The Fire Rose em-1

by Mercedes Lackey

  She blushes so very prettily.

  "It occurred to me that you were working very diligently and deserved one of those treats I mentioned to you." The telegraph was tapping a reply to his message, and he translated it effortlessly. "The Opera will have a Friday night performance of La Giaconda, the Columbia Theater is presenting Babes in Toyland, on Saturday, or if you are so inclined, you can go see that ham, young Barrymore, overact his way through Shakespeare. I am aware that you wear eyeglasses-"

  She self-consciously pushed her eyeglasses firmly up onto the bridge of her nose.

  "-and I thought that with all the reading I am asking you to do, it would be beneficial to both of us if I had you go to my occulist to be certain your lenses are strong enough."

  She opened her mouth as if to protest, then shut it again. Good girl. You know you need them; don't look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.

  "No harm done if they are fine, but you have been faltering a bit and I would like to be certain that your eyes are not being strained," he continued. "I certainly need them to be in top order. At any rate, you may use my flat in town, I'm arranging for a conveyance, and you can use the rest of your time to shop."

  "Thank you, Jason," she said warmly. "That will be considerably more than I expected." Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and her eyes behind those thick lenses sparkled brightly.

  Now he felt even more like an indulgent uncle arranging a holiday treat. "Would you prefer Barrymore or Babes?" he asked. "I'll have my agent get tickets."

  Her mischievous smile lit up her face. "I suppose I should say Barrymore, but I have to confess that I-oh, this is dreadful!-I adore Victor Herbert. His musical plays are like candy: terribly sweet, probably bad for you, but such fun!"

  "And what better Christmas treat than Babes in Toyland?" He laughed, and tapped out his last order. "Sometimes a surfeit of sugar is just what one needs. I must admit that my opinion of John Barrymore is not shared by the general public, but-well, Shakespeare is not his forte. He is far too dissipated for Oberon, too bombastic for Hamlet, too shallow for Macbeth, too callow for Othello, too young for Lear and too old for Romeo."

  "Prince Hal?" she suggested delicately.

  He snorted. "Only the drunken Hal, bosom friend of Falstaff. Wait until he's appearing in something more suited to his style, then I can recommend seeing him." He shut the box on the telegraphy machine. "Well, that was all I needed to interrupt you for, if you are ready to resume reading at the usual time. Unless you had something?"

  There. If she wishes to "betray" du Mond to me, there's an opportunity.

  She hesitated, biting her lip. "I encountered Mr. du Mond today," she said slowly. "I said nothing about Magick, and he did not ask. However, he seemed quite friendly." Her tone said more than that, and he was pleased that he had not read her wrongly.

  "I should have warned you that he is something of a rake," he replied solemnly. "I hope he did not become overly familiar?"

  "Not precisely, no." She grimaced. "But I did guess-that if he had any encouragement, he might."

  "He has his orders to treat you with respect," Cameron assured her, "but I would not believe anything he promised if I were you, nor anything he told you about himself. He once claimed to one of my maids that he was the rightful heir to the throne of Russia, and that if she would come away with him he would make her a czarina."

  She burst into laughter at that, as he had hoped she would. "No! Not truly! Did she believe him?"

  He chuckled. "She smacked his face and told him to take his fairy tales to children, who would find them entertaining. I do my best not to employ people with more hair than wit."

  She was still laughing. "Good for her! Well then, if he is so easily put off, I shan't worry about him. Thank you again, Jason. My diligence will be all the greater for the promised treat, I promise you!"

  "I counted on that," he said teasingly, and grinned again at her blush and wry smile.

  She resumed her place and position on the couch, taking up in her book where she had left off. He watched her for a few moments more, then blanked the mirror.

  He did not summon the Salamander, but it appeared anyway. "I assume you overheard?" he asked it.

  It spun lazily, once, then came to rest on its obsidian plate. "Do you want du Mond to have free access to her?" it asked.

  "He won't try anything physical-not here, at any rate," he replied. "Not while she is under my protection. And, quite frankly, if he intends to say anything more to her, I want to know about it, and I want to see if she says anything about it." He thought for a moment. "She didn't precisely report his conversation, after all."

  "One does not tell one's employer that another in his employ called him mad," the Salamander pointed out. "Not only would that be rude, but it might reflect badly on her and her ambitions. It could be assumed that she was angling for his position, which is a permanent one, whereas hers is only temporary-and after all, it would be her word against his."

  "True." That was an aspect that had not occurred to him, and he was glad the Salamander had pointed it out. "Making claims like that could actually get her dismissed if I believed him instead of her." "And she is no fool; she would like to continue in this position as long as possible." The creature sounded smug. "She sometimes talks to herself in the bath."

  Which was, of course, the one place where he would not spy upon her! Nor did he intend to start now, however relevant the information might be.

  "You may continue to eavesdrop, and tell me if you hear anything interesting," he told the Salamander. "I would just as soon not hear girlish secrets, however."

