The Magicians and Mrs. Quent

by Galen Beckett

  “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I know what we must do. I had thought you a creature in his power, yet you have a will of your own. With you I can accomplish what I have not been able to do on my own. Then, when it is revealed to him that you are mine and that I have made you happy in a way he never could, it will ruin him far more than any hurt I might have delivered to him. He will be utterly defeated.”

  Eldyn suppressed a shudder. Instead, he let out a trilling laugh and leaned closer. “Tell me more,” he crooned.

  As Westen spoke, Eldyn continued to weave the wan light around himself. He did not know if it was because of the wine or due to some unforeseen effect of the illusion, but the highwayman indeed seemed intoxicated. His eyes blazed, and he spoke with great animation, sometimes rising from his chair and pacing back and forth across the room.

  She must not think him a common thief, he said. He did not rob others for profit but instead for a nobler cause. He belonged to a group of men whose goal was nothing less than to bring down the government of Altania—Crown and Assembly both. For one was as corrupt as the other, and only a new ruler, one who heeded the voice of Altania, could lead the people forward.

  “And who would this ruler be?” Eldyn asked. “Prince Huntley the Usurper?”

  He shrugged. “If the Morden heir will do as the people will, then why should it not be him? Yet if he seeks to rule only for his own gain, then surely Altania herself will choose another. Altania will no longer tolerate a ruler who rapes her for his own benefit and glory, with no thought to her lands and people. Altania will suffer such men no longer.”

  Eldyn laughed. “Altania will choose; Altania will not suffer. You make her sound like a living thing!”

  “She is alive—very much alive.” He leaned over the back of Eldyn’s chair, and his voice went low. “There are things you do not know, my sweet. Things you will have to see with your own eyes. But the day comes soon when you will see them, when everyone will see them. You will see what I have been shown, by the one who now leads us. Then you’ll understand what I mean when I say that Altania will no longer suffer men who use her ill.”

  This time Eldyn could not help a shiver. He did not know what these words meant, though they filled him with a strange feeling. It was not quite fear; rather, it was a kind of unknown anticipation, a feeling that something was going to happen—something at once dreadful and marvelous.

  “Are you well, Sashie? Your color looks poor of a sudden….”

  Now fear did strike Eldyn’s heart. In his distraction he had begun to let the threads of the illusion unravel. With a hasty thought he wove them together again.

  “Your words shock me, that’s all,” he said, and took a sip of wine. Then he transferred the nearly full glass to Westen’s hand. The highwayman drank of it. “But tell me,” Eldyn went on, “how can so small a thing as I help you with such grand goals?”

  “It is always the smallest who brings down the mighty,” he said. “A million little drops can make an ocean great enough to drown any king.”

  With that he laid out his plan. There was a man who was a servant of the Crown. Exactly what he did for the king was not important for her to know right now. All that mattered was that this man’s work interfered with the plans of the revolutionaries—indeed, it posed a dire threat to their very purpose of freeing Altania from tyranny—and so he must be removed.

  However, this was more easily said than done. He was a powerful man, a member of the Upper Hall of Assembly, and was always guarded when in the city. Furthermore, like a cowardly dog, he had recently built walls enclosing the lands about his manor in the country, so that none could approach him there without being detected.

  Still, there were other ways they might get at this lord. There were some few men who were his agents, men who traveled about Altania performing duties in his name, for the lord himself was infirm. One of these men had been, for some time now, the object of Westen’s attentions. He was, the highwayman had determined, chief among the lord’s servants. If this man could be removed, it would be a grievous blow to the lord’s ability to do his foul work.

  “What mysterious figures you make them sound!” Eldyn said. “Who is this man and this lord you speak of?”

  “Be careful, Miss Garritt,” he said, leaning over the table. “If I divulge these things to you, then you will be privy to secrets that the king’s Black Dog would give much to learn. The knowledge will make you beholden to me and to my compatriots. We cannot allow our intentions to become known to those we cannot trust.”

  Eldyn coiled a hand beneath his chin and smiled. “Trust me as you trust yourself, for I am yours to command.”

