The Midnight Queen (22 page)

“Did you see it, then, sir?” Sophie asked him.

“I did not,” he said, with a shudder, “and glad I am, for to know it is dreadful enough. But all the College will have heard by now. The tale they tell—but it is so absurd, you know, that I know not how anyone can entertain it . . .”

The tale Master Alcuin related would have done credit to any market storyteller or tavern-minstrel.

*   *   *

“Professor Callender and his friend,” he began, “a Fellow of King's College—he will be your mysterious
M
, I feel certain—paying a call on Lord Halifax at his express invitation, on arriving found his gatekeeper vanished; his servant was spelled asleep, and sounds of a dreadful struggle came from his private study. There my esteemed colleagues of course went, to investigate the disturbance; they found the Master dead—smothered—and his two assailants in the act of destroying his priceless library. On attempting to put an end to this outrage, they were themselves viciously assaulted, and the Professor left for dead when their attackers fled the premises.”

“But—” Sophie protested.

“One of the villains”—Master Alcuin nodded at Gray—“was identified by the Professor, being well known to him, and proved to have been seen earlier in the day entering the Master's Lodge in the company of an accomplice”—here laying a hand over his heart—“and later had been challenged by and subsequently escaped several Merlin Proctors—who, as you know, are considered incorruptible.

“Here the waters grow murky; for there is much confusion and dispute as to the identity of the other assailant. Some have mentioned a young man; at least one described a girl dressed in her brother's clothes, and others are equally adamant that there was no second fugitive. There is much wild talk of vanishing-spells and other complex magicks, but no one,” he concluded, in a tone of satisfaction, “appears to have the least idea how any of it was managed.

“And still I am not come to the oddest aspect of this dreadful affair,” said Master Alcuin, “or to the reason of my presence here. Though the Master's study was left in ruins, the contents of his desk survived unscathed, and among them was found a most unexpected document—”

“A letter foretelling his death, and naming his murderer?” Joanna broke in. “Or the evidence of some secret society for the practice of forbidden magicks?”

Sophie hushed her irritably, but Master Alcuin looked thoughtful. “Not exactly,” he said, “although . . . No, the document in question purports to be a letter from the Master to the Senior Fellows of Merlin, to be opened in the event of his death, and is dated some two years since. Its contents, as I understand, are various, but among the miscellaneous directions and explanations is given Lord Halifax's choice in the matter of his succession—”

“But College Masters are appointed by the Crown!” Gray protested.

“Even so,” the older man said. “But the King, of course, has but little interest in the affairs of any one College; in fact, therefore, the choice is made by the Senior Fellows, and confirmed by the Crown, unless there should emerge some serious objection to the candidate. The Senior Fellows, in turn, are often guided by the prior Master's opinion.”

With a rustling of petticoats, Mrs. Wallis shifted in her seat. “Can I be the only one who wishes to know the identity of this chosen successor?” she inquired. “Although I rather think . . .”

“You are quite right, madam,” Master Alcuin said, nodding again. “The man named is Appius Callender, Regius Professor of Magickal Theory.”

*   *   *

“It is a forgery, of course.” Gray's expression was unreadable, his hands clenched white-knuckled on his knees. “And the letter, or that part of it at any rate, certainly does not date from so long ago. It is your—it is the Professor's doing, and the work itself—Woodville, of course, Alfric Woodville. The man was a forger in his cradle.”

“Woodville,” Master Alcuin repeated thoughtfully. “One of Callender's protégés? Yes, yes, I see. I fancy I have seen one or two other such, following me about the town, as they supposed, in secret. In any event, though the appointment must of course be given royal assent, for the moment your erstwhile tutor, Marshall, is Master of Merlin, and you and I—as your accomplice, you know—equally in disgrace.” He looked up at Gray, who looked back at him; what could they be thinking? “I must admit,” he went on, “that when I once predicted our renewed collaboration, I had no notion of its taking place in such a context. But one must do one's best with whatever the gods provide!”

Then he looked round at the assembled company, so closely packed into Gray's tiny bedchamber that Sophie could almost hear each of the others breathe. “I presume,” he said, quite briskly, “that we go next to London?”

