“Two of them,” Herr Schellen put in unexpectedly. He has been very silent and gloomy since he was disenchanted. “Both artificial.”
“Artificial?” Mr. Skelly said in patent disbelief.
“Not in the street,” Aunt Elizabeth said firmly. “If you must discuss these matters now, let us do it inside, where we can talk in comfort and privacy.” She turned and marched into the house. Herr Magus Schellen looked at Mr. Wrexton, who nodded. The Herr Magus followed Aunt Elizabeth, and Mr. Wrexton waved the incredulous Mr. Skelly forward.
James and I remained out of doors for a hasty consultation, after which he set the coachman to walk the horses while I departed to see a tea tray prepared. I had no desire to emulate Mr. Skelly’s dreadful manners, and I was determined that he should be able to find no fault with our hospitality.
Having given the proper orders and overseen the beginning of the preparation, I went up to the parlor, where I found Mr. Skelly arguing with Mr. Wrexton and Herr Schellen over their theories regarding the ley lines. In the face of so much testimony, he could not deny that Herr Schellen had been turned into a sheepdog (though I think he would have liked to do so). He scoffed openly, however, at the notion that the spell was linked to and sustained by more than one ley line. He attributed Mr. Wrexton’s “mistake” in this regard to interference from the railway, and he was incredulous when we informed him that a second magician— you—had been turned into a dog in the same manner as Herr Schellen (by stepping into a stone circle). And he was flat-out disbelieving when we told him of the peculiar way the ley lines moved as the railway engine ran across them.
Finally, Mr. Wrexton reached his limit. “Very well, sir,” he said. “You have heard my observations in detail; there is no more that I can tell you. Go to Goosepool and see for yourself.”
“That I shall,” Mr. Skelly said. “And I’ll be pleased to show you where your error lies. Ley lines are tricky things; ’tis not surprising you were misled.”
Aunt Elizabeth snorted. Mr. Wrexton frowned. “I am leaving for the south,” he reminded Mr. Skelly. “Lady Schofield’s condition requires urgent attention.”
“Perhaps so,” Mr. Skelly said, “but you’ll be giving it the wrong sort of attention if you go on as you intend. Ley lines—”
“Are tricky things; you’ve said so several times,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “If you are such an expert—”
Fortunately, the tea tray arrived just at that moment. I say “fortunately” because Aunt Elizabeth was plainly preparing to give Mr. Skelly a dressing-down, and though I quite agreed that he deserved one, it seemed evident to me that it would not be of the least use.
The tea settled everyone wonderfully, though it did not settle the argument. At last Mr. Wrexton agreed to accompany Mr. Skelly to Goosepool to examine the Dancing Weans, provided they went that very day so that the Wrextons’ departure need be delayed no longer than absolutely necessary.
So the baggage was unloaded and the carriage brought round once more. Aunt Elizabeth elected to remain behind, as did Herr Schellen, so we were only four—James, Mr. Wrexton, Mr. Skelly, and I.
Mr. Skelly did not improve on closer acquaintance, though he at least sank no further in my estimation than he had already. He spent the drive questioning us all, over and over, regarding the details of what we had seen, sensed, and suspected. He was quite put out when it became clear that he could neither persuade nor bully any of us into altering our tales, and at last retreated into silent sulking, which was a great relief to us all.
The train and its steam engine were not in evidence during our trip. I was not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, I was quite pleased to be spared Mr. Skelly’s inevitable observations; on the other, I should have liked to have seen him discover that we had all been telling the exact truth regarding the effect of the engine’s passage on the ley lines.
We reached the lane near the stone circle at last, and climbed out of the carriage to cast the ley-line detecting spells. As Mr. Wrexton began his work, Mr. Skelly stopped him. “I see it’s the usual ley-detecting spell you’ve been casting,” he said. “I’ve a better notion than that, I think.”
“What notion would that be?” Mr. Wrexton said, sounding a trifle annoyed.
“The spell I use is a bit out of the common way,” Mr. Skelly said smugly. “It’s my own design.”
