A Matter of Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  It was an amusing way of passing the time; Kim didn’t even notice when the interior of the wagon began to grow lighter. She was almost disappointed when, shortly after dawn, Hunch pulled into the yard of a coaching inn, temporarily ending the lesson.

  While Hunch watered the horses, Mairelon produced the package he had brought back to the wagon the previous night. To Kim’s surprise, it contained a boy’s jacket, shirt, and breeches. They were nearly new, and much finer than the best clothing Kim had ever worn. “That’s for me?” she said in disbelief.

  “Of course,” Mairelon replied. “It wouldn’t fit me, or Hunch, either. I’d intended to get you a dress as well, but there wasn’t time. We’ll have to attend to that later.”

  Kim was reduced to near speechlessness. Mairelon waved away her attempts at thanking him and shooed her out into the inn’s yard. There he insisted that Kim wash as much of herself as could be decently managed under the inn’s pump. Hunch fussed with the horses and muttered into his mustache throughout the entire proceeding. Only then would Mairelon allow Kim to try on her new clothes.

  Back inside the wagon, Kim shinned out of her own tattered clothing immediately and pulled on the garments Mairelon had brought her. The breeches were a little tight and the jacket was a little loose, but the clothes remained the best she had ever worn. She shrugged her shoulders, testing the movement of the jacket, then grinned and threw open the wagon door.

  Mairelon was nowhere in sight, but Hunch was standing beside the steps. “ ’Ere,” he said, and handed her a chunk of fresh bread and a slice of cheese. “We ain’t stopping long,” he added in response to her look of surprise. “Eat while you can.”

  This was entirely in accord with Kim’s philosophy, and she bit into the bread with great satisfaction. “Where’s Mairelon?” she asked as she munched. She was disappointed that he had not stayed to see how she looked.

  “There.” Hunch jerked his head toward the stable, but did not elaborate.

  Kim nodded, her mouth full, and sat down on the steps to finish her meal. Mairelon returned just as she swallowed the last of the bread and cheese. She scrambled to her feet so that he could get the full effect of her new finery, and he nodded thoughtfully.

  “You make a very pretty boy,” he said. “But I don’t think you’ll want to hike the roads in those. Try this.”

  Kim caught the bundle he tossed her and looked at him in bewilderment. “Hike?”

  “I told you the wagon wasn’t meant for riding in, remember? Unless we’re in a hurry, we walk. It’s less work for the horses.”

  Kim nodded and went back inside. The bundle was yet another set of clothes, plain and much-mended, but clean. They looked like farmers’ wear; Mairelon must have gotten them from one of the stable hands. She frowned suddenly. She was glad she wouldn’t have to wear the rags she’d had on earlier, but she was rapidly becoming uncomfortable with the number of things Mairelon was giving her. She didn’t like owing him so much; it gave him a claim on her, and she still didn’t know what he expected in return. Well, she hadn’t asked him for any of it. It was his own lookout if she sherried off with everything. She shrugged and reached for the clothes.

  When she emerged, she found that Mairelon had changed his full-dress London evening garb for something very like a laborer’s smock. Kim had to suppress a laugh; in the patched, brown homespun he bore a strong resemblance to a not-very-reputable tinker’s helper. As soon as he was ready, they left the yard. Hunch led the horses instead of driving from the van, and Mairelon and Kim walked along behind the wagon.

  Mairelon showed Kim some of his simpler magic tricks as they walked. He claimed that doing them on the move was more difficult than working them on stage, and therefore it was good practice. Kim was particularly fascinated by the various ways of tying knots that slid apart like oiled snakes if the right loop were pulled. She made Mairelon show her how they were tied, going slowly through the process several times. Then she practiced until she could manage a creditable performance.

  She was disappointed to find that Mairelon’s tricks owed more to his deft fingers than to real magic. But she hadn’t expected him to teach her any real magic, she told herself sternly. And the things he showed her were certainly fascinating. She swallowed her regrets and concentrated on making a half-crown appear to vanish from one hand and reappear in the other.

