Wrede, Patricia C - Mairelon 02 (15 page)

           
"I
hear that you are studying wizardry, Miss Merrill," Lord Franton said.
"I have very little skill myself, but I admire those who do. How did you
come to it?"

           
"Mairelon--that
is, my guardian decided to teach me," Kim said. "It's a long
story."

           
"I
would be happy to call on you next week to hear it at more leisure," Lord
Franton said.

           
"Sure,"
Kim replied.
"I mean, that will be fine, Lord
Franton."

           
They
found seats in the fourth row of hard, straight-backed chairs and sat down to
wait for the harpsichordist to begin playing. "Are you enjoying your first
Season, Miss Merrill?" Lord Franton asked.

           
"I'm
still getting accustomed to it," Kim answered cautiously. She risked
another glance upward, and found him watching her face with a keen admiration
that renewed her tingling. Hastily, she averted her eyes.

           
"You
find it still so new, even after a year? I understood that you have been
Merrill's ward at least that long."

           
"Yes,
but we were in
Kent
for most of it, and Mairelon--I mean, my guardian isn't much for house
parties."

           
"Why
do you call him Mairelon?"

           
"It's
the name he was using when we met." She hesitated, but the circumstances
were no secret, and neither Mrs. Lowe nor Lady Wendall had forbidden her to
discuss them. "He was working Hungerford Market as a stage magician, and I
broke into his wagon.
And got caught."
She
grimaced in remembered disgust. "The toff who hired me forgot to mention
that Mairelon was a real frogmaker, and not just a puff-guts making sparkles
for the culls."

           
Lord
Franton looked at her, plainly intrigued. "And that was when he made you
his ward?"

           
"No,
that came later. I told you, it's a long story."

           
"I
am even more eager to hear it than I was before," Lord Franton said.
"And I must remember to compliment Mr. Merrill on his perception. You
clearly were meant to grace the drawing rooms and country houses of the
ton
."

           
No, I
wasn't
, Kim thought as the first harpsichordist appeared at last and the
conversation ceased in a round of polite applause. Though the marquis plainly
meant what he said, and though she could not help being flattered by it, she
could not pretend, even to herself, that she felt truly comfortable among so
many toffs.

           
Lord
Franton, however, was a different matter.
Comfortable
was not, perhaps,
quite the right word for the way he made her feel; nonetheless, she found that
by the first break she had promised to go driving in the park with him later
the following week, and to grant him two dances at her come-out ball. She was
profoundly relieved when he offered to bring her some punch and took himself
off for a few moments. Finding a quiet spot beside a large marble bust, she
waited, scanning the milling toffs for familiar faces.

           
A
corpulent gentleman entered the room, saying something about the music to a
tall woman in a feathered turban. As he went by, waving his arms with
considerable animation, Kim stiffened.
He's wearing that burglar's ring! But
he
can't
have been the cove in the library; I'd have noticed for sure if
he'd been that fat
.

           
"Your
punch, Miss Merrill," Lord Franton said.

           
Kim
turned. "Find Mairelon right away," she said. "Mr. Merrill, that
is. Tell him to come here; it's important."

           
"I
beg your pardon?" Lord Franton said, blinking.

           
"Never
mind," Kim said. "There he is. Excuse
me,
I
got to talk with him right away."

           
Abandoning
the puzzled marquis and his cup of punch, she threaded her way through the
crowd to Mairelon's side. "Mairelon, the cove with the ring is here,"
she said. "Only it's not the right cove."

           
Mairelon
turned, frowning slightly. He blinked at Kim, and then his expression cleared.
"Who is it, then?"

           
"The
jack weight talking to the mort with the green feathers in her hat," Kim
said. "I'll go bail he wasn't the cracksman, but he's got the ring. Or one
near enough
like
it to be its twin."

           
"Ah, Lord Moule.
Let's find out how he came by it,
shall we?"

           
Mairelon
offered her his arm, and they crossed the room together. Though Mairelon nodded
to several of the people they passed, he did not pause to converse, and Kim
could tell that his attention was focused sharply on the fat man with the ring.
Despite her own curiosity, Kim could not help comparing Mairelon's attitude to
Lord Franton's, and she found herself wishing that Mairelon were not
quite
so single-minded.

           
They
reached the discussion which, judging from the degree of Lord Moule's
animation, was reaching its climax. As Lord Moule paused to draw breath,
Mairelon said, "Excellent point, Moule. I was just saying something
similar to my ward, wasn't I, Kim? Do allow me to present you."

           
The
ensuing round of introductions completely derailed the conversation and allowed
the lady in the green feathered turban to escape. As soon as she had, Mairelon
said, "Interesting ring you're wearing, Moule."

