The Bartered Brides (Elemental Masters)

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Blimey,” the waterman said, bending his head to wipe the tears of laughter out of his eyes on his shoulder. “If I’d known I was gonna get a music ’all show, I’d’a paid th’ Lion, ’steada ’im payin’ me.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” Nan cautioned, but it was too late. Neville was in rare form, tossing off quips that had the waterman wheezing by the time they pulled up to the dock at the end of their journey. Sarah made the rope fast to a wooden ladder, and one by one, starting with her, they made their way up it to a wooden walkway.

  The walkway passed between two buildings and came out on the street, where a carriage was waiting. “This’s where we leave ye fer now,” Fred said cheerfully. “Might be seein’ ye if ye need us fer escort, like.”

  They all shook hands solemnly, Fred passed the map to Nan, and the three lads went on their way, while Sarah and Nan climbed into the carriage.

  “Oh, my feet,” Nan groaned.

  “I know,” Sarah echoed. Since the carriage had two seats, they sat across from each other and rested their poor aching feet on the seat opposite. The birds perched on their legs, while they leaned back.

  “I want a bath and a foot soak,” Sarah added after a moment. “We walked everywhere in Wales—why are our feet so sore now?”

  “Paving,” Nan told her. “I’m just glad we were wearing these heavy boots. Can you imagine what our feet would have felt like in ladies’ boots?”

  “Agony. Thank God we won’t have to do this again.”

  The carriage didn’t drop them at the front of the townhouse; instead it went around to the carriage house in the back, because obviously a couple of young ruffians would not be allowed inside the front door. They came in through the back entrance, and the servants, who had been told what to expect, hurried them up to their rooms. This time Sarah accepted the help of the maid in getting out of her clothing, especially her shoes. The maid tsked over the state of her swollen feet, immediately poured the washbasin of fine china full of cool water from the ewer for her to soak her feet in, and hurried off in search of something to add to the water, while Sarah unbound her breasts and pulled a cotton wrapper on over her chemise and knickers.

  Then she sat down and gingerly put her feet into the basin.

  It felt like heaven.

  The maid returned in a few moments with a larger basin and a pail of steaming water. “Miss Nan is having a bath,” the girl reported. “So we’ll soak your feet until she is finished, and I’ll draw you another.”

  “God bless you, Lily,” Sarah sighed as the maid put the tin basin down on the floor with a towel under it next to an easy chair, prepared the basin with the hot water, poured the water out of the china basin into the larger, tin one to temper the heat, and added mineral salts. Sarah walked over to the armchair, put her feet into the hot water, and sat back.

  And the next thing she knew, the water was cold and the maid was shaking her, telling her that her bath was ready.

  * * *

  After one of Lord Alderscroft’s amazing dinners, the girls, the Watsons, and Lord Alderscroft gathered in his study over the map.

  “More than I like, but fewer than I feared,” Alderscroft pronounced.

  “This certainly has yielded better fruit than anything I could have suggested,” Watson agreed. “All right, tomorrow I’ll unleash Irregulars to find places we can safely put Nan and Sarah. Should we do our initial investigations by day?”

  Alderscroft looked at Sarah. “Will daylight be all right?” he asked.

  “The spirit world doesn’t have day or night,” she replied. “Daylight should present no problems—except that when we actually do determine which of these sites belongs to the necromancer, we will have to be exceedingly careful. He’ll be awake, and he might sense us.”

  “But it will be safer in the material world during the day.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Sarah admitted. “But the real question is, when we find this, and if we escape undetected, what is our plan of attack?”

  Alderscroft hesitated for a moment. “I have done a little more research into necromancy,” he said, finally. “And although it is perfectly possible for a necromancer to bind and use or use up spirits on a temporary basis, if he wants to continue using them, it appears he needs a part of their former physical body.”

  Sarah didn’t quite understand his hesitation. “Yes? And—”

  It was Nan who understood what he was hinting at, and both her hands flew to her mouth in horror. “Oh my God! The heads! He’s collected the heads!”

