“Still, the High Warlock may ope’ us a path for the beginnings of teaching it,” Father Ignatius offered.
“Indeed he may.” Father Cotterson’s eyes gleamed with missionary zeal.
“Saint Vidicon,” Father Al murmured, “ was a teacher.”
“As are we all—are we not?” Father Cotterson fairly beamed at him. “Are we not? For how can we gain new knowledge, and not wish immediately to share it with others?”
This, Father Al decided, was the kind of fanaticism he could agree with.
Father Cotterson turned back to his monks. “Apropos of which, Brother Feldspar, how doth thy researches?”
Brother Feldspar chewed his meat thoughtfully. “Dost thou not wish more salt on this fowl, Father?”
“Indeed I do, but…”
The salt-cellar appeared in front of Father Cotterson with a whoosh of displaced air.
He sat back sharply, eyes wide, startled.
The company burst into laughter.
After a second, Father Cotterson relaxed and guffawed with them. “A most excellent jest, Brother Feldspar! Yet I must caution thee against thy proclivity for practical jokes.”
“Yet without it, Father, how would I ever have begun to seek methods of teleporting objects other than myself?”
“Truth,” Father Cotterson admitted. “Yet I think thou didst make intermediate bits of progress in thine experiments that thou didst not inform us of. Beware, Brother; we might credit someone else with thy results! For a moment, I thought Brother Chronopolis had made progress.”
“Sadly, no, Father,” Brother Chronopolis smiled. “The theory is sound, and I do think we could manufacture a quantum black hole—but we fear to do it on a planet’s surface.”
Father Al tried not to stare.
“Indeed,” Father Cotterson commiserated. “I shudder to think of the effects of so steep a gravity-gradient, Brother; and I’ve no wish to find myself atop a sudden new volcano! Nay, I fear the experiment will have to wait till we’ve access to space flight.”
Brother Chronopolis turned to Father Al. “Father, when thou dost depart Gramarye…”
“Well, I could not perform the experiment myself.” Father Al smiled. “I do be an anthropologist, not a physicist. Yet where I can provide aid, I will rejoice to do so.”
“The rest is for the Abbot to consider,” Father Cotterson said firmly.
Manufacture quantum black holes? The DDT’s best scientists still thought they couldn’t exist! Either the Gramarye monks were very mistaken—or very advanced. There was a way to find out… Father Al said casually, “Hast thou made progress in molecular circuitry?”
The whole room was silent in an instant; every eye was fastened to him. “Nay,” breathed Brother Chronopolis, “canst thou make a circuit of a molecule?”
Well. They were very far behind, in some things. “Not I, myself. Yet I do know that ‘tis done; they do fashion single crystalline molecules that can perform all the functions of…” What was that ancient term? Oh, yes… “…an whole integrated-circuit chip.”
“But thou knowest not the fashion of it?”
“I fear I do not.”
“ ‘Tis enough, ‘tis enough.” Brother Feldspar held up a quieting palm. “We know it can be done, now; ‘twill not be long ere we do it.”
Somehow, Father Al didn’t doubt that for a minute.
“A most excellent evening, indeed,” Father Cotterson sighed as he opened the oaken door and ushered Father Al in. “Thy presence did stimulate discussion wonderfully, Father.”
“ ‘Twas fascinating, Father—especially that account of the nun who doth surgery without opening the body.”
“Well, ‘tis only the mending of burst blood vessels, and the massaging of hearts thus far,” Father Cotterson reminded him. “Yet it doth hold great promise. I trust this cell will be to thy satisfaction, Father.”
“Luxurious,” Father Al breathed, looking around at the nine-by-twelve room with bare plaster walls, a straw mattress on an oaken cot-frame, a wash-stand and a writing-desk with a three-legged stool. “True wood is luxury indeed, Father!”
“To us, ‘tis the least expensive material,” Father Cotterson said with a smile. “I’ll leave thee to thy devotions, then, Father.”
“God be with thee this night, Father,” Father Al returned, with a warm smile, as Father Cotterson closed the door.
Then Father Al darted over to it, carefully pressing his ear against the wood. Faintly, he heard a key turn in a lock—and all his earlier forebodings came flooding back. Disappointment stabbed him; he’d found himself liking the monks’ company so well that he’d hoped his suspicions were unfounded, then had become almost certain it was only his own paranoia.
