He held up his hands as if to ward her off.
“M-mademoiselle. I beg you pardon, I did not intend to intrude! I thought the house was empty!”
It was a reasonable assumption to make, she had to confess. That still left some questions unanswered.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice wavered a little, but the poker didn’t. “I saw you leave, but you came back.”
A look of anguish crossed his face. “I was on my way to Baranton, to take a train to Dinan,” he said after a moment. That part seemed true enough. She could see the dust of the road on his shoes.
“This isn’t the road to Baranton,” Ardhuin pointed out, suspicious.
“Damnation!” The pale face flushed. She noticed with annoyance that the reaction, which would make her look like a boiler on the point of exploding, merely made him look more interesting. Divine Providence was not only unkind, but malicious as well. “My apologies, mademoiselle. I am sadly out of temper, but that does not excuse my language. I suspected I had taken the wrong road and hoped to ask at your house for directions, but when I saw the locked gate I thought no one was living here.”
Perhaps she had overreacted. “Well, there is. You want to go back to the signpost and take the left turning about half a league, then take the next road. It’s not far.” He looked distressed and made no attempt to leave. “The last train to Dinan leaves in a few hours,” Ardhuin hinted.
“Thank you, mademoiselle.” He sighed. “My plans have changed, since someone has just stolen my luggage and my money. I can no longer afford train fare.” He made an attempt to smile. “I don’t suppose you know anyone in town in urgent need of a tutor?”
“You had your luggage with you when you came here, did you not?” Ardhuin asked, suspicious again. “When was it stolen?”
“Just a few moments ago!” He gestured towards the gate. “I set it down to rest a moment, and walked down the path to admire the roses. When I came back it was gone.”
Ardhuin frowned. The roses were not doing their job, and she had a sinking suspicion what had happened to the missing luggage. “Did you perhaps leave it in the port-cochère?” she asked.
“The little room by the gate? Yes.” He looked at her hopefully. “Did you see who took it?”
She bit her lip. “Wait here, please,” she said, and picked up her skirts and ran back to the kitchen, heading for the large cupboard near the pantry. Dropping the poker, Ardhuin opened the door and her shoulders sagged. Yes, there they were. A battered trunk and a well-stuffed carpetbag, both old and mended. Now, how was she going to explain that? She had to get rid of him before he noticed anything else strange. Sometimes her great-uncle had been just a trifle too clever.
Ardhuin yanked the trunk off the shelf of the cupboard, dropping it when she felt its full weight. She experienced a twinge of sympathy for her unexpected visitor. Anyone would want a rest after carrying that thing around. It took her three attempts to get the carpetbag balanced on top of the trunk, and she knew her face was red again from the effort, but she didn’t want him trying to help and discovering the wards in the process.
The lost tutor was delighted to see his property again, and immediately rushed to meet her. “That is much too heavy for you! Permit me—” he gave her a warm smile as he knelt to examine them. “Wonderful! Nothing is missing. How did this happen?”
“A...misunderstanding,” Ardhuin mumbled. “Deliveries for the house are left in the port-cochère, and it was assumed this was another delivery.” She held her breath, but he did not ask who had made the assumption, or how this unspecified person had moved a trunk and a carpetbag into the house without being seen. “I am so sorry. I hope this does not delay your journey,” she said, trying to smile while edging around to block his view of the garden. The Sangré rose had sensed a stranger and was getting restless. “I would be most distressed if your employers were angry with you for being late.”
He laughed, and to her horror she found herself smiling back at him. Was it a spell? This was the longest voluntary conversation she’d ever had with a stranger, and he wasn’t scrambling to get away from her—in fact, the reverse. He was acting exactly as if she was a proper, pretty young lady he had met by chance and wanted to talk to. Very suspicious.
“You shall not be distressed. Having been recently dismissed, I need please no one but myself in my arrival. But I should not intrude upon you any longer,” he said, giving a slight bow. Ardhuin suppressed a sigh of relief.
He hefted the trunk to his shoulder, wincing a little, then bent to pick up the carpetbag and froze, staring at a shadowed corner of the garden. Ardhuin felt her heart start to pound. You see nothing. It is all in your imagination.
“Mademoiselle...is that rose glowing?”
It frightened her how quickly she reacted, and the spell she chose frightened her too. He probably was just a traveler—but if her enemies found him and learned where he had been, what he had seen, they would know Oron had been there. And they would find her. They must never find her.
She shaped the power as quickly as she could, stalling for time by pretending to peer in the direction he was pointing. “Isn’t that just a patch of sunlight?”
He stared at her, eyes wide. “It’s blue!”
Skin. She had to touch skin for it to work, and not his hands. Close to the head. Why was this the hardest part? She was putting a geas on his mind, and she balked at touching him? She had to do it. He would talk about the roses, and it was too dangerous. Somebody wanted to kill her.
Ardhuin lunged at him, grasping the lapels of his coat desperately. One finger just traced the side of his neck, and she let the spell free. “Please,” she gasped. What was the least constraint she could put on him? He was looking at her with great concern, but there was no sign he knew a powerful spell had been placed on him. “Don’t tell anyone about the roses.”
