“Brailsford seemed surprised,” said Lambert. “I’m sure it was something he recognized.”
Jane and Amy exchanged a look of mutual inquiry, then Jane said, “He didn’t mention anything about it to either of us.”
“He might have mentioned it to Voysey,” said Lambert. “I’ll ask him.”
“Yes, do that,” said Fell, in a tone that suggested he meant just the opposite.
The maid announced the arrival of a visitor. “Mr. Adam Voysey, ma’am. He’s brought the motor car back.”
The four of them exchanged startled looks. “We’ll move to the parlor,” Amy told the maid. “Please show Mr. Voysey there.”
When Voysey joined them in the parlor, Jane was the first to speak. “How kind of you to fetch Robin’s motor car for us. I assumed I would have to go back for it.”
Voysey looked mildly discomfited. “It was forward of me, I admit. The police helped me with the crank and the ignition switch. As soon as I was out of my meeting, I took Porteous’s advice and visited the police station. What an extremely taciturn man that is. Shocking, the thought of an outsider making free with Glasscastle’s archive. We may have to change the whole arrangement of spells on the most vital buildings. When I recognized Brailsford’s motor car, I hoped he too had been summoned and was there before me. I was disappointed to find that he was not, though Porteous seems to have managed things very capably. In fact, the primary reason I returned the Minotaur is to see Brailsford. One or two questions have arisen as a result of the arrest. I hope he can shed some light on the matter.”
“Robert isn’t here,” said Amy. “He left for Ludlow yesterday morning.”
“Ludlow?” Voysey’s surprise was plain. “Why, if I may ask?”
“He had some research to do, I believe,” said Amy. “Is there some reason he shouldn’t have gone?”
“Heavens, no.” Voysey hastened to reassure Amy. “Will you let Brailsford know as soon as he returns that I have a matter of some importance to discuss with him? I’d hoped to clear it up before now, but Lord Fyvie has been monopolizing my time. Things are settled for the moment, but I find myself wishing for Brailsford’s advice”
“I will tell him.” Amy looked troubled. “I don’t know when he plans to return. I haven’t received any word from him since he left.”
“That doesn’t sound much like the Brailsford I know,” said Voysey. “He’s scrupulous about that sort of thing. I suppose there might be some difficulty with the trains?” He didn’t seem convinced of the likelihood of that explanation. “Or with the telegraph, possibly?”
“Your wire from London went astray,” Lambert reminded Jane.
“It was only delayed. But you’re right. There’s sure to be a good reason for the wait,” Jane told Amy bracingly. To Voysey, she said, “Does the matter you need to discuss with Robin have anything to do with the arrest of that stubborn man?”
“I can’t answer that, I’m afraid.” Voysey looked genuinely regretful. “Anything you know about him would be extremely helpful to us.”
Lambert started to speak, but Fell caught his eye and frowned slightly. Lambert stopped himself and turned his words into a throat-clearing cough. If Fell didn’t want to help Voysey, there was probably a good reason.
Voysey turned his attention to Fell. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to rejoin the project? Given this new and potentially alarming development, that is?” His expression was frank, sincere, and with very little effort, might have been pleading.
“My time is spoken for, I’ m afraid.” Fell didn’t seem a bit apologetic about it. He was crisply polite, but it was all too plain that Fell’s courtesy was only a thin veneer over his dislike of Voysey. “My research has been subject to constant interruptions. Time I gave it the concentration it deserves for a change.” He seemed to be addressing Jane at least as much as he was Voysey.
“I understand. We all have duties we must carry oust,” Voysey agreed smoothly. “Still, a matter of imperial security takes a high priority, don’t you agree?”
“You know perfectly well that if I agreed that the security of the empire was the greatest of all possible public goods,” said Fell, “I would still be involved in the project.”
Voysey sat up straighter. “That’s clear enough, even for met” He stood. “I’ll take my leave, then. Mrs. Brailsford, thank you for your hospitality.” He kissed Amy’s hand as she rose to accompany him to the door. “Dame Brailsford, gentlemen, I bid you good day”
“What would be so wrong,” Lambert muttered to Fell, once Voysey had departed, “about asking the most important man in Glasscastle for his help?”
