“That’s better,” said Stowe, “that’s the spirit. Good luck, eh?” He shook hands with Lambert again as he let him out into the moonlit night. “Good luck.”
Adrift in the dark, at first Lambert walked at aimlessly, the pea-gravel path crunching underfoot. Not until he recognized the peppery scent of the marigolds in the Holythorn kitchen garden did he realize his heart had taken him back to the bench outside Wearyall. He sank down on the bench and let the evening chant ease his mind to emptiness.
Lambert sat there for a long time. He let the music fill him, knowing it would have to last him all his life. The leaves shifting ceaselessly overhead rustled silver behind the golden thread of the chant. Around him in the shadows, all the beauty and power of Glasscastle slept unseen in the dark.
Maybe Voysey was right. Maybe Glasscastle was not for the likes of Lambert. But something in that deep music had awakened something deep in him. The only true failure, Lambert promised himself, would be to forget that one had ever awakened, to permit oneself to sleep again. Take what you need and let the rest go. In his brief time at Glasscastle, it had been granted to Lambert that he discover the existence of such music. Nothing could take that knowledge from him. On this side of the River Jordan, one had to travel light. Therefore, Lambert must let even Glasscastle go, and take with him only the changes the music had made in him.
At last, with slow steps, Lambert returned to the rooms he had shared with Fell. The valise he’d packed approximately one hundred years ago—in other words, that morning—was at the foot of his bed. He opened it and stared at the neatly packed contents. These things had been indispensable mere hours ago. With a sigh, Lambert emptied it all out on the bed, ready to start over.
There was a knock at the door. Lambert answered it, trying hard not to hope it was a message from Fell. It wasn’t. Two young men stood there, unmistakably undergraduates. Both were fair, but one was built like a string bean, the other a potato.
“Pardon the intrusion,” said the string bean. His tone made it clear that he did not care if anyone pardoned him or not. “My name is Herrick. This is Williams. We’re here to speak with Mr. Fell. Please ask him to be so good as to see us.”
“I don’t have to ask him. He can’t see you. He isn’t here.” The undergraduates showed every sign of wanting to elbow past him into the room but Lambert did not budge. “It’s mighty late for a social call, don’t you think?”
“This isn’t a social call,” Herrick said. “We must see Mr. Fell.”
Williams, the potato, was more polite, almost apologetic. “You see, he hasn’t sent our marks to the Registrar yet. We don’t know if we’re still students of Glasscastle or if we’ve graduated. I don’t mind staying on for the summer, not at all. Chanting clears my mind, you see. I like it. But Michaelmas term is coming up in a few weeks and it would be so embarrassing to be here if we’re not supposed to be. Terribly embarrassing.”
“I see your problem. Too bad someone else is going to have to solve it.” Lambert was about to shut the door on them when a thought struck him. No chance of Glasscastle hushing up Fell’s disappearance if the undergraduates knew about it. “Mr. Fell has been abducted. Ask the Provosts if you don’t believe me. Now, go away.” Lambert closed the door and locked it while the young men were still gaping at him, mouths working like fish. There was more knocking, but Lambert ignored it. In fifteen minutes, they had given up and gone.
Lambert returned to his room. The bed was strewn with the contents of his valise, most of which he tidied away in the wardrobe. His shaving things he put back on the washstand, ready to use in the morning, then repack. He wrapped his Colt Peacemaker in his oldest shirt and tucked it in a corner of the valise with a generous supply of cartridges, then added a compass, a box of lucifer matches and a change of underclothes. Lambert studied the result. Travel with Jane was sure to be a very different proposition from travel with Fell. For a moment, he regretted his long-lost Bowie knife, then he topped off the valise with two clean collars and went to bed.
The sun was coming up when Lambert reached the Brailsford house. The late summer sunrise changed color moment by moment as the world turned toward the light. By the time Lambert rang the bell, the sun had edged clear of the horizon and the gaudy colors of cloud and sky had faded. A fine summer day had begun, the first day of his life after Glasscastle. Lambert had precisely one minute to contemplate that milestone before the door opened.
