As they made their way down the plank, they scanned the waiting crowd and quickly spotted the woman waving a handkerchief at them. The taller freed a hand long enough to wave back, then resumed her grip on her hatbox.
The taller of the two, who might or might not have been a year or two older, was a dark brunette; the smaller had hair of golden brown, blue eyes, and the sort of face that might have been made into a Professional Beauty. Both had healthy, tanned complexions at odds with the fashionably pale faces around them. And as the gangplank cleared in front of them, they hastened their steps toward the one who had signaled to them in a way that suggested they were used to a great deal of walking, and none of it in cities.
Which, in fact, they were—having walked over a great deal of Africa in the last year or so.
The woman who had clearly come to meet them continued to wave her handkerchief. She was not a beauty either, but like them, she caught the attention of more than one man. There was something about her that signaled a great deal of experience without bitterness—in fact, it was clear that it was not just the joy of seeing her companions that made her glow with happiness. One fellow in common laborer’s clothing, but who had uncommonly fine hands, even stopped dead to stare at her.
“By heaven!” he said to his companion, who also stopped for a moment to admire. “There’s someone who’s had a life! I’d give my eye to paint her!”
“Ask, and you’ll likely get a black eye,” his friend said with a laugh, and pulled him on.
“Memsa’b!” cried the smaller young woman in a happy voice, as the two neared their goal, oblivious of the attention they were all getting. “I’m so glad to see you at last!”
All three of them finally converged, and the small one looked a little confused for a moment, as if she wasn’t certain what to do next—it was clearly impossible to give a proper embrace to the woman she’d addressed, what with her arms full of hatbox, but she looked equally reluctant to put it down.
The woman addressed as Memsa’b laughed and put an end to her confusion. “Come along, you two. Sahib is seeing to your things; he brought the cart from the warehouse. Lord A lent me his carriage to get you. We can have a proper hug and greetings when you can put the rascals down.”
One of the boxes uttered an indignant quork; the other whistled, as if to say “We’re no rascals!” All three women laughed, and the two young ones followed in the capable footsteps of the elder. Even though the dock was crowded, people seemed to clear away from their path with willingness rather than resentment—perhaps because of the repeated smiles and thanks the three graced everyone with.
There was, in fact, a fine city carriage of the old sort, deep black with brass trim, waiting for them, pulled up alongside a few hansoms and more of the automotive cabs. It boasted a dignified coachman and a crest on the doors. The discerning and knowledgeable would have identified it as that of Lord Alderscroft, Member of the House of Lords, and reputably a confidant of the Prime Minister on certain mysterious affairs.
The coachman hopped down promptly, there being no footman, and handed in Memsa’b first. He then took the taller girl’s hatbox with great care.
“’Allo Neville,” he said to the box. “’Ow are you, old son? Africar agree with you?”
“Qoark!” the box said with enthusiasm. Then, in a jovial and exceptionally human voice, “I’m hooooooome!”
The coachman laughed with delight. “Blimey! Neville, you’re talkin’ at last!”
“I can talk; can you fly?” said the other box, in a higher, female voice. Both boxes gave credible imitations of the young ladies’ laughs.
“He started chattering away as soon as we reached Sarah’s parents’ station,” said the taller girl, after seating herself, taking her talking hatbox from the coachman. “It was as if he’d been saving it up until then. I don’t know why it took him so long.”
“If ’e’s anything like my youngest, Miss Nan,” the coachman replied, taking the second box and helping the shorter girl up into the carriage, “It’s ’cause he was able to make hisself understood to you just fine without chatterin’, but couldn’t t’anyone else. That was fine when you was at the school, but Africar is when ’e needed other folks t’understand ’im. So that’s when ’e started talkin’.”
“Clever Sam!” said the second box, eliciting more laughter. The box went to its owner, as Sam grinned his approval.
The coachman closed the door, making sure no hems were hanging out inside, and hopped back up on the box. He chirruped to the horses, and they were off.
Once inside the plush interior of the coach, the lids came off the boxes, and out popped a handsome raven and an equally handsome African Grey parrot. Both jumped to the knees of their respective owners and shook their feathers out vigorously, as the boxes went down to the floorboards. The raven cocked a bright black eye at Memsa’b.
“Give us a kiss,” he demanded.
“You outrageous flirt, Neville,” Memsa’b replied with a chuckle. “I believe I shall.” She held out her arm, fearlessly. The raven hopped up onto it; she kissed the top of his head, then began scratching the back of his neck. He closed his eyes in bliss and laid his chin along her shoulder, the better to enjoy the caresses.
“Cold,” complained the Grey parrot, and Sarah obligingly held her coat open for the bird, who dove inside and wiggled around so her head was sticking out. Nan just grinned as hard as she could, watching Memsa’b renew her acquaintance with the raven.
“Well, obviously the trip was a success, no one was eaten by lions, and I’m sure you have many more stories than you were able to write,” Memsa’b said. “I expect to hear them all. But what I am most concerned about is Sarah’s parents—things do not seem to be altogether well in Africa. The London papers have been full of some most alarming affairs.”
