Wrede, Patricia C - Mairelon 01 (7 page)

           
When the
meal was over, Mairelon and Hunch began a low-voiced conversation on the other
side of the fire. Kim quickly grew frustrated with her inability to hear what
they were saying, and Hunch's occasional fierce glares made it quite clear that
she had better not move any closer. Kim glared back at him, which accomplished
nothing beyond providing her with some emotional satisfaction, then rose and
wandered back to the wagon. She glanced at the rusty lock holding the rear
doors, shook her head, and went on around to the steps.

           
Inside
the wagon, she gave the chest a speculative look. She decided against it;
Mairelon knew she could open it, and had undoubtedly taken precautions.
More
precautions, she amended, remembering the purple explosion that had thrown her
across the wagon. Instead, she went to the rear of the van. She hadn't been
able to investigate that area before, because Mairelon had been performing just
outside, and she was curious about how the folding stage worked.

           
The
curtain was heavier than its faded, threadbare appearance had led her to
expect. She examined it more closely and found a series of lead weights sewn
into the hem. Her surprise lasted only a moment. Mairelon wouldn't want a stray
breeze to reveal the luxurious interior of his wagon while he was performing.
Kim frowned, wondering why he hadn't put a folding panel behind the curtain for
added security. She'd have to remember to ask him later; she was certain he had
some good reason. She lifted one end of the curtain and peered behind it.

           
There was
a foot-wide space between the curtain and the back wall. Kim slipped into it
and let the curtain fall shut behind her. A little light filtered in around the
edges, providing a gloomy reddish illumination. As she waited for her eyes to
adjust, Kim ran her fingertips lightly across the rear wall. There was no break
in the surface; this must be the floor of the stage, then. She crouched to
study the base of the wall. Yes, there were hinges, carefully sunk into notches
in the wood. They hardly showed at all, and when the stage was lowered, they
would lie flush with the floor, providing no inconvenient lumps for a performer
to trip over.

           
She
completed her inspection and straightened, just as the sound of hoofbeats came
clearly from just outside. Old habits took over; Kim froze, half crouched
behind the curtain. She heard a shout and the muffled sounds of conversation,
but she paid little attention. She was too busy reminding herself that she was
doing nothing the nabbing culls could nick her for. She hadn't nicked anything
for nearly two years, not since she'd been on her own. She had just managed to
convince herself that it would be perfectly safe to go outside and see what was
happening when steps sounded on the stairs and she heard the wagon's door open.

           
"--and
you can take a look at it," Mairelon's voice said.

           
"Well,
that's good news," an unfamiliar voice replied. "What's this Hunch
says about you picking up another stray?"

           
Curiosity
kept Kim motionless. "I would hardly call Kim a stray," Mairelon
said. "And Heaven only knows what would have happened to her if I'd left
her in the streets of
London
."

           
"Um.
Still trying to make up for Jamie? No, no, I
shouldn't have mentioned it. But you're certain she has nothing to do with the
robbery?"

           
"Quite sure.
Now, Edward, do you want to look at the
bowl or not?"

           
"Yes,
of course; let's have it."

           
Sundry
clicks and thumps followed, the sounds of Mairelon unlocking the chest and
throwing back the lid. Then light flashed brightly around the edges of the
curtain, and the strange voice exclaimed, "My word!"

           
"Impressive,
isn't it?" Mairelon replied. "Will you take it with you?"

           
"Not
unless you want me to. The consensus is that it may help you find the rest of the
pieces, but it may also make things more dangerous for you."

           
"How?"
Mairelon asked sharply.

           
"Magic
cuts in both directions. If you can use the bowl to find the platter and the
spheres, they can be used to find the bowl. And you."

           
"Of course.
But I thought you had more in mind than
that."

           
"Marchmont
thinks someone at the Ministry has been talking too freely," Mairelon's
companion said reluctantly. "It may be deliberate."

           
"I
see. And there's still the little matter of finding out which one of our colleagues
at the Royal College planned the theft in the first place, isn't there?"

           
"You've
no proof that anyone--"

           
"Don't
be a fool, Shoreham! Someone arranged things very cleverly to make it look as
if I were the one behind that theft. Someone
very
well informed. It was
sheerest luck that I ran into you that night, or you'd be as sure I'm guilty as
the rest of them."

           
"All right, all right.
But I still wish you'd let me
clear your name."

           
"And
give whoever it is a reason to try again? No, thank you. Besides, as long as no
one knows who is really responsible, there will still be those who believe I
was behind it."

           
"I
should think the word of the Earl of Shoreham will be enough to put an end to
such gossip," Shoreham said stiffly.

           
Kim
swallowed an exclamation and pressed herself against the rear wall of the
wagon, wishing fervently that she had come out from behind the curtain as soon
as Mairelon opened the wagon door. Robbery and intrigue were things she
emphatically did not want to get mixed up in, particularly if there were Earls
involved, too. The gentry were even more trouble than toffs.

           
Mairelon's
laugh had little humor to it. "Nothing stops gossip, Edward; you ought to
know that."

