Back in the kitchen, Francesca, her face daubed with coal soot like Mari’s, was lighting a fire of hazel sticks in the corner of the vast old range that was only used now once a year to roast the Beltane ox. The other two current sizars in the College, Rellise and Jena, were helping her by breaking sticks. Rellise’s face was streaked with what looked like mascara, and Jena’s with something gray that defied immediate identification but was possibly a mixture of cigarette ash and toothpaste.
Cook, still working on her pies, was watching the fire-building out of the corner of her eye. When Mari came back in, the huge outside door clanking shut behind her, Cook gestured with a floury thumb at the firemakers.
‘I don’t suppose you can explain this, Mari?’
‘It’s in the Original By-Laws,’ said Mari. ‘Someone found a rubbing – one paragraph – from the stone, and invoked it. It says we sizars have to daub our faces with wood ash, in a pattern.’
‘Someone?’ asked Francesca. The fire was burning merrily now. There would be a nice pile of ash soon. A handful of ash mixed with olive oil would do nicely to make the lines and swirls that all the sizars now knew, without knowing why they did.
‘Diadem and her lot,’ replied Mari. ‘As usual.’
Cook nodded grimly. Taking up a chopper, she began to split pig’s trotters. While she did not particularly care for the sizars, who she considered neither fish nor fowl, Cook was a stern guardian of the other servants who had often been the target of Diadem’s mistreatment.
‘I don’t suppose it’ll do any good going to Lady Aristhenia then,’ said Francesca.
The sizars all nodded in mournful agreement. The Mistress of the College was some sort of relative of Diadem’s, and in any event, would never take the side of the sizars against the ‘proper students.’
‘What about the University proctors?’ asked Rellise.
Cook stopped splitting trotters and looked over at the four sizars thoughtfully. They didn’t notice. Mari was shaking her head.
‘They wouldn’t believe us, either. Besides, Diadem hasn’t done anything illegal with this, or even gone against the University rules. They’ve just brought to life an old College regulation. I wish we could get her investigated, since she’s definitely a bane-witch. She used a geas on me.’
‘But surely she’s not strong enough!’ protested Francesca.
Mari opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak of the wand.
‘Well, she is,’ said Mari. ‘Not that I can prove it, worse luck. How’s that ash coming along?’
Francesca stirred the fire with the poker.
‘It needs longer. I suppose we should be grateful there isn’t a By-Law to make us wear sackcloth as well.’
‘It did say we can’t wear lace,’ said Mari. ‘Not that I’ve got any.’
Rellise and Jena exchanged a look.
‘What?’ asked Mari.
‘I had to change my … my unmentionables,’ said Jena, blushing. ‘I was wearing some with lace trim … it was lucky I was in our room.’
‘We have to do something,’ said Mari. She hesitated, not wishing to alarm the others, but then carried on. It was better to have everything out. ‘It’s not just the ash and the lace, well it is the ash … it occurred to me that it might stop us sitting examinations.’
Three pairs of frightened eyes fixed on her.
‘What!?’
‘You know to sit the exams we have to present ourselves in “hat and gown, with wand and athame.’’’
The others nodded.
‘There’s also a bit about being sober and clean,’ said Mari. ‘I don’t know how we’ll go with ash-streaked faces.’
‘But it’ll be because of a College By-Law!’ protested Jena.
‘The University’s examination rules came in with the Protectorate,’ said Mari. ‘After our By-Laws were buried, so they were never taken into account. Even in the best case, it will go to the Chancellor’s Court, and we’ll still miss the examinations this year. And if I … if Francesca and I miss them this year, we’ll never get another chance!’
‘She planned it,’ said Francesca furiously. Like Mari, she was in her final year, while Jena and Rellise still had a year to go. ‘Diadem the Arch-Bitch. She’s always hated us. Now this, to make us fail—’
‘No one’s going to make us fail,’ said Mari, summoning up all her reserves of determination. ‘We will sit the exams and we will graduate!’
