Read Online Death by Silver by Melissa Scott - Free Book Online Page A

metaphysician trained up later than the court of Charles II.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake,” Julian said.
    Hatton grinned at him. “There I agree with you, Mr Lynes. And I don’t have the time to wait, either, which is why I’ve brought a…certain object…for Mathey to examine.”
    Julian smiled back, and Ned cracked his knuckles. “And I suppose that means it’s time I earned my supper,” he said.
    They trailed him back through the Commons courtyard, past the Specimen Garden where a pale flower was opening, its leaves rustling with more than wind. Something skittered past the base of the fountain, and Julian hoped it was only a mouse and not one of the more aggressive plants. They passed the statue of Cornelius Agrippa and climbed the stairs to the single narrow room that was Ned’s chambers. His clerk was gone, her desk bare, and Ned wormed his way around it to fling the one window open wide, letting in the evening breeze. He pulled a bottle of brandy from the cupboard, along with a trio of glasses, and set them on Miss Frost’s desk. Hatton lifted the carpet bag that had sat at his feet all evening, and set it on Ned’s desk. It landed with a distinctly metallic thump, and Ned smiled.
    “I do appreciate this, Hatton. I know I didn’t miss anything, but – I’m curious.”
    “And I’d like a reliable answer,” Hatton said. He opened the bag, and pulled out a bundle wrapped in coarse silk. Ned nodded approval – the silk would insulate it from any outside influences – and carefully unwound the wrapping. The candlestick was enormous, over a foot tall, and designed to look as though it had come from a medieval cathedral. It wasn’t that old, though, Julian thought, peering over Hatton’s shoulder. The design was one that had been popular ten years ago, the sort of thing that his great-uncle had grumbled about as muddying the waters for true antiquarians, all overdone crosses and a frieze of praying figures around the lower part of the shaft. The square foot was carved in acanthus leaves, and one corner was dulled and dirty. Ned picked it up, still using the silk, and grimaced as he took a closer look.
    “It’s certainly heavy enough,” he said.
    Hatton nodded. “If you were looking to bludgeon a man to death – well, it’s what I’d pick.”
    “Right.” Ned reached into the drawer of his desk, drew out his silver-tipped wand. “Might as well get on with it.”
    Julian took a few steps back, perched on the edge of Miss Frost’s desk. Hatton settled into the visitor’s chair, stretching out unexpectedly long legs, and Ned frowned thoughtfully at the candlestick. This was what Ned was really good at, Julian thought, this kind of analytical metaphysics. He himself was good at patterns, at the grammar of enchantment, but Ned had a gift for finding his way into the shape of an enchantment, without harming its structure or causing anything to blow up in his face. His wand moved, tracing sigils – no trails of fire, nothing to show off what he was doing, just solid brilliant work. Julian could guess at a couple of the symbols, the first a test to determine the verb, and then another seeking correspondences, but most moved past too quickly for him to follow. Once the metal chimed, a high sweet note, and once there was a flash like a spark, and finally Ned laid his wand aside and carefully pulled the silk back over the candlestick.
    “That’s very interesting,” he said, and Hatton straightened himself.
    “Definitely magic, then?”
    Ned nodded. “And rather neatly done.”
    Julian pushed himself off the desk and came to peer at Ned’s notes.
    “The curse compels the candlestick to strike someone – presumably Edgar Nevett – seated below it once the sun is down. I’m guessing this usually stood on a shelf above Nevett’s desk? Or his usual chair?”
    “His desk,” Hatton said. “Though it’s off to one side a bit. Not a natural way to fall.”
    “How is ‘strike’ signified?”