Steadfast

by Mercedes Lackey

  Her eyes widened, and she forgot to drink for a moment. “Oh . . .”

  “Clearly leaving you there was not a good idea. We know you are saving for your divorce . . .” he shrugged, and took a long drink from his beer. “I can afford this. I’ll withhold what you were paying Mrs. Baird from your pay packet from my act, if you wish. And believe me, although I would not take it for myself, should supplying this house to you prove to be too great a strain on my budget, there are very, very rich Elemental Masters in London that I shall not hesitate to contact.”

  He looked down at his beer bottle and laughed a little. “Mind you, these are men who would look at me in horror if they saw me drinking from the bottle instead of a proper lager glass. But I will say this much for them; they’re prepared to support mages who are less well off than they are, even if they would rather not socialize with us.”

  Jack snorted. “That’s what we were talking about the other day. Nobs. Titles and money or just money alone. They’ll spend that money on us because if they didn’t, we might not be around to back them up when they need it.”

  “Oh . . .” Now she understood. Well, not the Tommy go away reference, but in general what they were getting at. “But . . . don’t they get resentful, like? And don’t they get taken advantage of, or think they might be?”

  “Magicians are an odd and independent lot,” Lionel told her. “I don’t know what it is about us, but we don’t like to be beholden. Maybe it’s because the Elementals often don’t like owing favors, and some of that rubs off on us. Personally, I know I don’t like feeling paid for, if you get my meaning. But in this case, it would be worth it to minimize the danger to you and those around you. They are well used to providing in cases like this, and they can not only afford it, they probably spend more on picnic hampers from Fortnum and Mason than we would spend on this cottage.”

  She nodded, satisfied. She wouldn’t deprive Lionel for the world—but her people were well used to helping themselves at the expense of those who could afford it. Despite their reputation, most Travelers didn’t steal, but they took pleasure in taking advantage of gorgers—what they called the settled folk—who scorned them, when the occasion was given.

  She’d never had the occasion to be around anyone who was wealthy, much less with a title. From the sound of things, she probably wouldn’t want to.

  “Oh, they’re not bad,” Jack admitted. “Some of them are all-right chaps. They’re just used to thinking of anyone that ain’t them as being someone that don’t exactly count for much.”

  “Feh, enough;” Lionel waved the subject away. “Did Mrs. Buckthorn tell you how to get to the hall from here?”

  Mrs. Buckthorn had given her very exact directions, but they were ridiculously easy. “It’ll take me a bit longer, but we aren’t exactly early risers, are we?” she chuckled. “And I’ll make that up at night, not having to queue for a bath, not having to go up and down all them stairs. And not layin’ there, listening to the girls going up and down and chattering in their rooms to each other!” She shook her head. “What on earth do they have to talk about at all hours of the night?”

  “Same things they chatter on about at the hall,” said Jack. “What they had for tea and how cheap or dear it was, men, whatever new and objectionable thing they’re being asked to do, because even if all it is, is to add a time-step to a routine, it’ll be new and objectionable. Who might be keeping time with whom. Who has a fancy admirer and whether or not the gel in question is likely to share in the bounty. What outrageous new act just got introduced . . . you’ve listened, you know.”

  She did know, and aside from the fancy admirers—there were no such thing in the circus—it wasn’t all that different from the gossip at the circus, or, indeed, at the Fairs that travelers met up at. The Fairs had been a tricky business; before Mary Small, she’d been shunned by the Traveler folks, just as the Traveler folks were shunned by people in houses. Her mother had done the unthinkable twice over; by running away with and marrying a gorger man, even if he was practicing the same sort of life as a Traveler, and by doing so against the will of her father. She’d lost her good name in the Traveler community, and no one wanted to know her. But Katie’d always been able to be unobtrusive and overlooked, and of course she was wildly curious about these people who pretended not to know her mother and father, so she’d done a lot of eavesdropping.

