Spellmaker

CHAPTER 3

Elsie was dreaming of the stocks when a sudden banging on the bars jolted her awake. She’d stuffed herself into the far corner, head against the cool stone, and managed to fall asleep. It took her a moment to orient herself, to remember her surroundings and her predicament, and to recognize the people on the other side of the bars. The guard, who’d rattled the door with his club, was unfamiliar, but the sight of the other two sent her pulse raging, yanking her into complete wakefulness.

“That was unnecessary,” Bacchus growled, but his eyes remained on Elsie. Beside him stood Ogden, his lips pulled into a frown, his arms folded tightly across his chest in displeasure.

Lord knew she ought to be embarrassed to be seen like this, disheveled, dress wrinkled, curled up like a beaten dog, but all she felt was relief. She stood too quickly, which made her head swim, and only just avoided smacking her crown on the ceiling. Leaning on the wall to orient herself, she stumbled. “I-I thought I wasn’t allowed visitors.”

“Not poor ones, anyway,” the guard said, eyeing Bacchus. “Five minutes,” he added before strolling down the hallway and out of Elsie’s line of sight.

Ogden reached through the bars; Elsie crossed the tiny space, stooping, and grasped his hand. “It’s not so very terrible,” she lied. Then, to Bacchus, “I don’t suppose this was the meeting you had in mind.”

Bacchus scoffed. “At least they haven’t curbed your sense of humor.”

Elsie smiled at that . . . until she noticed her chamber pot only a few feet away. Her entire body pulsed crimson.

“I’ve caught him up,” Ogden said, referring to Bacchus. “He knows everything.”

Elsie swallowed. “She came, last night.”

Bacchus blanched. “Merton? Here?”

“A projection. Practically admitted to everything—finding me at the workhouse, controlling Ogden, turning me in. She offered to get me out if I came with her willingly.”

Ogden frowned. “She still wants you, then.”

At least somebody does, but the thought sickened her. After all, hadn’t Bacchus and Ogden gone to great trouble to be here?

Bacchus, practically squatting to see through the bars, murmured, “No one saw her?”

Elsie shook her head.

He considered a moment. “Your sole witness won’t convince anyone. But I’ve garnered an appointment with the magistrate to discuss your case. There may yet be a way to twist this in your favor.”

Elsie’s heartbeat skipped. “Truly?”

“There’s a forgiveness period for spellbreakers, since their abilities are inherent,” he said, his voice warm and quick. “I looked into it.”

A sour taste filled her mouth. Elsie had known she was a spellbreaker since she was ten. “How long is the leniency?”

“A year.”

She hugged herself. “Bacchus—”

“Let me speak with him,” he insisted.

Ogden said, “Have you admitted anything?”

“No.” At least there was that. “I haven’t said a word.”

A long breath passed over Ogden’s lips. “Good.” He rubbed stubble on his chin, considering. “I can almost picture it, the place I went when Merton made me run. Where the rest of the opus spells were hidden. If I could find it again . . . perhaps there’ll be evidence tying Merton to it. At the very least, we’d have spells to arm ourselves with, when she strikes again.”

Elsie glanced past the bars, looking for jailers, but Ogden spoke so quietly she doubted he could be overheard.

“Elsie.” For a moment Elsie thought Bacchus reached for her—and her heart leapt in anticipation—but instead his large hand wrapped around one of the iron bars. “We’ll get you out, one way or another.”

Chewing on her lip, she glanced at the small space behind her. “Perhaps, Bacchus. But not even a master aspector can erase the law.”

“Elsie, look at me.”

She did, the green in his eyes vibrant despite the shadows of the cell. This time it was she who was trapped, not he. For a fleeting moment, she let herself remember what his skin felt like under her lips. But she couldn’t run away from him—or what he made her feel—this time. She couldn’t do anything.

His gaze was fast and firm. “I will get you out of here, if I have to melt the castle down myself, do you understand?”

She stared at him, wanting so badly to believe him. Wanting to ignore the fear and anxiety festering beneath her ribs and give hope its way, but hoping had always hurt her. Still, she found herself nodding. Not hoping, exactly. Wishing, perhaps.

“Magic-related discipline tends to be swift,” Ogden murmured. “I’ll need to hunt the opuses down as quickly as I can. Find a way to pin them on Merton.”

Elsie nodded. “Go. Emmeline will be fine.”

