The Gates of Sleep (31 page)

She shook her head, sickened. Yes, she knew something of
this—because her Uncle Sebastian had warned her about the danger of
eating some of his paints, when she was a child. And there were certain of
them, the whites in particular, that he was absolutely fanatical about cleaning
off his hands and face before he went to eat.

Yes, she believed Dr. Pike.

His voice dropped, and a dull despair crept into it. “Then
it destroys everything else; first the feeling in their hands and feet, then
their control over their limbs, then their minds. And there is nothing I can do
about it once it has reached that stage.”

No, he can’t heal what has gone wrong when the
poison is still at work inside the poor thing! But—what if it was flushed
out? Can Water magic combined with Earth do what Earth alone cannot?
She
felt resolve come over her like armor.

“Perhaps you cannot,” she said, making up her
mind on the instant. “But—perhaps together, you and I can.”

With that, she raised her own shields, filled them for just
a moment with the swirling green energies of water. Then she sketched a
recognition-sigil that Elizabeth had taught her in the air between them, where
it hung for an instant, glowing, before fading out.

And now it was his turn to stare at her with loose jaw and
astonished eyes.

MARINA moved back to Brownie and pulled the reins out of
the hedge where she’d tossed them. A small hail of bits of twig and snow
came down with them. She took her time in looping the reins around her hand and
turning back to face the doctor.

He bowed—just a slight bow, but there was a world of
respect in it. She was very glad for a cold breeze that sprang up, for it
cooled her hot cheeks.

“It seems I must reintroduce myself,” he said,
then smiled. His smile reached and warmed his eyes. “Andrew Pike,
Elemental Master of Earth.”

She sketched a curtsy. “Marina Roeswood, Elemental
Mage of Water,” she replied, feeling oddly shy.

Now he looked puzzled. “Not Master? Excuse me, Miss
Roeswood, but the power is certainly within you to claim that distinction. And
forgive my asking this, but as one mage to another, we must know the strengths
of each other.”

“The strength? Perhaps. But not, I fear, the
practice,” she admitted, dropping her eyes for a moment, and scuffing the
toe of her riding boot in the snow. “I only began learning the magics
peculiar to my Element a few months ago, and then—” She looked back
up. “Doctor Pike, this is the first time since I was taken from the place
that I considered my home that I have been able to even think about magic
without a sense of—well, nervousness. I can’t think why, but there
is something about my aunt that puts me on my guard where magic is concerned. I
thought it was only that I didn’t know her, and I am chary of practicing
my powers around those who are strangers to me, but now I am not so sure.”

He regarded her thoughtfully, holding out his hand, but not
to her—a tiny glow surrounded it for a moment, and she was not surprised
to see his horse pace gravely forward until its nose touched, then nudged, his
hand. He caressed its cheek absently.

“I don’t know anything about the magicians of
this part of the country,” he admitted. “Is
she,
perhaps,
the antagonistic Element of Fire?”

“She’s not a magician at all, so far as anyone
can tell. I have never seen anything about her that made me think that was not
true. And again, I thought that might be the reason for my reluctance, because
I have been taught to be wary around those who do not have the gifts
themselves—but even in the privacy of my own rooms, I cannot bring myself
to summon the tiniest Elemental.”

“Still—if she is the antagonist Element, but
has been equally reluctant to practice around you because of possible conflicts
that could only complicate your situation with her?” he persisted.

She frowned at him. “Possible, but there are no signs
of it, none at all. As for the antagonistic Element, I’ve lived with my
Uncle Sebastian all my life, and the worst clash we ever had was over which of
us got the last currant bun at tea.” She tilted her head to one side, as
his expression turned thoughtful.

“In that case—could it simply be that you
resent your aunt’s interference in your life?” he hazarded, then
shook his head. “You must forgive me again, but I am accustomed to asking
very uncomfortable questions of my patients. Very often the only way for them
to begin recovery is to confront uncomfortable, even painful truths.”

