The Wizard of London (28 page)

With
the new venue in mind, further touches were made on props and costumes.
Permission was granted to rummage through selected attics and use whatever they
could find there; a happy discovery was that at some point in the past, the
inhabitants of the manor had engaged in amateur theatrics and had held many
fancy-dress parties. While much of the costuming was sized for adults, there
was enough for children, or that could be cut down to fit children, to make
vast improvements in the wardrobe.

Mem’sab
commented on none of this, but Nan had the shrewd notion that they were the
benefactors of someone’s subtle Magics. Not that she cared. She and Sarah
were the beneficiaries of this bounty, for Grecian garments (or at least,
Grecian-inspired costumes) were the sorts of things easily adapted to child
size, and they were now the proud wearers of something that looked entirely
professional, rather than something cobbled up from old dust sheets.

Sarah
looked utterly adorable, to tell the truth, like something off a Wedgewood
vase, with her draped gown and a wreath of wax orange blossoms in her hair.
Most spectacular though, were Mary Dowland and Henry Tailor, as Titania and
Oberon, respectively; the most amazing, fantastical costumes had been found for
them, and if they looked a bit over the top by daylight, in evening rehearsals
under dimmer light they looked very magical indeed and nothing like a pair of schoolchildren.

There
were enough bumps in the road of production to ease Nan’s fears that
things were going entirely
too
well. There were plenty of forgotten
lines, fumbled speeches, and places where it was all too apparent just how
amateur this amateur production was. But the closer they got to The Day, the
more excited Nan became, and so was everyone else, right down to the servants,
who fell over themselves to help.

Rather
than cart everything to the church grounds, permission was granted for the
audience to come to them. That meant that there would be no need to move
anything so far as the players were concerned.

The
performance for the servants was set in and around the folly, which would serve
partly as stage setting and partly as prop room and changing room, since
children able to remember several parts were taking several minor roles at
once. The semiclassical structure suited itself well to the purpose, and it was
surrounded by picturesque faux “ruins” that removed most of the
need for scenery.

The
day before the performance, since the weather bid to stay fine (more of
Puck’s magic at work?) most of the preparations were done in advance. On
Midsummer’s Day the fête was held at the church, and the servants
got half days off to attend in shifts. The children also had leave to go, but
since it was not a true fair, and the entertainments were entirely home grown,
no one really wanted to do anything but final walkthroughs and a full
rehearsal. So the fête went on without their attendance.

The
final rehearsal was—a disaster. Dropped lines abounded, nerves were
everywhere, and even Sarah was reduced to frustrated tears at least once.

At
the end of it, Nan was exhausted and discouraged. She felt wrung out—and
their Puck had not appeared, so Mem’sab had once again read his lines.
She poked at her dinner without any real appetite, until Mem’sab noticed
and had it taken away in favor of cucumber soup and buttered bread. That went
down easier, getting past a throat tight with nerves.

After
dinner, Mem’sab drew her aside before they all got into costume again.
“Don’t worry,” she said, with a hug. “The tradition in
the theater is that the worse the final rehearsal is, the better the
performance will be.”

“But
what about our Puck?” Nan asked, forlornly.

“Don’t
worry,” was all Mem’sab said. And Nan had to leave it at that,
because it was time to climb into their costumes and troop down to the folly,
where the servants were already stringing up fairy lights and improvised stage
lights, laying out rugs and cushions to sit on for themselves. Wagonloads of
people had been arriving since before supper, and people had been picnicking on
the lawn in anticipation of the performance to come. There was a steady buzz of
talk audible even from the manor itself, and the sound of all those people made
Nan’s stomach knot up. It didn’t get better when she heard the
couple of hired musicians playing to entertain the crowd—a fiddler, a
flute player, and a fellow with a guitar. They had been making dance music for
the Morris dancers at the fête, and vicar had arranged that they would
also be providing incidental music during the play. They were
good
. It
seemed impossible that even with the desire of the audience to be pleased, the
children could pull off a performance to compare favorably with the musicians.

