Modern Magick 4

by Charlotte E. English

  His eyes met mine, and held. ‘No,’ he grunted at length. ‘Of course I can’t.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to use this one, and if necessary you can blame it all on me.’

  He smirked. ‘You’ll enjoy that when you’re languishing in a gaol cell at Mandridore.’

  ‘I am not among their subjects, so they can’t imprison me.’

  They can try, muttered Melmidoc.

  I’d forgotten he had history with the Troll Court.

  ‘The thing is, Ves, when you requested Their Majesties’ aid you brought me here in an official capacity. And I have to act as such.’

  ‘All right. What would they do?’

  He threw up his hands and physically retreated from me. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Rules have to be broken sometimes, when the need is great enough. Go on, try to tell me this isn’t great need. I’m listening.’

  I received a stony, silent glare.

  ‘This is why Milady cut us loose,’ I continued relentlessly. I realised, distantly, that I was ruining all my chances with the Baron and that stung, but this was too important. I couldn’t worry about that. ‘These are problems of unprecedented severity and nobody knows how to deal with them. There is no protocol, no rulebook, to cover any of this.’

  Alban’s lips twisted with something that looked dauntingly like disgust. ‘Has it occurred to you?’ he asked. ‘That Fenella probably started out saying just these kinds of things to herself.’

  I flinched at that, but went doggedly on anyway. ‘I am not going to turn into Fenella.’

  ‘Fenella probably never meant to turn into Fenella, either.’

  ‘Enough,’ snapped Zareen. ‘Comparing Ves to that pile of horse manure is absurd, and you know it.’

  Alban closed his lips, and said not another word.

  For some reason, I found myself looking at Jay. Zareen’s notions of morality did not, I was learning, quite stand up to close scrutiny. Much as I appreciated her support, I could not take her ideas as my guide. Jay was another matter. He drove me mad sometimes, clinging stubbornly to the rules in every situation, and for all that he teased me about fretting over consequences, he was every bit as bad in his own way.

  ‘Urgh,’ said Jay, his customary glibness unequal to the demands of the situation. ‘You’re going to make me decide?’

  ‘Nobody cares what I think, I suppose?’ said George acidly.

  ‘No,’ said I, and Zareen and Jay and the Baron, all at once.

  Our Ancestria Magicka interloper subsided back into silence, glowering.

  ‘I won’t make you,’ I said to Jay. ‘You can abstain, if you want to.’

  Jay struggled with the issue for about twenty seconds, then sighed. ‘The trouble with you, Ves, isn’t that you’re amoral. You aren’t. It’s that, for all your flower-coloured hair and your trinkets and your jewels, you’re too damned practical. The rest of us will wrestle with the rules and the ethics and the precedents and the expectations surrounding a given course of action for some time before concluding, regretfully, that there aren’t any other options that would get the job done nearly so well, or even at all. You go through the same process in three seconds flat, square your shoulders, lift your chin to the sky and get on with it. It’s sometimes hard to keep up with you.’

  ‘So that’s yes?’ I interpreted.

  He waved a hand in a vaguely assenting gesture. ‘I don’t love it any more than the Baron does, but I can’t think of a single alternative that doesn’t lead to catastrophe.’

  ‘Indeed, no one can.’

  ‘At least I’m not getting amnesiated.’

  Are not you? said Melmidoc, sounding surprised.

  Jay’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’

  Does not the same logic apply equally to all visitors from the sixth?

  ‘No! We aren’t bringing the hordes down on you.’

  Ah. I shall take your word for it, shall I?

  The problem here was, Jay couldn’t absolutely guarantee that we wouldn’t. If we took news of this back to our own Britain, and the people to whom we owed allegiance there, what might come of it? We could neither predict nor control the actions of the Society, or the Troll court, or the Ministry. I saw this dawn on Jay by slow degrees, and his face filled with dismay.

  Melmidoc must have liked something about him, or he would certainly have turfed Jay back to his own Britain right away. But did that mean he would give Jay, and the rest of us, a free pass?

