The Magicians And Mrs. Quent Part 50

"They are," she said, then lit another.

T HE NEXT DAY was to be a very short lumenal-little more than seven hours from dawn until dusk. Ivy's intention had been to go on her errand to Mr. Mundy's shop directly after breakfast, so as to leave plenty of time to get to Durrow Street and meet Mr. Rafferdy by noon.

However, Mr. Wyble engaged her at length over the breakfast table, telling her again (and again) how fortunate he had been to have Lady Marsdel's patronage and how he looked forward to further benevolence on her part with Mr. Bennick's help-which was no doubt in Mr. Rafferdy's power to a.s.sure, if Ivy would only ask him.

At last she extracted herself from the dining room, only to be forced to intervene in a quarrel between Lily and Rose. The two had been arguing more and more of late. Being confined to the upper floors had made Lily cross and had prevented Rose from having as much solitude and quiet as she was used to, so that she was easily agitated.

At last Ivy was able to resolve the argument, without ever knowing what it was about, and convinced her sisters to retire to their separate rooms. This done, she hurried downstairs and out the door, but by then the sun was already above the rooftops and galloping swiftly, as if Elytheus was indeed whipping the horses that pulled his fiery chariot in the ancient myth. Abandoning any thought of walking, she hired the first hack cab she saw and directed the driver to Greenly Circle.

It took her some time to locate the shop-Mr. Rafferdy had not recalled precisely which street it was on-but after twice making a circuit around the circle she saw it winking down the dimness of an alley: a faded silver eye painted on a board above a door.

She paused outside the shop and looked up at the sign. The eye was not inscribed inside a triangle but otherwise looked like the eye on the small box she had found in her father's magick cabinet. Had members of the order ever come here to purchase items for their craft? A dread came over her. What if some of them were inside the shop at that moment?

It did not matter. Even if they were, they would not know who she was. Ivy drew a breath and pushed through the door.

Mr. Rafferdy had expressed distaste when he described the shop to Ivy, but she had quite a different reaction as she moved among the shelves and heaps and towers of books. Some of the tomes had gilt writing on their spines, some words in foreign tongues, and some had no writing at all, their covers as black as the depths of a greatnight. What secrets, what marvels, would she discover if she were to open one of them and read? She reached out, touching one of the dark books whose spine bore no t.i.tle.

"Be careful of that one," said a croaking voice. "It has a rather nasty-oh!"

Ivy turned around. A small man had appeared from behind a shelf, his mouth a circle of surprise. The stack of books he had been holding tumbled to the floor.

Ivy cringed at the noise, then hurried to him. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Please, let me help."

She knelt to gather up the fallen books. As she rose, she saw him gazing at her. He had recovered from his surprise, and it was a speculative look he wore now on his round face.

"I'm sorry," she said again, holding out the books.

"You can set them there." He pointed to a table. "And do be careful. Some of them have a will. They might well have leaped from my hands on their own, so you needn't worry. No harm done. They've suffered worse than a little fall like that. Yes, much worse over the years. It's a wonder they've survived at all." He moved about the shop as he spoke, picking up books here and setting them down there with little discernible rhyme or reason.

Ivy set the books on the one clear spot she could find on the table, next to a yellowed skull and several murky jars. Mr. Rafferdy was right. The shop's proprietor did indeed give one the impression of a toad, hopping all around.

"The hat shop is the next street over," he said, setting down a handful of books and picking up several more.

"I'm not looking for hats."

"Then what are you looking for? Dresses? Ribbons? You won't find anything like that here, as you can see."

Ivy took a piece of paper from her pocket and held it out. "I need...that is, I'm looking for these things."

Frowning, he set down his books, then took the paper.

"Are these things you intend to use?"

"They are not," she said, truthfully enough.

He read the list. "No, I shouldn't think so. I suppose you haven't the foggiest notion what any of these items are for. How could you? Someone wiser sent you, of course. What is his name?"

"I don't see how that matters."

He shrugged. "I would know who my customers are, that's all."

"Then you have no need to look further, for she stands before you."

"But you said these are not for yourself."

Ivy felt her cheeks glowing. "I know it is against the laws of nature for a woman to do magick, but I did not know it was against the laws of Altania for a woman to purchase items in a shop."

