Chapter Nine #2
As for the theory that the copper box was just an innocent object and the water itself was the problem, Jasper contemplated mentioning the dampening effects of hundreds of yards of rock and soil. No magic could be sent through such a barrier.
He decided not to waste his breath. Uncle Percy did not stop to listen, in any case, but continued coming up with ever more fanciful explanations that, in sum, sought to negate every bit of evidence that the hex was the result of enemy action, and even that the hex existed at all.
Indeed, the man was so keen to discredit Jasper’s investigations that Jasper’s vague disquiet with his patron’s brother was fast coalescing into outright suspicion. But why would Lord Percival Thornton work with the French? It defied all reason.
Nonetheless, he was glad his magic was stable enough that he could send both the hexed copper box and his report on his investigation by translocation directly to the College of Mages without letting Uncle Percy or his staff know.
*
After he left Uncle Percy, Jasper headed for his study to set up the translocation spell. On his way, he was stopped repeatedly by people who wanted to know if the egg had hatched, and if so, what the creature was.
He changed his direction. “Tell those who are off duty that I will make an announcement in the great hall,” he said.
Odd. Uncle Percy had not asked about the egg.
Could it be that he had inside knowledge?
A scryer, perhaps? But no. The nuns with Sister Louise all had mage-gifts of one kind or another, and would have their own privacy and that of their charges well protected.
It would not be one of the nuns. Perhaps a maid?
Or perhaps it was just that the man was totally self-centered. The nature of the egg’s occupant didn’t affect him, so therefore it didn’t interest him. Still, Jasper would mention his concerns to Sister Louise.
He allowed the crowd in the hall a few minutes to swell, as word spread that the egg had hatched and that Jasper knew what it was. Those who weren’t there after he was ready to speak would just have to learn the news from others.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, after the noise of speculating and excited conversation had risen to an almost unbearable level, “This morning I heard from Miss Nettleford that we have a new arrival. She is a little girl, as we suspected, and she is also…” he paused for dramatic effect, and then finished, “A sphinx.”
There were cheers from about a quarter of those gathered, and groans from the rest, and as Jasper left, money was changing hands. Jasper, who had placed a modest bet on the baby being a sphinx, was a few pounds richer himself, or would be when he collected on his debts.
At the moment, though, his focus was on reporting to the Duke of Findlater and to his mentor at the College of Mages.
The hex bothered him more than he could easily say.
Something in him that worked outside of—or perhaps ahead of—reason was convinced they had a traitor in their midst. Beyond that, he was certain that their troubles were not over yet.
In his report, he did not dwell on these nagging feelings, but stuck to the facts.
The copper box with the hex on it could not have arrived in the well without being put there.
It was found in the well. He had already reported on the search, what they’d found, what the discerner had seen—but he summarized those facts, too.
Both the duke and the Lady Enchanter who was the College Dean read dozens of reports in a typical week, and it was courteous to assume they didn’t want spend their time reading older documents to get the whole picture.
The recommendations part of the report was harder than all the rest. Protect the catalyst. That was, in the briefest and starkest of terms, his mission.
In the end, he was satisfied with what he had written. He set the translocation spell and reached out with his mind for the destination location. Darkness. A hard wall. He reeled back, his head throbbing. Something—or someone—was blocking his spell.
He tried twice more, with the same result. This isn’t working. I need to find out what the barrier is, or at least where it comes from. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his head, he sent his mage senses cautiously toward the obstacle in his way.
It was solid. Wide, too, stretching as far as he could reach in both directions, curving around the castle. And tall, for he couldn’t reach the top.
After a few minutes thought—it took longer than it should, because his head hurt even worse after his magical explorations—he opened the outer door of his rooms and spoke to the footman on duty in the hall. “Please ask Captain Harewood to come and see me. I need him.”
Two heads were better than one, especially when one of them felt as if it had been in a game of mob football—as the ball.
A drink. He needed something to drink. He considered the brandy decanter, but alcohol was probably a bad idea given the state of his head. Instead, he put his kettle on his little spirit stove, and spooned some tea into his teapot.
The kettle had boiled and he was just pouring the water onto the leaves when a knock on the door proved to be Harewood.
“Come in and sit down, Harewood. A drink? I have brandy and port, or I am making tea, if you prefer.”
“Tea, sir,” said Captain Harewood. “I take it there is a problem and I shall need a clear head.”
Not for the first time, Jasper thanked God that the Horse Guard had sent such a clearheaded and sensible young man to command the troops who escorted him and Miss Nettleford.
He set the teapot to brew, and put out a second cup while saying, “You shall, for my wits are not what they should be. Reach out with your mage sense. Try to reach outside the castle walls. Tell me what you find. And go carefully, for I’ve given myself a headache by moving at speed. ”
Harewood frowned and narrowed his eyes, which lost focus as his mage sense took all of his attention. Jasper waited. It seemed to take a long time, but at last, Harewood blinked, gave a minute shake of his head, and turned his gaze to Jasper.
“I found a barrier,” he said. “It goes as far round the castle as I can ‘see’ and higher than I can ‘reach’. I couldn’t get below it by going underground, either. I sensed a couple of birds flying through it, so I suspect it just stops magic, though that remains to be tested.”
Impressive. Jasper had not thought of trying to reach under.
Nor had he noticed the birds. He handed the young captain the tea he had poured while Harewood was otherwise occupied, and picked up his own cup.
