A Matter of Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “And maybe we can trap him.”

  Mairelon’s expression went bleak. “That’s what I thought I was going to do, and look what happened. No, that’s not a good idea at all, unless . . .” He paused, and a hint of the familiar gleam appeared in his eyes. “. . . unless we convince him that his first trap didn’t work at all.”

  Kim blinked, then caught on. “You mean, make him think you still have all your magic?”

  “Exactly.” Mairelon rose to pace up and down alongside the table. “When the ward doesn’t collapse, he’ll wonder; all we’ll need is a public demonstration to convince him. And we have the perfect opportunity in a week’s time.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your come-out ball,” Mairelon said with a shadow of his old grin. “You and I will do the illusion display, just as we’ve planned. Only you’ll do a bit more of it, and Mother will handle the rest. If we arrange it correctly, no one will realize that it’s not me actually working the spell.”

  And it would be arranged correctly, Kim was sure. If there was one thing Mairelon understood, it was showmanship. When she had first met him, he had been performing stage magic—sleight-of-hand illusions, coin tricks, and other such things—in the Hungerford Market, and turning more than a few shillings at it without employing any real magic at all. But . . . “If this frogmaker thinks you still got your magic, won’t he come after you again?”

  “Thinks I still have my magic,” Mairelon said. “Yes, that’s the whole idea. He can’t do anything more to me, after all.”

  Kim thought of Ma Yanger, and shivered. But Mairelon would think of that himself, soon enough, and if he didn’t she could point it out later. And as long as he was busy with Shoreham and Kerring and figuring out how to pretend he still had his magic, he wouldn’t go haring off on some long chance that only a bubble-brained, pigheaded flat would even think of.

  Carriage wheels sounded outside, and a moment later Lady Wendall burst into the room, followed more sedately by Mrs. Lowe. “Richard!” said Lady Wendall. “What happened? Why did you and Kim leave so early?”

  “Our mysterious wizard had another try, and Kim and I thought we should come home and check the ward,” Mairelon said. “But it’s held up fine.”

  Lady Wendall gave Mairelon a sharp look, but held her peace.

  “I trust that next time you will bring your mother, instead of dragging Kim away from a promising situation,” Mrs. Lowe said. “She will be fortunate indeed if the Marquis of Harsfeld does not take exception to the manner in which he was deserted this evening.”

  “Bosh, Agatha!” Lady Wendall said. “If Kim had gone to the musicale as one of Lord Franton’s party, he might justly have been offended, but she came with us. And it will be just as well if he is not too particular in his attentions. It is much too early in the Season for Kim to allow her name to be linked with that of any one gentleman.”

  “I should think so!” said Mairelon, sounding rather startled.

  “If the pair of you intend to encourage Kim to pass up a brilliant match, simply because it does not suit your sense of timing, then I shall say nothing more,” Mrs. Lowe announced.

  “Really, Aunt Agatha, that’s coming on a bit too strong,” Mairelon said. “Kim only met Lord Franton this evening.”

  “The marquis was clearly very taken with her,” Mrs. Lowe countered. “I can only hope that Kim will have sense enough to pursue the matter before he comes to his senses.”

  Everyone looked at Kim; remembering Lord Franton’s polite-but-very-interested attention, Kim flushed. Mairelon frowned. Lady Wendall cocked an eyebrow and said, “Well, my dear?”

  “He asked for two dances at our ball next week,” Kim admitted. “And he said he’d come to call, and asked me to drive in the park.”

  “There, you see?” Mrs. Lowe said triumphantly to no one in particular.

  Lady Wendall smiled. “It is an excellent thing, to be sure. However, Kim still has the remainder of the Season ahead of her. And may I remind you, Agatha, that the purpose of this come-out is to see Kim launched and well-established in Society, not necessarily to find her a husband.”

  “She could not possibly be more well-established than she would be if she were to marry a marquis,” Mrs. Lowe countered.

  “She might marry a duke, as Elizabeth Gunning did,” Lady Wendall murmured provocatively.

  “That was over sixty years ago.” Mrs. Lowe pointed out.

