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"Mantrap? There's no mantrap." And Billiam hadn't shot—

  Boothie jerked his chin in exasperation. "There'll be one in a minute, Lovejoy. Gawd, but you'm slow, booy."

  "And the girl?"

  "She's like to remember only what you tell her." He looked so blinking calm, ready for a fag and a pint. Decibel, bored now his night-stalking was over, had flopped down near the fire's warmth. "Brave lass, eh, Lovejoy?"

  "He was chasing me," I blazed up. "Where were you, you idle bugger? I told you—"

  "And I'm telling you, Lovejoy. Rouse her before the peelers come, and give her the tale." He stared reflectively down at Billiam's corpse. "I knowed it was him. He tried to kill me at my cottage."

  "You could have warned me, you burke!"

  "Shush, lad. Them three women'll be by presently, bringing the whole village like as not. Anyway, where was the evidence, my word against his? This way, he'll not be back to do any more killing." He fetched something clanking from the undergrowth, grunting with the effort. Chains rattled. A sickening clang and crunch of iron teeth on bone as the mantrap closed. I retched. Boothie's breath shrilled gently as he worked.

  Enid was stirring. Decibel snored. A police whistle sounded somewhere. In the distance undergrowth rattled.

  "Here they come, Lovejoy."

  "What about the gun, Boothie?"

  "Why, it's the one he stole from my cottage, simpleton." He was chuckling. "That's what I'll say. My fingerprints is on it, seeing it was that I shot him with." He made a gentle tongue noise. Decibel rose and was gone, hardly parting the firelight. "I'll borrow his, see it gets back to his place. It's not been fired."

  Enid was another minute coming round. I cradled her as she murmured in alarm.

  "Am I hurt, Magister?" she said. "The gun . . ."

  I cleared my throat and intoned, "Have you no faith?" I wanted the peelers to admire the tableau. "Did I not promise you unharm? The gun turned back upon itself, and destroyed the evil one."

  "I conjured you from the flames, Magister," she explained.

  "Eh?" I only live round the comer.

  "And you protected me, Magister."

  "Didn't I just," I said gravely. "My duty, Enid."

  And it was thus they found us, Enid resting in my arms and gazing in awe from me to the huddled mass that had been Billiam. I'd told her to tell her story to the police once, then say nothing to anyone about it forevermore. We magisters have to make these decisions.

  29

  The statement was taken on tape in a police car. I'd refused to accompany them to the station, but graciously let them drop me back at the party about one o'clock.

  "Doing my night rounds," I told Ledger. "I was a bit concerned when I saw the fire. Councillor Ryan's so keen on conservation."

  "Billiam's dead, Lovejoy."

  I gave a realistic shudder, easy. "Poor, poor, Billiam." Who'd told me that Candice liked his books, if nobody else did. Who was jealous of George's continued obsession with his ex-wife, and accordingly clobbered him in the New Black Field, then carried poor George—dead or dazed, either would do—to be gored by Charleston, to cast the blame on the bull, the moonspenders, anyone. Who had killed his old confidant Ben Cox, for fear he realized the truth about George's death. Billiam had found it easy to encourage me to go calling on Ben, and make me suspect. He'd also tried to do for Boothie, in fear that Tom's suspicions were accurate. I'm thick. "Quite deranged. Ledger," I said sadly. "Came at us with that gun. I tried to protect the girl, of course. My one thought. The others ran screaming." I paused a second. "Do you think it might be drugs?" He snorted, baffled, angry, and suspicious. "I'd better make a full report to Councillor and Mrs. Ryan."

  • • •

  Sandy was exhibiting the Queen Victoria size four-and-a-half shoes, having a whale of a time. Veronica smiled when I signaled that we meet on the balcony. She came smiling, glass in hand.

  "Reward time, Lovejoy. Kiss for your penny." She swayed against me, murmuring, "You've given me quad ratings, darling. An authentic Victorian wedding. And my show'll go galactic—"

  I disengaged. "Your crew still around?"

  She sensed news, sobered in a flash. "Why?"

  "Not far from here's a wood. In it you'll find the corpse of one Billiam Cutting, the famous romance novelist. The witches' fire still bums. It happened dead on midnight, at Halloween."

  She drew away, staring. "Lovejoy. . . ?"

  "Deadly serious, love. The wood's already roped off, police everywhere."

  "I don't believe . . ." She dropped her glass, literally just opened her hand so it smashed. It could have cut me, silly cow. "Lovejoy, if this is true . . ."

  "They've collared one witch at the cop shop," I said. "Name of Enid. You can ask for Inspector Ledger—"

  And she'd gone, shouting for a phone, her crew, Boysie, Amie, Jim. ... So much for romance. The balcony doors wafted shut on the party din. I waited there until Councillor Ryan emerged.