  ‘Maybe we’ll be able to work something out,’ I said pacifically. ‘But first, Ancestria Magicka, and guests. Melmidoc, what would you need in order to amnesiate the lot of them?’

  The forgetting charms are more my brother’s speciality than my own, Melmidoc mused. We will draw them to his spire, and there the work shall be done.

  ‘And then we’ll need a way to get them home again,’ I pointed out. ‘And quickly, before they have a chance to wander off.’

  ‘The castle won’t do,’ Zareen warned. ‘To be honest, I’ll be surprised if that place will ever move again.’

  That would be inconvenient, but I couldn’t help laughing a bit at the confusion the castle’s disappearance would cause. The papers would enjoy that one. Maybe the publicity would be sufficient to distract attention from the various other things we were much more anxious to hide.

  ‘I’ll talk to Millie,’ said Jay. ‘She should be ready to travel soon, and there’s just about enough space for everyone.’

  ‘But how do we get them all to the spire, and then from there to the farmhouse?’ I had visions of trying to herd a whole partyful of people around like sheep.

  Perhaps my brother might be disposed to visit the farmhouse, Melmidoc put in.

  ‘Can he do that?’

  The reply was scornful. Naturally.

  I did not think it was natural to most people in Melmidoc or Drystan’s position, but chose not to say so. I’d only receive another round of disdain along the lines of one’s own limitations are not universal, and considering the extent of their achievements, the Redclover brothers had a right to a degree of arrogance.

  ‘That would be perfect,’ I said instead. ‘Then all we have to do is shepherd a bunch of excited explorers into the least interesting building on the island and hold them there until Millie gets us all home. Simple.’

  ‘I’m not going home,’ Zareen said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘And neither is George.’

  17

  ‘What?’ said George.

  ‘Someone needs to tend to those poor Waymasters. They’re frightened and traumatised and I can’t just leave them like that. And,’ she added, looking at George, ‘I’ll need your help.’

  But— Melmidoc began.

  ‘It’s in your best interests to allow it,’ said Zareen. ‘Unless you want Ashdown Castle occupying beach-space forever.’

  You raise a persuasive point, Melmidoc conceded.

  ‘You’ll be all right here on your own?’ I said. Not that I doubted Zareen’s capability, but to be stranded in a parallel world with only George Mercer to help her, and a castle full of broken spirits her only route home, would not be easy on her. And she was already exhausted.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Then I remembered Melmidoc. He could still travel between the Britains, and could most likely be persuaded to evacuate the pair of them if it proved necessary. He’d probably be delighted to get rid of them.

  And in the meantime, it did solve the problem of what to do about the castle, and George Mercer as well.

  ‘Agreed, then,’ I said.

  ‘Not agreed,’ snarled George.

  ‘It’s that or a dose of forgetting and a swift ship-off back home.’ Zareen was unsympathetic.

  ‘Screw this.’ George was out of his chair and halfway to the door before I had time to register that he’d even moved.

  The door, however, slammed shut in his face.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ He hammered on it and delivered it a violent
kick, to no avail.

  ‘George.’ Something in Zareen’s tone arrested my attention, and George’s too. He turned slowly around, simmering with anger but attentive.

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I need you.’

  I’d never seen Zareen show so much vulnerability before. Her eyes were huge, and for a moment she looked small and defeated.

  At first this entreaty did not appear to have any effect on George. He stood, arms-folded, before the door, brow dark with anger, teeth tightly clenched upon words I hoped he would not utter aloud. But he looked long at Zareen, and at last the anger drained out of him. He shook his head in frustration, and rubbed wearily at his eyes. For a second he looked almost as vulnerable as Zareen, and my heart softened towards him just a little. ‘Fine,’ he muttered, and leaned heavily against the door. I wondered if he was having trouble staying upright.

  Zareen just nodded, but her gaze spoke volumes.

  ‘Right, then,’ I said after a moment, when the silence became awkward. ‘What about Rob, Val and the others?’

  There are a number of people still in the castle, Melmidoc offered.

  ‘Can you see them?’

  Not in the sense that you mean. I believe one of them is injured, however.

  Shit. ‘We’d better check on that.’

