Chapter 26
A sudden downpour of spring rain decided to begin just as Constance was crossing the college quad the following afternoon. She'd spent a frustrating morning fine tuning her Masters Thesis in the library ready for submission. She had an infinite amount of comments from Mistress Broomhead to work through, and by the end Constance began to question whether there was anything worthwhile in her thesis at all. Her mind was still reeling with the papers she had discovered the previous night and she had woken up with a jarring pain in her wrist which made writing an arduous task. Within a few steps the rain had soaked her through, and the heavy drops were reverberating off the flagstones, spattering her feet and legs with a fine layer of mud. Constance picked up her pace, weaving between the newly forming puddles, to reach the shelter of the corridor beyond.
She had just managed to duck out of the relentless rain when she became aware of someone calling her name. She turned to see the college porter following her across the quad, slipping across the rain-soaked stones as he ran. He handed her a small folded note and when Constance unfolded it, she recognised Gwendoline's small, neat handwriting.
Tonight, at same time and place as yesterday. G
After a long day of anxious speculation, which she had done her best to keep concealed under her calm external veneer, Constance finally returned to her bedroom just before 10 that evening. She placed the now familiar green glass bottle of sleeping draft on her bedside table. She had once again been trusted to administer the potion herself that evening, and Constance had Hemlock to thank. She had been sat at her small desk in the corner of Mistress Broomhead's office, once again attempting to transcribe the pile of indecipherable notes. Mistress Broomhead was sat at her own desk, and so demanded complete silence from Constance. Unfortunately, Hemlock had other ideas. The cat was clearly set upon getting revenge, and had leapt up onto the small desk where she proceeded to scratch viciously at Constance every time she attempted to pick up a pen. Constance had succeeded the first few times to not react vocally and simply jerk her hand away from the cat's relentless claws. But eventually Hemlock succeeded in getting enough purchase to dig her claws firmly into the back of Constance's hand, causing Constance to let out a soft cry. Mistress Broomhead, turning to look at Constance sternly at the disruption, insisted that Constance was making an unnecessary fuss. However, twenty minutes later Hemlock had still not relented, and Mistress Broomhead decided that Constance's quiet gasps and her cat's low hissing were too much of a distraction and ordered Constance to get out.
Constance had just lowered herself to sit on the edge of her bed when there was a gentle tapping and Gwendoline's head of blonde curls appeared around the door. Constance could tell by the slightly grim expression on her face that she had succeeded in observing Constance sleepwalking. After greeting each other, Gwendoline inquired about the scratches on Constance's hand and Constance could tell that they were both as at a loss as each other about how to begin the conversation of Constance's sleepwalking.
"Please" Constance said in a low, almost pleading tone "just tell me"
Gwendoline looked slightly relived and giving a resolute nod, she sat herself down at the desk chair opposite the bed and began to recount what had happened the previous night.
Gwendoline had been very glad that she'd had the foresight to bring a cushion with her as she began her long vigil outside Constance's bedroom door. The stone floors and walls of the corridor were unyieldingly hard against her back and legs and, although the spring night wasn't particularly cold, unseen drafts seeped through the building causing her to shiver. Gwendoline's slim gold wristwatch told her it was just after 2am when the door opposite slowly opened. The tall, shadowy figure of Constance appeared in the doorway, her pale skill still retaining some luminosity despite the complete blackness of the room behind her. Gwendoline remained seated but slowly and smoothly drew her legs closer to her chest to create no obstacle for the sleepwalking figure. As Constance took her first steps into the corridor, the dim light allowed Gwendoline to see the blank, glassy look in her eyes which told her Constance was completely unaware of her surroundings.
Not wanting to startle Constance, Gwendoline waited until the tall, angular figure had smoothly sailed past her before getting to her feet as silently as possible, ready to follow. Constance led her down the spiral staircase and across the courtyard, successfully negotiating the familiar route even in sleep. Gwendoline found the empty courtyard eerily silent, no lights shone down from the rooms above and the air was full of the clean, green earthy smell that had followed the days rain. Constance continued leading them, until their night-time wanderings led them to halt outside Mistress Broomhead's classroom door.
The sleeping Constance pushed open the door and immediately Gwendoline saw that there was a light on inside the classroom. As the door opened wider, it revealed the figure of Mistress Broomhead stood in the centre of the room, with her back to the opening door. Gwendoline quickly recoiled, sliding backwards out of the beam of light cast out into the corridor. Pressing herself flat against the wall to the right of the door she waited until Constance entered the room. The door gently began to swing close and she darted forward at the last moment, wedging her foot into the shrinking gap between the door and frame. She paused for a moment, barely daring to blink, before removing her foot with painstaking slowness and positioning herself so that she could see through the small gap in the doorway.
Mistress Broomhead remained in the centre of the room. She was in her familiar imposing position in front of her desk, but it seemed more sinister in still, silence of the early morning. With a brisk wave of her hand, she beckoned the sleeping Constance who came to a halt, unseeingly, in front of her. Mistress Broomhead raised her hands, with her outer fingers outstretched, and began to incant a spell in a low, continuous murmur. Gwendoline couldn't recall the last time she had heard Mistress Broomhead use a verbal spell, outside of the context of classroom demonstration, and she realised that the spell much be a particularly powerful one.
As Mistress Broomhead continued casting her spell, Gwendoline could actually feel the magic in the air around her. The hairs on her arms began to stand on end with the electric charge in the air and as she breathed in she could feel the sharpness in her lungs like going outside on a particularly icy day. More concerning was the effect she could see the magic was having on Constance. The sleeping witch had her back to Gwendoline and has the spell continued, Constance seemed smaller somehow. Gwendoline could see her shoulders drooping as if she was withstanding a heavy weight pressing down on her.
