“Is this how thou dost greet thy friends?” Robin said to Hugh with a mock frown. His doublet was a deep green velvet, his hose were silk, and his hair appeared to have been recently cut (though that did not stop it from falling in his eyes). “Methinks that thou must mend thy manners, old bear.”
“Robin,” John said in a warning tone.
“Thou, too?” Robin said, widening his eyes and almost achieving an expression of innocence. “I am wounded.”
“If that be true, ‘tis thy own sharpness that has wounded thee,” John said dryly. “Pardon our bad tempers; waiting sits ill with both of us, and thou hast been a long time in returning with thy news.”
“Not so long as I might have been,” Robin said. He shook his hair out of his eyes and gave John a sly grin. “Shall I go away again, and let thee practice patience more?”
“Do so,” John invited him cordially, “and by thy actions I’ll know thy news was of but little moment.”
“Nay, thou hast me there,” Robin said cheerfully. “Wherefore I’ll tell my tale.” He flung himself down on the ground, completely careless of his fine clothes and grinned up at John through a fringe of black hair.
“Say,” the bear rumbled. Robin glanced at him in surprise, which changed quickly to a deep, thoughtful consideration. “Well?” Hugh said after a moment.
“I do beg thy pardon,” Robin said. “But ‘tis a great thing indeed to hear a bear speak, no matter what one has been told. Say something else.”
“Robin!” John said, exasperated. “Thou‘dst try the patience of whole legions of saints!”
“I doubt it,” Robin answered. “Human saints have naught to do with Faerie.”
“Robin!” Hugh and John said together.
“Oh, very well, if your forbearance has reached its end,” Robin said with an exaggerated sigh. “But I had hoped you would be understanding; I’ve been to court, where they’ve but little fondness for my merry ways. ‘Tis hard indeed always to behave one’s best.”
“Thou must speak of theory, for I see no sign of ‘best behavior’ in thy practice,” John said. “Thy tale, Robin, thy tale! What’s toward in Faerie?”
“Much that puzzles me,” Robin said, abandoning his teasing at last. “Bochad-Bec’s withdrawn into his oaks, and has not been beyond them since Furgen’s death. ‘Tis not surprising, since the two were friends; but that friends they were, or had ever been, surprises many.”
“An oakman and a water fay?” John said. “Art sure of this?”
“Aye, and a dislike of mortals was the greatest bond between them, though I doubt ‘twas widely known,” Robin replied, shaking hair out of his eyes again.
“Hatred,” the bear growled, shaking his head emphatically.
Robin looked at him with wide eyes, as if expecting him to continue. Hugh looked at John instead, who said, “Hugh finds speech difficult. I think he means that thy description was not strong enough; ‘twas hatred of mortals that bound Bochad-Bec and Furgen, not mere dislike.” The bear nodded, and John went on,
“Yet even so, why would they meddle with Dee’s spells, as seemingly they have?”
Robin shrugged, and his hair fell back into its accustomed position. “I know not, but I can guess.” He looked at the bear. “They liked thee not, but they liked mortals less. They’d burn to think a mortal wizard had imprisoned Faerie power.”
“‘Tis possible,” John said doubtfully.
“‘Tis but a guess,” Robin said, sounding faintly hurt. “But knowing Madini’s pride—”
“Madini?” Hugh said sharply, and was immediately taken with the fit of coughing that struck whenever he forced his bear’s throat to do too much.
John glanced at his brother, his expression troubled. When the coughing lessened, he turned back to Robin and said, “Who’s this Madini?”
“One of the Queen’s ladies,” Robin said. His eyes sparkled. “Have I not mentioned her before?”
“Not of late,” John said, “though I think thou saidest something of her when last I was in Faerie. What’s Madini to do with this?”
“Why, she was friend to Furgen too, and for reasons like to Bochad-Bec’s. ‘Twas not a firm foundation for a friendship; her response to Furgen’s death looked more like rage than grief.”
“What meaning dost thou find in that?” John asked.
