Home From The Sea: The Elemental Masters, Book Seven

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Are you saying I’m lazy or a fool?” demanded Rhodri.

  “Both.”

  Rhodri stared at him, blue eyes burning a hole in the older man, plainly seething. “Your status as Master, Druid, and teacher has gone to your head.”

  “My experience as Master, Druid, and teacher has taught me how to recognize a fool when I see one, and my experience with you tells me that you’ll avoid being forced to think about consequences at every possible occasion.” Idwal raised an eyebrow.

  Rhodri made a great show of tying off the last net-weight, and got to his feet. “I think I can tell when my company is a burden,” he declared. “Enjoy your puttering about with magic, Mari. And mind, I’m going to walk with you in the moonlight on the shingle tonight.”

  “So I promised,” she agreed, and the handsome Selch—well, he didn’t exactly flounce off, but there was pent irritation in every step.

  Idwal sighed. “It seems,” he said, carefully, “At least from what I overheard, that mortal life is more complex and fraught these days. I do not know that I can help with any solutions, but would you begin at the beginning and just explain what this constable person is all about, and why he should be troubling you?”

  Mari began by explaining what a constable was, then why she and her da surmised that he was here in the first place, then what would likely happen when he got wind of not one, but five strange men turning up daily here at the cottage.

  The Selch’s brow furrowed. “I believe I see. The others look at you, and see someone who lives away from the town, and think this distance protects you, as if you were a hermit. Perhaps in the old days, it did. But now it does not protect you, and the overlord may send his sheriff at any time to enforce whatever decree he has made.” He shook his head. “Perhaps this is one reason why we returned to the sea in the long ago, because men were creating overlords who answered to no will but their own and professed to be master and owner of not only the land but the people thereon.”

  She sighed with relief at having finally gotten through to one of the Selch, at least. “It wasn’t like this in grandfather’s time. Being out here in our cottage did keep people from nosing about. I don’t really think that anyone actually knew, in the town, that Grandfather even had a wife until he turned up with Da, and told everyone that the gypsy he’d spent a season with had come by and left the baby with him saying it was his.”

  Idwal nodded. “And… if I understand correctly… the tale that your grandfather had pleasured himself with a gypsy without the bonds of marriage was seen as something admirable?”

  She had to shrug. “Maybe not that. Well, the women would have said things. But the men would have pretended to be shocked, but secretly thought he was quite the sly, clever fellow.”

  “But for you… having congress without a marriage is a deep disgrace.” Idwal frowned deeper. “We do not think in this way. We do not think congress is a bad thing, with or without marriage. And we welcome every birth. Inheritance among us comes through the mother—as does lineage. After all, no man can be absolutely sure of who his father is, but there is no doubt who is his mother.”

  She giggled at that, a little embarrassed by his frankness, then sobered. “But we don’t think that way, and I could even be in trouble from the—the sheriff. I’m not sure, but it is possible. There might be laws about it, town laws, not just church or chapel laws. Without a marriage and banns and all that, we could be in real difficulty. People might refuse to buy or trade for da’s fish, or to sell us things.”

  “Well then, there must be a marriage,” Idwal said firmly. “Would it be possible to take a journey in the coracle to the greater town, and find there someone who would make a marriage? Then you would have your paper, and all would be well.”

  She blinked at that; it was something she hadn’t even thought of for herself. And certainly there were enough Nonconformist sects in Criccieth that one of them would surely be willing to marry a couple that just turned up out of nowhere. Oh… but then there were the banns to be posted and those had to be posted in the chapel where you lived. Or you had to get a special license, and how did you do that?

  “Also,” he continued thoughtfully, “I have heard it said that the captain of a ship may conduct a marriage. Ship captains are always in need of money. We could bring up some gold and pay one to do this, and we would not be concerned with propriety or silence, for who would ask him?”