           
"This?"
Lord Moule studied the gold ring that was squashed onto his littlest finger.
"Yes, I thought so.
Won it at play last week."

           
"Naturally,"
Mairelon said.
"From whom?"

           
"Some
young chub or other," Lord Moule replied. "You know how it
is--White's, three in the morning, claret been flowing for hours, things get a
little fuzzy. But it's a nice piece, and I'm glad to have it."

           
"I
should think so. It's not everyone who's that lucky at play. Though I
understand there's rather a good game going in the card room."

           
"Is there?"
Lord Moule brightened. "Excuse me, Merrill.
Your
servant, Miss Merrill."
And he departed in a hurry that was barely
seemly.

           
"And
that disposes of the one fact we thought we had," Mairelon said, looking
after him. "I wonder whether it was cleverness or mere bad luck that led
our burglar to stake
it?
"

           
"Don't
they keep records or something at those clubs?" Kim said.

           
"The betting-books?
Those are for long-term wagers, not
for what's won or lost at table of an evening." Mairelon sighed.
"It's a pity. Ah, there's Renee and that Russian in the back corner. Let's
see what they're up to."

           
They made
their way around the room to the alcove where the other two stood. Prince
Durmontov did not look best pleased to have Mairelon and Kim join his nearly
private conversation with Mademoiselle D'Auber, but he greeted them politely
nonetheless. Renee gave Mairelon an amused look and said to Kim, "How is
it that you are enjoying yourself?"

           
"It's
a little confusing," Kim said.

           
"It
will become less so," Renee told her.

           
"My
mother tells me you're a wizard, Prince," Mairelon said to Durmontov.

           
"Of
no great measure, I fear," Durmontov said. "I hope while I am here to
study your English methods."

           
"You
seem more intrigued by French ones," Mairelon murmured in a provocatively
innocent tone.

           
"I
have some familiarity with French magic already," replied Durmontov.
"One of my aunts--"

           
A prickle
of magic ran across Kim's skin, and she stiffened. So did the other three
wizards. Mairelon's eyes lit. "Now, then!" he said, and reached into
his pocket. Kim heard a sharp crack, like a twig breaking. An instant later,
power ripped across her in a sudden wave.

           
I
thought he said you couldn't tell when someone invoked a spell instead of
casting it,
she thought fuzzily, clutching at Mairelon's arm, and then the
sensation was gone completely.

           
"Monsieur
Merrill!" Renee
said,
her voice full of concern.

           
Kim
looked up. Mairelon's eyes had gone blank, and his face was gray-white. He
swayed on his feet, and she clutched at his arm again, this time to support
him. "Mairelon!" she said, her voice wobbling in sudden terror.
"Mairelon?"

           
Mairelon
blinked and a little color returned to his face. "That was . . .
unexpected," he said in a shaken voice.

           
A little
reassured, Kim shook the arm she held. "What happened?"

           
"I,
too, am full of the curiosity," Renee said. "And so will be a great
many other persons, and very soon, I think."

           
"It
appears not," Prince Durmontov said. "Your English seem entirely
uninterested."

           
Kim
glanced over her shoulder. Lord Starnes stood against the far wall, arms
crossed, glowering at the ring of gentlemen hovering around Letitia Tarnower;
Lord Franton was deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman; knots of
ladies talked placidly with each other or with gentlemen, or moved with studied
grace from one room to another. No one gave any indication of knowing that
something out of the ordinary had occurred.

           
"Good,"
Mairelon said. "Though that, at least, isn't a surprise."

           
"No?"
Renee studied Mairelon for a moment. Her concerned expression lessened, to be
replaced by one of annoyance. "My friend, if you are not at once more
clear, I shall become what it is that Mademoiselle Kim says wizards are, and
turn you into a frog. Why is it not surprising that no one has noticed this
spell?"

           
"No
one noticed the spell at the opera, either," Mairelon said. "This was
the same thing, I think. I got that much before he . . . broke off."

           
Renee
nodded. "That is a good beginning. Continue, if you please."

           
Prince
Durmontov frowned. "Spell at the opera? To what do you refer?"

           
"There,
you see?" Mairelon said to Renee. "No one but us noticed it. I was
rather hoping that wizard would try again, whoever he is; I had an
analyze-and-trace spell all ready for him." He shook his head. "I
didn't expect him to chop everything off in the middle the minute the trace got
to him, and I caught a bit of back blow, I'm afraid. Now, if you'll excuse us,
Kim and I have to be getting home immediately."

           
"What?"
Renee said, alarmed once more. "Why?"

