“I’m very cross with you!” Lily pronounced as Ivy joined them. “We haven’t seen you in months, and then Ivy gets to go to a party with you the moment she arrives back in the city.”
“I told you it wasn’t a party,” Ivy said. “We met quite by chance and had tea, that’s all.”
“You should at least have called on us,” Lily went on. “Fifteen minutes would have done. Your manners are dreadful, Mr. Rafferdy.”
“Lily!”
Ivy was prepared to say more, but Rafferdy affected a serious look and bowed toward Lily. “You’re quite right to chastise me. I am, as our liege above certainly knows, an awful man.”
“No, you aren’t!” Rose exclaimed, looking up. “You’re anything but awful. The priest said God is in the light, and there’s light all around you. I can see it even when my eyes are shut. It’s blue and silver, not green and gold like Ivy, but every bit as bright. Maybe brighter.”
Rafferdy cocked his head and gazed at her. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Miss Rose.”
“She doesn’t mean anything,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “Rose says all sorts of silly things. Don’t pay it any attention.”
“It’s not silly,” Rose said, and it seemed she wanted to say more, but she grew flustered.
Ivy took her hand. “Come, dearest. We had best walk home before it rains.”
“Or better yet,” Mr. Rafferdy said, “let me drive you home.”
This suggestion was met with great enthusiasm from Lily, and Rose brightened at the idea. Ivy could find no reason to decline the offer, and the four of them drove back Downhill in the carriage.
“Everyone looks so small from in here,” Lily said, leaning out the window. “It’s marvelous. But it’s dreadful that Mr. Garritt is not here. Where is he, Mr. Rafferdy? Have you seen him? You must tell him he’s been just as awful as you have for avoiding us.”
Mr. Rafferdy confessed it had been some time since he had seen Mr. Garritt, as both had been busy with their respective business, but he assured her he would pass along the message when next they met. As he spoke, he gave Ivy a wink; she turned away to conceal her smile from her sister.
When they reached Whitward Street, Ivy hoped that her sisters would go in and leave her to speak to Mr. Rafferdy alone. However, Lily insisted that he come in for tea, and he readily consented, though once inside, Ivy realized that they had nowhere to receive him.
“It is not your day or time to go in there,” the housekeeper said, appearing from the dining room as Lily bounded up the steps and into the parlor. “I will tell the master when he returns!”
“If Mr. Wyble is not here, then he cannot possibly mind if we use the parlor,” Mr. Rafferdy said, coming up the stairs. “Now, can he?”
“It’s not their day to use it,” the woman said, though she seemed loath to look him in the eyes.
“Dear madam,” he said, “it is not my intention to disregard the rules set by the esteemed master of the house, but I am certain an exception can be made. You see, I consider Mr. Wyble to be a very good friend. When he returns, be sure to tell him I said so. I have no doubt he will be in no way displeased.”
Ivy was certain that would be the case. It was all Mr. Wyble craved: to be considered the friend of those he thought better than himself.
While the housekeeper did not appear pleased herself, she made no further objections and even consented to bring them a pot of tea, which was nearly hot. They enjoyed an hour in the parlor, talking, laughing, and listening to Lily play her favorite—that is, her most morbid—pieces on the pianoforte. Then, just when Ivy was wondering how to ask her sisters to leave for a while, Rafferdy stood and said that he had something he needed to discuss with Ivy in private. So gentlemanly was he in making the request, again kissing Lily’s hand, that even she could make no complaint and departed willingly with Rose, after extracting one last promise from him that he would pass along her greetings to Mr. Garritt.
“Thank you, Mr. Rafferdy,” Ivy said when they were alone. “You are very indulgent of my sisters, particularly my youngest. More, perhaps, than is entirely prudent, but I do appreciate it.”
“Young ladies should be indulged,” he replied. “How else are they to become the silly, pretty things society requires them to be? If they are denied too many indulgences, they are bound to turn to books instead and end up like yourself, Mrs. Quent—strong-minded and full of opinions. Besides, any time I can break one of Mr. Wyble’s rules, I cannot pass up the opportunity.”