  The Salamander grinned. "As you wish." It acted as if it had something it was not going to tell him now, and however much his curiosity nagged at him, he was not going to counter his previous order!

  "You might as well come with me since you're here," he told it instead. "I'm going to select more books. We are going to intensify the search tonight."

  Because I dare not take the chance that the beast is overcoming the man, he thought, grimly, as he led the way to the bookcases. Nor can I take the chance that I can control what is happening. Perhaps this is the result of pain, perhaps the result of the narcotics I am forced to use-or perhaps it is not. I have no options.

  By the time her holiday comes around, I fear that Rose will be in desperate need of it. But with luck-I may by then have found my key.

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  Rose waited on the platform for the train to arrive, bundled warmly in her new fur cape, but too tired to really feel the excitement that she knew was within her. The last two weeks had been brutal; Cameron was making her earn her holiday. She read the Apprentice books feverishly until after dinner, sometimes even reading them while she ate, then went on to read and translate his books until very nearly dawn and they were both having a hard time staying awake. She hadn't had time to encounter du Mond much; once every few days he would intercept her as she returned from visiting Sunset, but she could always plead duty to get away from him. Taking a short walk to visit Sunset was nearly the only exercise she was getting at the moment.

  She wouldn't even have been doing that, but for two factors. The stallion himself was so pathetically pleased to see her that she couldn't bear to disappoint him of his daily visit (or apple; she wasn't sure which he was looking forward to)-and Cameron had asked her to make sure he wasn't being neglected, once he knew that she and Sunset were getting along. The concern in his voice had been unmistakable, and she had promised immediately. She'd even gotten so far as to have one of the Salamanders show her how to use a brush and comb, and did some of his grooming herself. It had been very strange, and just a bit frightening the first time, to stand in the paddock with such a big, strong beast, without even a single fence rail to protect her if he should take it into his head to dislike her. But although it had been frightening, it had also been exhilarating, and the more she handled him, the more confident he became with her, and vice vers
a.

  Now he's just like a big dog; I believe he might even let me ride him in the paddock if I only knew how to ride.

  She hoped he wouldn't be too disappointed that she did not come to visit him for three days.

  She stifled a yawn behind her hand; this was actually morning, and she had gotten no more than four hours of sleep. Jason had been very clear about her instructions, though, and he had explained the reason for them. "There is only a given amount of time when the main track is clear," he had told her. "If we want to have the proper margin of safety between trains, there is only one time today that we can insert my private carriage on the track. You must be at the platform by ten, or you will be waiting until late at night to get into the city. You would be exhausted, and the area down by the station can be a bit rough after dark."

  She rubbed her eyes with a gloved finger, and stifled another yawn, then smiled at the hand as she lowered it. Kidskin gloves! She hadn't had a pair of kidskin gloves in ages; she'd had to make do with knit woolen gloves that had been darned and redarned so many times there wasn't much left of the original material on the fingers.

  She had a trunk, not a valise, and a brand-new trunk at that. A Salamander had transported it down here for her, and a human porter would presumably be taking care of it once she reached the city. Someone named "Snyder" would be waiting for her at the station. It had all been arranged effortlessly, so far as she could tell.

  Wealth can certainly work miracles of efficiency. Well, she would enjoy all of this while she had access to it; there was certainly no reason why she should not. There was no telling when Cameron would find his answer-or decide that it was not to be found-and dismiss her. She only wished that she knew exactly what he was looking for.

  A plume of white smoke above the trees and the distinct chuffing of an engine in the distance alerted her to the arrival of that odd abbreviated engine and carriage that Jason used for his own excursions. In a few minutes it appeared through the gap in the trees, and groaned to a stop with a creaking and squealing of metal. They were backing it into place-she knew there was a place where it could turn around farther down the line, but apparently they didn't want to take the time to do that today.

  As it pulled into place alongside the platform, one of the men operating it jumped down out of the cabin to help her; the other peered around the side of the cab and waved. To her pleasure, it was the same two men as the last time, and they evidently remembered her. The one who had been so friendly before aided her into the carriage with a bow and a flourish. "Glad to see you again, ma'am," he told her, grinning as happily as if he had arranged the whole thing. "I reckon you're getting along all right here."

  She laughed. "Quite all right," she told him, as he lifted her trunk as if it weighed next to nothing and stowed it in the rear of the carriage. "But I am ready for a little holiday."

  "We'll have you in the city in no time, ma'am," he told her as he turned and headed back towards the engine. "Track's clear as a bell, and the weather's grand." He jumped up into his own place beside the engineer before she had a chance to reply, and she took that as a signal that she should get inside the carriage and take a seat.

  She had wondered if fatigue and contrast had made her memory paint a much rosier picture of the carriage than reality, but she realized as she surveyed the interior that she should have known better than to doubt its luxury. It was Jason Cameron's, after all, and he never seemed to skimp on anything. The stove in the front part of the carriage was burning well, heating the whole interior until it was just as cozy as her own sitting room. The carpet and furniture were as clean and as free of soot as a proper dowager's parlor, and if anything, the levels of sophistication and luxury were more evident by daylight.

