by Unknown
"That was more than five hundred years ago!" Alyssa protested. "And wherever I go, the Blade goes—and you have to admit it makes some people very uncomfortable."
Sarras said nothing for a moment, obviously considering the problem. "You'll need shield boxes," she said, "both for the Blade and for the Sceptre when you find it." She rose, picking up her tray. "Come to my office with me, Alyssa, and I'll find what you need so you can pack it." She cast a look of pity on Edward. "Eat your breakfast before Lord Logas drags you off to his workroom, and don't forget to allow time to pack."
* * * *
"Could you thicken the weather shield, please?" Alyssa asked Edward, pulling a blanket tightly around her. "I haven't seen this kind of snow in a long while!"
Beside her, Edward spoke the appropriate phrase with the correct pitches. The unseen hemisphere around them grew denser, deflecting the snow from the passenger compartment yet not interfering with the sail that extended from the mast in front of the carriage. "You're kidding, right? I thought you came from the highlands!"
She laughed. "I did. I guess I've lived in the South a few hundred years too long. Thins the blood, or something."
The carriage had touched down, right on schedule, in the quadrangle behind the College's administration sector. The driver—his father's own chauffeur—had greeted Edward with a respectful grin, and had helped him and Alyssa place their bags under the carriage seats. Now the carriage soared through the December sky, the driver tacking as necessary to make headway through the less-than-friendly weather.
"Okay," said Edward, increasing the ambient heat within the bubble, "so I'm to take charge of this Sceptre thing and keep it from influencing the wrong people-"
"Try any people," corrected Alyssa. "Give me the psalm again."
"One-twenty-five, verse three," he recited. "For the sceptre of the ungodly shall not abide upon the lot of the righteous; lest the righteous put their hand unto wickedness."
Alyssa nodded. "Right. When someone other than its Guardian holds the Sceptre, not only that person but anyone under his or her authority tends to use whatever power they might have for evil rather than good. You see why we'd want to keep it out of the King's hands, certainly."
"I get it. Nebuchadnezzar, Belshazzar, Alexander the Great, Antiochus..."
"And before them. If we're to believe the legend, Lamech made it and used it first, prior to the Flood. I doubt that even his great-great-great-grandfather, Cain, would have been pleased with him."
She watched Edward try to come to grips with the idea. "A king's rod, made of ash, thousands of years old—" he said slowly, "—and I'm its custodian." He let out a whoof of breath. "Why me? Do you know?"
"Not for certain," Alyssa replied, "but I do have a theory. How much do you know about the Blade?"
"The Blade of Unmaking..." Edward said slowly, obviously trying to remember information he hadn't paid much attention to in the first place. "Just pretend I don't know anything. What does it do in the wrong hands?"
"Usually it makes the person commit suicide," Alyssa said, "using the Blade. It's very messy." She shuddered at the memory. "It makes a person think that he or she is nothing, not worth anything, and shouldn't exist. So," she continued, "its Guardian has to be someone who can feel that and not kill herself."
"How does someone—anyone—develop that ability?" Edward asked.
"By feeling suicidal and not committing suicide," Alyssa said, remembering her childhood, now mercifully centuries past. "By learning that feelings are one thing, and action is quite another, and it is in no wise necessary—or desirable—to act upon every feeling that passes through you. And feelings do pass."
"So it doesn't make you want to kill yourself anymore?" Edward asked hopefully.
"Well," Alyssa shrugged. "I don't want to hold it in my bare hands. It's a distraction, to say the least. But, yes, the temptation weakens greatly over time." She looked at Edward. "As for the Sceptre..."
Edward suddenly looked horrified. "But if the Sceptre makes a person use his power for evil, surely someone who has already done that would be the worst possible Guardian..."
"Not," Alyssa said gently, "if the person learned from the experience. Remember what Lord Logas said at breakfast—that your being chosen for this responsibility spoke well of you? It's not the people who have never been tempted who become Guardians; it's the people who have learned to deal with the temptation." She smiled encouragingly at him. "I think that's exactly why you were chosen."
