The Serpent's Shadow em-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  Parkening had evidently figured out that he was in a dilemma he could not get out of without giving up any hope of revenge on her—and that he would be fortunate if she chose not to play the cards in her hand. The bluff had worked. He could not possibly have looked any greener.

  "Mr. Parkening, I really must insist on you seeing your physician," she chided. "Please, you simply must go up to the Men's Ward."

  Feebly, he waved her away. "No, no, I'll be fine. I'll go home, just as you said. Send a messenger to the office—they can do without me, as you said—" He got up and staggered off, much to the surprise of his uncle and the bishop.

  "My, my!" the bishop murmured. "Do you think it's wise to allow him to wander off in that state?"

  "Probably not," Clayton-Smythe replied in irritation. He signaled to one of the orderlies, and murmured to the man, who hurried off after Parkening, as his uncle scowled after both of them.

  Maya somehow managed to keep her face set in a mask of serenity, while inwardly she was convulsed with delighted laughter.

  Peter had arranged to meet Maya near the boat house on the Serpentine in Hyde Park; he stood up from his bench and waved to her when he saw her walking briskly toward him in the distance. She picked up her pace, hurrying as well as her skirts would allow her. She had more sense than to wear one of the fashionable hobble skirts, at least, but Peter couldn't help but wish she was costumed as she had been last night. She had looked the very spirit of freedom in that sari.

  She took the last few steps between them in a kind of running walk, and caught both his outstretched hands in hers, her teeth flashing whitely in an enormous smile.

  "I take it the plan worked?" he asked archly.

  "To perfection!" she crowed, hardly able to contain her glee. "Oh, if only you had seen him! I don't know what he really has been up to, but the thought that I knew had him white to the lips!"

  She related the entire exchange so vividly that he had no difficulty in picturing it. It had not surprised him that Almsley had managed to dig up an actual bishop, but the fact that he had found one who either had known Maya's father or was willing to pretend he had was something of a corker.

  It's the Oxford connection again. Old School ties and all that. The easy way that University men exchanged favors and backed each other up made him a little irritated and a bit jealous sometimes, but there was no doubt that this time the connections had served a higher purpose than usual.

  "Well, since the enemy has retreated in disorder, that is at least one worry disposed of," he replied, then sobered. Drawing her over to the bench, he indicated she should be seated, and sat down beside her. "I would like to tempt you to a victory celebration, but before we even consider that, I need to tell you about something serious that has been happening. Four men have died of magical causes—"

  Now it was his turn to explain, and he gave her every bit of information he had. And to his relief, although she listened attentively, there was no recognition in her face when he described the signs, and the way the men had been killed.

  When he finished, she shook her head. "I know that your Lord Alderscroft is certain India is the source, but I've never seen or heard of any magic in India that could reach halfway around the world, Peter!" she exclaimed. "And if the Separatist movement had someone with powers like that at his disposal, don't you think they would do something more to the purpose? You know, all they would have to do would be to send a plague through all the barracks in India and there wouldn't be a single soldier or policeman able to counter a native uprising. With all of the government officials and their families held hostage, the King and the Prime Minister would have no choice but to give in to the Separatist demands."

  "How would a magician do that?" Peter asked, his blood running a little cold. "How could one person send a plague to take the soldiers and not the natives?"

  "Well, he couldn't; that's the point," she said with a shrug. "It would take too much power. But I can think of ways to do it if you had the power. You'd just send plague-carrying rats into the barracks full of fleas and bubonic plague, or you'd get at all the wells and poison them with cholera and typhoid, or you'd bring the rains early and use your power to make the mosquitoes that carry yellow fever breed faster. But I'm a doctor," she added. "I think of these things. It doesn't follow that the Separatists would. I suppose there are plenty of other ways to use magic to strike at the Colonial Government, if one wanted to. My point is that it doesn't make sense to use magic against little nuisances here when you could do much more damage on big nuisances in India."

  "That was exactly what I thought," he sighed, relieved that she hadn't seen the four reported deaths as a sign that she was in danger from anything.

  "There are plenty of people here from home, and some of them might very well have had grudges against these particular men," she added. "I think your gentleman is overreacting, to tell the truth. Well, perhaps not that. Four men did die—but I think he's seeing a menace to everyone that just isn't there." She shook her head and smiled again. "Now, didn't you say something about a victory celebration?"

  "Indeed I did! Can your household spare you for the rest of the evening?" he asked, dismissing the matter from his mind for the moment.

  "With no difficulty whatsoever," she replied, as he rose and offered her his hand. "What did you have in mind?"

  "Better to ask, what did I have planned?" he smiled. "And it's a surprise, so come along and don't ask questions."

  To his delight, she laughed, took his hand, and got to her feet. "Whatever it is, I hope it's cool," she told him. "It may not be quite as hot today as it has been, but it's still too hot for these ridiculous clothes you English insist on wearing."