  Lady Wendall considered. “Only the first time. Her second marriage, which you will recall was likewise to a duke, was not quite sixty years ago.”

  “If you intend to make a joke of this, Elizabeth, I shall leave you,” Mrs. Lowe said. “I hope you will think about what I have said.” With massive dignity, she swept out of the room.

  “There!” Lady Wendall said. “I began to think she would never leave. Now, Richard, tell me—what scrape have you fallen into this time? I made sure it was something when Renée told me you had run off, and when I saw your face, I was certain of it.”

  “It’s a good deal worse than a scrape, Mother,” Mairelon said. “You had better sit down.”

  Kim glanced at his face, and then away. It had been hard enough for him to admit to her what had happened, even in the darkness of the closed carriage. She didn’t think he would want her to watch him tell the story over again to his mother. Silently, she slipped out of the room.

  The hall was empty, and Kim hesitated. She wanted to talk to Hunch, but the thought of being the one to break the news of Mairelon’s incapacity to him was more than she could face on top of the rest of the evening. Tomorrow—tomorrow she would talk to Hunch, and then go see Mannering. If he was behind what had happened to Mairelon . . . She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, and found Wilson waiting patiently to assist her in undressing.

  Kim allowed the abigail to work in silence for a few minutes, her own thoughts and emotions still churning. Finally she said, “Wake me early tomorrow. I got some errands to do before people start calling.”

  “Very good, miss,” the abigail said. “Will you be wanting me to come with you?”

  Kim considered a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know yet. It’s part wizard things and part . . . personal. What do you think?”

  “I’ll be ready, then,” Wilson said. “I can sit in the coach for the wizardly bits. Turn around, miss, if you please, so’s I can undo the back.”

  The abigail finished her work and left. Kim climbed into bed and blew out the candle, then lay staring into the dark for a long, long time.

  15

  Kim slept very badly, and she was wide awake and had already made a trip to the library downstairs when Wilson returned the following morning. Wilson made no comment, but went about her work with quiet efficiency. “What will you wear today, miss?” she asked at last.

  “I don’t know,” Kim said. “What have I got that’ll impress somebody?” Some of her plans had firmed during the long dark hours before dawn, but clothes were not among them. All she knew was that there was no point in wearing her boy’s disguise today. Jack Stower worked for Mannering now; Jack knew she was a girl, so Mannering must, and she couldn’t pass for a boy by daylight anyway. What she would wear was not something she had considered.

  “I suggest the slate-colored walking dress with the Spanish puffs, miss,” the abigail said.

  Kim nodded and let the abigail help her into it without paying much attention. When she finished dressing, she put the bit of wire she used for lockpicking in the matching reticule and slid her carefully chosen book into her pocket. Then she said, “Now I got to talk to Hunch. Do you know where he is?”

  “Below stairs,” Wilson replied. “And in a right temper this morning. I’ll fetch him at once, miss.”

  “No, that’ll take too long. Just come down with me,” Kim said.

  “Very good, miss.”

  They found Hunch out in back of the kitchen, cleaning carriage tack and chewing on his mustache. As soon as she saw his face, Kim knew
that Mairelon had told him what had happened. He glowered at her, but Kim ignored it.

  “Hunch, I need to get down to the City,” she said without preamble.

  “What for?” Hunch demanded suspiciously.

  “To see a sharper that might have something to do with what happened last night,” Kim said.

  “You’ll want a ’ackney, then,” Hunch said, rising. “Master Richard won’t ’ave no trouble figuring out that you’ve gone and done something if you take the carriage.” His eyes met hers in perfect understanding.

  “I want a pistol, too, if you have one,” Kim said.

  Hunch stopped. “I better come with you, then.”

  “No. Mairelon’ll want you when he goes to see Lord Shoreham. And I don’t know if we’ll be back by then.”

  “ ’E’d want me to come with you. And ’e’ll raise merry ’ell when ’e finds out, if I ’aven’t. I’m coming, or else you ain’t going.”