Not that locking him in his cell proved they intended to imprison him, and not let him see the rest of Gramarye. In fact, the Abbot might be delighted to have him visit Rod Gallowglass.
But he also might not.
So Father Al charitably decided to avoid putting him to the test. Accordingly, he waited two hours, after which all the Brothers must certainly have been snoring on their cots. Then he took out his vest-pocket tool-kit, picked the huge old lock, and slipped down darkened hallways, as silently as a prayer. He drifted through the colonnade like a wraith of incense, found a ladder and a rope, and slipped silently over the wall.
They were such wonderful monks. It was so much better to remove temptation from their path.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
All sleep, except Elidor,” Magnus said, glowering.
He sat on the edge of a massive four-poster bed opposite a fireplace as tall as Rod. Tapestries covered cold stone walls; Rod paced on a thick carpet.
“He was…” Cordelia burst out; but Gwen clapped a hand over her mouth, and stared at Magnus. He looked up at her, surprised, then nodded quickly, and closed his eyes, sitting very straight. He held it for a few minutes, then relaxed. “I’m sorry, Mama; I was carried away.”
“No great harm is done,” Gwen assured him. “They heard only that one sentence, and they cannot do so much with that.”
“Spies?” Rod frowned. “How many of them were there?”
“Only the two,” Gwen assured him. “One there, behind the knight on the tapestry o’er the hearth—thou seest that his eye is truly a hole? And one behind the panel next the door, where there’s a knot dropped out.”
Rod nodded. “Milord Foidin likes back-up systems—no doubt so he can check them against each other, and make sure no one’s lying. Well, it kinda goes along with the rest of his devious personality; I think he’s in the process of inventing the police state.” He turned to Magnus. “How long are they out for?”
“Till dawn,” Magnus assured him, “or after.”
Rod shook his head in amazement. “How does he do it so fast?”
Gwen shook her head, too. “I know not how he doth it at all.”
“Oh, that’s easy! It’s just projective telepathy. You just think ‘sleep’ at ‘em, right, son?”
“Not really, Papa.” Magnus frowned. “I just want them to sleep.”
Rod shook his head again. “You must ‘want’ awfully loudly… Well! Can you tell what Duke Foidin’s thinking?”
“I shall!” Cordelia said promptly.
“No, thou shalt not!” Gwen pressed her hands over her daughter’s ears. “Thou shalt not soil so young a mind as thine; that man hath filth and muck beneath the surface of his thinking that he doth attempt to hold back, but ever fails!”
“Oh.” Rod raised his eyebrows. “You’ve had a sample already?”
“Aye, of the things he doth yearn to do to the folk in his part of Tir Chlis, but doth never, out of cowardice, and, be it said to his slight credit, some lingering trace of scruple. This I read in him, whilst he did speak of Lord Kern’s ‘foul rule!’ ”
Rod nodded. “If you could get him talking about one thing, all the related thoughts came to his mind, just below the surface.”
“Thou hast learne
d the fashion of it well, mine husband. Almost could I believe thou hast practiced it thyself!”
“No, worse luck—but I’ve learned a lot about the human mind, from books.” He surveyed his children. “I hope none of you were peeking into the Duke’s mind.”
All three shook their heads. “Mama forbade us,” Magnus explained.
“One of those little telepathic commands that I couldn’t hear.” Rod sighed philosophically. “Speaking of things I can’t hear, what’s the Duke doing right now?”
Gwen’s eyes lost focus. “Speaking to Elidor…” Her voice suddenly dropped in pitch, in a parody of the Duke’s. “I was so very glad to find thee well, unharmed—believe, ‘tis true!” Her voice rose, imitating Elidor’s. “I do believe it, Uncle.”
“Then believe it, also, when I tell thee that thou must not wander off again, alone! ‘Tis too dangerous for an unfledged lad! There be a thousand perils in this world, awaiting thee! I own I have been harsh with thee, from time to time—yet only when thou hast tried mine patience overly, and ever have I repented of mine anger after! Stay, good lad, and I’ll promise thee, I’ll try to be more moderate.”