“I thought of that, but—” she would have
said more, but the sound of another horse’s hooves approaching from the
direction of Oakhurst made her bite off her words.
Curse it
—she
thought, knowing immediately that it must be one of the servants, or Reginald,
or even Arachne herself come looking for her. “Dr. Pike, I spend every
Wednesday afternoon with the vicar playing chess,” she said hurriedly,
thinking,
All right
—it was
only
one
Wednesday, but
surely I can turn it into a regular meeting.
And she had no time to say
anything more, for around the corner came Reginald, riding one of the hunters,
a big bay beast with a mouth like cast iron and a phlegmatic temperament.
Riding easily, too, which she would not necessarily have expected from someone
she thought of as a townsman. His riding coat and hat were of the finest cut
and materials, but she would not have expected less.

“Marina!” he called, his voice sounding
unnecessarily hearty, “I thought I would ride down to meet you. Is there
anything the matter?”

“Nothing at all, Reggie,” she said smoothly. “This
is Dr. Pike of the Briareley Sanitarium. We’ve had a chance
encounter—Dr. Pike, this is my cousin, Reginald Chamberten.”

“It was something less convenient for Miss Roeswood,
I am afraid,” Doctor Pike said, as cool and impersonal as Marina could
have wished. “One of my patients took unauthorized leave, and Miss
Roeswood here was kind enough to detain her long enough for my people to
arrive, persuade her that all was well, and take her back.”

Reggie’s eyebrows assumed that ever-so-superior angle
that Marina had come to detest. “Well, Doctor, you’ll have to do
better about keeping control of your patients! Dangerous lunatics running about
the neighborhood—”

But Pike interrupted him with an icy laugh. “What, a
little girl, frightened out-of-doors by a loud noise? Hardly dangerous, Mr.
Chamberten. I do not keep dangerous patients, only those whose delicate nerves
are better served by pleasant surroundings in the quiet of the countryside.
And, sadly, a few who are, alas, in no condition to take notice of anything,
much less leave their beds.”

“Hmm.” Reggie looked down his handsome nose at
the doctor, and seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in being his arrogant
worst. “Still, patients escaping—frightening young ladies—”

“I was hardly frightened, Reggie,” Marina
objected, suddenly tired of her cousin’s little games. “I was far
more concerned that the poor child didn’t run off into the fields and
come to grief. Even Brownie was more indignant than startled when she popped up
under her hooves.” Reggie’s eyes narrowed, and she decided that it
was politic to say no more. Instead, she put her foot in the stirrup and
mounted before either man could offer her help. No small feat in a corset and
long skirts—and into a sidesaddle; delicate young ladies accustomed to
fainting at the least exertion couldn’t do it. She thought she saw a
brief flash of admiration in Dr. Pike’s eyes before he returned to his
pose of cool indifference.

“Still, letting your patients run off like that
strikes me as careless,” Reggie persisted.

“When the patients are themselves unpredictable, it
is difficult to imagine what they are going to do in advance,” the doctor
replied in a tone of complete indifference. “That is one of the
challenges of my profession. And if you will excuse me, I had better get on
with my business so that I can get back to them. Thank you again, Miss
Roeswood. A pleasure to meet you. Good day, Mr. Chamberten.” With that,
he hopped into his little gig and sent the horse briskly down the road toward
the village.

“The cheek!” Reggie muttered, glaring after
him.

“He’s a doctor, cousin,” Marina retorted,
tapping Brownie’s flank with her heel, and sending the horse back toward
Oakhurst. “I believe arrogance even to the point of rudeness is required
of them, like a frock coat. Otherwise they lose that air of the omniscient.”

Reggie stared at her for a moment, then burst out with a
great bray of a laugh, startling his horse. “Oh, well put, little cuz,”
he said, in tones that suggested he would be patting her head if he could reach
it. “Now, the reason I came down here in the first place was because the
mater and I had an early tea, and we’re going to be going off for a day
or two. Not more than three. Business, don’t you know, a bit of an
emergency came up—we’ll be taking the last train tonight. Mater’s
left orders with the servants to take care of everything, and Mary Anne has
been put in charge of them, so you won’t have to trouble your pretty little
head about anything.”

