Phoenix and Ashes (12 page)

There
were several Salamanders in the hearth-fire by now, and she felt their presence
as a friendly and encouraging warmth. That helped her when she faltered, right
up to the point at which she ran out of energy altogether, and simply sat right
down on the hearth and looked up at the witch with pleading in her eyes.
“I can’t,” she said, plaintively. “I—”

“Ah,
then we’re finished for now!” Sarah exclaimed. “The one thing
your mother always told me is that Fire is the most dangerous of the Elements;
handle it carelessly at your peril, is what she said!”

“She
did?” Eleanor glanced at the hearth; three little Salamanders coiled
quietly amid the flames and blinked slow and sleepy eyes at her. They
didn’t
look
dangerous—

But
then, neither did a bull, until you got into the field and it charged you.

“She
did.” Sarah offered her hand; Eleanor took it, and the witch pulled her
to her feet with surprising strength. “You sit at the table for a moment,
until you’re feeling livelier, then get yourself to your bed. I’ll
be back tomorrow at the same time, unless
she
’s come back by
then. And in that case—well, I’ll leave you a note in the
wash-house. Oh, and any time yon Salamanders want to frisk about you, let them.
They’ll do a bit of slow healing on you when they do. Give them a month,
maybe two, and they’ll heal those scullery-maid’s hands of
yours.”

Eleanor
nodded. Of all the places in and around The Arrows that Sarah could get to, the
wash-house was the safest to leave any such thing; Alison hadn’t so much
as set foot in it in all the time she’d lived here.

“Now,
I’ll let myself out, don’t get up,” Sarah concluded
cheerfully. “Maybe have yourself a cup of tea and a bit of toast before
you go to bed.” She picked up her basket, wrapped her shawl around her
shoulders, and suited her actions to her words, slipping out into the
night-shrouded garden and closing the door after herself.

Eleanor
simply sat, and looked back at the hearth-fire again. The Salamanders were
still there, still watching her, reminding her of nothing so much as a tangle
of kittens.

If
kittens could be made of flames.

“Why
didn’t I ever see you before?” she wondered aloud.

She
was shocked to her bones when the one in the middle raised its head, looked
straight at her, and answered her.

Because
She was there, and you had not fought her power
. Just a touch of scorn
came into the creature’s tone.
Why should we show ourselves to one
who would not fight for her own freedom
?

It
was a good question. “But I thought that I had—” she replied,
slowly.

All
three of them shook their heads negatively.
Hating someone is not fighting
them
, the middle one pointed out.
You pushed, but pushing is not
fighting, and you gave up too soon. Yesterday, you fought. That was good. If
you fight, we will help. But remember that if Earth can smother Fire, Fire also
can consume Earth
.

Before she could
say, or ask, anything else, the Salamanders faded into the flames, and were
gone.

March 18, 1917
London

THE ONE DISADVANTAGE
OF BEING in London was that even the meals at the Savoy were subject to
rationing and shortages. However, if one was forced to pay lip-service to
rationing and shortages, at least the Savoy had excellent chefs, who could make
a great deal out of very little. While breakfast was something of a
disappointment when compared to the same meal served three years ago, it was
still superior to virtually anything being served anywhere else in the city.

Still,
as Alison regarded her plate with mild disapproval and wished—for just
this moment of the day, anyway—that she were back in Broom, the thought
of her well-stocked pantry brought something else to mind. This was the first
time that Alison and the girls had stayed in London so long since the cook had
left. Eleanor was certainly breakfasting on crusts by now. The thought made her
smile a little; the wretched girl was such a source of unnecessary complication
that not even her usefulness as a servant outweighed it.

After
breakfast, as Howse put the finishing touches on her hair, Alison wondered
briefly if she ought to do something about the girl back in Broom. It
wouldn’t do for her to starve. And all alone for so long—was it
possible she might be able to get into mischief? Would anyone think to check
the house and find her?

