The ivory spindle was swinging wildly now. Amy ignored it, focused entirely on Lambert. “No, you mustn’t. They put Robert out of the way for a reason. Don’t trust them.”
Lambert was dogged. “There’s a logical explanation for Mr. Brailsford’s disappearance. And for Fell’s. We’ll find out what it is.”
The horsehair slipped from Amy’s fingers and the spindle flew across the room to lodge in the aspidistra. Amy gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. Tears welled up and she stifled a sob. Lambert helped her to a chair and patted her hand.
Reluctantly, Jane took off her gloves, plucked the object out of the aspidistra’s pot, and let the spindle dangle from its long cord like a dead mouse by its tail as she inspected it. It was old ivory, worn smooth with use, and could have been mistaken for a child’s miniature top. Jane touched the ivory. To her consternation, the spindle felt distinctly warm to the touch. “Amy, where did you get this thing?”
“It was my grandmother’s,” Amy said in strangled tones. She produced a lace handkerchief and delicately blew her nose. “It never did that before.”
“No, I don’t suppose it did.” Jane ignored the efficient soothing Lambert was administering to Amy while she continued her analysis. “Most interesting. Where did the cord come from? It looks like horsehair.”
“It is. I made it. I had a gray pony when I was a girl,” Amy replied. “Orlando, I called him. When I was thirteen, I went out to the stable by the light of the full moon and I clipped a bit of his tail with my silver embroidery scissors.”
“What a shame you never had a proper education,” Jane said, with injudicious honesty. “I think you must have great aptitude. With the right kind of training, you might have been a powerful magician.”
“I don’t want power,” snapped Amy. “I only want things the way they should be. A bit of peace and quiet, a well-run house, that’s all. I want my husband and I want as many children as possible.” Amy put her handkerchief away and added defiantly, “When it comes to the really important things in life, I’d back my education against yours any day. I had an excellent governess.”
Sharp rejoinders occurred to Jane but she let them all fade away unspoken. The spindle was cool between her fingers now. She wound the cord neatly around it. “I don’t suppose your grandmother had any formal education either?”
“She taught me all sorts of things,” said Amy. “Natural magic, not that stuff with foreign invocations. Very dangerous, that sort of magic.”
“She was right about that,” said Jane, with heartfelt agreement.
Slightly mollified, Amy unbent. “She talked to the bees. They told her things.”
True country magic of the oldest kind. Jane was impressed. “Is that magic?” Lambert looked intrigued. “My grandmother said that about bees too.”
Jane nodded. “That’s the genuine article. What else?”
Amy thought it over and added, with an air of mild defiance, “She was very good at reading one’s character from the shape of one’s skull.”
“Oh.” Jane noticed Lambert had withdrawn and found a chair of his own. Apparently he now considered Amy sufficiently soothed. How typical of Amy that she valued her grandmother’s craft no higher. There had been real skill involved in the construction of the spindle’s cantrip. It was simple but durable and had a strength that would long outlast more complex and sophisticated magics.
Jane released the spindle and let it spin free at the end of the horsehair cord. “Let’s see if it works for me.” She took a deep breath and centered her attention on the ivory spindle, ignoring the tiles scattered across the table beneath. She steadied herself, emptied herself of expectation, and simply stood there with the pretty bauble motionless at the end of its cord.
The tableau lasted no more than three silent minutes. Amy was just about to speak, possibly to offer advice, when Jane forestalled her. “Where is Nicholas Fell?” she asked.
At once, the spindle began to twist the cord. Jane felt her fingertips prickling as if they had fallen asleep. Slowly at first, then with increasingly swift rotation, the spindle began to turn so fiercely that the cord twisted out of Jane’s grasp. The spindle arched across the room, hit the wall with a sharp thud, and then fell back to lodge in the aspidistra.
“See?” Amy was triumphant. “It really works.”
“Oh, dear.” Jane rubbed her fingers until the prickles ebbed away. “It must be a great bore to have to spell things out. I don’t blame them for cutting corners now and then.”