She laughed. “Be careful, Mr. Rafferdy. He is a lawyer. It might be unwise to violate too many of his regulations.”
“You may be right. I suppose he’d lock me away with glee if I trespass too freely on his domain.”
It had been a joke; he could not have known. All the same, Ivy’s own mirth ceased, and she turned away.
“What’s the matter, Mrs. Quent? You suddenly went pale.”
She had not intended to tell him. While she had asked for his help, he did not need to know what had befallen Mr. Lockwell. All the same, before she could stop herself, she told him how Mr. Wyble had consigned her father to Madstone’s. As she spoke, his face was possessed by that new seriousness she had first observed at the Silver Branch; again she could only wonder what had happened to him in the months she was away from the city.
When she finished, he offered at once to speak to his father, to see what must be done to extract her father from such intolerable conditions. This moved her, and she thanked him. However, she was forced to confess that she had been presumptuous enough to write to Lord Rafferdy the very lumenal after their encounter at the Silver Branch.
“And has he replied?”
Ivy nodded. “I received a note from him almost at once. He said he would make inquiries to determine the best course of action and that he would contact me again as soon as he had news.”
“You can be assured he will. If my father says he will do a thing, then he will, without fail. I am glad you did not wait to write to him.” He shook his head. “All the same, it must be terrible to bear. Here I invited you to tea and made you endure the inane chatter of my associates, while all the time you were enduring this hardship! Forgive me, Mrs. Quent.”
“No, I was glad to spend time at Lady Marsdel’s,” she said. “I left with a lighter heart, and that has helped me to do what I must. Besides, we will have my father with us again very soon.”
“And you think this can help him somehow?” He drew the small wooden box from his coat pocket.
“I do,” she said.
“But how?”
She didn’t know how to explain her encounters with the man in the black mask. If she told him, he might decide to commit her to Madstone’s. Instead, she said, “I’m not entirely sure. I think I’ll know more when it is opened. If it can be opened. Have you…?”
A scowl crossed his face, and now he looked more like the old Mr. Rafferdy she remembered. “No, I haven’t been able to open it. I don’t know why everyone is so keen for me to attempt magick. It’s clear I have no aptitude for it. I’ve been to Mr. Bennick’s house three times. I’ve endured his company, I’ve listened to every musty word he’s uttered, and I’ve repeated them over and over, but it’s no use. The thing is as locked as ever.” He slumped into a chair. “There! Now you know I am utterly worthless.”
Ivy could not help a small smile. “You are far from worthless, Mr. Rafferdy. But I think perhaps I am right when I say you are accustomed to getting what you want with little effort.”
“Avoiding effort is precisely what I have always wanted.”
“Yet some things can be gained only through diligence and by applying one’s self.”
“Have you been talking to my father? You sound very like him.”
Her smile faded, and a heaviness came over her. “Please, Mr. Rafferdy. Won’t you try again to open it?”
Now the look on his face was one of chagrin, and he sat up straight. “Of course I will.”
He hel
d the box in his hands, gazing at it. Then he spoke an incantation in the tongue of magick. He uttered the words easily and smoothly—far more fluently than Ivy had been able to do that time she attempted a spell. However, it was to no avail; the box remained fast shut.
“There, I told you,” he said, holding the box toward her. “It’s no use.”
“Are you certain that is a spell of opening?”
“Yes, I’m certain. It’s the same spell he had me say that night when I opened Mrs. Baydon’s locket.”
“If I understand correctly, it was you who bound it shut. Is a different spell needed for something you did not enchant yourself?”
“I asked Mr. Bennick that. I did not mention the box, of course, only that I wondered what else the spell might be used on. He said it would open any small object locked by magick, as long as the spell was equal in force to that which first bound it. However, it’s clear I’m no match for the enchantment that was placed on this thing.”
