Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  Rosie seated herself at the desk and demonstrated, using some numbers she had previously calculated by hand. As she finished, Hope led a round of applause.

  “Now,” said Rosie, “we can get on with those calculations for the flight crystals.”

  “I suspect that this tool you’ve invented to help you with that task will be just as important as the task itself,” said Hope. “Can I get an image of this? I want to show it to Gizmo and his people.”

  Wheel produced one of the manufactory’s documentary imagemakers, one which provided for rapid transfer of the image onto ordinary paper from the glass slide, and Hope took several views of the calculating desk.

  “Don’t be at all surprised if you have an order for sixteen of these on Oneday,” she said, slipping them into an envelope with a note. She didn’t have time to go over to the Institute herself; Patient would be here soon.

  “If Uncle Gizmo can afford sixteen of them, his Institute’s wealthier than I thought,” said Wheel. “The adding machine costs a gold pillar. I haven’t even worked out what this costs yet, but it’ll be easily twelve times that, if not more.”

  “The Institute is well funded,” said Hope. “But you’re probably right. He might have to settle for eight of them.” She sealed up the package and slipped it into her pocket to drop in the post on her way to the ferry wharf.

  It was still there when she met Patient, because it dug into her hip and reminded her. “Oh!” she said. “My memory is still bad. I have to post this.”

  They detoured to a post office, and arrived at Lily’s a couple of minutes after their session’s start time. As they sat, Patient took her hand. His head swivelled, as if towards a sound, and he said, “What?”

  “What?” she replied.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, well, I know you don’t like to be late or keep people waiting.”

  He blinked at her slowly. “That’s not all,” he said, still holding her hand.

  “All right. I know that the first thing I have to do is admit that I got in the bath with you after we agreed not to do that.”

  “And…?” he said.

  She sighed. “And I have an article due on Oneday morning, and I only just got the changes from Dignified, so I’m going to have to work on it tomorrow. During the time you’ve set aside to be with me.”

  He looked at her closely for a couple of heartbeats, then nodded and let her hand go. “All right,” he said, “that’s everything.”

  Lily, who had been watching silently, began slow applause. “Do you know,” she said, “you have to have some mindmagic talent to be able to do that. More than a little, I would say.”

  “Interesting,” said Hope.

  “But we’ll talk about that later,” said Lily. “First, tell me about the bath.”

  As they emerged, hand in hand as always, Hope asked, “So you’re not upset because I have to work tomorrow?”

  “I’m just glad you can work. I mean, obviously I’d rather we spent the time together, but I need to be realistic. You’re going to have to work sometimes. You’re an important person.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

  “Of course you are. Definitely to me, but also in general. If I’m going to set my sights on a woman who’s too good for me, I have to expect a certain amount of competition.”

  “Oh, hush,” she said, pleased. “I am not too good for you, and you know it. Now, what do you want to eat tonight?”

  “Are you cooking?”

  “I’m getting better at those dumplings you showed me. They’re still not as good as yours, though.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can fix that.”

  That night, they were able to indulge in deep, slow kisses for a long time without the aura of the curse looming. Hope finally tore her mouth from his and snuggled into his chest.

  “If we keep doing that,” she said, “I’m probably going to assault you. So we should stop.”

  Patient sighed. “That was nice,” he said.

  “Mm,” she agreed. Her breathing gradually slowed, and she slipped into sleep, held in the circle of his arms.

  After breakfast next morning, they prepared for their exercise, following Lily’s suggestion of the previous day.

  “How’s this?” asked Hope, wrapping one of her shirts around his head at eye level.

  “It’s a bit bulky. Do you have a scarf?”

  She fished around in her wardrobe and found a thick, dark scarf.

  “I recognise that,” he said. “You were wearing it when we met.”

  “That’s right,” she said, pleased that he remembered, and tied it carefully around his eyes.

  “Can’t see a thing,” he reported.

  “Good. Shall I lead you in there?”

  “Can’t I take it off and walk in there myself?”

  “Well, if you want to be boring.”

  “All right,” he laughed, “if you really want to. Give me your arm.”

  She led him, blindfolded, into the bathroom and undressed as she watched him do the same, leaving only the scarf in place. Then she helped him into the bath, which had been running while they took their clothes off, and guided him to sit facing the taps.

  “So,” she said, “I thought I’d wash your back first. Then you turn round, and I’ll wash your front. Then I turn round and you wash my back, and finally I turn back around and you wash my front.”

  He nodded. “Makes sense.”

  She lathered up a cloth and began, washing him caressingly, as he had her the previous week. To rinse him, she used her left hand, while the right held the soapy cloth. The strong muscles of his back trembled and jumped under her hand.

  “All right,” she said, “turn round.”

  “I’m going to have to stand up,” he said. “My leg won’t bend that far.”

