The Master of Heathcrest Hall

by Galen Beckett

  Ivy was beyond words. She could do no more than attempt a curtsy. When she rose again, the king had returned to his throne. But he was grinning at Ivy now, and beside him the queen was smiling as well, her green eyes alight with approval. After that, the new countess of Cairnbridge departed the hall and made her way out of the Citadel to her abode on Durrow Street.

  It was time for another kind of ceremony.

  Mr. Bennick and Lord Rafferdy were already waiting for her in the front hall.

  “Good day, Countess Quent,” Lord Rafferdy said with a bow.

  Ivy gaped at him. “You knew what was to happen today?”

  He smiled slyly. “I had some idea.”

  Yes, Ivy imagined that he did. And she believed she now knew how Huntley Morden had learned of her actions against the Ashen. Lord Rafferdy did not wear a fashionable suit at present, but rather a brown soldier’s coat. That said, the coat was exceedingly well tailored, and the bars on the shoulder were not those of a captain, but rather a major.

  It seemed there was more she should say to him on the topic, but her mind was too agitated to think what it was. They had not yet had a chance to discuss what they had spoken of in the Wyrdwood, before he stepped through the gate. She had not yet given him an answer to his question. But did she know what that answer would be? Every time she considered it, her thoughts seemed to spin like the planets had in the heavens, trying to fall into some new harmonic after great disruption.

  Before she could think what to say, he spoke again. “I fear that I am due back with my regiment by tomorrow, and so must depart the city as soon as possible.”

  Ivy drew in a breath, and now only one thought occupied her mind. She looked to Mr. Bennick. “Is everything ready, then?”

  “Your father is upstairs. And I have shown Lord Rafferdy the spell he must work to remove the enchantments upon the house. I know it well, for I helped Mr. Lockwell to devise the protections myself.”

  “And my sisters?”

  “They are in the parlor there.”

  Ivy nodded. “Give me just a moment.”

  Excusing herself from the men, she went to the door of the parlor and peered within. The scene she found was not very different than what she had seen countless times before. Rose sat on the sofa with Miss Mew at her side, working on her sewing, while Lily stood at the pianoforte. Her folio lay open upon it, and she was applying a charcoal pencil to a page.

  Yet there were some differences to the scene as well. It was not a shirt for the poor Rose was sewing, but rather a brown coat for Morden’s army. And Lily wore not some pretty pink dress as she used to, but rather an elaborate gown of deep red, and her pursed lips were colored a similar hue.

  In the past, Ivy would have scolded her sister for wearing a gown and paints so inappropriate for a young woman of station. Only such things weren’t inappropriate for a madam of a house on Durrow Street. Lily had changed. But then, so had Rose and Ivy.

  And so had the world.

  “It is time,” Ivy said softly from the door. “Do you wish to be there when we work the spell?”

  “You’re the one who knows all about magick, Ivy, not me,” Lily said, not looking up from her portfolio. “I don’t care one whit for it.”

  Her words were nonchalant, but the tightness with which she gripped her pencil belied her true feelings. She was frightened, as was Rose—though their middle sister made no effort to hide it.

  “I don’t want to get in the way,” Rose said, her brown eyes wide. “I might knock over a candle and ruin the spell.”

  Despite her own trepidation, Ivy smiled. “No, Rose, you wouldn’t. But you two can wait here. I don’t think it will take long.”

  Rose nodded, and Lily kept scribbling in her folio, no doubt drawing some new scene for a play. Ivy started to withdraw.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you, the gold spark is back,” Rose said then.

  Ivy stopped, then turned to look back at her sister. “The gold spark?”

  Rose nodded. “In your light. It’s usually just bright green, but there was a gold spark in it for a while. It vanished when you were ill, only it’s back. I’ve been seeing it for some time now, only in everything that’s been happening, I kept forgetting to tell you.”

