The Magicians and Mrs. Quent (68 page)

“The moon in the play,” Eldyn said. “That was you.”

The young man grinned and bowed with a flourish. “I trust you enjoyed the performance.”

Eldyn had, but the illusions had not ended when he left the theater that night. “You followed me. I saw a shadow behind me when I entered the Sword and Leaf, and then again when I left. I thought it was my imagination, only it was you.”

“You saw that? You weren’t as drunk as you appeared. Don’t look so offended—if someone was watching over you, perhaps you should be glad of it. Duskfellow’s is not exactly a safe place to take a nap at night. You frightened that one robber off with your trick, conjuring that ghost, but others would have found you soon enough if—”

“If you hadn’t covered me with shadows,” Eldyn said, understanding at last. “Fair enough. I am glad you were there. But that doesn’t explain why you were following me then. Or today.”

The young man shrugged. “Our theater is always looking for new talent, and I saw what you could do with shadows. Working light is the same, really, the other side of the coin. Besides, you seem…” He shook his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We know each other now. Or we should, at any rate. My name is Dercent Argray Fanewerthy. It’s an awful name, I know. From the moment of my birth, my dear parents were evidently trying to make it a certainty that I would run away and join the theater at the earliest possible moment. Everyone calls me Dercy. Everyone I don’t despise, that is.”

Despite all that had happened, Eldyn couldn’t help returning the other’s grin as well as his handshake. He introduced himself. Then a new wonder struck him.

“Dercy?” he said. He thought back to that night half a year ago, when he went to see the angel, and the old priest shouted at him.

What are you doing, Brother Dercent?
the older priest had said to the younger.
Are you talking to someone out there?

“The old church at St. Adaris,” Eldyn realized aloud.

Now it was the other’s turn to appear surprised. “How did you know that I…? Wait a minute, I know why you look familiar. Brother Garus thought it was an illusionist that night, come to the church to taunt us, but it was you there in the shadows.”

Eldyn could only nod.

“I took you for an illusionist as well,” Dercy said. “Not that I was as outraged as Brother Garus at the notion. On the contrary, I left St. Adaris not a month after. Much to the disappointment of my parents, I’m sure. Not that I’ve spoken to them since they gave me over to the deacon at St. Adaris. I suppose they thought it would keep me out of trouble. Shows how little they knew about priests.”

These words struck Eldyn like a blow. To think that Dercy had tossed away what Eldyn had always dreamed of. “You left the Church?”

“Yes! And you are partly to blame, Mr. Garritt. After seeing you that night, I knew I could not stay there, that there were better things waiting for me beyond those iron fences. Brother Garus said you were wicked, a devil, but I knew he was wrong. Scripture says that evil can come under the guise of beauty, and perhaps that’s so, but beauty that is true—there can never be ill in that. Though I glimpsed you for only a moment that night, I knew fat old Garus was wrong about you. For, I thought, how could one be wicked when he looked so much like an angel?”

He suddenly fell silent and glanced away. Eldyn was grateful, for he could not suppress a grimace. He was no illusionist, but he thought of the things he had done, and he wondered if Brother Garus wasn’t right, if he wasn’t a wicked thing. He had always told himself it was his father who had kept him from entering the Church, but what if that wasn’t the reason at all? What if he was simply afraid God wouldn’t have him?

Dercy turned back, and his expression became one of worry. He reached a hand toward Eldyn—

—then pulled back, his eyes growing large. “Behind you,” he said.

Eldyn looked over his shoulder, and his heart lurched up into his throat. A tall figure in a rich coat of russet velvet walked up the street. Eldyn turned back to tell Dercy to run.

The street in front of him was empty. He looked in either direction, but there was no sign of the other young man anywhere. Dercy was gone. He had woven his illusions and had abandoned Eldyn. Nor was there any time for Eldyn to work his own trick with shadows. He started to dash up the street, but his boot caught on a stone and he went sprawling to the cobbles, knocking his chin so hard he saw stars.

