The Twelfth Enchantment: A Novel (20 page)

“We are not here to frighten you,” he said in a voice deep and rumbling. “We know of you, and now you know of us. You understand what we stand for, do you not?”

“To whom do I speak?” cried out Lucy in a voice she hoped made her sound bold.

“You speak to our king and our general,” answered the first machine breaker. “He who shall tear down the rotten planks of this country and build it up afresh. You speak to Ned Ludd.”

Whatever this being was, Lucy understood he was not a man. He was something different, something terrifying. “Sir, I know of your cause, and I sympathize with your suffering, but I cannot join a revolution against my king.”

The strange shadowy man stepped forward, but then stopped and seemed to shake his head like a dog who has received a blow. His eyes were wide and bright, not glowing, but something near it. In a flash too quick for Lucy’s eyes to follow, he lashed out and grabbed her wrist, and with his other hand, pried open her fingers. It was the second time this had happened that evening, and the second time Mr. Morrison’s flower revealed itself.

Lucy had forgotten about it, but it was clearly no trivial thing. Ludd took it from her, pinching one petal with his thumb and index finger as
though it were too dangerous to grip as she had gripped it. He whispered something at the flower, and then dropped it into his other palm. He closed his fist and opened it again an instant later, revealing a handful of dust. It reminded Lucy of one of Mr. Morrison’s little tricks, but this was no trick. It was magic, ancient and unfathomable.

“This is Rosicrucian work,” said Ludd.

“Then she sides with the enemy,” said one of his men.

“She cannot choose a side,” said Ludd, “when she does not yet know. We don’t ask for you to join us, Miss Derrick. We only want that you will not stand against us, and that you do your part. Can we ask that of you?”

“I do not know,” she said, “but I will do what I think is right.”

“See that you do,” said one of the others.

“Remember that pledge when you gather the leaves,” said another Luddite.

There it was again. “What does that mean?” asked Lucy. “Why do you tell me that, and tell me nothing of what it means?”

“You will know,” answered Ludd. “When you are ready, you will go to Newstead. But do not enter the abbey until you are prepared to fight for what you love.”

He and his followers now walked on, stepping into the darkness without further word, leaving her alone upon the street to wonder and doubt and marvel in her confusion.

W
ORD OF THE INCIDENT AT THE GILLEY HOUSE SPREAD WITH ASTONISHING
rapidity, but Lucy was preoccupied with the knowledge that she had actually met the supposedly mythical General Ludd, and that he had a particular interest in her life. To her, this revelation was far more important than an embarrassment with a man she did not wish to marry. Nevertheless, she was soon enough made to confront issues that preoccupied others. At the breakfast table, her uncle could not bother to swallow his dried prune before confronting her directly.

“What do I hear of a row between you and Olson and some rogue?” he demanded.

It appeared that Mrs. Quince had revealed what her uncle was likely to hear on his own, but no more than that. If she’d told Uncle Lowell about Jonas Morrison, he would certainly be ranting about it already. Lucy could not understand why she would keep her knowledge of Mr. Morrison a secret.

Before Lucy could answer her uncle, Mrs. Quince entered the room and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms. “Once again, Miss Derrick humiliated Mr. Olson by dancing with another man. The same man as at the assembly, if I am not mistaken.”

Again, she did not speak the name. Mrs. Quince now showed all the glee and triumph she did not display last night, as if to fool Lucy into forgetting her unguarded response. But Lucy could not forget the sight of Mrs. Quince, staggering backwards, staring, as though she gazed upon a ghost, oblivious to the punch trickling down her frock.

“I did not humiliate Mr. Olson,” said Lucy, playing along for now, if only for her uncle’s benefit. “I did not know he would be there. He arrived after that man asked me to dance, and I had no good reason to deny him.”

“All very good for you, but how do you explain the row?” asked her uncle.

“It was none of my doing,” said Lucy. “Mr. Olson was very rude to the stranger.”

