The Magicians And Mrs. Quent Part 40

"By listening to what?"

"To any number of things. For example, on the way here, I listened to the sound of storks snapping their bills among the rooftops in the Old City, to a candlemaker scolding his apprentice for spilling tallow, and to the rattling of a loose cobble on the street."

Lord Baydon shook his head, jowls waggling. "But none of those can tell you anything of interest. I have heard all those things myself and have gained no particular enlightenment."

"On the contrary, your lords.h.i.+p," Mr. Bennick said, "they were all very enlightening. By the sound of the storks I knew that many of the birds nested along the street down which I pa.s.sed-a street where I had been considering buying a property as an investment. However, storks prefer to nest atop abandoned buildings, and the seller had told me that his property was the only one available on the street. Thus I know him to be untrustworthy and not one to do business with. At the same time, the candlemaker's lecture to his careless apprentice told me that tallow is particularly short right now, and so instead of investing in the property I had considered, I shall instead send a note to my banker telling him to purchase shares in a rendering firm. As for the cobble, by the sound it made when I trod upon it, I could discern something was wedged beneath. I pried it up, and this is what I found."

He took a small object from his pocket and flipped it toward Rafferdy. On instinct Rafferdy reached out and caught the thing. It was a coin, corroded and dull, but here and there he saw the glint of gold.

"I haven't had time to examine it properly, but I believe it's quite old," Mr. Bennick said. "The writing on it appears to be in Tharosian, and while I do not think it that ancient, it was fas.h.i.+onable during the reigns of some of the middle Mabingorian kings to mint coins in a Tharosian style. I'd say it's five hundred years old, at the least."

Rafferdy ran a thumb over the coin, fascinated despite himself. "To think it's been there all this time, a secret mere inches from where everyone walks."

"There are many secrets just out of our view," Mr. Bennick said. "You should clean it and keep it for a souvenir."

A sudden distaste filled Rafferdy. The coin felt cold in his hand. "No, I could not possibly accept such a gift." He flipped it back toward its finder. As he did, the ring on his finger glinted blue.

Mr. Bennick s.n.a.t.c.hed the coin out of the air. He made no reply but regarded Rafferdy with his dark eyes as he fingered the coin and tucked it back in his pocket.

"There, that is what I meant when I said we'd have some real conversation," Lady Marsdel declaimed as Mr. Bennick took a place at the table across from Rafferdy. "I'm so glad you've returned to the city, Mr. Bennick. You have been sorely missed all these years. I wish only that you'd come in time to see Lord Marsdel again. It would have given him great pleasure to see you. Why you exiled yourself for so long in Torland, I can't imagine, though I'm sure you had your reasons."

"I imagine Mr. Bennick was seeing to the business of the Vordigan estate," Rafferdy said. "It is in Torland, I believe."

At this Mr. Bennick raised an eyebrow. "I did not realize you knew so much about me, Mr. Rafferdy."

"As you said, Mr. Bennick, one can learn very interesting things by listening." Rafferdy smiled and ate his soup.

"Tell me, Mr. Bennick," Lady Marsdel said, "what do you think of the loathsome atmosphere in the city at present? Do you not find it unspeakably foul of late?"

"I confess, it has not troubled me," he replied.

"Of course it doesn't trouble you," Lord Baydon said. He waggled a capon leg in Mr. Bennick's direction. "You magicians are always meddling about with vile potions and chemicals. Awful stuff. I'm sure your nose is ruined from all the beastly smells. What have you been brewing of late, Mr. Bennick? Things with a.r.s.enic and hemlock and whatnot?"

"Nothing stronger than tea, your lords.h.i.+p. As you know, I have not practiced magick in many years." He picked up his winegla.s.s, which the steward had just filled. Holding it beneath his prominent nose, he inhaled deeply of it. "This comes from the northern Princ.i.p.alities, doesn't it?" he said. "From Abanizzo, I believe. It is the vintage of four years ago, when the weather was wetter than usual."

When the steward's nod confirmed this information, Mrs. Baydon clapped her hands. "Well done, Mr. Bennick. Well done indeed."