‘How—’ Francesca started to say, but the fire fell in on itself, crumbling into ash, and all four sizars were gripped by the By-Law demanding they clean their faces of their temporary indicators, prepare the ash, and then paint stripes ending in swirly marks on their cheeks.
That took several minutes, some splashing about with cool water and olive oil, and concluded with a depressed silence as the young women looked at one another.
‘How?’ repeated Francesca.
Mari frowned. She’d been thinking about the problem ever since the Brythonic words had left her mouth.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘This is Deep Magic; there might be all kinds of complications. I shall have to look up the spell the Queen and the Mistress used, and we’ll have to get the parchment as well.’
‘Who has it now?’ asked Francesca.
‘Englesham,’ said Mari. ‘I don’t think Diadem or her cronies would touch it. It’s sure to be spelled against bane-witches.’
‘If it was burned … destroyed … would that release us from—’
Mari shook her head.
‘It can’t be destroyed, not now it’s been invoked,’ she said. ‘It’s not just a parchment. I mean, even Alicia Wasp and Queen Jesmay couldn’t destroy the Original By-Laws, only nullify them. But maybe we can do the same, if we can get the parchment. And since Englesham is too frightened of Diadem to hand it over freely, I suppose …’
Mari stopped talking and looked at Cook, who was listening intently. The older woman reddened, sniffed, and paced down to the other end of the kitchen to noisily rattle through the pots on the shelves there.
‘We’ll have to steal it from her rooms,’ whispered Mari.
The other three women drew back. Being caught stealing would mean instant dismissal from the College and probably charges from the civilian authorities as well.
‘But we … we can’t do that,’ whispered Jena. Rellise nodded vigorously by her side, like a puppet at a village fair.
‘You won’t have to,’ said Mari. ‘In fact, it would be best if you and Rellise stay out this completely. Francesca and I are the ones who won’t get a second chance at Finals. You still have next year.’
‘Oh, good,’ said Jena, with relief.
‘Yes,’ said Mari. She smiled, though it took some effort. She’d always had a low opinion of Jena and Rellise, who were never to be seen when there was any threat to the sizars, leaving it to Mari and Francesca to sort everything out. But for the sake of civility and kindness she tried not to show her contempt. ‘If you two stay here and take over our shift, Francesca and I will go and work out what we need to do.’
She hesitated, then added, ‘Whatever we decide, it won’t happen for a few days, anyway. So just sit tight, and do your work as normal.’
‘We will,’ chorused Jena and Rellise together.
‘Come on,’ Mari said to Francesca. They got up together and started packing up their books, prompting a sudden inquiry from Cook.
‘Hey, where are you girls off to? There’s three hours yet—’
‘Jena and Rellise are taking over tonight,’ replied Mari. ‘If you don’t object, Cook.’
‘Don’t suppose it would make any difference if I did,’ sniffed Cook. She fixed Mari with one of her famously fierce looks, and added, ‘Don’t you two do anything foolish. Or if you do, you might want to consider that the Mistress is dining out tonight, and will be flying home.’
Mari nodded gratefully, and she and Francesca hurried out into the kitchen garden, where they paused to note that the s
un had almost set behind the spire of the College tower, and then they continued past the radishes and the rosemary, out through the garden gate into the Old House and along the back corridor there to the room they shared with Jena and Rellise. Unlike the lady undergraduates, who all had their own rooms, the sizars were housed with the servants, but in even more cramped conditions, since there were four of them in a room meant for three, and they also had to keep all of the paraphernalia of student witches: brooms, wands, staves, daggers, books, scrying globes, basic alchemical apparatus, and, most of all, books. Even with daily sorties to and from the library, the room was always overflowing with books.
‘So we go and steal the parchment tonight,’ said Francesca. She kept pacing backward and forward as Mari carefully made her way between two piles of books to the window seat.
Mari laughed. ‘Was I so transparent? Jena won’t be as worried if she thinks nothing will happen for a few days, and Rellise only ever echoes Jena. So they’ll be happy, and they won’t give us away.’