“You’re late.” Jane joined him on the doorstep. “Let’s go.” She was wearing a plain linen motoring coat over a gray dress, driving gloves like gauntlets almost to her elbows, and the largest hat he’d seen yet. Its broad brim strained against the gauzy motoring veil she had stretched over it and knotted beneath her chin.
“You look like you’re ready for a hard day’s bee-keeping.” Lambert winced the moment the words slipped out, but it was too late to take them back.
“How kind of you to say so,” Jane replied tartly. “You look as if you didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
Behind them, the door opened and Amy peered out. She wore something white and graceful. With her hair loose down her back, she looked like Lucia di Lammermoor, about to run elegantly mad. Lambert had no trouble keeping that thought to himself, for before he could speak, Amy hushed them both.
“You said you’d leave at dawn,” Amy reminded Jane. “Go. Find Robert for me!”
“We’re going, we’re going.” Jane replied. Lambert waved farewell to Amy and followed Jane back to the carriage house where the motor car waited. Something bulky filled the boot and rear seat, but Lambert couldn’t tell what it was, as canvas had been tied down over it to protect the cargo. “What’s all that?”
“Just my luggage,” said Jane, sliding into the driver’s seat and donning her goggles. “Give it a twirl, please?”
With private gratitude that he hadn’t brought more than one small satchel, Lambert wedged his valise into the Minotaur and went around front. Lambert cranked up the motor and took the place beside Jane. She reversed smoothly out into the street and headed out of the town as the sun climbed the sky to their right.
Lambert decided he was either more comfortable sitting in the front seat than the back, or Jane’s driving style was more conservative this morning. She took her time leaving the confines of the town. Lambert, intent on savoring what might be his last drive through the place, was glad he had a clear view from the passenger’s seat. He wanted to appreciate the look of things in the early light, not watch it go past in a blur. Gray stone walls seemed to glimmer silver. Greenery still damp with last night’s dew set off the brilliance of blossoms opening to the sun.
At that hour, the streets were nearly deserted. Down a side road, Lambert thought he glimpsed his drayman on morning rounds. Here and there a cat was tucked up waiting on a doorstep. Otherwise, they had Glasscastle town almost to themselves. It was a lovely sight, ivy over stone in the rising day. Lambert reminded himself that he would return, if only to fetch his remaining possessions, but the pang of departure was sharp.
“Nice place,” Lambert said, when all that remained was the silhouette of Glasscastle Hill in the distance behind them.
“Not bad,” said Jane. “Get out the map case, will you? We’re on the Wells road. From there we bear north for Bristol, but we must cross the Severn eventually.”
While extracting the leather map case from beneath his seat, Lambert noticed Amy’s spindle dangling from one of the knobs on the dashboard. He eyed it narrowly, but there didn’t seem to be anything more to its motion than the steady sway natural to their momentum. “Did Amy make you bring that along as a good luck charm?”
“You never know. It might be useful. I’m not sure of our precise route yet.”
Lambert watched the spindle swing aimlessly from one direction to the next. “If it starts pointing to Ludlow, what do we do?”
“I suppose we go to Ludlow.” The goggles made it impossible to read Jane’s expression but she didn’t sound any mo
re serious than Lambert. “I hope it won’t take offence if we stick to the road.”
“I brought my penknife. If it gets out of hand, I’ll cut it loose.” Lambert wrestled with the clasp on the map case. In less than a mile, he’d managed to pry it open and peer inside. After a few more miles of shuffling through the contents of the case, he stopped to stare at Jane. In addition to the usual two-shilling Bartholomew’s sections, mounted on linen, two miles to the inch, the case held other maps. “Quite an assortment you have in here.”
“It’s Robert’s map case. I thought it seemed a bit heavy. Why, what’s in there?”