Robin shrugged. “Nothing sure. But if ‘twas dislike of mortals bound Bochad-Bec and Furgen, why not Madini also? This meddling with the wizards smells more of her than them.”
“No,” Hugh said, and shook himself all over in incredulous negation. “She serves the Queen.”
“That makes no matter,” Robin said cynically. “There’s little that’s beyond those lasses, if they think ‘twill benefit Faerie. And ’tis not always simple to say what is a benefit or no.”
“Thinkest thou the Queen’s entangled in this?” John asked with visible reluctance.
“Because her lady is? I greatly doubt it. If, of course, her lady is embroiled as I suspect; when all is said, ‘tis but a guess.”
“Then thou hast no certain knowledge that Madini’s part of this,” John said, frowning.
“I’ve said so twice already in plain language,” Robin answered in tones of irritation. “Wouldst thou grasp my meaning better if I spoke in riddles?”
“I crave thy pardon, Robin,” John said.
“And well thou shouldst,” Robin said severely, holding his unruly hair back with his right hand while he rested his chin on his left. The posture robbed his tone of most of its intended effect.
“This is the sum of thy tale, then,” John said, “that Furgen, whom I saw in the crystal, may have partnered Bochad-Bec in some mischief aimed at mortals, whose purpose we cannot now know since one of them is gone and the other dead, and that Madini too may have had some part in it.”
“‘Tis true enough, though ’tis a cold and stingy summary of all my work,” Robin complained.
John sighed. “I’d hoped for better news, or more of it at least. Still, I owe thee a favor, Robin; ‘twas kind of thee to help.”
“Thou talkest as if my part in this were done,” Robin said disapprovingly.
“And so should it be,” John said. “Thou‘st done enough.”
Hugh nodded his agreement, and Robin gave them both a disapproving frown. “Nay, I’ve not done with my inquiries yet. Will you, nil you, you shall have my help; said I not that curiosity was my besetting fault?”
“No,” John answered. “‘Twas I that said it, and ’twas truer than I knew. Thou‘rt near as foolish as the Widow’s daughters.”
“That’s as may be,” Robin said, “but ‘tis better than being foolish over them.”
This brought indignant responses from both John and Hugh, and the discussion degenerated rapidly from this point. Robin left soon after. In his heart John did not expect to see him for another month or two, or perhaps even longer, for Robin’s grasp of mortal time was not always a strong one. John was therefore thoroughly surprised when the irrepressible youth turned up less than two weeks later with further news. He had established by some means of his own (into which John preferred not to inquire too closely) that Madini had crossed the Faerie border into the mortal world at least twice since Furgen’s death, and that her errands involved the wizards, Dee and Kelly. When pressed, Robin was forced to admit that he had been unable to determine exactly what those errands had involved; he was clearly much disgruntled by this failure.
Hugh and John talked the matter over for a long time after Robin left. Madini was a power in Faerie; if she were part of the disasters of the past year, they had to know what she was doing. How to discover it was another matter. Hugh favored waiting on Robin’s next report, though he had little faith in Robin’s ability to discover any more. John, who had long ago used up his entire supply of patience, insisted that the only possible course was for him to follow Madini and find out for himself what her purpose was.
In the end, John won the argument. This left
him with the problem of finding Madini and determining when her next foray into the mortal world would be, so that he could follow her. None of the spells known to him or Hugh would do; they depended on the atmosphere of Faerie, and did not have the strength to either trace Madini through the mortal world or to penetrate the border and locate her within Faerie.
It was the bear who found the solution. John had told him of the scrying spell he had sensed nearly a year before, on the night that Rosamund and Blanche had been forced to spend in Faerie, and both brothers now knew that it had been the Widow who had cast it. Hugh suggested asking for her help once more; with John’s knowledge of Faerie, the spell could be adapted to be indetectable.
John made a few token objections, but he did not resist for long. He was too anxious for action, and besides, he missed the company of Rosamund and her family. He was confident of his ability to elude at least once whatever Faerie watchers were observing him, and once was all that should be necessary. He let Hugh convince him, and went home to make his preparations. These took nearly two days, so it was early on the morning of Saturday, September twenty-first, the day of John Dee and Ned Kelly’s secretly planned flight to Poland, when John finally made his way to the Widow Arden’s cottage.