A strong hand gripped his arm, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him into the dimness of an alleyway.

“Hello, Mr. Garritt,” Westen said.

Eldyn let out a strangled sound and tried to flee, but the other’s grip was too strong. The highwayman pressed him against the wall.

“I am displeased with you, Mr. Garritt. I am sure I made myself very clear when last we spoke, and though it was many months ago, I am certain you can recall what we discussed.”

Eldyn shook his head. “But I thought that—”

“You thought I had forgotten, that I had other matters to concern me, and that I was far away.” He smiled. “Well, as you can see, I am very much here. And I have not forgotten our agreement.”

Words burst out of Eldyn in a babble. “I can get you the money…. I can give you some of it today…if you would just let me…I can earn the rest.” He was ashamed of the fear in his voice, ashamed of the way he trembled. “I’ll pay you back, I swear it.”

“Do you honestly think it’s the regals I care about?” Westen said in a good-natured tone. “Trust me, I have far more gold than that little sum I gave you. Or haven’t you been reading the broadsheets of late?” He brushed his coat aside, revealing a fat purse at his belt. He let the coat fall back, and his tone became more serious. “No, it is not gold you have robbed me of, Mr. Garritt. Rather, it is my reputation. You see, men know that I always honor my promises. That is why they trust me. But that trust must go both ways, and so the men I do business with must see that if one does not honor his promises to me, there are consequences for that breach of trust.”

He put a hand beneath Eldyn’s chin, lifting Eldyn’s gaze to meet his own.

“Do you understand me?”

Eldyn nodded, then winced, for his chin still smarted.

“Are you well, Mr. Garritt? You took quite a tumble there.” The highwayman ran a thumb along his jaw, stroking it. Somehow that gentle touch was worse than any blow.

“Please,” Eldyn said, his words hoarse. “Do with me what you will, but leave my sister out of this. It is not her fault.”

Westen arched an eyebrow. “Do with you what I will, you say? Indeed, I could think of a thing or two to do with you, Mr. Garritt. I always thought your sister pretty, but you are prettier still.” His hand moved down to Eldyn’s throat, fingers encircling it, squeezing ever so slightly. “Tell me, Mr. Garritt, is this how I should punish you?”

The highwayman leaned forward and pressed his lips to Eldyn’s in a kiss. Eldyn let out a moan, and new shame flooded him.

Westen drew back, a grin on his face. “Pervert. You should be back down at Durrow Street. I know you’ve been going there. But don’t fear—others might frown upon the Siltheri, but I know they have a part to play in what’s to come. How can the king’s men engage an army that isn’t there or predict the motions of a foe they cannot see?”

Eldyn scrubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? Then understand this. You are mine, Eldyn Garritt. You belong to me. I bought you for a hundred regals. You will carry what messages I say, to whom I say, and when I say. That is the nature of our relationship. Out of generosity—indeed, out of benevolent affection—I am giving you one last chance to behave. But if you choose not to…”

His smile did not waver, but it became a feral expression, a display of teeth and hunger.

“If you choose to fail me again, I will have no choice but to approach your sister at some moment you are not with her—and you cannot always be with her. Nor can you hide her from me. I know where she is at this very minute, at the inn on the edge of Lowpark. I will lure her to me with flattering words. I will take her to some secret place under the guise of showing her some delightful thing.” He bent his head, lips brushing against Eldyn’s ear. “And there I will ravage her in the most brutal fashion, over and over again, until she is utterly ruined, in spirit and in body, fit only to be a Waterside whore—until the time comes, no doubt sooner rather than later, when she drinks herself into her grave.”

Where it came from, Eldyn didn’t know. Perhaps he had inherited some small part of Vandimeer Garritt after all. Fear burned away as a hot rage flared up within him. He clenched his hand into a fist, then with all his might threw a punch at Westen’s face.

The highwayman stepped aside and brought his hand up, deflecting the blow. As Eldyn’s arm came down, Westen grasped it and twisted it about the wrist, so that Eldyn let out a gasp. His anger burned to a cinder and was extinguished. No, he was not his father.