           
"If
you would just--"

           
"Let
it
lie
, Edward. What else do you have to tell me? I
assume you didn't come all this way just to look at the Saltash Bowl and warn
me that someone in the Ministry is too free with information."

           
"You're
still determined to go through with this?"

           
"Would I be here, like this, if I weren't?"

           
"Oh, very well, then.
We've finally traced the
platter."

           
"And?"
Mairelon's tone was eager.

           
"It's
in the hands of one of those new druid cults."

           
"Druid cults?"

           
"There's
been a sort of half-baked revival going on for the past year or two. It's all
very fashionable--mistletoe and white robes under the new moon, with little
golden sickles for everyone." Lord Shoreham snorted.
"Quackery,
all of it; no science at all.
It's the sort of thing that gives
magicians a bad name."

           
"Then
why did it take you this long to find the platter?"

           
"This
group has one or two members who dabble a bit in real magic."

           
"I
see."

           
"They
call themselves Sons of the New Dawn, I believe," Lord Shoreham went on.
"They're located in
Essex
, near
Suffolk
,
at a place called Ranton Hill."

           
"I'm
familiar with the area. Edward, if I'm going to
Essex
,
why in Heaven's name have you dragged
me
a day's trip
in the opposite direction?" Mairelon demanded.

           
"To
try and keep unwelcome attention centered in this area. The platter's been
there for at least two years; there's no reason to hurry."

           
"Mmmm.
It'll take me at least two days to get there
now--"

           
"Three,"
Lord Shoreham said blandly. "I'd rather you went around
London
instead of through it."

           
"If you insist."

           
"Under
the circumstances, I most certainly do."

           
"Very well.
Tell me about these druids, then."

           
Kim heard
a sound like a sigh of resignation,
then
Lord
Shoreham's voice said, "There are only about ten members, mostly young men
in it for a lark. The three most likely to have the platter are Frederick
Meredith, Robert Choiniet, and Jonathan Aberford. I've brought a list of the
others."

           
There was
a rustling noise as the paper changed hands. "That will do, I think,"
Mairelon said with some satisfaction. "I'll leave in the morning."

           
Lord
Shoreham cleared his throat. "Ah, there is one other thing. How well do
you know the Viscount Granleigh?"

           
"I
don't believe we've met."

           
"And St. Clair?"

           
"The
Baron and I . . . have met. Where is this leading, Edward?"

           
Shoreham
sighed. "I wanted to know whether you were likely to meet anyone who would
recognize you."

           
"Then
why didn't you just ask?" Mairelon's tone was infuriating in its
innocence.

           
"Richard!
The Runners
are
still looking for you in connection with the original
robbery, you know."

           
"It's
half the reason I left
England
.
I take it Granleigh and St. Clair are likely to be in
Essex
?"

           
"Possibly.
Charles Bramingham is married to St. Clair's
sister, and his son is St. Clair's heir. His wife is a bosom bow of Amelia
Granleigh, the Viscountess, and is addicted to house parties. It's not beyond
the bounds of probability that you'll run into them."

           
"I
know. I've stayed at
Bramingham Place
a time or two. Don't go ruffling your feathers about it, it was years ago, and
they're not likely to remember me. What is their connection with the
Ministry?"

           
There was
a moment's silence,
then
Lord Shoreham said ruefully,
"Richard, you are uncanny. How did you know?"

           
"There
must be at least a hundred people in
London
who might have recognized me, including my dear brother Andrew. You didn't ask
me about any of them."

           
"Andrew's in
London
?
You didn't see him, did you?"

           
"As
a matter of fact, I did.
Briefly.
It needn't concern
you."

           
"Nothing
in this affair--"

           
"You're
avoiding the subject, Edward. What's so special about Bramingham and the
Granleighs?"

           
Lord
Shoreham sighed again. "Stephen Granleigh is involved with the Ministry in
a number of ways. Of necessity, he's familiar with the history of the Saltash
Bowl.
Has decided opinions on the subject, too."

           
"I
see.
And St. Clair?"

           
"Was elected to the College in your place."

           
"He
must have been delighted." Mairelon's voice was utterly devoid of
expression. "I must remember to congratulate him if I see him."

           
"Richard!
Don't take foolish risks."

           
"Foolish?
Never."

           
"I
ought to take the bowl, after all, and let someone else recover the
platter."

           
"You
can have it if you like, but it won't keep me out of
Essex
."

           
"I
was afraid of that. Richard, if the Runners catch you with the Saltash
Bowl--"

           
"The
Runners have criminals enough to deal with in
London
.
What would one of them be doing in
Essex
?"

           
"Quite
possibly looking for you," Lord Shoreham replied dryly. "I told you
someone's been talking too much."

           
"I'll
take the chance."

           
"Very well.
I hope your luck holds, Richard. And don't
hesitate to call on me if something happens."

           
"You
may be sure of it."

           
The wagon
door opened, and Lord Shoreham's footsteps sounded on the steps. Kim heard
Mairelon moving about the wagon,
then
a soft thump as
the lid of the chest closed. She held her breath, waiting for him to leave and
wondering how she was going to sneak out unseen. But Mairelon did not leave.
Kim was just beginning to wonder whether she would have to stay where she was
all night when Mairelon spoke.