Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter. Cathy’s First Letter.

19 June 1025, L’École du Sorciers

My dearest cousin Armand, 

Dr. Tillotson says that it is a plain as a pudding that you have building things that work while he and his erstwhile colleagues have been thinking deep thoughts.

He agrees that it is the intent, or, rather, the will of the wizard that determines whether or not the package, as he has taken to calling it, reaches the destination node of an Iturian Relay. This flies in the face of all his training, which sees the wizard as serving two utterly distinct roles: as designer of the spell, and as the source of magical power. Only the former should involve intent; once the spell is designed, any source of magical power should do.

And yet: the package is here; and then the package is there, or it is not; and Tillotson has ruled out all else but his own will as the determining factor. According to Octie’s last letter, the poor fellow is elated, disgusted, distressed, dismayed, and triumphant by turns.

He is now thinking deep thoughts, so he says, pondering ways he might build his intent into the spell. He says it must be possible, for clearly the ancients did it; for the alternative, he says, is that each node was permanently manned by a wizard, which he considers unlikely in the extreme: that would be a vast number of wizards, and wizards, he says, are easily bored.

I’ve proposed an alternate view. If we presume that the ancient relay was built solely for the purposes of the Iturian Autocratoria—to speedily move troops from place to place, for example—then each body of troops might be accompanied by a wizard who moved them from node to node. 

That solves the problem of intent; and if the Autocratoria was the only licit user of the relay, if ordinary citizens were compelled to travel by mundane means, that would explain how the ancient relay grew so large and how the Autocratoria lasted as long as it did before the inevitable cataclysm.

If my conjecture is correct, then the ancient nodes provided power to the relay, allowing the transport of large bodies of troops, while ancient wizards provided the intent to move through it. I have written to Tillotson of this, but have not yet received his response.

On a related note, you might be seeing Dr. Tillotson in Bois-de-Bas sooner than any of us had expected. The Royal College of Orthopractors, the body which oversees Cumbrian wizardry and funds men like Orthopractor Simms, has taken an interest in Tillotson’s current work. They are always on guard against rogue wizards, of course, that being their function; and a wizard leaving the company of his peers and going off into the wilds (if so I may describe the delightfully wooded environs of Nexingham) is one of the warning signs. 

Worse, they have not sent Simms, whom I know to be wise, thoughtful, and disinclined to jump to conclusions; they have sent another man, Cadworthy, who sees rogue wizards under every bedstead. Cadworth will find nothing, of course, but he can cause Tillotson a great deal of trouble and distraction before he is called off.

Tillotson sees in this a transparent attempt on the part of his colleagues to encourage him back into the fold: to give over his “trifling with formers and foolishness”, as one Edenford don has put it, to, in fact, return to Edenford and its common room, putting all such aside and returning to his life as a proper staid Cumbrian wizard, teaching his students and doing nothing of any use to anyone.

That gives one pause, Armand. The wizards of Cumbria, as those of Provençe, have been so dead set against their powers being used in war that they have settled for them not being used at all. Only the formers, disdained as mere artisans, have in any way served the common good.

According to Octie, Tillotson would be glad to return to Edenford…but not at the cost of abandoning his research.

I have invited him to come to L’École, but both he and Dr. Guisman are doubtful. Toulouse is quite close to Yorke, as such things go, and should the Royal College press the Cumbrian Crown to take steps, and should His Majesty’s Government of Cumbria approach His Majesty’s Government of Provençe, anything might result. Our system preserves us from incompetent monarchs, but it cannot preserve us from the unintentional stupidity of well-meaning committees.

I have suggested to Tillotson that if he were to go to Armorica and sign articles as your apprentice, he would then be under the protection of the Armorican guild—clearly recognized by the Crown as independent of the Cumbrian guild and the Cumbrian parliament. He would also be in the presence of the one best placed to advance his research, namely my dearest cousin. The Royal College has, at present, no presence in Armorica; the rights of the Guilds have long been enshrined in Cumbrian common law; and though this might be thought a rather transparent fig leaf, it would give him a safe haven and a breathing space in which to prove his theories.

If you were to then partner with, say, the Courier’s Guild to deliver letters across long distances, that would give you all added protection; and in time the Royal College must come round, for the needs of commerce would see to that.

Perhaps you might send the Amelie packet to Toulouse for a brief stay? We could then coordinate with Tillotson in Nexingham, and then Captain Grier could make a brief unannounced trip to Cumbria to collect him. I do not think the authorities would try to prevent Tillotson from leaving Cumbria, but I should prefer to present them with a fait accompli.

In the meantime, and thanks solely to the good offices of Margaux, Jane and George’s nurse, I shall soon be taking up my duties as a junior master of L’École du Sorciers, and accepting my first students. Huzzah! Ought I to purchase a pair of blue stockings, do you suppose?

Your wizardly cousin,

Amelia

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