Randall Garrett - Too Many Magicians

“I’m all right, just cold.”

“Good Heavens, my lord, you’ve got the girl.” He shouted up the embankment, “He’s got the girl!”

But Lord Darcy hardly heard the words. The light from the man’s lantern was shining directly into Tia’s face, and her eyes were wide open, staring blankly, unseeingly, into nothing. He would have thought her dead, but the dead do not breathe.

There were more men around him now.

“Give his lordship more light.”

“Let me help you up, my lord.”

Then: “Darcy! Thank Heaven you’re safe! And the girl, too! It’s a miracle!”

“Hullo, Ashley,” said Darcy. “Thanks for calling out the troops.”

Lord Ashley grinned. “Here’s your cloak. You shouldn’t go around leaving things on bridges.” And then he was taking off his own cloak to wrap it around Tia. He took her from Darcy’s arms and carried her up the steps, carefully, tenderly.

Lord Darcy wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, but it didn’t help the shivering.

“We’ll have to get you some place warm, my lord, or you’ll catch your death of dampness,” said an Armsman.

Lord Darcy started up the steps. Then a voice from the top said, “Did you find him?”

“We found both of them, Your Grace,” said another Armsman.

Darcy said, “Mary. What the deuce are you doing here?”

“As I told you last night,” she said, “when you asked that same question, I came to fetch you.”

“This time,” Lord Darcy said, “I believe you.”

When he reached the top and had climbed over the retaining wall, he saw Lord Ashley standing solidly, holding Tia in his arms. Several Armsmen were shining their lanterns on her, and Mary, not a Duchess now but a trained nurse, was looking at the girl and touching her with her Sensitive’s fingers.

“How is she?” he asked. “What’s the matter with her?”

“You’re shivering,” said Mary without looking up. “There’s brandy in the coach, go get yourself some.” She looked up at Lord Ashley. “Put her in the coach. We’ll take her directly to Carlyle House. Father Patrique is there; she couldn’t get better care in a hospital.”

Two good swallows of brandy had calmed Lord Darcy’s shivering. “What’s the matter with her?” he asked again.

“Shock and cold, of course,” she said. “There may be some internal injuries. Nothing serious. But she’s under a spell, one I can’t break. We’ll have to get her to Father Patrique as soon as possible.”

They stretched the girl out on one of the coach seats.

“Will she be all right?” asked Lord Ashley.

“I think so,” said the Duchess.

Then Lord Ashley said, “Lord Darcy, may I speak to you a moment?”

“Surely; what is it?”

They stepped out of earshot of the others.

“The man on the bridge,” Lord Ashley began.

“Oh, yes,” said Lord Darcy. “I should have asked about him. I see you’re not hurt. I hope you didn’t have to kill him.”

“No, I’m ashamed to say I didn’t even capture him. My foot slipped on the pavement and he got away. But I got a good look at his face.”

“Did you recognize him?”

“Yes. It was our oily friend, Master Ewen MacAlister.”

Lord Darcy nodded. “I thought I recognized something familiar in his voice when he told Tia to climb up on the balustrade. He had her under a spell, as Her Grace just said.”

“That wasn’t the only Black Magic the little swine was working,” Lord Ashley said. He told Lord Darcy about the ensorcelled sword.

“Then you need not apologize for letting him escape,” Darcy said. “I am thankful that you’re still alive.”

“So am I,” said Lord Ashley. “Look here; there’s not going to be room for all of us in that coach with Tia taking up one whole seat. And I shan’t be needed any more tonight anyway. You two go ahead.” He stepped back. “Petty Officer Hosquins,” he called. “Her Grace and Lord Darcy are going to Carlyle House. One of the Armsmen will get a cab to take me home.”

“Very well, My Lord Commander,” answered Hosquins.

“Thank you,” said Lord Darcy. “Would you do me one favor? Would you go to the Royal Steward and report everything to Lord Bontriomphe? If Master Ewen knows you recognized him, he won’t show up at the hotel, of course. Tell Lord Bontriomphe to notify Sir Lyon. All right?”

“Certainly. I’ll get down there right away. Good night, my lord. Good night, Your Grace,” he said, raising his voice.

Lord Darcy opened the door of the coach. “To Carlyle House, Hosquins,” he said, and climbed in.

It was more than an hour later before Lord Darcy really felt good again. A hot bath had taken the smell of the Thames from him, and some of the chill out of his blood. A short session with Father Patrique had removed any susceptibility to catching cold. Mary de Cumberland and the good Father had both insisted that he go to bed, so now he found himself in his silken night clothes, propped up on four or five pillows, with a couple of warm woolen blankets over his legs, a heavy shawl around his shoulders, a hot water bottle at his feet, and two bowlsful of hot, nourishing soup inside him.

The door opened and Mary de Cumberland came in, bearing a large steaming mug on a tray. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Quite fit, really. How is Tia?”

“Father Patrique says she’ll be all right. He put her to sleep. He says that she won’t be able to talk to anyone until tomorrow.” She put the mug down on the bedside table. “Here, this is for you.”

“What is it?” Lord Darcy asked, eyeing the mug suspiciously.

“Medicine. It’s good for what ails you.”

“What’s in it?”

“If you must know, it contains brandy, Oporto, honey, hot water, and a couple of herbs that Father Patrique prescribed.”

“Humph,” said Lord Darcy. “You made it sound good until you mentioned that last.” He picked up the mug and sipped. “Not bad at all,” he admitted.

“Do you feel strong enough to see visitors?” she asked solicitously.

“No,” he said. “I’m on my deathbed. I’m in a coma. My breathing is shallow, my pulse weak and threadlike. Who wants to see me?”

“Well, Sir Thomas wanted to see you; he just wanted to thank you for saving Tia’s life, but the poor man seems on the verge of collapse himself and I told him he could thank you tomorrow. Lord John Quetzal said that he could wait to speak to you until tomorrow, too. But Sir Lyon Grey arrived just a few minutes ago, and I strongly suggest that you see him.”

“And where, may I ask, is Master Sean?”

“I have no doubt that he would be here, my lord, if anyone had thought to tell him of your desire for an invigorating cold bath. He is still at the morgue.”

“Poor chap,” said Darcy, “he’s had a hard day’s work.”

“And what have you been doing?” said Her Grace. “Tatting?”

Lord Darcy ignored her. “I presume that he is making absolutely sure, one way or another, whether drugs or poisons were administered,” he said thoughtfully. “I am strongly inclined to doubt that they were, but when Sean has finished with his work we shall know for certain.”

“Yes,” agreed Her Grace. “Will you see Sir Lyon?”

“Of course, of course. Show him in, will you?”

The Dowager Duchess of Cumberland went out and returned a minute later accompanied by the tall, stately, silver-bearded figure of Sir Lyon Gandolphus Grey. “I understand you have had quite an adventurous evening, my lord,” he said gravely.

“All in the day’s work for an Officer of the King’s Justice, Sir Lyon. Pray be seated.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Lyon. Then, as the Duchess started to leave the room, “Please, Your Grace — if you would be so good as to remain? This concerns every member of the Guild, as well as the King’s Officers.”