And
yet—

Suddenly,
between one breath and the next, all of that changed.

The
moment Nan set foot in the folly, she felt a change come over her. A curious
calm overtook her, curious because she felt tingly and alive as well as calm,
nor was she the only one. A quick glance around showed her that everyone had
settled. The nerves and restlessness were gone from the rest of the cast; the
edge they all had was of anticipation rather than anxiety—

And
not one of them mentioned the lack of the promised Puck.

And
at the moment when they were all milling about “backstage,” waiting
for Mem’sab to announce the play, Nan felt a tug on her tunic and turned
to find herself staring into those strange, merry green eyes again. This time
the boy was wearing a fantastic garment that was a match for those Titania and
Oberon were wearing, a rough sleeveless tunic of green stuff and goatskin
trousers, with a trail of vine leaves wound carelessly through his tousled red
hair.

“How
now, pretty maiden, did you doubt me?” he said slyly. “Nay, answer
me not, I can scarce blame you. All’s well! Now, mind your cue!”

With
a little shove, he sent her in the direction of her entrance mark, and as she
stepped out into the mellow light of lanterns and candles, she forgot everything
except her lines and how she wanted to say them.

Now,
Nan was not exactly an expert when it came to plays. The most she had ever seen
was a few snatches of this or that—a Punch and Judy show, a bit of
something as she snuck into a music hall, and the one Shakespeare play
Mem’sab had taken them all to in London.

But
the moment they all got “onstage,” it was clear there was real
magic involved. All of them seemed, and sounded, older and a great deal more
practiced. Not so much so that it would have been alarming
but—certainly—as if they were all well into their teens, rather
than being children still. Everything
looked
convincing, even the
papier-mâché donkey’s head. Lines were spoken clearly, with
conviction, and the right inflection. Nan and Sarah even made people laugh in
all the right places.

And
as for Puck—well, he quite stole the show. From the moment he set foot on
“stage” it was clear that the play was, in the end, about
him
.

Yet
no one seemed to be in the least put out that he took the play over. Not even
Tommy. And perhaps that was the most magical thing of all.

Lovers
human and faerie quarreled and reconciled; the rustics put on their silly play
with a great deal of shouting and bumbling about. Puck made mischief, then made
all right again. The stage lights somehow put out far more illumination than
they should have, and the twinkling little fairy lights looked genuinely
magical. In fact, there seemed to be a kind of golden, magical haze over it
all.

It
ended all too soon, with the cast being applauded wildly by an audience on its
feet, and all of them—except Puck—carried back bodily by the
servants to be treated to a late-evening treat of cakes and ices and tea.

Somewhere,
between the folly and the manor, he had vanished again. And no one said a word
about his going.

Oh,
they remembered him, all right, but no one seemed to find it at all strange
that he wasn’t here, sharing in the triumphal treat, basking in the
admiration of the servants. As Nan devoured lemon ice and cake with the
single-minded hunger of someone who did not eat nearly enough dinner, she found
herself in awe of that—

Because
it was one thing to work a bit of magic on a couple of people. But Puck had
worked a very subtle magic on a great many people; he’d done it
flawlessly and invisibly, and in such a way that, as she listened, she realized
he had somehow managed to implant in everyone’s mind that the boy who had
played Puck was always somewhere on the premises, but in a place other than
where the person talking about him was him or herself at that moment.

Out
of sheer curiosity, she finally asked Tommy as she got another helping of lemon
ice, “Hoy, seen that lad Robin?”

“Went
to change out of his costume,” Tommy said around a mouthful of cake.
“Said the leaves itched.”

Nan
listened with astonishment to the talk going on. No one doubted that it had
been
him
at all those rehearsals, rather than Mem’sab reading
his part; memory had been altered, clearly, in everyone except Mem’sab
and Nan and Sarah. There were even stories about how he had done this or that
in rehearsal! And later that evening, as the servants cheerfully collected
costumes and the children prepared for bed, she asked one of the maids where
Robin had gone, and was not greatly surprised to hear that, allegedly, his
parents had come to collect him at some point while the rest were finishing off
the treats.

