Kinspit
‘We want to send you to find
her’ commanded Gwyneth. She was talking through the communications device, he
in Kinspit; she in Neman. She kept her eyes at his level, as if over an
invisible desk.
Hardacre
was uncomfortable.
‘I’ll
look after John’ said Bronwyn, pre-empting his, as yet unspoken, retort. She
was leaning against an oak tree, just in his viewing range, listening to the
conversation, apparently casually. Hardacre knew that she wasn’t there by
chance. He wanted to say I don’t think it wise for me to leave Mr Ismay, But he couldn’t say it now without seeming to
imply that Bronwyn wouldn’t make a good
replacement carer. And in any case he knew that she would, along with Bentley,
who was well-organised and competent. He had been ambushed.
‘How
will I find her?’
Gwyneth
shook her head in a way that expressed greater irritation than any words.
‘You know as well as I do that she has just cast a
powerful spell. Her trace is the size of a city’
Hardacre
nodded to acknowledge his disingenuousness. Also, he knew that Kathleen might
be in danger. He had put up his token resistance. He didn’t want to go, but, as
usual, the pull of duty was stronger than his feelings.
‘She
can be a foolish woman, I know; but I’m very fond of her and we need her back’
said Gwyneth.
Hardacre
listened impassively. He had some practical questions.
‘How
did she find herself in Hyperboria?’
Bronwyn
coloured a little.
‘It
was an accident – she accidentally teleported there’
Hardacre
raised one eyebrow
‘One
might not voluntarily teleport there, I suppose.’
‘No,
it was all due to a misunderstanding…’
‘The
exact details need not worry us at the present, madam’ said Hardacre, sensing a
problem.
Bronwyn
was relieved – she didn’t want to explain
‘And
you have had mail papers from her?’ Hardacre asked.
‘Yes
– she’s determined to stay and help the dwarves’
Hardacre
blinked
‘I
had no idea that they needed any assistance…’
‘Neither
did I; that’s why we want you to go and find out what’s going on’
‘What
should I do when I locate her?’ he asked.
‘Bring
her home…’
‘…Using
a conventional route’ added Bronwyn.
Hardacre
considered this.
‘What
if she is not willing to accompany me?’
‘Tell
her she is needed urgently on coven matters’ commanded Gwyneth
‘And
her fiancé must be missing her’ added Bronwyn, wistfully
‘That
too, I suppose, if it helps’ grumped Gwyneth, ‘we do need to get her back. We’re
down to a functioning eleven and that leaves us vulnerable[1]’
‘Yes,
madam’
He
made as if to cut off the communication.
‘I
must go and pack’
He
turned to address Bronwyn.
‘I’ll
leave as soon as you arrive at Mr Ismay’s house, Miss Preece’ he said .
‘Good’
said Gwyneth, and scuffed a hole in the pentangle.
***
Bronwyn knocked. She waited a
little breathlessly. Perhaps I’m ill she thought, too much to do, I hope I’m
not ill. The brisk middle-aged woman opened the door and smiled at her.
‘I’m
happy to see you, Miss Preece’ said Bentley,
Bronwyn
had to resist saying lovely to see you too, Miss Bentley, as always. Instead
she enquired
‘How is the invalid?’
Bentley
beckoned her in. Bronwyn was carrying a heavy suitcase and so she needed some
help; but between them they lugged it into the house. Bronwyn made sure that their hands didn’t meet
during the operation, but she wasn’t sure why. At the same time, quite
illogically, she wished that they had.
‘Mr
Ismay? He’s about the same. Comfortable – sleeping most of the time’
‘Rather
like a cat’ muttered Bronwyn
Bentely
grinned
‘Yes
– just like an old, lazy cat…
Bronwyn
had a lovely image of a black and white cat stretched out on John’s bed. A wave
of affection, crested with worry, filled her up. Tears pricked her eyes.
Bentley smile waned rapidly, but, ever practical, she reached into her
housecoat and pulled out a large white handkerchief. She passed it over.
‘I’m
so sorry if I upset you, madam’
Bronwyn
shook her head. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She then held the cloth,
wondering whether to give it back.
‘I
weep all the time’ she said, ‘it wasn’t you’
‘That’s
a shame’ said Bentley, in a gentle voice, ‘to be so sad’
Bronwyn
corrected this immediately. She didn’t want this women, who she hardly knew,
thinking her a melancholic.
‘No,
no. It’s just my way. Nothing to worry about’
‘I’m
sure, madam’ Bentley answered in a clear, loud, voice, ‘shall we go to see Mr
Ismay?’
‘Not
quite yet – first I need to find Laurence’
***
‘I’m all packed’ he said, holding his bag up.
