Fell did not pause to admire so much as a single blossom. He held his pace through the second gate, this one set in a wall all but concealed by ivy. Pear trees heavy with fruit lined the inner walls, pressed up against the masonry as if they were being punished. At the heart of the innermost garden grew a labyrinth of boxwood groomed with topiary precision into a maze only waist high. Patiently turning and returning as the path twisted its way through the right angles of the pattern, Fell led Lambert into the center of the green labyrinth.
Lambert had been to the botanical garden before. This time, prompted by Jane’s architectural lecture, he took a good long look. Sure enough, the sum of the lengths of herb garden and rose garden was to the innermost walled labyrinth as the length of the walled labyrinth was to the whole. The golden section held true even here.
There were cherry and plum trees at the far corners of the garden, their middling height a relief to the stern geometry of the boxwood hedges, but they were not tall enough to cast much shadow. No shade disrupted the sunlight that flooded the place, no breeze stirred the foliage, and in the drowsy warmth of the afternoon, the loudest sound was the hum of bees. Lambert looked but saw no bees, nor any blossom to tempt bees near the hedges. The place was full of light and warmth, the scent of sun-warmed greenery, and the changeless sound of the bees. So clear was the sunlight that Lambert felt he could see the gray-blue shadow of each individual leaf of the boxwood hedges, each small pebble on the graveled path. Though the labyrinth was level, Lambert felt he was at the center of a bowl of light.
Lambert tried and failed to remember a time in his experience when bees had ever held to just one note, had ever stayed so still. The drone never rose or fell, but held to one constant pitch. That unchanging drone, too perfectly stable for any sound in nature, brought him to a standstill. Despite the sun’s warmth on his shoulders, the back of his neck went cold.
As if he sensed Lambert’s discomfort, Fell looked back. “Don’t be alarmed. We’re safe here.”
“Hear that?” Lambert cocked his head. “You do hear that?”
“Of course. It’s Glasscastle itself you hear. We’re very near the wards here, the heart of its protection. It will protect us, I hope.”
“From what?” Lambert felt goose bumps come out on his arms.
“I don’t yet know. But this close to the wards, there should be no chance we are overheard.” Fell halted in the six-sided space paved with flagstones to mark the center of the labyrinth. He turned to Lambert, eyes keen. “Describe the man you saw leaving the archive.”
Lambert did his best to repeat the account he’d given Fell as they rode in the Minotaur. It was hard to concentrate. The warmth of the place, the brilliance of the sunlight, and the steady sound had worked together to blanket him with comfort. A groundless sense of well-being had conquered the unease he felt, and the chill at the back of his neck was all but forgotten.
Fell frowned. “No, I mean really describe him. Tell me everything you remember, every detail, no matter how unimportant it may seem. Think of it as one of Voysey’s tests and spare nothing.”
Lambert thought back. “Not a big fellow, but sturdy. Moved like a ferret. Even when he ran, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry, but he covered a lot of ground. Kind of a lope. Fast and easy at the same time. His clothes looked all right, nothing to attract attention there.”
“You’re not the best judge of that,” Fell pointed out. “If we were in the streets of Laredo, I’d trust your opinion, but not here.”
Lambert considered reminding Fell that Laredo was not in Wyoming. Or that not everyone in America came from Texas. It didn’t seem worth the effort. “Miss Brailsford didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and I reckon she is a reliable judge of such matters. She said something about his bowler, that’s all.” After a moment’s consideration, he added, “I’ve never been to Laredo.”
Fell was still focused on his study and the intruder there. “You saw the man arrive. You saw him leave. How long do you estimate that to have taken?”
“Miss Brailsford and I walked around part of Midsummer Green while we were talking. We went into St. Mary’s. By the time we saw the man leaving the archive, I suppose a half an hour might have passed, no more than that.”
“Not long. Not long at all, given the amount of material in my study. Was anything else in the archive disturbed?”