  “As you will, my sweet. The man I speak of is named Mr. Quent, and he is one of the inquirers of a certain Lord Rafferdy.”

  His shock was too great to be concealed. Eldyn lifted his hands, covering his face, knowing his illusion had wavered. However, the action would look natural enough. Surely Westen had expected such a response, and after a few moments Eldyn was able to steady himself and weave the illusion anew. Once he was sure the glamour was again in place, he lowered his hands.

  “Are you astonished?” the highwayman said, his expression amused.

  Eldyn nodded. “A little, I confess. It’s just that…Lord Rafferdy…It can only be that he is the father of my brother’s friend. It’s strange chance that the one you seek to…that he is in fact connected to me.”

  He sat, filling their wine cups again. On the contrary, he told her, it was anything but chance. In hopes of getting close to Lord Rafferdy, he had begun following his son. Upon observing the son’s friendship with her brother, Westen had thought to use Eldyn Garritt to gain information that might help get him close to Rafferdy the son, and thereby to Rafferdy the father.

  Though these words chilled him to the core, Eldyn worked his face into a petulant expression. “I understand very well now. I don’t mean a thing to you at all—you were merely using me to get at my brother.”

  “No, you misunderstand. You were rather a lovely benefit I had not anticipated. It was never my intention to use you, for I had other ways of bringing your brother under my control.”

  You lie! Eldyn wanted to shout. Instead, he said demurely, “Only he isn’t under your control, is he?”

  Westen’s expression darkened. He gripped his cup, then tossed back the contents. “I confess, your brother has been more difficult to deal with than I thought. Not because of any strength or cunning, mind you—rather, I had not anticipated the depths of cowardice and depravity he would sink to in order to elude me. I had thought him a gentleman, at least.”

  A gentleman such as you are? Eldyn would have sneered. Instead, he said, in a scornful tone, “My brother is not a man like you.”

  “To be sure, but he has been a bother nonetheless. Nor did things go as I planned recently, when I sought to close with Mr. Quent at his estate in the country. I was…I was most grievously deprived in that affair of one who was beloved by me. However, I will be vexed by wives and weaklings no longer. I have learned Mr. Quent is even now on his way to the city and that once here he will meet with Lord Rafferdy. I can bag them both with one shot, as it were. All I need is to get near to them. Your brother is the key to that. And you—”

  Eldyn laughed gaily. “And I am the key to my dear, sweet brother. He will do anything for me.”

  Westen laughed as well and reached for Eldyn’s hands, but Eldyn drew back.

  “Only how is it to be done?” he said. “You say you have tried to get close to them before. Will they not be expecting men to come for them?”

  “Yes, as you say, it is men they will be expecting. Yet what comes for them will be something else, something I am quite sure they will not expect.” Again he grinned, and perhaps it was only how they gleamed in the dimness of the chamber, but his teeth seemed longer than before. And it could have been nothing more than the reflection of the lamp’s flame, but it seemed his eyes glinted amber.

 
; “What’s wrong, Miss Garritt?” His voice was low. “You seem to draw away, but I thought you favored me. Is there something that frightens you?”

  Eldyn’s trembling was not feigned. “It is only that my brother…He told me the shadow we glimpsed last night, that thing that seemed like a beast…He said it was you, but surely…”

  The highwayman’s smile broadened.

  Eldyn gasped, rose from the table, and hurried to the door. But it was locked, and Westen had the key. He turned around. Westen stalked across the room, and Eldyn saw that it was no trick of the light: the highwayman’s eyes shone with yellow light.

  “By God, it’s true,” he whispered. “You can become a beast.”

  “Can’t every man?” Westen said with a growling laugh. Then he shook his head, and a look of wonder came over him. “No, it’s not the same as for the others. I saw how she did it to them, the witch in the Wyrdwood. I watched her. It was the potions, and the ragged clothes and furs they donned, and a few petty spells. She befuddled them, addled their brains, and tricked them so that they were all scrabbling about in the dirt on all fours, howling and snarling. Others who saw them were tricked as well, but they were still men; I saw it. She knew I did, and I refused her potions. Only she just laughed at me. She told me I didn’t need them.”