Footsteps closed in on their huddle. “Time’s up!” barked the guard.

Ogden ignored him. “I leave it to you, Master Kelsey.”

Before Bacchus could say anything, the guard approached, and the two men stepped back from the bars. Elsie felt a thousand threads connecting her to them, a spell in and of itself, and she followed them as far as the heavy door would allow, wrapping both hands around the unyielding iron.

Bacchus put his warm hands over hers, driving back the chill for an instant.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

“Come on now.” The guard waved his club.

Both Bacchus and Ogden spared her a final look before walking away, and Elsie pressed her face against the slots in the door, watching them until she couldn’t see them anymore, then listening to their footsteps until they faded. The prison grew silent once more, save for the sudden, brief wail of a prisoner beyond Elsie’s chamber.

Elsie sank to her knees and found herself praying again, hoping God could muddle through her thorny thoughts better than she could.

Bacchus waited impatiently in the magistrate’s sitting room on the east side of Oxford. It was elaborately furnished in reds and creams, and he was sorely tempted to change the color scheme to give himself something to do. Granted, that wouldn’t play well. He needed this man to like him, and Englishmen seemed predisposed to think the worst of him. He looked the part of a foreigner, and so he was treated as one.

He tried to sit, first on a posh settee and then on an elaborately carved mahogany armchair, but time ticked slowly and his nerves ran hot, so he stood and paced, first before the unlit fireplace, then by the windows that looked out onto modest but well-kept gardens. Something he might have appreciated, were he not so focused on what to say and how to say it. He hadn’t even been this nervous when he’d appealed for his mastership at the London Physical Atheneum. Then again, he’d known precisely what he was doing at the time.

A servant came in, bringing a tray of tea. She set it down on a side table and lifted a cup, but Bacchus waved her off, so she simply poured some for the magistrate and departed. The liquid had to be nearly cold by the time the man finally showed himself.

Bacchus bowed lower than was necessary. “Lord Astley, thank you for seeing me.” The man was about Elsie’s height, average for a man, and looked to be sixty or thereabouts, with sagging skin on his cheeks and neck that spoke of heavy weight loss, though his stomach was still round beneath his satin cutaway. His hair was curled and receding, a few locks holding on to brown pigment, the rest varying shades of gray. A pair of spectacles rested on his nose.

“Master Kelsey.” He nodded toward him. “My butler tells me you’re here regarding the Camden case. Forgive my tardiness; I hadn’t yet read up on it, and my daughter was rather insistent I attend a picnic in South Park.” He rolled his eyes and gestured to the settee. “Please, sit.”

The magistrate settled into the chair closest to the tea and picked up the cup the servant had left for him. He made a face as he took a sip, then returned the cup to the tray.

“Then you are familiar with the charges against Miss Camden?” Bacchus didn’t have the patience for small talk, not with his mind fixed on the image of Elsie in that awful cell. He’d never seen her look so vulnerable before, so defeated. Those locked bars had completely stripped her of her practiced airs.

The magistrate nodded. “Nasty thing, really. Hard punishments, even for women.”

“I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. Miss Camden has only recently discovered her abilities. She falls well within the grace period allotted for registration.”

Lord Astley studied him in a way that did not instill confidence. “How old is Miss Camden?”

“One and twenty.”

The man’s brow knit together. “Spellbreakers usually discover their abilities in adolescence.”

“But not always,” he countered. “Elsie began to suspect only a month ago.”

Lord Astley poured a new cup of tea, loading it with sugar. “Then why did she not report it a month ago?”

Bacchus forced his posture to relax; he could feel his muscles tensing with every inquiry. “It was only a suspicion, and of course she hasn’t had the time or training to test it. Miss Camden is a working woman, you understand. Her employer keeps her very busy. And there is always a sense of fear attached to such things.”

The magistrate met Bacchus’s gaze. “Whatever does she have to be afraid of, if she’s only just discovered it?”

Choosing to be daring, Bacchus said, “Perhaps that the people she reports it to will think she must have discovered it in her adolescence, and therefore might suspect she is lying.”

To his relief, the magistrate’s lip quirked. “Touché. But my reports say that she’s been aware of her abilities for some time now, even using them.”

Bacchus didn’t miss a beat. “I believe I know who reported her, and the two met only recently.”

