The Grand Tour Page 34

  It is true that the coronation robe was falling to pieces. The cloth of gold was so grimy it was dark brown, almost black in places. The linen undercoat that lined it, sturdy in its day, was rotting away. Yet even so, the garment held a faint scent, a spiciness like the best beeswax candles—if I may be fanciful, a last whiff of fragrance from a lost world.

  The alabaster flask of the Sainte Ampoule was well preserved, quite lovely in its way. The ring was curiously made, adorned with little knobs of gold like grains of rice. “Granulation, they call the technique,” James told us. “The Etruscans were quite good at it.”

  “Is it that old?” Cecy exclaimed, turning the ring in the palm of her hand so it glowed in the firelight. Given the size of the thing, it could almost have served as a small doorknob.

  “It’s far from likely.” James took the ring from Cecy and gave it back to Thomas.

  “But not impossible?” I asked.

  “Not quite impossible,” said Thomas, as he put the ring safely away.

  At first glance, the sword was almost as unprepossessing as the robe. A rusty bit of metal, I would have said. Upon consideration, however, the sword looked the oldest of all the regalia. Held at the proper angle, the dull surface gave back a gleam of blue gray, a hint of what the metal beneath must have been in its day. The curve of the blade was graceful, the balance perfect, making it seem deceptively light for its size.

  Thomas let me hold the sword only for a moment, but when he took it back, it was to angle the blade for me so that I could see, so faint I would have missed it without his help, a pattern of flowing curves etched on either side of the thickened rib in the center of the leaf-shaped blade.

  “Oh, like ocean waves,” I said. “How lovely.”

  “Geometric,” said Thomas. “I wonder what they used to draw the pattern? It’s as regular as if they used a pair of compasses.”

  “It doesn’t look old, does it?” I meant the pattern. The clean line of the curving design was simplicity itself, as pure as the first leaves in the spring.

  With great care, Thomas took the sword back. “It must be very old indeed. Perhaps even older than the ring. A true treasure.”

  Working together as James and I looked on, Thomas and Cecy prepared the trunk for their spell. Then they wrapped each piece of the regalia in white linen and stowed it away, locked the trunk, and set a spell to secure it.

  “It mustn’t be permitted to fall into the wrong hands again,” said Cecy, when they were finished.

  “Indeed not,” James agreed.

  Thomas cleared his throat. “I’m delighted to hear you voice those sentiments.”

  Something in the way he devoted his attention to the lock on the chest, which was already quite thoroughly locked, made me suspicious. “Thomas. What have you done?”

  Thomas regarded me with the most perfect expression of injured innocence it has yet been my pleasure to see. “Kate. Don’t you trust me?”

  “With my life,” I answered honestly, “but in smaller matters, I have occasional reservations.”

  Thomas cleared his throat again. “I suppose I really ought to have consulted you all before I agreed to it.”

  “Oh, Thomas.” James was looking pained. “What are we in for this time?”

  “Now that we’ve dealt with young Daventer and the rest, I’ve replied to Wellington’s letter. I’ve promised him I will see each of these items safely back where it belongs.” Thomas corrected himself. “At least, safely back to where Wellington deems they belong.”

  A small silence fell as we took in the implications of this.

  “Very sensible precaution,” said Cecy. “We’re bound to return to Paris eventually, so the Sainte Ampoule will be no trouble. The ring came from Aachen, and the robe is from Castile. Do we take the sword back to Milan?”

  “No, oddly enough, Lord Wellington believes it belongs in Vienna,” Thomas said.

  “After all the planning we’ve done, it would be a shame to miss Vienna,” I conceded. “All on dry land,” said Cecy, with great satisfaction.

  “Although now that I’ve created a focus, it shouldn’t be out of the question for me to travel by ship.”

  “Fortunate,” said James, fondly, “given that we will have to cross the Channel to go home eventually.”

  “Not for months yet,” Thomas reminded him. “We’ll have to wait until spring for the mountain passes to reopen. I’m not melting my way over the Apennines twice.”

  “No, indeed.” I did my best to conceal my shudder as I recalled the toll that journey had taken on Thomas. “We can make ourselves comfortable in Rome until it is quite safe to brave the passes again. I daresay we shall amuse ourselves very well.”

  “Remember,” Thomas said, “at the next full moon, your lessons begin.”

  “I remember,” I said. Thomas has promised to start me off with the most basic lesson possible, the magical equivalent of a musical scale. Still, I view the prospect with mild alarm.

  “And no doubt there will be an opera performed somewhere.” Cecy sounded most unenthusiastic at the prospect.

  If I am any judge of expression, James wholeheartedly shared her views. “No doubt,” he agreed, gloomily.

