A Scholar of Magics

by Caroline Stevermer

  Lambert tightened his grip on book and cup. “I do.”

  Porteous reached out and held his open hand, palm down, six inches above Lambert’s candle. Lambert caught his breath as the black twig of the candle wick blossomed into flame.

  “Welcome to Glasscastle,” Porteous said to Lambert, all his joviality back in place.

  “Welcome to Glasscastle,” said Stewart. “As Provost, I welcome you to Wearyall College. We have work for you here, Mr. Lambert, plenty of hard work.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Lambert. He nodded awkwardly to Porteous. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Congratulations,” said Fell, holding out the undergraduate’s gown. Lambert had both hands full, but with Fell’s help and a lot of concentration, he managed to shrug his arms into its loose sleeves without dropping either the burning candle or the university statutes, and without setting anything on fire. “Welcome to Glasscastle.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Lambert, half strangled by emotion.

  “Don’t thank me,” said Fell. “Thank Upton.”

  When Lambert emerged from the chapel of Wearyall College with Fell, Porteous, and Stewart, he found Jane waiting for him. Her brother, Robert, was along as her escort. There was a soft breeze, just enough to rustle in the trees overhead and to lift the edges of the gossamer fine scarf Jane wore around her shoulders.

  “You did it,” said Jane. “You are one of the students here. You belong to Glasscastle now.”

  Stewart clapped Lambert on the shoulder as he moved past to join Porteous in conversation with Robert. “You belong to Wearyall now, for three years.”

  Lambert smiled and called after him, “For three years, with luck.”

  Fell paused on his way by Lambert just as Lambert looked down at the candle in his hand, wondering what to do with it.

  “Don’t put it out,” Fell told him. “Bad luck. Just let it burn. The longer it lasts, the better the omen for your studies here.”

  Fell walked past the little group of Brailsford, Porteous, and Stewart, headed in the direction of the Winterset Archives. That left Lambert in the shelter of the college chapel porch, face-to-face with Jane. He held out the copy of the university statutes for Jane’s inspection. “I have my work cut out for me, that’s for sure.”

  “What a lot of rules to follow. Imagine Amy reading all of them.” Jane glanced through the pages. “I see you won’t be allowed to bring a rapier and dagger to your tutorials. That will be a sacrifice. Particularly if you have Porteous as a tutor.” She closed the book and handed it back.

  “I still can’t believe it.” Lambert gazed from the book to the candle in wonder. “I’m a student of Glasscastle.”

  “And not just for three years, either. For the rest of your life. No matter what happens, Glasscastle is going to change you.” Jane looked sad. “It’s a pity. I quite like the way you are now.”

  Lambert tucked the statutes under his arm and thought it over. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t study magic without changing a little bit. Maybe you can’t study anything without changing a bit. Maybe everyone changes—but when they do, it’s mostly to get more like themselves. So just think. In three years, you’ll be even more like Jane Brailsford than you are now.”

  Jane gave way to quiet laughter. “Don’t say that to Robert and Amy. They wouldn’t find it a pleasant prospect.”

  “I do.” Lambert let the words rest between them for a long moment. When Jane said nothing, he went on. “It’s not as if I’m going to start smoking cheroots, you knows, or carrying on about how Glasscastle is always right.”

  Jane widened her eyes. “But Glasscastle is always right.”

  “You don’t believe that and neither do I. Just out of curiosity, is Greenlaw always right?”

  Jane’s air of simple innocence altered slightly, just enough to make her look even more simple. “Well, of course it is.”

  “Really? What if Glasscastle and Greenlaw disagree? Who is right then?”

  “Both,” said Jane promptly, all show of simple-mindedness abandoned.

  Lambert frowned. “That requires mental gymnastics that I’m not equipped for.”

  “Give yourself a year at Glasscastle. You’ll be surprised,” Jane advised.

  “It’s different though, isn’t it? Greenlaw magic? Even the little I saw of it—your illusion, for example. It’s not like Glasscastle magic, all organized and harmonized. It’s more personal.”

