A Matter of Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  Mairelon’s face lost its set look, and he laughed. “A surprisingly apt description, I’m afraid.”

  “So why didn’t this Edward cove tell anybody that you ain’t the one who lifted them things?”

  “Those things, Kim, not them things. At the time, it was . . . convenient to have an excuse for leaving the country quickly.”

  “How do you mean?” Kim asked suspiciously.

  “I was spying on the French,” Mairelon said baldly.

  “Oh.”

  “And there was my pride, too. Hubris, the failing of the gods. I wanted to recover the stolen items myself, you see. I thought I’d find out who was behind the theft. Someone at the College was involved, I’m certain. I asked Edward to let me try.”

  “And that’s how you got hold of that bowl?”

  “It took me a year to track it down after the war ended. It was in a little town in Germany, property of the local Baron. He’d picked it up as a souvenir of England, and he was incredibly stubborn about selling it.”

  Kim thought back to the conversation she’d inadvertently overheard. “So now you’re going to Ranton Hill to find the platter part. What about the rest of it?”

  “I can use each piece to help find the others, and it gets easier the more pieces I have. With the bowl and the platter together, it won’t be hard to locate the four spheres.”

  “What about—” Kim’s question was interrupted by a peremptory knock at the door. Mairelon lifted an eyebrow in amusement and went to open it.

  Hunch stood outside, his expression clearly disapproving. “You’ve ’ad your hour, Master Richard,” he said. “And I’d like to know where ’Is Lordship’s sending us off to this time.”

  “Essex,” Mairelon said, and grinned. “Ranton Hill, to be precise. Did you have any other questions, Kim? Then, if you’ll excuse us, we had better go and figure out what route will get us there with a minimum of delay. We can talk more in the morning.”

  8

  For the next five days, it rained. Torrential downpours alternated with misty drizzle or bone-chilling showers that made even the best roads treacherous going. The seldom-frequented lanes used by Mairelon’s wagon became a sticky quagmire which plastered the horses and mired the wagon wheels. Despite Mairelon’s best efforts, their progress slowed to a crawl.

  None of them rode; the wagon alone was nearly too heavy for the horses to tow along the roads. Hunch and Mairelon took turns leading the horses, sliding and stumbling through cold, oozy mud that sucked at their feet and weighted down their boots in inch-thick layers. Even Kim sank ankle-deep unless she kept to the verge and slid on the slippery wet mats of last year’s grass instead.

  By the time they stopped to camp each night, they were all exhausted, but Mairelon insisted that Kim continue her lessons no matter how tired she was. It was easier to agree than argue, so Kim applied herself as best she could to arts such as reading and legerdemain which could not be conveniently practiced while marching through the rain. During the day, Mairelon continued her instruction in what Kim privately called “flash talk.” When her voice grew hoarse, he let her stop and listen while he recited poetry or plays, or rendered the same speech over and over in a variety of styles and accents.

  They slept in the wagon, though Hunch muttered balefully and chewed his mustache over the arrangement. Kim was not really sure whether he was fretting over Mairelon’s morals or the spoons; by the end of the second day, she no longer cared. Sleeping in a place that was even approximately dry was far more important than Hunch’s disapproval. Mairelon appeared as unaware of Hunch’s glares as he seemed unconscious of any impropriety, though Kim did not for a minute believe that he was as oblivious as he looked.

  On the sixth morning, Kim followed Hunch out of the wagon to find a steady, soaking rain falling from an endless sheet of clouds the color of lead. With a snort of disgust, she pulled the collar of her cloak tighter around her neck in a hopeless effort to keep the water out. The cloak was Mairelon’s, and much worn, and she had had to tie it up with a length of rope at her waist to keep it from dragging in the mud. It made a bulky, awkward garment and she was positive that she would slip and end up covered in mud before the morning was over.

  “Cheer up,” Mairelon said as he passed her, heading for the horses. “It will stop before noon.”

  “Hah,” Kim said. She took an injudicious look at the sky, which was still uniformly leaden, and water dripped down her neck. “Ow!” she said, and glared after Mairelon. “If you’re so knowin’, why ain’t you put a stop to it afore now?”