  ‘Are we going to have them forget, too?’ Jay asked.

  Good point. I thought fast. ‘Not Rob or Val. The rest, yes.’

  Jay’s eyebrows rose. ‘Harsh, Ves.’

  ‘Perhaps, but the more people retain this particular secret, the greater the chance it’ll leak. Can we vouch for every one of them?’ Val had named at least ten people from the Society who had received invitations to Fenella’s party. I didn’t know if they had all chosen to attend, but I knew that half the people on her list were not close acquaintances of mine. I simply didn’t know if they could keep their mouths shut.

  Jay, of course, could boast only short acquaintance with any of us, so I’d left him with no argument to offer. He merely shrugged.

  I looked at Alban. ‘Was there anyone else from the Troll Court present?’

  ‘Other than Garrogin? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Not caring about Garrogin.’

  He smiled faintly. ‘Nor I.’

  I felt something nosing at my leg, and looked down.

  A tiny hound waved its tail at me. It had sunny-yellow fur, an enormous nose, and a single horn protruding from its furry forehead.

  ‘Pup?’ I gasped, disbelieving. It couldn’t be the same one, could it? My own little friend, taken away with Miranda when she left?

  Dwina, said Melmidoc in mild reproof. Pray do not inconvenience our guests.

  No, of course it wasn’t the same one.

  I took a moment to check that my valuables were still in places like around-my-neck and circling-my-wrist and not, say, in the mouth of the adorable creature staring up at me with deceptive innocence. They were.

  ‘Are there a lot of these hounds about?’ I asked.

  I am embarrassed to confess that they have proved much more fertile than we ever anticipated. Indeed, they have become more and more so… There is now a large population of them across Whitmore.

  Or in other words, they were reaching pest proportions.

  That explained why they kept wandering into cottages and farmhouses and ending up in our Britain.

  I stooped to pat Dwina, pleased she’d chosen to show up at that moment. It reminded me of my priorities.

  I might consent to leave the place without Zareen, but there was no conceivable way I was leaving without my pup.

  ‘Did we come up with a way to get everyone into the farmhouse?’ I asked aloud.

  We did not, Melmidoc answered. But I did. You may leave it to me.

  Melmidoc took us down from the peak shortly afterwards, parking his beautiful spire on the edge of the cliff once more. We emerged into late afternoon sun, which instantly prompted so huge a yawn from me that I felt embarrassed. It occurred to me that the time back in the sixth Britain must be at least four in the morning; no wonder I was tired. Hopping between worlds, that was next-level jetlag.

  Millie’s farmhouse loitered casually at the end of a short, narrow street otherwise lined with rather smaller timber-framed houses. As we approached, I received the impression that she was trying to look inconspicuous (do not ask me how a farmhouse contrives to look ostentatiously inconspicuous; I haven’t a hope of explaining anything so absurd). She wasn’t getting very far with it.

  Her door flew open at Jay’s approach, with such vigour as to send it slamming against the wall with a terrific thunk. I took it as the building equivalent of a huge smile. Jay! she boomed joyfully, and the floor shook. Come back, come back, I have been so lonesome without you.

  I wondered idly what it was about Jay that people took such a fancy to him. Odd types, too. Last week it had been the dragon Archibaldo, who was still campaigning for Jay’s instalment as Mayor of Dapplehaven. This week, a psychotic haunted house with pretty manners and a taste for striped furniture. And even Melmidoc seemed to have a soft spot for him, though I judged he would never admit it. What next?

  ‘Reminds me,’ I whispered to Jay as we (Jay, the Baron and I) trooped through the farmhouse’s front door. ‘Why did you make me wait, when you first went in here?’

  Was it my imagination or did he look a bit sheepish? ‘Erm, no reason.’

  ‘Tell.’

  He sighed. ‘I wanted to be sure it was safe.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Well, for you.’

  Huh?

  ‘What made you think it might not be?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘These haunted houses have their… quirks. Don’t they?’

  ‘Hey. Just because she’s a homicidal maniac doesn’t mean—’

  I like that, interrupted Millie. One little putative murder and people call you a maniac!

