A clear road, a sunny day, and not a police constable to be seen. Jane gave the Minotaur a chance to show its paces on the way to Nether Petherton and wondered if Robin might have a point. There was something to be said for massive motor cars. Vastly more automobile than she needed, the Minotaur was a treat to drive.
Jane pulled up at the Bunch of Grapes and looked to see how her passengers had weathered the journey. They were windswept, dusty, and pallid. Jane hoped the tint of her goggles was responsible for their greenish aspect and not her driving.
Fell leaned forward, eyeing the switches and dials on the dashboard. “What was our ultimate velocity, can you tell me? Did we travel at thirty-five miles per hour?”
“We did.” Jane removed the goggles and with a few deft touches restored order to her traveling ensemble. “For a fraction of a mile, we were going faster. Thirty-seven miles per hour, if you can credit it. If we take the same route home, we could try to better our record.”
Lambert made a small, probably involuntary, sound of protest.
Jane relented. “No? Perhaps another time, then. Now, if you’ll permit me to arrange a meal for us, to be served in conditions of privacy, I have a question for you, Mr. Fell.”
“Very well.” Fell leaned back in his seat with a deep sigh. “It was a good run while it lasted.”
The Bunch of Grapes was as comfortable as Jane had been led to believe. Although there was no private dining room, their table was in a nook off the private lounge, with no other diners within earshot. The room itself was inviting, dark timbers close overhead, ivy at the deep windows countering the heat of summer sunlight, and flagstones cool underfoot. She ordered for her companions and when the food and drink came, they found it excellent.
Once the meal had been cleared away, Jane turned to Fell. “I’ve been charged to deliver a message to you. Forgive my bluntness but I must know—what have you been doing? You’ve been the new warden of the west since January and you’ve done nothing. It’s disgraceful.”
Lambert blinked at her. “Warden?”
“The warden of the west,” Jane explained. “The new one. The old one died in Paris in January.”
Fell touched his mustache and glanced down at the tablecloth. “I’m not a warden.”
Jane leaned toward him and kept her voice low. “You are.”
Fell looked up and away, apparently fascinated by the beams overhead. “I should have said I’m not a warden yet.”
“There’s no point in arguing the matter. It’s time you did your duty. You can’t leave all the work to the others indefinitely.”
“It isn’t that simple.” Fell wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Jane suppressed the urge to pound the table with her fist. “Then please explain why not. Answer one of the letters or telegrams Faris Nallaneen sent you from Aravis. Would that be simple enough? I’ve had to cross the Channel to have it out with you and that’s something I do not undertake lightly. You have ways to communicate that surpass anything I can muster. All I ask is that you do your duty as a warden or explain why you’re doing nothing. This lurking about in the groves of academe is hardly the way to behave. I was starting to get the idea you were avoiding me.”
“Had I known of your existence,” said Fell, “believe me, I would have. I’ve been avoiding every other form of communication with the wardens.”
“I wrote to you. I wired you. How could you fail to know of my existence?” Jane demanded.
Lambert looked from Jane to Fell. “Wardens?”
“She thinks I’m one of the four wardens of the world,” Fell explained.
“You are. You’re the new warden of the west, God help us all,” said Jane.
“But there’s no such thing as wardens of the world,” said Lambert. “That’s only a remnant of folk belief. Cromer and Palgrave were arguing about it at dinner just last week.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Jane advised. “The new warden of the north sent me here and I can promise you, she exists.”
“Miss Brailsford must have it wrong. Tell her.” Lambert appealed to Fell. “You’ve studied the history of magic for years. You’re an authority on the subject. Aren’t you?”
Fell looked glum. “At one time I was considered an authority on the prevailing studies of that subject. My monograph, ‘Evidence for the Existence of Historical Wardens,’ was favorably reviewed. Recently, er, it has been made manifest to me that I am supposed to play a certain role in the structure of the world. In simpler times, the term was warden of the west. You needn’t stare, Lambert. Imagine my feelings on the subject. I can hardly express the mortification I felt when I learned I’d been mistaken all along.”
