Jane cleared her throat and said gently, “I’ll explain the origins and causes of the Civil War to Lambert later, just in case he’s unfamiliar with ours. You can get on with the story.”
“Please yourself.” Fell was mildly affronted. “The Egerton family, albeit far richer than most, was no different from many other families. One brother sided with Parliament, the other with the King. There was no way to stay out of the conflict. Lady Alice Egerton found herself confronted with the prospect of losing at least one brother, possibly both. So much is undeniable. It’s the next bit that will bring out the libel suits. To protect her family and to preserve the castle they counted as their home, she took up the wand and studied magic in order to exploit its power.”
“Where did she study?” Jane demanded. “She couldn’t just pick up the wand and teach herself to use it.”
“I know.” Fell held up his hands to still her protest. “I know. It’s impossible. Still, there are all manner of magics and all sorts of wild talent. The fact remains, Ludlow Castle was never besieged. Her brothers survived the war unharmed. Lady Alice was revered for her wisdom and power. The Egerton family fortunes have flourished ever since. Witness the evident accomplishments of the current Earl of Bridgewater, who would be Lady Alice’s many-times-great-nephew. The man is II Cortegiano brought up to date. He has climbed mountains, sailed more than one seacoast, mastered painting, poetry, change-ringing, and eleven languages. Men like him have never been common, but there hasn’t been a throwback of his magnitude in over a hundred years.”
“The Egerton wand belongs to the Earl of Bridgewater?” Lambert frowned over the drawings in his lap. “What’s it doing in the Agincourt device?”
Fell pushed his chair back and Lambert knew that for once he had his friend’s undivided attention. “What are you talking about?”
Lambert pointed to the labeled detail. Fell, intrigued, took up the plans and spread them across his worktable as Jane and her illusion craned to see.
“Comus was unable to do more to the Earl’s daughter than confine her to a chair. Chastity is still a shield in Someone’s theoretical framework,” said Fell.
Lambert winced.
“The constraints still apply,” Fell continued. “You tell me the weapon Voysey constructed had no effect upon Miss Brailsford. That curious armchair is the only thing that constrains her. Frankly, I’d be surprised to learn Voysey was solely responsible for that armchair.”
“You haven’t answered Lambert’s question,” said Jane. “How did this artifact come to be incorporated in the Agincourt device?”
Fell tugged at a corner of his mustache. “I’d like to ask Bridgewater that. In fact, I have several questions I’d like to ask him.”
“Bridgewater delivered that lecture you attended in London,” said Lambert. “Does he know mathematics, in addition to all his other talents?”
“By Jove, I’d quite forgotten my calculations for a moment. Bridgewater is an authority on the history of the armillary sphere, not the uses of it. He may know more of mathematics than you do, Lambert, but I’m afraid I found him a sad disappointment.” Fell put the plans for the Agincourt device aside and turned his attention back to his papers. “Thanks for the reminder. I must get back to work.”
“I knew it couldn’t last,” Jane said gloomily.
“I should have known.” Lambert folded the plans and put them back in his pocket. “I guess I’ll go back to being seen and not heard.”
Fell looked up at Lambert, his eyes piercingly bright. “What did you say?”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “He heard something. That’s progress of a sort, I suppose.”
“You said something about being seen but not heard.” Fell’s eyes narrowed. “But what if you had said ‘heard but not seen’?”
“If I had said that,” Lambert answered cautiously, “I would have made no sense.”
“No novelty there.” Fell stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “Not you specifically, Lambert. People in general seldom make sense. Fortunately we’re so used to that fact, we understand one another quite well despite it”
“I’m not so sure I do,” said Lambert.
“I’ve been concentrating on calculations that I can see.” Fell flicked the sheets of paper spread before him. “The key was right in front of me the whole time I was watching that gramophone record spin. Mathematics can be heard as well as seen.”
“Music?” Lambert glanced over at the gramophone. “Bach’s Little Fugue in G minor?”
