Mairelon the Magician

by Patricia Wrede

  “No, it’s me,” Kim said, rising. She walked forward, brushing dead leaves from her coat.

  “You were supposed to stay at the wagon,” Mairelon said without heat.

  “That’s what you said,” Kim agreed. “I never told you I would.”

  “True.” Mairelon pursed his lips and gazed at Kim thoughtfully. “I can see I’ll have to listen to you more carefully in the future. How long have you been here?”

  “Since right after the bracket-faced gentry mort and her brother came,” Kim answered. “I saw them on the road, but I couldn’t hop it fast enough to get here first.”

  “You didn’t by any chance see Mademoiselle D’Auber as well, did you?”

  “No,” Kim said with some satisfaction. “I didn’t.”

  Mairelon eyed her sharply, then frowned. “It’s not like Renée to be late.” He tucked Lady Granleigh’s parcel under his arm and pulled a watch from his pocket. As he glanced at it, his frown deepened. “Certainly not this late.”

  “Maybe she saw them two on their way here,” Kim suggested, jerking a thumb in the direction Lady Granleigh’s carriage had gone. There was no reason for Mairelon to get in a taking over Renée D’Auber. She was a wizard, after all; she could take care of herself.

  Mairelon looked up, still frowning. “Yes, that would explain it,” he said. “And it’s ‘those two,’ not ‘them two.’”

  “Those two, then,” Kim said, obscurely comforted by this offhanded correction. “What are you goin’ to do with the platter?”

  “Platter?” Mairelon’s expression went blank; then his eyes followed Kim’s pointing finger. “Oh, is that what’s in this package? How convenient.”

  “It’s the cheat they nicked from the library at Bramingham Place,” Kim added. “I heard them talkin’.”

  “Indeed.” Mairelon took the parcel out from under his arm and studied it. “Why would Lady Granleigh want to give the fake platter to Jonathan Aberford? And why deliver it here? He lives in the vicinity, his direction can’t be particularly difficult to discover.”

  Kim shrugged. “They didn’t say.”

  “Mmmm.” Mairelon continued his examination of the parcel for a moment. Suddenly he flipped the package end for end, tucked it back under his arm, and started briskly down the hill. “Time to be going. It wouldn’t do for someone to get into the wagon while we’re away.”

  “Or catch us hangin’ about here with that thing,” Kim muttered, eyeing the package Mairelon was carrying. As he reached the base of the hill, she fell into step beside him and added in a louder voice, “There’s somethin’ smoky about that Stuggs cove, that drove the carriage.”

  “Do you think so? He’s not the usual gentleman’s gentleman, I’ll admit, but then, Jasper Marston doesn’t seem very good at being a usual sort of gentleman.”

  “I don’t know what his lay is, but he’s no flat, that’s sure,” Kim said positively “He pokered up when you said your name was de Mare, and he was watchin’ everything too close. And he wasn’t keen to give you that package, no matter what the bracket-faced mort said.”

  “Wasn’t he, now,” Mairelon said “How interesting. You know, Kim, this whole business is beginning to look extremely odd.”

  “Beginnin’ to look odd?”

  “Marston, who has no reason I can think of to even be aware of the existence of the Saltash Set, hires the unlikely Mr. Stuggs to run errands and you to find out whether I have the bowl. Not, mind you, to steal it, but only to discover whether the thing is hidden in one of my cupboards He and Lady Granleigh go to a great deal of trouble to steal a copy of the Saltash Platter from Bramingham Place, in spite of interruptions from several people who ought not to know anything about it, either. Then when they get it, they immediately set out to give it to Mr. Aberford, whom Marston, at least, must have recognized as one of the inept housebreakers”

  “Maybe he didn’t,” Kim said. “And they’ve had the platter since night before last. That ain’t givin’ it back very immediately”

  “Isn’t,” Mairelon corrected. “The real question is, why would Lady Granleigh want to turn the fake platter over to Aberford instead of giving it back to Henry Bramingham? Bramingham is, after all, the person from whom she stole it.”

  Kim shook her head. “There’s no accountin’ for gentry folk.”

  “Nonsense,” Mairelon said firmly. “She must have had some reason. Your Mr. Stower is another puzzlement. I doubt that he is in league with Lady Granleigh, but given Marston’s obvious penchant for unusual servants, I don’t think we can rule out a connection there.”