  He stood and turned, and she looked up at his nude body appreciatively. As he re-seated himself, she worked more soap into the cloth, and then began to wash him, starting with his face. She moved down across his broad shoulders, down his muscular arms, and washed each finger separately, caressing his hands with hers. Their legs tangled together, his over hers.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

  “Enjoying you.” She moved to his chest, soaping the hair and then caressing the soap off with handfuls of water. When she reached his stomach, she stopped and switched to his legs, being careful with the injured one, taking time to run her fingers over the entry and exit scars.

  “Does that hurt?” she asked.

  “No. But there’s a dead patch lower down that’s never got its feeling back. It feels numb. Don’t linger there. Yes, there.”

  She also made herself not linger too long between his legs, since that wasn’t the point of the exercise, though she did wash what she found there very thoroughly. It obligingly unfolded for her.

  “Right,” she said, letting go reluctantly. “I’m going to turn round and hand you back the cloth, and you can do my back.”

  He washed her as she had washed him, tenderly and appreciatively. He, too, was perhaps more thorough with some parts of her than others, though he didn’t cross the line from caressing to rubbing. When she was thoroughly clean, she stood up.

  “What now?” he said.

  “Now I’ll help you out of the bath, and we can dry each other.”

  He smiled below the scarf, still firmly in place over his eyes, and she guided him over the side of the tub, took a towel and began to dry him gently and thoroughly. She wrapped a towel around herself to keep from chilling, but when she had finished with him she removed it and handed it to him, guiding his hands to her.

  As with the wash, his temporary blindness led to a few fumbles and brushes that, while not intended, were thoroughly appreciated by both parties. When she was dry, she took the towel back from him and stood looking at him.

  “Are you going to get dress…” he asked, the last part of his sentence lost as she stepped forward and kissed him, her
tongue plunging into his open mouth. He gave a start, grabbed at her to steady himself, and, as she pressed herself against him, tried — though not particularly hard — to break the kiss. After a moment, he began to return it, and his right hand slipped downwards to her hip. She felt his excitement against her belly.

  Abruptly, her vision went red, and then black, and a loud roaring noise seemed to rush down on top of her.

  She came to on the bathroom floor, her head pillowed on towels, with Patient shaking her and calling her name. He had torn off the blindfold, and his eyes were filled with tears.

  “Hope!” he said. “Oh, thank Nine. Are you all right?”

  She winced at the soft light of the bathroom. “Head,” she croaked.

  “Your head hurts? Where are your amulets?”

  She couldn’t remember for several heartbeats. “Bedside drawer,” she finally said.

  He left the room, with a final concerned glance at her, and returned with the amulets, wearing his robe, and with hers in hand. He threw it over her nude body and, leaning on his stick, lowered himself carefully down beside her.

  When he clasped the amulets around her neck, her headache eased from “gripped in a vice” to merely “pounding”. She groaned, and tried to sit up. He supported her, taking no notice when the robe slipped to her waist.

  “Are you all right to stand up?” he asked.

  “Not… yet.”

  He waited, his eyes on her face. She took the robe in one hand, nodded, and he pushed on his stick, hauling them both up with some help from her. She pulled the robe on and leaned against him.

  “I think you need to go back to bed,” he said.

  “I think you’re right.”

  He supported her, arm around her shoulders, into the bedroom and helped her into bed.

  “Can you get my nightgown?” she asked. He fetched it from the bathroom, and she unselfconsciously slipped off the robe and pulled the nightgown over her head, wriggling it down over her hips. She fell back on the pillows with a sigh, and he took the robe and looked down at her with a wry smile.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll be working on that article after all,” he said.

  “Oh, curse it!” she said. “I’d forgotten.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Or anyone?”

  “No, only Dignified and I understand it, and he’s no good at explaining it,” she said. “I’ll just have to miss the deadline. Curses. That doesn’t look good for my chances at Senior Mage.”

  “That’s the last thing you should be worrying about now. You rest and recover. Can I get you some tea?”

  “Willow, please. Plenty of honey.”

  When he came back with the tea, she said, “Go on.”

  “What?”

  “Say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I don’t think that really needs saying.”

  “But… you’d been so nice. And I… I wanted you. I’ve never felt… Anyhow. Maybe I should have had a blindfold on too.”

  “I’m flattered. At least you didn’t hit your head again.”

  “I didn’t?” she said, relieved.

  “No. Even in the middle of everything, I made sure I braced myself properly this time. Held on to you until you stopped jerking.” He rubbed a shoulder.

  “Did I get you?”

  “You have a hard head. Smaller steps next time, all right?”

  “Yes, dear,” she said in a resigned tone. He laughed.

  “Do you want me to stay, or do you think you can sleep a little?”

  “Both,” she said, turning on her side and patting the bed behind her.

  18

  Falcon

  Patient, in some discomfort from almost continuous arousal, used military techniques to ignore it and shift his blood-flow away. They weren’t even really magic, just mental tricks, and he had practiced them frequently since his injury. He lay behind his sleeping beloved and listened to her breathing.

  For the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, he could put up with some inconvenience. “At least we’re making progress,” he told himself. “She seems to be attracted to me for some reason, which I can’t complain about, and we’re making progress every shift-round. Lily seems to think we’ll do well.”