In Which Help Is Forthcoming from an Unexpected Quarter

“You mean that
we must warn the King, of course,” said Sophie. “But if Lord Halifax did not believe us, why should His Majesty do so?”

Joanna—who, Gray reminded himself, had witnessed none of the horrors of Lord Halifax's death—sat up eagerly and said, “Because, Sophie, you—”

Then she broke off suddenly, her grey eyes widening in alarm, as Mrs. Wallis and Sophie both turned to glare at her.

“Certainly we must warn the King,” said Mrs. Wallis, “but at present, as Mr. Marshall has evidently worn out our welcome in Oxford, our most urgent task is to be elsewhere, and London surely offers our best and nearest opportunity of escape.”

“My sister Calanthe has a house in Town,” Master Alcuin said thoughtfully, “or her husband has; in Half-moon-street, in Mayfair. I have not seen her in some time; perhaps she may welcome a visit, once she has heard our tale. Now,” he added, looking from Gray to Sophie and back again, “since it seems likely that we may meet further . . . resistance, it would be as well for the two of you to become better versed in battle magicks. I shall begin your tuition after luncheon.”

Gray frowned and tugged at one ear, certain that he had misheard. “I beg pardon, Magister, but did you say . . .”

His voice trailed off, and Sophie finished the sentence for him.

Master Alcuin nodded. “I have failed to tell you of my misspent youth, I see,” he said.

Now Gray remembered his tutor's sympathy, even commiseration, on the day of that last, brutal letter from his father. Gray's father had always intended his second son for a military career, and the less Gray seemed inclined in this direction, the more insistent Edmond Marshall had become. Gray's three years at Merlin had been a trial to his father's patience, the culmination of which was a letter informing Gray that a mage-officer's commission had been purchased for him, and he was to hold himself ready to take it up immediately after concluding his course of study. Gray had devoted some hours to the composition of a courteous and respectful, but negative, reply, concluding,
I am grateful for the generosity of your offer, sir, but I regret that I cannot accept it.

Edmond Marshall's reply was brief, bald, and coldly furious. Gray, upon receiving it, had read it through twice, then stood staring at it in a sort of trance; the words were plain enough, but he could not make himself accept their sense.

A drop of water had fallen on the paper and blotted the ink; the hateful words blurred. Gray had recognised, to his dismay, that he was weeping—a man of nearly nineteen, weeping like a child! Little wonder, perhaps, that his father should treat him so. But what was to become of him now?
I cannot submit. I know I ought, but I cannot do it.

An enclosure from Jenny reported that she and Celia had used all their powers of persuasion, and Mama also, but to no avail: If Gray did not accept their father's terms, henceforth he would not know him.

Master Alcuin, observing his distress at their meeting that afternoon, had declined to interfere, but so kindly that the refusal carried no sting. “I shall make certain that should you decide to remain here, it will be possible for you to do so,” he said. “Your father may stop your pocket-money, but your scholarship remains, and no one will think it strange for so dedicated a student to remain in college between terms. But more than this it is out of my power to do.”

“I thank you,” Gray had said, grateful for even such a guarded show of support. “I shall write to him myself this evening, and say that, much as I respect his wishes, I cannot bow to them.”

At this Master Alcuin had produced a brief, wry smile. “I commend your decision, Marshall, and wish you well of it. Myself perhaps excepted, you are the last man in the world to make a good officer of the King.”

Had he been speaking not from mere speculation, as Gray had then believed, but from certain knowledge? He could scarcely imagine it, but it was also true that he knew little of Master Alcuin's past. And such a past would also explain, perhaps, his tutor's unexpected facility with ciphers. “
You
were a mage-officer, Magister?” he hazarded.

“Even so,” the older man said. “A very poor one, I own, for I had no more stomach for fighting and killing at twenty than I have now, but the magicks themselves were easily enough learnt—and easily enough taught, I should imagine, to two such gifted students.” He patted Gray's shoulder in a fatherly manner and gave Sophie a kind little smile.

