“I believe he only recommends brass for the hinges, Professor. Not for the receptacle itself.”
“Indeed, indeed,” Throckmorton said absently, skimming the pages with interest.
“Professor, since Olney is writing for specialists, he doesn’t bother to explainhowthe receptacle actually works. But I’m notentirely sure I understand it. How does the spirit’s ‘shroud,’ as he describes it, fit inside a lead box? The drawing is of a tiny thing, no more than four inches long.”
Throckmorton placed the papers down on the desk. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “The spirit’s shroud is like a casing, soft and pliable. Imagine a gauzy veil of sizable proportions that can be compressed into something quite small. It’s drawn from the spirit in the moment before spirit and enchanter passbackthrough the portal into the living world. It is the lead box that keeps the shroud safe. And why lead? Well. For reasons no enchanter has satisfactorily explained, thews are unable to manipulate lead.”
“But how does the receptacle work? Is holding it sufficient to command the thew? If another enchanter takes the receptacle away, does that make him able to control her?”
“No, no, no.” Throckmorton shook his head energetically, his wisps of white hair fluttering wildly. “Placingthe shroud into the receptacle in the spirit realm is what binds the spirit.”
“So the thew is bound to a single enchanter forever.” Quinn didn’t look at Throckmorton’s spirit thew, but Livia shifted at this pronouncement, a movement cut short by restraint.
“Not forever, not at all. I could send Livia back to the spirit realm today. I have only to give her back the shroud in the spirit realm. But, admittedly, very few enchanters have ever done that. I can’t think of a single one.” He scratched his nose with a long fingernail speculatively. “No, not a one. What commonly occurs is that the enchanter dies, and then his heir takes the shroud to a nearby portal and binds it to himself. That is how a thew becomes a family inheritance—a legacy thew. What Ihaveheard,” Throckmorton said with an air of grave disapproval, “is that some unforgivably irresponsible enchanters manage tolosethe shroud or hide it so well that when they die no one can find it.”
“But can’t the thew herself locate the shroud?”
“Ah!” Throckmorton raised a bony finger. “No! Remember, they can’t manipulate lead. Livia has no way of locating the lead case.” He smiled. “So it’s just as well I don’t need it.”
“Why, then, is the shroud placed in a lead box?” Quinn looked puzzled. “Wouldn’t it be better to use some material that the spirit can find?”
“So that she can steal her shroud back whenever she likes?” Throckmorton chuckled with genuine mirth at such an absurd idea. “I think not. No, no. The case must be inaccessible to the thew and carefully guarded by the enchanter.”
“What happens when, as in the example you mentioned, an enchanter dies and the shroud can’t be found?”
“The spirit thew is trapped in the living world.”
“How vexing,” Quinn said soberly.
“Vexing indeed.” Throckmorton raised his scraggly eyebrows. “A thew with no master is terribly dangerous. She has no conscience, no greater intelligence to guide her. She is pure spirit—impulsive, vengeful, driven by all the female emotions that prove such a liability in the living. She may wreak any havoc she likes upon the world.”
For a moment, the pair sat in silence. Livia looked down at her hands. Then, in the silence, she leaned down and discreetly whispered something in Throckmorton’s ear.
“Ah, yes—quite right.” Throckmorton opened his desk drawer and withdrew a small dropper bottle. “Livia, with her usual formidable powers, has divined that the ink you used while transcribing the Olney pages has left some stains on your desk, and she’s concocted this to remove them.” He handed the bottle across the cluttered desk.
“Stains on my desk?” Quinn echoed, mystified.
“This solution should be applied to where the writing did the most damage,” Livia said. She reached up with her hand and pointed to her own back. Throckmorton, seated before her, didn’t see the gesture.
“Ah!” Quinn said. “Yes, of course. That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” He tucked the bottle carefully into his inner coat pocket.
“The university is liable to bill you for the desk otherwise!” Throckmorton exclaimed. “Dreadful penny pinchers, they are.”
Quinn smiled. “I greatly appreciate the consideration. You’re right that I couldn’t afford a new desk.” He paused. “I’d be glad to take on another transcription task, if you have more. Or perhaps some research?”
“Oh, ho ho,” Throckmorton chortled. “If I have more! Young man, the work has hardly begun. Livia?”
The spirit nodded, and she drew from the nearest pile a hefty bundle of paper tied with string. As she drifted around the desk to place it in Quinn’s hands, Throckmorton explained their contents. “I had other work in mind, but Livia has persuaded me to give this item some long overdue attention; I must admit that it’s been moldering in my drawer a good while. If you don’t tackle it, I probably never will. This is a manuscript that I acquired a few years ago, but I haven’t time to read through it carefully, and the handwriting is atrocious. It’s a curious document written by a churchman who collected some odd bits of armor and other mementos. I bought it because the booksellers claimed that it also contained a description of the old portal in Providence, Rhode Island, where I acquired my thew.” Throckmorton smiled, as if in fond memory of the occasion.
“Now, ordinarily,” he continued, “I have no interest in portals, but some years ago the, er, organization of enchanters to whichI belong lost access to this portal in Providence. It was seized by a rival society, if you can imagine. Terrible business—now we’re reduced to a single portal within a day’s journey. Anyhow, no need to bother with particulars. The result is that the Providence portal has become a thing of some historical importance. This manuscript won’t change the circumstances, of course—I doubt we’ll ever get the portal back—but it’s worth having. For posterity.”
Quinn looked pleased. “Professor, thank you. What a fascinating topic and an important task. I’m honored that you would charge me with it.”
“Yes,” Throckmorton said drily. “I wish I could feel the same enthusiasm for portals as others do, but I find that once you’ve seen one, there’s little interest in seeking another.”
Quinn smiled. “I do see what you mean, Professor. But not all of us have had such experience, and most of us have no idea where the well-hidden portal in the Boston area is located.”
Throckmorton chuckled. “True enough, true enough. Well, we must have our secrets, or every yokel would be clamoring at the door.”