The magical charge in the air became so strong that Gwendoline began to feel a little lightheaded, when suddenly there was a sharp movement from Constance. At first, Gwendoline thought Constance had woken up, but Constance had wrenched herself away from Mistress Broomhead, turning her body so that Gwendoline could now see her in profile. Gwendoline could see that Constance's eyes were still glazed and unseeing, but even in sleep she appeared to be resisting Mistress Broomhead's spell. The air between the two witches began to visibly quiver and Gwendoline could hear a strange ringing in her head, like two great clashing chords. The quivering air began to smooth, for a short instance making an even sphere around Constance and Gwendoline knew the sleeping witch had cast a protection spell. Mistress Broomhead's eyes glinted with anger and she advanced forward towards Constance, her spell gradually increasing in volume. Constance was backing away from the advancing Mistress Broomhead until eventually she backed herself up against one of the classroom workbenches. Mistress Broomhead slashed her hand through the air in front of Constance and Gwendoline could feel in her chest as the protection spell tore. Pushing forward, Mistress Broomhead seized the now immobile Constance's wrist, pinning it firmly against the surface of the workbench. As the spell continued, Gwendoline could see Constance's figure slowly slouching against the workbench as if she was fainting. There a deep tremor in the air, resounding and sonorous like a gong, and Mistress Broomhead fell silent, releasing her grip on Constance's wrist. The now unconscious figure of Constance slid slowly down the slide of the workbench to the floor. Mistress Broomhead paused for a moment to look down at Constance's crumpled form before vanishing.
Gwendoline waited for a moment in the corridor. Once she was certain Mistress Broomhead was not returning, she ran to where Constance lay slumped on the stone floor. Her eyes were now closed, and her breathing was low and shallow. Gwendoline placed two fingers against Constance's neck and could feel Constance's pulse fluttering rapidly. She gently spoke Constance's name, very lightly shaking her shoulder to try and rouse her. Constance let out a low groan but didn't move. Gwendoline thought of Constance's work on co-apparition. She had never tried to vanish with another person but at least she knew it was magically possible. Offering up a silent prayer, Gwendoline knelt behind Constance and gently lifted her friend from beneath her shoulders until she was in a half sitting position on Gwendoline's lap. She wrapped her arms firmly around Constance's torso, hoping the close contact would aid the spell. Then, with all her concentration she vanished from the classroom. Gwendoline let out a sigh of relief when she appeared on knelt on Constance's bed with the prone figure still supported on her lap.
"I stayed with you, and eventually your breathing and pulse came back to normal and you seemed to be asleep. Once Morgana came back from hunting, I knew she would fetch me if I was needed" Gwendoline finished.
Constance sat for a moment in stunned silence. Externally, she appeared so passively unmoved that, had Gwendoline not known her well, she might have thought Constance had not been listening to what she had told her. Eventually Constance spoke, her voice so low it was almost a whisper
"So, Mistress Broomhead has been borrowing my magic?"
"She has been stealing your magic" Gwendoline replied firmly "Let's call it what it is, Constance. Your magic is not a book in the college library that can be loaned out to anyone who needs it. And I think she has been doing it for some time"
"But surely I would have noticed?" Constance's voice was still barely above a whisper
"Perhaps, not at first. I think initially she was only using a small amount as part of her experiment. Your reserve of magic is quite large, and you might not have noticed a small amount of your power being pulled in another direction. But I think now that she is taking more, you have started to notice. Think of all the signs – your weariness, your erratic magic, the way you almost thoughtlessly comply with what she asks. This must be what it all means. And I think - " Gwendoline hesitated slightly before pushing on "I think if you allow yourself to, you will be able to feel it"
Constance felt shell-shocked. Her magic had always been the one thing she could control, her one certainty. But now to find that she didn't control it or even understand it was hard to hear. She closed her eyes and focused on the centre of her magic. If she was to describe it in physical terms, she would say her magic came from her heart, but it wasn't really that. Her magic came from somewhere deeper, past the part of her where fear and elation and sadness were born. It came from the darkness inside her where life sparked. Constance focused on her magic and in her mind's eye she could see it like an old well. It was deep and cool and with her eyes closed she could smell its power. But when she concentrated on it, she could feel the well was capped. At the top there was a layer of magic, clear and fresh, where ripples formed. But beneath the cap there was more magic – deep and dark and pulsing with power. She focused her efforts on the deep magic, and she felt it rise up, pushing against the spell keeping it capped. Constance suddenly felt lightheaded and snapped open her eyes.
"Yes" she admitted to Gwendoline "I can feel it. But why? Mistress Broomhead is an extremely powerful witch in her own right. Why does she need my magic?"
"Yes" Gwendoline replied pensively "that is what we need to find out. I'm afraid now that we have come this far, we must keep going. We need to understand more. Firstly, you need to stop taking this potion"
Before Constance had time to react, Gwendoline seized the small, green bottle from her bedside table, threw open the window and tipped out the contents. Constance half put out a hand to stop her, but it was too late.
"And secondly –"Gwendoline began
"I need to see the rest of those papers hidden in her desk" Constance finished
"Yes, and I think it does need to be you. I don't quite know what you will find but I think whatever it is you need to read it for yourself. And if Mistress Broomhead is capable of all this, it is surely not long before she manages to detect what we are doing and what we know. So I think if you are going to do it, it has to be tonight"