If, Zephyrin reflected, in this world there exist mutually attracting opposites which tend toward harmonization, still there are others for which the additive of proximity merely serves to accentuate the conflict between clashing characteristics. It was the latter law which held sway where the wizard’s appearance was concerned.

His was a face radiating peace, completely at odds with the rest of his physionomy. Preternaturally tranquil, Merlinus’s very countenance spoke of his equanimity and measuredness of thought. The double chin was softly indulgent, the limpid brown eyes lively as they took in their surroundings with childlike inquisitiveness, the lips ever curled in anticipation of a good-natured jest. Even as bombastic proclamations issued from his broad mouth it was with a simple-hearted gaiety that the mage’s head swiveled to and fro, as if it and the body it commandeered were independent entities, the first placid and inviting of confidences, the second prone to wild gestures and gyratory excesses. He was a sonorous riot of colors, yet of this hurricane of extravagance his intelligence was the reposeful center.

Such was the conclusion formed by Zephyrin as he observed the interloper’s mannerisms and conduct. At the same time he noted Mlle. Huron’s ashen complexion, as well as the way her talonlike fingers gripped the arms of her seat, equally eloquent indications of her inner turmoil as she forced herself to endure the occultist’s self-assured speculations regarding the history of her apartment and the undoubtedly gristly fate of its former occupants. But as it became clear at length to Merlinus that his warnings of ‘restless spirits’ were unlikely to be heeded, he changed his focus to his hostess herself.

“Mademoiselle, at your age the body begins to feel the weight of its infirmities. If you will but offer me your hand, I will be glad to renew your vitality by communicating my quintessence.”

With an expression one could without much difficulty interpret as saying, ‘I would rather extend my hand to a ravenous crocodile’, Mlle. Huron coolly declined the proposition. Disappointed in his expectations yet again, Merlinus turned round, surveying the crowded drawing room. Before long his eyes arrested on a young lady. Locking gazes with her, he waved his wand, upon which she promptly swooned into an adjacent and fortuitously positioned couch. A general commotion arose; the shimmering figure lunged toward her inanimate figure.

“Do not touch her!” he said commandingly, then vigorously set himself to reviving the patient. Folding his fingers pyramidally he held his hands over her and began to bathe her cranium in a golden light; a breathless interval passed; then, when it became clear this non-physical intervention would fail to obtain the desired result, began energetically massaging her temples.

Once she had revived and after stifling her moan of discomfort with one hand, Merlinus turned to his patroness with the self-assured certitude of a professional. “An imbalance in her mana circulation. Powerful aetherocyclomancer that I am, my aura provoked a reaction of sorts within her core. Fortunately, the imbalance can be corrected.”

“An imbalance? To which remedy should she have recourse?” asked Madame d’Alarch-Kondatis, looking considerably alarmed.

“One requiring little time on her part, and even less effort. Mademoiselle,” he said, now addressing the maiden recovering on the couch, “will you permit me to touch your feet?”

“O-Oh! I…” stammered the baffled girl, before subsiding meekly as an older woman intervened—her mother, judging by the air of resemblance. “Her feet! Monsieur, what on earth are you—”

“I can vouch for the efficacity of his touch,” said an impressively bewhiskered baron suddenly, as Merlinus observed a dignified silence. “The good mage had but taken my foot into his hands when I began to experience sensations as strange as inexplicable. I underwent a fit of convulsions five minutes after and for the same duration of time; once a quarter hour had elapsed they ceased and I felt as spry as a man of twenty.”

The doubting mother was about to express further concerns when Merlinus cut her off in a composed and sweetly authoritative tone. “The causes of a magical imbalance are elementary. When we channel our magic, what is the typical point of exit of a spell? The answer is obvious: our hands. Thus it happens that a number of channels in our body become well-traveled by mana, while others are comparatively neglected, upon which we suffer the immaterial equivalent of vascular calcifications.”

Merlinus paused to conspicuously eye the coveted member; as the girl hurriedly retracted it from arm’s length, he continued his explanation serenely. “My suspicions were confirmed when I encountered a certain technique during my travels in Undhu, where sages can be observed walking on their hands and channeling skyward, by which they establish a reciprocal aetheric bond between them and the sun. The continuous flux and reflux is maintained by the wiggling of their toes—the kapalikranic position, they call it. Surely, thought I, it is no coincidence that the maladies so prevalent in my homeland are wholly unknown to these sun-worshipping ascetics. And now, Mademoiselle,” he said, speaking to Mlle. Huron once more, “may we employ a bathtub for the purpose of effectuating the young lady’s rehabilitation?”

