A Scholar of Magics by Caroline Stevermer Page A

Easter is to witness the auditory equivalent of a glimpse of the gates of paradise. Chanting was not discovered here, but it has certainly been brought to a state of perfection at Glasscastle.” Porteous beamed. “Architecturally, musically, aesthetically, the sum is greater even than its parts.”
    Jane smiled brightly. “Oh, yes. This is where the Yell Magna was perfected, wasn’t it?”
    Jowls quivering, with indignation, Porteous drew himself up to his full, not very impressive height. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œI read about it somewhere.” Jane’s expression was demure. “Baedeker, perhaps.”
    â€œYou refer, I imagine, to the Vox Magna, the technique that matches architectural space to the acoustics of the human voice in the performance of magic?” Porteous was ponderously sarcastic. “I can assure you, Miss Brailsford, that your little red Baedeker can do no possible justice to one of Glasscastle’s greatest achievements.”
    Unruffled by Porteous’s massive indignation, Jane said to Lambert, “It’s for opening doors.”
    â€œOpening doors?” Porteous goggled at her effrontery.
    â€œMy dear child, is this what they taught you at Greenlaw? By no stretch of the imagination is the Vox Magna for ‘opening doors.’” His voice echoed ominously throughout the chapel.

    The acoustics were first rate. The place gave Porteous’s bellow something close to beauty. Lambert wondered what the vibrations of Porteous’s voice would be the auditory equivalent of. A bull moose, maybe.
    â€œIt’s for unlocking things, then,” Jane conceded.
    â€œOh, is it?” Belatedly, Porteous seemed to detect something suspicious in the utter gravity of Jane’s demeanor. His indignation subsided and mild sarcasm took its place. “If one could be permitted to describe the guillotine as a device for the radical adjustment of one’s hairstyle or for the drastic reduction of one’s hat size, then perhaps one might say the Vox Magna could be used for unlocking things. Perhaps, I say.”
    Belatedly, Jane seemed to remember her manners. Her deference returned and the remainder of the tour was without incident. Lambert had admired the unobtrusive ease with which she undermined Porteous’s self-control. He wondered if she could do the same to her brother.
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    T he ticking of Fell’s clock seemed unnaturally loud. Even with the windows open to coax in any night breeze meandering by, the sitting room was stuffy. For a luxurious moment, Lambert allowed himself to picture Fell’s annoyance if he came home to find the clock silent and the pendulum stopped. Fell was not a patient man. The smallest things sometimes made him cross. Interfering with his clock, just to stop the minor nuisance of its repetitive ticking, would not seem a small thing to Fell. Lambert put temptation aside and distracted himself with the day’s newspapers.
    It was, as usual, difficult to make out what was happening
in the world from what the newspapers said. Against all odds, the Republic of China had lasted five months and if the much-discussed China Loan ever floated, seemed likely to last for six. The ocean liner Titanic had broken her own trans-Atlantic record. Lord Fyvie had delivered a speech in the House of Lords demanding the Imperial Defence Committee deal with the question of aerial navigation. Someone else had delivered a better speech about the need for fiscal restraint in these difficult times. The fortunes of the British Empire were detailed in flattering terms. The court calendar figured prominently. Countries far away and ineffectual received short shrift indeed. Lambert read the society news with the same care and attention he gave to the account of an expedition sent to explore the depths of a jungle.
    An item in the society column made Lambert sit up straight in his comfortable armchair. The Earl of Bridgewater, a