The Master of Heathcrest Hall

by Galen Beckett

  “I am no longer in the army, Mrs. Baydon,” Rafferdy said. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to wear my medals.”

  She looked up at him. “Dear Mr. Rafferdy, of course it would be appropriate. The war may be over, and for that I am very glad. But while you are no longer a soldier, you will be a hero forevermore. I’m afraid there’s no altering that, so you might as well become accustomed to it. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been leaving pieces for me to fit.”

  She picked up a piece to set into the puzzle. The picture was nearly complete now. On its hill, the manor beckoned above the gray-green moor.

  “Well, are you going to ask me, then?”

  He looked up at her, startled. “Ask you what?”

  “What you came here to ask me, the very moment you learned I had returned from Heathcrest Hall. Aren’t you going to ask me about Lady Quent?”

  At last he managed to speak the words. “And how does she fare? Is she very well?”

  “You know, Mr. Rafferdy, a picture is very nice to look at.” She set the final piece into the puzzle, then brushed a hand over the scene. “Yet in the end, it is far better to see a place for yourself, don’t you think? For no matter how well a picture is painted or a scene is described, you can’t really know what something is truly like, not unless you go there yourself.”

  For a moment he gazed at the landscape on the table before him. Then suddenly he rose to his feet.

  “You are right, Mrs. Baydon,” he said. “As you ever are. There is but one thing I have to do in the city this evening. I will leave for the West Country first thing in the morning.”

  “Very good.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes alight. “And when you go, do wear your medals, Mr. Rafferdy.”

  ELDYN STOLE OUT the back of the Theater of the Moon just as the curtain was rising. A familiar temptation came over him to draw the shadows in close like a cape. Instead he turned up the collar of his charcoal gray coat and drew down the brim of his hat. These actions served well enough to keep him from being easily noticed in the gloom, and no one accosted him as he made his way through the streets of the Old City.

  It seemed strange not to be at the theater that night. After all, this was just the second performance of their newest illusion play, which had premiered only the evening before. What’s more, it would be Miss Lily Lockwell’s first night at the theater without the guiding hand of Madame Richelour there to aid her.

  Not that Eldyn had any doubt Lily would do anything except manage the proceedings with zeal and confidence. After all, it had been some time since Madame Richelour had truly been running affairs at the theater. She had spent much of her time over the last year taking Master Tallyroth on excursions into the country, so that he might be near the Wyrdwood.

  Eldyn, Dercy, and Riethe had gone with them on their first trip to the Evengrove, and they had feared the frail illusionist might not withstand the journey. Only he had, and Dercy and Riethe had carried him up to the grove each day, and laid him in a makeshift bed by the wall, beneath the overhanging branches.

  And then, on the fifth day, Master Tallyroth opened his eyes.

  Once they were assured he was no longer in immediate danger, they returned to the city. But since then, Madame Richelour and Master Tallyroth had been out to the Evengrove with great frequency. In time, Master Tallyroth regained his ability to speak in a faint voice, and even to stand and walk a few short steps. He was frail, but his eyes were bright and lively, and he remained himself.

  Yet he remained ill as well. The mordoth had come exceedingly close to claiming him, and it would never fully give up its grasp. So it was that Madame Richelour had finally purchased a cottage within sight of a grove of Wyrdwood, and just that day she and Master Tallyroth had left the city for the last time, to live in peace in the country.

  Over the course of the last year, Lily had assumed more and more of Madame Richelour’s duties, until she had become madam of the theater in all but name. And now she was so in fact. All of the papers had been signed that morning, and the final transfer had been made. Despite her youth, she was no longer Miss Lily.

  Rather, she was Madame Lockwell now.

  To be madam of a theater on Durrow Street at such a young age was certainly unusual. All the same, no one Eldyn spoke to believed she did not merit it. Besides, it was generally acknowledged on Durrow Street that she had benefited from very favorable connections. Not only did she have the affections of a madam willing to sell her a charter, she also had—through her family—the wealth to pay for it.

  Indeed, there had been more than enough regals, even after accounting for the theater charter, to pay for extensive renovations these last months. As a result, the Theater of the Moon, while not the largest house on Durrow Street, was now the most graceful and opulent. In addition, there were funds to hire more illusionists. That meant they could produce not only the story of the Moon Prince and the Sun King, but a second play as well.

  The subject of the new play had been entirely Lily’s idea. There was a book she wished to bring to the stage, she told them one night at rehearsal. And when she read from it aloud, all of them had grown excited. While they had been deprived of their master illusionist, Eldyn had worked with Lily to devise the staging for the play. Together, they had labored long hours, discussing ideas while Lily sketched madly in her folio, and then bringing the actors onto the stage to rehearse, trying this arrangement of figures or that color of light, until everything was just so.

  At last, they had been ready to unveil the play. Last night, the theatergoers on Durrow Street had gotten their first look at the new production of The Towers of Ardaunto. And this morning, several of the broadsheets had printed stories about it, hailing it as much more than an idyll or a burlesque, but rather as a work of real art. Tonight, a large crowd had gathered outside the theater as evening fell, just as Eldyn imagined there would be for many more nights to come.