  Alderscroft nodded. “Exactly. All this time we had been wondering why he beheaded his victims. Now we know. Or at least, I am fairly sure we know.”

  Sarah suddenly felt sick. “So . . . wherever he is, he is probably keeping the heads, or what’s left of them, in his workroom?”

  “That’s the most likely. And while this is extremely unsettling, this is actually good for us.”

  “Of course it is!” John Watson exclaimed, pounding the arm of his chair. “We can use Lestrade, the Yard, and the local constables!”

  “Exactly my thought,” Alderscroft agreed. “The only question is how you give them a reasonable explanation of how we found the bounder.”

  “It’s going to involve a lot of lying,” Watson said ruefully.

  “Well,” said Mary. “Sherlock’s explanations usually begin with dirt.”

  “That’s as good a place to start as any. I’ll make up some gibberish about the composition of some earth we found—oh bother. Where? It’s usually on the bottoms of shoes, but obviously that won’t work.”

  “The shoes were too big on a couple of those girls,” Sarah recalled. “In the paper stuffed in the toes?”

  John nodded. “All right, earth. Now how do we narrow that down to that house? I’m going to assume it’s a house. I cannot imagine anyone beheading young girls in a flat and getting away with it for long.”

  “White threads from their gowns caught on the side of that sewer exit into the Thames?” Mary suggested. “I can’t think why anyone in the East End would waste perfectly good fabric by sending it into the sewer, so any thread, we can say, would have to come from their clothing.”

  “That’s a start . . .”

  From there, they considered and discarded a number of possible explanations that might have led Sherlock to hit upon a particular dwelling. Finally Nan snapped her fingers.

  “We’re making this too complicated,” she said. “The easiest is that someone complained about Chinese girls going into the house. While an East Ender might be able to afford a servant girl, they’re absolutely not going to hire a ‘heathen Chinee.’ And they’d resent anyone else who did.”

  “Oh! And that’s another point,” Mary exclaimed. “John, you said you can’t imagine anyone being able to get away with this who has rented a flat, so it must be a house. Well, all we have to do is tell the Irregulars to make sure to look for houses in those five areas. If there aren’t any, we can eliminate the areas that don’t.”

  Alderscroft raised his leonine head with a look of triumph. “Excellent,” he said. “We have our plan for the next stage, and we have the means to surround the place with Police and the Yard. On that note, I think we have earned our rest.”.

  19

  Nan, at least, woke the next day with aching calves and feet, so gladly took breakfast in bed followed by a soak in a hot bath, followed by going back to bed and begging the pardon of Alderscroft due to indisposition. Neville regarded her with sympathy from his perch, after having his own breakfast of chopped meat. She had just settled in when the housekeeper knocked on the door and came bustling into her room with a basket over her arm.

  “Now, miss, I have just the thing for those feet,” she said. “That is, if you don’t mind servant’s remedies—”

  “Good gad, no,” Nan responded immediately.

  “Well, we’re on our feet morning till night, and some of us aren’t as young or as light as we used to be,” she sai
d with a laugh. “So I’ve brought you some things.”

  “Some things” proved to be quite a lot. More herbs and salts to put in a foot bath, a salve that smelled of lavender and peppermint to rub all over her feet and ankles, and salicylate powder to take with water. By luncheon the aches had subsided to the point where walking was bearable again, and she went down.

  “Ah good, you’re feeling better,” said John Watson, looking up from his meal. “I’ve sent the Irregulars out, and we can expect a report by teatime.”

  “That soon?” she said with surprise, sitting next to Sarah and accepting the offer of something she didn’t recognize from the footman. Whatever it was, it was very good.

  “They’re efficient, those lads,” Watson chuckled. “Young Tommy has them all coordinated, splitting up to canvass every inch of the place and report back to him. He’ll bring us the précis.”

  “I think they must be the secret to Sherlock’s success,” Sarah chuckled.

  “He certainly couldn’t do without them,” John agreed. “They’ve been mourning him, you know. I thought Tommy would break down in front of me when he said it would ‘do them all a bit’a good to be doin’ agin.’ I very nearly told him the truth.”

