The Spell-Bound Scholar (25 page)

"Surely not!" Cordelia protested, but saw the look on her mother's face and fell silent.

Gregory was silent, too, but his face creased in pain as he mentally recounted Finister's crimes. Then he said, "Magnus says that death is the traditional punishment for murder, but the murderer may be forgiven if she is sincerely intent on not killing again and makes such restitution as she can to the victim's family and to society."

"
That would surely take a goodly portion of her life, if not all of it," Geoffrey said.

"A lifetime of public service is not entirely unrewarding," Gwen said as one who knew.

"Magnus mentions an order of mendicant nuns," Gregory sighed, "and says that if she cannot find one, she may start one—perhaps even a lay order."

"Even cured, I cannot see this woman accepting such a life," Geoffrey said. "Yet there is more. Tell Magnus of her attempt to steal Alain and kill Cordelia, and to seduce me away from Quicksilver." He frowned at a thought. "You have told him of our betrothals, have you not?"

"Yes, and of the witch who sought to prevent both," Gregory said, his voice like a distant wind, "but I shall remind him." Again he was silent; then suddenly he winced. "He is angered far more by danger to his siblings than to himself. Now indeed does he advocate the death penalty."

"Give him my fond thanks," Cordelia said with a sentimental smile, "but the threat was to myself and Geoffrey, so surely we may say whether we should risk forgiveness."

"It is our right," Geoffrey said grudgingly, "and I suppose

I shall speak for mercy, if Mother can cure the harpy."

Cordelia beamed at him and patted his hand. "Well said— and I think Quicksilver would be wroth if you did not."

Geoffrey turned to her. "Perhaps she should have some say in this, and Alain, too."

Cordelia shuddered at the thought. "Alain is Crown Prince and would insist on enforcing the law of the land."

"I shall speak for Quicksilver," Geoffrey said, "when I have consulted her mind."

"But it is so like Magnus to make light of his own hurts, yet be angered by ours," Cordelia said with a fond smile.

Gregory began to sway. Geoffrey leaped up to steady him, and Gwen said, "We must be done with this exchange, for your brother is nearly worn out with his emotions. Come, join with me in concert; let us lay our farewells in Gregory's mind, that they may travel to your brother."

Cordelia and Geoffrey joined hands with her; Geoffrey was already touching Gregory. Their thoughts blended in a fond farewell, modulated onto Gregory's telepathic beam. They all felt the nostalgia-laden burst of yearning and resignation that underlay Magnus's own good-bye. Then he was gone, and Gregory sagged against his brother.

"If he feels like that," Cordelia asked, "why does he not come home?"

"I think he is waiting for his own healing," Gwen said, "and for his own notion of maturity."

Cordelia frowned. "He is nearly thirty. What manner of maturity does he seek?"

Her mother could only shrug and shake her head.

Gregory lifted himself away from Geoffrey, saying, "Grammercy, brother. I am restored."

"Not overmuch," Cordelia said with a searching and skeptical stare.

"Enough," Gregory assured her, and turned to his mother. "If Magnus has spoken for mercy, surely even Papa would not object."

Cordelia looked much less certain, but Gwen said firmly, "I shall explain matters to your father. Believe me, he has

some notion of redemption and perhaps even more faith in it than any of us."

All three of her children looked puzzled, but Gwen did not feel the need to elaborate. Instead she reached for their hands and said, "Come, lend me your own psionic energy, for this is apt to be a harrowing ordeal."

They came, they formed a circle around Finister's sleeping body and linked hands as Gwen began to work her way into the depths of Finister's mind.

Riding up to Boston, Riding up to Lynn, You 'd better watch out Or you y re going to fall IN!

Little Finister gave a squeal of surprise and delicious fright as she plummeted between the knees that had been her seat— but Papa's hands still held her waist firmly and bounced her up again, then down to sit on his closed knees once more. She laughed with delight and carolled, "More! More!"

"Now, Papa, you know better than to make a wee one so excited while Maud and Sukey are even now setting the table," Mama reproved.

"Aye, it is naughty of me," Papa said, chuckling, and hoisted the three-year-old off his lap.

Little Finister pouted and demanded, "More!"

"Tomorrow, little one," Papa said. "Into the high chair, now." He turned her around and sent her toward the table with a pat on her bottom.

The table was very long, as it had to be to hold twenty children and two adults—but the keeping room of the old farmhouse was ample. It had once been a whole cottage itself, but Papa and the big boys had built the sleeping wing onto the end—a boys' dormitory and a girls' dormitory, with Mama and Papa's room in between—and a new kitchen, pantry, and scullery onto the other end. The second wing was easily as big as the first, for a farmhouse kitchen had a great deal more to do than preparing meals, especially when it had to take care of twenty-two people.

They sat down to dinner, and Mama and Papa looked around the table, smiling. Gradually the children fell quiet. Then Papa said, ' 'Before we eat, let us pause to remember all the people oppressed by the King and Queen, and how we may work to free them."

Everyone was silent for a minute, staring at his or her plate, except the tiny boy who was even younger than Finister. There was a baby only a few months old, too, but she slept in her cradle by Dory's side.

Then Papa picked up his knife and began to carve the first capon. It was the signal to begin passing the bowls and platters. They went from place to place, the children serving themselves with fork or spoon, the older children helping the ones who were still too young to serve themselves and scolding mildly if they forgot to use their tableware, then passing the dish on to the left. Mama beamed as she watched her adopted brood, saying, "Very neatly done, Angela! That's how a big girl eats. . . . Derek, not so much, now! That pease porridge has six more to serve. . . . Corey, help little Vera with that milk pitcher, it is so very heavy. ..."