Very low: “I’ll bide, good Uncle.”
“Wilt thou! There’s a good lad! Be sure, ‘tis chiefly my concern for thee that moves me to this protest! Oh, I will not hide from thee my hatred for Lord Kern, nor have I ever sought to hide it—or my abiding fear that he may somehow seize thee from me, and use thee to gain power over me! For thou dost like him more than me, now dost thou not?… Dost thou not!… Answer!”
“He and his wife were kindly,” Elidor muttered.
“And was I not? Have I never treated thee with kindness? Nay, answer not—I see it in thine eyes. Thou dost remember only cuffs and blows, and never all the sweetmeats I did bring thee, nor the games that we did play! Nay, thou didst not wander off for mere adventure this day, didst thou? Thou didst seek to join Lord Kern! Didst thou not? Now answer to me!… What, wilt thou not?” Gwen’s whole body shook; she shuddered, and her eyes focused on Rod again. Trembling, she said, “He doth beat the lad. Most shrewdly.”
Rod’s face darkened. “The animal!…No, son!” He clamped a hand on Magnus’s shoulder; the boy’s body jolted, his eyes focussing again. “You can’t just teleport him away from the Duke; you’d raise a hue and cry that’d keep us penned in this castle for days. Poor Elidor’ll have to last it out until we can find a way to free him.”
“He did not seem so bad a man, when first we met him,” Cordelia said, troubled.
“He probably wouldn’t be, if he weren’t a Duke, and a regent.” Rod ran his fingers through his hair. “A burgher, say, where he could split the responsibility with a committee—or a clerk in an office. Without the pressure, his kind side’d be able to come through. But in the top position, he knows down deep that he can’t really handle the job, and it scares him.”
“And when he’s fearful, he will do anything to safeguard himself,” Magnus said somberly.
Rod nodded. “Good insight, son. Anyway, that’s how I read him. Unfortunately, he is the regent, and he’s out of control—even his own control.”
“Thus his power doth corrupt him,” Gwen agreed, “and all his hidden evils do come out.”
“Evil he is,” Magnus said with a shudder. “Papa, we must wrest Elidor from out his power!”
“I agree,” Rod said grimly. “No kid ought to have a man like that in charge of him. But we can’t just bull in there and yank him loose.”
“Wherefore not?” Cordelia’s chin thrust out stubbornly.
“Because, sweetling, a thousand guardsmen would fall on us ere we’d gone fifty paces,” Gwen explained.
“Papa can answer for ten of them—and thou and Magnus can answer for the rest!”
“Nay, I fear not.” Gwen smiled sadly. “There are some things that surpass even witches’ power.”
“I could defeat a thousand!” Magnus protested.
Rod shook his head. “Not yet, son—though I’m not sure you won’t be able to, when you’re grown. A thousand men, though, you see, they come at you from all sides, and by the time you’ve knocked out the ones in front, the ones behind have stabbed you through.”
“But if I took them all at one blow?”
Rod smiled. “Can you?”
Magnus frowned, looking away. “There must be a way. How doth one do it, Papa? Without magic, I mean.”
“Only with a bomb, son.”
Magnus looked up. “What is a ‘bomb?’ ”
“A thing that makes a huge explosion, like a lightning-blast.”
Magnus’s face cleared. “Why, that I can do!”
Rod stared at him, feeling his hair trying to stand on end. He might be able to do it—he just might. No one knew for sure, yet, just what the limits were to Magnus’s powers—if there were any. “Maybe you could,” he said softly. “And how many would die in the doing of it?”
Magnus stared at him; then he turned away, crestfallen. “Most, I think. Aye, thou hast the right of it, Papa. We cannot withstand an army—not with any conscience.”
“Stout lad,” Rod said softly, and felt a gush of pride and love for his eldest. If only the kid could pick it up, straight from his mind!
Instead, he had to content himself with clasping Magnus’s shoulder. “Well, then! How will we do it? First, we need some information. What did you get from him while you had him talking, dear?”
“He had a bonfire of craving,” Cordelia said. “That, we could not shut out!”
Rod went so still that Magnus looked up at him, startled.