  “Haven’t,” Mairelon said absently. “Why haven’t I put a stop to it before now.”

  “All right, why haven’t you?” Kim said crossly.

  “Because weather magic is tricky, time-consuming, costly, and extremely noticeable,” Mairelon replied with commendable patience. “I can’t afford the time or the energy, and I certainly can’t afford to be noticed. Not until we’ve gotten our hands on the Saltash Platter, at least.”

  He continued on and Kim scowled after him. “What’s the good of traveling with a wizard if you have to get wet in the rain like other people?” she muttered.

  Low as her voice was, Hunch heard her. “You’d ought to be glad you wasn’t left in London!”

  “Why?” Kim demanded. “At least there I could keep dry. And I wouldn’t have to worry about no nabbing culls, either.”

  “Any.” Mairelon’s voice came floating over the heads of the horses. “If the two of you have finished exchanging pleasantries, it’s time we left. Rear doors, please; Hunch, take the right side, the wheel’s sunk a little deeper there, I think.”

  Kim and Hunch took up positions on either side of the wagon. “Ready? Now,” Mairelon called, and they pushed while he urged the horses forward. After a brief struggle, the wagon rolled forward and they were on the move again.

  To Kim’s disgust, the rain soon dwindled to a light drizzle. By noon it had stopped entirely, and Mairelon was wearing a smug expression. Kim was more than a little inclined to snarl at him, but in the past few days she had learned that snarling at Mairelon did little good. He simply smiled and corrected her grammar.

  They stopped early that evening, for travel was still muddy and exhausting. Then, too, they were less than an hour’s travel from Ranton Hill, even with the mud, and Mairelon had not yet decided whether he wanted the wagon to be much in evidence when they arrived. With that in mind, he had chosen a campsite where a small wood came down to meet one side of the road, so that the wagon could be drawn in among the trees.

  Hunch built a large fire while Mairelon and Kim hauled pots and buckets of water from an irrigation ditch on the other side of the road. When they arrived back at the camp, they found that Hunch had already hung the dampest of the cloaks and bedding around the fire, blocking most of the heat. Hunch accepted the buckets with his most dour expression, and Kim and Mairelon retreated at once to the far side of the wagon.

  “What’s got into him?” Kim asked, settling herself onto the footboard at the front of the wagon.

  “Hunch is merely expressing his desire to continue his own activities without distraction from the two of us,” Mairelon explained, leaning against the wall next to Kim.

  “Does that mean he’s goin’ to start dinner soon?” Kim asked hopefully.

  “Not soon, I’m afraid. First he’ll want to get as many things cleaned and thoroughly dried as he can. Resign yourself to scorched bedclothes tonight.”

  Kim made a scornful noise. “Hunch ain’t got no sense. Dinner’s more important than blankets.”

  “Don’t try to convince him of that,” Mairelon said, smiling. “You won’t succeed, and there’s nothing to be gained from trying. Though perhaps I shouldn’t be the one to make that argument; it’s my dignity Hunch is trying to defend, you know.”

  “Ho! Hunch, worryin’ over your dignity? After he’s been naggin’ at you for two days for wearin’ that cloak instead of the one with the patches?”

>   “Yes, well, Hunch gets these notions from time to time. Have you practiced that handkerchief trick you were having trouble with?”

  “I ai—haven’t had time,” Kim said. “I can’t do it at all on the move, and we only just got here.”

  “Then practice it now, before the light goes,” Mairelon said, handing her a handkerchief.

  Kim rolled her eyes and spread the handkerchief out on her lap. She flexed her cold fingers several times, trying to limber them up a little, then began carefully folding and rolling the linen square as Mairelon had taught her. She was only half finished when Mairelon’s head turned and she heard him murmur, “Now, I wonder who that is?”

  Kim looked up. Through the screen of trees she saw a coach-and-four making its slow, soggy way up the lane; the heads of two postillions were clearly visible above the coach’s roof. Kim blinked in surprise. What was a bang-up turnout like that doing on a quiet farm lane? And where was it heading?