The pitcher, wobbling in thin air, steadied suddenly. With all the affectionate assurance of fourteen, Corey smiled down at eight-year-old Vera. 'There, I shall bear its weight with my mind. Do you make it tilt, now—not too much, of course."

Vera studied the pitcher fiercely. It tilted slowly, poured the milk into her mug, then tilted back.

"There, neatly done!" Corey said.

Vera beamed up at her, then turned to glower at the pitcher. It drifted to the left and Essie said, "I have it, Vera. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Vera said, then settled herself rather proudly as her mug lilted off the table to tilt against her lips.

On the boys' side of the table, a turnip floated out of the bowl and toward one of the smaller girls. The older children shouted angrily; one plucked the offending vegetable out of the air.

"P
ut back that turnip,
Jabelle
"
Papa said sternly.
"
No,

Robey, do not do it for her—she must undo her own misdeeds. Send it back, Jabelle."

Jabelle tucked her chin in, glancing about her in fright, then stilled long enough to stare at the turnip balanced on Robey's palm and send it back to the bowl with a thought.

"That's better," Papa said. "If you do it again, though, I shall give your portion to someone else."

The little girl shrank in on herself. The teenager across the table from her smiled down at her, and they could all hear the thought he sent into Jabelle's mind, for the little girl did not yet know how to shield very well. Never fear hunger, Jabelle: Mama and Papa will see to it there is a serving left for you when the bowl comes around.

Finny wondered why Dory had to lean over and repeat the message for Mama in a low voice. She found out three years later that Mama and Papa couldn't hear thoughts. She found out even more quickly, though, that she couldn't get away with thinking nasty things at other children or making unheard jokes about Mama and Papa—the older children were quite severe about that.

Plates filled, the girls ate with their hands in their laps. Finny wondered why the boys got to hold their forks and spoons, but the girls had to make them move by thinking at them. Little Lally forgot and picked up her fork, but Mama instantly frowned and said, "Make the fork move itself, Lally. Hands in your lap."

Wide-eyed, Lally dropped the fork and tucked her hands together. "I'm sorry, Mama—I forgot."

"Of course, dear." Mama smiled reassuringly. "See, you manage almost as well with your mind already. Beri, help her."

"I shall if she needs it." Twelve-year-old Beri smiled down at her little foster sister. "But she is doing quite well by herself."

Lally glanced up at her with a shy smile, reddening with pleasure.

Mama and Papa were allowed to hold their utensils. Finny thought this was because they were grown-ups, their privilege

as mother and father, but she found out later it was because they couldn't move things with their minds.

"Dory, give the cradle a push, there's a dear," said Mama. "She seems a little restive."

The cradle began to rock again, but Dory assured Mama, "Her body may be restless, Mama, but her mind is still deep in sleep."

Dory was the eldest girl, nearly eighteen and really a young woman. She turned eighteen and disappeared a few months later; Finister still remembered the party, and the sense of loss when she realized Dory was gone. Mama explained to her, though, that Dory had grown up and moved away, for she had adult work to do in saving the people from the King and Queen. Finister wasn't sure what the King and Queen were, but she hated them for taking Dory away from her.

Not that there weren't two other girls to fill Dory's place, nor a new foundling on the doorstep to make their numbers twenty again. Rhea and Orma were really young women, too, as Jason and Donald were really young men. Nonetheless, little Finny still missed Dory, though it helped that she came back to visit now and again. There were always "alumni" coming back to visit, and always new "graduates" leaving.

When they were finished eating, three of the older children went out to the kitchen; the other teenagers made the serving bowls and dirty plates float out to them for stacking and washing. The younger children concentrated fiercely at sending their forks and knives, and those of the bigger children next to them, after the dirty plates. Then Dory came back in, a huge cake floating before her, and the other teenagers began singing in joy:

With a hey, ho, the wind and the rain, For the rain it raineth every day!

"A celebration! But what is the cause, MamaT Papa asked, but with a twinkle in his eye that said he knew very well.

"For Ben," Mama said. "She has become a woman today—a very young one, but a woman nonetheless, for she

woke to the beginning of her first period this morning."

All the children cheered, and little Finny, not understanding, cheered right along with them, banging her spoon on her high-chair tray. The cheering turned into singing:

At last she has come to woman's estate, With a hey, ho, the wind and the rain! May thieves and knaves never be her fate, For the rain it raineth every day!

Bedtime was nice; Rhea gave Finny her bath and made sure she washed behind her ears, then Mama herself tucked the little girl in and told her a bedtime story. Finny looked away, though, frowning.

"
What is it, Finny?" Mama asked.
"
Are some of the other children thinking nasty thoughts again?"

Reluctantly, Finny nodded.

"Everybody does, now and then," Mama assured her. "Even the nicest people have bad days sometimes. Just close your mind to them."

"How do I do that, Mama?"

But Mama only said, "Rhea will tell you how," then leaned down to kiss Finny
'
s forehead and stood up.

Finny wondered why Mama didn't tell it herself.

Rhea sat down at Finny's bedside. "Pay no attention to the angry or spiteful thoughts
,
Finny."

Finny frowned a moment, then shook her head. "Doesn't work."

"Of course not," Rhea said.
"I
f I tell you not to think of an apple, what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

There it was in her mind's eye, a big, ripe, delicious apple. Finny grinned.
"
Apple!"

"
Of course," Rhea said, smiling,
"
so instead of thinking about apples, think about pears."

Finny frowned, not understanding, but the ripe, golden pear was there in her mind.

"
And while you're thinking about the pear," Rhea explained, "you don't think about the apple, do you?"