  “He ain’t my Mr. Stower,” Kim said. “If he’s anybody’s, he’s Dan Laverham’s.”

  “So you’ve said. In which case, the question that leaps immediately to mind is, is Stower on his own in this or not? And either way, why is he, or Laverham, interested in the Saltash Set? And how did they find out about it?”

  “The last part’s easy,” Kim said. “Laverham’s got an eye for anything that’ll bring in money, and London’s full of coves as would put him in the way of nicking the platter just to get on his good side.”

  Mairelon gave her an indecipherable look. “Possibly Hunch will have more to say about it when he returns from London. Then there’s Mr. Aberford, whose desire for the platter is the only one that appears simple and straightforward. I therefore distrust it on principle, particularly given Mr. Aberford’s, ah, unorthodox attempts to retrieve the thing”

  “You weren’t above breakin’ into that Bramingham cove’s library yourself,” Kim reminded him. “Unless that ain’t—isn’t—what you meant by ‘unorthodox.’”

  “Everyone broke into Bramingham’s library,” Mairelon said testily. “Including Renée. Everyone who was anywhere near Ranton Hill, that is. I suppose I should be glad St. Clair didn’t arrive until a day later, or we might have seen him bumbling around with everyone else.”

  Kim suppressed a shiver “I don’t think so. He didn’t look like no bumbler to me, and for sure he’s no flat.”

  “Quite true,” Mairelon said with another sidelong glance at Kim. “I stand corrected, I’ve been acquainted with St. Clair long enough to know better. He would undoubtedly—”

  Mairelon broke off as they came within sight of the wagon. A curl of smoke was rising past the far side of the roof, and Mairelon looked reproachfully at Kim.

  “I put the fire out before I left!” Kim protested. “I’m not sapskulled.”

  “Then it appears we have company,” Mairelon said. His stride lengthened, and Kim had to skip twice to catch up. “Perhaps Renée has found us, after all.”

  Kim, who had been thinking of Jasper Marston and his sister, or the unpleasant Lord St. Clair, was surprised and not altogether pleased by this suggestion. She was even more surprised, but considerably relieved, when they came around the corner of the wagon and found Hunch feeding medium-sized sticks into a new fire. A placid-looking roan, presumably Hunch’s means of transportation, was tied to the back of the wagon, chewing quietly on an invisible wisp of hay.

  “Hunch!” Mairelon said, stopping short. “Well, that was always a possibility. You haven’t seen Renée around anywhere, have you?”

  “If you mean that Miss Doo-bear friend o’ yours, no, I ain’t,” Hunch answered. “Nor I ain’t likely to. She’s in London, laid up with a chill.”

  “No, she isn’t,” Mairelon said, frowning. “She’s a house-guest at one of Mrs. Bramingham’s interminable parties. I’ve seen her myself. I wonder why she thought she had to pretend she was staying in London?”

  “You’ve seen ’er?” Hunch frowned. “Now, ’ow would you ’ave done that when you was supposed to be a-staying ’ere out of trouble while I was gone?”

  “These things happen,” Mairelon said, waving a hand in airy dismissal.

  “Don’t you gammon me, Master Richard,” Hunch said severely. “What ’ave you been up to now?”

  “This and that,” Mairelon answered “What did Lord Shoreham have to
say? Or did he send you off without any information? I hope not; I did tell you to wait.”

  “’E ’ad a lot to say.” Hunch’s expression was grim, and he paused for a moment to chew on the right side of his mustache. “And I ain’t repeating any of it til you tell me what you’ve been doing!”

  “Oh, we’ve been keeping busy, haven’t we, Kim?”

  “Don’t go draggin’ me in!” Kim said quickly. “It ain’t none of my lay.”

  Hunch scowled at Kim, then turned his attention back to Mairelon. “You ’adn’t ought to—what ’ave you got there?”

  Mairelon shifted the parcel under his arm and smiled. “This? I’m not sure. Kim says it’s the Saltash Platter, but I haven’t looked yet to see whether she’s right.”

  “I never—” Kim gasped, only to be cut short by a look from Mairelon.

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Mairelon said, holding the parcel out to Hunch.