  “Exactly what I would like to know,” Mairelon said, and Kim realized that she had spoken aloud. Kim glanced at him and saw that he was frowning slightly. “And we’re not going to find out sitting here.”

  Without waiting for Kim to respond, Mairelon pushed himself away from the wagon, pulled his shapeless, still-damp hat farther down on his head, and started briskly off into the trees in the same direction that the coach was traveling. Kim blinked, then dropped the handkerchief and scrambled after him.

  The coach passed them a few minutes later. Screened by the small trees and untrimmed scrub along the edge of the woods, Mairelon and Kim studied it. Kim could hear loud female laughter from the carriage windows, but the curtains were drawn and she could not see who was inside. The driver and postillions were wrapped in driving cloaks against the damp, and their faces were impassive.

  “Blast!” Mairelon said softly as the carriage lurched on by. “Can you keep up with it, Kim?”

  “I don’t know about that coach, but I can keep up with you right enough,” Kim answered. “But shouldn’t we go back and tell Hunch where we’re goin’?”

  “If we do that, we’ll lose it,” Mairelon said, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “You’re right, though; Hunch should know. Why don’t you—”

  “I ain’t goin’ back now,” Kim interrupted in as firm a tone as she could manage while trying to follow Mairelon’s erratic path among the trees.

  “All right,” Mairelon said to her surprise. “But when Hunch finds out—look, they’re turning off!”

  The coach was indeed easing its way off of the lane and into the woods. From where Kim stood, it looked almost as if the coach were trying to force its way through the trees, but when she and Mairelon reached the spot a moment later, they found another lane leading into the woods.

  “That driver is good,” Mairelon commented, eyeing the trail. “This is hardly more than a deer path.”

  “You goin’ to stand there jawing or get on after that coach?” Kim asked pointedly. “It’s gettin’ dark.”

  “So it is,” Mairelon said. “Come along.”

  The trail wound through the trees almost as erratically as Mairelon had, and the curves hid the coach from sight. Fortunately the imprint of the wheels in the soft ground was easy to follow, and they made better time now that they did not have to worry about being seen. Even so, walking became more difficult as the light faded. Kim was about to suggest that they turn back before they lost their way completely when Mairelon stopped.

  “Look there!” he said in a low voice, pointing.

  Kim, who had been concentrating on following the coach tracks through the deepening gloom, looked up. Light danced among the trees. “Some cull’s lit a fire on the hill, looks like.”

  “It does indeed,” Mairelon said. “And I’ll lay you odds that’s where our coach is headed.”

  “Doesn’t look like it to me,” Kim said, though without a great deal of conviction. The trail they followed did not, at the moment, appear to head in the direction of the bonfire, but that did not mean it would not shift its bearing on the far side of the next bend.

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Mairelon said with his most charming smile, and, turning, he headed for the bonfire.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Kim followed. Sticking with Mairelon was certainly safer than trying to continue after the coach alone and in the dark, and she was decidedly uninterested in going back to the camp and explaining all this to Hunch without Mairelon’s support. Besides, she was at least as curious about the bonfire as she was about the coach and Mairelon’s interest in it.

  The fire was farther away than it looked; it took ten minutes of brisk walking to reach the foot of the short, steep hill with the fire on top. Kim was a little surprised at the way the hill poked up out of the flat ground, but she supposed that things were different in the country than in London. The hill was bare of trees except for a single large trunk at the top, clearly visible in the firelight, and the grassy slope had been recently scythed.

  Several young men stood around the fire in the positions of people waiting for something and rather bored with doing so. One was staring down the far side of the hill; three others squatted over a game of dice, while two more watched and contributed unrequested advice; another drank surreptitiously from a pocket flask. Their voices carried clearly to the edge of the forest.

  “Meredith’s late again,” the man with the flask commented.

  “So’s Robert,” one of the others said. “Maybe they’ve got better things to do on a cold, damp night like this.”