He was fortunate enough to find the Widow and both her daughters in. They gave him a warm welcome, once the Widow had determined that he was not carelessly exposing her daughters to the dangerous interest of Faerie. She even agreed to his request for help, but only if John’s suggested changes in the spell were certain to keep Madini from noticing it.
“And not,” said Rosamund, “until we’ve heard the story of these past two months.”
John was more than willing to talk, but Rosamund was the only one of his listeners who gave him her full attention. The Widow moved about the room preparing the ingredients for her scrying spell and listening with only half an ear, while Blanche’s mind was occupied in trying to think of some innocuous way to mention the small jar of ointment she and Rosamund had made for Hugh. Still, John did not appear to notice any deficiency in his audience.
As usual, it was the Widow who reminded them all that there was work to be done. “If thou‘dst have thy scrying done ere noon, ’tis time to begin,” she told John.
“I fear you’re right,” John said. He tore his eyes from Rosamund and looked across at the trestle table where the Widow stood. “Have you finished your preparations?”
“I’ve yet to mix the herbs; all else is ready,” the Widow replied. “I wait only on thy alterations.”
“I crave your pardon for my delay,” John said, rising from his seat on the hearth. He joined the Widow at the table, and Rosamund and Blanche crowded close around him to peer over his shoulders. “Angelica, juniper, rosemary, eyebright, rue, and yarrow,” he said, examining the Widow’s herbs. “Do you mix them all together, or add them singly?”
“Together, and crushed into a powder,” the Widow answered. “And I speak the charm as the water’s poured across them.”
“Mmmmm.” John stared at them a moment. “‘Tis chiefly the angelica that makes this spell so plain to those of Faerie; that, and its pure humanness. ’Twould be best if we could substitute some Faerie herb.”
“Would mortal herbs that grew in Faerie do as well?” Rosamund said. “We’ve rosemary, and rue, and yarrow, at the least.”
“‘Tis well thought of,” John said, smiling warmly at her. Rosamund blushed, the Widow frowned, and John went on hastily, “Leave out the angelica, then, if ’twill not hurt the charm’s potency, and use herbs grown in Faerie for the rest.”
“That’s all?” the Widow said.
“Not quite; while you work your spell of scrying, I’ll cast one of another sort so that even if Madini sees what we’re about, and follows it, ‘twill be me she finds, not you.”
This satisfied the Widow at last. She began measuring herbs into a tin dish on the table, while Rosamund removed the jars of rosemary, rue, and yarrow and replaced them with the Faerie-grown herbs. John paced the room while the Widow repeated the spell she had used to watch Rosamund and Blanche in Faerie so many months before.
As the Widow spoke the last words of the charm and began pouring boiling water over the powdered herbs, John stopped his restless movement. Turning to face her, he spoke a word of warding and drew in the air with the forefinger of his left hand. A faint, smoky shadow followed his fingertip; it hung for an instant in the center of the cottage, then dissipated.
“That’s not the most consoling of charms,” Rosamund commented to him in a low voice.
“‘Twill do what’s required,” John answered, “and ’twas none of my inventing. What dost thy mother see?”
“Dee’s house,” the Widow answered, bending over the dish of herb water. “Someone has set a spell upon it, or rather, round about it. The magic still glows golden on the doorsills.”
“Faerie dust!” John said. “‘Tis Madini’s doing, I doubt not. Do you see her there?”
“No,” the Widow said. “But I do agree with thee; ‘twas her mischief that we sought, and ’tis hers we’re shown.”
“Canst thou see the crystal, Mother?” Blanche asked.
“‘Tis not kept outside the house,” the Widow said. “Nor is it of Madini’s—no, thou‘rt right; I spoke too hastily. The crystal’s here, and marked by the same magic as doth guard the house. That’s all; the vision’s gone.” She straightened with a sigh, and rubbed a hand across her eyes.
