When Lambert had to breathe again, when Lambert had to look, Bridgewater was no longer there. In the depths of the glassy shaft he could see only Fell. Fell was holding something under one arm, something a little smaller than a football. Lambert could just make out that it was a tortoise. He knew, without any idea how he knew it, that until he’d fired the Agincourt device, the tortoise had been Bridgewater.
Fell called up, “Don’t shoot. It’s only me.” He was calm but hoarse. He sounded far away.
Lambert lowered the Agincourt device. The silence wasn’t draining into the well any longer. Nothing was draining anywhere. The gleaming barriers, and the whole world with them, simply drifted. The cylinder that had held the Egerton wand had split from one end to the other and there was nothing inside but dust. Lambert watched the dust sift out of the flawed brass and disappear into the sunlight. That was the sound he’d heard when he fired at Bridgewater, the final strain on the Egerton wand as it shattered.
“I’ve broken it,” said Lambert, forlornly.
“I broke it,” Fell replied, “when the answer came to me. It wasn’t the spheres I needed to realign. It was the space between spheres. The shape of the intervals. The silence between the notes.”
All the while he spoke, Fell was climbing toward the surface on a stair Lambert couldn’t see. He took it a step at a time, as though his knees hurt him, or as if he were very old. Bareheaded, unshaven, with a tortoise tucked under his arm, Fell ascended. As he rose, the aimless drift of the barriers slowed and became deliberate motion, even as the barriers refined themselves back into invisibility.
Fell reached the surface and stepped out of the well. As he did, the flagstones were firm underfoot again, the glassy depths lost to sight under the familiar stones. From the towers of Glasscastle, bells began to ring. They did not strike the hour and stop. Instead they rang out every quarter they’d missed in the draining, drowsy silence. Bells answered bells. The birdsong returned. From every quarter the measured music of Glasscastle rang and redoubled.
Fell paused to listen, or maybe just to rest his knees, when he stood face- to-face with Lambert in the heart of the labyrinth. The light of the afternoon sun was in his eyes as he gazed at Lambert, his expression lit with intense interest and concern
“Are you all right?” Fell asked.
Lambert was listening too. It should have been impossible to hear the chants from such a distance, but he thought he could feel them in the marrow of his bones. “I am. Are you?” Lambert countered.
Fell’s assent was in his expression. He said nothing, but led Lambert through the pattern of the maze at a stately pace. When they reached the mouth of the labyrinth, Fell placed the tortoise in Porteous’s satchel, latched it, and handed it to the astonished Porteous.
Porteous accepted it without protest. He dropped back a deferential pace as Fell walked past. Lambert looked askance at such respect from one man to the other. Porteous looked at Lambert with mild embarrassment and a faint air of apology. “He is the warden, you see.”
“He is?” Lambert watched Fell walk away into the rose garden as he helped Jane to her feet. That was it, then. The glow he had seen in Fell’s eyes was not merely a fresh angle of the sun. There was a fire within him now, a pattern that gave a sense of rightness and fitness to Fell’s every move.
“My goodness,” said Jane faintly, gazing after Fell, “he is, isn’t he?”
But he still walked like an old man, Lambert thought.
“That’s Bridgewater in your satchel there,” Lambert informed Porteous. “I had to use the device on him to save Fell.”
Horrified, Porteous gazed down at the black case he carried. “This is Lord Bridgewater?”
“He’s a tortoise now. But I’d keep that thing latched all the same,” Lambert advised.
Jane was looking pale and sick and she sounded shaken. “No wonder the Egerton wand found its way into the Agincourt device. Bridgewater must have arranged it himself.”
Lambert held up the device and shook it. A few grains of dust drifted out. “It’s broken. The Egerton wand has been destroyed.”
“Such a pity.” Jane sounded much more like herself. “I wanted a look at that wand.”
Porteous eyed the device warily. “If the wand’s destruction saved Glasscastle, then it was a small price to pay.”