“I don’t like him. The man never stops recruiting,” Fell replied as Amy rejoined them. “There’s a fine line between persistence and pestering.”
“If you weren’t so obstinate,” said Jane, “you wouldn’t be as well acquainted with precisely how fine the line is.”
Fell regarded her with disfavor. “It doesn’t surprise me that you’d be on the side of pestering.”
“I didn’t say that,” Jane said.
“Can’t you stop sniping at each other?” Amy exclaimed. She put her hand over her mouth, looking horrified at her own outburst. “Oh, dear. I didn’t mean to say that.”
“Of course we can stop,” said Jane cheerfully. “In fact, we will. Immediately.”
“I wish Robert were here,” Amy said. “He would know what to do,”
“Come to that, we know what to do.” Fell rose. “It’s time Mr. Lambert and I followed Mr. Voysey’s excellent example.” He forestalled Jane’s protest with a lifted hand. “You needn’t fear that either of us will do, as you so colorfully put it, a bunk. Send to Glasscastle if you need us. I’ll be in my study. Studying.”
Without further ado, Fell led Lambert away and they left the Brailsford house to walk to Glasscastle. Lambert was happy to leave behind whatever domestic storm was about to break there. Fell seemed in no hurry. He merely strolled along, preoccupied by his thoughts.
As he shortened his strides to match Fell’s, Lambert asked, “Are you really going back to your research?”
“Eventually.” Fell looked sour. “First I will need to find someone with a broom. There is a great deal of cleaning and tidying to be done before I’ll be able to go back to work.”
“What happened to getting lost in the big city?”
“I’ve changed my mind. The sooner I finish my work, the sooner I can put a stop to whatever nonsense is going on here.”
After she checked over the Minotaur to make certain Voysey had returned it in good order, Jane went up to her room in hope that a quiet moment of reflection would banish the last of her headache. Nothing she had done was difficult under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, working her magic with the magic of Glasscastle so near made Jane feel as if she were walking into a high wind at all times. She felt weary just from the effort involved in compensating for that energy, let alone from the spells she’d performed, as though her hair had been disheveled, blown loose and into her face, blinding her, ever since she’d begun. Her eyes burned and her skin felt peppered, as if she’d been walking into windblown sand. Her neck ached and from time to time her ears seemed to stuff up, then clear themselves with a faint, unpleasant popping sensation.
Jane had tried all her usual remedies. She’d had a nice cup of tea. She’d eaten a sustaining lunch. Thanks to these tactics, the worst of her symptoms had diminished. Yet the small discomforts remained, reminders of her unaccustomed weakness.
In her room, Jane checked on the Royal Worcester plate. Soaking overnight and most of the next day had done it a world of good. The ink had dissolved into the water, not uniformly, but in a random spiral threading black through the water in which it was suspended. Jane admired the strange beauty of it for a moment, then dispersed the whorls and tendrils of ink into chaos as she removed the plate from the basin and dried it. “Might need you again,” she murmured to it, as she put the plate away with care.
I’m glad Lambert forgot about testing the invisibility cantrip, she thought. Makes my head hurt just thinking about it. We can run a few tests first thing in the morning. If it doesn’t work for just anyone, I’ll have the rest of the day to see if I can make it work for me.
Lambert had been most considerate, steadying her as they departed from the police station. In almost anyone else, the act of taking charge, bringing her home as if she were a parcel to be delivered, would have been infuriating. Jane marveled that Lambert’s behavior did not infuriate her at all. Quite the contrary. Amy was right. He was a bit of a lamb.
Jane took off her shoes and unpinned her hair. Although her hair was not really wind-tangled, it still felt good to brush it out. Then, despite the fact it was merely afternoon, and no one lay on a bed in midafternoon unless one were sick unto death or disgustingly slothful, lazy to the point of vice, Jane took a nap. She had a dream.