"There, there! I only meant to help. I know most of the magicians in the city, what they study, and what their needs are. I only wished to make sure these were all the things the one who sent you needed."

Now it was chagrin Ivy felt. This was hardly the time to let her pride come forth! It was not his fault women could not work magick. She made her voice calm, even demure. "The list is correct, I am quite sure."

"Very well, these are all things I have. I shall get them for you at once, Miss...?"

"Mrs. Quent," she said. Belatedly she wondered if she should have given him her real name, but what did it matter?

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Quent. I am Mundy-Adabrayus Mundy."

"How do you do, Mr. Mundy?"

Ivy held out her hand, but he had already turned his back to her and was rummaging through jars and boxes. She took the opportunity to explore more around the shop, though with the proprietor so close she did not dare to open any of the books, much as she wished to. She settled for breathing in the dusty air and imagined as she had when she was a girl that the very atmosphere might impart her knowledge.

A thought came to her: was this the place her father had brought her that day long ago? It seemed very like it. She tried to remember which way they had come from Durrow Street....

"Here you are, Mrs. Quent."

Ivy turned, and Mr. Mundy held out a parcel wrapped in black cloth. She accepted it and paid the bill.

"It's for a spell to strengthen some sort of enchantment or binding, isn't it?" he said, then shook his head. "But why ask you? There's no way you could possibly know."

She should have thanked him and left, but again her pride rose within her, and she drew herself up, so that despite her smallish stature she was as tall as he. "Just because someone cannot do a thing does not mean one cannot have knowledge of it, Mr. Mundy. I would think someone who sold so many books as yourself would understand that fact. My father is...He was a magician himself, and I have read extensively from his library. I know quite well what these things are for."

Mr. Mundy's eyes went wide again for a moment. Had she offended him with her speech or shocked him with her confession that she had read from books of magick?

It didn't matter. She had what she needed. "Thank you, Mr. Mundy. Good day."

Behind his spectacles, his pale eyes turned to slits beneath drooping lids. "Good day to you, Mrs. Quent," he said in his croaking voice. "Do come again for anything you need. And...good luck with your endeavors."

Ivy could not suppress a shudder. Mr. Rafferdy was right: he was a repugnant little man. She had no intention of ever returning here, no matter how many books of magick he had. Taking her parcel, she left the shop and returned to Greenly Circle.

Obtaining the items had not taken as long as she thought. Despite her earlier delays, if she took a carriage to Durrow Street now, she would get there well before Mr. Rafferdy. However, if she were to return home, she would hardly arrive before it was time to depart again, so she decided to walk to the old house. The morning was bright, and many people were about; it would be safe enough to go on her own.

Keeping to the main avenues, she soon reached Durrow Street, turning onto it just at the square where Queen Beanore's fountain stood. Ivy crossed to the center of the square, smiled up at the statue of the queen upon her chariot, then sat on the edge of the fountain to listen to its bubbling waters and rest for a moment.

A shadow flitted above her. Fearing it might be a pigeon that wished to alight on her head, Ivy glanced up.

Dark tears streamed down Queen Beanore's face. Her cloak rippled in an unseen wind.

Ivy gasped, leaping to her feet. She looked all around, but the square was suddenly empty of all save pigeons. Then a gray flock fluttered up from the cobbles, and in their place stood a figure all in black.

She hesitated, then moved toward him.

"Home," she heard his voice speak, though as before his mask was motionless. "You must go home now."

"You mean to the house on Durrow Street?" she said, finding she could speak. "I'm on my way now. That's why I'm here."

He shook his head. Now the black mask was drawn down in a scowl. "No," came his voice. "Home. You must go now!"

She halted, a chill pa.s.sing through her despite the morning sun. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Another flock of pigeons flew before her. She stepped back, away from the gray flurry of wings. In a moment they were gone.

So was he. People moved through the square again. Water danced and sang in the fountain.

"Home," Ivy murmured.

Then she was running across the square, looking for the nearest cab available for hire.

I T SEEMED TO take an eternity to reach Whitward Street. She clawed at the seat each time the driver halted the horses to let some cart pa.s.s by on a narrow street. In truth it was but half an hour. All the same, the carriage had hardly rolled to a stop before she paid the driver and leaped down to the street without his help. She stumbled, caught herself, then ran through the gate, up the steps, and into the house.