“All right. What just happened here?” Calmly, Lambert retrieved the spindle and cord from the aspidistra and put it on the table. “Just who is them, if isn’t rude to ask?”
Jane waved her hand in a vague gesture that took in about half the ceiling. “Them. Those who come when you don’t call”
“Spirits?” Lambert looked as if he were trying not to laugh. “Mediums and their controls, you mean? I thought that was all a copper-bottomed fraud.”
“The mediums are. They only get what comes when they call. Most don’t even bother to call. They can’t spare a moment from their trickery, the malignant scum.” Jane caught herself at the edge of a lecture and relented. “Just because the world is full of frauds doesn’t mean there isn’t more out there than we can understand. There are other forces, not that they are usually worth half the trouble they cause. Five hundred years ago, even here in a bastion of learning, there was hardly a spring that didn’t have its tutelary spirit, and plenty of people glad to honor it. No one has ever properly catalogued all the different kinds of natural spirits. That would be a thesis worth writing, even if one only did the locals.” Jane picked up the spindle again. “As for what just happened here, Amy, point in the direction of Ludlow.”
Amy pointed, without hesitation, in the direction of the aspidistra.
“Thought so. Mind if I borrow this?” Jane wrapped the cord tightly around the spindle.
Amy’s suspicion was clear. “Why? You’re not going to take it apart to see how it works, are you?”
“No. If this cantrip of yours can tell us which direction Fell has gone, and Robert too, it might be helpful on the journey. But since you reminded me, I do have something, I’ve been meaning to take apart.” Jane put the spindle in her bag and produced the handkerchief that contained the carved wooden cylinder she’d taken from the intruder.
Lambert regarded her bleakly. “What journey?” He sounded like he already knew the answer to the question he was asking and he didn’t like it.
“I’m going to Ludlow. Do you have a knife, by any chance?” Jane put the handkerchief on the table and unwrapped the cylinder with care.
“Why?” Lambert searched his trouser pockets, scowling.
Jane found a crevice in the cylinder’s carving and ran a fingernail along it. “I think it’s time to do a bit of dissection on this thing. I tried it on the gatekeeper earlier and it didn’t work at all.”
“Not that.” Lambert handed her his penknife. “I mean why go to Ludlow?”
“To look for Fell. And for Robert, of course,” Jane added, with an eye toward Amy’s incipient protest. “Who am I to ignore these signs and portents? Something—or someone—wants me to go to Ludlow. I don’t see any way to find out why unless I actually go there.”
“Oh, I knew you were worried too,” exclaimed Amy, and enfolded Jane in a sisterly hug. “Oh, thank goodness. Oh, I’ll help you pack for the train.”
“Not for the train,” Jane said, still engrossed in the cylinder. “For the motor car.”
“Great.” Lambert leaned close to Jane, watching as she poked gingerly at the intricate carving. “Are you sure that’s the proper tool for the job?”
“Don’t cut yourself.” Amy was watching too. “That knife looks very sharp.”
“No point in carrying a dull one,” said Lambert. “Watch it, there.”
Jane did her best to quell Lambert with a glance. “Quiet, you. I’m still recovering from my disillusion. If ever I
thought someone could be relied upon to carry a Bowie knife, it’s you.” Jane teased the edge of the knife blade into the crevice and loosened a plug at one end of the cylinder. Once she had it uncapped, she shook the contents of the cylinder out among the tiles. What emerged was about half an ounce of water and something that seemed to be fine splinters of wood.
“I had a Bowie knife once,” said Lambert. “Lost it, though. Stuck it in a bear and the bear ran off. It seemed like a good swap at the time.”
“What is that?” Amy asked. “It looks like someone put a piece of driftwood in there and it just fell apart.”
“So it does.” Jane prodded the wet wood with the tip of the blade, then gave the penknife back to Lambert. She rubbed her palms together and murmured an incantation as she cupped her hands over the wet wood and the cylinder. After a long silence to absorb the impressions in full, she brushed her hands palm to palm again and clapped them lightly to close the spell.