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered.

  The temperature in the house grew noticeably colder.

  ‘Quite right,’ said Alban, barely controlling the smile that tugged at his lips. ‘It takes at least three before the title’s deserved.’

  Three at least! My uncle was a maniac. We all knew. Four neat little deaths to his credit, and they never caught him. But me! The house gave a great, windy sigh that rattled the windows and set the doors to swaying on their hinges.

  Jay patted the nearest wall. ‘Most unfair.’

  Inside, the house was an odd mix of styles. Some of it looked unchanged since the eighteenth century: her walls were still wainscotted and papered according to tastes two hundred years gone, and she had a fondness for the ornaments and knick-knacks that had graced many a mantelpiece or tea-table in that bygone age. But when I mentioned her taste for striped furniture, I meant that the results were mixed. She had chaise-longues clad in blue-and-white striped silk (tasteful), candy-striped rugs on her floors (a bit less so), and a tall, zebra-striped armchair in faux leather (most definitely not). I wondered where she had acquired the latter.

  ‘Millie,’ said Jay, taking a seat in that same zebra-patterned chair and patting the arm. ‘We’re here to ask your help.’

  You have my attention.

  ‘Are you feeling ready to travel?’

  Anywhere with you. The house warmed up again with these words, and a balmy breeze drifted through from somewhere.

  The poor girl had a real crush.

  Jay looked quickly at me, and gave a slight cough. ‘That’s wonderful. Will you mind if we take a few other people along with us?’

  ‘These people?’

  ‘And, um, one or two others.’

  ‘About a hundred others,’ put in the Baron, with a wink at me. I couldn’t disagree. If Millie was going to take exception to the sheer numbers of people involved, better we know that now.

  A hundred! Oh, Mr. Patel, is it to be a ball?

  Jay blinked, disconcerted, but he couldn’t miss the ring of enthusiasm in Millie’s words. ‘Well… yes, actually
it is. They’ll all be dressed up and here to party.’

  I never got to go to a ball, Millie said sadly. There was to be a ball at my uncle’s but unluckily I was hanged first.

  ‘How unfortunate,’ said Alban, somehow managing to sound sympathetic in spite of his obvious desire to laugh.

  It was, because I had the perfect gown! White silk, all trimmed about with lace and real pearls! My aunt had it made up for me in town.

  ‘That sounds lovely,’ I said.

  They buried me in it.

  It fell to Alban to step smoothly into the awkward silence that followed. ‘A splendid ball, then, to make up for it all? And perhaps you shan’t mind escorting the guests home again afterwards.’

  I shall dance with Mr. Patel.

  Jay’s eyes grew very wide.

  With that settled, we set out to return to the castle. Zareen and George had gone on ahead of us, and with Millie’s consent gained it was time for Melmidoc to begin the process of rounding up the intruders Fenella had brought. As we stepped smartly back down the narrow street towards the cliff path leading below, nothing much seemed to happen, though we passed one or two over-excited people in evening dress who could only have been some of Fenella’s guests.

  Then the aged oak front door of a nearby house flew open in a gesture most inviting, and — no word of a lie — a dulcet light beckoned from within. There was even a little burst of strings music coming from inside, with a choir of voices raised in heavenly song. It looked, quite literally, like the gates to paradise.

  I drifted that way.

  ‘Ves,’ said Alban warningly.

  ‘Mm?’ The music drew me, and the light and the warmth and — oh my, there was a heavenly aroma, too. Peaches and strawberries, honey and cake fresh from the oven…

  I arrived at the door.

  ‘Ves.’ It was Jay that time, catching at my arm.

  ‘I’m going in.’

  ‘Don’t be—’ he broke off, and his grip on my arm went slack as he stared dreamily into the light. The spell had hold of both of us, and we advanced step by step, half in a trance.

  ‘Ves, wait!’ Alban’s voice, but it reached my ears as though from very far away.

  We went through the door. The flaring light engulfed us in a gentle rosy radiance; my lungs filled with heady, tantalising scents of fruit and wine; the heavenly music flared — and then, abruptly, cut off.