03 The Mislaid Magician

by Patricia C. Wrede

  "Yes." James looked very thoughtful. "Perhaps I should visit Darlington tomorrow and see what I can learn at the corporation offices."

  "I think—" I broke off. We were almost to the railway line, and I felt an unmistakable tingling. "James! The railway feels like that ley line—the one near Haliwar Tower."

  "What?" James reined in his horse, and I was forced to follow his example. "How can you tell? You haven't done the sensing spells. Have you?"

  "No, of course not," I said. "But I can feel it nonetheless. It isn't as clear as the line by Haliwar, but if I can sense it even without the ley spell, this ley line must be far stronger."

  "You didn't sense it before, when we rode the train," James said skeptically.

  "No, but I hadn't done any ley-line-sensing spells then," I pointed out. "I've done them twice since then. Possibly there's still a lingering bit of magical residue, or that burst of magic at Haliwar may have made me more sensible of the presence of ley lines."

  "Or perhaps being aboard the train interfered with your ability to sense them at all," James suggested.

  "Yes!" I said. "Remember the way the locomotive made the ley line bend? The train pushed it out of the way, or tried to—and then it snapped back. We were in the wagons well behind the engine, so we wouldn't have felt anything, except perhaps when the ley line jumped back into place, and that would only have been for an instant when it passed by."

  "I wouldn't have felt anything, regardless," James said without rancor. "But don't get carried off by your theories. We don't actually know which of them is correct."

  We rode toward Stockton in silence for a few minutes. "The ley line along the railway is fading," I said after a time.

  "Ley lines don't change intensity as fast as that," James said.

  "This one seems to be," I said. "Unless it's my sensitivity that's fading, but I don't think it is."

  "Look! There are the Dancing Weans," James said.

  We cantered forward to a low stone wall at the foot of the hill, then rode along it until we came to a gate. A man, a boy, and two sheepdogs were collecting a large flock of sheep from the slopes on the other side; the boy broke off work long enough to open the gate for us, and James rewarded him with a shilling. The horses picked their way along the sheep trails until we were almost at the top of the hill, where we dismounted. I handed my reins to James, then started for the stone circle a few yards away.

  I got barely three steps. James shouted; there was a brown-and-white flash and one of the sheepdogs stood in front of me, blocking my way. I tried to go around him, but he blocked me again. And again. He didn't growl or bark, just made sure that there was no way I could get any closer to the circle.

  The shepherd came puffing up at last. "Sorry, mum," he said. "He's a good dog, for all he's new. Never acted like this afore. Down, you!"

  The last was said to the dog, who looked at him but did not obey. The shepherd made a grab for him, but the dog dodged. I took the opportunity to step forward, and instantly the dog was there again, this time gently but insistently shoving me away from the circle.

  I felt a shiver of magic. Frowning, I stripped off one of my riding gloves and held out my hand for the dog to sniff. He licked my hand and whined, and as he did I sensed the magic much more clearly.

  It was an enchantment, quite a strong one—wizard-grade, in fact (I have felt enough of Thomas's spells to know the difference in quality, compared to the sort of thing a mere magician can cast). The dog whined again, and something made me say, in a low voice, "Herr Magus Schellen?"

  The dog burst into a fury of barking. The shepherd burst into a flurry of apologies, while attempting again to catch the dog. The dog avoided him easily, keeping a wary eye on me.

  "Excuse me, Mr. ... ?" I said to the shepherd.

  "Williams," the shepherd said.

  "Mr. Williams, how long have you had this dog?"

  "He's never done anything like this, mum, I swear. I don't know what has got into him."

  "Yes, you said that before," I told him. "But how long have you had him?"

  "He turned up late last autumn," Mr. Williams replied. "I disremember the date."

  "I thought as much," I said. I gave James a meaningful look. "I believe this dog belongs to a friend of ours, Herr Magus Schellen. His dog disappeared last October, didn't he, James?"

  "Just so," James said smoothly. "I'm sure you will wish us to restore him to his proper owner." Mr. Williams began to make some protest, but James cut him off. "I am sure our friend would wish you to be compensated for your trouble in caring for his, er, valuable animal." He pulled a banknote from his pocket and held it out.