  At least she had until it got boring. Once she’d realized how repetitious the gossip was, it had gotten boring quickly.

  “I’ve just never been able to understand how any of that is so important it needs to be brought up again and again like a cow chewing her cud,” she said. Both men shook their heads.

  “We are mere males,” Lionel intoned. “Don’t ask us.” And at that she had to laugh.

  It was so pleasant, just sitting here, in her own place, no worry of interruption or fear that someone might overhear something they shouldn’t. The warm breeze carried no foul scents on it as it might in other parts of the city—here the renovations to this cottage and the buildings around it had added all the plumbing into the city sewer system. Suzie had carefully explained the city sewer system, and the flushing loo, and what you could and could not put down there, when she’d first come to the boarding house, and when Katie had been in the cellar she’d seen the great brown pipes that carried away the water—and other things—going down the side of one of the cellar walls. That was a decent, cleanly system. Travelers were fastidiously clean, though they were called “dirty gypsies” by house-folk. They had to be; they’d be sick constantly if they didn’t scrub and clean everything in their caravans until it was shining, and keep waste far away. The idea of a chamber pot made her a little ill. Keeping that nasty business under your bed until morning when—and she had seen this!—if you were slovenly you might just empty it out a window!

  That there literally was no one around at this hour to note that she was entertaining two men without a chaperone—unless you counted one of them as a chaperone—was a not inconsiderable advantage as well. She didn’t want to get a reputation . . . or someone might turn up at the door looking for something she was not going to give him.

  But someone would likely notice when she left for the day . . . and she wasn’t exactly going to be dressed in the mode of a respectable businessman’s wife. Nor was she going to look like the invalid she was supposed to be. That could be a problem . . .

  “Did you say you were going to hire ‘your wife’ some help, Lionel?” she asked, an idea forming in her mind.

  “I didn’t exactly say as much, but I did carry away some cards, why?” Lionel replied, looking at her with his head tilted a little.

  “I’m not exactly an invalid,” she pointed out. “And my gowns aren’t—” She shrugged. “I don’t look like I’m married, nor to a prosperous man. But I reckon I could pass for a servant-girl.”

  “But you’d be out all day—” Lionel pointed out. “That’s a bit dodgy.”

  “Ah, not necessarily.” Jack put his empty bottle aside and leaned forward a bit to explain. “You’d stay with the lady at night in case she needed anything or took poorly, get her up in the morning, go out to another bit of work by day, then come back to make her supper and put her to bed.” He smiled as Katie nodded, liking this explanation very much. “That’s if anyone asks. I doubt anyone will.”

  “Best to forestall it. I’ll drop a word or two in the shop.” That would certainly work. “Reckon I’ve learned a bit of misdirection myself!”

  “I would say you had,” Lionel applauded.

  They passed another hour or two talking about magic—or rather, Lionel and Jack talked; Katie just listened until she got the opening to mention her dreams.

  “Well,” Jack said, when she had finished. “That’s right interesting, that is.”

  “Is it a real place? I mean, real like magic is real?” she asked.<
br />
  “I haven’t had a dream like that since I was a boy, but yes, it’s real enough.” To hear Jack confirm her guess made her feel quite good inside. “You’ve been properly accepted, Katie.”

  He didn’t say anything out loud, but she guessed it from his expression; he knew that she had been “properly accepted” because she had resolved never to exploit the Elementals—and never to allow them to do something that would harm them, however much they wanted to do it for her.

  “And the dragon?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not an Elemental I ever saw myself, but I’ve heard about dragons, right enough. Them and the phoenixes are supposed to be the nobs of the Fire Elementals. They don’t often have much to do with us mages, mostly the Masters, but one could have taken a liking to you. Don’t count on it coming if you call, though. And never ask it to do anything for you if it does ever turn up. That’d be like asking Lord Uppercrust to make you a cuppa.”

  She had to laugh at the image that called up.