  If he had any regret in all of this, it was that there was no part in the new play for himself. Not that Lily wouldn’t have offered him a role had he asked; she would have. Yet while they did not speak of it, they both knew it was for the best that he didn’t take to the stage. If he was ever to work illusions again, it could only be in the most sparing fashion.

  True, when he looked in a mirror these days, he appeared well enough. His face was perhaps a little thinner. Faint shadows lingered beneath his eyes, and here and there was a fleck of silver in his hair. Anyone passing him on the street would have thought, Now, there is a young man who must have been very pretty as a youth, and who still carries himself well as a man of thirty-five.

  Only he wasn’t thirty-five. He was twenty-six. And if he looked at his hands, he could still easily trace the blue veins beneath his skin. Indeed, the longer he stayed in the city, the easier it became to see them there.

  Master Tallyroth wasn’t the only one who had benefited from visits to the Wyrdwood. On their first trip to the Evengrove, Eldyn himself had been feeble and palsied. But as they sat with Master Tallyroth in the dappled light at the edge of the Wyrdwood, Eldyn watched the blue veins upon his hands grow lighter and recede a little more each day.

  Though they never went away, not entirely. And each time he traveled back to the city, they would slowly begin to return, even if he worked few or no illusions. The effects of the mordoth might be lessened, but as they had seen in Master Tallyroth, it never truly departed one. And so an illusionist still had to be careful, and to never be reckless with his own light.

  Eldyn continued through the dark labyrinth of the Old City. It was just two lumenals after Darkeve, and the thin sliver of moon above shed little light on the city. Nor did the twelfth planet, Cerephus, emit any sort of visible glow as it once had done.

  A year ago, at the time of the alignment of the planets, something had occurred—some catastrophic event which had affected the new planet, altering its albedo so that it was now black as pitch. Astrographers were still trying to deter
mine what had happened. Had the conjunction caused Cerephus to draw too close to the sun or one of the other planets, resulting in this change? Many theories had been proposed, but as of yet none had been confirmed.

  What had been confirmed was that Cerephus remained in the heavens, for it could sometimes be detected, by means of ocular lenses, as a black disk against the sea of stars. It was beginning to gradually recede, though—returning to the void from whence it came. At the same time, the alternation of umbrals and lumenals had steadily become less wild and abrupt over the last year. Already astrographers were able to make general predictions about the lengths of future lumenals and umbrals, and they were confident they would soon finish calculating new timetables to publish in the almanacs. Eldyn supposed that was good. For it meant everyone would once again know exactly how long they had for drinking each night.

  With this thought in mind, he turned onto a familiar lane and approached a familiar door. While this was still not a particularly reputable part of the city, nor was it so grimy and fraught with menace as before. Several streetlamps threw off flickering circles of light, and at the end of the lane a hansom cab waited for a fare.

  That was something he would not have seen over a year ago, when to linger in a place such as this was to go begging for a robbing—or worse. But even as the nation had grown less desperate over the course of the last year, so had its citizens. True, ills that had been wrought over generations would take far more than a year to cure. But everyone had reason to believe that, before too long, the common multitudes would gain some portion of those benefits which had heretofore been reserved only for a rarefied few. After all, the nation had two rulers now, not just one. So at least for the present, most were inclined to hope things would in general proceed better under King Huntley and Queen Layle than before.

  And if not—well, the people of Altania had changed their government once, which meant they could do so again. That was a lesson Eldyn hoped both the Crown and Assembly would not soon forget.

  As he approached the door of the establishment, he saw that the sign above had been newly painted, depicting as ever (though more brightly now) a green leaf pierced by a silver sword. He nodded to the doorman, then went in and proceeded to the rear of the tavern. And there, in their usual booth, he found his companion already waiting.

  “It’s about time, you rogue!” Rafferdy exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I was never going to have the benefit of a drink.”

  Eldyn grinned as he sat. “Don’t tell me you’re out of money again.”

  “Very nearly. I signed away the greater part of my lands this very morning. All for the general benefit of various townships and villages, and every nobody residing therein, and all for nothing in return. I am sure no one will so much as buy me a drink.”

  Eldyn was exceedingly pleased to hear this news. “I will buy you one,” he said and took a coin from his pocket.

  Rafferdy’s eyes shone in the lamplight. “A regal! Our amusement is assured tonight. Unless …” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t worry,” Eldyn said. “It’s real, not a copper in disguise.”

  He hailed the barkeep, and they soon had a pot and two cups before them. For a while they paid attention to their drink and did not talk until they had each drained their cup.

  “I’m very glad you were in the city,” Eldyn said, refilling their cups. “I did not think it would all happen so soon as this. But the winds are especially favorable, I am told, and everyone is anxious for the crossing.”

  “So you really mean to do this, then? It’s not just the latest scheme of yours? Like clerking or being a priest or some such?”

  “No, it’s not like that,” Eldyn said, wincing a bit. But then he grinned. “Or maybe it is. I suppose I was trying to make something of myself. Only in both cases, it was something other than what I really was, and that’s why I failed so miserably. But with this …” He shrugged. “No one will care if I was a clerk or a priest or an illusionist. It won’t matter where I came from, but only what I do.”