  Her language lessons continued as well. Mairelon had a way of looking at her and raising his eyebrows whenever she used a cant phrase or misplaced a word. It was far more effective than the scoldings and blows Mother Tibb had dispensed whenever her students were slow; Kim found herself learning more quickly than she would have dreamed.

  They were well out into the country now, and Kim found the open fields and hedges very strange after the close confines of the London streets. Near noon they stopped to let the horses rest and graze on the verge. Kim helped Hunch unharness them, then Mairelon called her over to begin her first lesson in reading. She spent most of the two-hour stop scowling ferociously at the little brown book of letters Mairelon had produced. She emerged with a profound respect for anyone who had mastered this difficult art, and an even more profound determination to join their number.

  The afternoon was occupied by more lessons, but this time Mairelon was the pupil. He asked Kim to teach him how to pick locks. Relieved to find that there was something he didn’t know how to do, Kim readily agreed. She scornfully rejected, however, the notion of beginning with the lock on the chest inside the wagon. “You ain’t—you aren’t goin’ to get nowhere—anywhere?—if you start in on a fancy job like that one,” she told him.

  Mairelon accepted the rebuke and brought out a smaller padlock from somewhere in the depths of the wagon. “Do we need anything else?” he asked.

  “You mean, special keys and such?”

  Mairelon nodded apologetically. “I’ve heard that they’re useful.”

  “Maybe, but I just use a bit of wire. If you lose a key, you got to get a new one, and that takes time. A bit of wire’s always easy to come by.”

  Mairelon nodded. Kim spent much of the afternoon demonstrating the twists and pulls that Mother Tibb had shown her so long ago. She was not as patient a teacher as Mairelon had been, but her student had the benefit of years of experience with sleight of hand, and he learned very quickly. By the end of the afternoon, she was ready to let him try his hand at the rusty-looking lock that held the rear doors of the wagon.

  “Tomorrow, perhaps,” Mairelon said. “I think I’ve had enough for one day.”

  Kim rather agreed with him. She was tired and very dusty from the long trek in the wagon’s wake, and her brain whirled in an attempt to assimilate all the new things she had learned. When they reached the edge of a little village and pulled off the road to make camp at last, her main emotion was relief.

  Hunch tended the horses while Mairelon and Kim gathered wood. When the fire was well started, Mairelon hung a pot above it on a wobbly tripod affair that he had cobbled together out of green branches and twine. Hunch went muttering through the grass and weeds along the road. He returned with several lanky plants, which he threw into the pot along with a little meat and some vegetables from the wagon. Kim was not sure whether it was Hunch’s seasoning or the long walk, but the stew was the best she had ever tasted. There was plenty of it, too; Kim ate until she was stuffed, and there was still some left in the pot.

  When the meal was over, Mairelon and Hunch began a low-voiced conversation on the other side of the fire. Kim quickly grew frustrated with her inability to hear what they were saying, and Hunch’s occasional fierce glares made it quite clear that she had better not move any closer. Kim glared back at him, which accomplished nothing beyond providing her with some emotional satisfaction, then rose and wandered back to the wagon. She glanced at the rusty lock holding the rear doors, shook her head, and went on around to the steps.

  Inside the wagon, she gave the chest a speculative look. She decided against it; Mairelon knew she co
uld open it, and had undoubtedly taken precautions. More precautions, she amended, remembering the purple explosion that had thrown her across the wagon. Instead, she went to the rear of the van. She hadn’t been able to investigate that area before, because Mairelon had been performing just outside, and she was curious about how the folding stage worked.

  The curtain was heavier than its faded, threadbare appearance had led her to expect. She examined it more closely and found a series of lead weights sewn into the hem. Her surprise lasted only a moment. Mairelon wouldn’t want a stray breeze to reveal the luxurious interior of his wagon while he was performing. Kim frowned, wondering why he hadn’t put a folding panel behind the curtain for added security. She’d have to remember to ask him later; she was certain he had some good reason. She lifted one end of the curtain and peered behind it.