“If you mean that there seem to be a lot of justified uprisings, Memsa’b, you’re right,” Nan replied bluntly. “That was what we didn’t want to write about. You never know who is going to open your letters between here and there, and we didn’t want some officious oaf to come looking for us as insurrectionists. But Sarah’s mum and papa are just fine, quite safe and… well… amazing.” She shook her head. “Really, the relationship between them and the natives is remarkable.”
“Beloved, is how I would put it,” Sarah said, petting Grey. “Of course, you know they have never preached; no matter what the well-meaning people who sent them think they are doing, they’ve never paid the least bit of attention to anything but medicine. They have always worked with the tribes and their ways and there is mutual respect for what both sides know. They still may be the only ‘missionaries’ I know of who’ve been adopted by village chiefs.”
“That’s all very well,” Memsa’b said doubtfully, “But…”
“I know. One village can’t keep them safe if they are not prepared.” Sarah nodded. “They are prepared. I’ve been assured by everyone in the village where the medical station is, and especially by shaman M’dela, that if bad things happen, they’ll hide my parents and they have worked several escape routes out in advance. M’dela asked Grey to follow sick elephants while we were there, and the tribe harvested the tusks from the ones that died, so they have a stock of ivory to pay to the Arab traders to get Papa and Mum out. They have disguises, even. Papa knows Arabic and makes a credible Arab trader, and with Mum wreathed in veils there’s no way to tell what she is under all the fabric. They found her the sort of burqa where you can’t even see her eyes.”
“And lest you think the traders would betray them—well, Sarah and I investigated them quite thoroughly, and they’re as safe as may be,” Nan added. “Mind, if Sarah’s mum was the pretty little thing that came to Africa years ago, I would not trust Abdullah Haj’ Aleph any further than I could pick him up and throw him, but he considers the lady to be in the same category as withered old hags, so she’s safe from being carried off to his harem.”
Memsa’b sighed with open relief. “That take
s a great deal of worry off my mind. But Nan—you said justifiable—”
“And so they are,” Nan replied stoutly. “Terrible things have been done in the name of civilization to good, decent, honorable people, and now they have decided they shan’t stand for it any more, and good for them, I say. Which I would not say around Lord A, so rest your mind on that subject. The bad part is that it’s come to such a pass that some of them want their pound of flesh and an eye or three as well. But that’s what happens when you back people into a corner and send them into a frenzy.”
“Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind,” Memsa’b said, and nodded. “A great deal of injustice has been done in the name of Empire.” She paused. “I am saddened, but I am glad in a way that your eyes are open and you can see it for what it is. So many terrible things have been done in the name of God and profit… mostly profit.”
They spent the rest of the journey with the girls relating more of their adventures—the ones they hadn’t been able to write to their mentor about. Most of those had not taken place in Africa, but in Egypt, where they had been forced to wait for transport, as there had been a rush of Europeans fleeing the dangers of some of those “justified uprisings.”
“And I don’t know what we would have done if those archeologists hadn’t come to our rescue,” Sarah said, after describing the difficulty of finding any room at all, and the dangers of the rather dubious hotel they’d been forced into. It was funny now, the story of how Nan had fended off a man who’d tried to come in their window, using a basin as a shield and her big knife as a sword. But it had been hair-raising at the time, and more so when they’d found the cloth soaked in chloroform and realized he’d intended to make off with them both. Fortunately he’d been a coward and fled at the first sign of trouble.
“I do,” Nan said bluntly. “After Yadakpa showed me how to use that big knife, I’d have sat up at night, every night, and God help anyone who’d put a finger inside our room.” She looked fierce at the moment, and Memsa’b had no doubt she meant every word she’d said.
“Bite!” Neville agreed, and clacked his beak to show he would have been prepared to fight as well.
“Well I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” said Sarah. She turned back to Memsa’b. “We were having tea at Shepheard’s when this amazing woman with a parasol marched right up to us and introduced herself. Neville and Grey were in the trees, and they immediately came down to examine her and she refused to allow the waiters to shoo them off. In fact, she ordered water and biscuits for Grey and water and goat-cheese for Neville.”
Neville made a sound like lips smacking. “Hurrrrr tasty!” he said.
“Amazing woman,” Nan repeated. “She said she’d noticed our Rational Dress and approved. Next thing I knew, she had coaxed our story out of us, and lo and behold, she invites us to come and stay with her, her husband, and their little son, and what turned out to be a menagerie not unlike our school, Memsa’b. They lived on a boat, and must have had half a tribe of Arabs with them who treated them like chiefs rather than masters. I confess, I was relieved. We were very comfortable, Neville managed to not kill their cat, the cat managed to leave Grey alone, and we even got to help a little with an excavation. All the natives treat her with great respect, and call her Sitt Hakim, which I think means something like Memsa’b, so we were quite at home. And I want a parasol like hers, when I can afford it. She showed it to me, how it worked. The ferrule is as stout as a sword, the tip is plenty sharp, and it has a cunning little kit of useful stuff in the handle. It’s as good for defending yourself as a big knife, and causes less stir if a lady is carrying it about.”
