Magicians were denounced as evil by many societies in the distant past. A plethora of documentation existed about the persecution of magicians that led to many being put to death. Others hid their magic and forced their descendants to do the same, so eventually the artless forgot about them. Sorcery faded from the collective conscience, becoming legend, until quite recently. As with many of the past’s shameful events, women bore the brunt of the persecution. In this instance, female magicians were labeled as witches.
It was a pity Kinloch never sold the book to Coyle. If he had, it would now be in our hands.
“I never learned Latin,” Oscar said, somewhat apologetically. “What does maleficium mean?”
“Harmful magic,” I said. “And a lord advocate is the chief public prosecutor. I’ve studied George Mackenzie, as it happens.”
“For your lessons at University College?”
“For pleasure in my spare time.”
Oscar’s lips twitched with his smile.
I stiffened. “Not everyone is inclined to carouse all night with wine, women and song, thank you.”
“If you think my life has been one long party, you’re sorely mistaken. Any time I spent carousing was part of a concerted effort to further my journalism career. It just so happens that newspaper editors like to drink. A lot. There wasn’t much time left over for learning Latin and reading up on obscure Scottish lawyers.”
“Point taken, but Mackenzie isn’t obscure. He’s the most well-known lord advocate, a position he held for a number of years from 1677. He labeled the punishments meted out to convicted witches cruel. He conducted extensive research into witches and concluded that most of the time, their craft was medicinal, not magical. His work led to the abolition of witchcraft trials in Scotland. The rest of the world eventually followed.”
“Quite an enlightened man for the seventeenth century. But you said ‘most.’”
“Pardon?”
“‘He concluded that most of the time, a witch’s craft was medicinal, not magical.’ Are you saying he also found some evidence of real magic?”
I shrugged. “It’s a question that scholars with an interest in the occult have often wondered, but only amongst ourselves. To discuss such things in mainstream circles would have been career suicide. Anyway, without evidence, the discussions were inconclusive.”
Oscar studied the second letter. “Perhaps the book in Kinloch’s possession will lay the question to rest once and for all.” The somewhat absent note in his voice intrigued me.
“What does the second letter say? Is it also from Kinloch?”
He folded the letter and shook his head. “It’s from John J. Defoe.”
“The American railroad magnate? What does he say?”
Oscar hesitated before passing me the letter.
I unfolded it and read. It was clearly the first time Defoe had corresponded with Lord Coyle. Written almost five years ago, he introduced himself as a fellow collector of magic. He’d heard about a book that gave a clue to the whereabouts of another text that he sought. The book containing the clue was titled A Treatise on the Laws of Witchcraft and Maleficium in Scotland. Defoe didn’t know where to find it, however, so he appealed to Lord Coyle. While that was intriguing, it was the next lines that caught my attention. Now I understood Oscar’s hesitation in handing the letter to me. There must be a part of him that wanted to keep the information to himself. To his credit, he had not.
Defoe’s ultimate aim was to find a text about tattoos made with magic ink that could turn the tattooed person into a superior human. “How extraordinary. Have you heard of tattoo magic?”
Oscar’s eyes were bright, as if he were in the throes of a feverish delirium. “No, but it makes sense that it exists. Tattoos are made with ink, and magic ink in the skin can potentially have a number of practical applications. Superior strength, or perhaps even make the person fly.”
I laughed, but he looked quite serious.
“If I can make regular ink fly, why not a tattoo? And if the tattoo is within the skin itself, then why not the human?” He clasped my elbow. “Gavin, we have to get that text about tattoo magic.”
His enthusiasm didn’t surprise me, given he was an ink magician, but I was more intrigued by the book containing the clue. A Treatise on the Laws of Witchcraft and Maleficium in Scotland by His Majesty’s Lord Advocate George Mackenzie could be an important historical document, something we academics referred to as seminal.
“We don’t know if Coyle wrote back to Defoe and mentioned that Kinloch has Mackenzie’s book,” I warned him. “If he did, it could now be in Defoe’s possession. I suppose we could make him an offer.”
Oscar scoffed. “Coyle would never help a fellow collector. He was too selfish.”
“Even if Mr. Kinloch does still have it, what if he doesn’t want to sell?” I indicated the first letter where he stated as much.
“He didn’t want to sell to Coyle. We are not him. In fact, we hated him. Perhaps Kinloch would be prepared to negotiate with his enemy’s enemy.”
The sound of light footsteps approaching silenced me before I could respond. Lady Coyle stopped at the entrance to the hidden storeroom and gawped in an unladylike fashion at our surroundings. “Well,” she said on a breath. “You’ve found his collection.”