  There was a foot-wide space between the curtain and the back wall. Kim slipped into it and let the curtain fall shut behind her. A little light filtered in around the edges, providing a gloomy reddish illumination. As she waited for her eyes to adjust, Kim ran her fingertips lightly across the rear wall. There was no break in the surface; this must be the floor of the stage, then. She crouched to study the base of the wall. Yes, there were hinges, carefully sunk into notches in the wood. They hardly showed at all, and when the stage was lowered, they would lie flush with the floor, providing no inconvenient lumps for a performer to trip over.

  She completed her inspection and straightened, just as the sound of hoofbeats came clearly from just outside. Old habits took over; Kim froze, half crouched behind the curtain. She heard a shout and the muffled sounds of conversation, but she paid little attention. She was too busy reminding herself that she was doing nothing the nabbing culls could nick her for. She hadn’t nicked anything for nearly two years, not since she’d been on her own. She had just managed to convince herself that it would be perfectly safe to go outside and see what was happening when steps sounded on the stairs and she heard the wagon’s door open.

  “—and you can take a look at it,” Mairelon’s voice said.

  “Well, that’s good news,” an unfamiliar voice replied. “What’s this Hunch says about you picking up another stray?”

  Curiosity kept Kim motionless. “I would hardly call Kim a stray,” Mairelon said. “And Heaven only knows what would have happened to her if I’d left her in the streets of London.”

  “Um. Still trying to make up for Jamie? No, no, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. But you’re certain she has nothing to do with the robbery?”

  “Quite sure. Now, Edward, do you want to look at the bowl or not?”

  “Yes, of course; let’s have it.”

  Sundry clicks and thumps followed, the sounds of Mairelon unlocking the chest and throwing back the lid. Then light flashed brightly around the edges of the curtain, and the strange voice exclaimed, “My word!”

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Mairelon replied. “Will you take it with you?”

  “Not unless you want me to. The consensus is that it may help you find the rest of the pieces, but it may also make things more dangerous for you.”

  “How?” Mairelon asked sharply.

  “Magic cuts in both directions. If you can use the bowl to find the platter and the spheres, they can be used to find the bowl. And you.”

  “Of course. But I thought you had more in mind than that.”

  “Marchmont thinks someone at the Ministry has been talking too freely,” Mairelon’s companion said reluctantly. “It may be deliberate.”

  “I see. And there’s still the little matter of finding out which one of our colleagues at the Royal College planned the theft in the first place, isn’t there?”

  “You’ve no proof that anyone—”

  “Don’t be a fool, Shoreham! Someone arranged things very cleverly to make it look as if I were the one behind that theft. Someone very well informed. It was sheerest luck that I ran into you that night, or you’d be as sure I’m guilty as the rest of them.”

  “All right, all right. But I still wish you’d let me clear your name.”

  “And give whoever it is a reason to try again? No, thank you. Besides, as long as no one knows who is really responsible, there will still be those who believe I was behind it.”

  “I should think the word of the Earl of Shoreham will be enough to put an end to such gossip,” Shoreham said stiffly.

  Kim swallowed an exclamation and pressed herself against the rear wall of the wagon, wishing fervently that she had come out from behind the curtain as soon as Mairelon opened the wagon door. Robbery and intrigue were things she emphatically did not want to get mixed up in, particularly if there were Earls involved, too. The gentry were even more trouble than toffs.

  Mairelon’s laugh had little humor to it. “Nothing stops gossip, Edward; you ought to know that.”

  “If you would just—”

  “Let it lie, Edward. What else do you have to tell me? I assume you didn’t come all this way just to look at the Saltash Bowl and warn me that someone in the Ministry is too free with information.”

  “You’re still determined to go through with this?”