“We didn’t have the authority to look in any closed rooms. So as far as I know, only your room was touched. Russell didn’t seem to find anything in the incident to bother himself about. I didn’t tell him about the plans I found on your desk.”
Fell’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, yes. Those plans that weren’t there when I left. I thank you for your discretion. I’ll have to see if there’s anything else he brought me.”
“Why would he turn the place upside down if all he wanted to do was leave something?”
“Isn’t it interesting to speculate?” Fell tugged hard at his moustache. “Whoever the intruder was, he must have known just where to look. I wonder who told him which was my study?”
“Why would anyone have to tell him? Maybe he just picked yours at random. You hinted to Jane that someone was keeping an eye on you. Who do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. If I did, I would have a word with him, whoever he might be. But someone must have arranged for your man in the bowler to have the credentials he showed the gatekeeper, don’t you think? Whoever did that might have given him directions.” Fell clapped Lambert on the shoulder. “That’s your task for the afternoon. Find the gatekeeper he spoke with and see what he has to say.”
“Oh, that’s my task, is it?” Lambert didn’t try to conceal his exasperation. “While you’ll be doing God knows what, I suppose. What is all this tomfoolery about you being warden of the west?” Lambert remembered Meredith’s joke. “Is that what makes you an ancient and legendary glory of Glasscastle?”
“A bit less of the ancient, if you please. Believe me, you could not possibly find it less likely than I do.” Fell looked sheepish. “A voice woke me from a sound sleep one winter morning. Although I was alone, someone spoke to me and it was not a voice for my outer ear. It was a voice inside my head, thought to thought. It said four words, no more. I shall never forget the message, though it is not a voice I have heard before or since. See to the clocks, he said.”
“See to the clocks?” Lambert blinked. “What clocks?”
“I wish I knew. There is something about an order, some quality of tone perhaps, that often makes one peculiarly reluctant to obey immediately.”
Lambert tried to imagine Fell ever obeying an order, any order, without at least a cursory protest or demand for clarification. Lambert failed.
Fell continued, “I was suspicious of the voice. Once I was awake, I had the conviction that someone, or something, was prying at my mind. A most unpleasant sensation.”
“I smell an understatement,” said Lambert.
Fell acknowledged Lambert’s accuracy with a faint smile. “At first I hoped it was a nightmare, the aftermath of too much Stilton or one glass of port too many. Alas, I could not reason myself out of it. The sensation did not ease until I took a few old-fashioned measures to banish intruders from my thoughts. My studies since then have confirmed the source of the intrusion is the wardenship. If I yield to the intrusion, at the very least, I will be confirming things as they are now.”
“What choice do you have? How can you do anything else?”
“I don’t know. I have exhausted my own resources. I have exhausted the resources of Glasscastle as well, at least insofar as the resources I trust without reserve. Since that first night, I have overcome the reluctance to follow an order. I put my faith in the message I received in the very beginning. I know nothing about clocks and less than nothing about time. But that’s where I hope to find a hint of what I should do and how I should do it.”
“‘See to the clocks,’” Lambert repeated. “Why don’t you ask Miss Brailsford
if she knows what it means?”
Fell’s tone turned stubborn. “Miss Brailsford is hand in glove with the warden of the north. I dare not look to her for help, lest she pull me into the wardenship too soon.”
“Would that really be so bad?”
“It’s difficult to express how wrong it feels. It’s more than discomfort. It’s more than disquiet. It’s a deep-seated conviction that things should not be this way. Something needs to be done. I only wish I had some idea what.”
“Could you ask one of the other wardens?” Lambert marveled that he could make the suggestion with a straight face. “Somewhere I suppose there must be a warden of the south and a warden of the east.”
Fell looked glum. “I dare not come closer to the wardenship than I am now. It is all I can do to refrain from yielding to the sensation.”
“But haven’t you even tried to find out how to stop it?”
“I know how to stop it. Surrendering would stop it. But what would happen then? I have no desire to surrender.” Fell’s stubborn expression did not budge. “I’d appreciate it if you would keep all this entirely to yourself.”