“You cannot fight me, Mr. Garritt.” Westen’s smile returned. “But I think you see that now. You will resume your work at once. I have no doubt you recall what to do. Simply read the advertisements in
The Fox
as you did before. Do you understand?”

Eldyn stared. His eyes stung, and his jaw throbbed. He wanted to lie down in the street and let the people, the horses, pass over him, until he was ground into the stones and was gone.

Westen twisted his wrist another degree. “Answer me, Mr. Garritt. Do we have an agreement?”

No, there was no need to lie in the street; he was already worn down. Eldyn opened his mouth to speak the word he must.

“There he is!” shouted a voice. “In that alley there—the tall one, just like I told you.”

Eldyn jerked his head up at the sound of boots against stone. Westen turned around. A pair of the king’s redcrests ran into view from up the street. They must have come from their post by the Lowgate. In a moment they were upon Westen, gripping his arms from either side.

“Caught in the very act, it would seem,” one of the men said. “Don’t you robbers usually wait until nightfall, or have you become so brazen you’ll accost a gentleman in broad daylight?”

Eldyn felt a cacophony of emotions: relief, pain, and a kind of aching gratitude at the soldier’s words.
A gentleman,
the man had called him. Even as Eldyn thought this, he noticed that Westen’s coat, so rich a moment ago, now appeared shabby and patched. Eldyn’s own coat, decent but plain, was now richly embroidered with gold. Beyond the soldiers, another figure came into view. It was Dercy, grinning.

“You are mistaken,” Westen said smoothly, letting go of Eldyn’s hand. Eldyn could only be impressed at his calm. “My friend and I were merely having a friendly disagreement. I am no thief—as I am sure you will agree if you give me a chance to explain.”

Or, rather, if they give him a chance to bribe them,
Eldyn thought. He doubted it would be the first time the highwayman had bought himself freedom with gold.

Eldyn looked up at the soldiers. His gold…

“Is this true, sir?” the redcrest asked him. “Do you know this man?”

Eldyn licked his lips. “Yes, it is true,” he said, and Westen grinned.

“It is true,” Eldyn went on, his voice rising, “that this man is not just a common thief but, I believe, the very worst sort of criminal—a traitor to the Crown.”

In a quick motion he reached forward, his hand darting inside Westen’s coat, and snatched away the purse. Westen grabbed for it but only succeeded in knocking it from Eldyn’s grasp. The purse fell to the cobbles and burst open in a glittering spray.

For a moment all of them stared at the gold coins that tumbled to the street, then one of the soldiers bent to pick up a coin. He held it in front of him, turning it around so that it caught the sunlight. Seven stars glittered on one side and a sickle shape on the other.

“By God, no common thief indeed,” the soldier said. “I suppose there are nine hundred ninety-nine more Murghese crescents just like this one.” He tightened his grip on Westen’s arm. “You should have run to Torland like the broadsheets said.”

The other soldier had already whistled and motioned with his hand. Several more redcrests came into view. They grasped Westen and pulled him into the street. The highwayman did not resist. One of the soldiers asked Eldyn if he was well, if he knew this man. Eldyn said he was fine and that he had never seen his assailant before. It was only things the thief had said that had made him think he was a traitor. The soldiers told him he could go and that he had done a service for king and country. That this rebel would hang in Barrowgate was a certainty, they said.

Eldyn moved away, but after a few steps he turned and glanced back over his shoulders. Westen was looking at him. The highwayman grinned and shook his head. Despite the warm sunlight, a shiver coursed through Eldyn. Then the soldiers turned Westen around, not gently, and hauled him toward the Lowgate.

“Are you all right?” Dercy said beside him. “I came as fast as I could. It took a moment to make the soldiers believe me. I had to—” He made a weaving motion with his fingers. “Well, you know. I had no idea about the gold though. Brilliant stroke of luck that was.”

The soldiers passed through the Lowgate and were gone. Eldyn let out a breath. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go get a drink.”

