A Matter of Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  Kim tucked another button in the pocket of her dressing gown and looked back at Mrs. Lowe. “It wasn’t one of the maids. They wouldn’t be carrying on like that if it had been,” she added, waving at the stairs. The shouts and crashing noises had ceased, but it was nonetheless obvious that there was far more activity on the ground floor than was normal at this time of night.

  “At least you had the good sense to put on your dressing gown before you came down,” Mrs. Lowe said, tacitly conceding the point. “Still, wandering about the house en déshabillé at this hour is most irregular, no matter what your reasons.”

  “I bet Mairelon won’t think so.” The injudicious words slipped out before Kim thought.

  Mrs. Lowe’s thin lips pressed together in a hard line. Then, in deceptively soft tones, she said, “Mr. Merrill, Kim, not Mairelon. Showing proper respect is—Where do you think you are going?”

  “To find out whether they’ve caught the flash cull that was turning out the library.”

  “Indeed you shall not,” Mrs. Lowe said. “You will return to your room at once, and we will discuss matters further in the morning.”

  “What matters?” said a new voice from the lower stairs.

  “Mairelon!” Kim said, turning toward the voice with a sigh of relief.

  2

  Richard Merrill climbed the last few steps and stood eyeing Kim and Mrs. Lowe with a quizzical expression on his round, cheerful face. His dark hair looked damp and a little disheveled, but his coat and pantaloons were immaculate. Kim wondered what he had done with his cloak. Probably left it in a heap in the front hall because the footmen were too busy chasing burglars to take it.

  “What matters?” he asked again. “And why wait to discuss them? From the look of things, no one’s going to get any sleep for hours. Kim, Harry says he rescued you from someone, or possibly several someones, who from his description were apparently seven feet tall and more indestructible than the strong man down at Astley’s Amphitheatre. Ought I to congratulate him, or should he merely be sent to the kitchen to sleep it off?”

  Before Kim could answer, Mrs. Lowe frowned and said in tones that promised dire retribution for someone, “Who is Harry?”

  “One of the footmen. He’s on his way to the pantry to receive a hero’s due, on the strength of a bruised shin and a knock on the head. The question is, does he deserve it?”

  “He got banged up against the wall when that cracksman piked off, that’s all,” Kim said. “Unless they had a run-in later.”

  “No, the fellow got clean away. Still, I think we’ll leave Harry to his laurels, well-earned or not. What I want now is the rest of the story.” He looked at Kim expectantly.

  “I was upstairs when I heard—”

  “Not tonight, Kim,” Mrs. Lowe broke in. “You have had quite enough excitement for one evening, and tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I’m sure that if Richard thinks about it, he’ll agree that you ought to be in bed. You’ll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. Come along.”

  Mairelon put out a restraining hand. “I appreciate your concern, Aunt, but I wish to speak to Kim now, if she’s agreeable. It won’t take long.”

  “Of course I’m agreeable,” Kim said.

  “That’s settled, then.” Turning his head, he called down the stairs, “Hunch! Bring a lamp when you come up.”

  Mrs. Lowe looked startled. “Kim is not the best judge of what is most appropriate, Richard. If you will stop for a moment and think, you will see that.”

  “What? No, no, Kim is quite good at this sort of thing. Go on, Kim—you were upstairs, and you heard something.”

  “She will catch a chill, running about half dressed at this hour,” Mrs. Lowe said firmly. “She belongs upstairs in her bed.”

  “Half dressed?” Mairelon said with mild interest. He looked at Kim and shook his head. “Nonsense. She’s wearing a dressing gown. Now, I’ll grant you, it wouldn’t be quite the thing if she were going to go walking in Grosvenor Square in the rain, but I promise you I won’t let her. We’ll stay right here in the library.”

  “Kim needs her rest, Richard.”

  “She’s more likely to get it if she has a chance to talk first,” Mairelon said, frowning slightly.

  “I’m not sleepy,” Kim put in.

  Mrs. Lowe sighed. “If you insist, Richard. I shall join you as chaperone, of course.”

  “I think not.” Mairelon’s attention was firmly fixed on his aunt at last, and his expression had gone bland and unfathomable, the way it did when he was about to be particularly stubborn about something. Mrs. Lowe did not seem to realize it.