"I suppose that makes a certain kind of sense," Edward admitted. "So, once we're done at home, I can begin searching for it. Any idea where to start?"
Alyssa reflected. "Well, we know its previous Guardian knew he didn't have long to live, so he set out to bring the Sceptre to his successor." She grinned. "We didn't know it was you at the time, but he did."
"Okay, so he begins his trip; then what?"
She shrugged. "That's it. That's all we know. He told his friends he was leaving, but that they mustn't follow him. Apparently that was the way he did things. We don't even know which ship he boarded—only that no one ever heard from him again. Five days later, I'm preparing my lesson plans for next term's Historiography course, and right in the middle of working out lesson objectives I'm hit with the absolute certainty that you are the Sceptre's Guardian. I found Lord Malcolm, Lady Sarras, Lord Logas, and Lady Catharine, and the same thing had happened to all of them." She chuckled. "So yes, you're the one. If you disagree, it'll be your word against the five of us."
"And that was a month ago?"
"Yes. Perhaps we should have told you straightaway, but Lord Logas was hoping to find the Sceptre for you first."
Edward fairly cackled. "And he failed, did he? Hah! 'Brightest young researchers,' he says! 'I doubt you will find this to be a significant problem,' he says! The man was conning me!"
She managed a sheepish grin. "It's been known to happen."
He shook his head, looking up at the snowflakes blowing toward them and parting to pass by on either side. He stood and crossed to the seat opposite her, sitting down quickly so as not to lose his footing in the turbulence. Leaning toward the edge of the shield, he called out, "Andrea! Would you like me to take over?"
The voice came back, "You must be joshin', sir! 'F I did that, Master'd 'ave my 'ead, 'e would! You just stay back there 'n stay warm!"
He frowned. "All right. But if you change your mind..."
"Yes sir! Oh, and we'll be passin' Dermot's farm in a moment!"
"Dermot?" Alyssa inquired.
"An old friend of Father's; he grows wheat and barley near our home. About two hundred acres. Father has offered to buy the land several times—I know he'd like to add it to the estate—but Dermot won't sell. I have to hand it to the man. Father's hard to resist when he has his mind made up."
She believed it. An untrained yet strong magical talent...
Edward ventured a look outside and down. His eyebrows rose. "Andrea! Could you take us down, please? I'd like to show Lady Alyssa the farm."
"Yes sir!" The carriage began a shallow dive.
This didn't look like an active farm. The land had been plowed and seeded, but otherwise it seemed somehow neglected. Weeds grew indiscriminately, and the soil appeared a bit more windblown than one would expect.
A sign appeared in the distance. As they drew nearer, the words became legible:
UNDER DEVELOPMENT
TRIANGLE PROPERTIES
"Well, now," Edward said, settling back into his seat. "He wouldn't sell to Father, but apparently he sold to someone. Unless he's quit farming and gone into management. I'll have to ask Father about it."
The driver's voice came back to them again. "The manor's in sight, sir! Only a couple a' minutes now."
Alyssa was impressed. The structure coming into view was no castle like the University buildings, but it was a large, well-designed and well-built house that exemplified the phrase ancestral home.
The carriage threaded t
he drive lane, passed under the arch, and came to a halt in the porte-cochère before the front door. Andrea was at the carriage door in a flash, helping Alyssa and Edward debark from the hovering vehicle, after which she returned to the driver's seat and floated it away toward the carriage house.
The front door opened and a tall, heavy-set man appeared, accompanied by another household retainer. They descended the few stone steps, and as the servant gathered the luggage, the man thrust out his hand for Edward to take. "Edward, my boy! It's good to see you." He turned to the unexpected Alyssa. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
Edward still clasped the proffered hand, clearly nonplussed. "Uh, Father, this is the Lady Wizard Alyssa, of the College of Wizardry. She's overseeing my... training." He turned to her. "Lady Alyssa, may I present my father Alexander?"
Alexander, ignoring the proper introduction, raised both eyebrows. "I must say, you seem rather young to be a professor. You must be quite gifted."