A woman less well-schooled than Nydalie Huron in the social graces would have let her eyes glitter dangerously. As it was, she contented herself with asking mildly, “I have listened to your explanation, monsieur, but it is not apparent to me how or why a bathtub should enter the equation.”

“Why, so that the patient may immerse him or herself in aetherized waters! For a full recovery it is not enough to circulate and cast one’s own magic: vivifying aether must be felt and preferably ingested from other sources to awaken the dormant channels. This is only logical.”

“... Quite. Well, monsieur, I will be glad to know the results of your treatment… after an adequate location has been put at your disposal, that is.” She regarded Merlinus with an air of finality, then refused to cede an inch to the protestations of Madame d’Alarch-Kondatis, who pleaded ineffectually on behalf of her sorcerer. Before the courtesan could attempt a transition to more conventional fare such as a poetic reading, however, the Marquis stepped up to commit the company to uncharted waters. “Merlinus, you’re a—what was it again...?”

“An aetherocyclomancer,” the wonder-worker answered obligingly.

“Ah, yes. Fascinating; I met a fellow who gave a similar title, not too long ago—I can’t remember exactly when, but it was sometime within the last two centuries, to that much I can asseverate—but I wonder, and hope you will not begrudge my curiosity: whence did you procure your knowledge of these esoteric doctrines?”

“I was instructed by trees.”

“By trees!”

“Indeed, monsieur. By the sacred trees of Keltia.” Merlinus opened his arms amphitheatrically, then stated in a tone of hushed solemnity, “By embracing them thus, one can attune himself to a language that needs not words. Yes: I speak of the primordial tongue of silence.”

“My good man, if your criteria for a language is so modest then there are a good many fluent entities in this world, living or otherwise,’ said the Marquis genially, voicing Zephyrin’s unsaid thought.

“And why should there not be?” replied the mage unperturbedly. “Do not our poets sing of ‘chuckling brooks’ and ‘murmuring winds’? Why not of serenading stars, loquacious lilies, and cachinatory stormclouds? The next step in humanity’s progression,” he said, his rich baritone amplifying in his passion, “is to acknowledge that all material entities, living or non-living, possess by nature the ability to channel magic, no different than we.”

“What are the implications of this theory?” interposed one interested-looking gentleman.

“For one thing, there is no such thing as gravity,” said Merlinus gravely. “Yes, you heard correctly: the prevailing explanation for phenomena like the movement of the astral bodies or the tides is simply the byproduct of a weakness of imagination. The reality is that, like all matter, the moon is endowed with a vital principle that allows it to channel: hence the attraction of the oceans, which undulate in response to the powerful magic of the moon.”

As the colorfully attired orator began to expound upon the attributes and spiritual personalities of nature’s animate and inanimate citizenry and the eyes of listeners gradually glazed over, Zephyrin made use of the opportunity to take stock of the situation. Mentally calling up the list he had been given, he began excluding names that no longer seemed worthy of investigation.

‘Marquis’—the meaning of the diamond drawn next to the word by Foudris was now self-explanatory, as was the thick line or virgule drawn by the word ‘thaumaturge’. Unable to interpret at first, it was now readily identifiable as a wand, while the small circle next to ‘Seeress’ was plainly symbolic of a crystal ball. The hints scribbled down by Foudris in what must have been extreme haste before leaving school were all falling into place.

Zephyrin would have to thank the boy upon his return, which Nydalie had told him would be soon, possibly that very evening. He hoped she wasn’t mistaken; yestereve’s heavy snowfall was proving to be a great impediment to his search.

He glanced at the black-robed abbé from earlier, still reclining in the same seat but now conversing with a fellow ecclesiastic. “—it was a parting gift from a doctrinally distanced confrère of mine, a hexakosioihexekontahexaphobic archimandrite. Meek as a lamb in the confessional but ignivomous in the pulpit, his contempt for the buccal atrichia that is customary to our Gaulyrian ecclesiastical usage earned me a fulminous reprimand.”

Somehow I don’t think he’s the man I’m looking for. Another look in Merlinus’s direction.

“Don’t be shy, my dear; consulting your animascope will take but a moment…”

Also unlikely. Out of all the persons present, who was the most likely to know about the political crisis that would soon embroil the capital…?

“Why, if it isn’t young d’Érazh!”

Zephyrin turned at the welcoming cry. A nobleman of considerable girth and a jovial expression was enthusiastically greeting a slim, much smaller figure. As the man stood aside, Zephyrin saw that the newcomer gave evidence of the snowstorm billowing outside in the form of a dampened head of hair and a light dusting of half-melted flakes on his slender shoulders. The timing was impeccable.