Jane folded her hands. “What a pity Robin isn’t here. He could tell so much more. I think it’s not pure Glasscastle magic. There’s a vein of Glasscastle magic running clear through it, the way that carved vine winds around the cylinder. But the wood and the water, that’s new to me. It’s fresh water, by the way. Not salt water, nor holy water. The wood isn’t driftwood, though it does look it. More than that, I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any chance of adapting it to work for us. Pity.”
“You wanted to use it yourself?” Lambert asked. “A bit of magic to let you come and go through the gates of Glasscastle without supervision? Miss Brailsford, I’m shocked.”
“Oh, so innocent. Don’t pretend the thought never crossed your mind.” Jane mopped up the water with the handkerchief she’d used to wrap the cylinder, then put the splinters back and plugged the cylinder again. “You will loan me the Minotaur, won’t you?” Jane asked Amy, as she stowed the little bundle in her bag.
“Borrow anything of ours you please,” said Amy. “But do be careful.”
“You can’t go motoring off all by yourself,” said Lambert. “For one thing, it’s pitch-dark.”
“I’ll leave first thing in the morning. It will take me quite some time just to pack and make a few basic preparations.” Back to the ink bottle, Jane thought. She couldn’t leave without telling Faris what she planned to do. Just as well she’d kept the Royal Worcester plate in her room.
Lambert said, “You really can’t drive off all alone.”
“How kind!” Jane beamed at him as if he’d made a wonderful discovery. “No, it would be much better if you came too”
Lambert looked taken aback. “Me? No, I can’t go.”
“I’d go,” said Amy, “but I have an appointment. The doctor will be here to see me tomorrow.” She touched the slight swell of her belly. “It’s important.”
“We understand.” Jane patted Amy’s hand soothingly. “Everything will be fine.”
“Perhaps Lambert could bring a pistol or two along with him, just in case of emergencies,” suggested Amy. She smiled at him with great sweetness. “Since the bear ran away with your Bowie knife.”
“Yes, what was all that about the bear?” Jane’s interest was unfeigned. “Did you think we weren’t listening?”
“I think I’d be forgiven for reaching that conclusion” Lambert looked nettled. “I crossed a stream and worked my way downwind. When he couldn’t smell me any more, the bear gave up.”
“Lambert tells the most wonderful stretchers,” said Amy fondly. “It’s a bit like feeding a squirrel. If you pretend you don’t notice, he sits right down beside you and then the stories just come out, as naturally as breathing.”
“I remind you of a squirrel?” Lambert’s indignation was profound. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“Because I love every moment of it,” Amy assured him. “The story about the man who sells his soul for a rifle and five magic bullets is my absolute favorite.” Amy turned to Jane. “You really must get him to tell you that one.”
“I might have stretched a point here and there,” Lambert admitted stiffly. “You never let on I was boring you. I wish you had.”
“You weren’t! I wouldn’t have missed a single word, not for anything. Oh, don’t look so embarrassed.” Amy patted Lambert’s shoulder. “You only do it to please me, because you know I enjoyed reading The Virginian so much.”
Lambert muttered something that sounded very much like “Damned embarrassing book,” and then “Sorry, ma’ am,” and then fell silent.
Jane thought it best to change the subject. “You may come along with me if you’re here, ready and waiting. Otherwise, I’ll go alone.”
“If I get told off for drinking a pint of lager on a hot day, just think how overjoyed they’re going to be when I disappear completely. In a motor car. With firearms.” Lambert was no longer muttering, but he was still far from his customary good humor.
“I think Amy was being facetious. You don’t really need to bring any pistols along,” said Jane.
“I wasn’t being a bit facetious,” Amy protested. “I think it would be quite a good idea.”
Jane ignored her. “I’ll leave at sunrise.”
Amy consulted an almanac from one of the library shelves and spoke directly to Lambert. “The sun rises at three minutes to six tomorrow. Don’t be late. She means it. I can tell.”
