The other man seemed to notice his gaze. He pulled his hands apart.
“Well, I know one thing that would give me great satisfaction,” Rafferdy said. Finding he was steady enough, he went to the sideboard to refill his glass. He took a sip, and the throbbing in his head eased a fraction.
“He was mad, wasn’t he?” Rafferdy turned around. “Horestes, I mean. He was positively frothing.”
Mr. Bennick shrugged. “Perhaps he was mad. Or perhaps he had simply learned things, seen things, that a man’s mind was not crafted to grasp or endure.”
“Not crafted to endure? I don’t follow you.”
“Do you know there are colors beyond the ones we can see?” Mr. Bennick said. “Naturalists have discovered insects that dwell in the deepest caves and that can follow sources of light that are utterly invisible to our eyes. In the same way, there is knowledge that is older than mankind—knowledge that, like that light, is beyond our natural ability to perceive, for never in all the years of our formation have we encountered it. It is the magician’s task, like that of the insect, to seek out that strange light, to try to comprehend it.”
Rafferdy did not care for this comparison. “On the contrary,” he said, “I’m quite sure knowledge was invented by man, like the wheel and spoons and chocolate. In which case, how can there be knowledge older than man himself? Besides, I’m certain the bishop at St. Galmuth’s will be happy to inform you that God created man in the beginning, so there can’t be anything more ancient.”
“Before God there were the gods—the deities of Tharos. Before them came the Magnons, whom the Tharosian gods slew. And there are beings older yet, gods whose names have never been forgotten because they were never known.” He returned to the Codex on the pedestal, resting a hand on it. “Names that, if you were to hear them spoken, would be so queer, so alien, so unlike anything you or a thousand ancestors before you had ever heard, that the very sound of them might shock your mind so profoundly as to render you incapable of speech, or motion, or thought. All the same, it is a magician’s task to seek out such names, such words, such knowledge, no matter that peril.”
Rafferdy felt the flesh on his neck crawl. He thought of what Mrs. Quent had told him about her father, how she believed he had been doing magick when his affliction befell him. Had Mr. Lockwell learned something in his studies—glimpsed something—that his mind could not bear?
He realized that Mr. Bennick had turned from the book and was watching him.
“Are you well, Mr. Rafferdy? We have read only the beginning of the Codex of Horestes, but the chapters that follow address more directly what you said you wished to learn. I trust I haven’t frightened you from the idea of continuing your studies.”
Rafferdy stood straight. “Not at all. I’ve always thought it might be entertaining to be mad. Besides, I’m weary of azure and lavender and saffron. I’ll look forward to discovering one of those heretofore never-glimpsed colors, and when I do I’ll order a new scarf of that hue.”
“That I would like to see, Mr. Rafferdy,” replied Mr. Bennick.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
YOU’RE THINKING TOO hard,” Dercy said. “Quit trying to force it to change. Because you can’t change it, not really. Instead, just look at it and see what you want to see.”
Eldyn frowned, staring at the pebble that lay on the table between them. “Easy enough for you to say,” he muttered. “I’m sure you could just wave a hand and turn it to gold.”
“Why settle for gold?” Dercy pointed at the pebble, and in an instant it was gone, replaced by a gem that caught the dim lamplight inside the tavern and spun it into glittering fire.
Eldyn groaned and leaned back. His head ached, and it felt as if his eyes were irrevocably crossed. “It’s hopeless. I’ll never be able to do it.” He picked up his cup of punch to take a drink, then grimaced. The cup was empty.
Dercy laughed and scratched his short blond beard, his eyes glinting like the diamond. “Oh you’ll do it, all right. You’ll do it because it’s the only way you’re going to get another cup of punch.”
“Why can’t you just…?” Eldyn wiggled his fingers.
“I told you, it’s your turn to buy a round. Besides, they’ve gotten suspicious of me here. The barkeep always bites the coins I give him to see if they’re real, and I’m not that good an illusionist. At least not yet. Besides, with that angel’s face of yours, they’ll believe anything you tell them. You hardly need an illusion at all. The barest wisp of a phantasm will do. Here, this will help.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper coin.
