Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Allies

by Lydia Sherrer

  “Ah, yes, um, do pardon my table manners. The drink, it helps calm my, er, nerves and, you see, I don’t often…well, that is, I never entertain guests.” His speech became rife with awkward pauses, as it seemed to do whenever he got nervous.

  They finished their meal in silence, the mechanical hands clearing away everything with flawless efficiency. Madam Barrington had placed the ancient volume in the middle of the table, where one of the hands carefully dusted it while they ate. Now Allen pulled it gently toward him, hesitating before reverently cracking its weathered cover. If this book was truly primary-source material, possibly written by Morgan herself, it would date back to the sixth century. As all books of that time were individually constructed, there was no uniformity as far as size or shape. But still, this volume was much smaller than the stereotypical tome, about as tall and wide as Allen’s hand. Its pages were made of parchment—specially prepared animal skin—and its cover was two slender boards sewn together with sinew, then covered in fine leather.

  Lily was surprised at first that the tome appeared so plain. Most books of that time were heavily decorated, tooled, and even inlaid with precious materials. But this one had only a single symbol in the center of the cover: the ouroboros snake perpetually eating its tail, though in the shape of an infinity loop instead of a simple circle. While detailed and quite beautiful, the symbol—like the cover—was surprisingly simple. Perhaps its author wanted the book to escape notice, rather than attract it.

  Lily held her breath as Allen turned the first few pages, afraid lest she distract him and cause his hand to shake. But the wizard’s hands were sure, his devotion to preserving the written word evident in his motions. Such an ancient book ought to be in a museum, really, not collecting dust in the back of a cluttered library. But she supposed this wasn’t the sort of thing they wanted to fall into mundane hands.

  Allen bent down, peering at the neat rows of tiny writing on the first page. Unable to contain themselves, Lily and Madam Barrington crowded around, eager to see for themselves. To Lily’s surprise, however, the writing was unintelligible.

  “Is it in code?” She asked, confused.

  “Ah, no.” Allen’s face had fallen. “I, hm, forgot. Apologies. Silly of me. I know I have a dictionary around here somewhere…” he trailed off, patting his pockets and drawing out his blue eduba.

  Lily looked at her mentor, eyebrow raised in question. Then it struck her. People didn’t speak English in the sixth century. Modern English didn’t start to take recognizable shape until the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, around the time of Chaucer.

  “Remind me,” Lily asked Madam Barrington while Allen searched. “When did the Romans abandon Britain?”

  “Around 430 AD, I believe.”

  “Right, and they left it to the Celts, who were driven west and north by migrating tribes of Anglo-Saxons. They would have been left with Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and Cornwall.”

  “That sounds correct.” Madam Barrington agreed.

  “I know English evolved from the various German dialects spoken by the Anglo-Saxons, but what would the Celts have spoken? Gaelic?”

  “No, Old Brittonic. It was the root language which split and evolved into modern-day Welsh, Gaelic, Cornish, and Breton.”

  Lily nodded in understanding. This was going to be interesting.

  Allen spent a moment muttering over his eduba, calling forth page after page of text to its open leaves, but rejecting each one after a skimming glance. Finally he jumped up, startling both women. Oblivious to their surprise, he tore off toward the library. Exchanging a glance, Lily and Madam Barrington sat back down at the kitchen table to await his return.

  He soon burst back into the room, once again covered in dust and cobwebs. His trailing flock of constructs descended in a desperate attempt to keep their domain clean, and her uncle fought a brief but furious battle. Finally, the hands retreated, clicking mournfully. One enterprising appendage tried to sneak a quick brush of his back, but Allen whirled, batting at it and knocking it clean across the room. Following its flight, Lily watched in horror as it headed straight toward the doorway where Sir Kipling crouched, watching the commotion. Yellow eyes alight, he jumped four feet straight up, twisted, and plucked the unfortunate hand out of the air as if it had been a bird in flight.