  "You know what they say. Mad dogs and Englishmen." She didn't reclaim her hand, so he tucked it into the corner of his elbow as they walked toward the street. "I can promise that it will be cool; whether you'll like it or not, I can't pledge."

  They caught a 'bus for Southwark; he brought her carefully up the stairs to the exposed upper deck— dreadful in bad weather, but crowded now. He found two places on the benches and sat beside her, pointing out obscure landmarks and answering her questions with delight.

  The docks and his warehouse were a short walk from the 'bus stop. She took in everything around her with great interest and no fear at all. Of course, she had been going into and out of a far worse neighborhood than this for months now, but it was still good to see. Most women would have protested at the smells, the condition of the street, and turned up their dainty noses at the rough characters at work here.

  He pointed out the customs house, told her what each of the warehouses held and explained which firms imported what goods. If she wasn't interested, she was the best actress he'd ever seen—and cared enough about him to pretend she was interested.

  "This is rny warehouse," he said at last, with pardonable pride. "Would you like to see my imports?"

  "Goodness, yes!" she exclaimed. "You know, you know all about what I do, but this is the first time you've ever talked about yourself and your everyday life. I had no idea you had a wonderful shop and brought in things all the way from Egypt!"

  He laughed. "You make it sound far more glamorous than it is."

  She wrinkled her nose at him. "Don't you realize that it is the highest ambition of hundreds of Indians who emigrate to London to one day own a shop or a restaurant of their very own and never work for anyone else again?"

  He had to laugh as he opened the door for her. "We've been called a nation of shopkeepers before, but I don't think that was intended as a compliment."

  He unpacked some of the crates, showing her the creations of his craftsmen, and in the end, insisted that she take an alabaster toiletry set she particularly admired. By then, he had heard the sounds of an engine followed by those of his men mooring a small boat up to his dock, and knew his surprise was ready.

  "I hope you've an appetite," he said, as he took up the parcel he'd wrapped for her, and conducted her t
oward the door. "And I hope you don't suffer from seasickness."

  "Why, no," she laughed. "But why—"

  Then she saw the boat moored up to the dock, a handy little craft crewed by what was clearly a family: four rugged men with faces sculpted by storm and sea, one middle-aged, three of twenty, eighteen, and sixteen years.

  "Hello, Captain!" shouted Andrew, as the other three men waved at him. "Ready for your jaunt?"

  He waved back, escorted the delighted Maya to the dock, and helped her step across the plank into the little fishing boat crewed by Andrew and his three grown sons. Andrew had been another of his officers on his last ship, but had longed to go back to the life of fishing he'd known before he lost his boat in a storm. Peter had put him in the way of a few little money-making schemes, and when Peter had retired, Andrew had done the same, for he'd stuck on once he had enough for a new fishing boat only as long as Peter was his captain.

  It wasn't pretty, but it was stout, and as Andrew and his sons put her out onto the Thames, heading for Thames mouth and the ocean, Peter saw that she was trim and steady, and answered neatly to the helm. She had sails, but also a motor for working in and out of the harbor, which chugged along with no hint of cough or hesitation. Once they were in a position where they had a good bit of breeze, Andrew, like the thrifty fellow he was, cut off the motor and went under full sail.

  Maya's eyes were as wide as a child's and she looked around her avidly, drinking in everything with untrammeled delight. Peter, for whom all this was no novelty, caught fire from her enthusiasm, and when the engine was shut down, pointed out all the sights with as much pleasure in telling her about them as she took in hearing about them.

  "I promised you that this would be cooler," he reminded her, as they passed Thames mouth and the breeze quickened to a wind that made the boat leap forward into the open ocean.

  "You did, and it's wonderful!" she caroled. "It's like flying! Are we going to fish for our dinner?"

  "Only if you want to eat it raw," he laughed. "This is no pleasure craft, and no cod fisher either. We've no way to cook on board. This little lady is an inshore fisher; she goes out before dawn and back by midday, and her catch is in the fishmarkets by teatime. Here." He reached under a tarp and brought out a stout basket. "Let's see what Andrew's good wife has put up for us."

  Andrew's wife was a good plain cook, and though the victory feast was all victuals meant to be eaten cold, they were nonetheless appetizing for all that. Knowing her boys and her man, she'd packed enough food for a dozen in Peter's estimation. Maya paused halfway through her second sausage roll to exclaim over the youngest who had come back for his sixth.

  They tacked along the shoreline, close enough to wave at the children who came down to the sea and the fishermen who were putting up their nets to dry overnight. Peter used the smallest bit of his magic to make sure that the sea stayed pleasantly calm—and then just a little more.

  As Maya leaned out over the bow to see the bow wave pushing up, she suddenly exclaimed with surprise as a dolphin leaped out of the water just in front of her nose. The dolphin was swiftly joined by another, and another, until there was a school of twenty or more playing in the bow wave, leaping and gamboling in the water alongside. This, of course, was what Andrew and his boys saw, which to their minds would be enough to make a landlubber girl laugh and point. What Maya and Peter saw, however, was another matter.