Lambert went through them in order. “An ordnance survey map of the Welsh marches with something marked in scarlet. Roman ruins, the key says. The Romans didn’t get very far with the Welsh, did they? A map of the entire United Kingdom with geologic substrata marked in grease pencil. Which smears when you touch it, so be careful. Here’s one that might actually be some use—another ordnance survey map, this one six inches to the mile, of the immediate Glasscastle area.” Lambert unfolded it. “I think we drove off the edge of this one about five miles ago.” He folded it up and put it back. “Here’s the Southwest of England with most of the rivers marked in black. Your brother likes that grease pencil far too much.”
“Try that one for now,” said Jane
“Rivers it is. Are you expecting the radiator to overheat?” asked Lambert.
“No. It is possible that our excursion may attract a modicum of attention. Running water would help us avoid unwelcome notice.”
“Sometimes it works on bears.” Lambert thought it over. “Does this have anything to do with why witches float or why people who work magic are supposed to have a hard time crossing water?”
“Witches don’t float. They do have a hard time crossing water,” Jane replied. “A location spell works by finding changes in energy between the seeker and the sought. You match your perception of the changes with your perception of the world around you until you’ve found what you are looking for. Does that seem clear so far?”
“So far.”
“Running water doesn’t just change the energy. It renews it completely. If I were seeking you with a location spell, you could elude me each time you crossed running water. If you were on the water, say in a punt or a rowing boat, I’d never find you at all.”
“So if we stay close to a river,” Lambert said slowly, “we could cross it every time you think we’re being sought by a location spell.”
“That’s it.” Jane sounded pleased.
Lambert frowned. “What makes you think we’re being sought by a location spell?”
“At the moment, I don’t think we are. Even if I’m wrong about that, we’re probably in the clear until we cross the Severn. But I’d like to know where the rivers are just the same.”
Lambert consulted the map. “I found your Wells road. On to Bristol from there?”
“That would be best.”
“The road to Wells is fairly straight. Are you planning another speed trial?” Lambert overplayed his suspicion and was glad to see it made Jane laugh. “You would warn me, wouldn’t you? Though, come to think of it, it might not seem quite so bad if I can sit up here with you.”
“Don’t worry. No speeding today.” Jane slowed the Minotaur as they topped a rise. “I promise.”
As they left Wells behind, the land rose steeply. The road veered a little to avoid the worst of it, but kept more or less straight on northeast. Lambert knew they would have to pick up a road heading north to get to Bristol, but he wasn’t sure which would be best. Reading the network of fine lines representing roads and railways was like reading a spiderweb, a task made more difficult if Jane happened to be changing gears at the time. “Farrington Gummy, I think we want. How long until we reach Bristol?”
“Not very long. Why?” Jane was intent on the Minotaur’s climb.
Lambert folded the map down to a size he could read without the wind getting at it. “I missed breakfast. Come to think of it, I missed dinner too. If we find a pub, we can eat something.”
“No need to suffer. There’s a luncheon hamper back there somewhere. I thought we could have a picnic rather than put ourselves at the mercy of whatever pub we find.”
“Thanks for reminding me. As I’m off the Agincourt Project and can do what I please for the first time in six months, we will definitely stop at a pub. I haven’t had beer in so long, I’ve forgotten what it tastes like.”
Jane kept her eyes on the road but it was clear from the slackening of her speed that her attention was focused entirely on Lambert. “You’re off the project? You quit?”
“The project has concluded. My services are no longer needed.” Lambert didn’t try to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I was officially informed last night. No one thought to mention it to me until then.”
“The project has concluded? I can’t believe it. The Agincourt Project is over?”
“Those ministers Robert was trying so hard to impress decided to give the funding to the aviators at Farnborough instead. There must be some details left to finish up on the Agincourt Project, or Voysey wouldn’t have had me shooting a Baker rifle yesterday while Meredith was off in London. Voysey knew the project had concluded before anyone else did. Stowe told me.”
“Stowe. Provost of St. Joseph’s, isn’t he? I haven’t met him. What’s he like? As oblivious as our friend Porteous?”