"What is it?" she said upon finding the housekeeper in the entry hall. "What's happened?"

The woman looked at her with a sour expression. "What's happened? The master is away, and the young misses have taken over the parlor when it isn't their allotted time, that's what's happened!"

Even as she said this, Ivy heard the rumble of dreary piano music emanating from above.

"Nothing else has happened, then?" It didn't make sense-he had told her to come here. "Are you certain that's all?"

The housekeeper frowned at her. "That's all that's happened that concerns me. Though I suppose you might want to know that a letter arrived for you while you were out."

She pointed to the sideboard, then disappeared through the kitchen door. Ivy stared after her, not knowing what to think. Then she went to the sideboard and picked up the post.

In an instant she was opening the topmost letter, for it was from Mr. Quent, and she could not break the seal and unfold it quickly enough. How she wished he were here in person! Yet even this part of him was a blessing. She read the first lines eagerly.

Her elation vanished, and she sagged against the sideboard as she read on. The paper trembled in her hand like a pale leaf before a storm.

My Dearest- You have told me you think me to be a man of good sense and solid judgment. Know that your sentiments, however lovingly intended, are wrong. I have been careless-even reckless. That I should have told you this long ago is now as plain to see as this ink upon the page.

Yet it did not occur to me that I had any need to do so! Never did I think that he would return to Invarel-not after what happened years ago. Yet he has done just that, and I have been thoughtless not to warn you. I only hope he has not approached you. Surely it would be brazen of him. He must know what risk he would expose himself to by attempting such a thing.

I rea.s.sure myself that he has no doubt kept far from you, and your father is nowhere that he might reach him. All the same, I must caution you, for I have just learned in a missive from Lord Rafferdy that Mr. Bennick has indeed returned to Invarel after many years of exile in Torland. Heed these words, dearest: you must have nothing to do with him! He is dangerous-a deceiver and a traitor. While I am to this day not certain of the particulars, I believe-no, I will say I am certain-that it is because of Mr. Bennick's actions that Mr. Lockwell suffered his awful fate.

They had both belonged to the same arcane order of magicians, your father once confided in me. Shortly after your father fell ill, I questioned Mr. Bennick, and he was sly and secretive. Nor did he show any sort of remorse at what had befallen Mr. Lockwell, who had purportedly been his friend.

Despite his dissembling, I was able to glean a few things from him. He had been working an enchantment that Mr. Lockwell had implored him not to. However, the spell went awry, and as a result something terrible would have taken place (though what, I cannot imagine).

Before this awful happening could occur, Mr. Lockwell intervened. He managed to undo whatever it was Mr. Bennick had achieved. However, the effort required was great, and the cost to your father grievous. His mind was broken-irrevocably, or so Mr. Bennick told me. Alas, of all the things he said to me, this was the only one I fully believed as the truth!

So you see, you must have nothing to do with Mr. Bennick. He is no longer a magician-his power to do magick was taken from him by his order. Why, I do not know; as a punishment for what he did, I suppose. Regardless, you must not think because his power is gone that he is no longer dangerous. He knows other magicians, and that he might one day seek to convince them to attempt again that thing your father once prevented him from accomplishing is something I suspect.

You must do nothing that might offer him any help. If there are books or papers of your father's he ever comes seeking, do not give them to him. My work here has been difficult, but it is at last near to its completion. There is no need to reply-I will return before any letter can reach me. Until then, keep yourself safe, dearest. I shall be with you soon, but know that either near or far, I am ever- Yours, A. Quent With shaking hands, Ivy folded the letter. Dread had brought clarity to her like cold rain washing down a fogged window. One by one she fit the events together in her mind, like the pieces of one of Mrs. Baydon's puzzles, until the picture became clear: the ring he had given Mr. Rafferdy, the article about the new planet he had sent to her, his invitation to give Mr. Rafferdy lessons in the art of magick. He was no longer a magician, but he had said himself that just because he no longer practiced magick did not mean he no longer possessed an interest in it.