  The shepherd took the note and was instantly reduced to speechlessness, from which I inferred that James had chosen to be most generous. Since the matter seemed settled, I looked at the dog. "Come, er, Franz," I said.

  The sheepdog came instantly, but the moment I started toward the stone circle again, he blocked my way. Not wishing to make any more of an issue of the matter before Mr. Williams, I said, "Another time, then," and went back to the horses. James threw me up, and we rode off, with our new acquisition at our heels.

  As soon as we were out of earshot, James demanded to know what queer start I was about now.

  "Well," I said, "I am not perfectly certain. But I think— I am very much afraid that—I believe this sheepdog is actually Herr Magus Schellen."

  The sheepdog barked once, as if to confirm what I had said. James looked from him to me. "Good Lord."

  "It is quite a strong enchantment," I said. "And before you ask, I do not think it will be easy to remove."

  "Once we get him back to London, that won't be a problem," James said. "I'm sure the Royal College of Wizards can handle it."

  "First we have to get him to Stockton," I said. I turned to the dog. "Do you think you can walk so far, sir?"

  The sheepdog barked once and trotted a few yards in the direction of the town. We took that as indicating agreement, and so rode slowly back.

  That was yesterday; as I write this, James is making arrangements for us to return to London with Herr Schellen as quickly as may be. I hope that by the time you receive this, we will be on our way, so you may write next to the London town house. Do not, under any circumstances, mention the Herr Magus's situation in front of the children. It would not do for Arthur to take it into his head that we have acquired a sheepdog. He has quite enough dogs at home already.

  I have every hope that this whole affair will be ended once we deliver Herr Magus Schellen to the Royal College and they disenchant him (though I shall be most put out if no one thinks to tell us all the details, once Herr Schellen is in a fit state to supply them). Another two weeks, at most, should therefore see the end of our children's visit (for which I am deeply grateful, Arthur's and Eleanor's new abilities at scrying notwithstanding).

  I am, by the way, most impressed by your reconstruction of Edward's adventure. I can see why it took you something over a week to produce it—I can only imagine (and admire) the painstaking work it must have taken to compare his various accounts and eliminate the plainly fanciful. It is a pity that it sheds so little light on who Drina is, for it seems likely that she, too, was carried off by the odious Mr. Scarlet. Her family must be quite beside themselves with worry. But perhaps I will hear something when we arrive in London; the Season is at its height now, and while it is not what it was when we were young, it is still the best time and place for gossip of any sort. If Drina's family is so well-off, surely someone will have heard of them, and know that they are missing a child.

  Your,

  Cecy

  P.S. —Why Thomas should think that either James or myself would commonly carry a compass about, I cannot imagine. As we do not, I cannot answer his questions about the behavior of such an item either inside, outside, or anywhere near Haliwar Tower. If we ever return there (a thing which seems most unlikely), I shall make a point of procuring a compass so as to provide the information he so urgently
requested.

  As regards his other questions—to the best of my recollection, the weather seemed coming on to rain earlier in the evening, but luckily when we all ran outside after the magical shaking, it had cleared. It would have been the outside of enough to have had to stand in the rain while the gentlemen worked at putting out the fires. It was quite calm, also; I remember thinking how fortunate that there was no risk of a spark being blown onto the roof of the stables. And if there was any alteration in the appearance of the river, or in the color of its water, it had passed off long before James and I saw it the following morning—it is, you may recall, some distance from the house.

  28 April 1828

  Skeynes

  (This letter enchanted by T.S.—entirely upon trust)

  Dear Cecy,

  I applaud you (and James, of course) for locating Herr Magus Schellen. One piece of the puzzle is solved, although many more remain. Thomas and I have (I hope) exercised the utmost discretion in the matter, so the children know you have carried out Lord Wellington's mission, yet they entertain no canine expectations whatsoever. Even if they did, it would take something rather startling in the way of pets to distract them from the salient point: In less than a fortnight, you will be reunited.