  Her mouth fell open. Now that was a very good idea! Not only that, but this idea gave birth to another. “And if we said my husband was a sailor—sailors are always dying at sea! So when he goes back—I can say he’s joined his ship. Then maybe da goes into Criccieth, and sends a telegraph about him dying to me here, and I go into mourning and—but how do I explain a missing baby?”

  “You will have twins, as our chieftain said,” Idwal replied, as if it was as certain as the sun rising. “And you will merely hide one. This should be of no matter and no great difficulty.”

  “If you say so…” But she could not help but admire how Idwal, instead of arguing about how she was certainly wrong, or mistaken, or just being foolish, had asked for explanations, bent his mind to help her, and done so.

  And that was when it struck her.

  She wasn’t attracted to any of the “boys.” In fact, that was how she thought of them. But Idwal…

  Saints. I could be happy with Idwal… I think. And he wouldn’t need to leave when I’d chosen; he could keep teaching me about magic. He’d be good company. Da never grumbles about him.

  In fact, the notion of being with Idwal gave her a little thrill in her stomach. Whereas the notion of being with the boys gave her a feeling of resignation.

  This was worth exploring. But in the meantime—

  “You were going to show me how to summon Water creatures,” she said, deliberately choosing the word “summon,” although that was not what he had said.

  “No, my student,” he corrected with a smile. “And I know that you are testing me. I did not say that word. I am going to show you how to invite them. While it is true that a Water Master can always compel an Elemental to come with his will, I shall not teach you that. To summon is to exert the will of the master over the slave. To invite is to ask, politely, for the assistance of an ally. Which would you prefer, if you were the one being called for?”

  She chuckled. “The latter, of course. If you please?”

  “I knew you would say that.” He smiled broadly. “Let us go to the spring.”

  9

  GOWER Manor had a cottage, a newish building, not a traditional “cottage,” built and kept especially to lend to friends of the squire who chose to holiday here rather than in some more fashionable watering spot. This much Nan had learned with careful inquiry around Criccieth. Then, her letters of introduction in hand, she paid a visit to the squire.

  That the cottage was vacant, she already knew. That much was common knowledge in the town. What wasn’t known was whether or not someone was likely to take up tenancy there in the next two or three weeks. The squire, despite the fact that his family had lived here for four generations, still considered himself English, not Welsh; the residents of Criccieth felt exactly the same. By this point there wasn’t much (if any) animosity, but there also wasn’t much communication, either.

  So Nan and Sarah took the hired pony-cart off for an investigative visit, which had turned up the satisfying information that there were no friends who wished to avail themselves of the cottage this year. And a little more conversation about how Sarah preferred more privacy than they got at the Lion Hotel, and a bit of name-dropping, induced the information that the squire would be perfectly happy to let it to two such delightful—and well-connected—young ladies.

  Nan had a pretty good notion of what he was thinking. He might be able to find a tenant in the form of some “sporting fellows,” who would make a great deal of work for the maid, who would drink when they were not fishing, and might well make more than work for the maid. Wher
eas, clearly the daughters of a clergyman would be up to no mischief in such a spot, remote from the temptations of a city.

  Even if he briefly entertained the idea that they might want privacy so that some illicit liaison could take place, the only way to reach the cottage required that anyone who cared to visit them would have to first drive or ride up to the Manor itself.

  And Nan looked like quite the stern fire-breathing old spinster; hardly the sort to allow her prettier sibling to do anything other than what she was supposed to do: recover her strength.

  And they were so very well-connected!

  It was quite clear to Nan that the squire had weighed all this quickly in his mind before agreeing to lease the cottage to two unchaperoned women, which was why she had covertly studied the dress and behavior of some of the more puritanical ladies of Criccieth in order to imitate them. She hadn’t gone too far—she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to keep a straight face—but she’d managed to make herself look years older and sufficiently unattractive to satisfy the conscience of both the squire and his even-more-suspicious spouse.

