The Master of Heathcrest Hall (35 page)

“I see,” the older fellow said after a long pause. “I will hope you are not right, but if you are, we may indeed have need of a lord inquirer with a strong and capable hand.”

This resulted in a laugh. “Well, I fear we shall not get one. Or didn’t you know that Sir Quent is missing a good portion of one of his hands?”

“Of course, I’ve heard such. But as he is from the country, I always assumed it was a mishap with a thresher or some such.”

“Oh no,” the other said in a scandalous tone. “It’s far worse than that. I’ve heard the truth of it—that he suffered the injury when he spent a night alone in the Wyrdwood.”

“Spent a night in the Wyrdwood?” the older lord exclaimed, then lowered his voice again. “Then he is not just a country fool. He is a madman with an unhealthy fascination for the Old Trees. I wonder what Lord Valhaine can be up to in nominating him.”

Rafferdy did not wait to hear any further speculation on the matter. He folded the broadsheet with a snap and stood abruptly. The two men who had been speaking looked up from the chairs where they sat a short distance away. They were, as he had suspected
from their voices, two men of diverging years, though both were dressed in exceedingly fine clothes.

“I say, is something amiss, my good fellow?” the young one said, raising an eyebrow.

A great agitation filled Rafferdy. He could only think of how Sir Quent labored tirelessly to defend Altania with his efforts. Yet what was he working so hard to defend—men such as these? A loud voice began to speak, and only after a moment did Rafferdy realize it was his own.

“No, nothing is amiss,” Rafferdy exclaimed. “Indeed, all can only be aright with the current state of affairs when the rich and idle are able to sit in leather chairs, drink brandy, and criticize the very men whose labors have ensured that they are free to do so.”

The two men stared, clutching the arms of their chairs. Throughout the large room, heads turned as Rafferdy’s voice rose in a thunderous oration.

“In fact, you can pay no higher honor to the men who have sacrificed themselves to safeguard Altania than to occupy yourselves here, reading newspapers, smoking tobacco, and belittling their bravery. For only in a free nation, one at the very pinnacle of civilization, and one so rigorously defended by good men, are sniveling cowards able to fashion such fine and comfortable lives for themselves. So by all means, mock those who give their efforts, their blood, and their very lives to protect us. By doing so, you give them the highest credit. You are reassuring them that they have made this nation safe for even its most useless citizens—namely men such as all of us at this club, and every other one like it in the city.”

With that he raised his brandy glass in a toast, then downed the contents in a single quaff.

The room was utterly silent now, and every pair of eyes was fixed upon Rafferdy. His face felt hot, and he could tell that he was shaking. All the same, he carefully set down his glass, straightened his coat, and then slowly walked to the door. No one moved or spoke as he went, and a servant handed him his hat and cane with a white-faced expression.

As he departed through the door, Rafferdy heard a sudden hubbub of conversation erupt behind him within the club, cut short as the door shut firmly behind him. Cane in hand, he walked to the street, where his driver met him.

“You’re leaving very soon, sir,” his man said as he opened the door of the cabriolet. “Will you be coming back later?”

No, Rafferdy knew he would never be coming back. After that little speech, he would no longer be welcome at this club—or any other club in the city, once word got around. Not that it mattered. The idea of sitting in a richly appointed room with men such as these filled him with revulsion. Far better to meet Eldyn Garritt at some ramshackle tavern in the Old City. At least there, the thieves and swindlers didn’t try to pretend they were anything but.

“I believe I will need to find other amusements from now on” was all he said.

The driver nodded and shut the door. Once back at his house, Rafferdy went to the parlor, and there took out a book of magickal runes and spells, studying it until the lumenal expired.

T
HIS TIME their meeting was at an inn situated just beyond the edges of the city, on the road to Hayrick Cross. A paleness upon the horizon hinted at the moon that had not yet risen. Rafferdy was early, but that was as he had planned it.

The inn would be empty of patrons, for they had paid the innkeeper a handsome sum to keep the establishment shut that night—and to keep his mouth shut as well. A man with a bald pate and pockmarked cheeks opened the door in answer to Rafferdy’s knock, then peered out through narrowed eyes.

