The Mislaid Magician (26 page)

Yes, I thought your ears would perk up at that last. Quondam Baronet Webb was not only one of Cromwell’s passionate Parliamentarians, he was one of Cromwell’s wizards. Furthermore, it was he who built Haliwar Tower.

According to Mr. Thornton, the current Mr. Webb had nothing good to say about his ancestor until about ten years ago, when he inherited Haliwar Tower from a great-uncle. Shortly thereafter, he made that extremely puzzling proposal to Mr. Pease, offering to use some unexplained “influence with Parliament” to assist the passage of the Stockton and Darlington bill of incorporation. It seems possible, perhaps even likely, that Webb, having learned of the ley line network and its ability to affect the government, expected to influence Parliament magically. Naturally, he did not say so straight out.

When Pease refused, Webb’s reaction was not temperate; indeed, if Mr. Thornton is to be believed, there was a good deal of shouting and name-calling involved. This is, of course, why Pease had him investigated. Mr. Thornton is of the opinion that the investigation did not go far enough, though he can offer no evidence for his opinion beyond the assertion that Webb has been acting “too damned smug” since the railway’s troubles began.

All of this information is, you will agree, extremely suggestive, and well worth making yet another trip to Leeds to obtain. Nevertheless, the best is yet to come.

On my way back to the King’s Head, I was accosted in the street by a fellow who began by demanding to know whether I was “the cove what took off the dog up by the Williams’ farm.” When I acknowledged that I was, he offered to buy the animal from me for the princely sum of five pounds.

“That will not be possible,” said I. “I am afraid the dog has run off.”

Much disgruntled, the fellow went on his way. I went on up the street, then nipped around behind a drayman’s cart and doubled back. Fortunately, he had not gone far, and I followed him for another ten or fifteen minutes before he disappeared into a business establishment. No, I am quite sure he did not see me. Though you still may doubt it, I have learned a thing or two in these past ten years from my dear Cecelia regarding “sneaking about.”

Once the fellow went inside, I was at a stand. To linger would be conspicuous, and I had no idea how soon he might reappear. I chose not to risk tipping my hand, and strolled on. I was, however, able to make a note of the establishment, and the innkeeper at the King’s Head identified it for me later. It is a branch office of Maxwell and Medway—the same firm that handles Ramsey Webb’s business.

There can be no reason for anyone at Maxwell and Medway to have need of a sheepdog. Indeed, it seems extremely unlikely that anyone at all would pay five pounds for an ordinary sheepdog. It borders on the incredible that someone would follow me from Darlington to Leeds simply to purchase a dog. It is clear, therefore, that it is not just a dog that they want, but Herr Magus Schellen in the shape of a dog. Presumably, the intention was to prevent me from discovering who and what the dog was, or, failing that, to discover what I have learned. Maxwell and Medway have no reason I know of to be interested in either sheepdogs or surveyors, so it seems most probably that Webb was behind the attempt to get hold of the dog.

If that is true, then another visit to Haliwar Tower is clearly in order. I expect to spend the night here in Leeds, then return to Wardhill Cottage tomorrow with my news and the few letters that had not been forwarded. Once I have consulted with Cecelia and Herr Schellen about the proper magical precautions, we shall decide on the best approach. If we can clearly establish that the Webbs are behind this extremely murky business, I shall consider my job complete and hand the whole sorry mess over to Wellington’s wizards.

Yours,

James

Dearest Kate,

What adventures you have had! I confess I do not envy you your transformation, despite your interesting description, but the capture of Mr. Scarlet sounds most dramatic. I am agog to hear what you have learned from him—for I am sure that however firm his resolve to remain silent, it is nothing compared to Thomas’s resolve to force him to speak. And yours.

Things have been quite dull since the Wrextons left. There is little I can do to assist James in his investigation, as all of the magical matters seem to be tied to the ley lines in some fashion and James will not hear of my experimenting with them so long as that transformation spell is active. Herr Schellen agrees, though in his case I fear it is not concern for me that motivates him, but rather a wish to be spared the company of Mr. Skelly, who is far more personable as a terrier than he was before his transformation.