Jane dreamed she was having tea in Number Five Study, back at Greenlaw College. Faris Nallaneen, looking precisely as rawboned and gawky as she ever had in the school days before she’d become warden of the north, was across the table. Under the black poplin of her academic gown, the frayed cuffs of Faris’s made-over dress showed plainly. One of the cuff buttons was dangling from a thread.
“You’re going to lose that button,” Jane observed.
Faris glanced at the button and frowned. “Things don’t stay mended, have you noticed?”
“Did you sew it on yourself?” Jane asked.
“Several times. There are constant interruptions.” Faris pulled the button off and put it in her pocket. “You have something very important to say.”
“I do?” Jane knew she did. It was urgent as well as important but her mind was a blank and she could not recall what it was she ought to say. “I do, don’t I?”
“Tell him to get to work. But first, he must see to the clocks.” There was a thunderous knocking at the door to Number Five Sturdy. Faris looked annoyed. “Never a dull moment” Faris reached in her pocket. “Damn, I’ve lost that button again.”
With that, Jane awoke. So vivid was the sense that someone had been knocking at her bedroom door, she went to answer it. When she opened the door, no one was there. The spacious hallway was empty, the house silent.
Jane hesitated, then walked downstairs in stockinged feet, hair loose over her shoulders, to open the front door. Mindful of her unconventional appearance, she peeped timidly out into the street. No one was there. The sense of peace within the house was profound. In the world outside, late afternoon had drowsed itself into the hush of early evening. Not a carriage in the street, not a breeze to stir the leaves, nothing moved. There was only birdsong and the measured tolling of a distant bell.
Jane locked the door and went back upstairs to put on her shoes, aware that her headache had vanished. She was surprised that the nap, a few hours according to the delicate carriage clock on her dressing table, seemed to have done her more good than a whole night’s sleep. The rest had restored her sense of well-being and of purpose. With deft fingers she combed out her hair and pinned it up afresh. There was no time for laziness. She would have to beard Fell in his lair. She had to nag him on Faris’s behalf anyway.
Jane permitted herself a small smile of anticipation as she selected just the right hat for her next foray to the great gate of Glasscastle. Lambert seemed to appreciate a good hat. It was wide brimmed, of pale Parisian straw, with a filmy veil that tied under her chin. After all, one never knew when a veil might be useful. She pulled on her favorite pair of afternoon gloves and saw with a stab of annoyance that one of the buttons was missing.
For a moment, Jane frowned. The dream had dwindled away but she knew the missing button reminded her of something. She knew there was something of grave importance she had to tell someone—Faris? She could not remember why she thought so, or what that message could possibly be. She only knew that Faris needed Fell’s help.
Jane found a fresh pair of gloves and put them on. It was time to go find Fell and see how he had spent his afternoon. There might even be something she could do to aid him in his efforts. Inspect his intruder’s bowler hat, for instance.
8
“If those you seek
It were a journey like the path to Heav’n,
To help you find them.”
Lambert returned with Fell to the rooms they shared. For once, there was no chance to hear the soft persistent ticking of the clock. Fell was a one-man flurry of activity as he came into the sitting room, dropped his valise in the middle of the floor, and went to the card tray and its small stack of accumulated mail.
“Message for you, Lambert.” Before Lambert had time to cross the room, Fell had already ripped open an envelope of his own. “Ha. Ridiculous. When did people forget how to take no for an answer?” Fell put the letter in his pocket without even bothering to fold it again,. The heavy paper crumpled audibly as he crushed it. “I’m off back to the archive. There’s work to be done. Don’t interrupt me before it is time for dinner.”
Lambert shook his head over Fell’s single-mindedness but left the valise where it was. His own message was a summons from Voysey. Lambert was to report to Egerton House to participate in an unscheduled accuracy trial for the Agincourt Project, which amounted to target practice in the intense sunlight and shadow of late summer afternoon. Meredith wouldn’t be there. Voysey felt they could manage without his help. Lambert hoped he was right.