  I could not resist saying, “But surely you and James will be far too busy for the opera, Cecy.”

  Cecy knows me well enough to catch my every tone of voice, so she looked a little wary as she asked, “Will we, Kate? Why is that, I wonder?”

  “Oh, you’ll be simply besieged with invitations. All the world will want to meet Mr. and Mrs. Tarleton, to see for themselves that you haven’t absconded with Thomas after all.”

  Cecy, bless her, looked quite put out at the reminder. From the liveliness of her annoyance, I had no doubt James had given her a full account of his experience with Lord Sutton. “What a ridiculous notion. I’ve a good mind to box the ambassador’s ears for him.”

  “I know precisely what you mean,” said James, with feeling, “but I beg you to resist the impulse.”

  “Truly, I would never box Lord Sutton’s ears.” Cecy’s statement was not as comforting as it might have been, despite its transparent honesty, for she was getting that gleam of speculation that those of us who love her have learned to view with alarm.

  In haste, I added my counsel to James’s. “Don’t do anything irrevocable to Lord Sutton, I pray you. It would not endear us to Lady Sutton or her mother, Mrs. Montgomery, and I have every intention of learning as much as possible about Mrs. Montgomery’s connection with Lady Sylvia. Another member of the League, no doubt. She was knitting in the Bishop’s best style. I really must practice. When I write of all this to Lady Sylvia, it will require skeins and skeins of yarn. Enough to make a coverlet.”

  As I had hoped it would, this distracted Cecy. “Lady Sylvia knows half the world, doesn’t she? And Papa knows the other half.”

  “Never fear,” said Thomas. “By the time we return home, we will have met half the world ourselves, and we can practice our knitting as we keep up our extensive correspondence. In ten years, if nothing else, we will excel at all sorts of letter writing.”

  Ten years. I tried to imagine it and failed. In ten years I will be twenty-eight, which is very nearly thirty years of age, which is quite ancient. “It does not seem possible.”

  Thomas was looking as pleased with himself as I’ve ever seen him. “It’s far from likely, I agree, but not impossible.”

  “Not quite impossible?” I asked fondly.

  Thomas gave me a fond look back. “Not quite. We’ll just have to wait ten years and see.”

  A Biography of Patricia C. Wrede

  For more than twenty years, Patricia Collins Wrede (b. 1953) has expanded the boundaries of fantasy writing. Born in Chicago to a large, literary family, Wrede spent her childhood immersed in the Chronicles of Narnia, classic fairy tales, and L. Frank Baum’s Land of Oz—a foundation in imagined worlds that paved the way for her future career.

  After receiving a degree in biology fr
om Carleton College in 1974, Wrede completed an MBA at the University of Minnesota, and began working as a financial analyst in the late 1970s. In her spare time, Wrede wrote fantasy stories in the vein of the classic novels she read as a child. Her love of fantasy even fueled an interest in tabletop role-playing games: Lyra, the first gaming world that Wrede invented, was based on the unpublished work-in-progress that would become Shadow Magic. In 1980 she became a founding member of a group of Minneapolis-based, fantasy-fiction authors known as the Interstate Writers’ Workshop, or Scribblies, with whom she later worked on the critically acclaimed Liavek shared-world anthology series.

  That same year, Wrede sold her first novel, Shadow Magic, which was published in 1982. It was the public debut of Lyra, a magical world shared by four races whose cultural differences see them constantly at odds. Wrede used Lyra as the setting for four more novels: Daughter of Witches (1984), The Harp of Imach Thyssel (1985), Caught in Crystal (1987), and The Raven Ring (1994). Wrede’s strong prose, sense of humor, and powerful female leads drew special attention to her early novels. Her quick success allowed her to begin writing fulltime.

  Though the Lyra novels found popularity with audiences of all ages, Wrede aims her more recent work at young-adult readers, beginning with her four-book Enchanted Forest Chronicles, which follow the adventures of a young princess who becomes apprenticed to a dragon. Her other fantasy series include the Cecelia and Kate novels, cowritten with Caroline Stevermer and set in Regency England; the Mairelon books, which also take place in Regency England; and the Frontier Magic trilogy, based on Old West pioneers.

  Wrede lives and works in Minnesota.

  Patricia Collins’s baby photo, taken around 1955 when the family lived in Maywood, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago.

  Patricia playing piano in her family’s living room in Hinsdale, Illinois (another Chicago suburb).

  Patricia (the tallest) with her four siblings (from left: Susan, David, Carol, and Peg) in Tulsa around 1968.

  Patricia’s senior yearbook photo at Hinsdale Township High School Central in Hinsdale, Illinois.