‘What’s the plan?’ asked Francesca. ‘Fly over as soon as it’s dark, nip in Englesham’s window, and nab the parchment?’
Mari looked out the window. Though they were on the ground floor, it had a good view over the North Quadrangle toward the Oozery. One of the gardeners was doing something to the turf, working in the light of a flaming branch that hung suspended in the air without actually being attached to a tree. A fairly typical illusion for light, but not one she’d ever seen employed by the gardeners, who usually just conjured a simple marsh light or dead man’s lantern. Apart from him, there was no one around. In another hour it would be full dark, the tower bell would sound, and the College gates would be locked for the night.
‘It’s not going to be easy,’ she said slowly, as she looked up at the night sky framed by the College buildings, with the dark bulk of the tower looming above in the distance, a few stars beginning to make their appearance around it. ‘Diadem’s no fool. She’ll be expecting us to try to steal the parchment. And as Cook was just kind enough to tell us, the Mistress will be flying in at some point. She’d be bound to notice anyone else flying about the place.’
‘She won’t be back till late, not if she’s out to dinner,’ replied Francesca.
‘We can’t count on that. What if she has a stomachache, or the dinner’s awful, or even more boring than usual?’
‘So what do we do?’ asked Francesca impatiently. She was always impatient, her temper matching her red hair. Valiant but foolhardy, in Mari’s loving opinion, which she had often expressed to her friend. Francesca for her part thought the dark-haired Mari was too controlled, too thoughtful. Together, they made a formidable pair. Both, though they did not know it, were almost beautiful, and would be in time, if they were not worn down in servitude. That was one of the reasons Diadem and her friends were jealous of them, for their incipient beauty and their fierce intelligence, and thus their potential to transform from downtrodden ducklings into academic swans.
Mari kept staring out the window, arranging and rearranging all the salient facts in her head. Every now and then she glanced at the gardener. There was something about him that was prompting a thought, but it wasn’t quite rising to the surface.
‘What did Cook’s nephew end up doing after he took his degree last year?’ she asked finally, interrupting Francesca’s pacing.
‘You mean Bill? What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Mari. ‘Do you know, though?’
‘Yes,’ said Francesca, coloring slightly. ‘He went away to join the Metropolitan Police. I believe he is already a detective.’
‘But he hasn’t been back?’ asked Mari.
‘No,’ said Francesca. She paced over to Mari and looked down, her cheeks red and eyes bright. ‘Don’t be a beast, Mari, you know—’
‘Sssh,’ said Mari, taking her by the wrist. ‘Come here and have a look at this gardener. Remind you of anyone?’
Francesca looked through the window. Suddenly her whole body stiffened and her head lurched forward, like a hunting dog on point.
‘Bill!’ she exclaimed. ‘But … what’s he doing here?’
‘Police work, I suppose,’ said Mari. ‘I bet it’s to do with … that … well, anyway … I’m beginning to get an idea of how we might sort all this out. I’m off to the library to look up how Alicia Wasp and the Queen got rid of the Old By-Laws in the first place. You go and say hello to Bill and tell him—’
‘I can’t talk to him looking like this!’ protested Francesca, pointing at her ash-smeared face.
‘You’ll have to pretend he’s just a gardener you don’t know, anyway,’ said Mari. ‘It’s important. Stop and make it look like idle chat, but tell him to be on the lookout for bane-witches flying around outside Mo’Wood later tonight. I hope he’s got some help …’
‘I don’t … I don’t want to get him into danger,’ said Francesca.
‘He’s a police officer!’ exclaimed Mari. ‘He’s probably been in all sorts of danger already, only you don’t know about it.’
‘It’s easier if I don’t know,’ said Francesca. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
‘You could make it your business,’ suggested Mari. ‘Starting now. I mean, if this all comes off according to plan, he’ll be here for a while. You’ll see him again. Without the ash on your face.’
‘It’s not just the ash,’ said Francesca. She gestured at her rough cotton blouse, sensible but ugly woolen skirt, holed stockings, and clumpy boots.