  “More individual, perhaps,” Jane conceded. “I don’t have—I can never have firsthand knowledge of how true Glasscastle magic works, so I can’t be sure how it compares. But Greenlaw magic is highly individual.”

  “So Glasscastle magic is more powerful?” asked Lambert. “It must be, mustn’t it? Since more people are involved in each spell?”

  “If you like to think so. That would probably be a useful opinion to take with you to Glasscastle. But be careful with it when you go out into the world. Don’t trust it completely. It’s only an opinion, after all.”

  “You’re telling me Greenlaw magic is more powerful than Glasscastle?”

  “It’s only my opinion,” Jane said, apologetically. “Rest assured, even I don’t trust it completely.”

  Lambert looked into Jane’s remarkably fine eyes for a long moment. Out of nowhere, he heard himself asking, “If I write to you at Greenlaw, will they deliver my letters?”

  Jane’s surprise was obvious. “Of course. Why shouldn’t they?”

  “If Greenlaw is anything like Glasscastle, they guard themselves from outsiders.”

  “They do guard themselves from outsiders, but don’t take the parallel to extremes. No one sees a need to interfere with mail delivery.”

  “If I write to you, will you write back?”

  Jane let that question go unanswered, studying Lambert as closely as if she meant to memorize him. “Write to me and see,” she said finally.

  “I’ll write to you. Promise you’ll write back.”

  Jane looked nettled. “You aren’t the only one with duties and responsibilities, you know. I’ll be working hard too. You have to write me a letter worth answering. If it’s full of cheroots and complaints about the food, forget it.”

  “I will write you a real letter, I promise. Now promise me you’ll answer.”

  “Oh, you’re going to be persistent, are you?”

  Lambert nodded.

  Jane took a step closer and touched Lambert’s forehead, the slightest brush of gloved fingers over the spot where the wasp had stung him. “That looks much better.”

  “You’d never know it happened,” Lambert agreed. “It was the deuce of a nuisance at the time, but you can’t use it to distract me now. Promise you’ll write to me.”

  Jane’s eyes held his, clear and grave. “I promise nothing.”

  She was so close to him, closer than they’d been over the maps and the ivory spindle on the way to Ludlow. Lambert bent his head a little, just to see her that much more closely. His mouth was dry as he murmured, “I’ll promise, then. I’m going to be persistent.”

  Jane smiled at him. She touched him again, just a moth’s brush of fingertips at the corner of his mouth, but said nothing.

  Lambert could muster no more than a whisper. “Jane.”

  Jane whispered back, and her tone held a world of tenderness that lifted his heart. “Lambert.”

  “Jane!” Robert Brailsford stood in the path, rigid with disapproval. Lambert and Jane sprang apart as if electrified. The university statutes slipped and landed with a substantial thump on the chapel doorstep. “What are you doing?”

  Behind Robert, Porteous and Stewart withdrew tactfully and set off in the general direction of dinner.

  “While we were motoring to Ludlow to rescue you,” said Jane, utterly composed, “Mr. Lambert was stung by a wasp. I wanted to assure myself he was healing properly.”

  Lambert retrieved the book of statutes and clamped it securely under his elbow. He drew himself up to his full height, squared
his shoulders, and met Robert’s eyes. “I hoped to persuade Miss Brailsford to correspond with me while she is at Greenlaw.”

  Robert regarded him gravely. “Indeed.”

  “Robin.” Jane’s tone was crisp and cautionary.

  “Jane.” Robert was just as crisp. “We don’t wish Mr. Lambert to be late for his dinner, do we? In any event, Amy will be expecting us for our own dinner.”

  “We certainly don’t want to be late for that,” Jane said dryly.

  “I certainly don’t,” Robert replied. “Congratulations on your matriculation, Mr. Lambert. Come along, Jane.”