Mr. Wrexton hesitated, as if torn between his eternal thirst for magical knowledge and his desire to give the odious Mr. Skelly a thoroughgoing put-down. His thirst for knowledge won, but not, I think, without considerable struggle. “Do proceed,” he said after a moment, and Mr. Skelly did.
Like Mr. Wrexton, I watched Mr. Skelly’s spell casting very closely. It was not so very different from the usual ley-detecting spell; he used juniper springs instead of comfrey, and altered the order of “seeing” and “perceiving” in the incantation. Nor were the results so obviously superior to the usual spells as he had made it sound. I did think the edges of the ley lines were a little sharper and clearer than I had previously sensed, but it did not seem so great a difference as to justify the fuss.
As soon as the spell was active, Mr. Wrexton began a running commentary regarding the ley lines and the things he had noticed on our first visit, as much to keep Mr. Skelly from making any further inflammatory remarks as to inform him of our observations. The tactic served admirably, and we made our way across the intervening field without incident.
Mr. Skelly’s manner changed sharply as we neared the stone circle and began to sense the ley lines. He frowned slightly when Mr. Wrexton turned and began to walk around the outside of the stone circle, but said nothing. When they reached the first of the three ley lines, he took a small notebook from his pocket, along with an odd device that looked much like a compass attached to a slim silver chain with a bone-white plumb bob at the far end.
Holding the compass part over the center of the ley line, he made several adjustments to the chain, then waited while the plumb bob swung in lazy circles. He made several notations, then went on to the second ley line and repeated the process.
When he finished with the third ley line, he shook his head. “There’s naught unusual about these lines,” he informed us smugly. “That one is stronger by a quarter”—he waved at the first line, the one that crossed the railway—“but that’s not out of the common way. Now let’s see about this circle.”
“No!” Mr. Wrexton said as Mr. Skelly started forward. “You can’t cross that circle. You’re a wizard; that transformation spell is still active. Check for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
“Ah, yes, the transformation spell.” Mr. Skelly muttered under his breath, and I sensed magic intensifying around him, though I did not recognize the spell he was casting. “That should take care of the matter,” he said after a moment, and before anyone could stop him, he stepped briskly into the stone circle.
You can certainly guess what happened next. Despite his precautions, the transformation spell struck with great force. An instant later, a bewildered terrier stumbled out from between the stones.
“Now, that is interesting,” Mr. Wrexton murmured.
“What is?” James demanded.
“That spell. Come here, sir!” Mr. Wrexton said, snapping his fingers at the terrier.
Whether out of bewilderment or embarrassment, the terrier came. “James, would you do me the favor of retrieving Mr. Skelly’s notebook and ley compass?” Mr. Wrexton asked without looking up. “He dropped them inside the circle, and I’ve no wish to make the same mistake he did.”
“My pleasure,” James replied.
With the compass safely in hand, Mr. Wrexton repeated Mr. Skelly’s measurements, comparing each with the notation Mr. Skelly had made moments before. “I thought so,” he said with satisfaction when he finished.
“Thought what?” I said.
Mr. Wrexton hesitated. “There is one thing more I’d like to do before I answer your question, and I can’t do it here. Pleas
e oblige me by waiting until we reach Wardhill Cottage.”
Naturally, we agreed, though I was positively afire with curiosity during the whole drive back. When we reached the cottage, Mr. Wrexton disappeared into the workroom at the back, leaving us to explain Mr. Skelly’s disappearance and the presence of the terrier to Aunt Elizabeth and Herr Schellen.
Aunt Elizabeth nodded as we finished, then looked down at the terrier. “Let that be a lesson to you, sir!” she said sternly. “In future, mend your manners.”
“Hah!” came from inside the workroom, and a moment later Mr. Wrexton threw open the door. He was smiling broadly, and in one hand he held a large bowl of ink. “All’s well; Lady Schofield is herself again.”
“Michael!” Aunt Elizabeth said. “What do you mean?”
“See for yourself,” he said, extending the bowl of ink with great care.