"How do you know it was his nose that gave him the answer rather than some spell?" Rafferdy said, giving her a look of mischief. "For can a magician who claims he no longer practices magick ever really be trusted to tell the truth? Would it not, in fact, aid him in keeping his studies secret-a desire, you know, of all magicians-if everyone thought he had lost his interest in the arcane?"

This won laughter from around the table.

As the sound of mirth faded, Mr. Bennick turned toward Rafferdy. "Magick cannot be used for such a trivial purpose as detecting the vintage of a wine. And I never said I had lost my interest in the arcane, Mr. Rafferdy-only that I no longer practiced it."

Rafferdy's smile went flat. He did not care for the look on Mr. Bennick's sallow face. It was openly sharp: a blade drawn in plain sight rather than concealed behind one's back.

"Is it true what I hear, Mr. Bennick?" Mr. Baydon said. Given that Lady Marsdel had forbidden broadsheets at the dining table, he was forced to interact with the rest of them instead. "Is it a fact that you believe our own Mr. Rafferdy could make himself into something of a magician? Mrs. Baydon tells me this is the case."

"One cannot be made into a magician," Mr. Bennick answered, swirling his gla.s.s, gazing at the red liquid as it moved in a spiral. "One either is or is not." He raised the gla.s.s and took a sip.

"Then he is a magician!" Mrs. Baydon said. She turned to Rafferdy and touched his arm. "Come, Rafferdy, do an enchantment for us. Please! We so long for some amus.e.m.e.nt."

Rafferdy s.h.i.+fted in his chair. Mrs. Baydon's words vexed him; he did not appreciate them in the least.

"I shall do no such thing," he said, not caring that he sounded petulant. "Even if I could work an enchantment, I would not. In fact, I am sure Mr. Bennick would agree magick should not be used for such a trivial thing as entertainment. That's for the illusionists in their theaters. And even if I cared to indulge you-which I do not-I would fail in the task, for I have not the least idea how to work an enchantment."

"I can show you," Mr. Bennick said, setting down his gla.s.s.

Now Rafferdy was truly perturbed. He had thought his speech would put an end to this nonsense. Instead, everyone around the table was gazing at him.

"Oh, do, Mr. Bennick, do show him!" Mrs. Baydon exclaimed.

Mr. Bennick rose from his chair and moved around the table. Rafferdy renewed his protests, stating that he had no intention of making a fool of himself for their enjoyment, but the others would not relent. They wished to see him do magick; Lady Marsdel commanded it. Like the crowd in some ancient Tharosian arena watching gladiators battle, the guests at the dinner table would not be denied their spectacle.

"This is pointless," he said in a low voice as Mr. Bennick stood over him. "I have no idea what to do."

"You need only do what I tell you. Promise me only that you will do your best to follow my instructions."

Rafferdy raised his hands in defeat. If a pain must be endured, better to be done with it as swiftly as possible.

"Mrs. Baydon, I noticed you wear a locket," Mr. Bennick said, turning toward her. "Would you be willing to part with it for a few moments?"

Her eyes shone. "Of course." She undid the chain and handed the locket to him. It was made of gold: oval-shaped with a tiny hinge. "But there's nothing at all of value inside it. Just a snip of Mr. Baydon's hair."

Mr. Baydon gave her a dry look from across the table. "You seemed quite delighted to receive it at the time, as I recall."

"You weren't married then," Lord Baydon said. "She didn't know you very well. However, now that she has a good idea of your entire value, she knows what a small piece of you is worth!"

Mr. Bennick took the locket, then gave it to Rafferdy.

"Open it," Mr. Bennick instructed.

Rafferdy did so, using a fingernail to prize it open. As Mrs. Baydon had said, there was a curl of brown hair within, tied by a ribbon.

"Now shut it again, and close it inside your fist. Yes, like that. Hold your other hand above, and repeat the words I say to you. They are in an ancient and unfamiliar tongue, a language older than all of history, so listen carefully-you must be sure to repeat them exactly as I say them."

Rafferdy frowned up at the taller man. "What if I make a mistake?"

"It would be best if you did not."

Rafferdy swallowed. He didn't like the sound of that. "Don't I need to draw some strange symbols or odd runes?"

"Not for such a small enchantment as this. Your hand will contain and direct the magickal energies. Now clear your mind of other thoughts."