  Hunch tried to glare at Mairelon, but his eyes kept returning to the package. At last he took it. With a final glare and considerable muttering, he sat down on the step of the wagon and began undoing the knots. Kim realized suddenly that Hunch was just as curious about things as she was, and as little able to resist the opportunity to find something out.

  The strings fell apart and Hunch unfolded the wrappings. A silver platter lay across his knees, shining even in the leaden sunlight that crept through the clouds. It was very like the one Kim had glimpsed at Bramingham Place, but she wouldn’t have wagered a farthing one way or the other on this being the same article.

  “Where did you come by this?” Hunch demanded suspiciously.

  “One thing at a time, Hunch,” Mairelon responded. “Let me have a look at it first.”

  “No, you don’t,” said a new voice as Mairelon reached for the platter.

  The surly tone was unmistakably Jack Stower’s, and Kim’s stomach sank as her head swiveled in the direction of the voice. There was no chance that he wouldn’t see her now. Then she got a good look at him, and froze where she stood.

  Jack Stower was standing at the rear corner of the wagon beside the roan. He had a large sack strapped over one shoulder. In each hand he held a pistol, and his face wore a forbidding scowl. “I’ll have that there wicher cheat, and no gammon,” he snarled.

  “Just so,” said Mairelon without moving. “Do I bring it to you, or do you come and get it”

  “Put it on, the ground, there,” Stower said, gesturing with one of the pistols. “Then you and the turnip-pated cove get over by the fire. Hop it!”

  With exaggerated care, Mairelon lifted the platter and set it in front of Stower. Then he backed away, his eyes fixed on Stower’s face. “Hunch,” he said without turning, and the dour servingman rose and joined him.

  Stower stuck one of his pistols through his belt and swung the sack down from his shoulder. The coarse fabric stretched and shifted around something large and flat and rectangular as he lowered it to the ground. Kim stared at the sack in sudden wild surmise.

  “Now you, boy,” Stower said, taking the second pistol from his belt and aiming it at Mairelon and Hunch once more. “You take that wicher cheat and—Kim!”

  “Surprise,” Kim said sourly. “Long way from London, ain’t it, Stower?”

  Stower’s face darkened. “I’ll London you! You think you’re going to nick a few of the yellow boys Laverham’s offering, don’t you? Well, you ain’t getting nothing. This is my lay, see? How’d you get here ahead of me, anyways? You didn’t follow the old cove from the inn. I’d a seen you.”

  “Just luck,” Kim managed. She felt sick. After Stower’s hints, Mairelon and Hunch would never trust her again.

  “Sorry, Master Richard,” Hunch said in tones of chagrin. “I thought as I ’ad shook ’em off the trail in London.”

  “But Mr. Stower wasn’t in London,” Mairelon said, and Kim nearly jumped when she felt the unmistakable crystalline quality of the words. Surely Mairelon couldn’t mean to try a spell on a man holding two pistols at his head?

  “He was in Ranton Hill,” Mairelon went on, and the sharp edge of magic was clearer and more threatening than before. “He should still be in Ranton Hill. He should go back to Ranton Hill before something happens to him, tzay min po, katzef!”

  Jack Stower’s face contorted, as if in fear or pain. He gave a strangled cry and hurled one of his pistols at Mairelon. Instantly Hunch dove sideways, knocking Mairelon out of the way as Stower turned and plunged into the wood behind the wagon. Kim threw herself down as the pistol hit the ground and went off, sending a bullet whistling through the empty air where Mairelon’s chest had been a moment before.

  “The shotgun, Hunch,” Mairelon said, panting slightly. “He’s still got one pistol, and that spell was only a makeshift. It won’t hold him long.”

  Hunch rolled to his feet and ran for the wagon without wasting time on words of acknowledgment. Kim picked herself up and followed, pausing just long enough to scoop up Jack’s bag and the silver platter that lay beside it. Mairelon was the last one inside. He barred the door behind him, then reached up and pressed a knothole in the ceiling.

  There was a barely audible click. Mairelon set his palms flat against the ceiling and pushed, and a two-foot section lifted up half an inch, then slid back out of the way. “The gun and a lift, Hunch, if you please,” Mairelon said softly.