Memsa’b managed not to choke at that statement.
“I believe I would like to correspond with this lady,” Memsa’b said instead. “She sounds worth knowing, and I would like to give her my thanks.”
Isabelle Harton—Memsa’b to the many Indian servants of mixed races and creeds that tended to the Harton School for Expatriate Children—was very happy to have two of her best (former) pupils back, but also a little worried. Happy, because the Harton School was a very special place indeed. It was not merely a school for the children of those who were serving the Empire abroad—it was also a school for those who had psychical gifts to be trained in the use of them. As such, it had a powerful reputation among a select circle of those who were more concerned that their offspring learn ethical use of their abilities—and not go mad—than they were that the children make the “right” friends from the “right” set. Isabelle would never have to worry that the school turn a profit, for ever since shortly after Nan and Sarah had joined them, the school had gotten a formidable protector and patron in the form of Lord Alderscroft, who was probably the most powerful Elemental Master and magician in all of England, if not all of the Empire. He was certainly the most powerful in and around London, and was often spoken of as “The Wizard of London.”
Sarah was a skilled and fearless medium; Nan was something in between a psychic and a magician. She could, and did, channel another aspect of herself—or perhaps a former incarnation—that was a Celtic fighter, and a psychical warrior, but that warrior was armed with magical weapons, and one of those weapons was Neville. She also—at least as a child—had interacted with magical beings, Elemental Spirits, even the Elders like Robin Goodfellow. The children had been instrumental in freeing Lord Alderscroft from a malignant creature of Air that had nearly destroyed him; he was profoundly grateful, and that gratitude had translated into the Harton School having his particular patronage and being installed in his own stately home just outside London, while he had a new home of his own built on the grounds for his use. So Memsa’b was happy to have her girls back; it had felt as if family members had gone when, after graduation, they had gone to spend some time with Sarah’s parents in Africa.
But on the other hand, she was worried, because she hadn’t the least idea what to do with them. And they would need something to do, they were not the sort to want to go to parties and hunt for husbands, marry, and settle into a complacent and narrow life. Of course it was possible that they would turn out to be good teachers, in which case they could easily join the school in that capacity. But she was very much afraid that, no matter how well-intentioned they were, teaching was not something they were suited for.
So as she saw them settled back in their old suite of two rooms, a bedroom and a parlor, which still had feeding perches for Neville and Grey beside the fireplace and sleeping perches for them over the heads of the beds, she was very conscious of those mixed feelings.
“Oh,” Sarah sighed, as she set down her portmanteau at the foot of her bed. “It’s good to be back. Africa might be home to Mum and Papa, but… I’ve been away too long. I don’t like the insects or the snakes. Grey didn’t either, really. She liked the heat, and the lovely damp air, but she didn’t much care for the rest of it. The spiders! Ugh! They are as big as cricket balls! And the snakes!”
Grey and Neville flew to their perches and examined the water cups with critical, beady eyes to make sure that the water in them wasn’t stale. Grey bobbed her head, agreeing with Sarah; Neville made a comforting mutter.
“Lord A is coming to dinner, if that is all right with you,” Memsa’b said, “If you are not horribly exhausted after—”
“Great Harry’s ghost, Memsa’b,” Nan interrupted. “After traipsing around excavation sites in the heat from dawn to dusk, the trip back was restful! I just hope we’ve got a gown somewhere in our kit that won’t totally revolt his lordship’s sense of aesthetics.”
“I was hoping we’d be able to see him soon,” Sarah added, happily. “I was looking forward to it.”
Memsa’b relaxed. Alderscroft had asked after the girls regularly while they were gone, and had specifically requested he be invited to dine as soon as they were back. She was hoping that perhaps he had some notion of something they could do.
“I’ll leave you two to settle back in and tidy up then,” she said with a smile. “It’s s
o good to have you back!”
“Not as good as it is to be back, Memsa’b,” Nan replied for all of them, as Sarah and the birds nodded. “Not by half!”
2
THE constable lost no time in making his appearance. Three days after market day, Mari saw a strange cart coming up the road from Criccieth, loaded with household goods. When she reported as much to her father, Daffyd mulled the news over for a moment, then nodded as if he had made up his mind about something.
“I expect that’s the constable. Don’t go to the village till market day,” he decreed, and she agreed, even though she was somewhat disappointed. “If you go too soon, all you’ll hear is likely worthless. If you wait till market day, he’ll have shown his true colors, and you’ll get a better notion of what the man is. Never fear; anything I hear, I’ll sing back to you.”
So that was what she did, heading off no earlier than usual, with her father’s admonition to get a few pigeons for a pie rather than a hare or the salmon she’d fancied. “You won’t know if the salmon or hare you’re sold has been poached,” Daffyd pointed out as he headed out to fish. “I’ll go on the river myself today to get one, and better believe I’ll be minding the boundaries.”
She didn’t ask him how he could be sure of getting a salmon without straying into the landlord’s waters; he would, and that was that. She was also quite certain he would fish only where there were witnesses to exactly where he was. Her da was the clever one.
Home From The Sea: The Elemental Masters, Book Seven Page 3