Modern Magick

The Heart of Hyndorin: 9

Whatever swept me away in Torvaston's tower felt like a species of Waymastery, though I had never before heard of the kind that operated on an involuntary target. Or that could achieve the process so smoothly. Not to disparage Jay's skill; he does remarkable things with the pale, faded stuff we call "magick" in our Britain. But this was something else. Even the henge complexes weren't quite so seamless.

'Jay,' I began, once reality solidified around me and I'd stopped moving. 'How do you think this works? I mean, even the complexes require some kind of token, though maybe that's more to do with tax revenue than—' I stopped, because I abruptly realised I was alone. Neither Jay nor Goodie were anywhere in evidence.

I steadied myself, and took a long look around. I had been dropped in the middle of a room the size of a hay barn. Oceans of space opened up around me. I couldn't immediately decide what the chamber was for. Bookcases were in evidence, running from floor to ceiling, which suggested a library, except that there were nowhere near enough of them. One wall featured a row of high tables which reminded me of those in Orlando's workshop, but their surfaces were bare. The far end of the room sported enormous armchairs upholstered in silk, elegant little tables, and plush rugs strewn about the plain oak-boarded floor. At the other end, great crystal cabinets rose some eight or ten feet high, their doors shut, and a complicated chandelier hung from the ceiling, its lights composed of jewels in the same shades as Torvaston's compass.

Not a sound disturbed the dense silence. It was the same stillness we had experienced in old Farringale, the kind resulting from a profound absence of life.

Like Farringale, it showed no other signs of long abandonment. Shafts of sunlight shone through the long windows, illuminating clear, dust-free air. No cobwebs drifted down from the ceiling. The luxurious upholstery of those grand armchairs was untouched by time, and the carpets were pristine.

Hardly surprising, I supposed. The enchantments that lingered at old Farringale must have been the work of Torvaston's court; of course they would have brought those magicks with them.

I felt a moment's unease, though, at all these parallels. What else did Torvaston's tower have in common with old Farringale? Why was this place abandoned, and so-long sealed to the outside world? I thought of Alban and Emellana outside, and fervently hoped that the same fate as Farringale had not befallen this place. If the rocky promontory upon which this tower was built was infested with ortherex, they were in danger.

Probably it was lucky they had been obliged to stay outside.

'Stop gawking, Ves,' I murmured, and forced my feet to move. I could worry later about my companions, and time would soon tell where Jay and Goodie had ended up. Investigation beckoned, and I'd better get on with it.

Being me, I went first to the nearest bookcase. A perfunctory perusal revealed a slew of texts, mostly hand-written. None of them in any language I could read.

'Mauf,' I said, retrieving him. 'If you'd be so kind? The scholars of Mandridore don't have nearly enough to do already.'

'Madam, I would be delighted,' said Mauf, as I placed him on a low shelf.

I could swear I heard him giggle.

'Good stuff?' I said.

'Delicious,' he purred.

What might rank as delicious in Mauf's odd little world, I judged it best not to enquire into. 'Have fun,' I told him. 'But if you can make it quite quick, that would be great. We are, as ever, pressed for time.'

Mauf rustled his pages in a sigh. 'Great work cannot be rushed, Miss Vesper.'

'Nonetheless, you always manage it somehow. Thanks, Mauf.'