  “Would I be here, like this, if I weren’t?”

  “Oh, very well, then. We’ve finally traced the platter.”

  “And?” Mairelon’s tone was eager.

  “It’s in the hands of one of those new druid cults.”

  “Druid cults?”

  “There’s been a sort of half-baked revival going on for the past year or two. It’s all very fashionable—mistletoe and white robes under the new moon, with little golden sickles for everyone.” Lord Shoreham snorted. “Quackery, all of it; no science at all. It’s the sort of thing that gives magicians a bad name.”

  “Then why did it take you this long to find the platter?”

  “This group has one or two members who dabble a bit in real magic.”

  “I see.”

  “They call themselves Sons of the New Dawn, I believe,” Lord Shoreham went on. “They’re located in Essex, near Suffolk, at a place called Ranton Hill.”

  “I’m familiar with the area. Edward, if I’m going to Essex, why in Heaven’s name have you dragged me a day’s trip in the opposite direction?” Mairelon demanded.

  “To try and keep unwelcome attention centered in this area. The platter’s been there for at least two years; there’s no reason to hurry.”

  “Mmmm. It’ll take me at least two days to get there now—”

  “Three,” Lord Shoreham said blandly. “I’d rather you went around London instead of through it.”

  “If you insist.”

  “Under the circumstances, I most certainly do.”

  “Very well. Tell me about these druids, then.”

  Kim heard a sound like a sigh of resignation, then Lord Shoreham’s voice said, “There are only about ten members, mostly young men in it for a lark. The three most likely to have the platter are Frederick Meredith, Robert Choiniet, and Jonathan Aberford. I’ve brought a list of the others.”

  There was a rustling noise as the paper changed hands. “That will do, I think,” Mairelon said with some satisfaction. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

  Lord Shoreham cleared his throat. “Ah, there is one other thing. How well do you know the Viscount Granleigh?”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “And St. Clair?”

  “The Baron and I . . . have met. Where is this leading, Edward?”

  Shoreham sighed. “I wanted to know whether you were likely to meet anyone who would recognize you.”

  “Then why didn’t you just ask?” Mairelon’s tone was infuriating in its innocence.

  “Richard! The Runners are still looking for you in connection with the original robbery, you know.”

  “It’s half the reason I left England. I take it Granleigh and St. Clair are likely to be in Essex?”

  “Possibly. Charles Bramingham is married to St. Clair’s sister, and his son is S
t. Clair’s heir. His wife is a bosom bow of Amelia Granleigh, the Viscountess, and is addicted to house parties. It’s not beyond the bounds of probability that you’ll run into them.”

  “I know. I’ve stayed at Bramingham Place a time or two. Don’t go ruffling your feathers about it, it was years ago, and they’re not likely to remember me. What is their connection with the Ministry?”

  There was a moment’s silence, then Lord Shoreham said ruefully, “Richard, you are uncanny. How did you know?”

  “There must be at least a hundred people in London who might have recognized me, including my dear brother Andrew. You didn’t ask me about any of them.”

  “Andrew’s in London? You didn’t see him, did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Briefly. It needn’t concern you.”

  “Nothing in this affair—”

  “You’re avoiding the subject, Edward. What’s so special about Bramingham and the Granleighs?”

  Lord Shoreham sighed again. “Stephen Granleigh is involved with the Ministry in a number of ways. Of necessity, he’s familiar with the history of the Saltash Bowl. Has decided opinions on the subject, too.”

  “I see. And St. Clair?”

  “Was elected to the College in your place.”

  “He must have been delighted.” Mairelon’s voice was utterly devoid of expression. “I must remember to congratulate him if I see him.”

  “Richard! Don’t take foolish risks.”

  “Foolish? Never.”

  “I ought to take the bowl, after all, and let someone else recover the platter.”

  “You can have it if you like, but it won’t keep me out of Essex.”

  “I was afraid of that. Richard, if the Runners catch you with the Saltash Bowl—”