“No, you’re wrong!” Ivy said, standing. “Mr. Bennick didn’t say you had to have equal ability or talent. Rather, he said that the spell had to be of equal force. You spoke the enchantment well, Mr. Rafferdy, but you did not believe it would work. I could tell from your face and the sound of your voice. Magick words and runes don’t have power in and of themselves. They are symbols, that’s all—tools meant to direct the mind and magickal energies properly. It is the will of the magician that truly matters.” She felt herself blush. “At least, that is what I’ve read in books.”
He looked up at her, and she feared she had gone too far, that she had insulted him, and he would leave. Instead, he laughed.
“I think it would have been better if it were you who was descended from the House of Gauldren, Mrs. Quent, and not I.”
“It would not matter if I was, Mr. Rafferdy. I am a woman and can never work magick.” She spoke the words with regret but with humor as well. “So, as women must always do, I must rely upon another to do what is forbidden to me.”
“Indeed, how like a woman!” he exclaimed. “You demur on the account of being powerless, yet I have the feeling I am not the only one who has grown accustomed to easily getting what is desired. With such a lack of power as you so prettily and eloquently display, Mrs. Quent, you are assured of achieving your every end without fail. A truth to which I’m sure your own Mr. Quent can attest. Very well, then, direct me as you will. Any power I may possess is at your disposal. I have no doubt you would use it far more wisely than I.”
Ivy felt her spirits rise with real hope. “Try the spell again, Mr. Rafferdy. However, this time I want you not merely to speak the words, but to envision each word as a thought coming from your own mind, each sound as a breath from deep inside. With each utterance, you must feel your will being exerted upon the box.”
A furrow creased his brow as he raised the box and gazed at it. The magician’s ring glinted blue on his hand. For a long moment he was silent. Then he drew a breath and spoke in the ancient tongue of magick.
The sunlight coming through the window went thin, and the air in the parlor darkened a shade. Ivy shivered, crossing her arms. As he spoke the final words, it seemed to her there came a sound on the very edge of hearing, like a rumble of thunder that had all but faded away.
Their eyes met. “Go on,” she said at last.
He shook his head. “No, you try it.”
She took the box from him, running her fingers over it, attempting without success to pry it open. However, as she touched the silver eye inlaid in the wood, the symbol depressed under her fingertip.
The top of the box sprang open with a click. So surprised was she that she fumbled the box and something small fell out, striking the parlor floor with a loud noise. Mr. Rafferdy bent forward and retrieved it.
“It’s just a ball,” he said. “A metal ball.”
He held it out to her. It was, as he said, a small sphere forged of some metal. It was reddish in color, as if rusty, but smooth to the touch. The ball was cold in her hand.
He stood. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Quent, but I don’t see how that’s going to be any help. Perhaps you were mistaken about the box?”
Ivy turned the orb over and saw there was a small hole in it. She thought of her father in his cell at Madstone’s, how he had sometimes paused in his pacing to make twisting motions with his hands. No, she had not been wrong about the box.
“Come with me,” she said, and without further explanation she hurried from the parlor and up the stairs. It took him a moment to react, so that by the time he came into the attic she had already reached the corner where the celestial globe stood.
“What is this thing?” he said as he drew closer.
“It’s my father’s. It shows the mechanics and motions of the heavens.” She examined it, searching, looking for something she had never seen before but that she was certain was there. It had to be. “The larger, hollow orbs represent the celestial spheres.”
He touched one of the balls suspended on the end of a metal arm. “And I suppose these are the eleven planets.”
“No, not eleven,” she said, gripping the metal orb in her hand.
And there it was. It was on the rear side of the globe, close into the center, and very small—a round nubbin of metal. It was no wonder, given the profusion of gears and levers and arms, that she had never seen it before. She took the reddish metal ball and lined up the hole with the post. Then she pushed it into place.
