by Shamus Young
“A lot has changed since I left,” Gilbert said after they had looked a while.
“It’s so strange here,” Alice said. “In London you can find buildings which have stood for a thousand years. Even most of our ‘young’ buildings are older than any of the buildings in front of us. And your streets! How does one decide to build a new street? The streets of London were laid centuries ago. Their origins and authors are lost to history.”
“That never occurred to me,” Gilbert said. “You certainly have an appetite for aging secrets.”
“That reminds me!” Alice said as she set down her bag.
Simon came over, eager and curious to see what she had carried all this way. “Oh,” he said with disappointment as she brought out two books. “I was hoping you had brought lunch”
“We had breakfast before we set out,” Alice said in surprise. “You managed to eat everything that was set before you, and much of what was set before others. And you still have appetite? I despair of ever filling your belly.”
“You brought sorcery with you on a walk?” Gilbert asked with annoyance.
“It seemed much better than leaving the books in the house where they might be discovered. The larger book we already know. It’s the one Simon used to revive you. This smaller one belonged to the headmaster. He abandoned it when he fled the house.”
Simon kicked a stone away and snorted. “He needed a book to make a feeding circle? It’s a simple spell. Just two stanzas in a two-ring circle with very little interconnection. All of it clockwise. I could have done something like that from memory when I was nine. And he would have sent me to bed hungry if I failed.” He sat down with a huff.
“Well I have been eager to examine his book since we recovered it, but this is our first real opportunity.” Alice set the book in her lap as she said this and began to turn the pages. Gilbert walked away some distance and pretended to be interested in an outcropping of rock.
“Most of these are the same spells that I have in my book,” Simon observed after a few minutes of reading over Alice’s shoulder.
“Yet there are fewer spells in this one, and the annotations are more detailed,” she said. “Also, this is not original research. The pages here were copied from elsewhere.”
“How can you tell?” Simon asked.
“See how the writing gets smaller at the bottom of this page? The scribe was attempting to reproduce another work, but he was writing in a larger hand than the original author. So he was running out of space. If he was writing this on his own, he would simply have moved to a new page.”
“I know this handwriting. This is the headmaster’s. And those egg-shaped circles are clearly his. I always assumed our assignments were sloppily written because he was in a hurry and didn’t care if they were easy to follow. But now I suspect he can’t draw proper circles.”
Alice ran her finger down a page, “The book is small, and each page is unrelated to its neighbors. I suspect this is for carrying about common spells, and not for study. These first few pages are little more than simple tricks. Divination. Feeding circles. Here’s one for communing with Lord Mordaunt.”
“Look at how worn the page is,” Simon said with sudden irritation. “He must have used this constantly. You know, when he was our master I always assumed he was a sorcerer of great knowledge.”
“Clearly that was not the case. I would say the man had no head for it at all. He simply had access to a good library.”
Simon stormed away, ranting, “I can’t believe he was so stupid he couldn’t even do these simple spells without needing to copy them from a book. I thought... I thought that, even though he was cruel and his lessons were hard, that his knowledge was deep. I thought I was receiving a rare education for my pains. But now I see he was useless! Why did His Lordship employ him?”
Gilbert looked up, “Are you really complaining about the quality of your profane and grotesque education? Would you really be happier if you’d been taught sorcery properly?”
“Yes!” Simon said in frustration. “It’s the only thing I was ever taught. And now I learn that it was useless. There’s no reason I couldn’t have learned more with less hardship under a more qualified tutor.”
Alice looked up from the book. “I’m sure the headmaster was chosen not for his skill, but for his methods. Or rather, his willingness to do what decent men would not.”
Simon had turned away, and was looking out over the sunlit woods beneath them.
“Besides,” she added after a few moments, “I think you have undervalued your learning. Whatever his evils, the headmaster gave you knowledge that surpasses that of the expert in Her Majesty’s Ministry of Ethereal Affairs.”
“I hate him so much,” Simon said in a trembling voice. “I never wanted revenge. All I ever wanted was to escape. I just wanted to be free of his mistreatment. And now I do want revenge, but he’s already dead!” Simon kept his back to them. He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
Concerned, Alice looked over to Gilbert. He shrugged.
“What spell is this?” Alice asked as she returned her attention to the book. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’m sure I’ve done it a dozen times,” Simon said bitterly. “Let me see.”
Alice held the book while Simon looked over the page. Finally she spoke, “This is the only circle that appears alone on a page like this. All of the others come with some form of explanation or instruction.”
“This is a very strange way of writing a circle,” Simon said after examining the diagram.
“It’s as if the author wanted to make a circle without lifting his pen.”
“It’s more than that. The circle has been drawn out of order. See how the line strays from one ring to another?”
Finally Gilbert’s curiosity got the best of him, and he came to look over Alice’s other shoulder. He found that the mystery circle looked just like all of the other sorcery he’d encountered; it was a mess of incomprehensible symbols, drawn in a series of concentric circles with jagged lines drawn all around. Finally he shrugged, “What makes this one so special?”