  For a moment Ivy could only stare. Slowly, her hand went to her stomach, and pressed against it. She had been forgetting something as well in all the upheaval—a usual thing that should have happened, but hadn’t. A feeling passed through her, at once a joy and a sorrow. Then, as Rose went back to her sewing, Ivy turned and left the parlor.

  Mr. Bennick and Lord Rafferdy were already at the foot of the stairs. She followed them up to the third floor, to the room that had been her father’s study years ago. It was still filled with his things, including the celestial globe standing in a corner. In the middle of the room was a comfortable leather chair, and in it sat a familiar figure with a cloud of gray hair atop his head.

  Ivy could not help smiling. “Hello, Father,” she said.

  As usual, he did not answer. Rather, he sat without moving, his face slack, his faded blue eyes staring without seeing. Otherwise, he appeared well. No harm had come to him when Mr. Bennick had removed him from the city, or in his time staying with Dr. and Mrs. Lawrent and her people in the south. Ivy went to him and used her fingers to smooth his hair, knowing that despite these efforts it would soon grow wild again.

  At last she looked up at Mr. Bennick. “So, what do we do?”

  “Lord Rafferdy has only to work the spell,” the former magician replied. “All these years, your father’s spirit has been the force binding together the protections imbued upon the house. Now that the Eye of Ran-Yahgren is gone, those protections are no longer needed. And once they are removed, his spirit will be free again.”

  Yes, it would be free. But then what would it do? Would it thence return to him, or would it choose to depart altogether? There was no way to know for certain; even Mr. Bennick had been unable to offer a guarantee. But for Mr. Lockwell’s sake, they had to try. She bent to kiss her father’s cheek, then she stepped away from the chair and looked up at Lord Rafferdy.

  “Please,” she said, “speak the spell.”

  And he did.

  “WELL, THAT’S THAT, THEN,” the lawyer said, jowls waggling, and gathered up the freshly signed sheafs of paper from the table. “I must say, Lord Rafferdy, against all of my prior advice, you’ve made yourself a much poorer man today. You will find, when next we review the value of your estate, that you have made a significant error.”

  “Perhaps I have,” Rafferdy said, twirling the quill pen between his fingers. “Though it is an error I hope others will soon make as well. Indeed, I rather think they will.”

  The lawyer gave his jowls another waggle, but said nothing further and departed the study. As Rafferdy set down the pen, the blue gem that adorned the ring on his right hand gave a bright wink. He opened a drawer in the table and took out a small book bound in black leather. Speaking a few runes, he opened the book, then turned until he reached the last of the pages which bore any writing. He read the brief message which had appeared on the page, and a smile formed upon his lips. Then he shut the book and slipped it into the breast pocket of his coat.

  “Can I get you anything, sir?” his man said upon entering the study.

  Rafferdy stood. “No, but you can tell the driver to ready the four-in-hand. And you can inform my mother that I will not be at dinner. I leave for Invarel within the hour.”

  SEVERAL MINUTES less than that had passed by the time Rafferdy settled back against the cushioned bench. He watched as hill and meadow rolled along outside the window of the carriage. Until just a short while ago, all of this had belonged to him.

  No longer. In the last several months, the high walls enclosing this landscape had been brought down. Now the legal barriers had been similarly removed. A great portion of the Rafferdy family lands had been parceled out and granted to those villages and parishes to which it was adjacent—wit
h the attached legal stipulation that the land must be employed for the general benefit of the local populace.

  The lawyer had claimed Rafferdy was now a poorer man, and when tallied in acres and regals, perhaps that was so. Yet previously, all of that had to balance against the care and worry which resulted from owning those lands—or more particularly, which resulted from denying them to others. Given the present lightness of his heart, he could only think the scales had now tipped in his favor. What’s more, he believed that recent events would cause others to conclude as he had, and decide that the best thing to do with one’s wealth, after amassing so much of it, was to give it away.

