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Authors: Caroline Stevermer

BOOK: A College of Magics
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Menary noticed Faris's scrutiny and curled her lip in disdainful amusement. She knelt and bent her head as if to
listen to the fox cub. “All safely gone to earth and the hounds left snuffling? Excellent. I know a hen house not far from here. Ah, you've heard of it? Very good. Tell them I sent you.” The cub left, grinning. Menary rose. “And who sent you here, I wonder?”
“No one.”
“The Dean of Greenlaw?” Menary mused. “No, I'm done with her and she with me. We'll trouble each other no more.”
“I found my own way.”
Menary looked impatient. “You couldn't.”
Annoyed all over again, Faris shrugged. “If you insist.”
Menary looked extremely cross. “Why are you here, then?”
After a moment's consideration, in which she decided honesty could not possibly hurt, Faris replied, “Curiosity.”
The instant the word was out, she knew it was a mistake. Menary's eyes widened as if she had been struck. Bristling with indignation, she drew herself up to her full height. “Go look at the lions then, if you like to peer at locked-up creatures.” She took one graceful step closer to the bay, put her hand on its neck, and hissed a word at its flattened ears.
The bay went up like a startled pheasant. Faris had all she could do to keep her seat without worrying about trampling Menary. Yet somehow, when the bay came down, Menary wasn't in the way. Nothing, save for the walls of the privet maze, was in the way of the bay's spectacular bolt. Faris sat down hard, knees clenching the saddle crutches with all her might, and set about surviving Le Nôtre's labyrinth.
The bay scraped first one side of the privet corridor, then the other, all the way out. Beyond the maze the mist had lifted slightly, enough to make it possible to avoid the statuary. The bay took the fountain as easily as if it were a water jump at a church sports day, and hurdled a wrought-iron fence without apparent effort. After that, there was nothing left to do but splash across the stream, scramble up the far bank, and leave Sevenfold behind at top speed.
Twelfth Night
W
hen Faris returned to the Metropol, Jane was out. By the time she returned, Faris had changed from riding clothes to her favorite merino gown, and was pacing relentlessly the length of the suite. She had given Reed and Tyrian the news on the way back to Aravis. While they did what they could to find out what Menary was doing at Sevenfold, all she could do was wait for Jane.
Jane was concentrating on unbuttoning her gloves as she entered, followed at a few paces by one of Brinker's men, bearing an armful of oddly shaped parcels. At the sight of Faris's expression, she halted. “What happened?”
Faris started to answer but broke off to consider Jane's escort.
“Just put those down on the table,” Jane told him, “and you may go.”
As the escort turned to obey, Faris lifted her hand to stop him. “As soon as they return, ask Reed and Tyrian to attend me here.” With a nod, the escort withdrew. When they were alone, Faris said, “Menary's at Sevenfold. She hired Copenhagen and the others to kill me. Not Uncle Brinker. It wasn't Uncle Brinker after all.”
“
Oh, dear!
” Jane dropped her gloves. She stared at Faris for a long moment, then recovered sufficiently to retrieve the gloves. “Who told you so?”
“She did.”
“Menary did?” Jane frowned. “And just where at Sevenfold, precisely?”
“In the labyrinth.” Faris started pacing again. “I can't believe it. Do you realize what this means? He saved my life.”
“What were you doing in the labyrinth at Sevenfold? You said you had to go fox hunting with the Spanish ambassador.”
“Oh, him. He really is thick as thieves with the king. That's probably why he picked a country place so close to Sevenfold. Anyway, I
was
fox hunting. Menary hasn't lost her interest in animals. She conspired with about a hundred foxes and I don't think either the hounds or the huntsmen will ever be the same.” Faris hesitated. “I think they were foxes.”
Jane looked askance at her.
“Real foxes. Not sailors or anything.”
“Stand still. Stop trying to distract me with foxes and answer me. What were you doing at Sevenfold?”
Faris stopped pacing. “That's where the hunt went. It isn't far from Crail. When the rest of the hunt, ah, dispersed, I went on.”
“What possessed you? Were you lost? Don't you remember what Eve-Marie said?”
“I remembered what Eve-Marie said perfectly. The king didn't even know I was there. And even if he did know, why should he wish to keep me there?”
“Oh, Faris, use your head. What have you been telling me and telling me about that antique gallantry of his?”