Then
she dismissed the thought. The girl had plenty of food in the way of potatoes,
turnips, dried beans and black bread, and she couldn’t get out of the
house and garden. No one knew she was there alone, so no one would come looking
for her. In fact, Alison was not entirely sure anyone in Broom still remembered
her, except vaguely; other concerns occupied Broom now, as they occupied most
of Britain. There wasn’t a family in Broom that didn’t have at
least one member fighting, wounded, maimed or dead; most had several. Fully
half the jobs in Broom that had once been taken by men were now being filled by
women. On consideration, Alison doubted very much that anyone in the village
ever thought about Eleanor, even to wonder what had happened to her.

Besides,
there were a great many things that could be done here that could not be done
in Broom. Warrick Locke was very useful with his black-market connections,
enabling her to get hold of all manner of goods that were otherwise
unobtainable, having them shipped home in discreet parcels marked as
“hessian.” “beans,” or “oats,” or other
things that were not in short supply. And it was not only convenient to meet
her solicitor here, it was safer. There were no prying eyes noting how often
the man came to see her and how long he stayed. Meetings that happened too
often made tongues wag in Broom, and she had the image of a respectable widow
to maintain if she was to remain the top of the social pyramid.

Not
that the thought of taking Locke as a lover ever crossed her mind.
If
she ever took a lover, and that was
not
likely, it would be someone
who she could not buy with other coin, and the situation would have to have a
great deal of advantage in it for her.

Mind—once
she got access to the social circles of Longacre Park and the Hall-Well, that
was for the future, and Warrick was still very useful. In fact, she had a
meeting scheduled with him this morning, at a working-class pub where no one
knew either of them. So long as no Zepps or aeroplanes appeared to drop bombs
on Southwark, things should go smoothly.

She
frowned into her mirror again, as Howse handed her the neat, mauve velvet hat
she wanted, and she pinned it on. One true disadvantage of being in
London—it was within range of the Hun’s Zeppelins and
‘planes. That
was
an annoyance, though Alison was sure enough of
her power that she was not concerned that
she
would fall victim to a
Hun bomb. But bombing raids threw such terror into the populace that getting
around in the vicinity of one afterwards was a great trial, and one not
compensated for by the abundance of energies released by death and fear
afterwards.

She
took herself downstairs, after warning the girls to remain in the hotel. Since
the American boys had left, and her girls didn’t find walking or taking
the ‘bus or Underground amusing, even Carolyn was inclined to obey
without an argument. There were plenty of officers frequenting the tea-room and
bar of the Savoy; if they wished to flirt, all they had to do was go
downstairs.

Since
Alison had arranged last night with the concierge to procure a taxi, there
actually was one waiting for her without the need for magic. Though the ancient
cabby looked at her a bit oddly when she gave the address, he made no comment.

The
taxi deposited her on the doorstep of the pub without incident, although the
arrival of the taxi itself caused a little stir among the local loungers; these
days it was not the usual thing to see a taxi in Southwark. Locke was waiting
for her, however, and escorted her into the pub and a private parlor he had
arranged for as per her request, and the short-lived moment of interest faded
once they were inside.

The
private parlor was quite small, scarcely larger than the booth whose
high-backed seats framed a window that didn’t appear to have been washed for
a decade, and looked as if it dated back at least two hundred years. The wood
of the walls and the booth itself was nearly black with age, but the place was
comfortable enough. They placed an order for luncheon; fish and chips seemed to
be the only thing that was available, as the girl said, apologetically, over
and over, “Sorry, miss. Rationing.”

“Robbie’s
got my motor car,” Locke announced as she settled herself in the ancient
leather of the seat. “I’ll have him drop you either back at the
hotel or somewhere across the river where you can get another taxi, as you
prefer.”

She
nodded. “Now what was it you wanted to see me about personally?”
she asked, with some suspicion. “If it’s about those American boys
at the embassy, they’ve gone.”

Locke
shook his head; his thick glasses glinted in the dim light. His poor eyesight
was what had saved him from the front; he was the next thing to blind without
his spectacles, and though he might have been accepted at this point had he
volunteered, he was hardly inclined to do so. No one even gave him so much as a
sour look, with his disability so clear for anyone to see, and
he
saw
no reason to throw his life away in the trenches.