9
“By the rushy-fringed bank,
Where grows the willow and the osier dank,
My sliding chariot stays”
Lambert hurried back to Glasscastle from the Brailsford house. Voysey was not in. Neither was Stewart, Provost of Wearyall. Lambert sent a message in at the lodgings of Victor Stowe, Provost of St. Joseph’s, and was fortunate enough to catch him just as he returned from his dinner.
Stowe led Lambert into the tower room that served as his study. From the second floor of the tower, the windows opened onto St. Joseph’s Green like a box at the opera. It was dark, but even Glasscastle by night made a fine view. Stowe waved Lambert to a chair and sat at a writing table beside the window. “What brings you here, young man?”
Lambert matched Stowe’s directness. “Fell has disappeared.”
“What, again?” Stowe seemed pleased with this comeback. “Some of his students have been making that complaint since the end of the summer term.”
“I want to make certain the authorities know about this. I think something has happened to him.” Lambert made sure Stowe knew about the intruder and went on to describe the state of Fell’s study. “I’m going to look for him.”
“Dear me, where? It’s a big country, and Mr. Fell is free to go where he likes in it.” Although Stowe’s expression was serious, Lambert was sure he was being humored.
“Is Fell free? I know he refuses to work on the Agincourt Project, but he knows the project exists. We don’t know where he’s gone or who he’s with. Won’t that trouble the men in charge of imperial security?” Lambert countered. “Shouldn’t you tell someone?”
“The project concluded yesterday,” said Stowe. “Its importance has diminished considerably since the ministry announced its decision to redirect the funding to the aviation project at Famborough.”
“Concluded?” Lambert felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach.
Stowe looked rueful. “I suppose it violates the basic tenets of imperial security to admit as much. But Meredith always spoke highly of you. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you himself.”
“Tell me what? I had an accuracy trial just this afternoon. Mr. Voysey and Mr. Wright worked with me for hours. The project can’t have concluded.”
“Did they? Are you sure?” Stowe frowned. “Meredith must have persuaded them to pursue an ancillary line of thought. Must be an addendum to a memo somewhere. Blast. I can’t keep up with the paperwork.” He rifled through the documents heaped on the table before him. “Meredith’s stubbornness is notable. I believe he’s gone to London to try to speak with Lord Fyvie directly.”
“Blasted paperwork. I can’t find it.” Stowe gave up and shoved his stacks of paper back into place. “First thing this morning. The Vice Chancellor told Stewart and me after dinner last night. That’s why I was rather surprised to see you now. Thank you for reporting Fell’s departure. I’ll make it known to the appropriate authorities.”
“Thank you.” Lambert spoke at random as he rose and started for the door. He didn’t know what to say next, let alone what to do next.
Stowe followed him, abruptly solemn. “As of now, I’m officially informing you that the project is complete. Should you be needed for any further studies stemming from the project, you will be invited to resume your duties as an expert marksman, so be sure you leave a forwarding address with the Bursar before you go. You will need to see him anyway, to collect your wages.” Stowe shook Lambert’s hand and his formal air vanished as quickly as it had come. “Congratulations. You have been a great help, you know. What will you be doing after this?”
Lambert blinked and frowned. “The project is finished. I’m leaving.”
“Not immediately, old man.” Stowe chuckled. “We aren’t turning you out in the street, you know. No need to catch the very next ship that sails. While you are making your travel plans, I suggest you keep your eye on the newspapers. I think we’ll let a few of the finer points out in rumor, just to keep the boys at Farnborough on their toes.”
Through his stampeding thoughts, Lambert could make sense of only one thing. This was the end of his time at Glasscastle. After this, he was exiled for good.
“You can have a pint or two to celebrate,” offered Stowe, as he saw Lambert out. “It must be a long time since you’ve had a chance to sink one.”
“Yes, of course. All sorts of luxuries I can take up again,” Lambert replied, and was proud of how normal he sounded, only mildly strangled. “Can’t wait.”
A Scholar of Magics Page 18