Eldyn scowled. “You can’t buy a cup for a penny, let alone a whole pitcher.”
“No, but you can buy one for a piece of silver. The best lies are the ones closest to the truth, the saying goes. Illusion is the same. It’s easiest when it strays only a little from what’s true. The eye will see what it wishes to see; all it needs is a little encouragement.” He set the coin on the table and pushed it toward Eldyn. “Go on.”
It was no use. Over the last several days, Eldyn had tried again and again to work an illusion at Dercy’s encouraging, but he had failed utterly. He could still gather shadows to him with a thought, but that was all. How he had conjured the vision of his father in Duskfellow’s graveyard, he didn’t know. It had been a fluke, an accident brought on by drink and anguish and memory. There was no point in even trying.
Which was a shame. He had no wish to leave the Sword and Leaf. The evening was to be long, and his thirst was far from quenched. However, the last of his funds had gone to purchase another half month of room and board for himself and Sashie at the inn in Lowpark. He would have to look for work again tomorrow and take whatever he got.
It was not a thought he relished. These last days had been grand, and he had no wish for them to end. The day after Eldyn had escaped Westen, Dercy had arrived at the inn, grinning and brandishing a fresh copy of The Comet. NOTORIOUS HIGHWAYMAN IN BARROWGATE, trumpeted the headline. And below that, Thief of the Murghese Gold Sure to Hang.
Eldyn had read the words again and again, hardly comprehending them. He could not grasp what this news meant.
“It means it is time to celebrate,” Dercy had declared.
Eldyn barely had time to put on his coat and tell Sashie he was going out before Dercy grabbed him by the arm and hauled him out into the swift-falling evening. They went to Durrow Street (with a stop to purchase a bottle of whiskey) and that night went to not one but three illusion plays, sneaking the bottle back and forth between them and growing quite merry. They let out hearty applause at the glorious performances and heckled just as enthusiastically as a phantasm wavered and vanished despite all the frantic arm-wavings of some hapless illusionist.
After the last performance, they had not gone home. Instead, Dercy took Eldyn to some unsavory tavern on the fringes of High Holy. Within they discovered a number of Dercy’s compatriots from the Theater of the Moon, as well as performers from several other theaters, all still in their costumes from the night’s performances.
Eldyn had expressed reluctance to join a party of so many who were strangers to him—indeed, who were strangers of the strangest sort, all glittered and powdered and shimmering like things of air and light themselves. However, before he could retreat, Dercy pulled him forward and introduced him. Calls of welcome rang out, and cup after cup was placed in his hand. Soon the dank interior of the tavern was gone, replaced by a forest of silver trees with gold leaves that fluttered down all around. The rotund bartender seemed resigned to the wings sprouting from his back. Those few derelicts who had wandered in off the street looking for grog became fauns and goblins. Soon Eldyn found himself laughing and singing along with all the marvelous creatures around him.
The next day, Eldyn had not awakened until well into the afternoon. Nor was it long after that when Dercy came to the inn and once again whisked him off for further entertainment. Eldyn had lived through far too many grim times, Dercy declared; h
e had much to make up for.
So it went. Each evening they went to plays on Durrow Street, and if Dercy was performing at the Theater of the Moon, Eldyn would sit in the balcony with a bottle of wine and watch, enrapt, as once again the fiery king pursued the silvery youth without ever being able to capture him. By day (when they were awake) they walked through the city or sat in coffeehouses, and Dercy would amuse them both with small illusions—often worked at the expense of some hapless victim who was suddenly confused to see a flower sprouting out of his cup or a hat of green leaves crowning some somber old gentleman passing by.
Eldyn could not remember the last time he had felt so light, so at ease and full of good humor. Even his inability to work illusions had been but a fleeting shadow, a cloud that passed before the sun quickly and was gone. Each day brought new wonders, new delights, and never once, as he and Dercy made their way to and fro across the city, did he look over his shoulder or fear to see a tall figure in a russet coat striding his way.