  Gower Cottage was not a cottage of the sort that one of the local people would live in; it was the gentry’s idea of a cottage. This meant it had been built to modern lines, copying local architecture. It had thick stone walls, three hearths, with nice iron stoves instead of fireplaces, stone floors with carpets instead of pounded earth, and a girl coming over from the Manor twice a week to do for them and bring them whatever they needed in the way of foodstuffs. It was actually more comfortable than the hotel for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was you could throw open the windows and have a cool sea breeze flowing right through the place. One of the first letters Nan wrote to Lord Alderscroft recommended the place to any of the White Lodge who felt the need to escape for a rest.

  That had been the very day they moved in. The little maid had come over to see what the “English ladies” needed doing, and Nan had sent her back with letters to be posted with the family mail. She’d done so deliberately, so that the squire was aware that her name-dropping had the backing of truth. She knew very well that the addresses would be examined minutely, and that Lord A’s address would cause no end of high excitement.

  It was probably the first time anyone in that lofty a set of circles had been written to from Gower Manor—though what with David Lloyd-George being the MP from this area, the Criccieth post office would be seeing missives going off to those with even loftier titles. Criccieth was very proud of its native son, and Nan must have heard a hundred predictions that “He’ll be the Prime Minister one day, never doubt it.” Still, the squire was not included in those circles, as he was not “political.” That was yet another bit of Criccieth gossip.

  Their first night had been restful; there had been no singing from the bar to wake them, and the beds had been soft and scented with lavender. Breakfast had been just as tasty, if plainer, than the fare at the hotel. Cooking on the pretty little stove was like playing at keeping house. It felt as if they were really here to enjoy themselves.

  Unfortunately, as Nan was all too well aware, they were not. Nan turned away from the kitchen window that gave a view of a lovely little garden. “Well…” Nan began, only to be interrupted by Sarah.

  “I wish we really were on holiday,” her friend sighed. “This is lovely.”

  Ordinarily Grey might have chimed in with an agreement, but Grey was stuffing herself with new peas, fresh from the garden, with a gluttonous abandon that could only be matched by a toddler with a jar of jam and no adults in sight.

  “Well we’re not. Neville was off like a shot when I let him loose, I think he might actually have a—scent, or whatever it is that you can trace magic by.” Neville had been so eager to get out, he’d practically been dancing on his perch, and he hadn’t been at all coherent in his speech. He and Nan had other ways of communicating though, and she had gotten the distinct impression that as the cart carrying them and their belongings had neared Gower Manor, he’d picked up something promising.

  Lord A had expressed no disappointment that they had as yet found nothing—but Nan didn’t like to keep him dangling like this. She wanted to be able to write “We’ve found the party you are looking for, and we are watching him for trouble” sooner rather than later.

  “Well I hope this business lasts a good long time,” Sarah replied as she put their clothing away in the commodious wardrobe. “If I were to pick one spot in Britain where I would like to spend the whole summer, it would be here.”

  Nan had to agree with her. For one thing, the weather around here was nothing like she’d been warned they’d get in Wales—rain, fog, and more rain. Instead, they got beautiful, sunny days, temperate nights, heavenly sea-breezes. For another, the cottage was just nice enough that it felt special, and not so luxurious that she felt uneasy, as if she was somewhere she had no right to be. It had three nice, cozy rooms below and a loft with a bed in it above—bedroom, a sort of sitting room, and a little kitchen. Sarah had claimed the loft immediately. The kitchen even had its own pump. Baths might be done the old-fashioned way, heating water in a kettle and bathing in a tin tub in the kitchen in front of the fire, but at least they wouldn’t be doing so on a riverbank, with a crowd of curious native children around them, waiting to see if their pale color was something that would wash off, like a layer of white mud. Or with other native children on guard for them, watching for crocodiles or hippos or snakes.

  The former had been amusing; the latter, not so much.