“I don’t think he’s that oblivious. Is anyone? Stowe seemed mildly embarrassed that I didn’t already know I was fired. He was quite polite about breaking the news to me.”
“I should think he would be. What did Voysey say?”
“Voysey wasn’t there. Nor Stewart. It was all Stowe, concerned that I see someone in the Bursar’s office to collect my pay.”
“Oh, dear.” Jane’s concern showed despite her goggles. “The Bursar’s office probably doesn’t open for hours yet and here I’ve rushed off with you on my crupper.”
“That’s all right. I’ll make the Bursar pay up when I go back for the rest of my clean socks. Don’t worry.”
“You sound a bit grim about it.”
“I wasn’t expecting a medal or anything. But the lack of efficiency irritates me. Why call me back for more shooting if the project had already concluded? It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid.”
“Odd, to say the least.” Jane picked up her speed again. “I wonder why Voysey was still recruiting Fell to the project if he knew it had concluded.”
“Do you think Stowe knows something about the project Voysey doesn’t?” Lambert folded the map into a new and better accordion. “I don’t.”
“It would be more likely—” Jane began, but she did not finish her thought, for at that moment the motor car swerved toward the hedge at the side of the road. Jane braked and brought the Minotaur to a halt. “Drat! Puncture.”
“what?” Lambert was still recovering from the alarm their swerve had caused him. Things had been exciting there for a moment.
“Help me with the jack?” Jane clambered down from the driving seat and found the tool kit. “Please? It won’t take a moment.”
Of course it took far more than a moment to place the jack and get the wheel off the ground. By the time the damaged wheel had been removed and replaced with the spare, almost two hours were gone, along with quite a lot of the skin from Lambert’s knuckles.
“I should have let you use the wrench,” Lambert told Jane, once they were on their way again. “You have the gauntlets for it, after all.”
“I’ll do the honors next time,” said Jane. “I don’t think I would have taken any longer than you did.”
Lambert let Jane’s criticism pass. “Let’s hope next time holds off until we have the first puncture mended.”
“Let’s hope next time doesn’t happen at all.”
In Bristol, at midmorning, Jane stopped to buy more petrol and have the tire mended. While they were waiting, Lambert persuaded her to try a pub
nearby, the Blue Boar. It was too early in the day to order food, but despite the hour, Lambert could not resist trying the beer.
Jane took no spirits, declaring that behind the wheel she needed her wits about her at all times. Lambert could not argue with that. He drank two pints of lager, one quickly and one slowly, and wished he had a plate of toasted cheese to wash down with it. Beer tasted even better than he remembered. On a sticky August day devoted to the accumulation of road dust, the cellar-cool tang of the beer made him feel life might not be so bad after all. The strange lightness he felt afterward warned him that his capacity for liquor had dropped alarmingly. There had been a time when he wouldn’t have noticed a gallon of beer, let alone a quart, even on an empty stomach. After his months of abstinence, the lager made the whole world lift a few degrees and take on extra color and mild spin. Lambert considered what such indulgence was likely to do to his aim and concluded with regret that he was better off without strong drink until Fell was safely home again.
Refueled, repaired, and restored, Jane and Lambert left Bristol behind. With the map half-unfurled in his lap, Lambert directed Jane through the city traffic and the maze of streets until they emerged on the northern edge of the city and meandered toward the estuary in the direction of Aust.
Jane was dubious. “Are you certain this is the right road?”
Lambert checked the map. “I’m certain this is the right road for Aust.”
Jane slowed the motor car. “Why are we going to Aust?”
“Because that is where the map says we catch the Chepstow ferry.”
Jane said nothing but she halted the Minotaur and let it purr to itself by the side of the road, to the great disgruntlement of a bicyclist close behind them. She stared at Lambert, but with the goggles it was hard to read her expression.
Lambert said, “We have to cross the Severn somewhere. You said so.”
Jane spoke very slowly, as if she were dealing with a child. “We can’t cross here. We’re barely out of Bristol. There can’t be a bridge within forty miles.”
A Scholar of Magics Page 19