  This was not to say Rafferdy had kept nothing for himself. He had—particularly those most idyllic tracts closest to Asterlane. But really, how many riches did one man need? As long as he could afford the latest style of coat, a handsome new cane, and a spry horse when he wished for it, there was nothing more he could want.

  Except that was not true. There was indeed one more thing he had a want for—something he would gladly have traded all the rest of it to have. Only this was nothing that any amount of wealth could purchase. Still, it was his hope that, while in the city, he would learn if there was any chance it might ever possibly be obtained, or if it was to be ever beyond his reach.

  A small grove of silver-green aspens fluttered outside the window of the carriage. They were New Trees, and thus fully in leaf. A year ago, that had not been the case. When the Grand Conjunction occurred, a greatnight had fallen over the whole of the world—an umbral of such long duration that its equal had been recorded only in legend rather than history.

  For some seventy hours, no place in Altania, the Principalities, or the Empire had known anything but starlight. A bitter cold had settled over the world, one which had caused rivers and lakes to crust over with ice and great quantities of snow to precipitate from the air. It was a dreadful time, during which people huddled together in fear as their stores of wood and candles burned low; and many of those who were caught outside, as well as a great number of animals, perished before it was all over.

  At last the alignment of the planets passed, and light and warmth came to the world again. Yet the effects of the long period of cold and dark had been devastating, for as far as anyone could see, nearly every green leaf or blade of grass was blackened and withered from the bitter temperatures. At first, it had seemed as if all the world had perished.

  Only that was not so, for the lumenals that ensued were exceedingly mild, and generous with light and rain in alternation. It was not long before new shoots pushed up from the ground and buds swelled forth on branches. As it happened, the very first green to be seen anywhere was upon the very oldest of trees—in the groves of Wyrdwood.

  Outside the carriage window, the aspen grove fluttered out of view, and now Rafferdy gazed over a field dotted with poppies. Seeing the land like this, verdant once again, he could not help wondering if it might be the same for the human heart—if, after lying fallow for a time, new growth could spring from soil that had been rendered barren by loss and sorrow.

  Another row of aspens flashed by the window, only unlike the others, these trees had never leafed out again. They stood as gray sticks beside the road; the long cold had frozen them to their core. So some hurts, then, were too great to ever be overcome.

  Rafferdy turned his gaze away from the window, and did not look out it again for the remainder of the journey.

  UPON REACHING THE CITY, he went first to his house on Warwent Square. There he found a note had just arrived for him. Reading it, he realized his timing in coming to the city was fortuitous. An event was to occur imminently—one that he would have sorely regretted missing. Yet he could not consider its happening without a fair amount of melancholy. He had not thought this day would come so soon as this!

  Neither had the author of the note, for it was written quite hastily, explaining that matters had taken a sudden turn, and expressing a fervent hope that Rafferdy would be in the city.

  Well, by chance or fate, he was. Quickly, Rafferdy penned a note of his own, laying out a place and time of meeting he was sure would be agreeable. After that, he composed a note for Lord Coulten. There was no need to resort to magick, for the post would do as well in this case.

  Thank you for the message that appeared in my black book, Rafferdy wrote. I hope it hasn’t been too much of a burden to drive down Vallant Street each day, but I now release you from that duty. I may not have a chance to meet with you and the others of our order while I am here, depending on how things proceed, but I am certain I will see you and the rest of our little Fellowship soon enough.

  Rafferdy folded and sealed both notes, and gave them to his man to deliver. It would have been amusing to arrange a clandestine meeting of the Fellowship of the Silver Circle while he was in the city. He would have written the meeting place in his black book, a room in the Silver Branch perhaps, along with the runes to speak to be granted entry.

  Of course, there was no real need for them to meet in secret anymore. The general ban upon occult orders had been lifted by the king. That was not to say that many magicians hadn’t been tried and imprisoned, for they had. But each magician had been treated like any man, and had been judged upon his own actions during the war.

  He supposed the Fellowship might have disbanded altogether, had it not been for the influence of their newest member. True, ten was not so propitious a number for working magick as was nine, but when it came time for a vote, it had been unanimous, and Lord Farrolbrook had been admitted to their order.

