving behind only the sound of leaves rustling louder than the patter of rain on the windows.

Before the rustling sound had quite faded, a soft tap came at the door. Scowling at the interruption, Lord Schofield answered it to find Lady Schofield there. “My dear Kate, what are you doing here at this hour? Why aren't you in bed?”

Lady Schofield, wrapped in a lacy woolen shawl over a thick dressing gown, looked even more enormous than usual. Her wedding ring gleamed in the lamplight as she held up her left hand to halt his words. “My dear Thomas, I came to see what on earth you have been doing to give yourself such a headache. I was in bed. It's your own fault I've come to pester you.” Behind Lady Schofield, her maid Reardon stood by with another shawl. Behind Reardon, Frederick just glimpsed Bess.

“As you can plainly see, there is no need to fuss.” Lord Schofield did not permit Lady Schofield or the maids to cross the threshold. “Now, back to bed with you.”

“It's as I said, my lady,” Reardon murmured. “A tempest in a teapot. As usual.”

“Oh, Thomas.” Lady Schofield brushed past her husband to enter the workroom. She stood close to Frederick as she inspected the chalk marks on the floor, close enough Frederick caught the scent of cedar and lavender from the wraps bundled around her. “I never truly worry until you tell me there is no need to fuss. You've done a spell, haven't you? A substantial one? You look quite done up.”

“No such thing,” said Lord Schofield. “I never get headaches.”

Bess was watching Frederick instead of Lord and Lady Schofield. She waggled her eyebrows at him in inquiry. Frederick was glad the snake thing had been banished and that Billy Bly had taken his leave before they were disturbed. Much easier to explain everything that way. He made a “tell you later” face at Bess. She gave him a “mind you do or there will be trouble” look back.

“No, of course you don't. Silly of me.” Lady Schofield turned from her inspection of the workroom to stand before her husband. “I love this house. It would take a great deal to frighten me away.” Lady Schofield looked down at herself. “I'm not easy to move just now. But you would tell me if there were some reason I should leave, wouldn't you? I could stay in the village. Some of the neighbors have invited me to stay with them, should I wish it. That's how far the rumors have run, Thomas. Even the neighbors worry about us living here with the curse.”

Lord Schofield put his hands on his wife's shoulders. “Sir Hilary Bedrick is dead. His spell can't hurt anyone anymore. I've banished the last of it, Kate. Put up with the neighbors if you wish. I'll take you anywhere you please. But there's no need. Skeynes is safe. I've made it safe.”

“Yes.” Lady Schofield put her hands over his. “At what cost I can guess. Very well. I'll go back to bed, Thomas. Work as late as you must. But when you've finished, come tell me good night.”

“Good morning, more likely,” said Lord Schofield wryly. “Perhaps it wasn't a large spell, but it went very deep.”

Lady Schofield took her leave, Reardon and Bess in her wake. Lord Schofield locked the door and leaned against it. “Women. Sometimes they scare me to death.”

“What now?” Frederick asked.

“What do you think? Casting the spell is but half the work done.” Lord Schofield took up a broom. “Now comes the other half, cleaning up every trace of the magic.”

Frederick sighed and reached for his dustpan. “Housework, that's what magic amounts to. Lucky I'm good at it.”