  He tried to be hearty. "Your Bela Lugosi outfit's all grubby, Lovejoy. Been rolling in the mud?"

  "Shut it, Councillor." I said nothing more, just sipped at a lemonade, an awful thirst on me. He froze, relaxed, nodded for me to go ahead.

  "You've guessed, eh, Lovejoy? Thought so."

  "Only from Munting." A figure had slipped onto the balcony behind me. I saw the movement reflected in Ryan's eyes. You can't hide a flash of light in the dark, however small. "Billiam's shot dead. Councillor. The peelers are all over the forest." I paused, said conversationally, "Like a drink, Winstanley?"

  A pause. Confidently I sat with my back to the trellis. I'd more friends in the adjacent party than they, that was for sure.

  "No, thank you, sir." Winstanley came round to stand by his partner.

  "Both of you were in on it, eh? You, Ryan, did the deal with Clipper and his treasure-hunters—making it easy for them to lift all the archeology from the New Black Field, square after square. And you Winstanley, you brokered them."

  "Why would I do that, sir?"

  "Money." I saw Ryan sag in defeat. "And Miss Minter, Sir John's secretary, was your lover. You funneled the finds into the mitts of London dealers—who gave you first offer of their own stock for Sir John's collection, on legit purchase. That way you also gained sly commission."

  "All this is regrettably true, sir."

  "It was only when Ben Cox came doddering up to ask Sir John if he'd bought any Roman bronzes that Sir John realized he was somehow being bypassed. Right?"

  "Indeed, sir."

  "We had nothing to do with the deaths, Lovejoy," Ryan said brokenly. "You must believe that."

  "I do. You're money crooks, not people crooks."

  "Thank you, sir," from Winstanley. Time to divide the cake. Snag: it was their cake, but I held the knife. "Might I ask what will happen, sir?"

  We were all half-lit from the balcony windows. I smiled. The moment felt great. "Generosity, Winstanley," I said.

  Ryan groaned. "Generosity? Lovejoy, let's deal."

  "No, ta. Dealing time is over."

  "It might be very remunerative, sir," Winstanley murmured.

  I went pious. "From now on, lads, our reward's in heaven." I meant theirs, not mine.

  The news that Councillor Ryan had signed over the archeology rights of his entire estate to Cox's trust was played up in the Advertiser for all Lize was worth. More, Ryan even made a speech about it to the Rotarians, playing down his generosity—to which he endlessly referred. He also funded the Victorian wedding costs at Dogpits Farm restaurant and antiques center. His humble eloquence brought tears to everybody's eyes, especially his own. Sincerity's really moving, isn't it? I'd gone along, not because I like that kind of occasion, but to jog Ryan's memory should he falter. Wise really, because momentarily he forgot to offer his entire estate's amenity rights in perpetuity to the local borough. I cleared my throat, and he quickly remembered. Ergo, no building forever. A trust, headed by local archeologists, was formed on the spot to keep the pledge. Access would be a
llowed for all religious purposes, which in good old East Anglia includes Enid's merry coven. They were still nervous at actually having had a spell work, when they conjured me from the flames. I'd already arranged with Enid to give them weekly guidance on the magic arts, for a small fee.

  I was especially glad when Ryan's speech closed, somewhat shakily, with an offer to waive the cost of reconstructing the rehabilitation unit.

  Ledger made me attend the coroner's court on Billiam's death. Boothie and his dog were also there, he having strolled into the police station one day and asked what was all this about his being reported dead, as he'd only been on holiday. Billiam's verdict was accidental death. I didn't really listen to the proceedings, because I'd had a disturbing message from Sykie earlier. Today was the last of the month Sykie'd given me, and would be calling on me at five "to square up, Lovejoy." This always means paying Sykie whatever he simply guesses you owe. I'd had some of his squaring up before. It's painful stuff.

  That same day I drove Jo over to the rehab unit.

  "W-w-what am I d-d-doing here, L-L-Lovejoy?" Jo asked.

  I'd let her carry Toffee. She'd dressed posh, looked really nice but ectopic.

  "Dr. Pryor's a bloke who can cure some stutters."

  "C-c-cure?" She was looking doubtfully at the horrible new brick facade. "Me?"

  "Well, worth a try, love, eh? And it's free." I'd sent him the money I'd got from selling the fake bronze leopard to Sir John, who'd be mad at the treachery, but I was used to that.

  She went in, hesitant, then with sudden resolution. I drove back to my cottage, using the track past Charleston's field. "You're in the clear, Charleston," I yelled, chugging past. It glared balefully. That's what thanks you get for risking your neck for people. But I was quite chirpy still as I pulled in to my gravel drive. First time I'd been free for years, it seemed. All over. Free, at peace.

  Enid was in the porch.

  "Hello, love. Anything up?" I hauled Toffee down.

