by Sean Russell
“I fear it is entirely possible,” Erasmus said quietly. “I . . . yes, they could instill such a fear in a man, and it would not likely go away with time—not in the years that men live, at least. That this man Ripke lasted as long as he did with some apparent sanity is the miracle.”
“You speak with some confidence, Erasmus,” Hayes said.
Erasmus glanced at him, his annoyance not hidden, but Hayes did not look at all abashed.
“Yes, well, I had an experience while I was in the house of Eldrich that left me with some special knowledge.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together, staring into his past, Hayes was sure; and it was not a happy past either.
“Perhaps it is an evening for stories,” Erasmus said softly, as though he spoke to himself. “I will tell you of this one incident that might give you some evidence of the mage’s indifference to our ideas of what is just.” Erasmus paused, as though reconsidering, but then pressed on. “The millennium was but four years off when I was taken to the house of Eldrich,” he began. “To this day I have only the vaguest idea of why this was done. Some feat I had performed as a child, I would suppose, though for the life of me I can’t remember what.
“My father, the duke, must have made the arrangements, though he never bothered to explain his reasoning to me—a pattern that continued through the rest of his days.
“There were three other boys in the house at the time. One was two years older, had been there longer and kept to himself; another was younger and had attached himself to a woman servant. That left Percy and me.
“Percy was three months older, several inches taller, and though quick of wit, he left it to me to lead in our friendship. His family were mildly successful shopkeepers, I understood, but even at that age I cared little for social distinctions. He was a good and true friend, and we stood by each other in a situation that, though never truly threatening, was less than hospitable and more than a little strange.
“Percy had less idea of why he was there than I did, and the fact that his family had no influence at all makes me wonder if my own family’s prominence had anything at all to do with my being there. We knew that Eldrich was said to be a mage, and we were both terrified and fascinated by this. That is to say, by day we were fascinated, but once darkness fell, terror reigned. Most nights, after the lights were doused, we slipped into the same bed and clung to each other, almost paralyzed with fear, until we finally fell asleep. We were never sure what we were afraid of, though we speculated endlessly.
“For months we didn’t see Eldrich himself, so we imagined that he was a hideous near-monster, or perhaps turned into one after nightfall. The one truly frightening thing we did see was Eldrich’s familiar, a great wolf that roamed the halls, often by night. This beast never actually threatened us in any way, though we did much to stay distant from it, but we did on occasion hear sniffing outside our door—and there were many more times when I suspect we imagined it. This put a fear into us that cannot be truly conveyed, for there is no one so accomplished at terror as a ten-year-old.
“We were given a pleasant enough room to share and put in the charge of a tutor who was to see to our studies. He was a good-hearted old man who reeked of tobacco smoke and the fecund soil from the gardens in which he loved to dig. In the spring he also smelled of horse droppings.
“Mr. Walky, as he was called, was a man of prodigious learning—or perhaps I should say he had been a man of prodigious learning in his day. By the time Percy and I came to him, his mind had begun to . . . ‘decay’ I think would be the right word. It was solid enough in places, and growing if not quite flourishing in others, but, overall it had begun to lose its foliage, and the trunk was sadly rotten at its center.
“Walky often called us by the names of former students, and lost track of our lessons, his mind wandering off. Very occasionally he would tell us the most wondrous tales of the past, and sometimes even tales of the doings in the house of Eldrich. To children, these seemed more like stories than history—like ghost stories, some of them—and it was difficult for us to discern those that were real from those that were fanciful.
“Had I been only a little older, I would have been wise enough to set these down in ink, but I was not yet perfectly proficient in my letters, and—to be honest—the thought never occurred to me. They seemed so much like tales from old books that I didn’t for a moment imagine that they would not be recorded elsewhere. But I realize now that they weren’t—at least not anywhere that could be found.
“Percy and I had a great deal of time to ourselves—too much, really—and, I confess, we got up to some mischief occasionally. For this Mr. Walky would give us extra work and refuse to tell us stories, though earning his temporary disapproval was far more injurious, for we had no other friend or ally in that strange world.
“In all the months I lived in Eldrich’s house I never actually spoke with the master himself and, in fact, only saw him perhaps three times. The first I was sitting in a window seat staring out at the garden. It was a cool autumn day, windless and with an odd, thin cloud layer through which the disk of the sun was visible, though just. In the distance occasional holes in a more dense cloud layer would open and shafts of light that we then called ‘mage rays’ would illuminate some far-off patch of the countryside, the colors of fall appearing there like some promised treasure.
“I was supposed to be reading a book, but as I had not the habits of mind that I later developed, I was staring out the window, daydreaming. At some point I realized there was a man standing in the garden, looking down into one of the fading flowerbeds. He was a tall gentleman dressed in black but for a white shirt. On his head he wore no wig and his dark hair, curly and loose, framed his pale face which, at that distance, was hard to distinguish.