“God be praised!” Dercy said, draping an arm around Eldyn’s shoulder as the two went in search of the nearest tavern.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

B
RIGHTDAY CAME, AND again the Madderly–Stoneworth Hostel for the Deranged was open to visitors. However, as before, Ivy was allowed only to observe Mr. Lockwell through the small window in the door of his cell.

She watched her father pace in circles, sometimes pausing to make twisting motions with his hands. His hair and beard were matted, his face slack and grayish. Ivy wanted to call to him through the door, to tell him that she had written to Lord Rafferdy, that soon they would take him out of there, that they would take him home. However, before she could speak, the day warden shut the window.

The subject’s behavior was very atypical, the warden said as he led her back to the front gate. They did not yet understand the nature of his malady. Until they did, they could not risk any sort of contamination. He must remain isolated. She could come back next week if she wished. They would in no way be surprised if she did not.

“I will come,” she said.

The warden nodded absently and shut the gate behind her.

When she arrived back at Whitward Street, she told Rose and Lily to get ready for church. Lily dragged about. What could God care, she complained, if they sat in a musty old building and listened to some man droning on?

“We do not go because God cares,” Ivy said, putting on her bonnet, “but because we care, and because our mother cared. Now get your shawl. It’s chilly out.”

The church was no more than half full, and Ivy was forced to concede the quality of the sermon was likely to do little to change Lily’s opinions. The priest mumbled through it, and his surplice, while thankfully clean, was in need of mending. Pigeons flapped among the rafters, unnerving those in the pews—especially the ones who had worn their best hats.

However, when the time came to kneel in prayer, she forgot the birds and the dull sermon, and the dust on the windows only made the light that fell through them all the more golden. Bathed in that light, she shut her eyes and bowed her head in prayer.

She meant to pray for her mother, and for her father, and for Mr. Quent’s safe return. Instead, it was the words of the first prayer she had learned as a girl that came as a murmur to her lips.
Though I stand in darkness, I will fear no shadow. Though I am lost, I will know the way. Though I dwell in sorrow, I will weep no tears. For I am not alone.

It seemed impossible—nothing in her life had changed, and the old church was as dilapidated as ever—but all the same her heart felt lighter as she walked with her sisters down the steps of the church. When they reached the bottom and saw a tall young gentleman in a gray coat step from a glossy four-in-hand, her spirits rose higher yet.

“Mr. Rafferdy!” Lily shouted before Ivy could say anything. She dashed forward to greet him, Rose barely a step behind her.

Lily held out her hand, demanding that it be kissed. Mr. Rafferdy graciously obliged and would have given Rose the same greeting, but she became shy and bowed her head as he tipped his hat to her.

“I’m very cross with you!” Lily pronounced as Ivy joined them. “We haven’t seen you in months, and then Ivy gets to go to a party with you the moment she arrives back in the city.”

“I told you it wasn’t a party,” Ivy said. “We met quite by chance and had tea, that’s all.”

“You should at least have called on us,” Lily went on. “Fifteen minutes would have done. Your manners are dreadful, Mr. Rafferdy.”

“Lily!”

Ivy was prepared to say more, but Rafferdy affected a serious look and bowed toward Lily. “You’re quite right to chastise me. I am, as our liege above certainly knows, an awful man.”

“No, you aren’t!” Rose exclaimed, looking up. “You’re anything but awful. The priest said God is in the light, and there’s light all around you. I can see it even when my eyes are shut. It’s blue and silver, not green and gold like Ivy, but every bit as bright. Maybe brighter.”

Rafferdy cocked his head and gazed at her. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Miss Rose.”

“She doesn’t mean anything,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “Rose says all sorts of silly things. Don’t pay it any attention.”

“It’s not silly,” Rose said, and it seemed she wanted to say more, but she grew flustered.

Ivy took her hand. “Come, dearest. We had best walk home before it rains.”

“Or better yet,” Mr. Rafferdy said, “let me drive you home.”