“If you know you’re the new warden, why have you been avoiding me? Not to mention ignoring Faris,” Jane added. She knew from personal experience just how difficult it was to ignore Faris Nallaneen for more than a few minutes at a time. Truculent and touchy, the young noblewoman from Galazon had been Jane’s fellow student at Greenlaw.
Fell folded his arms. “I know I am intended to be the new warden. I’m not yet prepared to enter that particular prison.”
Jane stared. “It’s hardly a prison.”
“Whatever it is, I have my own priorities. There are more important matters I must see to.” Fell was firm.
Lambert looked from Fell to Jane and back again, as if taking in a tennis match.
“More important?” Jane knew that with a little more provocation, her unruffled demeanor would be a thing of the past. Already she felt a faint warmth in her cheeks. She suspected that she might be coloring unbecomingly. The knowledge did nothing to soothe her. “You’ve been ignoring Faris because you have more important things to see to?” Jane fell silent, because she feared her voice would tremble if she said another word.
Jane had helped Faris to come to terms with Faris’s expulsion from Greenlaw. On the journey back to Faris’s home in Galazon, Jane had been one of Faris’s few allies. From Galazon, Jane had accompanied Faris onward to Aravis. Through discomfort and danger, Jane had helped Faris Nallaneen all she could. Things had simplified somewhat when Faris took up her full duties as warden, with authority to match her responsibilities.
Faris’s first duty as warden had been to close the rift created when the previous warden of the north destroyed herself with an overly ambitious spell. The rift torn by the miscast spell had been growing slowly since 1848. By the time Faris closed it, the wardens of the west, south, and east had been trapped in their wardenships for more than sixty years. Faris had freed them.
Jane knew how reluctant Faris had been to accept her new role as warden of the north. For Fell to cavil at the responsibility infuriated her.
Lambert looked as if he couldn’t decide which astounded him more, Jane’s behavior or Fell’s tranquil acceptance of the existence of the wardens of the world. “You’re the warden of the west,” he said to Fell. He sounded as if he were trying out the words, testing them, yet not believing them. “You’re the new warden of the west.”
“Please, Lambert. Don’t rub it in. That is the idiom, is it not?” To Jane, Fell said, “If anyone in my position has ever had a more realistic notion of the duties this entails, I’d like to see the documentation. It’s intolerable. Furthermore, it’s untenable.”
“Delay is futile.” Jane was stern. “What good does moaning about it do? The other wardens are doing their part. Time you did yours.”
“The other wardens are welcome to please themselves.” Fell met Jane’s glare with resolute calm. “I refuse to further the imbalance. I can’t take up my duties as a warden until the distortion is rectified. It would be worse than futile.”
“What imbalance? The rift is mended. Surely you must have noticed.” Jane had been in the vicinity when Faris mended the rift on the heights of Aravis. She could not imagine anyone, least of all another warden, failing to notice. Jane struggled to find words to describe the experience. Wild geese going over in numbers that darkened the sky and the b
est hat she’d ever owned exploding like a time bomb—Jane gave up on description and settled for bald fact. “That is why it was possible for the wardenships to change.”
Fell’s keen expression was belied by the chill in his voice. “The rift itself may be good as new. Something, however, is very wrong. Sixty years of imbalance since the rift originated have created a distortion within the structure of the world itself.”
“You mean there’s an imbalance independent of the rift?” Jane asked.
“The imbalance was caused by the rift. The wardens who remained when the rift was torn could not move on. Their efforts to hold the structure of the world intact lasted until the rift was mended. When the rift was mended, the wardens moved on. The new wardens are left to deal with that imbalance. It must be rectified.”
“Working together, all four of the wardens should be able to rectify anything,” said Jane.