“Nought but what one would expect from so foul a man,” Gwen said quickly. “Indeed, I doubt a lass doth cross his threshold that he doth not so desire!”
“But what doth he want them for, Mama?” Cordelia piped.
“That’s one of the things we don’t want you hearing from his mind, darling,” Rod said grimly.
“Papa, cool thy spirit,” Gwen cautioned.
“I will, for the time being. But when I can get him alone, I think Duke Foidin and I will have a very interesting exchange.”
“Of thoughts?” Magnus frowned.
“Interpret it as you will, son. But, speaking of thoughts, dear…?”
“Well!” Gwen sat down on the bed, clasping her hands in her lap. “To begin with, Lord Kern was the old King’s Lord High Warlock.”
Rod stared.
Gwen nodded. “And I do not ken the meaning of it, for none at that table could hear thoughts—of this, I’m certain. Still, the Duke is sure Lord Kern wields magic, and knows of several others—but none so strong as Kern.”
“No wonder he wants us! But what kind of magic do they do here, if they aren’t espers?”
Gwen shook her head. “I cannot tell; there were no clear events. Beneath the surface of his mind, there was but a feel of many mighty deeds unrolling.”
“There was making many men at once to disappear,” Magnus chipped in, “and summoning of dragons, and of spirits.”
“And calling up the fairies! Oh! ‘Twas pretty!” Cordelia clapped her hands.
“An’ swords, Papa!” Geoff crowed in excitement. “Swords that cut through all, and could fight by th’selves!”
Rod stared.
Then his gaze darkened, and he turned slowly, glowering down at each child in turn.
They realized their mistake, and shrank back into themselves.
“Mama only said not to listen to the Duke’s mind,” Magnus explained. “She said nothing of the other folk.”
Rod stilled.
Then he looked up at Gwen, fighting a grin.
“ ‘Tis true,” she said, through a small, tight smile. “In truth, it may have been a good idea.”
“There were some with nasty, twisted thoughts,” Magnus said eagerly, “but I knew that was why Mama did not wish us to ‘listen’ to the Duke, so I shunned those minds, and bade Cordelia and Geoffrey to do the same.”
“Thou’rt not to command,” C
ordelia retorted, “Papa hath said so!… Yet in this case, I thought thou hadst the right of it.”
Rod and Gwen stared at each other for a moment; then they both burst out laughing.
“What, what?” Magnus stared from one to the other; then he picked it up from his mother’s mind. “Oh! Thou art that pleased with us!”
“Aye, my jo, and amazed at how well thou dost, without fully understanding what or why I bade thee,” Gwen hugged Geoff and Cordelia to her, and Rod caught Magnus against his hip. “So! Magic works here, eh?” It raised a nasty, prickling thought; but Rod kept it to himself.
“It seems it doth, or there is something that doth pass for it. The old King sent Lord Kern away, to fight some bandits in the northeast country; then the King died. But Duke Foidin’s estate’s nearby, and the Duke was the King’s first cousin—so, even though he was out of favor with the King, he and his army were able to seize young Elidor and, with him, the strings of government. His army was the largest, three-quarters of the royal force being with Lord Kern; so when he named himself as regent, none cared to challenge him.” Her voice sank. “It was not clear, but I think he had a hand in the old King’s death.”
The children sat silent, huge-eyed.
“It fits his style,” Rod said grimly. “What’s this nonsense about a spirit having closed the pass?”
“No nonsense, that—or, at least, the Duke doth in truth believe it. Yet the spirit was not summoned by Lord Kern; it’s been there many years. The High Warlock’s force went to the northwest by sea.”
“Hm.” Thoughts of Scylla and Charybdis flitted through Rod’s mind. “Be interesting to find out what this ‘spirit’ really is. But what keeps Lord Kern from filtering his troops through smaller passes?”
“The Duke’s own army, or a part of it. Once he’d seized Elidor, he fortified the mountains; so, when Lord Kern turned his army southward, he was already penned in. Moreover, the ships that landed him, the Duke burned in their harbor. He has at most ten ships in his full-vaunted ‘Navy’—but they suffice; Lord Kern has none.”
“Well, he’s probably built a few, by this time—but not enough. So he’s really penned in, huh?”
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