  “Oh, it’s a funny thought, but remember, you’re literally playing with Fire,” he cautioned. “Not somethin’ you want to offend.”

  “Then I won’t,” she promised. It wasn’t a difficult promise to make, nor would it be a hard one to keep. She’d known all her life how to be deferential and quiet and appear to be meek.

  Not that any of those things had helped her with Dick.

  She suppressed a shiver of fear at the thought of him.

  Finally it came about time for supper. She stood up. “I’m going to fix a bite, would you care to stay?” she asked. But Lionel shook his head and so did Jack.

  “We’ll leave you to the last of your settling-in,” Lionel said. “And see you at the hall in the morning.”

  She saw them out, locked the door behind them, made sure that the heavier curtains were shut quite tightly, and went down into the cellar for the butter, grapes, a little cheese and an egg and put the kettle on and the egg in it. Then she drew herself a lovely cold bath, and by the time she was done, the water was boiling merrily.

  She went to bed after supper, thinking she would never get to sleep quickly. She just noticed the clock in a church somewhere nearby striking ten, and then the next thing she knew it was morning.

  It was the arrival of the first of the staff for the offices, combined with the church bell, that woke her; she was in time to count the bells, and discovered she had woken at around seven. Perfect!

  This was going to work out beautifully.

  13

  KATIE had been in the little cottage for three weeks now, and everything had been working out so well it seemed as magical as any of the things she was learning from Jack. Lionel had taken a back seat to Jack in the lessons for the most part, leaving it to the Fire Magician to coax Katie through what he had learned at a much younger age.

  It was very hard work. It took a lot of concentration, a different sort of concentration than the dancing and acrobatics took. She had to get her mind trained in an entirely new way of thinking, and it wasn’t something that came naturally to her. It wasn’t the discipline; she could deal with discipline. It was working out how to balance power and control, because if you had a lot of the latter, the former was a mere little squib, and if you had a lot of the former, the latter became even more difficult, like handling a half-wild horse.

  By now, she could ask for salamanders to come and get them reliably, which was a great help in the magic act. She could do the same with Fire sprites. Others, well . . . they came and went as they chose, and that was that. Whether they were smarter than the salamanders, she couldn’t tell—a baby hare was smarter than a Fire sprite, it seemed, and they were just happy to dance with her if she fed them afterward.

  She felt completely at home in the little cottage now. She had her shopping routine established with Mrs. Buckthorn. She’d dropped her hints at the tiny grocer around the corner—she was completely accepted as the servant who tended the invalid “Mrs. Langford.” Being able to sit in a cool tub as long as she liked at night was heaven, and more than made up for the fact that she had to cook and clean for herself. It was even safe to leave the windows open; there was a stout iron grating over the outside of them. She took the ’bus to the hall, but a cab back, at Jack’s insistence—he had a friend who operated a cab, who charged her the same as the ’bus would, in exchange for Jack putting him in the way of fares he otherwise wouldn’t get.

  Even the strike, which had terrified everyone that made their livings off of the holiday-makers, had ended quickly.

  Tomorrow was a dark day, and as usual, she was planning to go to Lionel’s for food and magic lessons. She thought she was finally making some real progress on her control of those “shields,” which was erratic. It was that which was on her mind when she unlocked the door and relocked it behind her—

  “’Ello wifie.”

  The voice came out of the dark, and she froze, terrified, her worst nightmare suddenly come true. She literally froze; she could not move a muscle, and every thought was blanketed by terror.

  She remained as stiff as a statue, as a huge shadow rose up out of one of her chairs and came toward her. It was Dick. It was Dick. It wasn’t a nightmare, it was really him. He smelled of beer and sweat, and the violet hair oil he used to make his black locks shine as he loomed over her. One enormous hand grabbed her shoulder, squeezing it painfully.

  The next thing she knew, she was on the floor. Not struck—thrown. He’d tossed her half across the room. She looked up at the black shadow looming over her, barely visible in the light from the streetlamps outside. “Wut. Not a single good word f’yer lawful wedded ’usband?” Dick Langford asked.