  Patricia’s high-school commencement photo, 1970.

  Patricia and her father, David M. Collins, outside her dorm at Carleton College in Northfield, Minnesota. The photo was taken at the beginning of her freshman year, in 1970.

  Patricia’s wedding in July 1976 to James M. Wrede.

  An outline of the Wyrd government, as Patricia was developing Shadow Magic in the late 1970s.

  Patricia at a Minicon panel in Minneapolis in the early 1980s. Minicon is Minnesota’s longest-running annual gathering of science fiction and fantasy fans.

  Patricia celebrates her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary in 2002 with her family. Back row, from left: Margaret (Peg) Hill, Carol Collins, David Collins, Susan Domeyer, and Patricia. Front row: Monica Collins, David M. Collins.

  Patricia with Star Wars Stormtroopers outside of the St. Paul Saints baseball field in St. Paul, Minnesota. A Jedi threw out the opening pitch and Darth Vader showed up several times during the game.

  Patricia outside her home near Minneapolis, Minnesota.

  A Biography of Caroline Stevermer

  Caroline Stevermer (b. 1955) is an author best known for her historical fantasy novels for young adults. Raised on a Minnesota dairy farm, she began writing stories at the age of eight. Despite a fascination with the epic works of J. R. R. Tolkien and Ursula K. Le Guin, Stevermer did not consider writing seriously until her first day at Bryn Mawr College, when the sight of a manuscript by fantasy author Ellen Kushner inspired her to try writing novels.

  In 1981 and 1982, she published her first two books as C. J. Stevermer: The Alchemist and The Duke and the Veil. In 1987 she contributed a short story, Cenedwine Brocade, to the Liavek series, a shared world brought to life in a series of five fantasy anthologies. Shortly thereafter, she began writing with fellow Liavek contributor Patricia C. Wrede.

  Similarities in style and a shared interest in historical fiction made Stevermer and Wrede’s partnership a great success. Together they created an alternate version of Regency England, combining the Industrial Revolution era with a magical world. The first book in this fantasy series, Sorcery and Cecelia (1988) introduces cousins Kate and Cecelia, who trade letters telling of their encounters with the wizarding members of polite society.

  Wrede and Stevermer returned to that world more than a decade later with The Grand Tour (2004), which follows Kate and Cecelia as they get embroiled in mysterious plots while on a tour of Europe. The Mislaid Magician (2006) concludes the series, recounting the adventures of Kate and Cecelia during England’s railway expansion.

  In between her collaborations with Wrede, Stevermer found success with the Mark Twain–inspired River Rats (1991) and A College of Magics (1994), whose tales of life in a European witch’s academy were partly based on her time at Bryn Mawr.

  In 1998, Stevermer contributed a story to The Essential Bordertown, a collection of fiction set in Terri Winding’s Borderlands universe. Stevermer’s most recent novel, Magic Below Stairs (2010), takes place in the world described in Sorcery and Cecelia, and tells the story of Frederick, a Victorian orphan who wins a job as a wizard’s footboy. Frederick must rely on a magical creature named Billy Bly to guide him through life in the servants’ quarters.

  Stevermer continues to live and write in Minnesota, where she spends as much time as possible in the reading room at the Minneapolis public library.

  The Stevermer family in 1959, before the author’s younger brother was born. Caroline is the youngest here, standing in front of her parents with sister Patricia and brother Michael.

  On a family trip to Hannibal, Missouri, at age three.

  Stevermer grew up on a farm in southeastern Minnesota. This photo was taken the day her family got their first horse—the culmination of Stevermer’s childhood dreams.

  Stevermer in 1976 at age twenty-one, when she was a senior in college. The author attended Bryn Mawr College, where she graduated with a BA in art history.

  In 1981, when Stevermer was twenty-six, she visited France.

  Stevermer in 1991, on the Mississippi River at St. Anthony Falls. (Photo courtesy of Joey McLeister.)

  Stevermer in Minneapolis in 2006. (Photo courtesy of Katrina Nesse.)

  Acknowledgments

  DEEPEST GRATITUDE TO CHRIS BELL, Charlotte Boynton, Anna Feruglio Dal Dan, Diana Wynne Jones, Anna Mazzoldi, Delia Sherman, Sherwood Smith, and Eve Sweetser, who helped to catch the mistakes we made in this book. Any fresh errors are, of course, our own.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  copyright © 2004 by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer

  cover design by Angela Goddard

  978-1-4532-5475-2

  This edition published in 2012 by Open Road Integrated Media

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  New York, NY 10014

  www.openroadmedia.com

  EBOOKS BY PATRICIA C. WREDE & CAROLINE STEVERMER

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