The magistrate considered this, but skepticism still weighed on his brow. Master Merton had likely reported the spellbreaking anonymously; how could she not? The accuser would be asked to disclose how he or she knew, and Master Merton was too covetous of her own secrets to risk an interview with a truthseeker. But that very anonymity might give Bacchus’s claim more credence. He prayed it would.

Lord Astley took a sip of tea, biding his time, organizing his thoughts. “The charges are not so simple. They’re quite severe, you understand.”

“Who is accusing her?”

Lord Astley smiled. “I thought you said you knew.”

“You make me believe I do not.” He clasped his hands together. “I am a witness. I was with Elsie during this entire ordeal. Which is why I’m shocked at the allegation that she knew about her abilities and purposefully concealed them. I know that to be false.”

Lord Astley raised an eyebrow. “It’s my understanding you arrived in England only six weeks ago.”

It took all Bacchus’s control to not show his surprise. Had the magistrate looked into his background as well? Had he perhaps read the police report of the happenings at the St. Katharine Docks?

“I met Miss Camden at a market in London shortly after my arrival,” he said, adopting the story he had used with the duke and duchess. His mind spun as he attempted to piece together a believable tale that would not result in Elsie’s broken neck. “I’ve been courting her.” The duke and his family could confirm that, as they already believed it to be true. Indeed, they’d encouraged him.

“Is that so?” The magistrate returned his cup again to the tray. “A master aspector and a stonemason’s employee?”

“I did not have the master title when we met,” he pressed. “In fact, I was with her when she detected her first spell. We were both confused. It wasn’t until later that I suggested it might be a rune. She didn’t believe me, of course.”

Lord Astley leaned back in his chair, studying Bacchus for an uncomfortable moment. “And you believe you know her well enough, and you’ve been in her company long enough, to vouch for her innocence? I find it hard to swallow, Master Kelsey, if you’ll forgive my bluntness. Your record is clear, and I believe you have the fellowship of the Duke of Kent, but it’s my job to ensure criminals pay their fare and the innocent find their mercy. It’s difficult to mete out justice when all of it is ‘he said this, she said that’ . . . but we must persist in pursuing credible claims.”

Bacchus’s palms began to sweat. “You must understand that I am an excellent character witness. And that I have no reason to lie to you.”

He had every reason to lie.

“Her accuser may have just as much clout as you do, Master Kelsey, if not more. I find it unlikely that you’ve been so attached to Miss Camden as to witness—”

“We are engaged to be married, you understand.” His pulse raced quick enough to make him dizzy, but he held his sure countenance, his confident posture. If a blossoming courtship wasn’t believable enough, Bacchus would take it further. “Of course I would spend a great deal of time with her. The wedding is mere weeks away.”

Lord Astley paused. Rubbed his chin. Stared at Bacchus as though he could peel away his skin and look into his soul. Bacchus forced himself to stare right back. He’d meant what he’d said to Elsie. He would demolish the entire castle if he had to. What was an audacious lie in comparison to that?

Lord Astley chuckled.

Bacchus stiffened. “Is the matter of a woman’s life humorous to you?”

But the magistrate shook his head. “No, no, not at all. I do not enjoy handing out sentences of guilt. I would be a terrible magistrate if I did. But I do like you, Master Kelsey. And strangely enough, I find myself wanting to believe you.”

A trickle of relief ran down his spine, but Bacchus dared not drop his guard.

“If you deliver your testimony and character witness, and the testimonies of at least three other persons whose statements support yours, I will let her go,” he said. “She’ll have to register, of course, and receive the necessary training.”

A hard sigh escaped him. He could get three witnesses easily. The duke’s family made four, Mr. Ogden made five, and perhaps even the maid, Miss Pratt, would be willing to testify. “Thank you, Lord Astley. Truly.”

“I am not unreasonable,” he said as he stood, and Bacchus followed his lead and rose from the settee. “Tired and busy, but not unreasonable. One of the servants is waiting in the hall and will show you to the door.”

Bacchus bowed. “Of course. Thank you.” He started for the exit.

“And, Master Kelsey,” Lord Astley called, retrieving his teacup once more.

Bacchus paused.

“Do invite me to the wedding,” he said, narrow eyes peering over the dish in his hand. “The nuptials between two who have fallen so quickly in love would be very interesting to witness.”

Bacchus heard the intonation between words, the kindly veiled threat, the hint that his story was not as watertight as he had hoped. Elsie was not entirely out of danger. Not yet.

Bacchus nodded and stepped out into the hallway.

He found his own way to the door.