  Still, he couldn’t help worrying. She still wouldn’t let him ask her to oathbond. Even if they did, they hadn’t discussed living arrangements. The more he thought about her riding that airhorse along the winding road between Redbridge and Illene twice a day, with farm carts, loose livestock, and patches of mud around every sharp corner, the more opposed to it he became. The problem was that he didn’t know how to talk to her about it. She acted as if she was indestructible, despite clear evidence to the contrary, and she loved riding the wretched thing. Could he convince her to use the ferry? Would she listen? She was strong-minded, to the point of being headstrong. Look at this latest incident. If she would stick to the exercise, to the rules they’d agreed, and not improvise…

  Patient was a man of his hands. He knew how to shape wood. He’d been a good soldier because he took the action that needed to be taken, and even though he’d been awarded the Realmgold’s Military Honour with Moon (for thought) as well as Sun (for courage), it hadn’t been a complicated thinking process. If he hadn’t got back to the camp and warned them, some of his comrades, probably many, in fact, would have died. Given that, the course of action was obvious, and a crossbow bolt through the leg was merely an obstacle to be overcome.

  Patient’s moral universe consisted of people he cared enough to fight for and people he didn’t know that well. “All right,” he muttered. “I love her enough to fight for her. So how do I do that?”

  One of his well-to-do customers kept falcons for hunting. He had had Patient carve a pair of wooden falcons for his front hall. To do so, Patient had visited the mews, had seen the birds in their jesses and hoods. It had appalled him. There was a falcon that lived near his village, and he saw it gliding and soaring up the valley behind his cottage, looking for injured or dead animals. He loved watching it, but one of the reasons he loved watching it was because it was a free creature.

  “I can’t put jesses on her,” he said to himself. “She has to fly free.”

  He had no solution by the time Hope woke again. She was nauseated, but accepted a small bowl of soup. They talked for a while, and then she dozed some more.

  When she woke in mid-evening, she looked at the clock in surprise.

  “You’re still here?” she said. “You’ve usually left by now.”

  “I’m staying,” he said.

  “Overnight?”

  “I’ll take the first ferry in the morning.”

  She smiled, and clasped his hand for a moment in thanks. “Has Rosie been in?” she asked.

  “No. I’m beginning to think she doesn’t really live here.”

  “I’m beginning to think that myself,” said Hope. “I think she’s moved in with Dignified at the lab, in fact.”

  “Really? When you described her to me, you said she was shy, blushed at anything and nothing, brought up by high-Silver parents with old-fashioned ways. Well, we met them. Made my parents look progressive by contrast.”

  “She appears to have rebelled, belatedly. Perhaps I shouldn’t have given her Lily’s book.”

  “You gave her that?”

  “Yes. She’s twenty-seven. I thought she was probably old enough to read it.”

  “Still. Her parents…”

  “Yes, they won’t be pleased. Especially since she’s distanced herself from their money.”

  Hope had explained the issue of the source of Rosie’s parents’ wealth, how Dignified felt about it, and Rosie’s solution the previous Fourday.

  Patient frowned. “Where does that leave her financially?”

  “She’s well-paid. Not by her parents’ standards, probably, but by the standards of most people. And Dignified is richer than a dwarf, with all the license i
ncome he has. He’s never spent a sixteenth anvil of it, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t think it occurs to him. He grew up largely in prison. Money isn’t something he thinks about. Anyway, he never goes out.”

  “Rosie’s not going to starve in the street, then.”

  “Only through absentmindedness. And she used to manage an investment portfolio. She’ll grow their joint wealth, if they stay together.”

  “Will her parents cut her off entirely? I mean, living in a lab with a greasy inventor…”

  “If they do, I think it will pain her.”

  “You do? They didn’t seem like warm people when I met them.”

  “They’re still her parents. And I think she’s closer to them than this whole business would imply.”

  “Are you going to talk to her?”

  “I need to, don’t I? It’s funny. She’s older than me, but I feel like her big sister.”

  “She led a sheltered life, by the sound of it. She’s having to do a lot of maturing all at once.”

  “You’re a kind person, Patient Carver,” said Hope, and kissed him. “I think I could eat something now.”

  Her old mentor Sincerity called on her personal farspeaker the next morning, after Patient had left and before Hope could raise the energy to get up and write a note for Honesty.

  “How are you?” the older mage asked.

  “Not so well,” she said. “Had a bit of an incident with the curse.”

  “It’s still troubling you?”

  “It’s complicated to unravel. We’re making progress, but it’s slow.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you think talking to your mother would help at all?”

  “It might. Why? Is that a possibility?”

  “I think so. I nearly have her convinced.”

  “Sincerity, you’re a marvel.”

  “I said nearly. She… it’s not something she’s talked about since the year when it happened.”

  “It might do her good too, then. Keeping things inside…”

  “That’s what I’m telling her. I’ll keep working on her. Just wanted to check on you and make sure you still want the story.”