In consequence, I remain here while James is off to Leeds to talk to yet another railway gentleman. I expect him back tomorrow. In the meantime, I have been busying myself in reviewing for Herr Schellen what we think we have discovered.

Apart from Herr Schellen himself, it is a very
mixed
assortment of things, beginning with Herr Schellen’s disappearance. At least we have located him (and while your mishap at the stone circle was certainly most dreadful, it
did
have the happy result of disenchanting him, so that we have been able to send notice to Herr Schellen’s Prussian friends, who can now persuade their people to stop pestering Lord Wellington).

The question remains as to whether the transformation spell was meant especially for Herr Schellen, or whether he fell afoul, as you did, of a spell meant for some other wizard. On the one hand, the spell is plainly new, or wizards would have been popping in and out of canine form all over England for years and the Royal College would surely have heard of the matter before now. Also, it seems most suspicious to me that Herr Schellen’s bags vanished from the farmhouse the night after he was transformed. That was not the work of the transformation spell. Someone was watching Herr Schellen and absconded with his luggage in order to give the impression that he had slipped away without paying his bill.

But if the spell was meant for Herr Schellen, it seems unutterably foolish to tie it to ley lines and stone circles all over England. Indeed, if it affects
any
wizard who enters
any
stone circle, the transformation spell cannot possibly have been intended for a particular person, for who could say that a wizard in Cornwall would not walk into a circle there, seconds after the intended victim had been enchanted (thus returning the first victim to his original form)? As a trap for one particular wizard, it is a singularly chuckleheaded arrangement. But what else could its purpose have been?

More important, who arranged the spell … and when? If, as Mr. Wrexton thinks, the ley lines and stone circles are part of a magical net created 170 years ago by Oliver Cromwell’s wizards, was the transformation spell part of some defensive ward intended to keep the king’s wizards from disrupting his plans? Could it, perhaps, have been set off by the regular interference between the railway engine and the ley lines, or was it Herr Schellen’s probing that activated the ancient protections? (Herr Schellen denies it, but I do not see how he can be certain. So despite my murmurs of agreement, I intend to keep an open mind on the subject.)

Herr Schellen is a most provoking man. Now that he has had time to recover from the enchantment, I had hoped he would have some useful detail to impart regarding his activities, or at least that he might have remembered something more useful than measurements related to the construction of railways. But it is no such thing. Our conversation ran something like this:

“Herr Schellen, I trust you are fully recovered?”

“Recovered, Madam Tarleton?”

“From that dreadful enchantment.”

“Oh. Yes, Madam.”

“Then it would not be an imposition to ask you to speak of it? It could be so very useful.”

“Useful, Madam?

“To the investigations James is making.”

Herr Schellen nodded stiffly, the way people do when they have not understood, but do not wish to admit it.

“Did James not tell you that he is looking into these problems with the railway?” I asked.

“Yes, Madam Tarleton,” Herr Schellen said cautiously.

“Well, if that enchantment is connected to the difficulties in any way, you must see how helpful it would be for us to know all the details.”

“No, Madam.”

I looked at him, and after a moment he was moved to expand on his statement.

“Turning into a hound has nothing to do with railways,” he said.

“Not in the general course of things,” I said. “But in this case, you were investigating the problems with the railway. If someone wanted to stop you, he might use the transformation to do so.”

“Mr. Tarleton has also been investigationing of the railway, and he is not turned into a hound,” Herr Schellen pointed out.

“No, but he is not a wizard,” I said. I did not even attempt to explain that a sheepdog is not a hound of any kind; I was having enough trouble persuading Herr Schellen to stick to the point, without adding more complications. “If someone wishes to set a trap for James, it will need to be of some other kind.”

“Ah!” Herr Schellen’s face took on an annoying expression of tolerant benevolence. “You are the wife, and so you worry.” Clearly, he thought this a charming female foible.