As Lambert and Jane and Porteous followed in Fell’s wake, first through the rose garden, then through the herb garden, then back through the quadrangles to Midsummer Green, Fell’s stride smoothed and loosened. His head came up, as if he were listening to more than the bells. By the time he reached Midsummer Green, he seemed younger than his years. His energy made every step inevitable. His progress was a dance of grace that looked like a wise man walking. The bells announced him. The hours and quarter hours lapped and overlapped into cascades.
Porteous lifted a hand in recognition as they halted on the grass at the edge of Midsummer Green. “That’s the bells of St. Mary’s ringing the changes.” He listened to the fall and rise of it a while, a shy smile widening by degrees until he was beaming with pleasure. “They’re ringing Spliced Surprise Major. Lovely.”
Stowe, Stewart, Russell, Meredith, and many other Fellows of Glasscastle waited and watched with them. Fell’s arrival among the creatures and the cricketers scattered upon Midsummer Green attracted great attention. Before anyone could summon help, Fell was beyond their reach, encircled by the press of the beasts.
To Lambert’s eye, Fell did nothing. He said nothing. He merely stood in the middle of the green, arms loose at his sides. It did not happen gradually, creature by creature. It did not happen in any order that Lambert could detect. One moment the creatures were there and the next, all transformations were unmade and Fell was surrounded by naked men and women.
“See here!” Porteous stood at gaze for a moment, jowls wobbling, then turned to Jack Meredith. “Send for blankets at once. This is indecent!”
There was nothing indecent about it to Lambert. He saw Cadwal, naked and unashamed, exchanging a few words with a man who had been a gray tabby. Robert Brailsford was locked in his wife’s arms and she in his. Compared with the misgiving Lambert had felt at his first encounter with the transformed animals in the cells of St. Hubert’s, the sight of men and women in their own skin was a great relief. Lambert looked again. Where there had been a red fox, another Jack Meredith sat naked on the grass, bewildered.
Lambert looked back at the Jack Meredith who stood beside Porteous. Instead of an efficient researcher, Voysey stood in his place. Fell had broken one more transformation spell.
“There you are.” Lambert dropped the Agincourt device, put up his fists, stepped close to Voysey, and took a swing.
Agile in body as in mind, Voysey ducked the blow, turned, and ran. Within three strides, he was well into the crowd of naked people.
“Stop Voysey!” Lambert gave chase, dodging and bumping through the crowd. “Stop him!”
Voysey darted this way and that among the press of the newly transformed, staggered as he tripped over a cricket bat someone had abandoned on the grass, recovered his balance, and ran on. Lambert, in hot pursuit, hesitated at the cricket bat, but only to stoop and scoop up a discarded cricket ball from the grass nearby. He set himself, shut away the oddness of the ball he held—wrong weight, wrong feel—gauged Voysey’s speed and direction, reared back, and fired the ball. All his strength was behind the throw. All his accuracy was in it.
The cricket ball caught Voysey square in the back of the head. It made a wet, unpleasant sound. Voysey went limp as he fell, arms at his sides, and toppled headlong, like a tree going down. When Lambert reached him, Voysey’s face was in the grass. He was unconscious but still breathing, for the moment rendered harmless. Lambert bent to retrieve the cricket ball while watching Voysey for any twitch of movement. No sign of consciousness.
With great pride and no small amount of relief, Lambert said, “You’re out.”
Jane joined him, her hat askew a
nd her veil fluttering loose behind her. Together they stood over Voysey. “That,” said Jane, as she surveyed the inert figure with satisfaction, “was grossly unsportsmanlike.”
“Thank you.” Lambert looked down into Jane’s pale face. “I did my best.”
“If he revives, or if further drastic action should be required,” said Jane, “just remember, it’s my turn next.”
Cadwal and Polydore, naked and clothed respectively, were among the eager volunteers who took Voysey into custody. Porteous’s orders eventually resulted in blankets for all. When Fell rejoined Jane and Lambert, he had Robert and Amy with him. Though Robert wore only a blanket, he wore it toga style, folded and draped with his customary air of elegance, precision, and savoir faire.