Before Rafferdy could ask anything more, Bennick uttered several strange words. They were harsh and guttural and in no language Rafferdy had ever heard. Indeed, he supposed they were in no language at all but were pure gibberish. However, when it was seen that this "enchantment" had failed to have any effect, Rafferdy would refuse to let the blame be placed on him; he would make no mistake in his recitation, and all would see it was Mr. Bennick who was the real fool.

The words, however, were oddly difficult to speak. His tongue, usually quick and glib, seemed to labor to form the sounds. His brow furrowed, and he had to force his lips to shape the words, as if they were alien things-sounds his faculties had never been designed to utter.

By the time he finished, sweat had beaded on his forehead, though the incantation had consisted of no more than half a dozen words. Nothing happened as the last syllable faded to silence. The candles did not gutter; there was no charge on the air.

"Well, that was entirely without purpose," Rafferdy said, leaning back.

Mr. Bennick regarded him. "Was it? In that case, hand the locket back to Mrs. Baydon."

Rafferdy did so, and gladly. His jaw ached, and his throat was sore; he took a sip of wine.

"Oh!" Mrs. Baydon exclaimed. "Something is wrong-I can't open it." She turned the locket around and around but to no avail.

"Well, it was quite easy for me," Rafferdy said. However, when she handed it back to him, he found he could no longer open the locket. At first he took care not to damage it, but he soon gave that up and tried with all his might. However, the tiny hinge would not budge.

"You cannot open it that way," Mr. Bennick said. There was a pleased look on his aquiline face. "No one at the table can. It's been sealed with magick, and only magick can open it again."

"Nonsense," Rafferdy said, and kept trying to open the locket, though without success. "There must be some trick."

"What trick can there be?" Lord Baydon said. "It was in your hand the entire time."

"It's true, Mr. Rafferdy," Mrs. Baydon said, clapping her hands and laughing. "It had to have been magick that locked it shut."

He scowled at her. "Magick, yes, but we already know who in this room was the real magician. You spoke the incantation even as I did, Mr. Bennick, and with more proper inflection, I am sure. It was you who locked it, not I."

"I can prove to you quite easily that was not the case," Mr. Bennick said.

"How so?"

"Do you recall the words of the incantation? Yes? Then hold the locket in your hand and speak them again."

"I will not. I am finished with this ridiculous farce."

"But we are not," Lady Marsdel declared. "If you are so certain you cannot work magick, Mr. Rafferdy, what have you to fear? Now, speak the words! You are very clever-I have no doubt you can recall them."

Calls of "Hear, hear," went around the table.

Rafferdy glared up at Mr. Bennick. You have gotten your revenge against me again, sir, he wanted to say. First you cursed me with the wretched ring, and now you're making a mockery of me.

However, he tightened his hand around the locket, then spoke the six words of the incantation. He did not know if it was from his prior experience or from the energy of anger, but this time the words were easier to utter.

"There," he said, and thrust the locket at Mrs. Baydon.

She accepted it and put a fingernail to the thin crack where the two halves met. It opened easily under her touch.

"Marvelous!" Lord Baydon exclaimed.

Mrs. Baydon laughed, and Lady Marsdel applauded by striking a spoon against a dish. Even Mr. Baydon seemed amused.

Rafferdy, however, was not. It's a trick, he wanted to say. Yet it wasn't. He had handled the locket himself; there could be no other explanation. Somehow, Bennick had made him to do magick. But how? And moreover, for what purpose? The former magician returned to his seat. His expression seemed neither surprised nor leering. His dark eyes were as unreadable as ever as he picked up a fork and ate his supper.

"You really did it, Mr. Rafferdy," Mrs. Baydon said, smiling at him. "You performed an enchantment. You cannot deny it."

"I must concede it appears so," Rafferdy said grudgingly. "You've bested me, Mr. Bennick, though I have no idea how. Nor can I see what opening and shutting a locket has to do with real magick."

"That is the very foundation of magick," Mr. Bennick said. "It is the opening of things that are shut and the shutting of things that are open. It is also about the binding and unbinding of things. You should come speak with me sometime if you wish to learn more."

"I don't wish it, thank you very much."