“I disagree. I think that if all four wardens carry on balancing the world from here, the distortion will be impossible to erase. For all I know, it may be impossible to erase no matter what anyone does.” Fell added, “My conscience, however, is not so flexible that it permits me to ignore the problem or to behave as if it does not exist.”
“I must admit it is better to have a warden who regards the position with suitable respect than with greed for power, but I’m sure Faris never contemplated a warden who is too skittish to assume his duties.” Jane didn’t try to keep the coldness out of her voice. “What makes you so sure there’s a distortion?”
“Close your eyes,” Fell said.
After only a moment’s hesitation, Jane obeyed.
Fell struck a match, let it burn for a few seconds, then shook it out. “Open your eyes,” Fell ordered as he disposed of the blackened remains of the match. A tendril of smoke twisted in the air between them and then dissipated.
Jane looked around. Fell was impassive. Lambert looked puzzled. “You decided against smoking in here?” Jane asked dryly.
“Is that what I did?”
“You lit a match.”
“How do you know?”
Jane’s voice was perfectly level but the effort it took to keep it there was starting to tint the edges with annoyance. “I closed my eyes. I didn’t lose consciousness.”
“Your senses informed you, in other words.”
“Is that what you’re telling me? Your senses informed you of the distortion? Couldn’t you have said that more directly?”
Fell nodded. “Certainly. My first impulse was to poke the back of your hand with a fork, but they took all the cutlery when they cleared the table.”
“Probably wise to keep pointed things right out of reach,” Lambert muttered.
Fell ignored him, all his attention focused on Jane. “What I’m trying to convey to you is that I am as aware of the distortion as I would be of the discomfort if I put my shoes on the wrong feet. It’s there. I’m aware of it.”
Jane scowled at him. “All right. I believe you. Tell me about the distortion. When did you first become aware of it?”
Fell let out a long breath. “Immediately. You seem well versed in matters concerning wardenship. One can no more ignore impending wardenship than one can ignore falling out of bed. The moment my situation dawned on me, I was aware of the distortion as an unseated discomfort. I can’t say what it would seem like to another warden, one who accepted the position without hesitation. To me, it is like music out of key, or an itch I dare not scratch. For a time, such was my mortification at the position in which I found myself, I was too distracted to fully appreciate the discord—or discomfort, rather. Unfortunately, either the imbalance is intensifying or my sensitivity is increasing.”
Jane didn’t like the abstracted look Fell was wearing when he mentioned discomfort. “You’re in pain?”
“No.” Fell seemed embarrassed by the mere suggestion.
Jane pursued the point anyway. “But your discomfort grows?”
“Yes. It is made worse by the cold truth that I can’t possibly teach myself enough about the structure of the world to rectify the problem before I’m forced to accept the wardenship in full. My studies have been cursory at best. As it is, it takes most of my attention to refrain from being the warden.”
“Could you bring yourself to communicate with the other wardens?” asked Jane. She knew from Faris’s account that with mutual consent, wardens could communicate directly, despite the vast distances separating them. It was the failure to establish such communication with Fell that had driven Faris to ask for Jane’s help.
“Not directly. Not without becoming one of them. If I knew their precise locations, I suppose I could compose a message and send it by telegram. It would be lengthy. I’m not concerned with the cost,” Fell hastened to add, “but with the accuracy of the transcription.”
“I’ll tell Faris,” said Jane. “She can speak with the others. Well, perhaps speak isn’t the right word. She’ll do whatever it is wardens do. She’ll communicate with them.”
“You seem very sure of her cooperation,” said Fell.
“I am. I’m also certain of Faris’s interest in the subject. It’s your cooperation that interests her most keenly.” Jane added, “From your description, she must be aware of the distortion herself.”
“I suppose she must.” Fell seemed far from convinced of it. “You’ll send her a wire?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be as accurate as possible when I communicate your point of view,” Jane said absently. If conditions were right, communicating with Faris could be far more direct than sending a telegram. Far more swift, too.