“There are two crows on the roof,” Rafferdy said, speaking the prescribed phrase. It was somewhat absurd and rather overdramatic, but then that wasn’t entirely a surprise, given that it was of Coulten’s devising.

The innkeeper grunted, then opened the door. “One of your friends is already here, sir. He’s been waiting in the front parlor for nearly an hour.”

Rafferdy smiled as he entered the inn. He knew it could not be any of the other members of the Fellowship, for the meeting was not supposed to begin until after moonrise. Which meant the note he had written that morning had been received.

“Excellent,” he said. “Please tell him to stay a while longer in the parlor. Wait until fifteen minutes after the last of the others has arrived, and then bring him upstairs.”

The innkeeper scowled as he shut the door, but he nodded. “As you wish, sir.”

Rafferdy was satisfied. He did not care if their coin bought the man’s approval, only his cooperation and silence.

Not that, even if questioned by an agent of the Gray Conclave, the man would be able to reveal much. The inn was dim, with only a scant few candles burning, just as they had ordered it to be, and Rafferdy wore a hat that cast his face in shadow. The others would all do the same. The innkeeper did not know their names, and even if he wanted to, he would not be able to provide a description of anyone who came there that night.

Rafferdy proceeded to a private dining room upstairs—one that afforded a clear view of the road before the inn. He sipped a cup of thin wine the innkeeper brought him and waited for the moon to rise.

It did this soon enough, and by the time it was a short distance above the horizon, the meeting of the Fellowship of the Silver Circle had been called to order.

“I trust everyone took care they were not followed here,” Trefnell said, his eyes glinting beneath shaggy gray eyebrows. “As you know, we must redouble all our efforts at secrecy.”

Indeed, Rafferdy had observed that the former headmaster had taken great care in laying out the length of silver rope around the edges of the room as the circle of silence was conjured.

“I am sure everyone took the proper precautions, given the new state of affairs,” Canderhow said, then his several chins bobbed as he swallowed. “Didn’t they?”

Nods went all around the circle, and the plump barrister let out a relieved sigh.

“Very good,” Trefnell said. “But do not let your guard down for an instant. We must be vigilant at all times. Previously, we could count on a certain lack of effort on the part of the government to seek out illicit magickal orders when so many lords belonged to such a society themselves. Now that the High Order of the Golden Door has been officially sanctioned, we can no longer expect such laxity on the part of the Gray Conclave. Rather, we must presume they will be vigorous in their efforts to uncover secret societies like our own. One misstep on our part, and we may all find ourselves in Barrowgate.”

More than a few looks of unease went about the circle, but to their credit no one so much as suggested their meetings be discontinued. Rafferdy could only think that Trefnell had chosen the membership of the order well. Either that, or they were all of them fools, Rafferdy included.

“Well, at least some good came out of the announcement that the Golden Door has been granted authorized status,” Rafferdy said pleasantly.

Coulten turned toward him with a confounded look. “Good God, how much of the innkeeper’s awful wine did you consume, Rafferdy? How can there be anything good in the Gray Conclave giving special preference to the very magickal order that we know is scheming to have the Wyrdwood destroyed—a thing they can only be attempting because they are in league with the same awful characters who view the Old Trees as a threat?”

Rafferdy knew Coulten was right. There could be only one reason why the High Order of the Golden Door wished to have the Wyrdwood destroyed. It was the same reason why they had used occult rites to make young magicians into soulless vessels inhabited by daemons—to sow strife and disorder in the nation, to weaken its defenses, and to help prepare the way for the Ashen to enter into the world.

“There is something good in it,” Rafferdy said, “because it tells us something about them.”

“Such as?” Wolsted said. The former Stout wore a dubious look on his ruddy face.

“It tells us why they made it obvious that magick was involved in the attack upon the Ministry of Printing, as well as in the deaths of Lord Bastellon and Lord Mertrand,” Rafferdy said. “The magicians of the Golden Door could easily have made all of these acts appear as if they had been perpetrated by rebels or traitors to the Crown, but instead they made the effects of magick plain for all to see.”

Coulten sat in a rickety chair. “Yes, they did make it plain, but I can’t fathom why.”