           
"Because
the last time whoever-he-is tried this, he attempted to run off with something
from my brother's library." Mairelon's cheerful tone sounded forced to
Kim, but neither Renee nor the prince seemed to notice. "I didn't catch
him here; maybe I can catch him there. Come along, Kim."

           
"What
about Lady Wendall and Mrs. Lowe?" Kim said as they started toward the
door, leaving Renee to attempt to explain Mairelon's cryptic utterances to the
prince as best she could.

           
"I'll
send the coach back for them as soon as we get home," Mairelon said. There
was an undercurrent to his voice that made Kim want to break into a run.
Whatever
happened back there, he hasn't told it all yet. And it isn't good
.

           
In the
coach, Mairelon gave the orders to the coachman and then leaned back against
the squabs and closed his eyes. Even in the dark interior, Kim could see his
face settle into lines of unnatural exhaustion. She waited, not daring to think
for fear of what thinking might lead to, watching the rise and fall of
Mairelon's chest as if he were a child on a sickbed.

           
The
carriage lurched into motion. After a few minutes, Mairelon spoke, without
opening his eyes and in a voice so low that Kim had to lean forward to hear it
over the sound of the carriage wheels. "You'll have to check the
house-ward as soon as we get home. You shouldn't have a problem; you've watched
Mother and
me
do it enough times, and I'll be there to
talk you through it."

           
"What?"
Surprise and shock made her tone sharper than she intended. "Why? If
you're there--"

           
Mairelon's
eyes opened, and the bleak despair in them cut Kim off in mid-sentence. But his
voice was steady as he answered, "I won't be doing it because I
can't." He hesitated, then shook his head as if to clear it and took a
deep breath. "At the moment, I haven't got enough magic to light a
candle."

           
"What?"

           
"Whatever
my tracing spell hit, it didn't get cut off and blown up back at me."
Mairelon closed his eyes again. "It got sucked into something, and
everything else . . . went with it. So you'll have to check the
house-ward."

           
"Oh."
Kim wanted to say more, but Mairelon's pose forbade the sympathy and comfort
she didn't know how to express anyway. It hurt to look at him, but she couldn't
stop. "How long do you think it will last?" she asked carefully after
a moment.

           
There was
another long pause. "I don't know," Mairelon said finally. "If
I'm very lucky, I'll be back to normal in the morning. If not, perhaps a week
or so.
Perhaps longer."

           
Perhaps never
hung unspoken in the air between them, and
supper congealed in Kim's stomach like three-day-old porridge.
What
will he do, if he can't work magic anymore, ever?
she
thought, and then,
And what happens to me?
She frowned suddenly,
wondering what she had meant by that. It wasn't as if Mairelon were dead, and
even then Lady Wendall wouldn't throw Kim back out on the streets. To do her
justice, neither would Mrs. Lowe.
What am I worried about?

           
Abruptly,
she realized the answer, and her eyes widened in shock.
All the wizards in
St. Giles--Tom said they were working for Mannering, or they weren't working.
Ma Yanger hadn't done any spells for two months, and then she . . . she. . . .
The memory of Ma Yanger's vacant expression and the grunting sound that had
been all the speech she could manage made bile rise in Kim's throat.
Not
Mairelon!

           
She
looked across at him, suddenly frantic with worry. His eyes were still closed;
he hadn't noticed her reaction. She hesitated; but only briefly--they must be
nearly to Grosvenor Square, and she didn't have much time left.
"Epistamai,
videre, l'herah, revelare,"
she said, too softly for him to hear over
the sound of the coach wheels, as she sketched the pattern in the air.

           
A softly
glowing green haze sprang up around
Mairelon,
twin to
the one she had seen surrounding Ma Yanger in the tenement the week before.
Despite herself, Kim gasped. Mairelon's eyes opened. "What is it?" he
said.

           
Kim
swallowed. If she needed further proof, she had it now; he hadn't felt the
spellcasting. "I just did that spell you taught me, the one that shows
what things are enchanted. And you're glowing green."

           
Mairelon's
eyes
narrowed,
and his face lost some of its hopeless
look in sudden interest.
"Brightly?
Evenly?"

           
"Not very bright, just sort of a mist.
It's about three
inches deep all over, near as I can tell." She leaned forward to measure
more nearly, and Mairelon jerked away.

           
"No!"
he said, and then, more gently, "Until we have a better idea just what
happened and how, you'd better not try anything like that again. You don't want
it to happen to you."

           
Kim sat
back. The advice was good, but . . . "If you won't let nobody throw the
wind at you, how are we going to figure out what sneaking bully fitch done
this, let alone set it to rights?"