Alyssa smiled politely, but declined to explain. "It's nice to meet you, sir." That was a flat-out lie; something about the man made her feel extremely uneasy.
Alexander laughed, a boom of a laugh that echoed in the porte-cochère. "Gifted and graceful! She'd make quite a catch, Edward."
His son reddened and cleared his throat. "We saw Dermot's farm on the way in, sir. What's happened?"
Alexander smiled. "I'll fill you in on everything at the meeting tomorrow," he said. "Things are beginning to move around here. But I believe tea is waiting. Shall we go in?"
* * * *
Dinner that night was a sumptuous affair, but it was no comparison to the meal Alyssa knew would be served up on Christmas Eve at the College—they observed the "Feast of the Nativity" on more than one level there. She would miss the Lessons and Carols service that was scheduled for tonight, not to mention midnight Mass tomorrow night. Alexander had made it clear that they didn't "fool around with such trivialities here. Gets in the way of business. What's the point?"
"I've heard about your journal articles with—Stephen, was it?" Alexander said over dinner, as they sat at the high table. "Excellent stuff. Don't understand a word of it myself, of course—far and away too much maths in it—but they tell me it's brilliant. Your name will make a grand addition to the Company." Looking up at the life-size portrait that adorned the dining hall, he added, "Your grandfather would have been proud."
"Father," Edward said, ignoring his father's obvious expectations without actually voicing opposition to them—a trick Alyssa suspected he had practiced for most of his life—"I was hoping you might be able to help us. We're trying to trace one of our colleagues from the Continent who didn't reach us. He was traveling by sea, and I thought that since they send you the schedules and navigation plans from all the passenger and freight lines, we might use them to locate him."
Alexander shrugged. "Certainly. I have the current week's documents in my office, in fact. We can consult them after—"
A young woman appeared at his side. "Excuse me, sir; Mr. Hagen is on the scrying-pair for you; the weather still won't let him leave his city; he's afraid he might even not be able to attend the meeting at all—"
For the first time since they arrived, Alyssa saw the executive's face lose its cheer. Indeed, the man seemed to darken, with a sudden scowl that gave Alyssa a moment's concern for the safety of the wineglass in his hand. As quickly as the expression had appeared, however, it was gone. "Thank you, Joanna. I'll talk to him." As he rose from the table Alexander said to his guests, "This could take some time; I'll see you in the morning." He turned to the woman who sat with them at the high table. She had not been introduced to Alyssa, nor had she spoken a word during the meal. "Margaret, you'll show them to their rooms." He strode off without a backward glance.
Alyssa had wondered who the woman was, but she was stunned when Edward turned to her and asked, "How have you been, Mother?"
* * * *
That was one of the best beds she had ever slept in, Alyssa decided when she woke on the morning of Christmas Eve. Away from her husband, Margaret turned out to be friendly and even to have a delightful sense of humor. Alyssa wondered how she managed the latter while living with Alexander and decided it must be a survival trait.
Margaret had not only shown her to this elegant room, she had also found her a gown and suitable accessories for the Christmas Eve ball the following night. "I'm sure Edward forgot to mention that you'd need a ball gown—it's been so long since he's been home that I'm not sure he even remembers the scale of entertaining that his father insists on."
I suppose Alexander needs to hold on to some "trivialities" after all, Alyssa reflected, although it also sounds like a good opportunity for—what was that word?—"networking"—whatever that meant. She decided it was probably a fishing term. The man owned ships, after all. Apparently he also had the resources needed to provide her, at the drop of a thimble, with a gown that fit both her tastes and her figure.
Lunchtime came, and then the purpose of their visit: the Meeting.
"I do think I ought to observe, don't you?" Alyssa asked Edward. "After all, it affects us at the College too." And we do want to know what this man is up to.
"I agree completely," said Edward. "But you know about corporate board meetings—they're traditionally closed. Even I'm here by invitation only."
She smiled. "Oh, that shouldn't be a problem. I have a spell I can use—they won't even know I'm there."