  No one needed to caution him not to do that.

  Evidently as soon as luncheon was over, everyone had the same idea—go to Alderscroft’s magical library, a room separate from the library that any guest might go to and browse through. John and Mary both seemed to know what they wanted and made for two different sections. Sarah consulted the catalogue and made her own selection. That left Nan, indecisive.

  Finally she, too, consulted the catalogue, not really certain what she was looking for until she spotted it—and it turned out, when she looked for the book, that John Watson had it already.

  Bother.

  “Here,” said Mary Watson, and handed her a leather-bound book with a few places already marked. “Annals of the London Hunting Lodge. I’ve marked the places where they encountered necromancers.”

  “Thank you,” Nan said with gratitude, then perused the handwritten volume until teatime.

  They were just finishing up when Tommy Wiggins turned up. And although they were all more than eager to hear his results, after seeing his longing gaze at the remains of their tea they sat him down and stuffed him with tea and sandwiches and biscuits until it looked as if he was satisfied.

  “All right, Wiggins,” said John. “Report.”

  Tommy pulled a somewhat grimy and much-folded copy of the map out of his pocket and spread it out on the table. “’Ere, ’ere an ’ere, there ain’t no ’ouses,” he said, pointing to ghostless areas on the map that he had put a large “X” through. “In fact, there ain’t no flats, neither. Just rooms.”

  “That already makes our lives easier,” Mary exclaimed. Tommy nodded.

  “Now, Oi made a liddle number every place where they wuz a room, cuz they ain’t no ’otels near them two good places,” he continued, and pulled another piece of folded paper from his other pocket. “’Ere’s th’ list uv th’ landladies. If hits gotta star arter th’ name, hit’s a good ’un, ’cause the landlady don’t care long as she gets ’er money. Arf of ’em are drunks, an’ th’ rest rents t’ hoors.” He suddenly realized who he was talking to, because he got very red, and mumbled, “Beggin’ yer pardon ma’am, miss.”

  “’Ere naow, ’oo ye think yer talkin’ to, Tommy Wiggins?” asked Nan in her best street accents. “Me mam wuz a hoor, I knows the word!”

  Tommy stared at her with a look of shock on his face, while Sarah and Mary giggled, although Mary was every bit as red as Tommy.

  He gulped. “Yiss, miss,” he said, then gathered his courage in both hands and went on. “T’other ones ’ud do in a pinch, but they’re nosy parkers. If’n one feller and three gels goes traipsin’ up stairs, they’re like to wanta know why.”

  Watson picked up the list and perused it, then looked at the map. “I think there’s enough incurious ones to satisfy our requirements,” he said, and handed Tommy a soft leather purse that jingled. “The usual distribution to the lads, and many thanks, my boy.” Tommy took it, shoved it in his pocket, slapped his cap back on his head and stood up. “Thenkee guv’nor,” he said. “An’ thanks from th’ lads.”

  The footman showed Tommy Wiggins the way out and they all crowded around the map. “This one is closer,” Sarah pointed out, her finger on the map. “I think there’s enough time before sundown to investigate it.”

  John Watson straightened up and looked at her sternly. “There is, but only if you promise that if you find something, you don’t linger to take a better look at it.”

  Sarah held up her hand, as if making a pledge. “I promise. And I’ll have Nan and Caro with me to keep me sensible.”

  “All right then.” John perused the map again. “We can take a growler and not be conspicuous to here, and walk to the first of the starred lodgings here.”

  Nan tried not to groan at the word “walk.” “I’m ready now,” she said, instead.

  “As am I,” replied Sarah.

  John looked all three women over to make sure they would not stand out in that part of the East End. They must have passed muster, because he nodded. “All right then,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Tommy had been right. The landlady looked as if she’d already downed a full bottle of gin by the time they got there and was starting another. She clearly was not in the least interested in why they wanted her room, only that they had the money. Once the fourpence she demanded went down the front of her dress, presumably to rest between two pillow-like breasts, she waved them to the rickety stairs and said “Nummer Tree” and paid no more attention to them.