  “Richard, Kim’s reputation—”

  “—is quite safe. I’m her guardian, remember.” His tone was polite and gentle, but brooked no contradiction.

  Mrs. Lowe hesitated, then acquiesced. “Very well, Richard. No doubt you have your reasons. I must tell you, however, that it is most irregular, and the possible consequences—”

  “In the morning, Aunt,” Mairelon said. He glanced at Kim and gave a tiny nod in the direction of the library. Turning back to Mrs. Lowe, he went on in a soothing tone, “As you said, it is late, and I’m sure this has been a strain on your nerves. Things will look different when you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

  Kim slipped quietly around behind him and into the darkened library. The murmur of voices in the hall continued; then she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs, and Mairelon’s voice: “The library, Hunch.” She stepped back as Mairelon’s manservant came through the door, carrying a candle. He was tall and thin, and everything about him drooped: his shoulders, his mustache, the baggy trousers he insisted on wearing.

  “ ’Ere now, Kim, where—oh, there you are. Stay still; I’ll ’ave these ’ere lamps lit in no time.”

  Light flared, then steadied as Hunch adjusted the lamp-wick. “There. Now—’Struth! That ’Arry wasn’t ’alf right, by the look of it. What ’appened?”

  The burglar’s dark lantern lay on its side next to an overturned end table; it was a good thing the candle had gone out. A dozen books were scattered across the floor, some looking as if they had fallen when the table went over, others as if they had been dropped or thrown.

  “An excellent question, Hunch.” Mairelon entered, closing the door firmly behind him. “We’ve heard Harry’s tale; I trust yours will be somewhat . . . less imaginative, Kim.”

  “I thought I heard something, so I came down to have a look,” Kim said. “A man with a dark lantern was in the hall, looking in all the rooms. He went into the library. I was going to lock him in and call a footman, except he must of heard me working the spell or something, because he came charging out while I was still in the middle of it. He tripped over me, and I yelled, and he got away from me. The footman—Harry?—was coming up to see what the noise was, and the rum cove ran slap into him before he piked off down the stairs. That’s all.”

  “Brief and to the point,” Mairelon said. “Though not, perhaps, up to Aunt Agatha’s standards of elocution. What a good thing we sent her off to bed.”

  “I found this in the hallway after the turn up,” Kim said, pulling the scrap of wood from her pocket and laying it on top of the books. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s been magicked.”

  Mairelon picked up the scrap and turned it over in his hands. It looked like a piece of a wooden rod, about four inches long and as big around as Kim’s little finger. “Technically, the term is ‘infused,’ not ‘magicked,’ but in a general sort of way you’re quite right.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Something that’s been enchanted, or ‘magicked,’ as you put it, has had a spell cast on it. Something that’s been infused has had a spell stored in it.” Mairelon frowned at the piece of rod.

  “What kind of spell?” Kim asked.

  Mairelon blinked, then smiled. “That is the next question. One of them, anyway. Normally, once the spell has been invoked, it’s used up—there’s no way to tell what it was.”


  “That’s normally,” Kim said, recognizing the tone. “What’s weird about this?”

  Mairelon’s smile broadened. “Whoever made it was exceedingly clumsy; it’s as if he put the spell together from bits and pieces. And not all the bits and pieces went off when the wizard invoked it.”

  “ ’E’s a beginner, then?” Hunch said.

  “Mmm. Possibly. But Kim’s a beginner, and she could do a better job than this.”

  “Well, are there enough bits left that you can tell what it was supposed to do?” Kim said, trying to decide whether she should be pleased or insulted by the comparison.

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Mairelon pointed the piece of rod at the nearest bookcase and muttered something under his breath.

  Nothing happened. Mairelon frowned and said something longer that sounded like Latin to Kim. As he spoke, he waved the rod in a slow circle.

  Several of the books began to glow with a soft, golden light. Mairelon gave an exclamation of satisfaction, then began muttering rapidly, moving the rod in a rapid, complex pattern. The glow dimmed, then steadied. After a moment, Mairelon relaxed and set the rod on the table.

