“Do you see that?” she asked the captain.
“Now it’s working,” he said.
“Let him get to the edge of the woods, then call him back.”
The captain did so. When the manservant got within about a thousand yards of the castle, the images of the Gypsies winked out in the model, and the phantom trolls reappeared. They seemed to have captured the keep and were throwing tapestries and furniture into the moat.
“I think you may be on to something,” the captain said. “What is that crystal?”
“An excuse to get him out of range,” Gwynn said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Could you send someone to fetch Master Justinian?” Gwynn asked.
From the cloud of camphor that arrived with him, Gwynn deduced that the Maestro’s cold was no better, and judging from the expression on his face, Gwynn suspected his investigation was still going badly, too. She winced when she saw the duke trailing in his wake, looking like a thundercloud about to spew lightning.
“This better be important,” the duke snapped as he entered the room.
“A moment, your grace,” Justinian said, and drew Gwynn to one side.
“I’m sorry I’ve interrupted your work,” she began.
“I’m not,” Justinian said, rubbing his forehead again. “I’m in no shape to be doing magic. One minute my spells work, the next they fizzle. And even when they work, I’m not finding anything that could account for that poor benighted man’s death.”
“Perhaps this will help,” she said.