‘He was a sizar too,’ said Mari. ‘He knows to look past the wrapping paper.’
‘Does he?’
‘He’s Cook’s nephew!’ exclaimed Mari. ‘And he was at Rolyneaux. They spend half their time staring into the dark there. You know what they say, “What you don’t want known, a Rolyneaux knows.” Probably why he joined the police.’
‘I’m not sure that’s any better,’ said Francesca. ‘Do you think he can read my thoughts?’
‘No,’ said Mari, carefully not mentioning that mind reading would not be necessary, Francesca’s main thought regarding Bill being clearly visible in her face and eyes. ‘Look, we haven’t got much time. After you tell Bill, pick a coven of radishes and start carving faces. Do it here, but don’t let Jena and Rellise see if they come in before you’re finished.’
‘Radish-girls?’ asked Francesca. ‘Should I gather some yew twigs as well?’
‘No, I’ll get them on the way back from the library. Oh, we’d both better put on charms. Not that they’ll be all that much use against—’
‘Against what?’ asked Francesca.
Mari groaned through clenched teeth.
‘Something you can’t talk about,’ guessed Francesca. ‘Something Diadem’s got—’
Mari clapped her hand over Francesca’s mouth and shook her head violently. The questions were making the geas adopt sterner measures, beginning with her tongue swelling to block her throat.
Francesca raised her eyebrows, acknowledging that she’d worked out that a geas was in effect. Mari took her hand away.
‘Lovely night,’ commented Francesca, careful to make sure it didn’t sound like a question. ‘Full moon later. Lovely. I’d better be off.’
‘Yes,’ croaked Mari. ‘Don’t forget your charms.’
Both of them put on silver necklaces, the thin, spindly ones that were lent by the College to the sizars, courtesy of some ancient bequest. Francesca added a moonstone ring that was the only thing her debt-ridden father had left her, and Mari put on the turquoise and silver bracelet that had been her foster mother’s. Mrs. Garridge had never worn it, because she said it was too old and precious, and had been in the Garridge family for centuries. Mari had only worn it once or twice, when she had felt particularly at risk from malevolent magic – which essentially meant the two occasions when she had been unable to avoid responding to a call to Helena Diadem’s rooms without a witness.
‘I think Diadem and
company will be waiting for us to try Englesham’s rooms,’ said Mari as they went out. ‘But if you do run into them – retreat to the kitchen.’
‘You do the same,’ said Francesca. ‘Or stay in the Library. Be careful.’
Mari nodded. They turned away from each other and went their separate ways: Francesca out to the North Quadrangle and Mari through the Old Building, out along the path that ran the length of the Scholar’s Garden, around the base of the Tower, across the Foreshortened Court and into the hexagonal, six-turreted Library.
The College Library was open all hours, though it was not much used at night, since most undergraduates borrowed books and took them away to read in the comfort of their rooms. But there was always at least one librarian in attendance, sometimes more, though they were usually engrossed in their own tasks and paid little attention to the students, other than to get requested books from the stacks. They did not record what went in and out. All the College’s books were ensorcelled. They could not leave the grounds, and would return of their own accord in due course if kept too long out of the Library.
Mari was rather surprised to find the Librarian herself strolling between the desks of the reading room, idly flicking a feather duster at every second or third green-shaded lamp. Professor Aiken was not only the Ermine College Librarian, she also held the University Chair of Bookmaking, lecturing in magical type, paper, and binding. Mari had attended several of her lectures, but did not know her, unlike most of the senior members who she had waited on as a sizar or known since she was a child in the porter’s lodge. Aiken did not live in at the College, and was a very infrequent diner there.
Professor Aiken looked across as Mari came in and then surprised the young woman still more by coming over to join her at the index files, the feather duster still flicking as she zigzagged between the desks.
‘Miss Garridge, I believe?’
‘Yes, Professor,’ replied Mari. Aiken was looking at her face, evidently curious about the ash.