Faris smiled. “He's
old.
Do you really think it would suit his majesty to catch girls in a garden the way a spider catches flies? Even if he had the inclination, what about his dignity? He's much too full of his own importance to resort to that sort of thing.”
“Then why did he take such pains to have the labyrinth brought into working order?”
“To give to Menary, as if she needed any more mischief to get into.” Faris made Jane sit down before she gave her a full account of her conversation with Menary.
Jane's eyes narrowed. “I don't believe it. If Menary had just been given the king's favorite country house, why wasn't she busy unpacking or having a servant thrashed? Why was she in the labyrinth, of all places, communing with a beast that might well give her fleas? And why, if she truly had come into possession of the place, was she in such an ill temper?”
“Well.” Faris looked apologetic. “I was there.”
“So you were. And she didn't do a thing about it, even though she'd just boasted of arranging your assassination. What restraint. Not really like Menary, is it?”
“She did say something upsetting to my horse.”
“I would expect Menary to try something a trifle more direct—if she could,” said Jane darkly.
“Could she? Didn't the Dean take care of that?”
“When the Dean expelled Menary, she stripped her of the magic she learned at Greenlaw. Yet think how easily Menary misbehaved, even within the wards.” Jane shook her head. “Until the end of your first year, when you stayed on for the summer while Menary left, the Dean told me she believed Menary was the one Hilarion was waiting for. She had great potential, the Dean said. And what magic she brought with her, she quite probably retains.” Jane paused, as though measuring out her words like medicine. “If the Dean of Greenlaw can't be sure what Menary can do with her magic, what do you imagine her father thinks of her behavior?”
“So he gave her his country place to keep her busy and out of his way.”
Jane shook her head again. “I think she lied. I think he didn't give her Sevenfold at all. He gave her to Sevenfold. I think she's a prisoner there.”
“Why would he try to imprison his own daughter? And if she's so powerful, how could he be sure he'd succeed?”
“If you were trying to keep the country running, would you want Menary about, turning people into animals?”
“Then why call her home from Paris?”
“Would you want her loose there either? And he took
pains to be certain he'd succeed in imprisoning her. He sent for Eve-Marie.”
“But did he succeed? Would the labyrinth be strong enough to hold Menary? Le Notre's been dead a long time.”
“She's there, isn't she?”
Faris said blankly, “But why would he need to keep her there? He's her father. She'd have to do as he told her.”
“Oh?” Jane looked cynical. “The way you do as Brinker tells you?” A knock at the door kept her from continuing.
Reed and Tyrian entered, each in his own manner looking pleased with himself. Reed still wore the riding clothes his duties among the hunt servants had demanded. Tyrian had changed back to his usual black.
“Lock the door. Anything useful so far? Jane may have an explanation for Menary's presence at Sevenfold. Meanwhile, I would like to find out what Menary thinks I'm doing here, if possible. I won't be any help. I have to be at the Danish ambassador's house for a dinner party, worse luck.”
Faris broke off and tried not to look startled as Tyrian cleared his throat. “I have been able to make some inquiries,” he began. Always reserved, since their arrival in Aravis Tyrian had become absolutely taciturn. Any speech was an event. “At the king's command, Menary was summoned back from Paris. She arrived in Aravill the same day we did. The king received her at his country residence. Unofficially, she's still under house arrest there. Officially, she is not expected to return from Greenlaw until the term
ends at Whitsun, when she would be supposed to have graduated.”
“House arrest?” Reed shook his head. “She must have been having far too much fun in Paris. I hear she has been wiring for money at a shocking rate.”
“If she's kept out of the way until after Twelfth Night, we don't need to change the plan,” Jane said.
“Do you think it safe to assume that house arrest at Sevenfold will keep her out of the way?” Tyrian asked.
“In a case of Eve-Marie and André Le Nôtre against Menary Paganell,” Jane replied, “I'll back Eve-Marie and André Le Nôtre every time.”
“But are we set for Twelfth Night?” Reed asked. “It's not much of a plan really, is it? A case of swap the lady: keep the other guests watching Jane when they think they're watching Faris. I've arranged the costumes, as instructed. But are we even sure where the rift is yet?”