This suggestion was met with great enthusiasm from Lily, and Rose brightened at the idea. Ivy could find no reason to decline the offer, and the four of them drove back Downhill in the carriage.

“Everyone looks so small from in here,” Lily said, leaning out the window. “It’s marvelous. But it’s dreadful that Mr. Garritt is not here. Where is he, Mr. Rafferdy? Have you seen him? You must tell him he’s been just as awful as you have for avoiding us.”

Mr. Rafferdy confessed it had been some time since he had seen Mr. Garritt, as both had been busy with their respective business, but he assured her he would pass along the message when next they met. As he spoke, he gave Ivy a wink; she turned away to conceal her smile from her sister.

When they reached Whitward Street, Ivy hoped that her sisters would go in and leave her to speak to Mr. Rafferdy alone. However, Lily insisted that he come in for tea, and he readily consented, though once inside, Ivy realized that they had nowhere to receive him.

“It is not your day or time to go in there,” the housekeeper said, appearing from the dining room as Lily bounded up the steps and into the parlor. “I will tell the master when he returns!”

“If Mr. Wyble is not here, then he cannot possibly mind if we use the parlor,” Mr. Rafferdy said, coming up the stairs. “Now, can he?”

“It’s not their day to use it,” the woman said, though she seemed loath to look him in the eyes.

“Dear madam,” he said, “it is not my intention to disregard the rules set by the esteemed master of the house, but I am certain an exception can be made. You see, I consider Mr. Wyble to be a very good friend. When he returns, be sure to tell him I said so. I have no doubt he will be in no way displeased.”

Ivy was certain that would be the case. It was all Mr. Wyble craved: to be considered the friend of those he thought better than himself.

While the housekeeper did not appear pleased herself, she made no further objections and even consented to bring them a pot of tea, which was nearly hot. They enjoyed an hour in the parlor, talking, laughing, and listening to Lily play her favorite—that is, her most morbid—pieces on the pianoforte. Then, just when Ivy was wondering how to ask her sisters to leave for a while, Rafferdy stood and said that he had something he needed to discuss with Ivy in private. So gentlemanly was he in making the request, again kissing Lily’s hand, that even she could make no complaint and departed willingly with Rose, after extracting one last promise from him that he would pass along her greetings to Mr. Garritt.

“Thank you, Mr. Rafferdy,” Ivy said when they were alone. “You are very indulgent of my sisters, particularly my youngest. More, perhaps, than is entirely prudent, but I do appreciate it.”

“Young ladies should be indulged,” he replied. “How else are they to become the silly, pretty things society requires them to be? If they are denied too many indulgences, they are bound to turn to books instead and end up like yourself, Mrs. Quent—strong-minded and full of opinions. Besides, any time I can break one of Mr. Wyble’s rules, I cannot pass up the opportunity.”

She laughed. “Be careful, Mr. Rafferdy. He
is
a lawyer. It might be unwise to violate too many of his regulations.”

“You may be right. I suppose he’d lock me away with glee if I trespass too freely on his domain.”

It had been a joke; he could not have known. All the same, Ivy’s own mirth ceased, and she turned away.

“What’s the matter, Mrs. Quent? You suddenly went pale.”

She had not intended to tell him. While she had asked for his help, he did not need to know what had befallen Mr. Lockwell. All the same, before she could stop herself, she told him how Mr. Wyble had consigned her father to Madstone’s. As she spoke, his face was possessed by that new seriousness she had first observed at the Silver Branch; again she could only wonder what had happened to him in the months she was away from the city.

When she finished, he offered at once to speak to his father, to see what must be done to extract her father from such intolerable conditions. This moved her, and she thanked him. However, she was forced to confess that she had been presumptuous enough to write to Lord Rafferdy the very lumenal after their encounter at the Silver Branch.

“And has he replied?”

Ivy nodded. “I received a note from him almost at once. He said he would make inquiries to determine the best course of action and that he would contact me again as soon as he had news.”