Simon explained, “There are two major styles for drawing large, complicated circles. Some sorcery is done by making the outer circle first, and then working inward. This makes it easy to start with a nice, neat circle, but it means you have to plan ahead, as well as write the stanzas in reverse order. Also, if you’re writing on the floor it’s hard to finish the center without scuffing your work. Usually sorcery is done by starting at the center and working outwards. Some people have trouble keeping their work neat using this method, and they don’t like all the moving around you have to do for floor work.”
“So which is this?” Gilbert asked.
“Neither,” said Alice. “This is... this is the work of a madman. The line starts inside, then does some lettering in the middle, then moves to the outer ring. It’s random.”
“It’s not really random,” Simon countered. “It’s sort of lazy. The author was just moving to whatever was closest.” He pointed to one of the characters on the page, “This symbol ends on an upward stroke. Going clockwise, the sorcerer would have to move his pen back down to the bottom of the line. Rather than do that, he moved the smaller distance to the line above and began working there instead.”
“So what was he trying to do? Save ink?” Alice asked rhetorically.
“I don’t know,” Simon admitted. “The entire circle is done in one line. Trace over it, and eventually you’ll end up back where you started.”
“I don’t know what the magical significance of that might be. Perhaps it’s of no significance of all. The Greeks used to etch their circles into stone, which produced a careful, minimalist style that looks odd to us today. Popular spells are sometimes embellished with elaborate penwork, particularly if they’re being woven into cloth for use as decoration.”
“Do they?” asked Simon with surprise. “I would like to see that. But isn’t that dangerous to have a
n active spell hanging on the wall?”
“It depends on the spell, of course. But often extra decorative strokes are added to spoil the spell. But this spell is probably not decorative, and it would be more work to etch this into stone as it is presented here. I don’t know.” Alice cocked her head to one side, “It’s very hard to read like this. What is this spell?”
“It’s a feeding circle. For Lord Mordaunt,” Simon said, pointing to the name nestled amid the swirling characters.
For a while they sat in the cold October sunshine and toyed with theories about what the circle might mean. Eventually they grew bored with the subject. The page was otherwise empty and there was no way to really know its purpose. It could have been nothing more than the work of an idle hand searching for amusement, a profane scribbling of the bored.
When midday came they returned to the house, and Gilbert returned to his lurking among the trees.
During their stay, Victoria took an instant liking to Simon and doted over him. She cut his hair, mended his jacket, and nearly succeeded at the impossible task of keeping his belly satisfied. In the afternoons they would go for a walk and meet with Gilbert, who would pester them for news of life inside the house. He would ask them the most mundane questions about what was said, what food was prepared, and about what amusing things younger Gilbert had done or said. He even asked about Walter. Gilbert was greedy for this news, but it always made him sad. Once they were out of things to tell him he would begin sulking, and they would leave him alone.
“Are you sure we have to leave today? Victoria practically begged us to stay,” Simon protested as they slipped away in the early morning of the forth day. He looked back at the house wistfully as they hurried along the road.
“We can’t possibly remain another day,” Alice replied sharply. “You heard her yourself at dinner last night - she’s heading into town today.”
“We can wait for her to get back. Or perhaps we could go with her!” Simon said cheerfully.
Alice stopped and turned to him, “Oh? You think we should all go into town together? You know we have to ride the ferry to get there, don’t you?”
Simon looked at her dumbly.
“What do you think the ferryman will say when he sees us?” she continued. “Remember we rode the ferry a few nights ago. Remember he has a special affection for Mrs. Hiltman. We told him she was in danger. And he saw us traveling with Gilbert.”
Simon’s face fell, “I see. I suppose there’s no way to avoid having them talk about Gilbert.”
“He will certainly ask about what happened. As the ferryman, what he learns will spread quickly. Consider: He knows we were traveling with a man in a black cloak. She knows that an abomination came to her house, wearing a black cloak. She was already suspicious of my story. I doubt the truth will elude them for long.” Alice sighed in frustration, “We should have left days ago. He could have visited the house, or sent messengers to check on the Hiltmans, and then there would have been trouble for us.”
They made their way to Jersey City, and then across the harbor to New York. The city was busy and crowded, and Alice felt more at home among the taller buildings and noisy streets.
There they found that the sinking of Callisto was still the subject on everyone’s lips. Numbers varied, but it sounded as though perhaps two dozen men had been lost in the sinking, nearly all of whom were members of the crew. A ship was set to leave that day, but the sinking of Callisto had created an overflow of passengers, and they couldn’t bargain their way on board. Steerage space was available, but none of them thought it would be wise for Gilbert to live in such close quarters with other people.
They secured a room at the hotel closest to the harbor. They kept to themselves as much as they could, and Alice maintained the fiction that she was caring for an aged grandfather. During the day Alice and Simon explored the city, and in the evening they came home and puzzled over the sorcery books. On one of these expeditions, Alice took Simon shopping for hats, to replace the one lost when the ship sank. To her disappointment, he insisted on replacing it with another black bowler. She was taken with many of the American hats, but Simon wouldn’t even try them on.