I decided that if he was willing to answer my questions, he might think what he pleased. “Yes, very much,” I replied. “So if you would not mind describing your experience—”

“Naturally, Madam.”

I waited, but he said nothing more until I prodded him, and then his answers were all just as unsatisfactory. What exactly had happened to him? He walked into the stone circle and turned into a hound. Had he seen anyone just before? No, Madam. Had he noticed anyone following him? No, Madam. Had anyone taken an interest in his work? The gentleman who hired him, Madam. Had anyone
other
than Mr. Pease seemed interested? No, Madam. Had anyone seemed disturbed or agitated, then? The farm wife at Goosepool was always agitated about something, Madam. Had anyone seemed disturbed or agitated about the work he was doing? No, Madam. What about the time when he was enchanted—did he remember anything interesting from that? Sheep, Madam. Sheep? Sheep are very interesting to a hound, Madam.

And so it went. To hear Herr Schellen tell it, he might just as well have stayed in Prussia. All he has discovered are boring reassurances regarding the changes that Stephenson made to the originally planned route of the Stockton and Darlington Railway line. (The new route is, he says, equal or superior to the original in terms of grade and distance and a number of technical things, which he described at great length, and which both Thomas and Arthur would no doubt have considerable interest in. I doubt, however, that you are any more interested than I, and so I shall spare you the details.)

This leaves us no further along regarding the variety of accidents and problems with the steam engines, which have plagued the railway from its opening. It seems likely that at least some of the problems are the result of the interaction between the railway’s steam engines and the ley lines. Herr Schellen confirms that the engines are only capable of pulling a certain load (rather like horses, though of course the load is far larger); if the engine drags along every ley line it encounters, it is very likely working much too hard, even if the ley lines snap back into position once the train has passed.

It is also possible, however, that some of the problems are the result of deliberate interference, perhaps by a disgruntled landowner (old Lord Darlington rode all the way to London several times in order to vote against the railway’s incorporation bill in the House of Lords, so one might well expect him to be very disgruntled indeed when the bill passed and the railway was built despite his efforts). I think that if this were indeed the case, James would have had some hint of it before now, but it cannot yet be ruled out entirely.

So the ley lines appear to be the most likely explanation for the railway’s troubles. Indeed, everything keeps coming back to them—not only Herr Schellen’s enchantment and the steam engine breakdowns, but the earthquake and fire at Haliwar Tower and that enchantment involving Parliament that Lord Wellington is so worried over.

I do wish Mr. Skelly had been more informative when he was still able to speak. He was apparently much surprised by our ley line network, but he did not give any reason for his opinion, and I should like to know what it was (though since he also did not believe that the transformation spell would have any effect on him, I confess to wondering whether his expertise would have been as helpful as we had hoped. However, Walker informs me that as a terrier he has become the bane of the rats in the stables, so at least he is of some use).

You may have noted that in all my maunderings of yesterday, I did not mention Georgy’s poetry or the odd way in which Daniel vanished from Haliwar Tower. I confess that they had quite slipped my mind, but no longer.

When James returned from Leeds today, he brought with him several letters that had not been sent on from the inn there. Three of them were for me, all from Aunt Charlotte. The first had been sent from the watering hole where she has been staying, and you may easily guess its contents. Just as we feared, she has discovered Georgy’s book of verses and guessed the authoress, and she was in even more of a taking than I had anticipated she would be. I am able to report this with equanimity only because in her agitation, she crossed and recrossed her lines, making her letter all but completely illegible.

Both of the other letters were written in Leeds, in a somewhat more temperate (and hence more readable) fashion. It is a wonder she did not meet James in the street while he was there; the final one was dated only yesterday. And the reason she is in Leeds is that she has, through her various connections, traced Daniel there. I was quite wrong to think that she would come directly to Skeynes to blame you for Georgy’s behavior. No, she is evidently well aware that she cannot hold a mere marchioness responsible for the behavior of Her Grace, the Duchess of Waltham, however much she would like to do so.