He leaned up against a piling, folded his arms across his chest, and waited. Beneath him the water of the Bay lapped against the wooden pilings, and the faint smell of fish and seaweed rose to his nostrils. Fog obscured the surface of the water to a height of about four feet; above the bank of fog, the stars shone down unobscured. Behind him, the sounds of the Barbary Coast drifted down Pacific Street, jumbled together and rendered into mere whispers by distance. Snatches of tinny piano music, shrill laughter, the shrieks of women, the occasional breaking of glass; they all seemed to come to him from another world, across a distance too vast to bridge.
He wished he'd thought to have Diego get him an old duffel coat or a pea jacket; it was cold out here.
"I hope you haven't been waiting too long, Paul."
He didn't start, since he'd been expecting Beltaire, but once again Simon had somehow strolled up behind him without making a sound.
"Not long." He turned; the flare of a flame illuminated Simon Beltaire's elegant face as the man lit himself a cigar.
Beltaire did not use a match, of course. There was not enough light to grant more than a fleeting glimpse of Beltaire's countenance, but Paul didn't need any light; he and Beltaire were well acquainted with each other. Beltaire, while not circulating among the elite as Cameron did, was still sought after in his own set. While he might well have been as wealthy as Cameron, he preferred not to flaunt that wealth. He could easily have stood as a model for the hearty, football-playing, dark-haired and dark-eyed college hero. His square jaw and cleft chin had been known to cause palpitations in the hearts of shopgirls and jaded professionals alike, sculptural as it was.
"And what has my estimable lupine colleague been doing since last we talked?" The light from the glowing coal at the end of the cigar was hardly enough to show Beltaire's smile, but there was amusement in the man's voice.
Paul gave a basic summary of most of it; Beltaire listened without comment, since it differed little from the last time they had spoken.
Then he casually dropped his real news, and instantly felt Beltaire's attention riveted to him.
"Cameron hired a young woman to read his books to him."
Simon's drawl did not disguise his intense interest. "I assume you do not mean fairy tales."
"He's working up to the important tomes, but he began her with High Magick from the first word," du Mond agreed. "He's found a way around his handicap. She's fluent in several languages, including the archaic forms and supposedly even has a knowledge of hieroglyphics."
"This is going to force my hand; I had expected to have more time," Beltaire said under his breath. Paul smiled; that was what he had hoped to hear.
"Tell me what you know about her," Simon demanded.
Paul complied. "I don't know much," he warned. "Cameron found her himself, hired her himself, and made all the arrangements to bring her here. Her name is Rosalind Hawkins; she's from Chicago, and she has no living relatives. I have to assume she was in some advanced degree program at the university there, given her accomplishments. Perhaps she suffered some change in circumstance that left her destitute and willing to accept Cameron's offer-"
"Never mind that; I can find the facts of the matter out for myself, now that I know where she comes from." Beltaire waved his cigar dismissively. "Once I have the details of her life, then I can decide what to do about her."
"I could get rid of her for you," du Mond offered, hoping that Beltaire would accept the offer. The girl had taken one long walk already; who was to say that something might not happen to her if she made a habit of such things?
"No-no. I want to know what she's made of, first. She could prove to be a useful tool, especially once she begins to understand just what Cameron is asking her to read." Beltaire nodded thoughtfully. "If he revolts her, if he frightens her ... that woman's weakness can be turned to serve us. She might even welcome such an opportunity."
He must have sensed Paul's veiled disappointment, for he added in explanation, "I prefer not to discard a possible weapon until it proves useless. It would make things much simpler for us if we can use her against Cameron and avoid drawing attention to you."
Paul nodded, still disappointed, but with his disappointment fading fast. It would be better to avoid Cameron's attention and anger. He might not be the magician he had been before his transformation, but he was still formidable.
"If she proves useless, you may deal with her as you choose," Beltaire continued. "In the meantime, I will find out what I can about her, and you keep me informed. I particularly wish to know if she is released for an excursion to the city. I wish to approach her myself and take her measure. If nothing else, she may give us information we need on Jason's progress." Again, the smile crept into his voice. "I do not believe that I flatter myself when I say that I am remarkably good at temptation."
Du Mond laughed dryly at that, for Beltaire had certainly discovered exactly what tempted him. "I cannot think of anything else that would interest you at this time, Simon."
"Nor can I, and it is getting quite late." Beltaire's voice turned solicitous. "Paul, I do believe it is more than time that I gave you some recompense for your assiduous labor on my behalf. Here."
He passed over a parcel; as du Mond's fingers touched it, he felt paper and string tied about what felt like a book.
"Don't allow Jason to see this, or he'll certainly know where it came from," Beltaire warned. "It is rather in my style. I told you that Jason's way was not the only method of Firemastery. This should get you started on an easier path."
Du Mond's heart leapt with exultation, and with a fierce joy that he had been right. He had been so certain that Jason was prevaricating, that there was another, easier way to become a Master of Elements-one without all the tedious memorization and the mummery.