  “What, in the country?” said the man next to him.

  “No main,” said one of the dicers. “Throw again.”

  “It’s Robert’s turn to bring the girls,” a fifth man spoke up. “He’ll probably come along with them.”

  “I told you he had something better to do!”

  “Eight for a main,” announced the second of the gamblers. “Shoot again.”

  “Robert’s coach is just turning in at the lodge,” said the man who was watching the far side of the hill. “He’ll be here in a minute or two. I hope he has sense enough to leave the rest of his party there. We don’t need any bits of muslin giggling over the ceremony.”

  “Good, that’s everyone but Meredith,” said the man with the flask. “We can start without him.”

  “Not tonight,” the watcher said without turning.

  “Burn it, Jon, are you going to make us stand here all night?” the man with the flask expostulated. “Meredith may not even come! He’s missed meetings before.”

  “Two guineas on the fader’s point,” said one of the dicers coolly.

  “If you don’t like it, Austen, finish your flask and go,” the watcher said. “But remember that you swore an oath—”

  “I didn’t know it was going to mean standing out in a cold wind in the middle of the night, scorching my boots at a great stupid fire while you prose on at me!” Austen said in tones of deep indignation.

  “If your boots are scorching, you’ve only yourself to blame,” said a cheerful voice, and a new figure climbed over the far edge of the hill and into the firelight. His arms were full of something that strongly resembled a very large bundle of laundry. “You don’t see anyone else standing close enough to the fire for ashes to fall on his coat, do you?”

  “Ashes!” Austen leaped backward, brushing at his cloak. He peered closely at his garments, then gave the newcomer a reproachful look. “Burn it, Robert, if that’s your idea of a joke—”

  “Don’t get in a stew about it,” Robert advised him. “Here, take your robe before I drop the lot of them in the mud.”

  This thinly veiled warning caught the attention of the rest of the group, and for the next few minutes they crowded around the newcomer, laughing and shoving and tugging at the bundle in his arms. Kim glanced at Mairelon, to see whether he had had his fill of watching this strange gathering. By now it was too dark to make out much of his expression, but he seemed to be concentrating closely on the hi
lltop group.

  “Who are those coves?” Kim whispered.

  Mairelon glanced down as if he had just remembered her presence. “A pack of imbeciles,” he answered. “And if I’m not mistaken—ah, yes. See for yourself.”

  Kim looked back at the hilltop. About half of the men were pulling long, baggy, light-colored robes over their heads. “They look like Bedlamites to me,” Kim muttered. “Who—”

  “Ssh!” Mairelon said as the man called Jon said something to Robert that Kim did not catch.

  “No, I didn’t,” Robert said, evidently answering Jon’s question. “The girls and the robes were almost more than I could manage as it was. I left it with Meredith after the last meeting.”

  “And Meredith’s still not here.” Jon’s voice sounded grim. “If he doesn’t come, you’re for it, Robert.”

  “How much longer are you planning to wait, Jon?” one of the white-robed men asked. “Have we got time for a few more throws?”

  “Can’t you think of anything but your dice?” Jon snarled.

  The man gave a cheerful, unrepentant shrug. “Well, there’s the doxies at the lodge, but I have the feeling you wouldn’t like that much of a delay.”

  Some of the others laughed. Jon looked as if he were about to explode, but before he could deliver whatever rebuke he had in mind, Austen said, “There! Isn’t that him?”

  Heads turned, and someone said, “That’s Freddy, all right. Nobody else sits a horse that badly; you can spot him even in the dark.”

  “Hurry it up, Meredith!” Austen shouted.

  “Quiet, you fool!” Jon said, rounding on him. “Do you want to be heard from here to the village? Do you want people to come spying on our Sacred Rites?”

  “Oh, really, Jon, don’t get carried away,” Robert said. “There’s a dozen light-skirts in the lodge who can see us from the windows if they want to bother.”

  “They are here by our permission,” Jon said loftily.

  His dignified effect was spoiled by someone at the back of the group, who snickered and said audibly, “I should hope so!”