“Music of the spheres,” Fell replied, abstractedly. Lambert eyed him narrowly. “What are you talking about?”
“Thank you for the idea, Lambert.” Fell seemed to be looking at something far away. “Now if I could have just a moment or two without further distractions” His voice trailed off as he returned to his work. A few moments later, Fell’s absorption in his calculations could have been no more complete if he’d been alone in the room. Eventually, Jane and her illusion went back to watching for errors. Lambert paced until he wore out his fit of restlessness, then went back to sit on the floor and rest his aching head against Jane’s armchair. At least the gramophone had run down.
Lambert stirred. From the pain in his neck as he straightened, he deduced that he’d dozed off leaning against Jane’s armchair. He took his time about yawning and stretching and rubbing his eyes. There was nothing in particular to do, after all, but sleep. He just hoped he hadn’t been snoring too loudly.
There was sunlight from the single barred window, but it was the diffuse light of a cloudy day. Lambert’s sense of direction was no better than it had been in the woods. He couldn’t tell which direction the window faced, nor could he see anything from the window but trees. The disorientation nagged at him. Without his internal compass to guide him, Lambert found his surroundings difficult to believe in. He might have been on a stage set or in an artist’s studio. The light was wrong and he couldn’t be sure of the way in which it was wrong, nor was he even certain why he thought so. The discord of the place was too basic for him to identify. He only knew it disturbed him.
Jane and Fell were still at it. Fell had moved his worktable over to Jane’s armchair so that she could see his calculations better. The illusion of Jane was still there, smiling down on them benignly. Jane, looking more wan than ever, was reading the notes Fell held up for her inspection. Fell was looking harried. He’d pushed his chair away from the worktable. It was the scrape of the chair legs on the floor that had awakened Lambert.
“You aren’t following my logic,” Fell informed Jane.
“No surprise there,” said Jane. “I don’t think there is any to follow.”
Lambert rubbed his sore neck. Clearly, he hadn’t missed a thing.
Fell said, “You don’t see the greater structure. Perception and will are the foundation of all magic. I can’t correct the imbalance until I can perceive it. The only way to do so fully is to find an adequate description of the structure of the world as it should be, our world nested in the center of the celestial spheres. Then, if I can manage to describe the structure of the world as it actually is since the imbalance occurred, I need to exert sufficient will to perceive those two structures as they coincide.”
“I thought you said the imbalance is a distortion of time. You’ve been describing space.” Jane could not gesture toward the calculations so the illusion of Jane did it for her.
“Where does magic come from? Why should human perception or human will have any influence over anything? It comes from the juxtaposition of the celestial structure of the world, perfect spheres nested in the harmony modeled by the armillary sphere, and the structure of the actual model of the planets circling the sun. Every true perception implies both. The degree of will required to employ that influence varies according to how great or small the differences are in that juxtaposition.”
“They teach these matters differently at Greenlaw,” said Jane.
Fell ignored her. “I can’t reset a clock until I
know the correct time. I’m trying to juxtapose the model of the world we have at the moment, the model that contains the implicit imbalance, with the model of the celestial structure. Instead of perfect spheres, I’m trying to find a way to use a spiral. If I could only perceive both those structures simultaneously, I’d be prepared to will them to coincide.”
Jane looked cross. Her illusion looked mulish. “You can’t use a spiral.”
Fell retorted, “You can’t. I must at least try.”
“Parallel lines do not meet. They never meet. They can’t. The spheres can’t be anything but what they are. Spheres.” Jane all but shouted the last word.
Fell was patience incarnate. “The spheres met once. Or we wouldn’t have had the rift to begin with.”
“The rift was created by a warden. Wardens’ magic is different,” Jane said.
Fell’s harried expression returned. “Don’t presume to tell me what wardens’ magic is and isn’t. I’ve studied the sources. I know what wardens have done and can do, time out of mind.”
Jane’s voice was ice. “They balance. They don’t juggle.”