“Don’t mention anything to Miss Brailsford, you mean, in case she tells the warden of the north?” Lambert found it troubling to think of Jane as a potential spy.
“Don’t mention it to anyone at all. Even if you’re questioned on the subject.”
“Who would do that?” Lambert was starting to find Fell’s vague warnings as annoying as they were alarming. “Who would bother?”
“I have no idea. But if anyone does bother, you will tell me, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Reluctantly, Lambert surrendered the idea of asking Voysey or one of the Provosts for help. It must have occurred to Fell. Perhaps he’d done so by now. “I’ll try to find the Fellow who was doing duty as gatekeeper yesterday, see if he noticed what was going on.”
“Excellent idea,”
“I’ll see if he remembers anything I don’t about the man or his papers.” After a moment of silence, in which Lambert hoped Fell might volunteer something of his own plans, he gave up and prompted him directly. “What will you be doing?”
“Me?” Fell was all innocence. “Oh, I’ll be back at my studies.”
“Cleaning up your study, you mean. Russell was kind enough to offer to let you make a formal complaint if you find that anything’s missing. Big of him, wasn’t it? I’ll come by later and help you tidy up.”
Fell shook his head. “No need for that. Kind of you to offer, though.”
“Kinder than you think. You haven’t seen it yet”
Lambert left Fell in the botanical garden and went to find the gatekeeper who had admitted yesterday’s intruder. It didn’t take long, as the same man was on gate duty again, Tilney, a Fellow of Wearyall. Lambert introduced himself and explained what he wanted to know.
Tilney said, “I remember you, no question. You were with the young lady who talks. There was no one ahead of you.”
For no more than a moment, Lambert let himself savor that description of Jane. What a pity she wasn’t along to hear it. “Not immediately ahead of us, perhaps. But the person you let in just before us—”
Tilney spoke slowly and distinctly. “There was no one just before you. The last visitor before you and the lady arrived during breakfast.”
“That’s impossible. There was a man who came in just before us—bowler hat—”
“Look in the visitors book if you don’t believe me.” Tilney spun the heavy volume on the counter so that Lambert could read the entries. There, in chronological order, were neatly ranked entries for each of that morning’s visitors to Glasscastle, along with times of arrival or departure.
Lambert persisted. “He was just in front of us. He stood right here. What else was he doing, if he didn’t sign in?”
“There was no one in front of you. I remember because of all the talking the young lady did.” Tilney flipped back to the previous day’s page, found the spot in the list, and stabbed it with his index finger. “Use your eyes.”
At the spot Tilney marked, Lambert found his own handwriting, his name followed by Jane Brailsford’s. The entry before theirs, as the gatekeeper had insisted, was from more than an hour before. Lambert turned pages back and forth to make sure the sequence of pages and days was uninterrupted. “There must be some mistake.”
Tilney scowled. “If there is, I didn’t make it. There is the possibility that I’ve falsified the records in some way. That is a serious accusation. Extremely serious. I should think carefully before I said anything that implied as much. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Lambert took out his puzzlement on Meredith’s targets in the temporary shooting gallery set up on one side of South Quad. Meredith had him use his favorite weapon, the Colt Peacemaker, and the noise he made went a long way toward settling his temper.
“Not your best work today.” Meredith finished marking the sheets on his clipboard. “The light will be gone soon. Perhaps we’d better try again tomorrow.”
“Six more cartridges,” said Lambert. “Then I’ll stop.”
“Please yourself.”
Lambert stood at his mark and took a few deep breaths. The light was deceptive. He put his attention on the target, leveled the Peacemaker, and cleared his mind of everything. Six shots clustered at the heart of the target.
“Much better.” Meredith made notes. “Pack it in now, will you?”
Without protest, Lambert sat down beside him and started the soothing routine of cleaning the weapon.
Meredith watched him work. “Fell’s back, I hear.”
Lambert nodded. “He took it into his head to go to London to hear a lecture.”
“Without telling you?”
“Without telling anybody.” Lambert shrugged. “He’s a grown man.”