  Kim looked down. The books that lay scattered about the floor were all glowing as well. “This is crazy! He couldn’t of sherried off with all those.”

  “If it were that simple, we wouldn’t have books all over the library floor,” Mairelon said. “I’ll wager he was looking for one or two particular volumes. The question is, which ones?”

  “If you was to clean up a bit o’ this ’ere mess, you might ’ave an easier time figuring it out,” Hunch said.

  “An excellent notion.” Mairelon stepped forward and lifted the little table back onto its crocodile paws. “Put the books here, and we’ll have a look.”

  Hunch picked up the scattered volumes, while Kim rather gingerly helped Mairelon pull glowing books from the shelves. When they were all piled on the end table, they made an impressive heap.

  “Now, what have we here?” Mairelon murmured. “The Mountains of Doubt, Collegium Sorceria, Discoverer, Après Cinq Cents Ans, Fire Keepers Vol. VI—I wonder why he didn’t want the first five?—A Pottery Pigeon, Reflecting Quadrille, Maturing Without Heaviness. . . . Our housebreaker appears to have excellent taste.”

  “Well, ’e can just taste things somewheres else next time,” Hunch muttered.

  “I am inclined to agree with your recommendation, Hunch,” Mairelon said. “I don’t suppose you got a look at his face during all the excitement, Kim?”

  “No,” Kim said with regret. “I got a piece of his coat, though. He’s a toff, or someone as wants to be.”

  “Really?” Mairelon looked at Kim with interest. “How did you deduce that?”

  “He was wearing a silk waistcoat. I felt it. And this isn’t homespun.” Kim pulled the torn piece of wool from her pocket. Two buttons came with it and bounced off under the settee.

  “Ripped his coat, did he?” Mairelon said. “How lucky for us.”

  “Lucky?” Kim said, mystified.

  “Yes, of course.” He crossed to the heavy table in the middle of the library and studied it a moment, frowning. “Help me move this closer to the center of the room. Hunch, get me the blue chalk and a pot of ink. Oh, and an unused candle for Kim.”

  “You ain’t doing nothin’ dreadful now, Master Richard,” Hunch said in a stern tone. “Not in Master Andrew’s ’ouse.”

  “Hmm? Oh, not at all, Hunch,” Mairelon said as he and Kim shifted the table. “It’s only a spell Shoreham’s been working on for a while—an adaptation of the standard scrying spell. He showed it to me the day before yesterday; it’s quite clever. You’ll see.”

  “All right, then,” Hunch said, though he continued to frown. “Lord Shore’am is a proper gentleman.”

  Mairelon shot his servant an amused glance and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Carefully, he spread it over the tabletop, smoothing the creases with his fingertip. The corners of the handkerchief hung over the center of the table’s sides, so that a triangle of bare wood was left in each corner.

  “Yes, but what is this spell supposed to do?” Kim said.

  “Help us catch our burglar, with luck,” Mairelon replied. “Hunch, where’s that ink? Thank you. Give Kim the chalk.” He set a small ink bottle on one of the bare corners of the tabletop.

  “Mairelon—”

  “You’ll see in a minute. Now, what can I use—ah, yes, this will do nicely.” He plucked a small silver salver from a shelf beside the door and positioned it carefully in the exact center of the handkerchief. “There. Hand me that scrap of cloth you found.”

  “Mairelon, I’m never going to learn any magic if you don’t give me any explanations,” Kim said in exasperation as she gave him the piece of wool.

  “And you’ll never be a great magician if you can’t make half an understanding do for a start,” Mairelon said, dropping the scrap into the salver. “A competent one, perhaps, but not a great one. The chalk, if you please.”

  Sighing, Kim handed him the chalk. He sketched three careful crosses in the remaining corners of the table, then drew an unsteady circle around the salver on the handkerchief. Absently, he stuck the chalk in his coat pocket as he surveyed the setup. Then he looked up at Kim. “Now you may demonstrate the results of your studies for me. I want you to set the ward.”