Gray's room being far too small for five persons to eat their luncheon in, they repaired to what, at the Swan, passed for a private dining-room. Gray had an idea that the maid who brought their meal glanced at him suspiciously, but he dismissed it as mere lingering anxiety on his part. They discussed in low voices how best to reach London, how much it might cost, and what they ought to do, once there.

It was Joanna who gave the first alarm; her luncheon eaten, wearying perhaps of the endless discussion of ways and means, she had turned her chair so as to kneel upon it and peer through the shutters into the forecourt of the inn, which afforded always some matter for observation. “Apollo, Pan, and Hecate!” she exclaimed, provoking a long-suffering sigh from her sister and a muffled snort of laughter from Master Alcuin. “Come and look at this!”

They crowded about the window—Gray, who was nearest, arriving first to peer out over Joanna's head. When he saw what had drawn her attention, a dozen even less savoury curses rose to his lips, which he firmly stifled.

“The Watch,” he said instead, grimly. “This bodes ill.”

The Watch it was indeed, and in force: four constables in their dark-blue cloaks, and a captain mounted on a large bay whose shoes struck sparks from the cobbles as he struggled to control it.

As Gray watched from above, the innkeeper emerged from the front door to converse with the Watch Captain, who had finally given up on his restive steed and descended to the cobbles. The officer spoke, gesticulated, spoke again; the innkeeper shrugged and shook his head. Then one of the Watchmen spoke to his superior, and the captain began again.

Whatever he said this time had a quite different effect. The landlord began nodding slowly; to Gray's horror, he looked up, beginning to scan the inn's many shuttered windows, and then, worse yet, beckoned the Watchmen inside.

“The Watch may be interested in this house for many other reasons,” Master Alcuin pointed out, as Gray turned from the window. “We ought not to assume the worst.”

Mrs. Wallis nodded agreement, and even Sophie began to look less anxious.

“But if that is so—” Joanna began.

Whatever she had meant to say, however, was forestalled by a knock at the door.

*   *   *

Sophie froze, and the others about her stiffened into stillness at the same moment. The knocking came again, louder, more insistent; they looked at one another in consternation.

“
Quo vadis?
” Master Alcuin said at last. His voice might be rather formidable, if one could not see him.

The third knock conveyed a serious loss of patience. “Open for the Watch!” cried someone without, rattling the doorknob.

Sophie wondered that they did not simply turn the handle and open the door themselves, till she recollected that, after the servant bringing their luncheon had departed, Master Alcuin had done something to the lock.

“Stand back!” another voice commanded, and after a moment something (or someone) large and heavy crashed against the door.

“Wait!” Master Alcuin cried. “A moment, by your leave, and the door will be opened.” He turned to Gray and whispered, “Hide yourself—shift, if you can, and get clear . . .” Then he advanced towards the door.

Sophie looked at Gray, who shook his head.

She felt less terrified than she might have expected, her mind on the question of whether she could conceal so many, and for how long. “Come here,” she whispered to Gray, beckoning; he obeyed, and holding his hand tightly, Sophie crossed the small room to where Master Alcuin stood tinkering with the lock. She took hold of his arm with her free hand and smiled at him encouragingly. Then she shut her eyes, and took a deep, slow breath, and wished very hard that none of them might be noticed.

Master Alcuin finished with the lock, and the three of them backed cautiously away from the door. Hinges creaked. Sophie opened her eyes as the red-faced, ginger-haired innkeeper and three large Watchmen shouldered their way into the room. Her pulse hammered in her ears; Gray's long fingers clasped her hand painfully tight, and both he and his teacher stared at their would-be captors as if hypnotised.

But the intruders glanced towards them and then away, exactly as one of their confederates had done two nights since in the South Road.

Sophie prayed to every god and goddess she could think of, one after another, that they would simply give up and be gone, but the Watch Captain was not so easily put off. Addressing himself to Mrs. Wallis—who sat, with Joanna, calmly eating grapes—he began, “Madam, miss, I must ask your assistance. At the risk of alarming you, ma'am, we seek two very dangerous criminals, and have reason to believe they may have been seen here. Do you know, or have you seen, a man by the name of Graham Marshall—a very tall man, six feet and a half, or nearly—sandy-haired, with a crooked nose? Or one Everard Alcuin, a University don—in a black gown, you know, with a long white beard? They would have come here yesterday, or mayhap the previous night.”