She snatched her hands away and stepped back, feeling nauseous. He stood immobile, a faint crease of worry between his eyebrows.
“I worry that people will come...steal them. Or something,” she finished, looking down at her feet.
“Of course. I will say nothing of them.” She did not look up, and when she heard him speak again, it was from further away. “Goodbye, mademoiselle.”
Not trusting her voice, she raised her hand in farewell and forced a smile. As soon as she heard the gate creak, she looked up to make sure he had left, and then ran back to the kitchen. She stood on the smooth flagstones and sobbed, arms wrapped around herself, suppressing the sound out of habit even though no one could hear her.
Why had her great-uncle done this to her? Why had he even taught her the geas spell? It was illegal for all but a few, specially licensed mages. Most magicians didn’t even know how to do it. She was in danger because of him, and she had just put herself in even more by what she had done.
At least she hadn’t placed a constraint the stranger would find repellant. He had voluntarily agreed to what she had asked. The geas would just make sure he did not forget.
Ardhuin dried her face, feeling tired and unclean. She opened the outside door again and wandered out into the garden, giving the ignis fatuus rose a scowl. She hadn’t even known the stupid thing had started blooming again, and of course the stranger noticed right away. If it hadn’t been for that rose, she would not have had to do the geas.
It was done, and she would have to live with the consequences. She went to the wall and the thick overgrowth of the climbing Lethe roses. As soon as she was close enough to smell the light lemony scent, she felt her defenses rise. They were still working, at least for her. Not for the stranger, apparently, and now she would never know why.
Ardhuin woke the next morning feeling as if she had not slept at all. She burrowed into the tangled bedclothes, trying to go back to sleep, but without success. Her thoughts were too busy reliving the events of the previous day, and any number of birds were being noisily cheerful outside her window.
“I need a cat,” she
said, looking at the birds blearily. They ignored her and kept singing. Perhaps a lion would be more useful. It would keep down the number of unexpected visitors. No, she needed to figure out where the attacks were coming from, stop them, and go back to school before her parents found out she was missing.
She put on an old dark blue dress from her school days and went down to the kitchen for some breakfast. Food helped, but not enough, and she decided to wash her hair. She couldn’t concentrate on anything right now, and it needed it. She heated the water with magic without thinking. She had to get some sleep, or she was going to do something really stupid.
The smell of the lavender and chamomile soap soothed her bad mood, and by the time she was carefully combing her wet hair to help it dry, her thoughts had changed to gentle melancholy. If only this were a fairy tale like La Travaille de Fayre, everything would work out. Her plainness would merely be the result of a spell, she would trick the evil magicians behind the attacks with a handful of dried beans and a goat, and the wine cellar would have a secret door to Elfhame behind the ‘33 Nantes port.
Ardhuin braided her still-damp hair and wondered what she should do next. What she really needed was advice she could trust. Perhaps her great-uncle had corresponded with another mage, unknown to her. She would just have to be convincing, or perhaps vague about her gender, in her inquiry.
She spent the rest of the morning looking for letters, feeling uncomfortable at this invasion of his privacy but too desperate to refrain. There was nothing in his workroom. She’d already searched the desk in the library—that contained nothing but ordinary business correspondence. In a cabinet in the main bedroom she found a carved lattice-wood box with the letters she had written him from school, and she felt tears prick her eyes. Had she really said anything in them worth preserving?
A bell jangled inside the house. The front door bell. Ardhuin put the box back in the cabinet and went to the bedroom window, but she couldn’t see the doorway.
The bell rang again. She ran down to the drawing room. Opening one of the windows, she leaned out. Someone stood on the front step, but she couldn’t see a face. She definitely needed to get that lion.
Her visitor stepped back, searching the windows of the house, and she gasped. A wave of guilt washed over her when she recognized the stranger from the previous day. Instinctively, she ducked, trying to hide, but he had seen her.
“Mademoiselle Andrews! Good morning!” He waved.
Why was he here? He seemed quite cheerful, so presumably he had not discovered the geas or something missing in his trunk. She lifted her head a little higher.
“How do you know my name?” she asked, fighting panic.
He pointed down the road. “I asked in the town. My name is Dominic Kermarec. May I speak with you for a moment?”
If she said no, would he leave? On the other hand, it was probably a good idea to try to find out why he had come back. What if she had made a mistake with the geas and bound him to this location? No, she would have noticed a mistake that big.
She nodded at him and shut the window. She took her time going downstairs and struggling to open the big iron lock and chain on the front door, hoping he would give up and leave. When she finally got the door open, though, he was still there.
Ardhuin looked at him enquiringly. Dominic Kermarec looked much as he had the day before. She noticed this time that he was only slightly shorter than she, yet he didn’t seem tall. His clothing, while well cared for and clean, still showed the effects of wear. Apparently tutoring did not pay well. At least now she was more presentable, and not nearly so nervous.
“I wished to ask if that small cottage I saw at the edge of the trees might be available for rent. It appears to be empty,” he added.
Ardhuin blinked. If he were working with her adversaries, surely he must know she would be suspicious of him. But if he were not, why on earth would he want to stay here?