“Taking
the last train back to London,” the maid said cheerfully. “I suppose,
a big boy like that, he’s used to staying up late—but it is a pity
he couldn’t stay. Still! Your Mem’sab said she didn’t like
inviting them to stay without permission of the Master, and that’s only
right and proper, since he don’t know them.”

And
that seemed to be that.

***

Mem’sab
made it a point to come say good night to every child, every night. Sometimes
Nan was already asleep by the time Mem’sab got to them, but not tonight.
As their mentor entered their little room, Nan was sitting up in bed hugging
her knees, Sarah was beside her, and even both birds were still awake and
waiting.

Mem’sab
held up a hand, forestalling the volley of questions Nan wanted to fire off
before they could be launched.

“No,
he, didn’t give me any message for you. Yes, that was his
‘glamorie’ at work, and no, I have never seen anything quite like
that in my life.” She shook her head. “It was quite amazing. I
stood there and
watched
as peoples’ memories changed, and I
could not for a moment tell you how it was done. All I can think is that this
is how his kind have protected themselves over the centuries.”

“I
thought you said it was wrong to meddle with peoples’ thoughts,”
Sarah said, her eyes narrowed.

Mem’sab
pursed her lips, and sat down on the bed beside them. “I still think it
is wrong—but it would be a greater wrong, and very dangerous for Robin,
to have left their memories alone.” She grimaced. “Even I have
meddled, now and again. Sometimes you have to balance wrong against wrong and
choose the one that does the least harm.” She patted Sarah’s hand,
as Sarah looked very troubled. “It’s a hard lesson that you learn,
growing up, that you can’t always answer ‘yes’ or
’no,‘ that something is entirely right or entirely wrong. Most of
the time the answer is somewhere in the middle.”

“You
think we’ll see ‘im again, Mem’sab?” Nan asked softly,
hoping that the answer was going to be “yes.”

“I
don’t know,” came the reply.

And with that
unsatisfying answer, she had to be content. That—and their own, unchanged
memories.

DAVID Alderscroft had
no intention of having any more to do with the Harton School or Frederick
Harton. While the man did have a high level of native intelligence, and while
he did not have the advantages of a public school education and had clearly
worked hard to rise above his plebian origins, he was still, when it came down
to the matter, common. He was certainly not in David’s social set. While
David considered himself to be free of snobbery, he also regarded himself as a
practical man, and practically speaking there was nothing that a man like
Frederick Harton and one such as himself could possibly have as mutual
interests.

Nevertheless,
he decided that it behooved him to do some investigation of the man. After all,
frauds abounded in psychical circles, and it was wise to make sure that Harton
was not of that ilk. The man’s insinuations that someone among the
Elemental Mages of London could be ultimately responsible for the attacks on
his charges had been subtle, but exceedingly unwelcome, especially since such
insinuations implied that David did not know enough about the Elemental Mages
around him to be able to completely refute such a charge. And since when was
he
supposed to be responsible for the actions of all the Elemental Mages in this
part of the world anyway? Wasn’t that like implying that Frederick Harton
was equally responsible for the actions of all the psychical Talents in the
city?

Yes
,
whispered a tiny voice inside,
but you are the Lodge Master of the
Master’s Circle here. You were the one who organized it and runs it.
Doesn’t that make you responsible
?

As
if it wasn’t perfectly obvious that it
must
have been someone in
Harton’s own circles who was responsible. Who else would have had the
knowledge and the motivation?

Today
he had the results of his investigation on his desk, from the private agent he
had employed to delve into the Hartons and their school and small importation
business. He should have been pleased to discover that both Hartons had a
sterling reputation, but somehow this only irritated him. He knew this
irritation was irrational, and that irritated him even more, as he turned the
closely-written pages over and read them with care.