‘Ready
for anything…’ ventured Bronwyn, flippantly
‘No
– madam – just prepared for the worst’
‘As
always…’ whispered Bronwyn
‘Exactly
Miss Preece – well put’
‘I’m
sorry about this…’ she began, but Hardacre lifted a hand up in the air
‘No
need to apologise; everything here is in place’
He
paused, looking at her without expression
‘So,
I am free to fulfil my duty to the council
Bronwyn
nodded.
‘All
that remains for me to do is say “goodbye” to Mr Ismay’ said Hardacre.
‘I’ll
come along too, if you don’t mind. I haven’t seen him yet’
Hardacre
nodded and they made their way to his room, on the second, and highest, floor
in the large house.
Hardacre
pushed open the door and they peered in. John was propped up and staring at a
picture book: A first guide to wild flowers. He looked up at them.
‘Pretty
things flowers’ he exclaimed
‘Yes,
sit, very decorative’ responded Hardacre
‘You
like gardening, don’t you – whatever your name is…’
‘Yes,
I do. And my name is Mr Hardacre, Laurence Hardacre’
‘Of
course it is – you’re my best friend…’
Hardacre
face remained impassive, but Bronwyn saw a twitch.
‘Hardly.
Sir’ he said, ‘but I’m sure you find me useful’
Bronwyn
stepped forward and interrupted any awkwardness.
‘Hello,
John’ she said, ‘do you know who I am’
‘One
of a pair – each with scarlet hair’
He
smiled at the rhyme.
‘But
you’re the nice, sad, one…’
She
stopped herself saying I’m not sad, people should stop saying that. Anyway, why
should it worry her, it was his illness.
‘I’m
a twin – yes. My name is Bronwyn, and my sister is Gwyneth’
John
considered this.
‘Gwyneth,
she’s my best friend too. I couldn’t do… whatever it is I do… without her’
Hardacre
nodded
‘Yes,
sir – she is… invaluable…’
More
so than I thought Bronwyn, what use am I?
‘She’s
not as nice as you, though, Bunion’
‘Bronwyn…’
she muttered
Hardacre
looked at her anxiously
‘He’s
always getting names wrong, madam, he wasn’t being rude’
‘Bunion
and Gout – two delightful women, such good names for twin witches…’
John
guffawed
Hardacre sighed.
‘He
might be being rude now, though’ he admitted
Bentley,
who had been waiting discreetly outside, stepped into the room
‘Miss
Preece, I have made you something to eat, if you’re hungry’
Bronwyn’s
look of surprised gratitude was lost on John, but not on Hardacre, who nodded
gravely at her.
‘Yes
– you should eat, madam. My master, in his present condition, isn’t easy to
deal with on an empty stomach. I will quieten him down and then take my leave’
Bronwyn
and Bentley left the room. John stared up at Hardacre’
‘Are
you going somewhere, Laurence?’
‘Just
for a short while, sir – it’s nothing to concern yourself with…’
John
took him at his word. He went off at another tangent.
‘My
mother never wanted me to be a witch, you know – I had to do everything in
secret
Hardacre’s
face remained unmoved
‘Yes,
Mr Ismay, you may have mentioned it before’
John
ignored this
‘Shame
really. She was a very fine, very strong woman, my mother; I would have liked
her to have been proud of me’
‘I’m
sure she was, sir’
‘For
what I was, I mean, not what I pretended to be’
Hardacre
said nothing; there was nothing to say.
‘There
were a lot of things I had to do in secret’ John continued
Hardacre
couldn’t help a twitch of his eyebrows. He answered hesitantly.
‘Well…
the sap rises in the spring… I am told…’
John
made a face and then laughed.
‘That
sounds disgusting’ he sniggered
‘A
horticultural metaphor, sir, perhaps inapposite’
‘Eh?
I meant she never met the men that I tried to love’
Hardacre
face drained a little of colour – it was the closest he ever came to blushing.
‘Ah
yes – I had misunderstood you – forgive my vulgarity’
‘Eh?’
John looked round the room, ‘what were we just talking about? Anyway, I think
we should have a herd of flamingos for the lawn’
‘Flock,
I think…possibly, a stand’, but never a herd’
‘Can
we?’
‘Yes,
sir – I’ll put them next to the rhinoceroses you ordered’
John
smiled and lay back in the bed
‘I
think I’ll have a little nap’ he yawned
‘Of
course… And I’ll be on my way, sir’
John was already snoring. Hardacre hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and tiptoed out
John was already snoring. Hardacre hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and tiptoed out
[1]
The strength of a coven is given (approximately) by Lloyd’s law: S = 1.5n – 0.5, where S is strength in arbitrary thaum units
and n is the number of linked same-coven witches. This means that a full coven is approximately
200 times more powerful than a single witch. This applies only to mass-produced
magic, not to individual spells, e.g. not for single combat.
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