by C. J. Archer
"I'd offer to massage it if my shoulder didn't feel like a knife were stabbing it," Duke said, carefully lowering himself to sit next to her.
Cyclops and Matt worked a little longer before Matt declared the task complete. "Unless the box was buried very deep, it's not in this clearing."
"Let's try somewhere else," Cyclops said.
Matt wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "We'll rest here for a little first. India, are you all right? You're rubbing your hand."
"I'm fine," I said, getting to my feet. "Which direction shall we head in?"
We decided to check the extent of the woods before choosing our next location. The woods were bigger than I first thought. Although not wide, the copse of trees stretched deep into the property.
Despite the size, we did not come across another clearing as large as the first. Certainly nothing large enough for all of us to dig without hitting one another with shovels. We had to split up, yet we only had one lamp.
"We'll take it in turns," Matt said. "We each dig in short stints, that way we won't get as tired."
"Except for India," Willie said. "On account of her being delicate."
"Do stop saying that, Willie," I said on a sigh. "I can wield a shovel as easily as you can."
She handed me her shovel. "Go on then."
Digging holes with shovels was more difficult than it looked, and I struggled to make a good dent in the ground. Willie leaned against a tree, her arms crossed, and made scoffing noises at every pathetic pile of soil I dug up. Eventually she gave up and took the shovel off me.
For a small figure, she was surprisingly strong, and the hole I'd begun grew larger quite quickly. I felt useless and slunk to the shadowy edge of the lamplight. As I watched the others take turns, my uselessness became hopelessness. We wouldn't find the box. Father Antonio had seen someone walk into the woods with it years ago. The person who did so could have retrieved it the following night, or any other night in the last twenty-seven years. Even if they'd left it, we could spend every night for the next month and we wouldn't cover every inch of the woods. Then there was the very real possibility that the box contained no evidence relating to the disappearances of the Mother Alfreda or the babies. We were clutching at straws, and those straws were small indeed.
I sat on a fallen log and blinked back my tears. Despite the cool air, I felt warm from the exercise of digging, but over the next few minutes, the warmth began to fade. That is, it faded in all parts of my body except for a small section of my chest. The section beneath my watch. I wore it on a chain as a necklace, knowing I would not carry my reticule tonight, but wanting to have the watch close.
I fished it out from where it nestled against my skin beneath my clothing, and removed my glove. The watch was definitely warm, and not from my own body heat. It was magical warmth.
"India, what are you doing?" Matt asked.
"My watch is warm."
He suddenly straightened and took up the pick as if it were a weapon. He scrutinized the edge of the small clearing. "Stop digging," he hissed at Willie.
"Someone there?" Duke whispered.
"The watch could be warning India of imminent danger," Matt whispered back without taking his gaze from the shadows.
"I don't think it's a warning," I said. "It chimes when there is danger."
Matt did not lower the pick, but I could see his shoulders relax a little.
Cyclops sat on the log beside me. "What do you think it means then?"
"I think it's responding to other magic."
"It can feel magic heat like you can feel it?"
I placed my palm on the log. Nothing. No magic warmth, just rough bark and a clump of damp moss. I leaned down and touched the leaf litter.
There. I felt it. A small wave of heat pulsed through me, faint but definite.
"India?" Cyclops murmured.
Matt crouched before me. "Can you feel magic heat?"
"Very faintly." I met his gaze and smiled, not quite believing what I could feel. Not really grasping the significance of it. But I did know it was important. It had to be. Our mystery was tied up with magic and magic had been performed in this area.
No. Not performed. If someone had stood here and infused magic into whatever they held, the magic would leave with that item. So the item itself was still here, buried in the ground. The spell could have been spoken anywhere.
"Whatever was in that box has had magic performed on it," I told them. "And it's buried somewhere nearby. Not in this spot," I said when Willie went to thrust her shovel into the ground near my feet. "It's too faint to be right here."