Fell’s earnestness grew. “I trust your accuracy. I trust your discretion as well. Permit me to offer you advice: use some form of code or cipher in your message. I prefer my problems remain my own.”
Jane’s brows shot up. “Who is spying on you?” If Faris and the other new wardens weren’t the only parties interested in Fell, that changed matters. Jane congratulated herself on taking the precaution of questioning Fell well away from Glasscastle. “Was that why the man in the bowler hat broke in to your study?”
Lambert said, “He didn’t break in. The door wasn’t locked.”
Fell replied, “I’m afraid your insistence upon the urgency of this conversation has delayed my inquiries into that incident, Miss Brailsford. There may be a connection, although I doubt it. Yet to err on the side of caution does no harm.”
Jane had the distinct impression Fell was holding something back, as if unwilling to make an accusation he couldn’t prove. She let his denial go unchallenged, but resolved to tax him with it as soon as he was suitably off guard. “I’ll be discreet,” she promised. “I’ll be prompt, as well. In fact, the sooner I inform Faris of all this, the better. If you gentlemen are ready, I’ll run you back to Glasscastle now.”
Fell gathered himself. “Yes, I have work to do.”
“We’ll be there in record time,” Jane assured him.
“Oh, splendid,” Lambert murmured as he followed them outdoors.
Jane’s hearing was excellent. She stopped to look up at Lambert. “Are you referring to the weather?”
Lambert smiled crookedly. “Nope. Just thinking that if I had known that was going to be my last meal, I would have had a pint of ale to go with it.”
Fell echoed Lambert’s concern. “Our velocity on the way here was a matter of research, purely in the pursuit of knowledge. To what excessive speeds will you force that motor car now you have reason to hurry?”
Lambert said, “I can’t help but wonder what you’ll do to that motor car now your heart is in it.”
“I’ve been warned the twenty-miles-per-hour speed limit is strictly enforced here,” said Jane. “Don’t worry. You’re both perfectly safe with me.”
4
“’Tis most true that musing meditation most affects the pensive secrecy of desert cell”
Fell and Lambert extricated themselves from the Brailsford motor car in the street outside Glasscastle�
��s great gate. With a flutter of gauzy scarf, Jane drove jauntily off, leaving them with their baggage. No sooner were they past the gatekeeper and through the gate than Fell touched Lambert’s sleeve to halt him.
“I intend to send the baggage with a scout. I have something more important to do than unpack.”
Lambert waited while Fell summoned a scout, issued orders, and sent the man off to the rooms in Holythorn with a bag in each hand and one tucked under his arm.
“Well, aren’t you the Tsar of all the Russias.” Lambert watched the scout go. “Why can’t we carry our own bags? We’re headed that way ourselves.”
“No, we are not.” Fell led Lambert in the opposite direction. “First, I think we need to take a turn around the botanical garden.”
Despite Fell’s sudden fit of decisiveness, he seemed in no hurry as he followed the paths around Midsummer Green and then as carefully around the quads in front of Wearyall and St. Joseph’s. Lambert measured his steps to match Fell’s stride. The leisurely pace Fell set made a contrast to the sense of urgency at Nether Petherton. Although Lambert preferred to be moving under his own volition, after motoring with Jane their progress along the gravel path seemed almost unnaturally slow. “You didn’t have to be back at work so urgently after all, I take it.”
“Oh, I’m back at work now.” Fell sauntered through the open gates of the garden and under the triumphal stone arch that marked the only way in or out of the botanical garden. The shadow of the arch was surprisingly cool after the warmth of the afternoon sun, but the momentary chill faded as soon as they were in the garden itself. “We’re both working.”
“We are?” Lambert followed Fell through the first garden, a complicated knot of lavender, rosemary, and about fifty other herbs he didn’t recognize, and down the central path of the second garden, an axis that cut a sun-drenched promenade through fiercely pruned roses. Even in late summer, the scent was dizzying. “Nice work.”
A Scholar of Magics Page 10