“The greatest warden is the one who does the least, I know. But I’m not a warden yet. I can only use the tools I have.”
Jane sighed and leaned back to gaze at the ceiling. Her illusion looked at her, concerned. “This will never work. You’re never going to get there.”
“Not with these constant interruptions, no,” agreed Fell. “Still, one must grasp the nettle.”
“Grasp the right nettle, as long as you’re at it,” said Jane. “Make up your mind. Your use of points seems to be Euclidean. You assume points exist independently of the planes you are describing. That’s what you meant, isn’t it? But in the rest of your work, your planes are constituted of points. Two different conceptions—Oh, forget it. You could keep a team of mathematicians, real mathematicians—accurate mathematicians—at work for years on end and never arrive at a useful model. You’re wasting your time here, Fell. You’re wasting everyone’s time.”
“Is that why Voysey has been such a perfect host?” Lambert asked.
Fell’s attention snapped to Lambert as if he’d forgotten he was there. “What do you mean?”
“Voysey had you brought here and made sure you had to stay here. But he let you have your work and he gave you time to get on with it. He gave you a gramophone and some records to play. Doesn’t that seem fishy to you?”
Fell looked thoughtful. “You have a point.”
“If Voysey had any worries about you, it wasn’t that your work would interfere with his,” said Jane. “He’s been letting you amuse yourself with it. To keep you out of his way, I assume.”
“Or to keep Fell out of someone else’s way,” Lambert suggested. “If you had succeeded in getting Fell to act as a warden, would that be something that Voysey could handle?”
“Probably not,” said Jane.
“But Voysey knows you failed. Fell still doesn’t want to be warden. Who would be the next person to try to persuade Fell to act?” Lambert asked. “Maybe Voysey brought Fell here to keep him away from whoever that is?”
“If that’s the case, Voysey wouldn’t have shut us up together unless he were absolutely certain that I had no chance at all of persuading Fell to act as warden. Ever.” Jane looked decidedly peeved. Her illusion added ferocity to Jane’s expression.
Jane went on. “Voysey is just as sure that you’ll never get anywhere with your calculations. And there, he’s quite correct. You have to give up, Fell. Doing it your way won’t work.”
“The fact you were able to find a few errors in my calculations doesn’t qualify you as a critic.”
“Any competent individual could find errors in your calculations, sir.” Jane leaned on the courtesy until the rudeness beneath it emerged. “Face it. You’re the warden of the west. Accept that and act accordingly.”
Fell resumed his work. “A time will come when I can’t resist any longer. That time isn’t here yet. While I can work, I must work.”
The illusion of Jane looked as cross as Jane did. There was a strained silence in the room.
Lambert crossed the room to peer through the grille in the door. The corridor outside was empty. “What do you suppose Voysey plans to do with the Agincourt device now he has it working?”
“The same thing I would do, I suppose,” Jane replied. “Apply it selectively until the world ran according to my instructions.”
“Is that really what you’d do?” Lambert asked. “Rule the world?”
“I prefer to think of it as refining the world,” said Jane, “but I admit I can think of far more effective ways of doing it. It’s not much of an ultimate weapon, is it?”
Fell looked up from his work. “The initial idea the committee had for the Agincourt Project was to create a large-scale device with enough range to deliver an indiscriminate transformation spell at a distance. None of this turning one man into a dog and another into a horse. A whole battalion turned to pigs, that was the original aim.”
Jane said, “I thought you weren’t involved in the project. How do you know all that?”
“I was invited to participate and I attended more meetings than I care to think about before I succeeded in getting myself removed from the committee,” Fell replied. “I wish I had sixpence for every committee meeting I’ve had to attend in my time. Repetitious nonsense. Hours of my life wasted. Hours that will never come again.”
Lambert paced from the door to the window. “Wait. Voysey altered the weapon to make it less effective?”
“More accurate. I don’t know about less effective.” As Fell spoke, the air pressure in the room changed. Although the window was closed and the door locked, although there was no breeze, the papers spread out before Fell stirred as if a wind caught them. The atmosphere seemed to prickle with energy.