  Jane hesitated a moment, then followed her brother as Lambert called a farewell after them. Lambert tucked the university statutes more firmly under his arm. With his free hand, he sheltered his candle for the careful walk back to Holythorn. Despite the soft breeze, he meant to keep the flame safe. He planned on it burning for a long time.

  It was early morning in late September, on the first day of Michaelmas term at Glasscastle. As returning students greeted one another throughout the halls of Wearyall, St. Joseph’s, and Holythorn, boisterous amusement and waggish backchat were the order of the day. In the garret room allotted him as a first-term student, Lambert stood on a chair in an effort to peer out the window and get his bearings.

  The space was little more than a box room, a glorified cupboard under the eaves. Slanting oak beams waited for Lambert to forget their existence and bash his head on them. A narrow bed was tucked in one corner of the room, a writing table, already almost hidden by a stack of chants and Latin primers, lurked in another.

  On that stack was a letter from Nicholas Fell, received only the day before. In it, Fell shared with Lambert his impressions of the luxurious and speedy trans-Atlantic crossing he’d enjoyed aboard the Titanic, his description of the traveling tumult that was New York City, and his low opinion of the complexities involved in booking train tickets from New York City to Laredo, Texas.

  On top of the letter from Fell was one from Jane, written from Greenlaw. Her safety was implicit in the letter’s existence, her arrival mere postscript to Jane’s enthusiastic description of her unorthodox journey home. Not all travel was a tiresome medley of road dust, railway soot, and seasickness. Some forms of transportation were much worse, seasoning personal misery with physical danger. Colonel Sam Cody had taken her on as a passenger. Together they had flown across the Channel to France. Fine weather and good mechanical luck had combined to bring Jane safely home to Greenlaw by aeroplane.

  Atop Jane’s letter lay a single playing card, the three of hearts. It was Lambert’s good luck piece, no matter how it came to be in Fell’s card tray.

  The room’s best feature was a skylight. Lambert had inspected its leading and frame with care. He could see it had leaked recently and he guessed it would continue to leak regularly throughout the winter. He didn’t care. The sunlight that filled the room would be worth the occasional effort of emptying a few rain buckets. The only other window in the room was right up in the gable, its diamond-paned glass almost completely obscured by ivy.

  Once he had the gable window pried open a few inches, Lambert sawed patiently at the ivy with his penknife. When the window was clear, he wedged himself into the narrow frame and leaned out into the morning.

  Far below, students in the quadrangle of Wearyall College could be heard but not seen. Tree branches and the angle of the slate roof hid the ground from him. In recompense, the roof held interest of its own. Lambert felt sure that it would not take him long to learn the ins and outs of every form of rain gutter, the location of every other skylight, and the properties of every sort of moss that flourished on the slates.

  It was halcyon weather, perfectly cloudless and boundlessly blue. After relentless days of rain at the end of August, the return of dry weather came as a godsend. In the morning sunlight, Lambert could see every detail of the roof and chimney pots of the deanery of St. Joseph’s, and beyond that the looming silhouette of the Winterset Archive. Beyond that was only the sky. Only the whole world.

  For a solid quarter of an hour, Lambert looked out upon his own true country, savoring the sounds of the place as he memorized the color of the sky. He heard distant laughter and talk, bells and birdsong, and when the breeze was right, faint strains of chanting. The blend made a music that opened his heart and stung his eyes a little.

  At last Lambert came back inside, latching the window and climbing down off his chair lightly out of respect for the furniture’s decrepitude. He couldn’t stare out the window forever, after all. He was a student of Glasscastle, free and equal. Lambert squared his shoulders and let the thought soak in. He was a student of Glasscastle and he had work to do.