  “What a deviant notion,” his companion said, and quaffed his punch.

  Eldyn frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about what this world is becoming,” he said. “It’s absolutely dreadful, all this talk of fraternity and equality. If people cannot judge you by your name or your title or the expensiveness of your coat and carriage, what basis is left to judge you on?”

  “On the basis of what lies in here,” Eldyn said, reaching across the table to tap his friend’s chest.

  Rafferdy crumpled back into the bench, as if Eldyn had struck him a grave blow. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

  Eldyn shook his head. After all these years, his friend could still baffle him. Rafferdy was a lord, a magician, and a decorated hero of the war. What was more, he was one of those men who had never been especially handsome in his youth, but who was growing ever more striking as he aged. Given his height, in a few years he would be positively commanding. He would be able to pass laws through Assembly on sheer presence alone.

  Though at the moment he did not look very commanding, slouched as he was in the booth. They resumed their silence again for a time.

  “And how is Miss Lily?” Rafferdy said at last.

  “You mean Madame Lockwell,” Eldyn replied.

  “So, she owns the theater now?”

  “Yes, it’s all official. Madame Richelour is off to the country to care for Master Tallyroth. But I think she has left the theater in more than capable hands. Lily is still very young, but she has a fine sensibility and great passion. And her new play is quite marvelous.”

  “Yes, I saw it mentioned in The Comet this morning.”

  It was still astonishing to Eldyn that an illusion play would be discussed in such a reputable publication, and not in a derogatory way. “I must say—while it is not due to her only, of course, but also the changing times—I think Lady Quent has much to do with the favorable light in which the theaters are regarded these days. When she visited the Theater of the Moon a couple of months ago, it caused something of a sensation in the city.”

  “Yes,” Rafferdy said. “It did.”

  Eldyn shook his head. “I didn’t think you were in Invarel at the time.”

  “I read about it in the newspaper.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, after the famous countess of Cairnbridge went to a playhouse on Durrow Street, it suddenly became the daring and fashionable thing to do. Just like how everyone is leaving the New Quarter and moving to the Old City these days.”

  “She is a very remarkable woman,” Rafferdy said, rather glumly.

  Suddenly Eldyn realized he had been dense. He should have known at once the source of his friend’s melancholy.

  “So you’re not going to wait until she’s back in the city, then?”

  “I thought I might as well go to the West Country and get the misery over with.”

  “You underestimate yourself, I think.”

  He looked up from his cup. “Do I?”

  “Yes, you do. I know you never wanted power or position, Rafferdy. But that’s precisely why you’re the best person to have it.” He gestured toward the House ring on his companion’s hand. “That ring is part of you, Rafferdy. It can’t be taken off, not so long as you live. So you might as well start putting it to use.”

  He scowled at this. “Surely you’re not suggesting I try to influence her with some enchantment?”

  “No, I’m suggesting you try to influence her by not worrying about who you aren’t, and can never be, and instead by being who you are.” Eldyn leaned across the table. “You can never replace him, Rafferdy. But nor would she ever expect you to.”

  Rafferdy gazed at his ring. Then, abruptly, he stood. “I think I’ve had enough punch for tonight, Garritt.”

  “I suppose I have as well.”

  The two men left the table and went out into the night. They clasped hands tightly, and both found it difficult to fin
d words to speak. At last they parted.

  “Well, then,” Rafferdy said, leaning on his cane. “Here we each of us go, my dear old friend.”

  And before Eldyn could say anything more, Rafferdy turned and strolled away into the night, tapping his cane against the cobbles as he went.

  IT WAS MIDDAY two lumenals later when all was ready. Eldyn had made his farewells at the theater last night, and his things had been sent ahead that morning, so the only thing left was to see to it that he arrived himself.

  Given that he had plenty of time, and the day was fine, he decided to walk. He made his way down Durrow Street, past a number of theaters which had reopened in the last year, then turned onto University Street and walked through Covenant Cross. As he went, he passed a number of coffeehouses, and all of them were bustling with activity. Now that all of the copies of the Rules of Citizenship had been torn down and burned, and the colleges at the university had reopened their doors, the coffeehouses were once again bubbling pots where discussion and debate brewed.

  A temptation came upon him to duck in, have a cup, and maybe see if he would run into one of his old compatriots. Only, if he were to see Jaimsley, he would inevitably be delayed. The last time they had met, Jaimsley had expounded upon a score of different things that Crown and Assembly needed to accomplish at once for the benefit of the nation. Finally, after Jaimsley had dominated all talk in the coffeehouse for an hour, Eldyn had told him he should save his wind for when he ran for a seat in the Hall of Citizens. A look of shock had crossed Jaimsley’s homely face at this, but then there came a great number of Hear! Hears! And at this reaction, Jaimsley’s crooked grin had manifested itself.

  Eldyn hoped Jaimsley really would run for a seat in Assembly. He had shown both his cleverness and his capacity to lead during the revolution. The nation certainly had need of a man of his abilities at a time such as this. And if he did run, Eldyn had no doubt he would be elected.