There was a metallic sound. The ball pushed back against her hand, as if somewhere deep within the globe a spring had been released. She let go of it, and the post extended outward from the globe, telescoping into a thin metal arm with the reddish orb at its end.
Mr. Rafferdy raised an eyebrow. “Well, that did something, all right. But what is it?”
“It’s the twelfth planet,” Ivy said. “The red wanderer that appeared in the sky a few months ago. It’s been gone for millennia, since before recorded history began, but now it’s come back.”
So, you have returned at last from your wanderings, her father had said that night when she first saw the red spark in the sky. Somehow he had known about the planet and had incorporated it into the globe. She put her hands on the knobs and levers and began to work them.
“What are you doing?”
Ivy watched the spheres and arms as they spun and turned. It was all different now. Something must have been altered in the interior workings of the globe. The planets moved in patterns she had never seen before. The two smallest planets, Vaelus and Cyrenth, swung toward each other—then passed by without touching. She kept working the dials and levers.
“When twelve who wander stand as one,” she murmured.
“What’s that?”
She shook her head. “It’s a riddle. Something my father left for me.”
He walked around the globe. “I see. They’re lining up, aren’t they?”
He was right. At first the planets had been scattered in all directions around the globe. However, each time the spheres made a full revolution, they drew nearer and nearer one another. Now they were all on the same side of the globe, now gathered in the same quadrant, now forming a ragged line. She kept turning the knobs, even though her hands had started to ache, simulating the passage of dozens, of hundreds of years.
This time it was not a click but a tone like the chiming of a bell. Ivy pried her stiff fingers from the dials. On the far side of the globe, all twelve of the balls—the planets—stood in a perfect line.
“It’s a grand conjunction,” she said, filled with wonder. “But that’s impossible. The planets never all line up.” Or at least they never had in the memory of mankind.
He walked again around the globe. “Look here!” he said.
Ivy followed him, looking where he pointed. A small opening had appeared in the centermost sphere. It was too dark too see what it was, but something glinted within.
“Go on,” he said. “You’re the one who solved the riddle.”
&nb
sp; Ivy leaned forward, slipping her fingers into the opening. She came away with something small. She opened her hand, and as when Mr. Rafferdy had worked magick, a shiver passed through her.
“The key will be revealed in turn,” she said softly. She turned the iron key over in her fingers. It was cool and heavy.
“I think there’s something else in there.” Mr. Rafferdy leaned in and plucked something out of the niche in the globe. It was a piece of paper, folded several times into a neat square.
“Please, you open it,” she said, for her hands were shaking.
“It’s a letter,” he said. “Addressed to you.”
“Would you read it for me?” Her hand was a fist around the key.
“Are you certain?”
She nodded. Mr. Rafferdy took the letter to the window where the light was stronger.
“My Dearest Ivy,” he began, “if you are reading this, it means something has gone awry, and I have been forced to do something I hoped I would not have to do. I cannot say I am entirely surprised; that things might take a bad turn is precisely why I have made these preparations. Since you are reading this, it seems my riddles were not beyond you. Not that I thought they would be; I know you are an exceedingly clever girl. Or young lady, I suppose by now. How I wish I could see how you have grown!
“But there is no time to wonder about that. The hour grows late, and I have only a little time left to write this and to conceal the key. That they will come searching for it, I have no doubt. The binding is strong and will endure for a long while. However, in time, others will attempt to undo our work and open the way—and I fear those who do so will be members of my own circle, the Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye.”
Ivy could not suppress a gasp. The man in the black mask had told her of the order, but that her father had been a member of it was something she had not considered.
Mr. Rafferdy looked up from the letter. “Are you well?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Please, go on.”
He returned his gaze to the letter. “I have discovered that there are deceivers within the order. They will seek to open the door, thinking they can use what would come through for their own ends. They are wrong. To break the binding would open the way for something unspeakable. That I have time on my side is my one comfort, for the enchantment is one of great power, and it will take many years for them to undo the work we have done.
The Magicians and Mrs. Quent Page 55