“Monsieur Kermarec. I was under the impression you were bound for Dinan,” she said, slowly feeling her way.
He gave a rueful shrug. “I was, yes. But I had always intended to wait some months before seeking another position, and it occurred to me that I can do so much more economically in the country. I have references,” he said, earnestly offering her three folded sheets of paper.
Did spies carry references? Curious, Ardhuin read through the letters. The first was a straightforward reference from a previous employer, stating that he had been dismissed for no fault and had been exemplary in the performance of his duties.
The second was from a professor at the Université Dinan. “This Professor Botrel—what is his field?” she asked casually. Dinan had an ars magica college, didn’t it?
“Literature,” Kermarec answered, and her interest faded. No hope there.
The third reference took her some time to read. The handwriting was a scrawl, the spelling haphazard, and the subject matter decidedly unusual. She held it closer, then at an angle, shaking her head. Kermarec grinned, watching her.
“I don’t know why he dismissed you,” she said before she could stop herself. “I’ve never seen someone so clearly in need of a tutor. Why does he feel it necessary to mention that you treated the kitchenmaid with courtesy? Was he that astonished?”
“The only answers that have occurred to me would impugn the character of my former employer,” he answered with mock solemnity. “It was not a happy situation.”
Ardhuin shook her head. “I believe you should be congratulated on your escape.” Then she remembered who she was talking to, and why. She handed the letters back. She needed a good excuse, a believable one. “I don’t know how much longer I will be here. The new occupants may very well wish to use the gardener’s cottage for an actual gardener. Perhaps you should inquire in Baranton for lodgings.”
“I could go to Baranton when they arrive,” he pointed out reasonably. “It is a pleasant town, but I feel the need for greater peace and quiet.”
That settled it. He couldn’t say that with a straight face if he knew anything about the attacks. But if he was just an ordinary person, could she permit him to stay and risk injury? She’d done enough to him, and he deserved none of it.
“I, ah, was thinking of hiring a gardener myself,” she lied.
Kermarec scratched his chin. “I’m not a gardener, but I could at least cut the grass. For a reduction in rent.”
Ardhuin scowled. Now she remembered how impervious to hints he had been earlier. Fine. If he was caught in a magical crossfire, he would have no one to blame but himself. Perhaps her enemies would find him as disconcerting as she did.
“Five guilders every two weeks, with two hours of work a day,” she snapped. He nodded. Before he could say anything more, she whisked back inside and shut the door.
Maybe she should turn him into a lion. She’d already broken the law with the geas; would a transformation spell be any worse? Of course, they were very tricky to get right, and with her luck the lion would just follow intruders around and ask questions instead of eating them.
She was tired, that was all. Tired and frantic with worry. If she got some sleep she would know what to do next.
One week passed with no sign of her attackers, then two. Dominic Kermarec took up residence in the gardener’s cottage, and to her surprise she only saw him twice: once to give him the key and accept the first payment of rent, and once when she warned him about the dangerous roses in the garden. She had been afraid he would come and try to talk to her, so she left notes with gardening instructions pinned to his door or hanging from the gate.
She was still angry with herself for letting him stay. She just hadn’t had time to think of a good lie, and once she mentioned the gardener it had all gotten complicated. Any attempt to turn him away at that point would have been suspicious, and she still wasn’t completely convinced by his story. It was better to be cautious.
Since she was a late riser, Ardhuin hadn’t seen him working, but she could see evidence of it. The front law
n no longer looked like a hayfield, and the garden had emerged from the tall grass and weeds that had hidden it from view. She reflected, looking at the blooming roses from the library window, that really this had worked out better than she had expected. Even if she had hired a gardener, she would not have trusted him to remain silent about the magical roses. And it was nice to walk in the garden again.
She looked more closely and her heart sank. He’d uncovered the statues at the entrance to the ley line observatory. While the grass and vines had obscured them she could pretend they weren’t there, but now they gleamed white against the dark hedge. An amori pair in the style of the Graeco-Roman Empire, the man offering the woman a flower as a symbol of something or other. She couldn’t remember what her great-uncle had told her. Their outstretched arms formed an arch over the entrance.
When she was younger she’d stared at them in fascination, knowing something secret and wonderful was hidden in their linked gaze and echoing smiles. Now that she knew what that secret was, they only reminded her of the love she would never know.
Ardhuin frowned, realizing she couldn’t simply get rid of them. The eagle eye of her quasi-gardener would certainly notice if they disappeared suddenly overnight or were illusioned to look like something less objectionable. Leaving them as they were was not acceptable either. They were in full view of the library window. Since he had caused the problem, perhaps she should persuade Dominic Kermarec to solve it.
As soon as the idea occurred to her she rejected it. The statues would require more strength than he possessed to move them, and it would be difficult to argue the task was within their agreement. Even worse, she would have to talk to him. No, it was impossible.
She spent the afternoon experimenting with new spells in the workroom. When she left to look up a reference in the library she could see the statues even more plainly than before, full in the light of the sun. Ardhuin clenched her fists, realizing she had no choice. She couldn’t bear the sight of them.
The Last Mage Guardian Page 4