  “Number three” boasted a completely filthy bed and two hard wooden chairs, and nothing more. The window was covered in brown parcel paper, and there was neither candle nor oil lamp. Nan had come prepared however, with a bag that held a number of useful objects. This was not the first time she’d been in such lodgings, although the last time had been much more than a decade ago. She spread a waxed oilcloth over the top of the bed; hopefully any bugs, bedbug or otherwise, would have a hard time getting through that. Then she and Sarah laid down; it was a straw mattress but at least the oilcloth kept the ends from poking them. John wrenched the window open and the birds flew in to perch on the foot of the bed. She shut her eyes—

  And didn’t even have time to relax before she was yanked into the spirit world.

  “Oi!” she said indignantly, glaring at Sarah who was still holding her ghostly hand.

  They stood in the faded, gray spirit-world version of this room. Caro stood at the foot of the bed, petting Grey’s spirit self. Grey seemed to enjoy it.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah murmured. “I’m just in a hurry to get on with this.”

  “So am I,” said Caro. “I believe we want to go that way.” She pointed, not to the window, but to the wall opposite.

  Nan took a moment to get her bearings. “I think you’re right,” she said. “Lead on.”

  They were accompanied by a swarm of sylphs as well as Neville and Grey. Once they drifted out of the building, the sylphs flew on ahead of them, playing scout, as they had the last time the girls had made a similar excursion.

  Once again, Caro was dressed as a boy, with her bow in her hand and her quiver hanging from her belt. Nan gave her a sideways look. Caro shrugged. “This feels right. I think I was meant to be a boy,” she said. Nan nodded, and turned her attention to the environment around them.

  The gray and misty streets looked pretty much like the last time they’d ventured here into the spirit realm; empty of traffic or any sign of all the people that there were in the material world. There were, however, more ghosts. Many, many more ghosts than there had been in their home neighborhood. Most of them were sad little children wandering aimlessly down the empty streets. The rest were tattered wisps, vaguely shaped like humans. No threat there.

  But th
at didn’t mean there might not be a threat, as they moved further away from their bodies.

  They hurried in the direction of the “ghost-free” zone, trying not to attract any attention. But it appeared that didn’t matter. Nothing was giving them any attention anyway. The sad little ghosts met up in the streets sometimes, and seemed to talk for a bit, then began wandering again. Were they looking for home? Parents? Siblings? They began to prey on Nan’s mind, and she knew that Sarah wanted to stop and send every single one of them onwards—but they couldn’t stop to do that. “Sarah, at least these spirits aren’t hungry and cold anymore,” she murmured, when Sarah paused once again to look at a pair of little girls holding hands.

  Sarah nodded, stiffened her shoulders, and moved on.

  It was odd that they hadn’t yet encountered anything clearly dangerous, as they had on their first foray. Perhaps that might be because the spirits were affected by day and night in the material world, and only the most harmless ones wandered by day, leaving the dangerous ones to appear by night.

  Maybe it was because they were just lucky about their route, and it didn’t intersect with any of the dangerous spirits. She began to feel fairly confident, however, and pushed the pace a little.

  Until suddenly, Caro stopped.

  Sarah looked at her askance. “We’re not that far from the locket,” she objected.

  “That’s not it. There’s something in there—calling me. If I go any closer, I don’t think I can resist it—” And in fact, Caro started to back up. “I’ve got to go back!” she said, in something a little like panic. “If I don’t—” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  Then she was gone, fleeing back toward the rented lodging.

  “Do you feel anything?” Sarah asked Nan. Nan shook her head.

  “No,” croaked Neville, and Grey shook her head as well.

  “So . . . it’s not the ghosts.” Sarah looked in the direction of the center of the zone. “It could be the necromancer. . . .”

  “But we need to be sure,” Nan pointed out. “We can’t go back now, not when all that we know is that there is something in that direction that called to Caro.” Sarah sighed with relief; clearly she felt the same way.