  That Farrolbrook had survived the visitations which the Elder One had subjected him to was both a relief and a wonder. At first, the physicians had given him little prospects of recovery. Yet just as those who doubted the fair-haired lord’s wits had been proven wrong, so were those doctors who doubted his strength. As the months progressed, his health improved, to the point where he was now significantly recovered. All the same, it was a certainty that the length of his life had been shortened by some great amount, and he was aged beyond his years.

  Perhaps it was this realization which had given Farrolbrook a wish to put what years did remain to him to good use. He had returned to his painting. And it was he who had proposed a new purpose for the Fellowship. He reminded them that, while the threat brought by the approach of Cerephus had been removed, that did not mean there did not remain relics of the two wars against the Ashen scattered throughout the world, or gateways opening to strange worlds, and some magicians might be tempted to use them for ill.

  Indeed, Trefnell had heard rumors of just such an artifact, and was already on the hunt for more news of it. In which case, perhaps it was best if they did meet in secret when next they gathered, depending on who else might be searching for this thing.

  Well, that would be soon enough—the next time Assembly was in session. For now, Rafferdy put on his new blue silk coat, took up his new mahogany cane, and called for his carriage.

  HE ARRIVED at the house on Vallant Street a quarter hour later. As he was shown into the parlor, Mrs. Baydon looked up from the puzzle she was fitting at a table.

  “Mr. Rafferdy!” she exclaimed, her blue eyes bright. “What a pleasant surprise!”

  He gave a smart bow. “I understand you are just returned from your recent trip to the West Country.”

  “Indeed, we arrived in the city just yesterday.” Her face formed into a pretty frown. “But I am astonished to see you here so soon after Mr. Baydon and I have returned. We hadn’t sent a note to anybody yet. I would almost think you had heard the news by magick or some such thing.”

  “I am sure you know, Mrs. Baydon,” he said, affecting a solemn look, “that we magicians only ever use our arcane abilities for the most important of purposes.”

  “Well, then perhaps you can use a spell to help Mrs. Baydon finish her puzzle,” Mr. Baydon said from behind his broadsheet. “For she has complained incessantly for the last hour that there must be several pieces miss
ing.”

  “But there are, Mr. Baydon!” she exclaimed. “I am sure of it.”

  Rafferdy sat at the table, and he spent the next little while picking up pieces of the puzzle, turning them this way and that as if utterly confounded by them, and then setting them down, as if quite by chance, right next to the place where they belonged—a fact which Mrs. Baydon would soon discover. In this way the scene quickly filled in, revealing a painted scene of wild moorlands and a manor upon a distant hill.

  “So,” he said, turning another piece around and setting it back down, “did you enjoy your time in the West Country?”

  “Yes, very much. Lady Marsdel was the most engaging company on the journey, as you can imagine. Mr. Baydon was ill the entire time with sneezing and coughing, of course, and said he could not bear the odor of gorse. I think he simply had a cold, but he was very cross the whole time. Indeed, Lord Baydon was in far better health and spirits throughout it all. I can hardly conceive how ill my father-in-law was a year ago, given how robust he is now. He assures me that he will one day be the oldest and fattest man in Altania, and I begin to think he may well be right.”

  “I am happy to hear you had a pleasant time,” he said, turning a piece of the puzzle in his hand.

  “Are you going to fit that?” she said, and then plucked it from his fingers before he could answer, and set it into place in the puzzle. “You never wear your medals, you know.”

  He blinked. “Pardon?”

  “Your medals,” she said. “The ones you were awarded for valor and courage and all that. I am sure they would look very handsome on your new coat, but you never wear them.”

  No, he didn’t. Why that was the case, he wasn’t entirely certain. Perhaps it was that he still didn’t think of himself as a soldier. Yet he had been that day at Pellendry-on-Anbyrn. They all of them had.