“Filthy black magic,” the surviving anarchist muttered, when Justinian and the castle mage had confirmed this.

“Fascinating,” Justinian murmured, as he examined the doublet.

He gestured and murmured a few words. Gwynn recognized the incantation that would strip away the stasis spell. And then another spell, less familiar to her.

Justinian paused as if listening to a sound inaudible to the rest of them, then looked around with unfocused eyes.

“No taint of magic,” he murmured, with a puzzled look.

“As I said, my spells couldn’t detect anything either,” the castle mage said, a little defensively.

“Your spells couldn’t detect a turd in your soup tureen,” the duke said. “Leave this to a real mage.”

But the duke’s tone made Gwynn glance in his direction. The duke looked-scared would be an exaggeration, perhaps. But definitely uneasy. It was one thing to see his personal mage baffled. No spellcaster of any real power would settle for a post as a mere castle mage. But to see the powerful Master Justinian baffled-that would make anyone uneasy. Gwynn’s own stomach tightened a bit at the thought.

“A fascinating puzzle,” Justinian said.

He gestured again, then frowned. Gwynn and the castle mage were probably the only ones who realized that his spell had fizzled. They looked at each other with alarm.

Justinian sighed and rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. Gwynn felt a little reassured. Obviously his stuffed-up head was bothering him. He’d do better when he felt better.

Although he could be in for a miserable few days in the meantime.

“So what are we standing about for?” the duke asked.

“Your grace-” the castle mage began.

“Now that the expert’s here, shouldn’t you be seeing about the wards?” the duke asked.

The castle mage looked, if possible, even more anxious.

“I’ve already tried everything I know,” he protested. “I was hoping Master Justinian…”