“So he is. With the responsibilities of a scholar. One or two of his students are still waiting for him to mark their papers so they can find out if they passed Schools this term.”
Lambert winced. “Impatient, are they?”
“Not half.” As Lambert finished with his task, Meredith gathered up the bits of cloth and bottle of gun oil, stowing them with the clipboard in the case he carried. “They call him Sabidius, did you know? From that Latin jingle that means, when you cut to the heart of it, ‘I do not like thee, Dr. Fell.’”
“They could call him worse than that before Fell took any notice.” Lambert thought back. “Though they’d better not try swiping his hat again. That made him cross.”
“You’ll remind the old boy to see to them, next time you get a change?”
“I’ll remind him. I can’t promise that he’ll do anything about it.”
“No one expects miracles.” Meredith looked thoughtful.
“Listen, I can do my paperwork anywhere. Would you like to visit Upton’s room?”
“They let you do your paperwork in Upton’s room?” Lambert pretended to marvel at Meredith. “I don’t even know why they trust you with the key to this place.”
“I promise to be tidy. Come along.” Meredith beckoned Lambert to follow him to Upton’s room. “It’s a good place to think.”
“Do I look like a man with thinking to do?”
“To be honest, you shoot like a man with thinking to do.” Meredith retrieved the key from its guardian and signed for it. Together he and Lambert climbed the narrow stairs to a room on an upper floor of Albany House, one of the Wearyall College buildings. The key turned easily in the lock.
Lambert followed Meredith into Upton’s room. Upton’s shrine was a more accurate term. Philip Upton had been Vice Chancellor of Glasscastle for thirty years. Since his death in 1870, his room had been preserved almost untouched. Like the botanical garden, it was an area off-limits to all but the Fellows of Glasscastle and their guests. Lambert had only been there a few times, always strictly chaperoned, but he treasured the experience. He welcomed, as vividly as on his first visit and every visit since,
the sense of peace that filled the room. To Lambert, it was the silent equivalent of the heart-lifting music of the chant.
Meredith sat at the desk and began filling out his paperwork. Lambert took the chair opposite and let himself ease into the quiet of the place.
It was a small room, by Glasscastle’s standards, but the ceiling was high. There was wall space above even the tall bookcases. The height of the ceiling prevented any sense of being hemmed in or confined. Instead, the solid run of books on every wall gave the room a cozy feel. To judge from the arrangement of titles, Vice Chancellor Upton had possessed a highly idiosyncratic sense of what book went with what, but his sense of order was evident.
“They really don’t mind if you do paperwork here?” Lambert asked.
“Of course not, if it means I’ll do my paperwork better.” Meredith worked placidly on. “This place is for anyone who needs it. That’s why the room has been kept the way it was when he used it.”
“Just to let people sit here?”
“Sitting is optional. Thinking is mandatory. Upton was a good thinker. Some dark days he saw Glasscastle through. You could do worse than pick up a bit of Upton’s thinking.”
“You sound as if he left it lying around like a paperweight.” In fact, there was a paperweight lying on the desk, a ceramic tile glazed with a shield blazoned with three red hearts. Lambert toyed with it idly.
“Of course he did. It’s in the walls, most likely. Every strong personality leaves an influence.” Meredith took the paperweight away from Lambert and put it gently back on the desk. “That was Upton’s device, his sign, three hearts for the three colleges of Glasscastle. His friends said it was because he had three times more heart than most people.”
“Upton died more than forty years ago. No one’s personality is that strong.”
“But when he was here, he was here. For thirty years. It hasn’t worn off yet, believe me.” Meredith went back to his paperwork.
The room felt as if Upton had gone only a moment ago, as if he might be back at any time. Lambert let himself relax in his ladder-back chair. What would it have been like to study at Glasscastle in Upton’s day, before modern theories had come along to overturn the serene assurance of the past? Would it have been easier or harder to live in a world without Darwin and Malthus, a world without Voysey’s scientific principles?
A Scholar of Magics Page 11