  "Magister, I have come to serve."

  "Oh. Good." Serve who? With what? I unlocked the door and entered, her following. Maybe it was time for her tablet. She gazed around, pleased.

  "Is this where you enact, Magister?"

  "Er, usually. My, er, mantra and that." I lowered Toffee, who strolled about, stretching. "Look, love. This magister thing. Call me Lovejoy."

  "Lovejoy," she repeated solemnly. "A symbolic?"

  "Eh? Oh, aye." Five more minutes and I'd be as barmy as her. The phone rang. "Put the kettle on, love." The receiver said it was Vanessa.

  "Vanessa?" Did I know a Vanessa?

  "Are all aerial photographers Vanessa?" She cut through my bluster. "I guess from the Advertiser you liked my sky shots."

  "Great, great."

  "There's the little matter of—"

  "How about you call round, love?" We fixed on six-thirty.

  The phone summoned me back before I'd even sat down. "Lovejoy? Suzanne."

  "Hello, Suzanne." There were three letters in the vestibule, two bills and one that needed opening. "How's your rotten old restaurant?"

  She laughed. "Don't be silly. I wanted to thank you. The supplies of naturally-grown produce for my restaurant will be a winner." She meant Robie and his nondaft farming. "About money."

  "Still some out there in the world, is there?"

  "For you, yes. I'm appointing you adviser on our antique displays." We both waited for her to plan phrases sufficiently bent for her purpose. The envelope held a brief executive command from the George. Veronica was in Room 209, it seemed. What is the matter with people? Have they no homes to go to? "I've set aside a room here for you, Lovejoy."

  I said how kind and she said not at all, come soon because the check was ready. I promised. Narked, I quickly rang the George, and got Veronica in a babble of voices.

  "Veronica? What the hell's this?"

  "Lovejoy?" She was dangerous, honeysweet. "Glad you rang. Seven sharp. First of thirteen shows, lover."

  "No, ta," I said. "Promise I'll watch, though."

  "You won't. You've signed the contract. Remember giving me your autograph at the reception?" The treacherous bitch. She was still laughing as I slammed the receiver down, in time to catch another ring. Free? At peace? That what I said?

  "Lovejoy? Lize." She sounded so breezy.

  "What?" On guard, Lovejoy. She'd never accepted Lize before.

  "Just wondering what time you'll be home, sweetheart."

  Home? I was already home. "Eh? Oh, sevenish."

  "Right. If you get home before me, switch the oven on. It's a casserole."

  "Right," I said, heartily as I could with a headache. Casserole? Oven? What is this?

  Enid was kneeling on the peg rug, silently pouring the tea. With every passing second she looked better and better. The doorbell. There stood Candice, majorless.

  "Sorry, Candice," I said. "I'm just off out."

  "I don't intend to stay, Lovejoy." Flounce skirt today, a sling jacket, which were all right. But she wore an antique plaited glass headband, yellow and white. I'd not seen one since the Sudbury auction three years gone.

  "No? Pity," I said to the headband.

  "The major's . . . left." Her tone told me he'd got the sailor's elbow. "About your arrangement with my aged aunt, Lovejoy." She heard Enid's quiet movements indoors, merely smiled. "I could be very troublesome, disrupt her wonderful restaurant, spoil those new displays of Sir John's collections those two queers are putting on, ruin your sexpot's telly broadcasts. Or."

  Long pause. "Or?"

  "Or you and I can enlarge our mutual perceptions, Lovejoy."

  "Any particular time?" I asked that beautiful headband.

  "Eight-thirty sharp?" she said into my eyes.

  I saw her car off, with enthusiasm, and went indoors. Enid sat-knelt waiting. She'd even found a saucer among the shambles, clever girl.

  "Enid," I said. "I need a quiet house. Just for a few days. To restore the, er, spirit energies."

  She rose. "Yes, Magist . . . Lovejoy." She hadn't got the tea right, but you can't have everything. I listened as she phoned.

  "Evadne? Magister is to confer the blessing of his presence on us." Pause. "Where will you leave the key?"

  God, but her tea was the pits. I rearranged my expression to spirituality in time for Enid's news. "Evadne's home will be honored, Lovejoy. Her husband is at sea, currently off Durban."

  A clipclopping sounded in the side lane. I thought, it can't be. "Evadne? One of your, er. . . ?"

  "You spared her in the wood, Magister."

  "So I did." The horse-hooves clopped closer. Mrs. Ryan. There's no stopping some folk.

  "Will we leave now, Lovejoy?"

  I closed my eyes an instant, made a mysterious magic pass, quite convincing considering the circumstances. Maybe Evadne was the curvy blond one.

  "Yes, love," I decided. "Bad karma here."

  I slammed a bewildered Toffee into her trug, grabbed Enid, and ran for it.