“I had about two seconds of mild curiosity before I had a sudden realization: this was the legendary Eldrich! I knew it as though I had seen him a thousand times. This was the mage. My heart began to pound like mad, and I leaned forward to press my forehead to the glass so that I might have a better look. At that very moment the man looked up, perhaps attracted by the movement in the window. And I swear to you that I thought my heart had actually stopped.
“The look this man fixed on me . . . ! I was sure he could read my thoughts, learn every bit of wickedness I had ever thought or done. I nearly fell out of the window seat I was so terrified. He had noticed me! And all those months I believed he was unaware of my existence, but now I knew this was not so. I could tell by the look. He knew me. Eldrich knew me!
“I flew back to my room as though pursued by the foulest murderer, and burst through the door in such a near hysteria that I alarmed Percy even more than I had been frightened myself.
“For a long moment I could not speak, but only gesticulated wildly, opening and closing my mouth to no avail; finally I managed, ‘Eldrich.’ And Percy, who thought I meant the mage was on his way to our room, went completely white with horror. He began to tremble uncontrollably and actually became so light-headed that he collapsed onto the bed, and his eyes threatened to roll back in their sockets.
“‘What does he want with us?’ he whispered when he had recovered a little.
“‘He wants nothing of you,’ I told him. ‘At least not that I know of. But he saw me! Saw me shirking my studies. Flames, what if he turns me into a goat? Or fixes me with a stutter?’
“It sounds ridiculous, now, but at the time I had never been so terrified. We both stared at the door as though it would burst open at any moment and the mage would be carried in on a blast of wind, and we would find out at last for what terrible purpose we had been sent to this place.
“We stayed like that until a servant came to call us to supper—he must have wondered why, when he opened the door, we were clinging to each other, cowering as though we were about to be spitted, our eyes the size of saucers. Of course, Eldrich never appeared and we recovered from our fright
after a few days, but we never laughed about it, nor teased each other. No, anything to do with the mage was not a laughing matter. And I will tell you honestly that I am not convinced that this fright was simply the natural result of two young boys living in strange circumstances. Can you imagine what kind of man would take amusement from so terrifying children?” Erasmus stopped, unsure if he would go on, but the memories kept flooding back.
“While I was there, the older boy tried to run away, but reappeared the next day looking decidedly sullen, and could never be convinced to speak of the matter. This proved what we suspected: we were prisoners, and though it might have been more like boys at boarding school than prisoners in gaol, a stranger boarding school I had never heard tell of.
“One of the things Walky taught us, once the weather grew fair, was the art of swimming. He scoffed at our protests that it would ruin our constitutions, and called us old wives. His own good health, he claimed, was due to regular physical labor and swimming. He even said that the mage himself swam, though we did not believe that Lord Eldrich would stoop to such a frivolous activity.
“We not only learned the art of swimming, we grew to like it and while the weather remained warm, complained if a day went by without us being allowed into the water. Walky used this as a carrot for us. ‘Finish your maths, my young lions, and we shall go for a nice swim. Be about it now.’
“He often called us his ‘young lions,’ especially when he was pleased with us or when he was in a particularly agreeable mood. I did not know it at the time, but old half-mad Walky, as we thought of him, was a good friend to us, and concerned with our welfare.
“Sometime later in my stay at Eldrich’s house, Walky’s grip on reality seemed to slip a little more. Occasionally he would forget what lesson he had begun and make odd requests of us. Once he asked me to name the three herbs used to purify water, which I had to tell him was not in my course of studies. Another day when he was particularly distracted—to the point of mumbling to himself—he demanded I recite the incantation for locating springs, and when he saw the look of incomprehension on my face, he began a strange rhythmic chant in a language neither Percy nor I had ever heard. After a moment of this strange behavior, Walky faltered in mid-word, looking at us in astonishment. Quite abruptly he fled the room.
“We did not know what to say, and for a long moment sat there in stunned silence. But there was no doubt about what we had heard. It had been magic! We both felt the power of it. Walky had been performing an enchantment!
“‘Do you know what I think?’ I said to Percy. ‘Walky must have been a teacher of mages.’
“‘He’d have to be a hundred years old—maybe more,’ Percy protested, always practical.
“‘Nevertheless, that is what he is doing in Eldrich’s house.’ I was utterly sure of what I said.
“‘Then he must be a mage himself,’ Percy said.
“‘Maybe not. He might prepare the young ones before they go to study with the mage proper.’
“There was a long silence while we considered the ramifications of this insight, neither of us wanting to actually put into words what it meant. We did not look at each other, and the silence stretched on. I remember hearing the insects buzzing outside the open window.
“‘Are we to be mages, then?’ Percy said, his voice very small and filled with awe.
“‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘It can’t be that.’ But I was not so sure.” Erasmus fell silent, lost in his memories of those days, long past.
Hayes leaned forward. “And was that it?! Was that why you were there?”
Erasmus looked up, startled. “What? No, of course not. I don’t know to this day. . . .” He felt his head shake in denial, though of what he was not sure.