  Before Lily had a chance to scold him or demand its release, her cat had disappeared. Halfway into rising from her chair, she halted, torn between pursuing her errant feline and examining the pile of papers Allen was now spreading across the table. Unsurprisingly, the papers won. She just hoped Sir Kipling didn’t damage the device…or the device, him.

  Joining her mentor and uncle, she bent over the dusty pages covered in lines of bold, neat script. She jerked back at the sight, as if burned. It was her father’s writing.

  Allen didn’t seem to be bothered by it, however, because he picked out one page in particular and began to read. “By my hand and by my blood is this written, Morgen of Avalon, a true account, that my inheritance may know the way and prepare for my return.” His words rang out into the silence, as smooth and powerful as his own speech was weak and halting.

  “Well…” Lily trailed off, unsure what to say. Everything about this felt unreal, like a dream. The idea that Morgan le Fay had been a real person, that she had written an account of her time, was beyond belief. The image of a seductive, red-headed enchantress, clad in clinging green velvet, popped into her head, and she almost snorted. That image of Morgan was a modern construct, twisted and exaggerated over centuries of storytelling. The original account of her in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s writings was of Morgen, a benevolent ruler of Avalon, a healer and a scholar, not the vindictive enchantress found in pop culture. Historically, in fact, she would have been better educated than King Arthur himself. Lily knew from her study of history that princes in that time were more commonly schooled in the art of war and politics, not reading, writing, and science.

  “My return?” Madam Barrington mused, thoughtful. “Does the text elaborate on that point? Were her descendants supposed to enact her return or did she stipulate under what conditions she would reappear?”

  Allen shrugged, taking off the spectacles he’d donned to read. “I’ve only ever read the, hm, first few pages. This was J—Johnny’s obsession, not mine. I spent years trying to, well, escape. My family, that is. This book…this translation…I possess them out of spite, not interest.” Lily gave him a questioning look, so he elaborated. “After years of being under, well, my b—brother’s thumb, you learn to go along. Quietly. I watched. Waited. For my chance to disappear, you see. When it came, I left a, hm, parting shot, as they say. I burned down h—his” he paused, taking a breath. “I burned his…workshop. T—terrified me to death to do it, but the revenge was sweet. I took the books in it with me, of course. They weren’t to blame, after all. I believe he had just, er, finished the translation when I…yes, well, you know,” he finished lamely, shrugging.

  Lily stared, wide-eyed, at her uncle. He had actually burned down her father’s workshop? She could sympathize with the feeling, of course. Her mother and Madam Barrington had taken great relish in leaving John Faust’s workroom a ruined mess when they came to rescue her. But still… “Weren’t you afraid he’d come after you? To punish you and get his books back?”

  “Oh yes!” Allen laughed nervously, looking over his shoulder. “Absolutely t—terrified. Why do you think I take such, well, precautions? But it was, shall we say, worth it.”

  “Well,” Madam Barrington said, voice businesslike. “At least John did the difficult work for us. We shall need to read through these notes, first of all. We don’t know if they are a complete translation or only partial. Second, I should like to compare them to the original for accuracy. Finding a reliable lexicon for Old Brittonic will be tricky, but I have a few acquaintances at Oxford. They will know where one can be found.”

  “In the meantime,” she turned to Lily, “I will transfer all of this into your edub
a so we have a copy at hand.”

  Both Lily and Allen opened their mouths to protest, but Madam Barrington held up her hand. “I know you are perfectly capable of doing it yourself, Lily. But your time is better spent with Allen. I am not sure how long we shall be able to stay, and, despite his outward appearance, your uncle is a powerful wizard with plenty to teach, should he choose.” She eyed the slender man, a question in her voice.

  Allen looked uncomfortable, but nodded nonetheless. “I’m not, er, accustomed to, haha, teaching. But I’d be honored to, hm, exchange knowledge, niece? Though, before I forget, um, Madam, you will find it quite impossible to copy the book. It has been warded to prevent the magical reproduction of its contents.”

  “Indeed? What have you tried?”