“Just the people we were longing to see,” called Amy. “You did it!”
“Fell did it,” Lambert replied.
Fell looked somewhat sheepish. “It wasn’t difficult.”
A little awkwardly, Jane embraced Robert. “I’m so glad to see you. Really you, I mean.”
Robert returned the greeting, then pulled free. “Forgive me, but we must go now. I must see to Amy. She’s been under a great strain.”
“Of course. Mind your bare feet. I’ve left the Minotaur just outside the gate.”
Robert nodded absently to Lambert and Fell, and hurried Amy off, still dignified despite everything.
“That’s a great relief.” Jane produced a handkerchief and permitted herself a brief sniffle before she put it away again. “Splendid.”
“You might want to make an exit, Fell,” Lambert warned. “I see Cadwal and Polydore and they’re heading your way.”
“Thanks for the sharp eye, but it’s time I apologized to them both and settled what’s to be done with their work.” Fell moved to meet them.
“It’s a miracle.” Lambert watched Fell go. “what next?”
“Sorry to intrude. But that’s our ball, sir,” said one of the undergraduate cricketers.
Lambert returned the ball without hesitation. “Next time don’t just leave your things lying around underfoot. Somebody might get hurt.”
“Lucky for you they did leave their things lying about,” Jane said. “I wonder what the precise term is for that. Head before wicket? Robin would know.”
Lambert scrutinized Jane with care. “You’re looking better.”
Although Jane was still oblivious to her dishevelment, she sounded more like herself and her eyes were bright again. “I feel better. But I think I ought to go and see about Robin. It can’t have been easy for him, all this.”
“I’ll walk you there, if you have no objection.”
“That would be kind.” Jane straightened her hat and fell into step beside Lambert as they strolled away in Robert and Amy’s wake. “What do you plan to do after that?”
Lambert held out his palm and pretended to study the lines there. “Unless my luck has changed considerably, it will be time for yet another lovely cup of tea. After that, I haven’t the slightest idea. Possibly take a long journey over water. Fell will have his hands full now he’s really the warden. He will probably want me out of his way. I suppose I’ll have to give some kind of account of myself for the inquiry. The Provosts will have a field day, won’t they? They’re sure to haul us all over the coals. Once that is over with, I don’t know what I’ll do. What will you do?”
Jane’s color was much better and she was able to match Lambert’s pace without apparent effort. “Michaelmas term doesn’t begin for weeks yet. I’ll make sure all my luggage is as it should be. Some things probably just need a good clean. One or two bits will never be the same, so I might as well get rid of them. When I’m presentable again, I’d like to pay a call on my old nanny. She keeps a bookshop in Malmesbury and I’ve always meant to visit her there. Then I suppose I’ll visit my parents. Perhaps call upon Aunt Alice—she’s my very best aunt—in London. After that, I might buy myself a Blenheim Bantam after all. Finally, home to Greenlaw. I’m not looking forward to the trip over on the ferry.”
“You won’t be staying here very much longer, then?” Lambert didn’t try to hide his disappointment.
“I won’t be leaving tomorrow, if that’s what you mean. You’re quite right about the hearing. I have no intention of leaving Glasscastle until I’ve learned every last detail of Voysey’s and Bridgewater’s misdeeds. After that, however, I think Amy and Robert might be glad of a bit of peace and quiet. They’ve earned it.”
“What about you? Haven’t you earned a bit of peace and quiet?”
“Oh, I’ve had my share,” said Jane. “I have always found that a little peace and quiet goes an extraordinarily long way with me. I like a bit of excitement, don’t you?”
“Depends on the kind,” Lambert said cautiously. “I’ve had enough to last me lately.”
“True.” Jane thought it over. “I just count myself lucky I wasn’t one of those poor devils caught in the center of Midsummer Green without a stitch on.”
“Virtue is its own reward,” said Lambert wonderingly.
“You sound as if you didn’t believe that until now.”