  Along with the dolphins had come the merfolk of the open ocean, the neriads, the tritons, the hippocampuses, all of whom (whatever they had been in the past) were now creatures of pure spirit to be seen only by those who had the special sight to do so. They were as clear and seemingly solid to Peter as the dolphins; they were probably less so to Maya, since they weren't of her Element, but she saw them well enough as they played among the very physical dolphins. She was enchanted, and the look on her face, her wide and shining eyes, the smile on her generous lips made his heart sing. The neriads winked and tossed their hair at him flirtatiously, but he only smiled at them briefly and returned his gaze to Maya—who laughed with delight at the swimming coquettes.

  They finally came back into the harbor as sunset turned the sky to a blaze of crimson, and all of London was silhouetted against the fiery clouds, with the great dome of St Paul's looming over all. It was a sight perfect enough to make even Peter, seasoned sailor that he was, catch his breath. And Maya, completely enraptured, clasped her hands at her breast and drank it all in.

  We'll do this again, he vowed to himself. Often. And I'll take her out alone one day, perhaps up near Scotland, and introduce her to the Selkie—

  Too soon they nipped in to the dock; too soon Andrew threw the mooring rope to one of the hands on the wharf, and put out the plank. Maya said good-bye to all of them, shaking their hands and thanking each of them individually, and with such charm and warmth that even old Andrew blushed and allowed that it had been a pleasure.

  Then they were safely on the dock again, and the boat moved out into the river, heading for its home dock nearer Thames mouth than this.

  "Well?" he asked her. "I hope you weren't too disappointed."

  "Disappointed!" She made a face at him. "If you think that, you must be the stupidest man who ever lived! It was wonderful!"

  "Even when your hat blew off and we had to fish it out with a gaff?" he teased.

  "Bother the old hat!" Her eyes shone and her cheeks glowed with pleasure. "This was worth a hundred hats! How can I ever thank you enough?"

  He shrugged, and her eyes narrowed; she suddenly looked so impish that he wondered what she was thinking of.

  Then, with no warning at all, she went on tiptoe and kissed him full on the mouth. And no little peck either—

  "There!" she laughed. "Does that convince you?"

  It took him a moment to catch his breath and his wits. "Ah—yes—" he managed.

  "Good." She took his arm firmly, and linked hers into it. "Now, Captain Peter, will you be so kind as to escort your lady home?"

  My lady? My lady? If the kiss had blown his wits to the four wits, her words blew them back. "I would consider it the highest honor in the world, lady mine," he replied to her manifest delight, and together they set off in search of a cab as the blue dusk enclosed them in their own little world.

  MAYA drifted in through her front door in a kind of rosy fog, trailing her fingers along the wainscoting and humming to herself. The kiss with which she had thanked Peter—

  Be honest, Miss Witherspoon. You ambushed him.

  —all right, ambushing Peter had produced the result she had hoped for. He had held her arm all the way to the 'bus, held her hand on the 'bus (disregarding the arctic glares of two old ladies and the giggles of three nursemaids), and had kissed her right on her own doorstep! Not a little peck—and not, thank heavens, the kind of nasty, slobbering thing that Parkening had forced on her—

  It was wonderful. She had never put any credence in silly romantic novels, but nothing in her life had prepared her for that experience. No wonder even the poorest, most wretched girl of the slums could cling to her man and forget her surroundings for a moment.

  She had invited him inside for a last cup of tea in her conservatory, but he had smilingly declined. "I have an appointment at the Exeter Club that will keep me well past midnight," he had said, regret in his voice. "Much as I enjoy the peace of your haven." But he had accepted an invitation to dinner tomorrow, which would be the first time he had ever accepted an invitation to a meal in her home.

  Surely this was significant!

  Of course it is! You felt that kiss—you saw his eyes!

  She laughed out loud, right there in the hallway, and twirled in place for the sheer pleasure of it. She couldn't possibly feel any more giddy than that kiss had made her!

  But she stopped in mid-twirl; Gupta needed to know that she would have a guest for dinner, so that he had plenty of time to prepare. Never mind how many times he had been here before; tomorrow night she wanted to impress him!

/>   She paused in the dusk-filled hall and listened carefully; there was definitely someone moving about in the kitchen. She followed the sounds, to discover Gupta himself puttering about in the kitchen, putting freshly risen bread into the oven.

  "Gupta!" she said as he straightened. He turned and saluted her, smiling slightly. "Master Scott will be taking dinner with us tomorrow night. Do you think you can accommodate a guest?"

  Gupta met her eyes, and smiled broadly as she colored up.

  "So, the Captain Sahib has at last begun courting you!" he said, as proudly as if he himself had been responsible for it. "Good! And after my meal, he will make the proposition!"