  We have another salient point to consider. At last Drina has begun to speak freely, even in the presence of adults. This morning the children were engaged in one of their customary nursery debates, endless as it was pointless, when Eleanor referred to me as Aunt Kate. I can hardly do justice to the impatience in Drina's voice when she countered, "She isn't your aunt Kate. She's your first cousin once removed."

  It surprised me to hear Drina speak at all. It startled me that a stranger should have divined the precise degree of our relationship with such accuracy. What astonished me was when Drina added, "Your other cousin once removed is only an ordinary duchess."

  "Do you mean Aunt Georgy?" Eleanor's tranquility was entirely unruffled by Drina's criticisms. "She's not a bit ordinary. She's the most beautiful duchess there is, so there."

  "No, she isn't." Drina noticed me staring at her and fell silent. She has spoken naturally enough ever since, no matter who is present. Yet she does not permit herself to answer further questions about her family. The threat to her mother still rules her.

  I relate this incident in detail since I am certain you will find it full of interest. Georgy is the most beautiful duchess I have ever seen, without question, but how does it chance that Drina has such a decided opinion on the subject?

  Reardon's inquiries have borne fruit at last. As you recall, the house in Stroud was hired three months ago by Mr. Adolphus Medway. It is perfectly possible that Mr. Scarlet and Mr. Medway are one and the same. According to the neighbors, Mr. Scarlet did entertain many visitors, but Thomas is inclined to dismiss all such descriptions as manifestations of Mr. Scarlet's chameleon-like talent for disguise. Why Mr. Scarlet should wish to bother to pay calls upon himself, Thomas is at a loss to explain.

  Mr. Scarlet presented himself as a dealer in wool, interested in both bales of fleece and the finished cloth. Although Mr. Scarlet displayed no aptitude in the role—he arrived at quite the wrong time of year, for one thing—he went about his alleged business in a way methodical enough to excite neither comment nor interest from his neighbors. Then, a month or so ago, he disappeared for a week without a word to anyone. His reappearance occurred just after the full moon at the end of March. Mr. Scarlet made no reference to his absence beyond the flimsy lie that he had been abed with an illness the entire time. So ill that he took in no provender whatever? So sick he had no coal for his fire? You may picture for yourself Reardon's scornful dismissal of this tale. A farrago of lies, she calls it.

  As the weather improved, Mr. Scarlet was seen to leave the house early, driving a smart curricle and pair, and to return well after darkness fell. If he had any attendant to see to the horses, no one knows of it.

  The rest of the information is negative. No one saw Mr. Scarlet depart. No one has seen Mr. Scarlet since. So far as we can establish, no one ever saw the woman with the tinker's cart but us.

  There is one detail Reardon and Piers turned up I find of considerable interest. Three days after Thomas and I took Edward and Drina from the abandoned house, a stranger arrived. He made inquiries very similar to our own. (Who lived in the house? Where had he gone? When?) Upon learning of Thomas's interest in the matter, the stranger withdrew. He said he intended to put up at a reputable inn. Wherever he went, it was nowhere in the vicinity. He has not been seen since. For what a physical description is worth under the circumstances, he possessed a handsome face, gentlemanly behavior, and a fashionable appearance. He expressed concern, no more, at the exciting circumstances surrounding the house, and he did not hint in any way that he had a connection either to the house or to its recent tenant. Yet he vanished from the scene at the first opportunity, despite his expressions of interest. What more could a discreet accomplice do?

  Piers is of the opinion that the mention of Thomas's name put the wind up the fellow and caused him to retreat. Thanks to the excellent description of the man's curricle and pair provided by a boy who lives in Mr. Scarlet's street, Piers found an inn on the Cirencester road where the equipage put up for the night. At the inn, the man called himself Mr. Jones. He behaved as well as a fashionable young man with an interest in sport could be expected to behave, paid his shot promptly, and left at first light, last seen driving in the direction of Cirencester. All we have against him is his appearance at Mr. Scarlet's house and his abrupt loss of interest when he learned that the house was uninhabited and that Thomas was greatly interested in the whereabouts of the previous tenant.