Four
The final hour of darkness held the city close, not willing to release it until touched by the burning sun. The birds that lived in the eaves and openings of houses stirred and cooed their waking songs, like men and women sleepily readying themselves for their day’s toll.
Anna’s carriage entered the courtyard through an arched opening and she heard the gates close behind her. By the main door, a lamp chased the darkness from that small corner of the courtyard, illuminating the wisteria vine climbing the posts of the entry porch.
It’s done, she thought. For better or worse, it’s done.
The door to the carriage opened, and she was handed down to the cobbles, where she stood a moment, not quite ready to go in.
Banks appeared beneath the wisteria.
“Anna?”
“Coming,” she said, still not wanting to. A walk in the garden to clear her head and calm her was what she would prefer. She had never felt such elation and such anxiety at the same time. The two emotions seemed to be struggling within her, producing a nervousness that was entirely uncharacteristic.
Banks took a step toward her, and rather than have him come and lead her inside, she relented and went toward the door, sweeping past the concerned-looking young man so that he could not take her arm in his too-possessive manner.
The house was warm, the air redolent with smoke and the smells of coffee.
“Everyone is here?” she asked Banks.
He nodded. “Yes, there have been no mishaps. Your part went well, I take it?”
“Not as I expected, but well enough. We are in the library?”
“The dining room, in fact.”
She set out for the dining room, where she found the others seated around the table, talking with animation despite the hour.
“Anna,” Halsey said, standing, as did the others. Halsey was the oldest of the group, the leader by both seniority and acclamation.
“We’ve just been speculating about Skye,” Kells said. “So tell us what happened.”
She took the chair that Banks pulled out for her and collapsed in it, suddenly tired. The high back pressed into her skull, and she shut her eyes a moment.
“All went much as we expected. Not as well as we might have liked, but not as badly as it could have—not nearly as badly.” The sound of a coffee cup arriving on the table before her brought her upright. “He . . . he was shocked, as you might imagine, but I think, on balance, the earl believed me. The unconscious sailors helped make my point. As the earl left, he owned that he was in our debt. . . .” She lifted her cup and let what she’d said sink in.
“Well,” Kells said, “that is hardly bad news, though it was the least we could expect from a gentleman. We did save him from gaol, after all. From utter ruin, in truth.” Kells nodded. He was always quick to judge. Quick to act. In some ways she felt closest to him for that. As usual, Halsey said nothing, weighing her words, considering every possible interpretation that might suggest disaster.
“But what will Skye do now? Did he say?” Delisle was five years older than Anna, and asked most of the questions—even the obvious ones, which was good, she’d come to realize. Many things would never have been discussed openly without him.
“I don’t know, and I didn’t ask. It was a delicate moment. As we agreed, the most important thing was that Skye realize and believe we had saved him—for no reason other than our admiration of him. I think he did believe that. What of your own tasks?”
Delisle glanced quickly at Banks. “I wish we could say things went so well. We were almost apprehended in Samual Hayes’ rooms. A pack of navy men came up as we were there, and we had no exit but the window. I fear they are still wondering how we jumped from such a height and apparently sustained no injury. It was the worst luck, but once we were up the stairs, there was nowhere else to go.”
“It never occurred to us that the Admiralty would send men to search Hayes’ rooms at the same time as they sprung their trap for Skye,” Banks said. “I still can’t imagine why they did it.”
Halsey was shaking his head just a little, sitting back in his chair, a look of some disbelief on h
is face. He was not happy with what he heard.
“You had no difficulties?” Anna asked the old man, her tone quiet and deferential. He had never been entirely in favor of this endeavor and now seemed to be having his worst fears confirmed.
“Difficulties? No,” he said softly. “I have always managed what must be done, even when it is murder.” He shook his head again, clearly disturbed. “So, Skye did not offer to open any gates for you?” he asked, fixing Anna with a gaze. She wondered how a person made their look so hard.
“He offered nothing, not that I expected he would. Not yet. But I still do not doubt that my vision was true. He will open a gate for us. I’m sure of it.”
“Yes, but who will wait inside? You still do not know, I collect?” Halsey’s gaze didn’t soften, nor did it release her.
Anna shook her head. Visions were not so easily explained, and augury was imperfectly understood, even by the ancients. Anna could recall her vision in detail if she closed her eyes, yet she still could not say who stood beyond the gate. A man who held a book and a white blossom, but as he turned toward her so that she might see his face, a light blinded her. Nothing more. Skye would open the gate to knowledge and power, that was the vision’s meaning. Who held the book, she was sure was irrelevant.
“Let us not have the argument again,” Kells said. “It will not come out differently. Eldrich still plans to bring an end to the arts in our time. The years of caution are past. We cannot wait Eldrich out—not now. When the mage is gone, the arts will disappear with him.”
Yes, Anna thought. She had seen it. Eldrich disappearing down the corridors of a forest, leaving behind a world devoid of its former power, devoid of all magic. She shuddered at the memory. The forest had seemed so lifeless, though to most it would appear still green and growing. She could not imagine wanting to live in such a world.