"I have hesitated this long only because I have been waiting for something to occur that would take Jason's attention off you-and to make certain of your own temperament." Beltaire chuckled. "There are things required on this path that would be repugnant to a weaker man, but I am certain you have the stomach for them."
"I have the stomach for a great deal," du Mond promised. "Thank you. Now, I must continue to play Cameron's errand-boy tomorrow, so if you'll pardon me, I will take my leave of you."
Beltaire touched the brim of his hat with his cane in ironic salute, and faded into the darkness. Paul waited several moments for him to get well on his way, then made his own way across the docks, making certain not to retrace his footsteps.
Diego was still on duty at the Mexican's-du Mond wasn't the only breaker the Mexican used, just the most skillful-and sounds from some of the other rooms led him to believe that his counterparts were hard at work. Diego bowed him mockingly into an empty room where his clothing waited.
It was past one before he was out on the street again and hailing a cab, his precious book tucked into a pocket. It was a leather-bound, handwritten volume, like many of Cameron's treasured books of Magick, and small enough to fit in a coat pocket.
So many important things were small in size.
He hailed a cab, and took it back to Cameron's townhouse-which would not be Cameron's for very much longer-leaving the noise and garishness of the Barbary Coast behind him.
Until tomorrow.
CHAPTER
SIX
Somehow, even though she had hardly seen Paul du Mond for more than a few minutes at a time, knowing that he was going to be in San Francisco for a week made Rose feel much more relaxed. She woke uncommonly cheerful, and knew immediately that du Mond's absence had a great deal to do with that cheer.
She stretched like a cat and blinked at the blurred beam of sunlight creeping past the bed curtains. I could almost believe in six impossible things before breakfast, like Lewis Carroll's White Queen. This is such an incredible home ...
Last night, she'd had the oddest feeling while reading one of Jason Cameron's books, that this nonsense she was translating for him wasn't nonsense at all. She ha
d gone to bed only to lie awake for some time, staring at a single moonbeam that had found its way past both her window and bed curtains to fall on a single carved rose on one of the bedposts. At least, I thought it was a moonbeam and a rose. Without my glasses it's rather hard to tell what I'm looking at. Magic ... in this house, with its invisible servants, its incredible luxury, and its odd master, did not seem so impossible, especially not in the moonlight. But that had been last night, well past midnight, with the wind rushing in the branches of the trees outside and moonlight shining in her sitting-room window. Now, with the scents of breakfast coffee and bacon drifting through the bedroom door, and sunlight replacing the moonlight, she had to laugh at her own fantasy. Magic indeed! I might as well believe in Santa Claus or genies in lamps! If Cameron wished to continue to deceive himself, that was his doing. She would collect her wages and continue to amuse him, and meanwhile, with the help of the books he was ordering for her, she would continue her own researches. Then, when he finally tired of this farce, she would take her savings and enroll in another university. Leland Stanford had founded one here, in fact, that was well thought of. Would they admit a woman?
I'll worry about that when the time comes, she decided. There had been one book among all the ones she had read last night that had been well-written and coherent-unlike most of the rest, which were written as if the author had been granted a Doctorate in Confusion and Obfuscation. She had saved that one out of the pile with an eye to reading it straight through from beginning to end. Maybe if she had some notion of what Cameron thought was real, she'd be closer to understanding what be was looking for.
She had not planned on going for a walk, and by the time she had finished breakfast she was just as glad, for she would have been greatly disappointed. The sunshine had given way to a drizzling rain that didn't look as if it was going to let up any time before dark. Well, she could get her exercise by doing a more thorough, daylight exploration of more of the house, and then she could settle in with that book until Cameron needed her.
She took the book with her, thinking that it might be pleasant to spend some time reading in the conservatory, among the exotic hothouse plants.
She had already examined the ballroom, the dining room, the music room ... most of the rooms that a casual visitor would have seen. Now she decided to pry just a little, and take a good look around those bastions of masculine power, the smoking room, the billiard room, and the library.
I've never actually been in a smoking room ... Women, other than maidservants who cleaned them, were not welcome in such places. Cameron had very sensibly arranged his entertaining area with the billiard and smoking rooms to the right of the drawing room, and the ladies' parlor and "withdrawing room" to the left. The smoking room was disappointing; her father had never had one, and she had actually expected something a great deal more-well-decadent. She wrinkled her nose a little at the heavy scent of tobacco as she entered, but other than that slightly disagreeable and penetrating aroma, there was not much to distinguish this room from the ladies' parlor. Instead of cut-crystal bottles of genteel sherry on the sideboard, there was a bar holding a variety of glasses and hard liquors, but other than that, it was fundamentally identical. The real differences between the rooms intended for ladies and men were in the materials used to decorate; in the parlor, the furniture was covered in damask satin and velvet. Here, it was covered in leather. There, the lampshades were fringed and elaborately painted; here, they were plain parchment.