For
which Alison was grateful. It would have been impossible to find another
solicitor she could have let in on her secrets, much less one as
well-connected. In fact, if he was ever called up in despite of his eyesight,
she had a little plan in mind to take out his foot or his knee, thus rendering
him completely useless as a soldier. It would be easy enough to find someone
who would shatter a kneecap for a few pounds; she hadn’t given up all of
her old contacts when she’d married Robinson. She hadn’t told Locke
about her plan, of course. He wouldn’t have been pleased, even if it
allowed him to escape conscription.

That
is, she didn’t
think
he’d take such a plan well, but you
never knew. He might have had a plan of his own, like shooting himself in the
foot. That one not only got you out of being conscripted, it got many a man out
of the trenches and home.

Robbie
Christopher, his “hired man,” had gotten off by virtue of the fact
that he could dislocate both shoulders at will. The trick had not only come in
handy for escaping conscription, but for escaping police custody in the past.

Robbie
was extremely useful to Locke, and not just as a driver and lifter of heavy
objects. Robbie liked fires. Locke sometimes arranged them. Robbie liked
hearing other peoples’ bones break. Locke went places where his slight
frame would attract unwelcome attention without someone like Robbie around. And
it would not have surprised Alison at all to learn that Locke also arranged for
Robbie to break other peoples’ bones for a consideration. Locke was
clever enough to fix things so that Robbie could enjoy his favorite pastimes
without being caught. It was a profitable partnership, no doubt.

“No,
I wanted to tell you in person that I’ve found a loophole in the law
regarding your inheritance problem, and I cannot believe that I didn’t
think of it sooner,” Locke told her, with an air of triumph. “All
we have to do is to arrange for the girl to be rendered incapable of taking
care of herself in some permanent way, and when she’s twenty-one the
entire estate will be assigned to whoever is her guardian and caretaker. Since
you
have been her guardian all this time, that will be you, and that wretched
solicitor who is the trustee of her fortune will have no more to say about
it.”

Alison
smiled, slowly. “What would you suggest?” she asked. Locke laughed,
and leaned back, one arm cast carelessly along the back of his side of the
booth they shared. “My first thought was to drive her mad, of
course,” he replied. “Since we wouldn’t want the unwelcome
inquiries that an accident might cause, and you certainly wouldn’t want
to leave her still capable of speaking for herself, so that lets out breaking
her back. You’re an Earth Master; you ought to have enough nasty beasties
at your beck and call to do that. The fact that she’s got powers herself
means she’ll see them, doesn’t it?”

Alison
frowned slightly. “There are a great many hobgoblins and wraiths that
would do,” she admitted, “But I don’t like to use them.
They’re expensive in terms of power. Perhaps some other way—”

He
shrugged. “We have a year to plan it out. We should be able to think of
something. Aren’t there poisons that make one mad? I seem to recall
something about hatters—”

“Hmm.
Mercury, I think.” Alison tapped her cheek with one perfectly manicured
nail. “Finding a dose that wouldn’t kill her could be a
problem.”

A
very nasty smile crept over Locke’s face. “You know,” he
said, leaning over the table and lowering his voice to almost a whisper,
“There
are
—the illnesses that one doesn’t talk about
in polite society—that do the same thing.” He raised an eyebrow.
“I could arrange for
that
—if you could arrange for the
disease to act rather more swiftly than it usually does.”

Alison
stared at him for a moment, then suppressed smile of her own. “Now that
is an interesting thought. Especially if I were to lodge a complaint with the
police that she had run away, perhaps with a soldier, and she was to be brought
back home by you very publicly, and in a—less than pristine state.”

Locke
spread his hands wide. “Sad thing, but an old story these days,” he
said. “Sheltered little country-girl, handsome fellow, and
‘I’ll marry you when I come home, but why should we wait?’
Men are
such
cads.”