  “You ’adn’t ought to be doing this, Master Richard,” Hunch grumbled, but he handed Mairelon the shotgun and knelt. Mairelon set a hand on the edge of the opening in the ceiling and a foot in Hunch’s cupped hands, and a moment later slid noiselessly out onto the roof of the wagon.

  Kim watched this performance with considerable admiration. The speed and smoothness with which it was done spoke of much practice, and she was impressed by the forethought that had designed the hidden panel in the ceiling. After a moment, it occurred to her to wonder just how often Mairelon and Hunch had had to make use of this particular device. It threw a whole new light on their possible doings in the past.

  The minutes ticked slowly by. At last, Mairelon’s head reappeared in the opening. “No sign of him,” the magician said. “He’s gone for now. Here.” He handed the shotgun down to Hunch, then climbed down through the hole. “I’ll have to see about setting up some wards; we can’t have people popping in and waving pistols around whenever they feel like it. It’s becoming altogether too popular a sport to ignore.”

  “Like that Aberford cove the other night,” Kim said, nodding.

  “And just what ’as that got to do with all this?” Hunch demanded. “What ’ave you been at while I’ve been gone, Master Richard?”

  “Back to that again? Really, Hunch, I’m beginning to think you’re prudish, and I see no reason for Kim and me to elaborate on our relationship merely to satisfy your vulgar curiosity. Particularly when we have more important things to do.” Mairelon smiled beatifically at Hunch’s outraged expression and waved toward the sack Kim was holding. “Just open that up, Kim, so we can see what our Mr. Stower has been hauling about the countryside.”

  Kim deposited the silver platter on the floor and began wrestling with the knots at the mouth of the sack. She got them loose at last and reached inside. A moment later she held up a large silver platter, to all appearances identical to the one on the floor.

  “Well, well,” said Mairelon. “What have we here?” He reached out and took the platter from Kim, and a frown creased his forehead.

  “It looks like this other one,” Kim said, nudging the first platter with her toe.

  “That’s exactly what it is,” Mairelon said. “Exactly.”

  “What does that mean?” Hunch said in a resigned tone.

  “It means that it’s another fake,” Mairelon replied.

  EIGHTEEN

  Hunch stared at the platter in Mairelon’s hands. “Another fake?” he said at last. “You mean that one—” he nodded at the platter on the floor, “—ain’t the Saltash Platter, either?”

  “Th
at is correct,” Mairelon said. He turned the second copy over in his hands, studying it with a thoughtful expression. “Kim,” he said suddenly, “bring it over here and hold it up so I can look at them both.”

  Kim did as she was instructed. Mairelon peered intently at a section of the platter he held, then turned to Kim’s. After a moment, he returned to the first platter and repeated the process. There was a smear of dust above his left eyebrow, and Kim wondered how he could keep from noticing it, even if his reflection was blurred by the intricate patterns incised on the surface of the platters.

  Finally Mairelon set his platter on the counter. With a relieved sigh, Kim did the same; Saltash Platter or not, all that silver was heavy. Mairelon stared absently down at them both.

  “Well?” Hunch demanded.

  “Two copies,” Mairelon said, more as if he were thinking aloud than as if he were answering Hunch. “Two identical copies. Identical right down to the scuffs and scratches. Whoever made these wasn’t working from a description or from drawings.”

  “Then he had the real one to copy?” Kim said tentatively.

  “I would be willing to bet on it,” Mairelon replied. “So if we find the silversmith, we’ll find the Saltash Platter.”

  Hunch snorted. “Sounds to me as if you’re back where you started, Master Richard.”

  “Not quite,” Mairelon said, and smiled. “There’s only one person in this area who’s had the platter long enough to make copies. Freddy Meredith.”

  “Meredith?” Kim said incredulously. “You’re bammin’ me! That sapskull?”

  “I’ll admit it doesn’t sound likely,” Mairelon conceded. “But who else is there? Bramingham only had the platter for a day or so; he couldn’t have gotten one copy made in that time, much less two. None of the other, er, interested parties has even been in Ranton Hill long enough, much less had the platter in his possession.”

  “What about that Aberford cove?” Kim objected.

  “Well, yes, I suppose he ought to be considered a possibility,” Mairelon said. “But I don’t think he would have tried to burgle Bramingham Place the other night unless he thought the platter there was the real one.”