I got down on my knees and pressed both hands to the earth. I felt outward from the warm spot, changing direction whenever the dirt and leaf matter cooled. I crawled along the warm trail, my excitement growing as the warmth increased. My senses heightened, tuning in to the earth beneath me. Something small rustled near my fingers then scurried off. An insect buzzed near my ear before flying to a nearby bush where it rested, watching me. Behind me was utter silence.
The warmth intensified then, no matter which direction I advanced, it weakened. I sat back on my haunches. "Here," I said, tapping the ground. "Dig here."
Willie pushed in her shovel. Cyclops joined her. Duke had got hold of my gardening trowel and dug out small clumps of dirt. Matt crouched beside me and together we watched on.
Thud. Cyclops's shovel hit something hard. Cyclops and Willie cast aside their shovels and joined us on their knees. We used our hands to dig out the earth while Duke used the trowel.
Slowly the box revealed itself. The more of it we exposed, the more intense the heat became. It shocked me at first, so fierce was it, and I stopped digging. I'd felt magic heat before, but never that strong. My fingers tingled as if a little burned and I wasn't sure I wanted to touch the box again. It reminded me of when Chronos had first touched a clock I'd worked on. He'd been surprised by the heat and retracted his hand quickly.
"Whatever magic is inside that box is strong," I told them. "I think the magician who put it there must have been powerful."
"Something made of silk," Matt said between breaths, "from Abigail Pilcher."
It took some time to dig around the box's sides before it could be wrenched free from its grave. Cyclops hauled it out and placed the box near me. It was indeed approximately two feet by two, as Father Antonio had told us, and made of wood. It was in good condition, considering it had been in the ground as long as it had. Even so, the contents might be damaged from time and moisture.
"It's not locked," Duke said, trying to lift the lid. "But I can't open it. The hinges have rusted."
"Let me try." Cyclops's fingers were like rods of iron but it took him several attempts to pry the lid open. The hinge complained but eventually gave way, and Cyclops pushed the lid back as far as it would go.
Inside were some papers, a little aged but not terribly. Matt pulled them out.
"No silk," I said, peering into the now empty box. "How strange."
But no one heard me. They crowded around Matt. Willie held the lamp so they could read. She gasped.
"What is it?" I asked, trying to peer at the paper. "A letter?"
"Records," Matt said, his voice hoarse. "From the convent. Two sets. One is about Phineas Millroy's arrival here and who brought him. The second references a different baby."
He handed one of the papers to me and I scanned the tight, neat scrawl. The brief account listed Phineas's name at the top, his date of birth and the date of his arrival. A woman's name was listed as bringing him to the convent. I didn't recognize it and wondered if it was Lady Buckland's name, without the title. She was noted as being a friend to the baby's mother. There was no information about who adopted him.
"Who's the other record for?" I asked, indicating the second sheet of paper.
"James John Smith," Matt said. "His date of birth, date of arrival, and who brought him in. That's it."
Willie snatched the papers off him and read th
rough them. She turned the pages over several times, held them to the light, and eventually threw them into the box in disgust.
"God damned waste of time," she said, forgetting her rule of not swearing on holy land.
Duke pushed to his feet and threw the trowel at a tree trunk.
"Not necessarily," Matt said. "India felt magic, so we know Abigail Pilcher infused some silk with magic then perhaps placed those silks inside the box. She probably kept scraps in it and took them out, replacing them with these records. What happened to the magical silk is irrelevant. What is relevant is that this box was either in her possession or contained something precious to her. I'd wager she placed these records in there and buried the box."
"She lied to you," Willie said. "She goddamn lied when she told you she don't know what happened to Phineas."
"No. You're wrong." I pointed at the box, not willing to touch it yet. "The magic I felt did not come from something no longer inside. It came from the box itself. It's excellently made and water tight too. These papers are in good condition."
I was met with four frowns. "You mean," Matt said slowly, "that box was made by a magician."
I nodded. "One that infused their magic into the wood. The same magician who caused the wooden cross to fall off the wall and nearly crush me."