           
Mairelon
frowned, looking yet more like
himself
. "I hadn't
really thought it out. Shoreham may have run into something like this before,
or one of his men may have. I'll see him in the morning. And Kerring--if it's a
known spell, it'll be in the Royal College's library somewhere, and if it's
there, he'll find it."

           
And if it's an unknown spell?
But she couldn't bring
herself to say it, not when the thought of being able to do something about the
spell had banished the haunted look from Mairelon's face.

           
The
carriage pulled up, and for once Mairelon waited for the footman to open the
door. The house was quiet as they entered. Mairelon nodded toward the darkened
dining room and said, "We'd best check the ward before we do anything
else. The check is a small variation of the warding spell you already know,
like this. . . ."

           
Kim
followed his directions, but found nothing; the warding spell remained
untouched. When she reported this to Mairelon, he frowned. "Either we've
arrived in good time for whatever he's planning, or he isn't planning to do it
here," he muttered.

           
"Or
he's done it already," Kim said.

           
"Eh?"
Mairelon looked up, startled.

           
"It
was a trap," she said patiently. Mairelon's face set, and she went on
quickly, "Maybe that's all he meant to do."

           
"Ah.
If he thinks that I'm the only full-fledged wizard in the household, he'll
expect the ward to dissipate in a day or two, because ward spells require
maintenance and I . . . can't do that any longer. All he would have to do is be
patient, and he'd have a free hand." Mairelon dropped into a chair and began
drumming his fingers on the dining-room table. "But as soon as he realizes
that the ward isn't weakening, he'll know that someone else is maintaining it.
Then he'll come after you and Mother."

           
"And
maybe we can trap him."

           
Mairelon's
expression went bleak. "That's what I thought I was going to do, and look
what happened. No, that's not a good idea at all, unless . . ." He paused,
and a hint of the familiar gleam appeared in his eyes. ". . .
unless
we convince him that his first trap didn't work at
all."

           
Kim
blinked,
then
caught on. "You mean, make him
think you still have all your magic?"

           
"Exactly."
Mairelon rose to pace
up and down alongside the table.
"When the ward doesn't collapse,
he'll wonder; all we'll need is a public demonstration to convince him. And we
have the perfect opportunity in a week's time."

           
"What's
that?"

           
"Your
come-out ball," Mairelon said with a shadow of his old grin. "You and
I will do the illusion display, just as we've planned. Only you'll do a bit
more of
it,
and Mother will handle the rest. If we
arrange it correctly, no one will realize that it's not me actually working the
spell."

           
And it
would be arranged correctly, Kim was sure. If there was one thing Mairelon
understood, it was showmanship. When she had first met him, he had been
performing stage magic--sleight-of-hand illusions, coin tricks, and other such
things--in the Hungerford Market, and turning more than a few shillings at it
without employing any real magic at all. But . . . "If this frogmaker
thinks you still got your magic, won't he come after you again?"

           
"Thinks
I still
have
my magic," Mairelon said. "Yes, that's the whole
idea. He can't do anything more to me, after all."

           
Kim
thought of Ma Yanger, and shivered. But Mairelon would think of that himself,
soon enough, and if he didn't she could point it out later. And as long as he
was busy with Shoreham and Kerring and figuring out how to pretend he still had
his magic, he wouldn't go haring off on some long chance that only a
bubble-brained, pigheaded flat would even think of.

           
Carriage
wheels sounded outside, and a moment later Lady Wendall burst into the room,
followed more sedately by Mrs. Lowe. "Richard!" said Lady Wendall.
"What happened? Why did you and Kim leave so early?"

           
"Our
mysterious wizard had another try, and Kim and I thought we should come home
and check the ward," Mairelon said. "But it's held up fine."

           
Lady
Wendall gave Mairelon a sharp look, but held her peace.

           
"I
trust that next time you will bring your mother, instead of dragging Kim away
from a promising situation," Mrs. Lowe said. "She will be fortunate
indeed if the Marquis of Harsfeld does not take exception to the manner in
which he was deserted this evening."

           
"Bosh,
Agatha!" Lady Wendall said. "If Kim had gone to the musicale as one
of Lord Franton's party, he might justly have been offended, but she came with
us. And it will be just as well if he is not too particular in his attentions.
It is much too early in the Season for Kim to allow her name to be linked with
that of any one gentleman."

           
"I
should think so!" said Mairelon, sounding rather startled.

           
"If
the pair of you
intend
to encourage Kim to pass up a
brilliant match, simply because it does not suit your sense of timing, then I
shall say nothing more," Mrs. Lowe announced.