The dining room, it turned out, doubled as a conference room. Eleven men she'd never seen before were seated around the extended table, along with Alexander and Edward, who had been seated at his father's right hand.
One of the chairs near the other end of the table was empty. I suppose Hagen didn't make it after all, she thought. Rather that take that seat herself, however, she found another chair along the wall.
The "ooh, shiny!" spell, as Stephen had dubbed it, appeared operational. It wasn't that she was invisible, precisely—they didn't know enough about light to bend it properly without using a cloak or other bulky covering, and there would also be the problem of seeing through a light-deflection field. This spell deflected attention instead. Anyone about to look her way would suddenly find something much more interesting to look at in another direction.
She sat and watched the pre-meeting socializing. After a time, Alexander stood and rapped on the table. "Gentlemen, let us come to order. This joint meeting of Macedon Import/Export and Triangle Properties is hereby called to-"
He continued to speak, but Alyssa wasn't listening anymore. A glance at Edward's ashen face showed that the two items that had seized her attention had done the same to him. For one, there was the name "Triangle Properties." For the other-
Edward was staring at what Alexander had struck the table with.
It was a six-sided rod about eighteen inches long. Along its gray wooden sides she saw inscribed non-repeating patterns made up of oddly lengthened triangles in various arrangements.
It was an exact match to the drawings in Lord Logas's books.
The meeting could not be over soon enough for her.
* * * *
Afterward, while the other board members took tea in the dining/conference room, she and Edward managed to take Alexander aside to the parlor. "I must say, I'm pleased that you're taking an interest in the business," the older man said to his son as he sipped his tea. "What's your question?"
"Two questions, really—and neither of them seemed appropriate in the meeting," said Edward. "How long have you been in property management? And where did you get your 'gavel'?"
"Ah," said his father. "Actually, I've been doing management off and on for some years now. The idea to make it a company in its own right, though, came at about the same time I acquired this." He reached beneath his short business cape and withdrew the rod from a sheath at his belt. "You like the triangle motif? It looked like the basis for a corporate symbol, so I used it."
Alyssa found herself captivated by th
e sight of the rod. In the back of her mind she didn't so much hear as feel a voice, speaking in low vibrations that seemed to rattle her bones ever so softly. You can do it. Whatever you set your mind to do, you can do it. DO IT. DO IT.
"It's cuneiform writing," Edward said absently, "used in Mesopotamia four thousand years ago." He reached out a hand. "May I see it?"
"Cu-nee-if-" the older man attempted the word, meanwhile pulling the Sceptre away from Edward's outstretched hand and cradling it protectively to his chest. Alyssa was sure he wasn't even conscious that he'd moved. "Eh, you and your maths. I just thought it had the sense of strength I was looking for. It reminds me that I have it within me to do anything I put my mind to. A good business needs that kind of attitude. The board certainly seems to have picked up on it. So I like to keep the rod with me. Call it a motivational talisman, if you like."
You have no idea, Alyssa thought. "Where did you find the rod?" she asked.
"A passenger on one of my ships," said Alexander, settling back in his chair and taking another sip of tea. Another young woman in livery appeared with a teapot to refill their cups, and also set a plate of biscuits on a nearby table.
"It seems he was quite elderly," the man went on, "and also not accustomed to sea travel. When Atalanta ran into a storm, he did his best to ride it out, but unfortunately he died. A combination of seasickness and dehydration, the captain told me. When the ship docked I inspected the situation, and I found the rod in a silk-lined box among his personal effects. He didn't list a next of kin, so I kept it. I had Margaret make the sheath."
It did look better on him than a sword would, Alyssa noted. Swords, on the other hand, didn't wield themselves.
"So you created Triangle Properties," Edward said. "But how did the company get Dermot's farm?"
"Oh, that. Our first acquisition. Dermot ran into some trouble over unpaid taxes, and the baron seized the land. The shock killed Dermot, sorry to say, but we were able to buy the property."
"Taxes?" Edward sounded incredulous. "But Dermot always ran an efficient operation. He never had a problem with unpaid taxes!"
