David Liss - The Twelfth Enchantment - A Novel

“What do I hear of a row between you and Olson and some rogue?” he demanded.

It appeared that Mrs. Quince had revealed what her uncle was likely to hear on his own, but no more than that. If she’d told Uncle Lowell about Jonas Morrison, he would certainly be ranting about it already. Lucy could not understand why she would keep her knowledge of Mr. Morrison a secret.

Before Lucy could answer her uncle, Mrs. Quince entered the room and leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms. “Once again, Miss Derrick humiliated Mr. Olson by dancing with another man. The same man as at the assembly, if I am not mistaken.”

Again, she did not speak the name. Mrs. Quince now showed all the glee and triumph she did not display last night, as if to fool Lucy into forgetting her unguarded response. But Lucy could not forget the sight of Mrs. Quince, staggering backwards, staring, as though she gazed upon a ghost, oblivious to the punch trickling down her frock.

“I did not humiliate Mr. Olson,” said Lucy, playing along for now, if only for her uncle’s benefit. “I did not know he would be there. He arrived after that man asked me to dance, and I had no good reason to deny him.”

“All very good for you, but how do you explain the row?” asked her uncle.

“It was none of my doing,” said Lucy. “Mr. Olson was very rude to the stranger.”

“At least there is no harm done. Despite your rudeness to him, Mr. Olson has in no way indicated that he wishes to end his engagement to you,” said Uncle Lowell as he slurped at his chocolate. “He wrote to me this morning and made his intentions plain. You are to continue to regard him as your intended husband.”

That Mr. Olson was now ruined obviously mattered little to her uncle. Lucy did not raise this point because it was not an argument she could win. More than anything she wished to speak to Mary about her encounter with Ludd. The rules were clear, however, and she was not to visit Mary without an invitation. She spent the morning with her books, though she could but little concentrate on Paracelsus, and much to her surprise, her wishes were soon enough satisfied. Ungston knocked upon her door to tell her that Miss Crawford had sent her equipage and requested the pleasure of Lucy’s company.

When she arrived at the little town house, Mrs. Emmett ushered Lucy inside as though she were late for an appointment. She found Mary waiting for her, dressed in a frock of green and white, and looking particularly pale. Even her hair appeared whiter than Lucy recollected. Despite her pallor, she seemed quite pleased to see Lucy.

Mary took her hand in her own. “I am sorry I have not been able to see you more and hear of your progress. You must tell me everything at once. What have you been learning? What has captured your imagination?”

Lucy had wanted to tell Mary of her encounter with Ludd, of the revelations about Jonas Morrison and the Rosicrucians, but Mary wanted to hear of nothing but studies, and Lucy was content that there would be plenty of time to speak of those other matters later. So Lucy began to speak of what she had been reading, and before she knew it, her studies were all she could think of. She went on for the better part of half an hour about what she had read, what had intrigued her, and what she could not understand.

“I knew you would do nothing but amaze me,” Mary said when Lucy had finished her breathless recitation. “You learn and understand like no one I have ever heard of.”

“That cannot be so,” said Lucy. “Everything is so hard to understand.”

Mary shook her head. “Come, tell me how the effigy we found upon Lord Byron could affect him. What principle was at work? Was it magic truly?”

“I hope I express this right, but the things I have done, I have seen—they are real. I don’t doubt that. But they are not magic , in the sense that people mean when they use the word, are they? Magic implies some sort of exception from the rules that govern the world, something outside nature, but if these things were magic in that sense, these spells could not be written down. There could be no knowing if a spell would work from one time to the next. But these things you teach me to do—they are governed by laws. A spell cast in the same way, under the same conditions, with the same level of concentration—it will work the same every time. If that is so, is not magic simply another kind of natural philosophy, though a more obscure one?”

“Yes,” said Mary. Simple and direct. “You have grasped the most powerful secret of all, and one that eludes so many who seek to master these skills. Now tell me, what rules governed the curse upon Byron?”

“I believe it is the natural sympathetic link between all things. If I understand Agrippa, then everything in the universe is a miniature representation of the whole, and that by affecting certain things mimetically, you can cause those effects to reflect back upon what you desire. There is a phrase I have seen frequently in many of the books: As above, so below. ”

“You speak of Agrippa’s law of resonance,” said Mary. “It states that all things which are similar are also connected, and so they are drawn to each other’s power. You affect the universe by affecting the miniatures of the universe to be found within everything.”

Lucy smiled. “Agrippa writes that you can intensify the natural attraction between things by augmenting charms with items that come from, or belong to, the target and by using items in nature that best conduct what sort of energy you wish to apply. Different objects in the world contain different kinds of energy, and so the charm I used upon Mr. Olson called for a lemon, for its natural bitterness. The charm I used upon my uncle to persuade him not to cast me out of his house required sugar, for its ability to conduct sweetness—in taste and disposition. It is why so many spells call for parts of frogs or toads or newts. These are creatures that change form over the course of their lives, and so they possess a natural transformative quality.”

“You explain it all with perfect clarity.”

“I wish it could be explained to me in perfect clarity.”

Mary laughed. “Those who write of such things wrap their knowledge in obscurity to keep the uninitiated from understanding and attempting.”

“It is so much to understand, and to accept. And there is so much we have not even discussed. Many of the writers have lengthy sections upon the summoning of spirits and demons. Am I to learn to do such things?”

“No,” said Mary. “While you are my student, you will not try anything of the sort, and if you are wise you never will. Commanding such creatures is not safe, and you have challenges enough before you.”

Mary rose and retreated to her library, from which she returned with a slender folio. It was bound in faded calf’s leather, slightly scuffed, and held closed with a tattered red ribbon. Mary’s dexterous fingers untied the ribbon as she spoke. “I meant to wait many weeks, perhaps many months, before showing this to you, but danger is coming quickly, and we must act to stop it. You know of the machine breakers? You have heard of their General Ludd?”

“Of course.” Lucy’s pulse raced. They were moving toward something of moment. “I believe … I believe I saw Ludd last night. He spoke to me. And it was not the first time. I saw him outside Mr. Olson’s mill, though I did not know it was he at the time. And I have seen other things, creatures of shadow, even in my uncle’s house. I am so confused and frightened, Mary.”

Mary paced the room, playing her fingers along the slender volume’s ribbon. “I am not surprised he has come to you. I told you there is something coming. A great change for good or ill, but a change that cannot be prevented, only shaped. The machine breakers are a part of this.”