  The vehicle began to move with a little lurch. She sat down quickly on the divan, and loosened the collar of her cape. Beyond the windows, as the train picked up speed, an endless wall of tall, green trees flowed by. I wish the landscape was a little more varied here. She stifled another yawn. I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to lie down. There isn't much to see, and I don't think I can keep my eyes open if I try to read. She changed her position, lying down to rest her head for just a little-

  And the next thing she knew, something had awakened her from a deep, sound sleep, and the train was slowing.

  It might have been the increase in noise that had awakened her, for when she sat up and peered out a window, she saw that they had reached the station, and it was quite a busy place, fully as busy as the one in Chicago.

  No more than half an hour later, she was seated in an open carriage across from the very proper gentleman who had introduced himself as "Snyder." The mysterious Mr. Snyder proved to be the butler and valet at Cameron's townhouse. He had brought with him this small carriage that had been hired for her convenience.

  The fresh air managed to wake her up, and the rest in the carriage had certainly helped bring her back to her normal state of alertness. Snyder was no Paul du Mond; he was very proper in his manners, but gave her an impression of intelligence and shrewdness. She noted that he was giving her a very close, if relatively unobtrusive, examination as they rolled along, and she returned the favor.

  He was a tall, thin man, balding, with the demeanor she would have associated with a "superior" servant from the East Coast, although his accent had the faint drawl she knew was characteristic of the Southeast. She wondered where Cameron had found him, for here was certainly a superior servant of the old school. And had he always been in charge of the townhouse, or had Snyder once been the ruler of the Cameron mansion as well?

  "Master Cameron normally makes use of cabs when he is in the city, ma'am," Snyder said, breaking the silence. "But I thought that would be rather inconvenient for a lady wishing to shop."

  She thought of a number of replies, but settled for the simplest. "That was extremely thoughtful of you, Mr. Snyder," she told him, hoping that she sounded appropriately sincere. "Thank you very much."

  He eyed her a bit longer, then asked, hesitantly, "Forgive me. This is hardly polite, but-might I ask, Miss Hawkins, just what your position is in Master Cameron's household? It has not been clarified to me."

  It's not polite, and he must be in agony over it! Poor man. I don't quite fit into the hierarchy, the way I would if I were the tutor I was originally told I would be. She raised one eyebrow to show him that she was conversant enough with proper manners to know the question was impertinent, then answered him with the same directness he had used. "I am Mr. Cameron's research assistant, Mr. Snyder; I have both a Bachelor and Master's degree and I am very close to achieving my Doctorate. I am actually closer to a colleague than a member of the household, although he is technically my employer as well as yours. I came here from Chicago at his request, interrupting my own studies, because he was in need of my specific skills. He has some various papers and books he needs translated, and I am an expert in ancient languages."

  That was close enough to the truth to pass muster without making her feel guilty.

  Snyder relaxed; as she had suspected, his unease had been caused by the fact that he did not know where to place her in the household hierarchy. Now he did.

  I'm somewhere above a servant, just below a guest, and not a member of the demimonde, which I expect was what he was afraid of. She smiled at him, and was glad she had chosen to wear one of her more severe and business-like walking-suits. She looked like a serious scholar, and she knew it.

  "Chicago! That's a cold part of the country, this time of year, ma'am," Snyder said. "Gracious, they must be knee-deep in snow by now! I hope you aren't missing the colder weather."

  She shivered, and smiled. "Not at all, I assure you. If your university here accepts female students, I may well remain here when my work for Mr. Cameron is complete. I had not been aware that this part of the nation was so lovely."

  Snyder beamed, an odd expression on that long, melancholy face. "It's a great deal like North Carolina, where I come from, ma'am," he told her, as
if imparting a precious secret.

  Well, that explains his accent.

  He coughed. "Now, I hope you'll forgive me again. I've been asked to advise you that it wouldn't be wise to go out at night-except straight to the theater and back-without taking me as an escort. Parts of the city are pretty rough after dark, and you don't know where they are."

  So are parts of Chicago-but I didn't go out at night much, and never without Father. She nodded an absent assent; the hills of San Francisco rose all about them now, covered with buildings-for someone used to a flat cityscape, the effect was both strange and delightful. She couldn't get enough of looking. The houses, rising in two, three, or four stories, all seemed to be painted in shades of sand, peach, pink, or pale blue. They were like something out of an illustrated children's book, vaguely hinting at the Arabian Nights.

  "Is it safe to visit China-town?" she asked, trying to see everything at once, failing, and not caring.

  "Only by broad daylight, and not without an escort," he warned her. "I know what parts there are safe, and what are not. Perhaps you could make up a list of what you are interested in, ma'am, and I can arrange excursions for you."