  “Transference, duplication, replication, visual conveyance, even essence fascimilification.” He ticked each one off on his fingers, spouting magical technical terms like they were ice cream flavors.

  “Hmmm.” Madam Barrington’s brow furrowed, considering. Finally, she sighed. “There is one other thing I might attempt, but it is possible we shall have to copy it by hand.”

  “Ahem, if I may?” Lily cleared her throat, cutting through the intellectual shroud. Both older wizards stared at her with that unconsciously condescending look of elders who were humoring a favored child.

  With a slight smile, Lily withdrew her phone from her pack and carefully opened the cover of the ancient book, snapping a picture of the first page with the camera imbedded in her phone. The image immediately popped up on the screen, and she showed it to the two stunned wizards. “You know, mundanes have some pretty impressive ‘magic’ themselves. I’m sure if Morgan had created her wards in the modern day, that wouldn’t have worked. There are spells to shield against light reflection, or she might have invented a spell to disrupt electrical signals, if she’d known what they were. But since cameras use the same stimulus as the human eye—light reflection—if the wards allow you to see it, then it will allow a camera to take a picture.”

  For a brief moment, Lily thought Madam Barrington actually blushed. But perhaps it was just her imagination. “I see.” The older woman cleared her throat. “Well done, Lily. Perhaps I should spend more time learning these modern contraptions. I assumed a normal camera would work, but I did not know if we had one on hand.”

  Allen just stared at the phone in her hand, amazed. “Where did you get that thingamajig, now, niece? It is, well, quite fascinating, I must say. What did you say it was? How does the internal transference function work?”

  Lily rolled her eyes. “Really, uncle, you should spend more time learning about mundanes. Their technology is advancing quite rapidly and doing things that even magic can’t. Or at least, things we haven’t created spells for. Who knows, perhaps one day they’ll discover the science behind magic. If they ever find out about it, that is.” That was a disconcerting thought, and she recalled John Faust’s grand schemes of wizard-mundane integration. Which, translated, actually meant mundane subjugation. Not that she thought mundanes would take that lying down. The thought of such a war made her shudder.

  “Very well, then.” Madam Barrington’s voice broke through her thoughts. “If you will lend me your cellular phone and show me how it is used, I will make pictures of the book after I transfer John Faust’s translation.”

  Dipping back into her pack, Lily handed Madam Barrington her eduba and then showed her the basic operation of the phone’s camera, all the while having to work around her uncle’s curious interference. His clever fingers poked and prodded the device with childlike glee.

  When she finished, Madam Barrington shooed them off before sitting down at the kitchen table to get to work. Out in the hall, Lily and Allen looked at each other in silence, wide eyes reflecting the same panic of suddenly being required to interact. But after a moment, Lily began to relax, and she saw Allen do the same. They were so alike, after all. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Well, hm,” Allen cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should, um, retire to my study?” He motioned above him, and Lily nodded, following him down the hall and up the stairs at the back of the house. They were trailed by his flock of hands—Lily couldn’t tell if they were still one short. Where was that cat of hers?—who attempted to straighten Allen’s disheveled hair as he walked. He let them, for once, though Lily could hear him muttering things like “blasted busybodies” and “nefarious Nazis of neatness.”

  As they reached the upstairs landing, she could no longer contain herself but simply had to ask. “If they annoy you so much, uncle, why did you make them?”

  He turned, a chagrined look on his face. “Ah, yes, well…you see, the state of bachelorhood is, for most men, a deplorable state. Yet we endure it cheerfully, ignorant or undesirous of the order created by, hm, well, the feminine presence. Thus I am, yet not only a bachelor but a hermit as well. I haven’t the pressure of, ahem, social mores or occasional visits to recall me to the basics of decent living. Consumed by my studies, I devolved to a state of, shall we say, base existence not fit for any man. My mother taught me better, bless and curse her meddling heart. When I first made my helping hands”—he gestured toward the circling flock—“I endured a period of calibration. Too meddlesome and they drove me to distraction. Too lax, and I found mold growing in my mustache.” He twitched the aforementioned appendage, and an unexpected giggle burst from Lily’s lips. She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified and blushing, but Allen only grinned.