“The questions I have are: where does it come from, who made it, and what is it intended to do?”
The young captain looked crestfallen. “I do not know,” he admitted.
“Neither do I,” Jasper assured him. “But I intend that you and I shall find out.”
“My gift isn’t that strong,” Harewood said, uncertainly, and then added, “Though it seems to have changed a bit since being with the catalyst. It is still just simple stuff, though. Small magic. I do not know what help I can be, sir.”
“You have small magic, you say,” Jasper observed.
“But it is fully under your control. Disciplined and intelligent control, furthermore. While I have strong magic, I have never had much success controlling it. In any case, it is your intelligence I want. Already, you thought of two things I had not—testing the depth of the barrier and observing the birds.”
The captain stood a trifle straighter and allowed himself a small smile. “It was probably the headache, sir,” he offered. “I might be able to do something about that, if you would permit.”
“If you can fix my headache, Harewood, I would be very grateful.”
“It’s a trick my great aunt taught me,” Harewood said. “I’ll need to stand behind you, sir, and massage your temples.”
Figuring it might help, Jasper gave his consent, but Harewood had understated the matter. What he did was more than a simple massage. Jasper could feel a magical influence moving from the young officer’s fingertips into his head, penetrating the locations of pain and soothing them.
“There,” said Harewood. “I hope that is better.”
“Much better,” Jasper realized. “My headache is almost gone. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Harewood said. “Anything I can do.”
Jasper replied to the courteous half bow with one of his own, and returned to the problem before them.
“I came up here to report on the hex in the well to my superiors in London,” he said.
“I wrote the letters, but when I tried to translocate them, I hit the barrier. It wasn’t here two nights ago, when I first reported the hex’s existence. Perhaps the timing is a coincidence.”
“Or perhaps someone does not want you to send your letters,” mused Harewood.
“Precisely so.” Perhaps Harewood was right about the headache interfering with his thinking, for, with it gone, another thought occurred to Jasper. “I have not had a response to my messages of two nights ago. I wonder if the barrier is preventing entry as well as egress.”
“What would happen?” Harewood asked. “Would the London letters just fall to the ground outside the castle? Or would they return to the sender?”
“They wouldn’t go,” Jasper said, and explained, “The way it was explained to me is that all places are next to one another, at least in a magical sense. In translocation, we reach out to the destination place, and move it so close to the place we are in that the object or being we want to move is actually in both places at the same time, and then we move them apart again, leaving the object behind.”
Harewood nodded thoughtfully. “So, is the barrier keeping our piece of the world separated from everywhere else? Or just from London?”
It was an excellent question. “Let’s see if I can send something somewhere else,” said Jasper.
He tried sending a sheet of paper to his boyhood hometown, which was in England’s far south. No luck. Another sheet to a friend of his in Canada. Still no success. Scotland? No. Spain? No. In all, they made a dozen attempts, and in each case, the barrier was in the way.
This time, Jasper had been more cautious, and the lingering remnants of the headache had grown no worse.
“Can we walk past the barrier?” Harewood wondered next. “If birds can fly through, why not people?”
“Shall we go for a walk?” Jasper suggested. “I daresay there must be something out in the village or the camps that we need to inspect.”
“Spot inspection,” said Harewood promptly. “Have people noticed a change in their magic? Or have they noticed any magic if they didn’t have a mage-gift before?”
“It’s a good idea,” Jasper acknowledged. “I should be doing that, shouldn’t I? Let’s call it the first weekly inspection, then.”
Nobody batted an eyelash when they announced their intention to the guards on the gate and then the sentries at the village and finally to those standing watch at the camp.
Indeed, at each place, at least one person had something to report—a glimmer of magic where there had been none before, or a mage-gift that was stronger, broader, or easier to control.
In between interviews, both Jasper and Harewood surreptitiously tested the barrier. It was still there, and it was strong.
“Is it personal, Mr. Thornton?” asked Harewood, as they walked from the village to the camp. “I mean, the barrier. Is it around you, and not the castle?”
Jasper’s step faltered. He hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense. He was, after all, Miss Nettleford’s assigned protector. Take him out of the way, and—or so it might be reasoned—Miss Nettleford would be easier to abduct or control.
No. There was a flaw in that motive. “A barrier around me won’t prevent me from protecting Miss Nettleford. As long as she and I are in the same location, anyone trying to get to her will face me and all the magic I can muster.”
“The barrier is preventing you from reaching London for help or information,” Harewood pointed out. “And if they can lure you away from the vicinity, it will prevent you from receiving any message that Miss Nettleford is in danger.”
“Then I shall not be lured,” Jasper declared. “Miss Nettleford’s safety is my primary duty. Harewood, I’m going to leave my satchel behind in the camp. When we get back to the castle, I shall send you down to get it.”
The satchel was made of leather and contained a small desk and everything he needed to take notes during their interviews.
“I can do that, sir,” Harewood replied. “Am I permitted to know why?”
“I want to find out whether the barrier is around me, but I don’t want to bring anyone else into the secret.
I trust you, the nuns, and Miss Nettleford, but no-one else.
Come back down, pick up the satchel, then stop between the camp and the village.
I’ll give you the letters, already set up with the translocation spell.
All you’ll need to do is speak the trigger word, and they’ll be on their way. ”
At least, Jasper hoped that they were right about the barrier being linked to him, and that Harewood’s gift was strong enough to activate Jasper’s translocation spell.