“If thou‘rt finished, I’ll open the door and let the odor out,” Rosamund said, and suited her actions to her words. The Widow carried the dish of herbs and water outside and emptied it under the rosebushes; when she returned, she discovered that her daughters had asked John to stay and eat with them. Bowing to the inevitable, the Widow refilled the kettle and sent Blanche to the garden to bring in a few more carrots and onions to add to the supper stew.
The hint of Faerie added to the Widow’s spell did, indeed, keep Madini from noticing it. Unfortunately, it was just what Dee and Kelly had prepared their own spells to espy. The wizards knew at once when the Widow’s scrying spell touched the crystal, and they dropped their other business and dashed for the study. They arrived in time to see a swirl of light flicker and fade in the heart of the crystal itself.
“‘Tis done!” Kelly said, after examining the crystal and the table it stood on. “We have them now. Said I not that ’twould be so?”
“What matters it?” Dee asked. “We leave today for Poland; the barge is already half-loaded.”
“Do you think that Faerie’s bound to England?” Kelly said. “‘Tis no more tied so than are Heaven and Hell. We must stop them now, John, else we’ll regret it a thousandfold.”
“What would you have us do?”
“What we’d planned,” Kelly answered impatiently. He muttered a peculiar sentence, half in Greek and half in Latin, then leaned forward and scooped up the crystal. “We’ll trace this spell to its source, and put an end to our troubles.”
“An you must have it so,” Dee said with a reluctant sigh.
Kelly smiled grimly and hid the crystal in the loose sleeves of his scholar’s robes. Then the two men left the house. As they crossed the threshold, Faerie dust sparked invisibly, and the crystal flickered in unseen response. Unconscious of anything unusual, Dee and Kelly turned down the street and started for the edge of Mortlak. They could not, of course, walk through the village streets openly carrying the crystal, but they were certain that the source of their troubles lay outside the town, so they were not disturbed by their inability to consult the glowing sphere for guidance during the early part of their trip.
When they reached the edge of town, Kelly paused in the shadow of a building. He checked carefully to make sure they were unobserved, then drew the crystal from his sleeve for an instant. The glow at its heart was brighter, and he smiled.
“That way, John,” he said, replacing the globe within his sleeve. “And not too far, I think. We’ll reach our g
oal ere midday.”
The two men set off again. As they struck out along the road, heading south toward the forest, they passed the portly figure of Master Phillip Rodgers, traveling in the opposite direction. The three men nodded greetings and went on, but Master Rodgers did not go far. He had been lurking in the forest for the early part of the morning, looking for proof of the nefarious activities in which Rosamund and Blanche were presumably engaged. Now he saw the two men whose magic he had been sent to investigate heading out of Mortlak in the direction of the forest and the Widow’s cottage. With the sinking feeling that his efforts to avoid political trouble were about to come to naught, Master Rodgers turned and followed.
CHAPTER · TWENTY-THREE
“ ‘Why are you standing there staring?’ ” cried the dwarf. His face turned red with rage, and he began cursing at the girls. Suddenly there was a loud growl from out of the forest; a moment later, a black bear appeared among the trees, coming toward them. “
THE WIDOW WAS JUST FINISHING HER STEW-MAKING when Dee and Kelly arrived at the cottage. The visible traces of the scrying spell had been carefully cleared away, and Rosamund and Blanche were busy with ordinary tasks. Rosamund laid out wooden spoons and bowls on the trestle table and argued with John, while Blanche sat in a corner, frowning at her mending. Blanche still had not found the opportunity she wanted to tell John—and her mother—about the ointment she and Rosamund had made for Hugh, and it was troubling her. Now and then she patted the pocket where she carried the vial, as if to make certain it was safe.
The knock at the door surprised everyone, for they were not expecting visitors, but it did not trouble any of them. Rosamund set down the clump of spoons she was holding and went to answer it. Her expression of polite welcome changed to shock when she saw who stood outside. “Master Dee! Mother, ‘tis Master Dee and Master Kelly!”
Snow White and Rose Red Page 23