  None of Kim’s arguments moved Hunch in the slightest. Finally, she gave in, feeling secretly relieved. Visiting a cent-per-cent wasn’t quite so bad as wandering some of her former haunts in girl’s clothes would have been, but it was enough to make her nervous nonetheless.

  Hunch procured a hackney coach, and Kim gave the driver the direction. No one spoke for some time as the coach rattled over the cobbles. Then Hunch looked at Kim and said, “You think this’ll ’elp?”

  “I don’t know,” Kim said. “Maybe. I got to try, anyway.”

  Hunch nodded and relapsed into silence. The coach pulled up in front of a row of small, slightly shabby buildings. Kim climbed out carefully and told the driver to wait, then marched toward the near door without waiting to see whether Hunch or Wilson followed. She had to ring the bell vigorously two or three times before there was any response, but finally a watery-eyed clerk opened the door a crack and said, “We’re closed.”

  Kim shoved her foot into the opening before the clerk could shut the door. “Not to me, you ain’t.”

  The clerk’s eyes widened as he took in Kim’s fashionable and expensive dress, and he gobbled incoherently for a moment. Kim took advantage of his surprise to push the door out of his lax hands and walk through it into the dim, dusty hallway beyond. “Where’s Mannering?” she demanded.

  “He ain’t here,” the clerk said. “I told you, we’re closed.”

  “I didn’t ask if you were closed,” Kim said. “I asked where Mannering is.”

  “Mr. Mannering ain’t here,” the clerk repeated sullenly.

  Kim looked at his face and decided he was telling the truth. Now what? She frowned at the clerk and said irritably, “You told me that before, cully, and I heard you then. Where’s his office?”

  “It don’t matter; there’s no use you waiting. He ain’t here, and he ain’t coming back today.”

  Forgetting her girl’s clothes, Kim reached up and grabbed hold of the clerk’s muffler. One good yank pulled his astonished face down level with hers, and she snarled into it, “Listen, you mutton-headed nodcock. For the last time, where’s Mannering’s office? Or I’ll tie your tongue in a bow-knot behind your ears and find the place for myself.”

  “Th-that one,” the clerk said, pointing. “But you can’t go in there, it’s locked and I ain’t got the key, and Mr. Mannering—”

  “Ain’t here, you said that, too,” Kim said, releasing him. She dusted her gloves and stepped back, to find Hunch and Wilson standing in the doorway. “See this cove don’t shab off just yet, will you, Hunch?” she said. “I might want to talk to him again after I’ve had a look at Mannering’s office.”

  Hunch nodded. Kim walked down to the doorway the clerk had pointed out and studied the lock. It was new and shiny against the aged wood of the door; pretty much what you’d expect to find at a moneylender’s place of business. But this moneylender had been collecting wizards. Frowning, Kim cast the spell that allowed her to see enchantments. To her relief, the lock did not glow. She fished her lockpicking wire from the bottom of her reticule and set to work.

  Opening the lock took some time; Mannering had paid for the best, and gotten it. Kim felt considerable pride when it clicked open at last. The feeling turned to strong dismay when the door opened and she got a look at the room beyond.

  Everything indicated that someone had been here before her: the heavy lockbox lying open and empty on the desktop, the dustless squares here and there on the shelves where objects had lain, the half-open drawers, the wrinkled cravat lying forgotten underneath the chair. Kim bit back a curse and started forward. Maybe the other cracksman had left something she’d find useful.

  As she sifted through what was left in Mannering’s office, she quickly became convinced that this was no robbery. No thief would have bothered to take pages from the ledgers, or missed the pound note stuck under the lockbox. Mannering had taken the things he considered important and piked off, and he’d done it in a tearing hurry, too. Kim frowned. This didn’t make sense . . . unless he thought that Mairelon’s tracing spell had worked, and had expected to find the Runners on his doorstep this morning instead of Kim.

  Methodically, Kim began pulling out the desk drawers and examining their contents. Most contained paper or old ledgers. The center drawer had a small lock, which had been thrown—but in his hurry, Mannering had not shut the drawer completely, and the lock had not engaged. Pleased to be spared the work of picking it, Kim opened the drawer.