  There is little distinction between dread and awe. Eldyn felt them both in that moment. “You don’t, do you? You don’t need potions or costumes to make you into a beast.”

  Westen studied his hands, slowly shaking his head.

  “What are you?” Eldyn said.

  The highwayman looked up. “I am what Altania needs me to be.” Now his smile returned. “Just as you will be what I need you to be, Miss Garritt.”

  In an easy step he closed the distance between them. He spoke in a low voice, explaining what she was to tell her brother. How she had encountered Westen and had learned of some rebel plot; how she was to implore her brother to take a warning to Mr. Rafferdy and to urge him to seek out Mr. Quent, who could best protect his father. She would tell them the attack was to come the next day. All the while, Westen would follow them.

  “Then, when the opportunity presents itself, we will—” He shook his head. “There is no need to bother your lovely head with such details as that, my sweet. Suffice it to say they will not be ready for what befalls them. Do you understand what it is you are to do? It may seem small, but know that you will be doing Altania a great service.”

  “Yes,” Eldyn said, looking up and meeting the highwayman’s yellow gaze. “Yes, I will be.”

  “You have a courageous heart, Miss Garritt—unlike that brother of yours. I shall make a revolutionary of you yet.” He put his hands on the door to either side, pinning Eldyn in place. “Though there is something else I would make of you first.” He bent his head down.

  There was no way to resist it. Their lips came together in a kiss. It was not rough, as Eldyn would have thought, but soft, and sweet with wine.

  “By God, you make me mad as you never have before,” the highwayman said. His hands went to the shoulders of the frock, and he leaned against the door, pressing his body forward.

  Terror seized Eldyn. There were some things no illusion could conceal. He slipped a hand into the highwayman’s pocket, an action that drew forth a low sound of delight. However, in a swift motion Eldyn ducked beneath Westen’s arms. He darted across the room, the key to the door in his hand.

  “You’re quite resourceful, Miss Garritt,” Westen said, prowling in pursuit. “I like that very much. Yet I am resourceful as well, and I will not be denied what I desire.”

  “There is no time,” Eldyn said, circling around the table, keeping it between him and the highwayman. “My brother will wake soon. He’ll wonder where I’ve gone.”

  “I can be quick about it, if that’s your worry.”

  Eldyn donned his most charming smile. “But I’d rather you be slow.”

  At this the highwayman roared with laughter. “You’re no angel after all,” he said. “Go, then. I can wait—a little while. It will all be done soon enough. Then you will get exactly what you desire.”

  “I am sure I will,” Eldyn said.

  Westen sat then, thrusting his boots upon the table, and filled his cup again with wine. He leaned back, resting one hand on his thigh while with the other he raised the cup. His eyes were no longer yellow but a tawny brown. He looked handsome and at ease, a gold-haired king on his throne. Eldyn went to the door, unlocked it.

  “A storm is coming,” Westen said, regarding the cup. “When it arrives, more than a few are going to get washed away by the floods. But when the clouds part, a bright morning will shine through, and you’re going to be there to see it. I promise you that.” He raised the cup. “For Altania.”

  “For Altania,” Eldyn said.

  Then he opened the door, leaving the highwayman to his drink and his thoughts, and went out into the light of day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  BY THE TIME the hack cab came to a halt before the iron fence, Ivy had already opened the carriage door. She made a leap from the running board and barely caught herself from falling to the cobbles of Durrow Street. Recovering her footing, she ran toward the gate.

  “Hey there, miss!” the driver called out. “Do you want me to call the redcrests on you?”

  Ivy hesitated—it was past their appointed meeting time—but at another angry shout from the driver she hurried back. Her hands shook, but at last she found enough in her coin purse to pay the fare.

  “Everyone’s a thief these days,” the driver grumbled. “The rich as bad as the poor.”

  Ivy had already turned her back on him. She ran up the path, then pushed through the iron gate—as before, it was not locked—and into the overgrown yard.