  By Caroline Stevermer from Tom Doherty Associates

  A Scholar of Magics

  A College of Magics

  When the King Comes Home

  PRAISE FOR A SCHOLAR OF MAGICS

  “In this sequel to Stevermer’s charming fantasy of manners, A College of Magics, set in an alternate Edwardian age, the descriptions of life at Glasscastle University, together with the sheer zest of the characters for magic, truth and fashion, make this a sweet, magical romance. This is the perfect read for those who enjoy taking ambling walks in orderly alternate worlds where calling cards and starched collars still help make a man.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “The sequel to A College of Magics takes place in the same magical, Victorian-Edwardian Britain, and shows yet again that Stevermer is a worthy follower of Jane Austen for wit, of Dorothy Sayers for suspense and erudition. This emerging series will likely draw readers from across a very wide spectrum of the fantasy and alternate history audience, including—indeed, never forgetting—the adult readership for the adventures of the boy named Harry.”

  —Booklist

  “One of the best fantasies I’ve read of the 2004 crop. A wonderfully conceived and described setting, likeable characters, worthy villains, a reasonable mystery, and delightful writing.”

  —Chronicle

  TOR BOOKS Reader’s Guide

  A Scholar of Magics

  CAROLINE STEVERMER

  ABOUT THIS GUIDE

  The information, activities, and discussion questions which follow are intended to enhance your reading of A Scholar of Magics. Please feel free to adapt these materials to suit your needs and interests.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Born in 1955, Caroline Stevermer grew up on a dairy farm in southeastern Minnesota. She aspired to be a writer from the age of eight, composing stories in her school notebooks. She earned a B.A. in History of Art from Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania. While earning her living through a variety of jobs, she continued to pursue her love of writing and was rewarded in 1980 with the publication of her first book, The Alchemist. Since then she has published a variety of short stories and novels, including A College of Magics, When the King Comes Home, River Rats and The Serpent’s Egg. Her highly successful collaborations with Patricia Wrede have yielded such romantic fantasy favorites as The Grand Tour (or The Purloined Coronation Regalia), and Sorcery and Cecilia (or the Enchanted Chocolate Pot). Stevermer enjoys spending times in museums—her favorite artist is Elizabethan court painter Nicholas Hilliard (1547—1619)—and in libraries—she enjoys the works of 19th century American writer Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens). She lives in Minnesota.

  RESEARCH AND ACTIVITIES

  I. Comus

  A. Caroline Stevermer begins each chapter with a quotation from Comus, a masque by John Milton (1608—1674). Go to the library or online to learn more about Milton and his works. Write a short biography including information on Milton’s education, poetry, and thoughts about civil and religious liberty. Conclude your biography with a timeline of historical events that occurred in Milton’s lifetime.

  B. Based on your research in exercise IA, above, what real-life location and character name do the masque and novel share? What story is told in Milton’s masque? How does it relate to A Sc
holar of Magics? Create a short oral presentation explaining your understanding of the relationship between the masque and the novel. If desired, perform a portion of the masque as part of your presentation.

  C. Who was Comus (or Komus) in Greek mythology? What did he represent? Create an informative poster about this mythological character, including a drawing of Comus.

  II. Glasscastle and England

  A. A Scholar of Magics takes place in a fictionalized England of the early 1900s. Go to the library or online to learn more about this period. Create a two-columned chart comparing and contrasting the real historical period with the world of the novel. Compare such elements as the Titanic, motorcars and aeroplanes, education for women, asylums, and operas.

  B. Based on your comparisons in exercise IIA, above, write a short essay describing the most intriguing differences between real Edwardian England and Caroline Stevermer’s fictionalized version of the era. Conclude by explaining how you feel her alterations help make room for the existence of magic.

  C. Lambert tires of the constant taking of tea at the Brailsford home. Learn more about the British custom of teatime. In a cookbook, find a recipe for stern ginger cake, such as that consumed by Lambert and Jane en route to Ludlow, or another classic English tea recipe. Prepare and serve a tea for classmates, friends, or family members.

  D. Create a brochure and application package for prospective Glasscastle students. Be sure to include a paragraph describing student life and a map of the grounds based on clues from the novel.

  III. The American West

  A. Lambert comes to Glasscastle from Kiowa Bob’s Wild West Show, where he was a sharpshooter. In a style appropriate to the early 20th century, design and draw a poster advertising the show.