  Then he picked her up by the arm, holding her so her feet dangled helplessly above the floor. “Well. Reckon ye need some remindin’, then.”

  The next hour was a blur of terror and pain, as Dick reasserted his dominance over his “property.” But she could tell—and this was even more terrifying—that he was being extremely careful not to damage her in any way that would show. Hence, being flung to the floor instead of being backhanded down to it. Pinches and squeezes that would leave her black and blue, blows to stomach and buttocks, pulling her around the room by her hair, throwing himself down on her and pressing his weight on her until she was dizzy from lack of breath—

  When he was done—and the cold, calculating fashion in which he beat her was even more frightening than if he had raged—he dropped her on the bed and sat down on the end of it. She was curled on her side, shaking so hard that it shook the bedframe. She was too terrified to make a sound, lest it start him on another round of beating. She ached in every inch of her. And yet—she knew from the past that in the morning she would still be able to dance, do her acts. He never did anything that would impair that. Somehow he knew just what he could and could not do to her that would still allow her to work.

  “Now,” he said, his voice gloating, rich with satisfaction. “This’s ’ow it’s gonna be. I loik wut yer got ’ere. I loik this place. I loik Brighton. Plenty fer a feller to do here. Ye got soft livin’ ’ere. So, yer gonna go roight on workin’ at that music ’all. Yer gonna bring yer pay packet t’me. Oi found thet little nest egg yer had put by, yeah? ’Smine now. Pay me back fer what yer stole from me when yer ran. Yer gonna cook an’ clean fer me. Yer gonna do wut I say. An’ yer got no choice, roight? Cuz the law’s on me side. Yer me wife. I got the license t’prove it. Yer me property, roight an’ toight. I’m gonna be in cream, an’ yer gonna make it ’appen.”

  He leaned over where she huddled in a half-curl on the bed. His beery breath washed over her. “Yer ain’t gonna run agin, ’cause if ye do, first thing I do is break that there magician’s back. Yeah? An’ then I’ll break th’ back uv thet gel Suzie. Then Oi’ll fin’ me some more backs t’break. Ye get me?”

  Weeping silently, she somehow gasped out a stra
ngled “Yes.”

  “I got some’un in thet hall wut knows all ’bout ye,” he said with satisfaction, his hand heavy and bruising on her shoulder. He gave her shoulder a little shake, and she gasped. “’E’ll squeal on ye, if ye don’ do wut I want. Yeah?”

  “I’ll be good,” she quavered, terrified to think of him hurting Lionel, or Suzie, and thanking God he didn’t know about Jack.

  “You see thet ye do,” he said. “Startin’ now.”

  He left the bed a moment, there was the scratch of a match, and a single one of the gaslights flared on. She huddled on the bed as he went around the cottage, pulling the curtains tight closed. “Get up,” he said.

  Trembling, she did as he ordered.

  “Take them close off,” he said. “Expensive. Ain’t gonna tear them close. Might wanta sell ’em.”

  She was shaking so hard she could hardly stand, but she did as he ordered, stripped down to her skin, slowly, one piece of clothing at a time, dropping them into the chair, because that was how he liked it. His eyes were on her the whole time, watching, watching. She knew better than to try to hide herself with her hands. This was an old pastime of his. He wanted to watch her get naked. He probably wanted to watch her shivering with fear, too.

  Then she came to bed, and he seized her like an animal.

  He did what he wanted to with her, then rolled off her and went to sleep, taking up most of the bed. All she could think of now was the little beds in the loft, beds she wouldn’t have to share with him. If she just waited long enough, perhaps she could get into one. She would be awake before he was, she always did wake before he did. She could get down out of the loft, and he would never know. She couldn’t think to morning; couldn’t think past just getting out of the bed he was in and into another. When she was sure he was sound asleep, she started to crawl out of bed—