  “Me?” Kim stared at the candle in her hand, suddenly appalled. The warding spell was nearly always set when a complex or dangerous enchantment was being attempted; in theory, it protected the mage from outside interference, and any bystanders from the consequences of a spell gone wrong. In practice, the degree of protection such a spell afforded was directly related to the skill of the spellcaster. An apprentice’s ward was unlikely to stand up to more than an apprentice-level mistake. And Mairelon wanted Kim to set a ward while he worked a new spell.

  “Don’t worry,” Mairelon said. “This is a relatively simple enchantment. Normally, I wouldn’t bother with a ward at all, even though this is the first time I’ve ever cast it. But you can use the practice, and it will keep our work from disturbing anyone. Or from attracting attention outside the house,” he added as an afterthought.

  Only partially reassured, Kim nodded. She thought for a moment, to make sure she had the steps of the warding spell clear in her mind. Then she took a deep breath. “Fiat lux,” she said, concentrating on the candle.

  The candlewick burst into flame. Kim held it still for a moment, until the smell of melted beeswax reached her and the tingly pressure of a spell in progress ran up and down her arms. Then, keeping her eyes fixed on the candle, Kim turned and walked in a slow, clockwise circle around Mairelon and the table. As she walked, she recited the words of the warding spell four times, once for each side of the table. She had more difficulty than she had expected in judging her speed correctly so that the words came out even, but she managed it. When she reached the spot where she had begun, she turned to face Mairelon and said the final “fiat.” With considerable relief, she felt the ward rise around them like an invisible curtain.

  “Very good,” Mairelon said softly. “I couldn’t have done better myself. Now, watch carefully, and try to split your concentration so that you can still hold the ward while you watch. You may not always have someone handy to cast a ward for you when it’s needed, so you’ll need to learn to hold it without even thinking about it.”

  “Sort of like picking a lock and listening for the nabbing culls at the same time,” Kim said, nodding carefully. She felt the ward shift as she spoke, and hastily returned her attention to it. When it was steady again, she whispered, “Only trickier.”

  Mairelon laughed. “Yes, I imagine it would be. Very well; it’s my turn.”

  He picked up the scrap of cloth and concentrated for a moment, then crumpled it and dropped it into the salver. The springy wool flattened out immediately, but the scrap was too small to cover much of the salver. Uncorking the bottle of ink, Mairelon poured it slow
ly over the cloth. The ink soaked quickly into the wool, then rose around it in a flat black pool. Mairelon studied it a moment, then picked up the salver and tilted it this way and that until the ink coated the bottom with shiny blackness.

  When he was satisfied at last, he set the salver on the handkerchief once more. Holding his left hand over it, he began speaking, too rapidly for Kim to follow. The tingling sensation of a spell in process struck her with renewed force, and she had to concentrate to keep control of the ward. Mindful of his instructions, she tried to pay attention to Mairelon’s spellcasting, but her Latin and Greek were still rudimentary. She recognized perhaps one word in twenty, but even the unintelligible phrases had the hard-edged feel that only came with magic. They hung in the air around Mairelon’s hand, building the invisible, dangerous structure of the spell.

  Kim suppressed a shiver. She did not want to distract Mairelon; even a small mistake would send razor-edged words flying like shards of shattered glass. She wondered whether she would ever be sure enough of her control to risk building a spell around her own hand. It seemed unlikely, but a year ago the thought of learning magic at all had seemed not merely unlikely, but impossible.

  Mairelon finished speaking and, without moving his arm, folded his outstretched fingers in toward his palm. The hovering spell slid past his hand onto the ink-covered salver. “Now, we look,” he said.

  Puzzled, Kim stared at him; then she realized that he meant for her to look at the salver. She lowered her gaze, and saw that a picture had formed on the surface of the ink, like a reflection in a mirror or a puddle of water.

  A man muffled in a scarf, top hat, and long cloak hurried along a narrow street. The shop windows behind him were dark and shuttered, and the wind whipped his cloak out behind him. “Well, well,” Mairelon murmured. “It looks as if you were right, Kim. Our housebreaker is a gentleman. Let’s see. . . .”

  The picture in the ink wobbled, then shifted so that the man was hurrying directly toward them. His head was down, and one hand gripped the brim of his hat; between that and the scarf, little of his face was visible. Gold gleamed on his middle finger, and Kim leaned forward to look more closely.