  He led her down the hall and into the second door on the left. The single window of the room let in the bright sunlight of a cloudless August day, despite the fact that its thick blinds appeared drawn to anyone outside. In addition to the natural light, the ceiling was liberally populated with light globes, though at least half of them were dim or out. She suspected Allen wouldn’t remember to renew the light spells until it got so dark he had trouble reading.

  This room was considerably less cluttered than the library below, though not by virtue of Allen’s “helping hands.” The constructs were once again halted by an invisible barrier at the door. The empty space came from the large spell-casting circle that took up almost half the room. Its irregularity caught her eye and she stepped closer to examine it.

  It was not, in fact, a single casting circle, but four. The outermost was a powerful containment circle, obviously meant to limit the influence of any spells that got out of hand. Based on the numerous scorch marks marring the floor within its circumference, Lily guessed Allen did quite a bit of experimentation. Inside the containment circle was a triad of three smaller circles laid out in a Venn diagram—a triangular shape made by overlapping the three circles with each other. Peering at the dimmu runes around each, she guessed the circles created different parameters and environments in which to experiment. Depending on where you stood, you could either be outside all three, inside one, two, or the whole set in various combinations. It was an excellent layout for spell work.

  While she examined the floor, Allen rummaged around on the other side of the room, shifting piles of books, strange contraptions, and an exquisite model of the solar system to uncover a chair for her to sit in. It was a large armchair, probably used for sitting at one time, but having since succumbed to its usefulness as a flat surface upon which to stack things. The only other chair in the room was a high stool by the worktable where Allen now perched, rocking back and forth as he muttered. Lily lowered herself gingerly onto the weathered armchair but jumped up again with a squeak of alarm. She’d sat on something pointy and moving.

  Peering suspiciously at it from a safe distance, Lily saw another construct, this one resembling a cross between a crab and a spider. Its body was the size of her palm, rounded, and disk-shaped, with four pairs of legs positioned for optimal scuttling. At its front was a fifth pair of legs, these crowned with three claws for grabbing. Currently, it was waving those claws in her direction, clicking them threateningly as if scolding her for squashing it.
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  “Oh dear. I do apologize. That is Egbert. I haven’t really, that is, manners are not his forte. Shoo!” Allen made a flapping gesture at the diminutive creature, and it scuttled away down the side of the chair and across the room to hide underneath a pile of boxes. Though out of sight, Lily could still hear its clicking, low and irregular. It sounded so much like Allen’s disgruntled muttering that she had to choke back another giggle.

  This time she examined the chair carefully before perching gingerly on its edge. “Are there any other, um, critters about that I should be aware of?”

  “Eh? No, no. That is, I was working on a, hm, sort of miniature octopus. For extra hands, you see, at the crafting table.”

  Lily recoiled, horrified yet fascinated. “What happened?”

  “Flexibility versus, hm, stability. Crafting requires a, well, steady hand.”

  Silence fell, but it was a considered silence, making room for thought. Lily was content to examine the room while Allen decided what to say next.

  “So. Madam Barrington has, erm, given you a thorough education?”

  “As thorough as we could manage in the space of seven years. Since I became aware of my father, she’s been filling in some gaps.”

  “I see.” Allen stared, mustache twitching from time to time as his brow furrowed in consideration.

  “Mostly defensive and offensive spells,” she added helpfully. “Though we only had time to scratch the surface of battle magic.”

  “Hmph.” Allen’s snort surprised her. It sounded rather condescending.

  “You disapprove of battle magic?”

  “Fighting is, ahem, for children. Wizards ought to rise above such vulgarities.”

  Despite heartily agreeing with him, Lily found herself arguing anyway. “The world, and wizards, are not as they should be. I suspect such an ideal is a sure way to get killed.” She’d been hanging around Sebastian too much.