Chapter 11
I hoped Matt got more sleep than I did in the few hours of nighttime remaining after we returned home. I tossed and turned, considering what our find meant. While there were a number of possibilities, at least we had a clear focus now—find the woodworking magician.
There was also another issue playing on my mind and banishing much-needed sleep—Matt being forced to marry Patience. What could his uncle possibly have said to back Matt into a corner he couldn't find a way out of?
I managed to fall asleep around dawn, but the house still felt quiet when I awoke. It was only half-past eight, so I spent some time taking my watch apart and putting it back together. It wasn't enough to soothe my nerves, however, so I went in search of a clock. I found Willie, Duke and Cyclops in the dining room, already eating breakfast.
"Sleep soundly?" Cyclops asked.
"Not at all." I poured a cup of coffee and placed a piece of toast on my plate. "Did you three come to a conclusion about the box?"
"Aye." Duke got up and closed the door. "We should ask the Mother Superior if someone at the convent is good with wood."
"Or we show her the box and ask who made it," Willie countered. "If we ask a general question, we might not get the answer we want. What if the magician is hiding their magical ability by making inferior quality things? No, we ask about the box direct and we'll get a direct answer."
Duke shook his head. "She'll get suspicious and won't tell us nothing."
"She don't know who the magician is!"
"We don't know that. She might."
Cyclops picked up his cup and blew on the steaming contents. "They've been like this ever since they got here. I was enjoying a quiet breakfast alone until they arrived."
"What do you think, India?" Duke asked.
"I don't think we should ask the mother superior anything," I said.
"You want to ask one of the other nuns? Someone who won't glare at you with those icy eyes?" He screwed up his nose. "Good idea. She scares me."
"I don't think we should ask any of the nuns, either. There's a chance they'll all close up to protect the woodwork magician, if they realize why we're asking. I have a better idea, but let's wait for Matt to join us before we discuss it."
They grumbled a little but agreed. We lingered in the dining room for a good hour, but Matt did not join us. Willie didn't hide her frustration at having to wait. She huffed, drummed her fingers on the table, and drank copious amounts of tea. Cyclops merely ate, and ate, and ate. There would probably be nothing left for Matt if he didn't come down soon.
I glanced at the door, as I had been doing every minute or so. Should I worry that he wasn't up yet? Usually he would be, but we'd had a late night so it was understandable that he would sleep late
Then again, what if the pain in his chest returned? What if he needed to use his watch but slept on?
I eyed the door, willing it to open.
Willie cracked first. She pushed her chair back and rose. "I'll see if he's awake."
"Let him sleep longer," I said. "He needs it."
"It's getting on to ten. That's seven hours since we got back. That's enough sleep for him."
"Usually," I said and sipped my coffee.
She frowned. "Something you not telling us, India? Something about Matt's health?"
I sipped and considered whether to lie or not.
"You better not be keeping secrets," Duke said darkly. "Not about this."
"India?" Cyclops managed to put a threat into his tone and his one good eye, even though I considered him the gentlest of the three.
"Perhaps we should check," I said, attempting cheerfulness.
The three of them beat me to the door.
"Slow down!" I snapped. "Remain calm or you'll scare Miss Glass and the servants if we come across them. Now," I said, having gained their attention, "we'll sneak into Matt's room and quietly check on him."
Matt did not answer my light knock and Willie wouldn't wait. She opened the door but did not cross the threshold. She was short enough that I could see over her head. What I saw filled me with immeasurable relief. Matt was asleep, not…something worse. He'd opened the watchcase and tied it to his hand with his tie. The watch glowed softly, as did his veins. Too softly for my liking, but it was better than not at all.
I tried to signal to Willie to let him sleep, but he began to stir and opened his eyes. Then his hand whipped out and gripped Willie's arm. She gasped.
"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, voice gravely.
"Nothing," she said. "We wanted to see if you were…"
"Dead?"
She looked away.
Matt's narrowed gaze focused on me. "What did you tell them?"