“I believe I can,” Trefnell said, looking at Rafferdy as he spoke. “They were manufacturing a reason for the government to outlaw all magickal orders, so that when the time came, theirs would become the only sanctioned arcane society.”

Rafferdy took one of the cups of wine the innkeeper had left on the sideboard and handed it to Coulten. “Precisely. First they make all magicians appear to be the worst sort of villains. They get arcane orders banned, and even get Gauldren’s College shut down. And then they offer themselves up to the Gray Conclave with promises to aid in ferreting out their own kind. There’s no one better suited to catch one criminal than another, as the saying goes. I’m sure Lord Valhaine couldn’t resist the idea of using magicians he thinks are loyal to the nation to root out those he fears are not.”

“Only they’re the ones who are up to mischief themselves!” Wolsted said, the old lord’s expression even more dour than usual. “And now that the Black Dog’s gone and given them a government warrant, it’ll be all that much harder for anyone else to work against them.”

“For us to work against them, you mean,” Coulten said glumly. He took a long swig from the cup he held, then grimaced.

Trefnell fixed Coulten with a stern look—the same one he had no doubt given to errant students over the years. “It may make it harder for us, but it won’t put a stop to us. We kept the act for the reduction of the Wyrdwood from winning passage in Assembly, and you can bet we’ll thwart whatever devilry they scheme up next.”

“I’m sure we will,” Canderhow said, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing around the circle. “Yet you must admit, Trefnell, that the Golden Door has a great advantage now. We do not dare try to warn the Gray Conclave of their true nature, for doing so would only alert the government to our own activities. The magicians of the Golden Door can operate in the open, free to meet as they wish, while we must skulk about in the shadows. Nor can we expect they will fall for a trick such as Rafferdy devised the last time to keep them from voting. If we are going to continue to succeed at our purpose, we need some advantage of our own to counter theirs.”

“Well argued, sir,” Rafferdy said, then smiled. “Fortunately, I’ve brought just such an advantage with me tonight.”

Much to his pleasure, the other eight men all looked at him with apparent surprise and interest.

“An advantage?” Coulten said after a moment. “Well, then, don’t keep us on tenterhooks. What is it, Rafferdy?”

“Not what, Coulten, but rather
who
.”

This won several frowns, but before anyone could speak, there came a rapping at the chamber door. The others’ surprise was renewed as they all looked at the door.

“Ah,” Rafferdy said nonchalantly, “that must be him now.”

Coulten looked ready to blurt out a question, but Rafferdy went to the door, and in so doing stepped beyond the line made by the silver cord on the floor, breaking the circle of silence. Coulten snapped his mouth shut, and the room went quiet, save for the creak of hinges as Rafferdy opened the door. A tall figure dressed in a ruffled black coat entered the chamber. He removed his hat, releasing a cascade of pale hair.

Coulten leaped to his feet, though neither he nor the others spoke until the door was shut and Rafferdy stepped back over the silver cord.

“Him?” Coulten exclaimed when the circle of silence had been restored. “He’s your great advantage?”

Rafferdy raised a finger. “Manners, Coulten. Allow me to present my guest. Lord Farrolbrook, this is the Fellowship of the Silver
Circle. I believe you are already acquainted with more than a few of its number.”

Farrolbrook nodded, his expression placid. “I am.”

“This is outrageous, Rafferdy!” Wolsted said, his face assuming an even deeper shade of red. “We all agree that we must keep our actions secret from the magicians of the High Order of the Golden Door, then you let one step right into our meeting. And for what reason, I cannot presume. Why do you think
he
would ever help us?”

“Because he already has,” Rafferdy said.

The others stared at him.

Rafferdy had expected this revelation would cause a strong reaction, and he could not say he did not enjoy being the cause of this little spectacle. All the same, it was best not to draw out the torment for the others. A few of them, like Wolsted, might be liable to burst a blood vessel.

“How do you think it was,” Rafferdy went on, “that I was able to make a message appear in the black books of all the members of the High Order of the Golden Door?”

Coulten scratched his head, driving his tall crown of hair to even greater heights. “I don’t know. I just assumed you’d devised some clever trick that you’d reveal to us when you were ready to gloat over it.”