  She looked all around but to her great relief saw no one in the yard. The high hedges muted the noises of the city, and the only sound was the murmur of the wind through the hawthorn trees. Dead leaves still clung to their branches along with the new, giving them a disheveled appearance that reminded her of the Wyrdwood. She drew close to one of the trees and ran her fingers over its twisted branches, breathing in the scent of leaves—

  “There you are!”

  Startled, Ivy looked up. A green mist seemed to clear from her eyes, and she saw Mr. Rafferdy walking to her from the direction of the house. He must have been standing by the door, behind the statues of the lions.

  “You arrive late for an important—perhaps even perilous—task, yet you still take time to admire the garden,” he said, his expression at once amused and annoyed. “You are either the calmest person in the world, Mrs. Quent, or the most confounding.”

  At once her urgency returned. She was anything but calm! “We can’t go into the house,” she said, gripping his arm. “We must leave here at once, Mr. Rafferdy.”

  “Make that the most confounding then,” he said, his look becoming a scowl. “Do you mean to say I spent all those hours enduring the company of Mr. Bennick, mastering the pronunciation of that awful spell—which, by the way, I have done, for we got to the end of it today—do you mean that I have suffered all of this for nothing? Reason must have at last convinced you that your faith in me was foolish. All the same, I can work the spell. In fact, I’ll show you that I can do so by speaking it to you this very—”

  “Mr. Bennick has betrayed us!” she blurted out.

  He stared at her, gripping the handle of his cane. “By God, you’re not joking,” he said at last. “How can you know this?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re home. It isn’t safe to be here.”

  “But aren’t we supposed to work the spell?”

  She pulled on his arm. “We can’t—not now. He’s been using us, lying to us all this time. Don’t you understand? It’s because of him that my father went…that my father fell ill. It’s because of what he tried to do—what he’s still trying to do even now.”

  Rafferdy resisted her efforts to move him. “What are
you talking about? What is he trying to do?”

  “I’m trying to open the door to the house,” spoke a deep voice.

  Ivy and Mr. Rafferdy stared at each other, then together they turned. A tall figure in a dark coat stood on the path just beyond the open gate.

  Mr. Rafferdy shook his head. “Mr. Bennick, you startled us. What are you doing here?”

  Ivy dug her fingers into his arm. “He told you—he’s trying to get into the house. It’s what he’s wanted all along!”

  He looked back at her. “Are you certain?”

  “You should listen to her,” Mr. Bennick said. “She has her father’s mind. I could never win an argument with Lockwell—his logic could never be assailed. Nor can Mrs. Quent’s. Everything she has told you is true. I have been using you to gain entry to the house of my former associate—to this house. It has been my intention from the start.”

  With that, Mr. Bennick started toward the gate.

  Before Ivy could move, harsh words sounded on the air. Mr. Rafferdy raised his cane, thrusting it toward the gate, and spoke rapidly in the tongue of magick. The ring on his right hand flared, and tendrils of blue fire coiled down the length of the cane. The gate flew closed, shutting with a clang.

  Mr. Bennick gripped the iron bars and gave a push. The gate did not budge. He raised an eyebrow. “You exerted your will from a distance, and you’ve bound an object far larger than any you have before. I’m surprised.”

  Mr. Rafferdy lowered his cane and glanced at Ivy. “You aren’t the only one.”

  Ivy felt both dread and wonder; indeed, the feelings were one and the same. She looked at the cane. The blue fire had faded, but the ring on his hand still winked brightly. “You really are a magician,” she murmured.

  “Yes, he is,” Mr. Bennick said. “One of considerable talent. If he had not been, I would never have wasted my time with him. All the same, impressive as this display might be, it is for naught. Mr. Mundy told me you purchased items for a spell of binding. That’s how I knew you were coming here today. However, they don’t need anyone to tell them. They will know when you enter the house, and they are far more adept at enchantments than you are, Mr. Rafferdy, no matter your natural ability.” He let go of the gate. “Against them, this binding won’t hold for long.”