  The drawer was half full of notes and partially completed spell diagrams. Kim looked at one or two of them and frowned. They all looked the same, or rather, nearly the same—on this page, the top line twisted up; on the next, it twisted down; on the one after that, it was straight as an old Roman road. Variations on a spell design, Kim thought. But Mannering wasn’t ever a frogmaker, and George and Jemmy and Wags don’t know this kind of magic. Who’s he got helping him? Some of the notes bore a line or two of almost illegible writing, with frequent crossings-out and insertions. Kim puzzled at one of the inscriptions for a while, then shook her head. Reading was hard enough when she could tell what the letters were supposed to be; Mannering’s scrawl was hopeless. Maybe it was instructions for the spell. She gathered up the papers and stuffed them in her reticule. Mairelon or Lord Kerring or Lord Shore-ham might be able to make something more of them.

  When she finished, she rejoined Hunch, Wilson, and the clerk, who was by turns sullen and terrified. “I’m done, Hunch,” she said. “We’d better go.”

  “You—I—What am I going to tell Mr. Mannering?” the clerk babbled. “You can’t do this!”

  “Tell him I heard he wanted to see me,” Kim said. “Tell him I got something he wants.” She pulled a small blue book from her pocket, just far enough for the clerk to get a look, and then shoved it back out of sight. It had taken her half an hour to find one that was a reasonable match for Marie de Cambriol’s livre de mémoire, and she wasn’t going to give anyone a close enough look to see that it wasn’t the real thing. “Tell him that if he pulls any more tricks like last night, he won’t see this, or me, or anything else he wants. I ain’t got much patience with jingle brains or shag-bags.”

  The clerk nodded dumbly. They left him staring goggle-eyed after them, and returned to the hackney. “Where to now, miss?” the jarvey said.

  Kim hesitated, then shook her head. “Back to Grosvenor Square,” she said.

  “Find anything?” Hunch said as the coach started off.

  “Not what I thought,” Kim said. “The cull has piked off, right enough. I think he was scared of something.”

  “Good.”

  Kim glanced at him, startled by the savagery in his tone. She wasn’t really surprised, though; it was the way she felt whenever she thought about what had been done to Mairelon. “He left some notes. Maybe they’ll help.”

  Hunch nodded and lapsed back into his usual silence. Kim stared glumly out the carriage window, watching the tradesmen on the street without really seeing them. Mairelon was not going to be pleased to find out w
hat she had done, but she’d have to tell him; she certainly wasn’t going to be able to make sense of all those bits and pieces and scrawls.

  The other members of the household were at breakfast when Kim and Wilson slipped through the back door. Kim sent Wilson off with her bonnet and pelisse, while she went up to join the family. When she entered the room, she could tell from everyone’s faces that this modest attempt at concealment had been pointless; they were already aware that she had left the house, and Mairelon and Lady Wendall, at least, had been worried.

  “Kim!” Mrs. Lowe said. “Where have you been at such an hour?”

  “I had an errand to run,” Kim said, heading for the sideboard. “Don’t jaw me down now; I ain’t had breakfast yet.”

  “Mind your language!”

  “Sorry,” Kim said absently as she filled her plate. “I . . . haven’t . . . adjusted back yet.”

  “Adjusted back?” Lady Wendall raised her eyebrows.

  “Don’t tell me that after all my warnings, you went to see some of those low friends of yours!” Mrs. Lowe said.

  “No.” Kim took a seat and began tucking in to the sausage. “Not a friend.”

  Mairelon’s eyes narrowed. Oblivious, Mrs. Lowe shook her head at Kim. “Where did you go, then? After all the worry you’ve caused—”

  “I’m sorry you were worried,” Kim said, glancing at Lady Wendall apologetically. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Mairelon yet. “I thought I’d be back before anybody noticed I was gone.”

  “That is no excuse,” Mrs. Lowe said. “It is highly improper for a young lady to wander about London unescorted.”

  “I took my abigail,” Kim said. She sneaked a glance at Mairelon. “And Hunch.”