"That we're not going to ask about the box at the convent," I said breezily.
His eyes narrowed further. "That's not what I meant."
"I think we should speak with Abigail Pilcher. She has no particular loyalty to the convent and she's a magician. She might be able to tell us who the woodwork magician is. Come along, Matt, up you get and have some breakfast." I hurried out before he had a chance to harden his glare even more.
I heard voices as I descended the staircase, one of them Bristow's, the other belonging to someone I had no wish to see but decided to confront anyway.
"Good morning, Mr. Abercrombie," I said to The Watchmaker's Guild master. "This is a surprise. I didn't think we'd see you here ever again after Eddie Hardacre proved to be a fraud."
"I never trusted him." He sounded smug, as if I ought to be humiliated since I had once trusted Eddie. "There was something not quite right about him. Something low born in his nature that couldn't be eradicated, no matter how good the actor. Of course, I wouldn't expect someone like you to notice."
"You're correct. I didn't notice whatever it is you think distinguished his birth from yours. What I did notice, however, was his sycophantic nature. It made me glad our engagement ended, as I wanted nothing to do with him when that side emerged."
"How good of you to put your morals ahead of your future," he said slickly. "A pity you must now stoop to seeking whatever employment you can find."
I bristled but forced myself to smile. "On the contrary. I like being employed by Mr. Glass. I have independence, financial means, and companionship. I'd say I'm the envy of many women trapped in a loveless marriage. Speaking of marriage, how is Mrs. Abercrombie? Do you still live with both your mother and wife? How lucky for you to have two such strong-minded women to run your household."
His face fell, and I felt a measure of satisfaction, along with a little guilt for my biting remarks. Mr. Abercrombie's wife and mother not only bickered incessantly with each other but with him t
oo. It was why he spent long hours at his shop or the guild hall.
"What're you doing here?" said Willie from the landing. She came down the stairs, flanked by Cyclops and Duke. All three of them scowled.
"He hasn't yet said," I told her.
"Is Mr. Glass in?" Mr. Abercrombie addressed Bristow, not me.
"He is unavailable at present," Bristow said. "May I leave a message, sir?"
"I'll wait. Show me to your drawing room."
"I'm afraid all the reception rooms are being cleaned, sir. I'll let Mr. Glass know you were here."
Mr. Abercrombie looked as if he'd scold Bristow for his impertinence but backed down when Cyclops, Duke and Willie stood behind the butler. None were in good humor and it didn't take a clever man to realize they would not be trifled with today.
"Please inform Mr. Glass that I'd like to have a word with him about Mr. Barratt's latest article in The Weekly Gazette," Mr. Abercrombie said.
"Why not have that word with me?" I asked. "Since I am, after all, the one Mr. Barratt is referring to."
"No." Mr. Abercrombie planted his hat on his head. "I want to speak to Mr. Glass himself."
"Then speak." Matt trotted down the stairs as if he was as healthy as a horse. "What is it you want, Abercrombie?"
Mr. Abercrombie shuffled a little away and presented his shoulder to me. "I want you to consider the implications of employing Miss Steele now that it's clear her magic can be used to extend the magic of others."
The nerve of him! "You are quite the despicable creature," I spat. "You make Eddie look harmless in comparison."
He simply sniffed and lifted his chin. "Do you understand my meaning, Glass?"
Matt strode past him and opened the door. "I am aware of the implications for my household. As to whom I employ, it is none of your business. Good day, Abercrombie. You're not welcome here if you wish to insult my friends, family or staff."
"Insult? No, no, no, Mr. Glass, you misunderstand. I have your best interests at heart. Your loyalty blinds you to the possibilities. Think on it. Not only will she become a target for other magicians, but she'll be considered a person of interest to the government, too. Do you think they want someone walking the streets who can potentially extend someone's life? Isn't that what her grandfather was trying to do with that doctor magician? The authorities will want her for themselves, Mr. Glass. So if I were you, I'd cut her loose and—"