"Come now, Rafferdy," Mr. Baydon said, scowling across the table. "Clearly you have a talent for this stuff. There are men who pay hundreds of regals a year to go to university in hopes of learning the smallest amount of magick, and here Mr. Bennick's given you a lesson for free and offered you more. Surely you must want to know how to wield such power."

"What I want is another gla.s.s of wine," he said, and handed his empty gla.s.s to a servant.

"My offer remains open if you change your mind," Mr. Bennick said.

Mrs. Baydon laughed. "You're wasting your time, I'm afraid, Mr. Bennick. I fear magick seems too worthwhile. Our dear Mr. Rafferdy has never had an interest in anything that might be remotely useful."

"Or perhaps he simply has yet to find the right use for it," Mr. Bennick said. His glance went to Rafferdy's hand and the ring there.

"Well, since you all want so badly for me to perform another trick, I will oblige you," Rafferdy said.

"And what trick is that?" Lady Marsdel demanded.

He rose from his seat. "I shall make myself disappear." And bowing to her ladys.h.i.+p and the other guests, he took his leave, retrieved his hat, and went out into the night.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

T HE BELLS OF St. Galmuth's were tolling as Eldyn walked past Duskfellow's graveyard and deeper into the Old City. He kept the shadows close around him as he skirted the ragged fringes of High Holy. It would have been safer to take a hack cab, but he would be spending too much as it was that night. He went swiftly, a wraith in the dark.

All at once the night air brightened, and Eldyn turned a corner onto the west end of Durrow Street. Despite the late hour, crowds of people moved up and down the street. Some went boldly, others furtively, all of them searching for the theater most likely to cater to their tastes. Music and laughter spilled out of the open doors, along with colored light that s.h.i.+mmered on the air like a glamour. Eldyn moved down the street, forgetting his stiff fingers and aching back, forgetting the dim apartment over the shoemaker's shop and Sas.h.i.+e's reproachful looks.

Over the last quarter month, since attending the performance at the Theater of the Doves, he had returned to Durrow Street several times. However, with no special coin to grant him admission, he had been forced to pay for his ticket like everyone else.

He knew that it was wrong, that it was frivolous, that he should save the money for his and Sas.h.i.+e's future. Each time he walked home, he vowed he would not return. Only then would come a particularly awful day at Sadent, Mornden, & Bayle, or a quarrel with Sas.h.i.+e, and he would find himself here once again.

Like tonight. Eldyn walked past the theaters. A performer or two stood before each one, crafting illusions and conjuring phantasms. These were small things, meant to intrigue and entice and also to indicate the nature of the performance that would take place inside. The true wonders would be revealed only to those who entered.

In front of one of the theaters, a pair of illusionists tossed b.a.l.l.s of blue and green fire back and forth. Beyond, a man, his face powdered, danced with a lithe figure swathed in a white cloth, then pulled away the sheet to reveal nothing but air. Across the street, a lady-or what seemed to be a lady-in a silver gown used a wand to draw glittering squares in midair, then pushed them open as if they were windows, revealing seascapes and mountains and sun-drenched fields beyond.

Eldyn watched each performer for a few moments, then moved on, trying to decide where to go. The second time he had come to Durrow Street, he had gone to the Theater of the Doves again. Since then he had gone to the Theater of Dreams, the Theater of the Veils, and the Theater of Mirrors. In each he had seen wonders and visions: confections of light and sound that, like sweets, only left one hungrier the more one consumed.

A man in a black suit beckoned to him. As Eldyn drew near, he saw that the other was unusually thin, and though his face was carefully powdered and rouged, it did not hide the hollowness of his cheeks.

"Look," the man said, and with a palsied hand he gestured to a gilded cage that hung from a stand.

Eldyn looked into the cage, expecting to see a jewel-colored bird like those from the Theater of the Doves. Instead, on the perch inside the cage sat a creature the length of his hand. It was naked and looked like a tiny woman except for its gossamer wings, green hair, and curling tail. The creature let out a trilling laugh as Eldyn gasped. Its tail coiled around its body, caressing, probing; the creature writhed on the perch, eyes glowing red.

The man in the black suit gave a grin as skeletal as any adorning a tombstone at Duskfellow's. "You'll see the full-size ones inside, and more. Come, enter the Theater of Emeralds."