We all crowded around as he refreshed the scrying spell, then saw you, Kate, sitting in the library at Skeynes, surrounded by the children. As we watched, Thomas came in with a strip of sticking plaster across his knuckles, looking somewhat rumpled but insufferably pleased with himself.
“How is this possible?” Aunt Elizabeth said as the scene faded. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wrexton said with some regret. “Except, that is, observe the behavior of the ley lines when our Irish visitor allowed himself to be transformed. There was a distinct surge in the southernmost of the three just as the spell hit him, and afterward it was measurably drained. And the spell affecting him had resonances that were identical, insofar as I could determine without more precise measuring tools, to the one that we studied on Herr Magus Schellen. That’s not impossible, but you’ll allow that it is vastly unlikely.”
“You thought it was the same spell?” Aunt Elizabeth frowned. “But what—”
“And Herr Schellen was disenchanted at the same time that Kate was transformed!” I said. “So it’s been the same spell on all of them, just jumping from wizard to wizard!”
“I thought it might be,” Mr. Wrexton admitted. “But I didn’t wish to raise hopes until I was certain.”
We assured him of our understanding, then retired to the parlor for a suitable celebration of your disenchantment (which was more difficult for the gentlemen than you might expect, as James claimed that the occasion was worthy of French brandy, but there was none to be had so far north at short notice). It fell to Aunt Elizabeth and me to make more sensible plans while James and Mr. Wrexton considered which of the readily available vintages would make the most suitable substitute. We decided that it would be best for Mr. Wrexton and Aunt Elizabeth to travel south tomorrow, as planned, so that they can convey a personal warning to the Royal College of Wizards on their way to Skeynes. When they arrive, which should be on the heels of this letter (if indeed they are not already there), Mr. Wrexton will examine both you and the stone circle to make certain that there are no lingering spell tendrils that might make future trouble. He expects not, as there were none on Herr Magus Schellen, but he wishes to make absolutely sure.
The terrier and the Herr Magus remain with us in Darlington—the terrier, because (as has already been demonstrated with the sheepdog) it would be as much as his life is worth to take him too far from the vicinity of the circle where he was enchanted; the Herr Magus because his surveying equipment is still missing, and much as he has come to dislike the north of England (for good reason!), he will not depart until he has recovered it.
James and I remain because someone knowledgeable must have charge of the terrier (if he suddenly resumes being the obnoxious Mr. Skelly, we shall have to scour England for a missing wizard and a superfluous dog) and because we have not yet discovered who is behind all these enchantments, what is causing the breakdowns and accidents at the railway, how this is all related to Parliament, or why someone should be doing any of the mysterious things that have occurred.
Do write as soon as ever you are able. Despite Mr. Wrexton’s scrying spell, and my confidence in his theories, I shall not feel truly reassured as to your well-being until I see it written in your own hand.
Your,
Cecy
13 May 1828
Skeynes
(Enchanted by T.S.)
Dear James,
Excuse my handwriting. If I use my other hand, the result would be worse, I promise.
I have sent to London for help. I’ve written to everyone I can think of, from Old Hookey to the College. Our prowler is confined to the coal cellar, bound hand and foot and hung about with every spell and cantrip I can devise. Peace rules the infantry at last. Thus I will spare a moment of my well-earned rest to relate what happened today. Details can wait until we meet. Here are the bare bones.
I was in my study with Kate. I was trying to find a spell to turn Kate back to her right shape. Kate was destroying one of my old boots. I never cared above half for that pair, and it kept her quiet. She was gnawing away as I thumbed through spell books, when I was interrupted by a full chorus of “Uncle Thomas!” augmented by Edward’s “Papa!”
I unlocked the door and emerged, Kate at my heels, to discover Arthur, Eleanor, Drina, and Edward in a state of wild excitement. I tried to make them state their business in a methodical way, but they fell upon me and urged me toward the nursery. Much ado about the map, the soldiers, someone coming—bedlam in miniature. Imagine Kate dancing about us barking, and you have the scene exactly.