She turned wide eyes on him. “That is very kind of
her,” she said, wondering if she sounded as insincere as she felt. The
only possible benefit to all of this was that Mary Anne might consider it
enough to oversee her behavior at mealtimes and leave her alone the rest of the
time. She thought about asking whether she would still be allowed to ride out,
and then decided that she
wouldn’t
ask. If she didn’t say
anything, Arachne might forget to forbid her.

Reggie smiled down at her from his superior height. “I
suppose that old pile of Oakhurst seems rather overwhelming to you, doesn’t
it, cuz?” he laughed. “Bit different from that little cottage in
Cornwall.”

“It’s not what I was used to,” she
murmured, dropping her eyes to stare at Brownie’s neck.

“I should think not. Well, you just let us take care
of it all for you,” he said in that voice that drove her mad. She made
monosyllabic replies to his conversation, something that only seemed to
encourage him. Evidently, despite direct evidence to the contrary, he
considered her timid.

But at least his monologue gave her plenty of information
without her having to ask for it. Something had come up in the course of the
afternoon that required their personal attention having to do with the factory
near Exeter; they had called for tea and ordered the servants to pack, then
Reggie had been dispatched to the Rectory to fetch Marina back. The carriage
would take them to the nearest station to catch the last train, and there was
some urgency to get there in order to make the connection. It sounded as if
there hadn’t been time for Arachne to issue many orders; in order to get
to the station in time, they would have to leave immediately.

So it proved; when Marina and Reggie rode through the gates
the carriage, the big traveling one that required two horses, was already at
the door, and one of the grooms waited to take Reggie’s horse. Arachne
seemed both excited and annoyed, but more the former than the latter. “Amuse
yourself quietly while we’re gone, Marina,” she called, as Reggie
climbed out of the saddle and into the carriage. “We’ll be back by
Saturday at the latest.”

Then the coachman flicked the reins over the horses, and
the carriage rolled away before she could issue any direct orders to Marina or
anyone else.

For a moment she sat in her saddle as still as a stone. She
was quite alone for the moment. She was on a fresh horse. And the two people
with authority to stop her from leaving were gone.
I could ride right down
to the village and past. I could go home
—

Oh yes, she could go home. But if she did that, it would be
no more than a week at most, and probably less, before Arachne appeared again
at Blackbird Cottage with her lawyers and possibly more police, and she would
be perfectly within her rights to do so.

I could only make trouble for Margherita and Sebastian
and Thomas.
The police, at the least, would not be happy, not happy at
all.

What could Marina claim, anyway, as an excuse for escaping
from her legal guardian? That her aunt was somehow abusing her with the lessons
in etiquette, and the bizarre meals they shared? Arachne ate the same food,
which was presumably wholesome, if unpalatable. And as for the etiquette, it
could be reasonably argued that Marina was ill-educated, even backward, for her
position in life. She had never gone to school, never had a proper nurse, nor a
governess, nor tutors. She had never been exposed to the sort of society that
her parents moved in. She was certainly ill-equipped to function in the social
circles in which Arachne moved. That she didn’t particularly
wish
to function in that social strata was of no purpose—her inherited wealth
and rank as a gentleman’s daughter would require her to do so. Anyone in
authority would see Marina’s rebellion as a childish tantrum, the result
of having been spoiled by her erstwhile guardians, a reaction to the discipline
that she badly needed.

This could be in the manner of a test on Arachne’s
part to see if she would behave herself when left on her own.

So instead of turning Brownie back out the gates and away,
she guided the horse toward the stable and allowed the groom to help her down.
As she expected, Mary Anne was waiting for her right inside the door.

“You need to change for tea, miss,” the maid
said, with her usual authoritarian manner, quite as if nothing whatsoever had
changed. But something had—Mary Anne no longer had the authority of her
mistress to back her. And—perhaps—had not been given any
directions.

So
we will start with something simple, I think, as a
test.