No, he had no cause for fear now. However, seeking employment was the last thing he wished to do. The thought of taking another clerking position was unbearable. He wanted to stay here and drink and talk and laugh with Dercy. If only he had money for another pot…
Dercy snapped his fingers. “Now we’re in business!”
Eldyn picked up the coin and turned it over and over. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?
Yes, they were—and that was precisely the point. The coin was no longer dull copper but rather bright silver.
“Quick,” Dercy said. “Spend it while it lasts.”
Eldyn hesitated—how would this be any different than stealing? He may be poor, but he was still a gentleman.
However, he was thirsty as well. As Dercy turned away, hiding his face from view, Eldyn went to the bar. He ordered another pot and acted in every way as natural as possible as he handed the coin to the barkeep. The man did little more than glance at it, then threw it in the drawer beneath the counter.
Moments later Eldyn returned to the table with the punch.
“It worked,” Eldyn said, heart pounding, still astonished at how easy it had been.
“Of course it worked,” Dercy said, filling their glasses. “I told you—you’re an illusionist.”
“But what happens when the spell wears off?”
“Nothing at all. I’ve glimpsed their money drawer here—all the coins are tossed together. By now that coin you handed him looks like any other copper penny in there. They’ll never know they were duped, and—oh, don’t give me that look. Even an angel needs to sin now and then. No one likes anyone who’s too high and mighty. Not even God above.”
He handed Eldyn one of the cups. Despite himself, Eldyn grinned.
“To illusion,” Dercy said.
They struck their cups and drained them, and any sour remorse Eldyn tasted was washed away by the sweet, strong punch.
THE NIGHT WAS brief, and the middling lumenal was already half over by the time Eldyn woke. Sashie assailed him at once.
“I cannot find any oranges,” she said. “I searched all the pockets of your coat. Did you not bring me any? Of course not—you think only of yourself and your new friend. You go out to plays and parties while I sit here in this wretched room. Not that I could go to a party even if I wished. I have nothing good to wear. You have a new coat, but all I have are these same awful rags. I’m not fit to be seen.”
She swiped at the skirt of her frock. In fact, she looked quite pretty.
“Please, dear brother. Please let me go out.” She knelt and clasped her hands on his knees. “I will perish if I cannot go out. I beg you, let me go.”
He began to tell her she could not. Except that was not true, was it? He had been keeping her locked up out of habit, yet there was no reason for it anymore. He could not harm Sashie now, not from behind the bars of Barrowgate, and there was no danger of her going to Westen; she could not have done so even if she wished.
“Of course you may go out, dearest,” he said.
“But I cannot breathe in this awful place, you have to—” Her eyes went wide as his words registered. Her tears were suddenly gone.
“I must look for work today, but take this.” He gave her his last silver coin. It didn’t matter. He had a number of pennies, which would serve him just as well now. “Buy yourself some pretty thing. You deserve it for all you have endured, and more. Once I have found work again, I will buy you a closet full of dresses—all the latest fashions.”
She gaped at him, then all at once threw her arms around his neck and showered him with kisses. He was dear brother then, and sweet brother. He endured her sudden and violent affections gladly; he had missed them. At last she went to the mirror and arranged herself. With a promise to be back for supper, she was out the door.
Eldyn smiled as he watched her go. It was good to see her glad again. This had been hard for her, perhaps even harder than for him, for she could not truly understand what danger they had been in. He forgave her any cruel things she had said; he knew she had not meant them.
Besides, soon these last dark months would be but a dim memory. The future held only promise; nor would they have to journey to Caerdun in the south to begin a new life.
However, between now and that happy future, he would have to earn a little money. Yet that thought dimmed his smile only a little. Whatever work he took, it would not be forever. Eldyn did not know what the future held for him, but he knew now that there were possibilities he had never before considered.