I resisted them just long enough to lock the study door, but then I was borne away helpless by the pack of shouting children.
In the nursery, peace prevailed. The nurses were chatting, the babies were asleep and thereby rendered harmless, and all seemed orderly to the casual visitor. I was hauled to the big table by the window, the one Kate has employed as a writing desk of late, where the plan of the house and grounds the children have drawn in such detail was spread out with Edward’s toy soldiers to hold the edges flat.
You must let Wrexton have the tutoring of your twins, James, however he protests the notion. The thought of that pair growing up with no more magical supervision than Cecy was given makes my blood run cold. With no formal training to speak of, and nothing more in the way of informal training than their mother’s general advice, my casual scrying lessons, and a few visits from some scrub of a tutor, Arthur and Eleanor have contrived a simple but effective warning spell.
The toy soldiers were placed along the route of the wards Kate and I rode each day. The spell was designed to move the soldiers to point at any place where a ward was disturbed, the way a magnet moves iron filings. As we watched—all of us but Kate, who was more interested in smelling Edward’s feet—the soldiers nearest the place where the Tingle Stone was marked on the map were moving to point their weapons at something crossing my boundary spell.
Impossible as it ought to have been to cross my boundary spell undetected, something—or someone—was doing just that.
I can’t remember precisely what I told the children. I know I ordered them to remain in the nursery, come what may. I ordered Kate to stay with them, but she paid even less attention to my wishes than usual. No, she came bounding downstairs after me and stood in the doorway barking while I marshaled the resources in my study.
Once made aware of the intruder, I was able to locate the place he had breached my defenses. It was the magician Penny and I had watched for, no question, the man who fled my best holdfast spell. I could almost smell his style of magic. He was coming slowly but steadily across the grounds, his route a beeline for the house. All the power at his disposal was focused on countering my spells. If the children hadn’t set the soldiers to guard their map, I would have had no warning until he was upon me.
I freely admit to a moment of indecision. Better to go out to meet him and engage him in the gardens? Or better to lie in wait and marshal the protective spells laid on the house itself? I always prefer the direct approach, but this time there were children to consider. I hesitated a moment too long,
and he was at the door.
The Greater Cessation didn’t stop him. I ran to the door of the entry hall and cast it with all my might, then watched as he opened the front door despite my spells on lock and hinges, threshold and lintel. For the size of his magic, our intruder was not a very big man. His face was red as beetroot, but not with exertion. He was not even breathing hard when he stepped into the hall.
Kate growled most hideously as he entered our house. I agreed with her sentiments. This was the man we knew as Mr. Scarlet. Whatever the source of his magic, it was my duty to stop him.
Mr. Scarlet drew on formidable power. In the process of taking one another’s measure there in the entry hall, I learned his intent was not only to enter my home but to invade the very nursery itself. It took all my strength, training, skill, and cunning to counter him.
I have no use for false pride. It would be quite possible, given a sufficient quantity of magicians, to outmatch me, even on my home ground. I have no use for false modesty, either. On that day, in that place, Mr. Scarlet crossed the threshold, but he could go no farther. I met him and matched him. Locked in one another’s spells, with Kate circling and snapping at Scarlet, we battled to a stalemate.
I held him there, held my spell steady, and groped for reinforcements. I heard Georgy screaming behind me, harsh as a teakettle on the boil. No help there. I held Scarlet’s power locked in mine, my vision narrow with the need to concentrate, but from the corner of my eye I thought I saw grass snakes and bullfrogs coming to my aid. In addition to a plague of frogs, I gave Scarlet a plague of boils. That made him bellow, but his efforts held steady, and our deadlock continued.
Kate has, on occasion, accused me of an inability to take proper notice of the finer points of her wardrobe. She may well be right. I’m afraid that the precise moment of Kate’s transformation from foxhound to her true form all but escaped my notice. All I know is, one moment she was a foxhound, crouched and snarling at Scarlet’s feet. Fierce as a wolf, she sprang for his throat. Scarlet did his best to hold her off.
The Mislaid Magician Page 19