Both Mrs. Wallis and Joanna appeared to give these questions serious consideration. At last Joanna shook her head—for all the world as though she had liked nothing better than to assist the brave men of the Watch, but could not.

Mrs. Wallis said, “I fear we cannot help you, sir; my niece and I have seen no one of such a description. My nephew Edward, to be sure, is a very tall man, and sandy-haired, but he certainly is not called . . . what was it? Marshley? And I do not think he can be a dangerous criminal, as he has been here with us these several days . . .”

She is a glamourer, truly,
Sophie thought. The innkeeper's two sons had carried Gray up to his bed not two days ago, insensible and all over mud, and must certainly have related this interesting venture to their father in the morning, yet the man said nothing, did not so much as look surprised to be told that this same Edward Dunstan had been here all the time. Nor did the Captain of the Watch or either of his men seem at all suspicious, having heard a man speak to them from behind the closed door, to find only a woman and a girl within.

Still, if Mrs. Wallis's magick at all resembled her own, its effects could not last forever; though they might befuddle and trick their antagonists for a time, the only real solution to their predicament was, as it had ever been, to be away from here as soon as might be.

The Watch Captain surveyed the room once more and frowned thoughtfully in Sophie's general direction; she held her breath and concentrated even more furiously on remaining unnoticed.

He looked confused and shook his head. “I am sorry to have worried you, ma'am,” he told Mrs. Wallis, doffing his elaborately braided cap, and a moment later the four men were gone from the room, the door closed behind them.

No sooner had the sound of booted footsteps died away along the corridor than Joanna jumped up, almost overturning the table. “You have done it, Sophie!” she whispered jubilantly. “They were here, and so were all of you, and they looked
through
you, as though—”

“Mother Goddess!” Sophie breathed. She let go her hold on Master Alcuin's sleeve. “I think,” she managed to say, wishing that the room would cease its whirling motion, “I think that I should like to sit down.”

*   *   *

The miles of countryside sped by, and Gray fought his mind's tendency to wander.

“You tried, I collect, to adapt Thurimberg's weather-shield to the demands of combat,” said Master Alcuin, “and found it did not answer?”

“Indeed it did not,” said Gray ruefully. “Though I had more luck with a Slattery detonation. I think, however, it was wasted on mere pebbles; I reacted without thinking. Magister—” He leant forward and lowered his voice. “I confess I was quite terrified.”

“Courage,” Master Alcuin intoned, “consists not in lack of fear, but in mastering that fear so as to do what must be done.”

Gray had heard this aphorism before; now, as then, he did not find it particularly comforting.

He was, in truth, so weary, and the motion of the coach in which they sat—so well sprung, and six horses! he did not like to think what Mrs. Wallis must have paid for its hire as far as London—was so soporific, that he found himself continually dozing off. To his left, Sophie was sound asleep, which was hardly surprising after her earlier exertions; to his right he saw only Joanna's back, and the back of her bonneted head: Her face was pressed to the window in her eagerness to see all that they passed on the London road.

Finally Gray lost the battle, vaguely aware of his chin dropping to his chest just before he succumbed to sleep.

When he woke, it was to find his cheek resting on the top of Sophie's head, which was awkwardly pillowed against his shoulder; he had slumped down against the leather seat of the coach, polished smooth by many previous passengers, so that his shoulders were level with its back and his knees jammed against the opposite
banc
. Cautiously, so as not to waken Sophie, he straightened his stiffened, aching limbs and, blinking, looked about him at his fellow passengers.

Mrs. Wallis was apparently asleep in her corner, her face invisible behind her bonnet-brim; Master Alcuin gazed out the window opposite, one hand tugging gently at the end of his beard; Joanna seemed not to have stirred, still fascinated by the passing scene.