Jane chose a parcel from the armful on the table beside her, a cylinder as long as her arm, neatly wrapped in brown paper. “Here's a little something we might find useful.” Jane undid the wrapping, pushed a lamp aside to make room on the table, and unrolled the cylinder. It was a pictorial map of Aravis, with the castle looming over all. In the decorative border were plans of each level of the castle, rendered in great detail. “I've studied the little map that folds out of my Baedeker until I gave myself a squint. This will be much more helpful.”
Faris stared at the map, then at Jane. “Where did you get that?”
“This?” Jane smiled apologetically. “There's something I've been meaning to mention, Faris. When he heard I planned to visit Aravis, Uncle Ambrose asked me to look into one or two matters while I was here. To be sure things ran smoothly, he put me in touch with some people in Aravis. The map came from them. They seemed very happy to be of help.”
Faris nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. The uncle who smuggles tobacco via diplomatic pouch. Uncle Ambrose wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the diplomatic corps, would he? Or the neatly docketed report on the political climate of Aravill?”
Jane looked demure.
“He's Sir Ambrose Hay, the British ambassador to France,” said Tyrian. At Jane's startled expression, he added, “I made some inquiries while we were in Paris.”
Faris's voice was cold. “Is that why you were so anxious to come home with me?”
“Oh, don't be cross. I would have come with you in any event. In fact, I haven't done a single thing that I wouldn't have done if Uncle Ambrose didn't exist. But it does help having friends here.”
“Just what matters are you looking into for him?”
“Shene is a deep-water harbor. There isn't a better place for a fleet to refuel on the entire coast. And since the Paganells took the throne in Aravill, they haven't been as friendly to us as they are to the Turks and the Persians.”
“So you're a spy,” said Reed.
Jane drew herself up indignantly. “Not at all. I am here to help Faris.” Suddenly her indignation vanished, to be
replaced by an expressionless face and an uninflected voice. “Although in the case of a disputed succession, I've been told the British government is prepared to be generous to the rightful heir.”
“Provided the rightful heir is generous to them,” Faris finished. “Oh, Jane.”
Jane, still expressionless, watched Faris in silence.
Faris sighed. “You do realize, don't you, that Shene is no concern of mine? If Galazon had fifty deep-water harbors, the British fleet could sport about in any of them. But Galazon doesn't. And all I'm concerned with is Galazon.”
Jane looked relieved. “Oddly enough, I have noticed that. Fond as I am of Uncle Ambrose, the harbor doesn't matter. The rift does. I'm here to help you if I can. Are you going to look at this map or aren't you?”
All four gathered to inspect the map.
“It's a copy of a late-eighteenth-century original owned by the British Museum. I wanted to be certain to find a floor plan made well before the rift was created.”
“Here's the throne room,” said Faris, after some consideration. “I don't see anything marked “the warden's stair.” Are you sure there aren't more levels than this?”
“I would have said fewer,” Jane replied, “although I assume some were lost in the rift.”
“That must be just about where the lions are now,” remarked Reed, tapping a forefinger on the view of the castle.
“Lions?” Faris turned to him. “There really are lions?”
“Oh, yes. Guard lions, you might say. Parts of the castle are mouldering away. People would wander off into the older bits and turn their ankles. Guards didn't do much to
solve the problem of stray visitors, so a few years ago, someone had a bright idea. They sent for lion cubs and let them grow up in the dangerous area.”
“A simple method to keep people away,” Faris said dryly, “yet somehow completely typical of the Paganells. And I thought the lions had to be a flight of Menary's fancy.”
“It doesn't work, though,” Reed continued. “People don't stay away. They come to look at the lions—from a safe distance.”
Jane looked up from her scrutiny of the map with such satisfaction that she almost purred. “Your index finger is precisely on the throne room, Reed. How interesting.”
Reed studied the map more closely. “So it is.”
Tyrian cleared his throat again. “So Reed and I must crash a fancy dress ball, Jane must pass herself off as Faris, Reed and I must escort Faris to a room that hasn't existed for sixty years, and we must do all this while coming and going through a pride of lions.”
Reed looked troubled. “It really isn't much of a plan, is it?”
“The lions may complicate things a trifle,” Jane conceded. “I've already taken care of the invitations, thanks to Uncle Ambrose's friends at the British embassy here. It helped to have your authentic invitation to use as a basis for the forgeries.”
“I still have to find a reason to slip away from the ball once you've attended to the lions.”

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