The Vigilant Order of the Silver Eye had taken his magickal talent from him. Yet in his letter, her father had said he believed there was more than one traitor in the order. What if Mr. Bennick was able to deliver to them something they wanted? Were there not some in the order who might reward him by giving him his magick back?

He had told Rafferdy that, once taken away, a magician's talent could never be restored, but Ivy could not believe that. He had only wished to frighten Mr. Rafferdy into studying with him. He had needed Mr. Rafferdy, just as he needed Ivy. He had used Mr. Wyble as a way to arrange their introduction, then had used them both in turn.

He had known Mr. Lockwell, had known about the riddle, and had sent her the article to help her solve it. Then he had taught Mr. Rafferdy the very spell included with her father's letter-the spell that must have undone what Mr. Bennick had tried to achieve years ago-knowing that understanding it would induce them to use the key and open the door to the house on Durrow Street. Once the door was open, he would bring others from the order there, and deliver to them what they sought....

Upstairs, the music ceased. A moment later a slim figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Ivy?" Rose's voice drifted down. "Is that you? Are you coming up to sit with us in the parlor? It was Lily's idea to go in. It's not our proper time, but it's good to be in there again. It makes me think of what it was like before. Won't you come sit with us?"

A pang pa.s.sed through Ivy, then she cleared her throat and forced her voice to be light. "Not just now, dearest," she called up. "There is...I have an errand I must do."

Ivy put the letter in her pocket, and she felt the iron key there. She could only believe Mr. Bennick knew everything they intended. No doubt at that very moment he was on his way to the house on Durrow Street.

And so was Mr. Rafferdy.

She gripped the key in a fist. Then Ivy was out the door and into the swift-pa.s.sing day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

T HE BELLS RANG out with the dawn.

To others in the city they signaled the end of night, the coming again of lighted times, but to Eldyn the music of the bells meant nothing. He had not slept, and the sun-however bright its rays-had no power to dispel the darkness that pursued him. The moment he stepped out the doors of St. Galmuth's, the shadow would be there, waiting for him.

Rosy light spilled through a stained-gla.s.s window, illuminating the small side chapel where they had spent the night, off the west transept of the cathedral. Sashie stirred on one of the pews where she lay curled up beneath Eldyn's coat, but she did not open her eyes.

Eldyn wasn't sure to whom the chapel was dedicated. Given the bronze staff in her hands, the figure on the altar might have been St. Alethyn, protector of orphans or cripples. Or it might have been St. Soph.e.l.la, renowned for smiting infidels with her rod. Eldyn hoped it was the former rather than the latter.

Last night the rector had shown them to the chapel as darkness fell, though not before the priest at the doors of the cathedral had nearly cast them out. It seemed charity was no longer freely given at St. Galmuth's-not when the number who needed it would have filled the catheral many times over. Dread had seized Eldyn, and he had glanced over his shoulder into the gloom behind them, looking for a prowling shadow and twin amber sparks. Sashie had whimpered beside him.

Fortunately, from his days at the church of St. Adaris, Dercy was familiar with the ancient rules. He had demanded to speak to the rector, and as they waited he instructed Eldyn on how to speak the request for sanctuary; when the rector arrived, Eldyn did so. Even so, the priest might still have cast them out, but the rector would not have it.

"I do not know how it is in the parish you came from," the old rector had said in his thin voice, "but the laws are remembered here at St. Galmuth's. The first soul to request sanctuary after the fall of night must be granted it for the remainder of the umbral. They will stay here tonight, and, if he will hear it, they can make their case to the archdeacon tomorrow. He will judge if their plight warrants the protection of the Church."

Eldyn and his sister were let inside, though to Eldyn's dismay Dercy did not come with them. All the same, as the great doors closed with a boom, Eldyn's fear receded. In here, no evil could find them.

However, as the light strengthened, so did Eldyn's dread. The old rector might still adhere to the ancient ways, but what of the archdeacon? What if he was not moved by Eldyn's plea? Or worse, what if he would not hear their case at all? He watched the warm light fall upon the altar. Others might have seen it as a sign of hope, but to him the ruddy illumination stained the pale statue of the saint like blood.

The tolling of the bells ceased, and as their music faded he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Dercy enter the chapel. The young man held out his hand, but Eldyn gripped him close in an embrace.

"Thank you," he said as they broke apart.