In short, it was a luxuriously appointed version of a little boy's clubhouse, with cigars and strong liquor replacing chewing gum and lemonade; the only thing lacking was the sign on the door saying "No Girlz Aloud." No paintings of naked odalisques, no illustrated risque versions of the Thousand Nights and a Night lying about on the table. No opium pipes! I expected a den of iniquity, a recreation of Caligula's orgy-rooms, and I find a harbor of hearty male gamesmanship! What a disappointment! She had to laugh at herself, and wondered what most men thought lay in the ladies' parlor! Did they have similar fantasies, or did they assume that it was a room of such overwhelming femininity that they were afraid to venture in lest they break or soil something with their mere presence?
The billiard room was not much different; besides the billiard table, there was a truly lovely chess set carved from black onyx and white marble, and a substantial round poker table with a sealed deck of cards on it. Other than that, it was furnished in the same uncompromisingly comfortable and unadorned style as the smoking room.
Perhaps the library would be more rewarding, although she had the suspicion that she would not be finding any of the strange books she had been reading on the shelves of so public a room. It was far more likely that Cameron had a second library in his own suite where he kept such things. But at least she would see what his casual taste ran to.
The room she sought now was on the other side of the dining room, and covered as much or more floor space than any other large room in the mansion. She already knew that the library was a big one-that is, it contained a huge number of books; the room was two stories tall with a balcony around the second floor to give access to the higher shelves and ladders on rolling tracks to reach the books nearer the ceiling. She strolled down the hallway and found the door already open, as if she had been expected. All of the curtains were drawn back from the windows, which were not just plain glass, but also beautiful artworks of stained and leaded glass. Interestingly, the furniture here was of a piece with the smoking room, oversized and not particularly comfortable for women; evidently Cameron did not expect many female visitors to this room-or else, he had decorated it to suit his personal taste.
Perhaps his fancy runs to women who don't read, she thought, a bit acidly. Just because he finds me entertaining now, that doesn't mean I am the style of female he is likely to wish to associate with socially.
Of course not. No man of wealth wished to spend any time in public with a bookworm, a girl with her nose so deeply in ancient volumes that there was dust in her hair. No, she had seen her share of the style of girl he would associate with, in the fiancees of her fellow students; wealthy, beautiful, schooled in the proper manners and life of a lady of the upper crust and often enough without a thought in their heads beyond the latest mode. Lady scholars were not among those invited to the opera. Why was she even considering that this man, her employer, would spend one minute of time with her if he did not need her skills? Just because she was coming to like him, that did not mean that the opposite was true. With his money, he must have dozens of girls flinging themselves at him, and more whose parents are doing the flinging, I shouldn't wonder. All with proper womanly interests, who grow property faint at the merest hint of the excesses of the ancient Romans. And no matter how disfigured he might be now, there are plenty of women who would be happy to become Mrs. Jason Cameron. Once he decides that his quest for healing is in vain, he will dismiss me and get on with his life. And even if that life does not include a bride, it will hardly include me. I am an employee, not a friend, and I must always keep that fact in mind.
She should be planning on what to do with herself after he dismissed her-and on how to keep that moment at bay until after she had amassed enough money to make the future she envisioned possible.
Well, let me see what literary face Jason Cameron shows his visitors. Perhaps that can help me decide how to proceed.
There was a section of popular literature and poetry, light novels and romances in the bookcase nearest the door, all bound in matching leather with hand-tooled titles on the spine and the cover. The Bronte Sisters, Jane Austen, Walter Scott, Kipling, Doyle ... oh, Lord Byron-now there's something a bit racier! Cooper, Defoe, Melville, Emerson, Hawthorne, that was to be expected. How could an American tycoon not have the American literary lions in his library? Longfellow, of course. Verne, now there's a surprise! Dumas and Stevenson. Oh dear, what are Corelli, Alexander, Hodgson, and Braeme doing in such exalted company? Probably for those whose tastes are a bit m
ore plebian. After a cursory examination she moved on to more fruitful territory.
Fruitful territory began with the very next case, which held general history books, arranged in time-sequence by author. Many of them were, as she well knew from her undergraduate courses, as dry as the Sahara, and guaranteed to encourage a "proper" young lady to return to the first case! Following the general histories were general geographies, then natural history and the sciences. The farther she went, the more pleased she became. All in all, a person could acquire quite a complete post-graduate education just by reading the books on the first floor.
So what was on the second floor?
She picked up her skirts in both hands and ascended the spiral, wrought-iron stair with anticipation.
Her anticipation was rewarded. Now this is a great deal more like it! Excellent translations of the Greek and Roman classics met her eye first-multiple translations, in fact-housed snugly next to the same books in the original. Other ancient works followed in the same pattern; translations, more often than not, multiple translations, followed by copies of the originals. Oh my-there is dear old Wallis Budge, all of his Egyptian translations! If ever I suffer from insomnia, I shall know where to find the cure for it!
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