“What the dickens—” Jane began, just as Fell said, “By Jove!”
“What the hell is that?” Lambert raced to the grille and strained to see out into the corridor.
From near and far came the sound of many dogs barking, accompanied by the sounds of other animals disturbed. The restlessness in the air built, as if a storm were about to break, but there was no change in light, inside or out, to account for the sense of gathering darkness.
“Is this Voysey’s doing?” Jane asked. Her words were lost in the roll of thunder that followed. While to all appearances the world was unchanged, the deep growl of thunder heightened the prickling unease in the air. The barking turned to howling, both distant and near by. Though there had never been a breeze, as the roll of thunder faded, something stirred in the room and Fell’s papers went drifting to the floor.
“That’s their defensive spell broken,” said Fell. He rose and stretched luxuriously. “It seems to have broken the spell on me as well. I gather your pair of truants escaped to summon help after all, Lambert. Well done.”
From an indeterminate distance, it might have been from half a mile away or it might have been from just downstairs, came a shout—a multitude of voices ringing out as one. The shout held one note and no more, one sound and no more. Yet the note rang and reverberated, fed on itself, doubled and redoubled, until the very stones of the place sang an answer.
The shout and its echoes ended sharply, as though cut off, but the restlessness ended with it. Silence hung in the still air. So profound was the quiet, Lambert wondered for a moment if he’d lost his ability to hear.
“Quick, Lambert, try the door,” ordered Jane. “That was the Yell Magna. If it was properly done, it could open every lock for a mile.”
Lambert did his best, but the door was still locked. “Who was that?”
“The scholars of Glasscastle. They created the Vox Magna.” Fell was gathering up his papers, trying to restore them to some kind of order. “Only schoolboys call it the Yell Magna. Silly bit of slang.”
“That was the scholars of Glasscastle? What, all of them?” Lambert came to help with the papers.
As he and Fell worked, a new sound floated up from below, a fluting whistle repeated again and again, sometimes alone, sometimes from several whistles at once. “And what is that?”
“It sounds like a policeman’s whistle.” Jane cocked her head. “Times one hundred.”
“It can’t be,” Fell replied. “The police force is forbidden to use the Vox Magna to gain entry unless they have a warrant to do so.”
“Then we must assume someone has bothered to get a warrant.” Jane leaned back in her chair. “Thank goodness.”
Lambert went back to the grille. From down the corridor came a fresh disturbance. Someone was singing, a tenor voice holding just one note for eight counts. There followed several measures of rest, during which came the sound of a door opening. Then the note returned, eight counts long.
As the singer came into view, Lambert recognized Polydore. At his heels, the animals he was freeing followed. There were spaniels and pheasants, cats and rats, deer and deerhounds together, each utterly indifferent, so it seemed, to the other animals around him.
Polydore stopped at the cell across the corridor, called through the grille, “Herrick, is that you?” He sang out a single note, an A, and the door unlocked itself. Polydore held the door open while a yearling fawn emerged and joined the thronging animals. “Mind the badger.”
Polydore turned and saw Lambert staring at him through the grille. “Why, it’s the American. What a pleasant surprise.” He crossed the corridor and peered past Lambert into the cell. “You have found companions, I see. How nice to meet you again, Mr. Fell. It’s been too long. And how delightful to encounter two young ladies here. Twins, I take it?”
Lambert wasted no time on explanations. “Open the door. Please.”
Polydore smiled at his intensity. “I can’t. It’s locked.”
“You can. I saw you do it. Sing it open.”
“I’m not singing,” Polydore explained modestly. “Technically, I’m directing the residual energy of the Vox Magna. It does sound as if I’m singing, I grant you that.”
“You sound wonderful,” Lambert assured him. “Caruso should look to his laurels. Please unlock the door. We can’t let Voysey get away.”
A Scholar of Magics Page 28