“You can be assured he will. If my father says he will do a thing, then he will, without fail. I am glad you did not wait to write to him.” He shook his head. “All the same, it must be terrible to bear. Here I invited you to tea and made you endure the inane chatter of my associates, while all the time you were enduring this hardship! Forgive me, Mrs. Quent.”

“No, I was glad to spend time at Lady Marsdel’s,” she said. “I left with a lighter heart, and that has helped me to do what I must. Besides, we will have my father with us again very soon.”

“And you think this can help him somehow?” He drew the small wooden box from his coat pocket.

“I do,” she said.

“But how?”

She didn’t know how to explain her encounters with the man in the black mask. If she told him, he might decide to commit
her
to Madstone’s. Instead, she said, “I’m not entirely sure. I think I’ll know more when it is opened. If it can be opened. Have you…?”

A scowl crossed his face, and now he looked more like the old Mr. Rafferdy she remembered. “No, I haven’t been able to open it. I don’t know why everyone is so keen for me to attempt magick. It’s clear I have no aptitude for it. I’ve been to Mr. Bennick’s house three times. I’ve endured his company, I’ve listened to every musty word he’s uttered, and I’ve repeated them over and over, but it’s no use. The thing is as locked as ever.” He slumped into a chair. “There! Now you know I am utterly worthless.”

Ivy could not help a small smile. “You are far from worthless, Mr. Rafferdy. But I think perhaps I am right when I say you are accustomed to getting what you want with little effort.”

“Avoiding effort is precisely what I have always wanted.”

“Yet some things can be gained only through diligence and by applying one’s self.”

“Have you been talking to my father? You sound very like him.”

Her smile faded, and a heaviness came over her. “Please, Mr. Rafferdy. Won’t you try again to open it?”

Now the look on his face was one of chagrin, and he sat up straight. “Of course I will.”

He held the box in his hands, gazing at it. Then he spoke an incantation in the tongue of magick. He uttered the words easily and smoothly—far more fluently than Ivy had been able to do that time she attempted a spell. However, it was to no avail; the box remained fast shut.

“There, I told you,” he said, holding the box toward her. “It’s no use.”

“Are you certain that is a spell of opening?”

“Yes, I’m certain. It’s the same spell he had me say that night when I opened Mrs. Baydon’s locket.”

“If I understand correctly, it was you who bound it shut. Is a different spell needed for something you did not enchant yourself?”

“I asked Mr. Bennick that. I did not mention the box, of course, only that I wondered what else the spell might be used on. He said it would open any small object locked by magick, as long as the spell was equal in force to that which first bound it. However, it’s clear I’m no match for the enchantment that was placed on this thing.”

“No, you’re wrong!” Ivy said, standing. “Mr. Bennick didn’t say you had to have equal ability or talent. Rather, he said that the spell had to be of equal
force.
You spoke the enchantment well, Mr. Rafferdy, but you did not believe it would work. I could tell from your face and the sound of your voice. Magick words and runes don’t have power in and of themselves. They are symbols, that’s all—tools meant to direct the mind and magickal energies properly. It is the will of the magician that truly matters.” She felt herself blush. “At least, that is what I’ve read in books.”

He looked up at her, and she feared she had gone too far, that she had insulted him, and he would leave. Instead, he laughed.

“I think it would have been better if it were you who was descended from the House of Gauldren, Mrs. Quent, and not I.”

“It would not matter if I was, Mr. Rafferdy. I am a woman and can never work magick.” She spoke the words with regret but with humor as well. “So, as women must always do, I must rely upon another to do what is forbidden to me.”

“Indeed, how like a woman!” he exclaimed. “You demur on the account of being powerless, yet I have the feeling I am not the only one who has grown accustomed to easily getting what is desired. With such a lack of power as you so prettily and eloquently display, Mrs. Quent, you are assured of achieving your every end without fail. A truth to which I’m sure your own Mr. Quent can attest. Very well, then, direct me as you will. Any power
I
may possess is at your disposal. I have no doubt
you
would use it far more wisely than I.”