“Let’s just say, I’ve never seen it demonstrated so plainly.”
“I hope you never do again.” Jane touched Lambert’s sleeve. “Do you have time for a brief detour before we leave the grounds?”
“I have nothing but time.” Lambert thought it over and added, “Unless you want to stop somewhere for a nice cup of tea. Then I’m busy.”
“No tea for the moment.” Jane led Lambert into St. Mary’s. “I just wanted to take a last look.”
Once inside, the bright fall of bells was somewhat muted. Despite the need to make himself heard over the ringing of the changes, Lambert kept his voice soft. “Not your last, surely. You’ll be back again.”
“Inside St. Mary’s of Glasscastle? I doubt it. I almost hope not. I doubt I can ever return to Glasscastle without remembering—” Jane broke off. In silence, she led Lambert along the south aisle and they looked up, marveling at the light that lingered in the heights above.
“Remembering what?” Lambert murmured at last. Jane’s voice, when she finally spoke, was uneven. “How it felt when she—when my illusion was consumed. I put a great deal of my strength into that illusion. To have it torn away—” Jane didn’t finish.
It was drawing to the end of a bright day. Here and there the wash of daylight across the vaulting was still adorned with red and gold as the setting sun angled through the stained glass. The raking light made the shadows they walked through seem all the deeper when Lambert spared his neck and glanced down to watch where he was going.
“Perception and will,” said Jane, half to herself. “The men who built this place believed God created the world according to a model in His mind. We can look at what has been created and learn from it. If we study the proportion and construction of the world around us, we can find a hint of the divine order of the model.”
“Was that what Fell was trying to do?” Lambert looked around. “It’s hard enough to find a trace of the divine in what’s in front of us. I don’t give much for anyone’s chances of figuring out the divine order.”
“Let’s sit down for a moment. I could use the rest.” Jane led the way to the spindly chairs ranked in the nave. When they were seated, she looked up. “Fell was trying to halt the river in its bed. Those who built this place knew that there are patterns in the world and they used those patterns here. Porteous was right about this place. There’s music all around us here. Every arch, every vault, it all means something in terms of space. The nave to the transept is a musical fifth.”
“Is this like the music in change ringing?” Lambert looked up and around. “I can see the proportions in stone, but I can’t hear the music they represent. I can hear the bells, but I don’t grasp the melody. I can listen to the chants, but I don’t understand the structure of the music.”
Jane was silent for a moment, letting the bells fill the space before she answered.
Finally, she said, “You would find the pattern in time. After all, to us mere mortals, what is music without time? Those who built this place were telling us a story outside of time, so they give us these images arranged by the way their internal, meaning echoes back and forth. It’s all happening all at once, like scenes in a stained glass window. The order that matters here in the stone isn’t chronological. It’s eternal.”
Someone began to practice the organ. The fluting notes of the stopped diapason floated up inquiringly over a single deep note that held on and on beneath everything.
“‘The playing of the merry organ, sweet singing in the choir,’” Jane observed. “We are granted a choice of musics.”
Lambert recognized the words of the Christmas carol despite Jane’s difficulty in carrying the tune against the one the organist played, let alone the orderly cascade of the bells. “We’ve already seen ‘the rising of the sun and the running of the deer.’”
“They didn’t run. I found them all quite overwhelmingly dignified. Particularly Robin, of course.” Jane seemed amused at the thought.
“What do you think they’ll do to Voysey?”
“If they have any sense of symmetry, they will turn him into an animal and do it in such a way that no one can ever turn him back.”
“And Bridgewater?”
All Jane’s amusement fled. “He can stay a tortoise for the rest of his life. I understand they live a long time.”
“In the end, we’ve accomplished nothing,” Lambert said. “The Agincourt Project was subverted. The Agincourt device is broken. The men who turned the project to their own ends have been shown up as blackguards. Fell is the warden, but did he really repair anything? Even if he did, were all those calculations of his nothing but a waste of time?”
A Scholar of Magics Page 31