  The furnishing of this place had obviously been done out of the attics of the Manor, which was not to say that the furnishings were shabby or uncomfortable, merely old-fashioned, perhaps a trifle countrified, which suited both of them.

  Grey looked up from her peas. “Neville’s coming,” she remarked, and put her head back down in her bowl.

  A moment later Neville landed in the doorway, stalked into the cottage, then used a chair seat and the back of the chair to get to his perch. He shook his head and quorked, querulously, his way of saying that his vocabulary didn’t extend to what he wanted to say.

  Nan came over to him and put her hands around his head, staring into his eyes, letting impressions come to her.

  As often happened, she got a raven’s-eye view of things. By now she no longer felt dizzy when experiencing memories of flying. Finally she let him go, and got him a bowl full of bits of bread soaked with milk and some curds and currants for good measure.

  “He’s frustrated. There is definitely magic down on the coast, but he can’t make out exactly where it is. It’s like a fog over a certain area. He has the sense that whatever is doing the magic is making that fog deliberately, in order to confuse,” she told Sarah.

  “That sounds difficult…” Sarah replied thoughtfully. “I should think that would denote a high level of skill.”

  Nan could only shrug. “All right. I think we have done as much as we can by ourselves. I’m going to see if you-know-who answers when we try calling. If he doesn’t, we’re no worse off, and if he does, he’ll save us a great deal of trouble.”

  “I have the Shakespeare.” Sarah produced two little brown volumes immediately. “I had the feeling we were going to need them.”

  “And I found a fairy ring when I was exploring the garden.” Nan raised an eyebrow. “Which makes me wonder if we’ve been expected…”

  “You never know… hmm… you know, I think we should not be empty-handed this time. We should bring tea.” Sarah began cutting slices of bread. She wrapped them in a napkin, then got a pot of strawberry jam, another of butter, some hard-boiled eggs and a bit of paper with salt in it, and put them all in a basket with knives and more napkins. Nan looked at her curiously, then shrugged and filled a jug with water from the pump. Sarah added some pottery mugs to the basket and put the books on top. “That should do,” she said. She took the basket, Nan carried the jug, and led the way to the fairy circle she had found, a ring of mushrooms growing as neatly as if they
had been planted there.

  They put the jug and the basket down carefully outside the circle, stepped into the ring with great care not to disturb any mushrooms, and took the books, opening them to the familiar pages.

  Nan took out her sprigs of oak, ash and thorn, put them on the grass between her and Sarah, and pitched her voice low. “How now, spirit! whither wander you?”

  That was Puck’s part. As the fairy queen Titania’s handmaiden, Sarah replied. “Over hill, over dale / Thorough bush, thorough brier / Over park, over pale / Thorough flood, thorough fire / I do wander everywhere / Swifter than the moon’s sphere; / And I serve the fairy queen / To dew her orbs upon the green. / The cowslips tall her pensioners be: / In their gold coats spots you see; / Those be rubies, fairy favors / In those freckles live their savors: / I must go seek some dewdrops here / And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. / Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I’ll be gone. / Our queen and all our elves come here anon.”

  Nan continued, still taking Puck’s part, shading her voice with warning. “The king doth keep his revels here to-night: / Take heed the queen come not within his sight; / For Oberon is passing fell and wrath / Because that she as her attendant hath / A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king; / She never had so sweet a changeling; / And jealous Oberon would have the child / Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild; / But she perforce withholds the loved boy / Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy: / And now they never meet in grove or green / By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen / But, they do square / that all their elves for fear / Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.”

  Now Sarah narrowed her eyes and pointed her finger at Nan, her voice full of suspicion. “Either I mistake your shape and making quite / Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite / Call’d Robin Goodfellow: / are not you he / That frights the maidens of the villagery; / Skim milk, and sometimes labor in the quern / And bootless make the breathless housewife churn; / And sometime make the drink to bear no barm; / Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm? / Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck /You do their work, and they shall have good luck: / Are not you he?”