“At least there is no harm done. Despite your rudeness to him, Mr. Olson has in no way indicated that he wishes to end his engagement to you,” said Uncle Lowell as he slurped at his chocolate. “He wrote to me this morning and made his intentions plain. You are to continue to regard him as your intended husband.”

That Mr. Olson was now ruined obviously mattered little to her uncle. Lucy did not raise this point because it was not an argument she could win. More than anything she wished to speak to Mary about her encounter with Ludd. The rules were clear, however, and she was not to visit Mary without an invitation. She spent the morning with her books, though she could but little concentrate on Paracelsus, and much to her surprise, her wishes were soon enough satisfied. Ungston knocked upon her door to tell her that Miss Crawford had sent her equipage and requested the pleasure of Lucy’s company.

When she arrived at the little town house, Mrs. Emmett ushered Lucy inside as though she were late for an appointment. She found Mary waiting for her, dressed in a frock of green and white, and looking particularly
pale. Even her hair appeared whiter than Lucy recollected. Despite her pallor, she seemed quite pleased to see Lucy.

Mary took her hand in her own. “I am sorry I have not been able to see you more and hear of your progress. You must tell me everything at once. What have you been learning? What has captured your imagination?”

Lucy had wanted to tell Mary of her encounter with Ludd, of the revelations about Jonas Morrison and the Rosicrucians, but Mary wanted to hear of nothing but studies, and Lucy was content that there would be plenty of time to speak of those other matters later. So Lucy began to speak of what she had been reading, and before she knew it, her studies were all she could think of. She went on for the better part of half an hour about what she had read, what had intrigued her, and what she could not understand.

“I knew you would do nothing but amaze me,” Mary said when Lucy had finished her breathless recitation. “You learn and understand like no one I have ever heard of.”

“That cannot be so,” said Lucy. “Everything is so hard to understand.”

Mary shook her head. “Come, tell me how the effigy we found upon Lord Byron could affect him. What principle was at work? Was it magic truly?”

“I hope I express this right, but the things I have done, I have seen—they are real. I don’t doubt that. But they are not
magic
, in the sense that people mean when they use the word, are they?
Magic
implies some sort of exception from the rules that govern the world, something outside nature, but if these things were magic in that sense, these spells could not be written down. There could be no knowing if a spell would work from one time to the next. But these things you teach me to do—they are governed by laws. A spell cast in the same way, under the same conditions, with the same level of concentration—it will work the same every time. If that is so, is not magic simply another kind of natural philosophy, though a more obscure one?”

“Yes,” said Mary. Simple and direct. “You have grasped the most
powerful secret of all, and one that eludes so many who seek to master these skills. Now tell me, what rules governed the curse upon Byron?”

“I believe it is the natural sympathetic link between all things. If I understand Agrippa, then everything in the universe is a miniature representation of the whole, and that by affecting certain things mimetically, you can cause those effects to reflect back upon what you desire. There is a phrase I have seen frequently in many of the books:
As above, so below.
”

“You speak of Agrippa’s law of resonance,” said Mary. “It states that all things which are similar are also connected, and so they are drawn to each other’s power. You affect the universe by affecting the miniatures of the universe to be found within everything.”

Lucy smiled. “Agrippa writes that you can intensify the natural attraction between things by augmenting charms with items that come from, or belong to, the target and by using items in nature that best conduct what sort of energy you wish to apply. Different objects in the world contain different kinds of energy, and so the charm I used upon Mr. Olson called for a lemon, for its natural bitterness. The charm I used upon my uncle to persuade him not to cast me out of his house required sugar, for its ability to conduct sweetness—in taste and disposition. It is why so many spells call for parts of frogs or toads or newts. These are creatures that change form over the course of their lives, and so they possess a natural transformative quality.”

“You explain it all with perfect clarity.”

“I wish it could be explained to me in perfect clarity.”

Mary laughed. “Those who write of such things wrap their knowledge in obscurity to keep the uninitiated from understanding and attempting.”

“It is so much to understand, and to accept. And there is so much we have not even discussed. Many of the writers have lengthy sections upon the summoning of spirits and demons. Am I to learn to do such things?”