  Piers and Reardon did all they could, but they were unable to learn anything more about Mr. Jones. Thomas has written to Mr. Wrexton (who I fear will some day tire of being treated as Thomas's social vade mecum—I look forward to the day when we are together here again and I can show you his reply to Thomas's letter about Drina—it is a true masterpiece of sarcasm) to ask him to inquire about the possible antecedents of Mr. Jones.

  Although he refuses to admit it to me, Thomas would much prefer to go to London and snoop into the matter himself. (How can I blame him? I would rather be in Mayfair myself.) But for all his impatience, Thomas remains here. He chides me when I seem surprised by his steadfastness. Although it has been quiet here, I know he views this interlude as the calm before a storm. I believe he would welcome a storm. Thomas may be at his best in a crisis, but he certainly does get thoroughly bored in the meantime.

  If I keep on in this vein, I will be forced to ask Thomas to enchant this letter without reading it, and that would only pique his curiosity. So I will simply add that Arthur and Eleanor are thick as thieves with Drina. Diana and Edward are still their willing acolytes, and Alexander is exactly as sweet as Laurence. All are in bounding good health. All of us send you our very best wishes. We look forward to your return.

  Love,

  Kate

  28 April 1828

  Skeynes

  (Enchanted by T.S.)

  Dear James,

  Finding a needle in a haystack is as nothing compared to finding a surveyor in a sheepdog. Congratulations.

  I direct this missive to you at the London address Cecy provided Kate. May it find you both there safely.

  Perhaps I should change "both" to "all," given the recent addition to your menage. I trust that by the time you read this, the Royal College will have succeeded in restoring Herr Magus Schellen to his rightful shape. You know I am eager to hear all he can tell you. Do resist the urge to suggest I am dogging you for the story or panting after the details. After all, it would never do to jest at Herr Magus Schellen's misfortune.

  Once you have Schellen sorted, and once you have turned someone at the College loose on the whole question of ley lines (Sulgrave would be my first choice—he's young enough to take direction, yet old enough to hold his own against the true crustaceans at the College), I would c
onsider it a personal favor if you would turn Cecy loose on her aunt Elizabeth. Wrexton has been next to no help in the matter of our superfluous young lady. Going by the clues we have (her expensive clothing, her flawless deportment, and a familiarity with duchesses Kate finds highly significant), it beggars belief that a child like this could disappear without raising an alarm somewhere. It's not as if the greatest gossips of our time aren't already assembled in London for the Season. Surely between the pair of them, Cecy and Elizabeth can learn something useful to us. You yourself, I seem to remember, have a way of soaking up scandal broth even as you seem to have a mind for higher and nobler things. Stir yourself.

  Believe me, if I could, I would be shoulder to shoulder with you, braving the boredom of the salons and assembly rooms. Unfortunately, my responsibilities keep me here. If I weren't here to chivvy her out of doors regularly, I fear Kate would long since have gone mad from prolonged exposure to the infantry.

  In addition, there is the provoking fact that someone has been making discreet inquiries about me. I have made it clear in Stroud that anyone with any information whatsoever concerning Mr. Scarlet will be rewarded if they come to me with it. My sources tell me that questions have been asked about my intentions and antecedents. It would be useful to know who has been doing the inquiring. Alas, no word on that as yet. No matter what answers the questions elicited, no one has come to me with anything, useful or otherwise.

  All this may be moot in a fortnight. Kate thinks that all we need do is restore your children to you, persuade Georgy to take a repairing lease somewhere discreetly foreign, locate a Department of Lost Articles specializing in children of good breeding, and our problems will be solved. I fear the nursery is softening her brain.

  Write with news. I will do as much, if I ever get any.

  Yours,

  Thomas

  29 April 1828

  The King's Head, Leeds

  Dearest Kate,

  As you may see from the inscription, we are not in London, nor, it seems, is there any immediate chance of our returning there. We are in Leeds, with no prospect of moving further. In point of fact, it is quite likely that we shall soon be compelled to return to Stockton, or perhaps Darlington. I am quite cross and altogether out of patience with a great many persons, most of them decades dead. My temper is not improved by the certainty that any news you may have sent will have gone to the London address and will therefore take several extra days to reach us.