Egerton House, a square gray Georgian structure designed around the courtyard set in its heart, was a ten-minute walk from Lambert’s quarters. It was one of several buildings at Glasscastle built in and around gardens that encompassed the green lawns forbidden to any but the masters of Glasscastle. The only way through for Lambert involved a circuitous path along the maze of graveled paths. When he arrived at Egerton House, only a few minutes late, he had a brief conversation with the porter who lurked inside the doorway of the great stone edifice.
The porter knew Lambert, since the courtyard inside Egerton House had been the site of several of the early accuracy trials, but he didn’t let that interfere with the careful check of Lambert’s identity and authorization. Lambert tried not to let his impatience with the slow bureaucracy show. After all, it was high time to be more careful about such things, given the way the man in the bowler hat had wandered in, out, and around as if he owned the place.
“Just sign here. And here, if you please,” said the porter, as he directed Lambert to the spot where he needed to add his signature. “Very good. Mr. Voysey and his guest are waiting for you.”
Guest? Lambert wished he’d been told as much in the note. He hadn’t bothered to change clothes for target practice and the heat of the day on top of his morning’s exertions had done nothing to freshen Lambert’s appearance.
Lambert became acutely conscious of all his shortcomings as he was brought into the sunny quadrangle where Voysey and his guest were already inspecting an assortment of weapons arrayed on a folding table.
Voysey’s guest was a solemn man with the gleam of an enthusiast in his dark eyes. He possessed luxuriant side whiskers and wore a canary yellow waistcoat with his summer flannels.
“Timothy, allow me to present Mr. Samuel Lambert, our resident sharpshooter. Samuel, this is Mr. Timothy Wright, an expert who will be helping us today.” Despite the heat, Voysey himself was even more immaculate than usual.
Lambert shook hands with Wright. It was like shaking hands with a blacksmith. Lambert suppressed the urge to double over, clutch his right hand, and whimper. He confined himself to wincing silently at the man’s grip.
“We have a treat in store today,” said Voysey. “Mr. Wright has kindly offered to help our research by permitting us to experiment with his Baker rifle. We’ll save that for last. Meanwhile, let’s just run through the routine Meredith usually gives you”
Obediently, Lambert took off his hat and jacket, put his cuff links safely away in his pocket, and rolled up his sleeves. He scanned the
table. “Where do I start?”
“Begin with this.” Voysey handed over a derringer of the lightest possible caliber. It was small enough to be palmed or concealed up a sleeve. “careful”
Lambert inspected the tiny thing thoroughly. “Oh, a toy.” He held it at arm’s length and squinted at the sight. “What’s the ammunition? Tin tacks?”
“Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time with Meredith. It’s nothing to joke about” Voysey picked up a clipboard and ushered Wright to the observation point. “A weapon is a weapon. You can kill a man with this just as well as any of the others.”
“By shooting him with it? I think I’d have better luck if I threw it at him.” Lambert took his place at the mark. He was firing from bright sunlight, into shade. It made hitting the three of hearts Voysey had mounted on the target a challenge, but despite the ferocious kickback of the little weapon, Lambert succeeded to Voysey’s satisfaction. Wright was polite, no more, about Lambert’s marksmanship. Lambert rubbed his hand and shook the sting out as unobtrusively as he could manage.
It was cool in the courtyard when Lambert stood in the shade. When he stood in the sunlight, the heat threatened to plaster his shirt to his back. Sweat trickled down his spine. The kick of the little handgun made Lambert’s collection of bruises reverberate unpleasantly. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and wished he could take off his collar.
The rounds with the Colt Peacemaker went as smoothly as usual. The Colt had a kick of its own, but Lambert was used to it. He was pleased to note that Wright seemed mildly impressed by his accuracy.
The last weapon Lambert was assigned for the day’s trial was at first glance even less efficient than the derringer. It was a muzzle loader, at least a hundred years older than Lambert himself, and he handled it gingerly, treating the antique with the respect it deserved.
“No tin tacks this time.” Voysey gazed at the weapon as if it were made of gold. “All thanks to Mr. Wright, this is a Baker rifle. There was a day when arms like this ruled the world. At its foundation, our empire still rests on what such weapons won for us.”
A Scholar of Magics Page 16