“No,” said Mary. “While you are my student, you will not try anything of the sort, and if you are wise you never will. Commanding such creatures is not safe, and you have challenges enough before you.”

Mary rose and retreated to her library, from which she returned with a slender folio. It was bound in faded calf’s leather, slightly scuffed, and held closed with a tattered red ribbon. Mary’s dexterous fingers untied the ribbon as she spoke. “I meant to wait many weeks, perhaps many months, before showing this to you, but danger is coming quickly, and we must act to stop it. You know of the machine breakers? You have heard of their General Ludd?”

“Of course.” Lucy’s pulse raced. They were moving toward something of moment. “I believe … I believe I saw Ludd last night. He spoke to me. And it was not the first time. I saw him outside Mr. Olson’s mill, though I did not know it was he at the time. And I have seen other things, creatures of shadow, even in my uncle’s house. I am so confused and frightened, Mary.”

Mary paced the room, playing her fingers along the slender volume’s ribbon. “I am not surprised he has come to you. I told you there is something coming. A great change for good or ill, but a change that cannot be prevented, only shaped. The machine breakers are a part of this.”

“Of the ill?”

“Of the good,” said Mary. “Do you understand what these machines represent? Already we hear tales from all over the country of how coal smoke blackens the skies and soils the waters. There are those like your Mr. Olson who would take men and women who once labored of their own hands to produce their own goods in their own homes and remove them to mills where they labor for endless hours for little money in the most monotonous and tedious and unimaginative of work. They blacken nature and turn men into machines.”

“But there are only a few such places.”

“There will be more, more than we can imagine. Anything that can be made will be made by machine. Already some of these machines are powered by steam and coal, and someday they will all be. When that happens, there will be no more artisans and craftsmen, only mill workers ground down by their machine labor until they are sick or dead, and replaced by others equally nameless and faceless—one man or woman or child no better or worse than another. It is an end to our English way
of life, an end to nature as we know it, and if nature is blighted, then so is magic as we know it.”

“Things in the world can shape the world,” Lucy said, thinking aloud. “Agrippa’s law of resonance. You mean that changing the landscape changes the nature of the world itself?”

“That is exactly what I mean. You have seen what transpires in Mr. Olson’s mill. Imagine that multiplied by a thousand, or a thousand thousand. Imagine forests destroyed for fuel to feed the mills, rivers blackened with their wastes. Generation after generation of children who know nothing of childhood, but only long hours of labor. Imagine men who are virtual slaves to mill owners, who dictate conditions and wages. I have seen these things, Lucy. The world is not merely going to change, it is going to be remade.”

“But why must I stand against it?” asked Lucy.

“I don’t know,” Mary said. “I cannot say why Ludd seeks you out, or why you can see the creatures of shadow that are invisible to nearly everyone else.”

“Can you see them?” asked Lucy.

“If I look for them,” Mary answered sadly. “They are part of the world, just as we are.”

“And Ludd? Is he part of the world too?”

“He is something else, I think. But he is drawn to you, just as the shadow creatures are. You have become some sort of magnet, Lucy, drawing things in. I do not know why, but I do know that you cannot ignore your centrality.”

Lucy said nothing for a long time. The idea that she had some power, some responsibility, to stand against mysterious forces and great changes seemed absurd, and yet her friend believed this.

“What must I do?” she asked.

“You will start by opening this book.” Mary held it out. The untied red ribbons dangled free.

Lucy took the book and knew at once she did something momentous and important. With a trembling hand, she leafed through the pages, few that they were, and saw the book contained a series of engraved
prints, images of men, angels, animals, and all sorts of odd beings. Expressions were curious, often pained or amused or oddly lascivious, and often without cause. Men flew through the air on wings. Animals rode horses or baked bread in ovens. Activity of some sort abounded, though it was hard to tell precisely what these figures were attempting to achieve. They poured liquids in bowls, weighed substances, mixed and measured, and while all of the illustrations had clearly been done with the same hand, some seemed to Lucy silly and trivial, and some struck her as serious, even important. They demanded her attention.