“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.”

“Certainly, Grand Master.”

Sir Lyon looked back at Lord Darcy. “Commander Lord Ashley has informed me of his identification of Master Ewen MacAlister. He and Lord Bontriomphe have sent out word to the Armsmen all over the city to be on the watch for him. I have sent out every available Master Sorcerer in London to accompany the Armsmen, to make certain he does not use his Art to escape.”

“Very good,” said Lord Darcy.

“Lord Ashley’s unsupported word,” continued the Grand Master, “would not be sufficient in itself to bring charges against Master Ewen before the Special Executive Commission of the Guild. But it was enough to make us take immediate action to procure further evidence.”

“Indeed?” said Lord Darcy with interest. “You have found this evidence, of course.”

Sir Lyon nodded gravely. “We have. You are perhaps aware that a sorcerer casts certain protective and precautionary spells upon the bag in which he carries the tools of his trade?”

“I am,” said Lord Darcy, remembering how easily Master Sean had regained possession of his own symbol-decorated carpetbag.

“Then you will understand why we asked Lord Bontriomphe to procure a search warrant from a magistrate immediately, and then went directly to Master Ewen’s room. He, too, had put a special spell on the lock, as Sir James had done, but we solved it within fifteen minutes. Then we solved and removed the protective spells from his bag. The evidence was there — a bottle of graveyard dirt, two mummified bats, human bones, fire powder containing sulphur — and other things which no sorcerer should have in his possession without a special research permit from the Guild and special authority from the Church.”

Lord Darcy nodded. “ ‘Black Magic is a matter of symbolism and intent,’ ” he quoted.

“Precisely,” said Sir Lyon. “Then, in addition, I have Father Patrique’s testimony concerning the black spell that Ewen cast upon Tia this evening. We have, then, my lord, quite sufficient evidence to convict him of Black Magic. Whether or not you can obtain enough evidence to convict him of his other crimes is, of course, another matter. But rest assured that the Guild will do everything in its power to help you obtain it. You have but to ask, my lord.”

“I thank you, Sir Lyon. A question, merely to satisfy my curiosity: Lord Ashley told you, did he not, of the swordplay on Somerset Bridge?”

“He did.”

“Am I correct in assuming that the spell Master Ewen had cast upon his own blade was in some manner a utilization of the Tarnhelm Effect?”

“It was indeed,” Sir Lyon said with a rather puzzled smile. “It was astute of you to recognize it from Lord Ashley’s description alone.”

“Not at all,” Lord Darcy said. “It is simply that Sean is an excellent teacher.”

“It’s more than astute, Grand Master,” said the Dowager Duchess. “To me, it’s irritating. I know what the Tarnhelm Effect is, of course, since I have come across mention of it in my studies, but its utilization and theory are quite beyond me.”

“You should not find it irritating, but gratifying,” Sir Lyon said in a firm voice. “One of the troubles with the world is that so few laymen take an interest in science. If more people were like Lord Darcy, we could eliminate the superstitions that still cling to the minds of ninety-nine people out of a hundred.” He smiled. “I realize you spoke in jest, but it behooves all of us to educate the layman whenever we can. It is only because of ignorance and superstition that hedge magicians and witches and other unlicensed practitioners can operate. It is only because of ignorance and superstition that so many people believe that only Black Magic can overcome Black Magic, that the only way to destroy evil is by using more evil. It is only because of ignorance and superstition that quacks and mountebanks who have no trace of the Talent can peddle their useless medallions and charms.”

He sighed then, and Lord Darcy thought he looked somehow older and wearier. “Of course, education of that kind will not eliminate the Master Ewens of this world. Modern science has given us an advantage over earlier ages, in that it has enabled us to keep our Government, our Church and our Courts more nearly uncorrupt and incorruptible than was ever before possible. But not even science is infallible. There are still quirks in the human mind that we cannot detect until it is too late, and Ewen MacAlister is a perfect example of our failure to do so.”

“Sir Lyon,” said Lord Darcy, “I should like to suggest that Master Ewen is more than that. In our own history, and in certain countries even today, we find organizations that attempt to hide and gloss over the wrongdoings of their own members. There was a time when the Church, the Government, and the Courts would ignore or conceal the peculations of a priest, a governor, or a judge rather than admit to the public that they were not infallible. Any group which makes a claim to infallibility must be very careful not to make any mistakes, and the mistakes that will inevitably occur must be kept secret or explained away — by lies, subterfuges and distortions. And that will eventually cause the collapse of the entire edifice. Anyone who has power in the Empire today — be it spiritual, temporal, or thaumaturgical — is trusted by the little man who has no power, precisely because he knows that we do our best to uncover the occasional Master Ewen and remove his power, rather than hiding him and pretending he does not exist. Master Ewen then becomes in himself the embodiment of the failure which may be converted to a symbol of success.”