Their stay lasted a week. October ended and November began with a dusting of snow.
As she returned to the hotel, she was greeted by a young voice saying, “I’ll tell you a secret for a nickel.”
Alice turned to see a boy of perhaps ten years. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold. He didn’t have a coat, but Alice thought she could remember seeing him before, and she was pretty sure he’d been wearing a coat at the time. She looked him over. His smile was a bit too broad for one supposedly so destitute. She considered it likely that he would simply run off if she handed him a coin.
“I’m afraid I can only pay in quid,” she said at last.
“England?” said the boy. “Some places around here will sell me food for that money, but they charge extra.”
The mention of food had been a cunning play. He looked well-fed enough, but she was willing to humor him. “You’re not sure if you want my money, but I’m not sure I want your secret. In fact, I’m not sure you have one at all.”
The boy had to think this over. Finally he said, “It’s an important secret. Someone was looking for you.”
This caught her attention, and too late she realized her interest had probably shown on her face, “Very well. I’ll pay you the pence and you tell me the secret.”
The boy folded his arms, “Pence? I think it’s worth a shilling.”
“A shilling is worth a good deal more than a nickel,” she shot back. In truth, she was glad to see he was clever, since it increased the odds of him having useful news. Only a foolish boy would make a habit of defrauding strangers. A smart boy would realize that business like that would catch up with you.
“Not around here. Not by much,” he said firmly. She could see he was standing his ground. His price was a shilling.
She gave him the coin. “Let’s hear it,” she said.
“A fellow came up from Richmond county. Was asking around about a man, a lady, and a big man in a black cloak. Sounds like you. Sounds like your old man.”
“What did he look like?”
The boy held out his hand for another shilling. Alice gave him six pence instead. The boy looked down at the coins, did the math, and answered, “He was an older gentleman. Husky. Had two young fellows with him that might have been his sons.”
Alice thought to ask him more about their clothes and accents, to see if she could work out where they were from and what class they were. Before she could speak, the boy determined that his opportunities for profit had been expended, and ran off.
Alice returned to the room and informed Gilbert and Simon that they were being looked for by someone new. “He came from Richmond county, which is where the lifeboats landed. He might be after us concerning the events on Callisto, or he might be curious about Gilbert. Perhaps he has news from the ferryman. Perhaps he means us harm, or perhaps he means us well, but in either case we would do well to avoid him. I suggest we move to someplace more discrete. There are lodgings on the docks. We should move there today.”
“We’re more likely to stand out on the docks!” Simon complained.
“We’re less likely to be looked for on the docks,” she countered.
They rented a room in a drafty wooden building that had been built so poorly they could see daylight between the boards. Their room had a small coal furnace that lost too much heat and retained too much smoke. Their neighbors were sailors, drunks, or some combination of the two. The area around the house always smelled like urine and vomit.
On their third day on the docks, a freight ship arrived. Alice tried to obtain passage, but they sent her away when she explained she was traveling with a boy and an old man. Finally a passenger ship arrived, the Artemis. It was of the same line as Callisto, but older in design. The three of them secured a first-class room and enjoyed an uneventful voyage
back to Liverpool.
London
IX
The trio stood in front of Grayhouse. The front door was hanging open. Several of the first-floor windows were smashed. Bits of refuse littered the porch.
It was late afternoon. They had just arrived from the train station. Alice and Simon were tired. Alice had described the house to Simon on the voyage home, and invited him to stay until Ethereal Affairs returned to more conventional duty. They were all looking forward to a warm house that didn’t roll beneath their feet, and now they had come home to find the house in disarray.
Gilbert tore a notice from the front door and read from it, “Be it here known, the most Holy Church, instrument of the almighty and refuge of the blameless, with regard to the exigencies of acting as a vanguard against all forms of witchcraft on behalf of HER ROYAL HIGHNESS QUEEN VICTORIA, has hereby deemed this premises to be of a dangerous and vulgar nature.” Gilbert sighed and read silently for a moment. “It is a writ of seizure, giving the church the authority to invade the premises and take whatever they deem to be magical contraband. Apparently we did something to anger the queen?”
Alice stomped up the steps, boiling with anger. “I’m sure the wording was designed to leave the reader with the impression that this is done with the blessing of the throne, but I have seen these writs before - usually on the door of a house where the church has thwarted our investigation by burning the evidence and executing the suspects. The church issues these writs themselves, to themselves. While they claim to be acting on behalf of the Queen, their actions are more tolerated than appreciated.”
“Still,” said Gilbert, “You’ve always had ‘contraband’ here, but they didn’t give themselves a Writ of Breaking Into Your House until the recent troubles.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “This is more politics than piety. Let’s see what damage has been done.” She walked over the sparkling pieces of glass that littered the porch and proceeded inside. Gilbert and Simon followed.