He washed his face and put on his coat, then drew a penny from his pocket and flipped it in the air. By the time he caught it again, it had turned from copper to silver. Grinning, he slipped the coin back in his pocket and headed out to find work.
HE FOUND RAFFERDY instead.
So astonished was Eldyn to see his friend that he barely recognized him at first. Or perhaps it was the uncharacteristically solemn look on Rafferdy’s face that made him seem so unfamiliar. He hardly looked like the man Eldyn knew. But, no—it was Rafferdy sure enough, striding across Greenly Circle, dressed in a charcoal-gray coat and carrying an ivory-handled cane.
“Ho, there, Rafferdy!” Eldyn called out. “Wait up!”
Rafferdy stopped and looked up at the sound of his name. When he saw Eldyn hurrying toward him across the circle, a grin split his face, and then he looked like the old Rafferdy indeed.
“Garritt, by God, it’s good to see you!” he exclaimed, clasping Eldyn’s hand and shaking it long and vigorously. Eldyn returned the gesture with equal energy.
“It’s been too long,” Eldyn said.
“Far too long,” Rafferdy agreed. “Yet now that I see you, I can’t imagine why that is. Surely your business can’t have been occupying you all this time. What was it you were doing? Something about the New Lands, if I recall. How did that all turn out?”
One day he would tell Rafferdy the whole story, but only when both of them were drunk enough. “It wasn’t what I thought it would be,” Eldyn said, truthfully enough.
“Nothing ever is,” Rafferdy said. “I presume you’re on to new endeavors?”
Eldyn slipped a hand into his coat pocket, touching the penny there, and could not help a smile. “I believe I am,” he said. “But what of you? You’ve been busy yourself of late. Has your work for your father still been occupying you, or are you on to other schemes?”
Rafferdy looked away, across Greenly Circle, and a shadow of that seriousness again crossed his face. In that moment he looked older than he ever had before, though Eldyn could not say he looked unwell.
“What’s the matter, Rafferdy?” he said, then he laughed. “Why, you look positively lordly. Have you decided to quit worrying about all that power and start enjoying being a magnate?”
Rafferdy turned to fix him with a sharp look. “What I would enjoy is a glass of whiskey.”
“Really? You looked like you were walking with great purpose just now. Weren’t you going somewhere?”
“It’s a bit early for liquor.”
“Nonsense. The lumenal is to be short. If we do not act with haste, the day will be over. We’d best drink now while we have the chance.”
Eldyn couldn’t argue with that logic. Besides, it seemed both he and Rafferdy were on errands neither anticipated with pleasure. The lumenal was to be longer tomorrow. He could always look for work then. One more day wouldn’t make a difference.
“Well come on, then,” he said. “We’ve already lost another minute just standing here.”
They proceeded to the tavern, finding it dim, cavelike, and utterly to their liking. There they passed several pleasant hours smoking, drinking, talking, and laughing. Eldyn had forgotten how much he truly liked Rafferdy. He was at once reminded of fond days past and filled with hope at what the future held for both of them.
Their mood became solemn only once, when Eldyn asked if he ever saw Miss Lockwell. Eldyn often thought of her still, and he knew how much Rafferdy had cared for her.
“She is Miss Lockwell no longer,” Rafferdy said. He finished his whiskey and poured another.
“She is married?” Eldyn said, shocked by this news. “To whom?”
“To a man who, it turns out, works for my father.”
Eldyn could not disguise his horror. “You mean a servant?”
“No, you misunderstand. Mr. Quent is an agent of the king, as is my father. He assists Lord Rafferdy in his work for the Crown—whatever that is. I confess, it is still a mystery to me. I have never met this Mr. Quent, but I gather he has worked for my father for many years. What’s more, it turns out he was, in the past, a friend of Mr. Lockwell’s. So it seems Miss Lockwell and I were connected before we ever encountered each other. A curious world, isn’t it? We think we meet people by chance, when chance has nothing to do with it.” He took a long draft from his glass.
The Magicians and Mrs. Quent Page 57
