“Agansing said that no one really has time to take care of it. So may I, please? And may I have a pot and soil for a plant in my room?” Mei waited, her slender body seeming tense and anxious.
“That sounds like an excellent idea. Tell Agansing I gave you permission, and if you need anything for the garden, he can help you with it.”
“Thank you, Headmistress.” Mei bowed again and closed the door behind her.
Perhaps with a useful activity she will come out of that shell. With that thought Isabelle turned back to reviewing her students’ progress.
* * *
Isabelle stared, and searched her memory. Yes, just a few days ago, this plant had been dry, sallow, wilted and near death. She’d noted the contrast to those around it.
Now, though, it was vibrant with color, flush with growth and taller than its neighbors, which also seemed to stand more proudly. The bloom atop it was perfectly picture-book symmetrical, and seemed to glow violet with a lip-red sheen underneath. It was beautiful.
“How did this happen?” she asked the girl.
Mei-Hua shrugged slightly and mumbled, “It was tired. I helped it.”
“You most certainly did!” she replied, but the girl had turned shyly away and offered nothing else.
Within days every flower in season bloomed huge and bright, even those that barely budded in April. The stalks straightened, the leaves filled out. All the herbs in the garden behind the kitchen sprouted thick and healthy, and the food gained an extra little zest.
Two weeks later, Isabelle happened to pass Mei-Hua’s room whilst on an errand. The girl was just coming out on her way to breakfast. Behind her, near the window, the pot she’d asked for sprouted a huge white peony.
It was impossible for such a blossom to bloom so quickly. Or was it? Clearly it had. Clearly also, Mei-Hua had a talent for flowers.
The girl took her classes, quietly, and had no trouble with grammar, arithmetic, or history. When not busy with schooling or chores, she spent most of her time out in the garden, caressing and talking to the various plants, all of which responded with straight, robust growth. The plant in her room remained in brilliant bloom, new flowers replacing the old.
* * *
Lord Alderscroft’s carriage was familiar, but its arrival unexpected. It drew up in front of the school, and he debarked in a hurry. He reached the door as Karamjit opened it in surprise.
“Good day. I must speak to Frederick and Isabelle at their earliest convenience,” he said as Karamjit took his cane and hat.
In minutes he was seated in the drawing room, and hot, fragrant tea was placed on a table between them.
Isabelle gave a nod that indicated Karamjit was to leave them alone. This was clearly something under the rose.
Frederick remarked, “So, David, what brings you to our little corner of Whitechapel? It’s hardly your usual haunt.” He poured three cups of tea with splashes of milk and delicate sprinkles of sugar.
Alderscroft accepted his cup with a nod and spoke directly to the point.
“I bring tragic news. You have heard that the King has been fatigued of late. It has reached a crisis. Yesterday he collapsed unconscious, and is now bedridden. They aren’t sure if he’s in a coma, or has suffered an aneurysm or something similar.”
Isabelle widened her eyes. “There was no mention in the morning news, nor have I heard anything from the stands.”
“No, it is all word of mouth, to keep it from the tabloids.”
Her stomach fluttered.
“Oh, dear. They have no diagnosis?”
Over a sip, Alderscroft said, “Not yet. Officially, he is taking a few days’ rest at Marlborough House and responding to a personal matter. You see, the reason I came to you is that I don’t think that the doctors are going to find anything. I think that the reason for his collapse has something to do with magic—but not my sort of magic, not Elemental magic. After his collapse, my contact at the palace was able to get me into his rooms. They were awash with, something . . . I could almost feel myself going under, slowing down. But I could not find anything.”
“And so you’ve come to us for help?” Isabelle’s scepticism caused David Alderscroft to flinch. “Don’t tell me you’ve found something that your ‘White Lodge’ can’t handle?”
“Actually, I was hoping that Sarah and Nan could have a look. I can get us into the Royal Residence, into the King’s rooms.”
She flared her nostrils and tensed as she placed her teacup down gently, but with haste. “No! Absolutely not. David, you know how I feel using the children that way. Sarah Jane Lyon-White and Nan are still children, and I will not put them into danger.”
“Love, I think we must,” Fredrick quietly interrupted her angry reflex with a hand on her wrist. She leaned back into her chair as he continued, “Will we be with them, Alderscroft?”
He nodded and placed his own cup down. “Yes, I can promise that much. And I’ll have to go along as well. They won’t let you in without me.”
She unclenched her jaw and accepted the wisdom of the idea.
“Tonight then. I want time to prepare the girls.”
* * *
They rode in Alderscroft’s carriage to the rear of Marlborough House. He stepped out first and spoke at length to a military officer, a captain, probably of the Lifeguards, but in field uniform, not parade. The other men all appeared to be police. Marlborough House was a Royal Residence, but not the Palace. The informal presentation would help disguise the King’s presence.
The captain frowned darkly, but acceded after several minutes of talk punctuated with gestures. He stepped inside, and spoke into one of those new-fangled telephone boxes.
With a command and a gesture, the two guards at the door snapped their rifles to port arms and stepped aside. That seemed to be assent to entry.
Isabelle was impressed. Not even two waifs with birds and three obvious foreigners with a less than fashionable schoolmistress caused them to be anything other than impassive statues.
Inside, a young man in a bespoke suit gestured for them to follow him up the stairs. Even the rear servants’ staircase was broad and elegant.
Little noise was made and nothing was said. They walked down a long corridor, the children uttering soft gasps at the sights but otherwise silent.
Another guard stood at a double door, its panels book-matched of some highly figured wood. There was an exchange of gestures between their escort and the guard, at which he nodded smartly, opened the door and stepped aside.
Within was a private chamber, richly appointed and smelling of tobacco. A doctor sat beside a huge, soft bed. Nestled in the deep comforters was His Royal Majesty, Edward VII, clearly sick.
His eyes were closed and sunken, his cheeks hollow. Even his proud beard looked scraggly and weak. Looking up at this remarkable group of people, the doctor approached Lord Alderscroft and obviously started to make a fuss.
Words were exchanged, the doctor wide-eyed with raised eyebrows. He looked at the unusual party and then back at Alderscroft, opening his mouth to protest. Then somehow, with the addition of but a few more low words, the doctor quietly gathered his bag and let himself out. Isabelle’s cynical mind suspected a method other than sweet reason had been used to get the doctor to at least temporarily quit the scene.
“He won’t be gone long,” Lord Alderscroft commented, rejoining the rest of the group.
At once, Gray whistled low. “Bad. Something here.” The parrot fluffed up her feathers and then spread her wings over Sarah’s shoulders.
Even the humans could feel it. There was an aura of despair. It was if they were standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down mesmerized at the rocks below, just waiting for the pull of gravity . . .
Neville quorked loudly, startling everyone. The raven on Nan’s shoulder had his feat
hers ruffled as well, and looked as if he wanted to bite something, if he could spot it. Even with the warning Alderscroft had given them, they had almost been drawn in themselves.
Sarah looked up at Gray and then over at Nan. It was obvious neither of them wanted to get closer to that feeling, but Isabelle knew it was the only way.
With a polite tug at her sleeve, Karamjit said, “Memsa’b, we need light. We need light to pierce the darkness around the King.”
Isabelle’s voice began a chant that the girls probably found a bit familiar. Sarah would have heard that chant before, when the girls had been trapped in a house haunted by something worse than any ghost. Nan reached out her hand and clasped Sarah’s before joining her voice to the chant. The other members of the party joined in. Slowly a glow surrounded the two girls and they walked forward, approaching the pillared bed.
As the girls stood by the bed, time drew out endlessly. Sarah and Gray appeared to be conversing with . . . nothing . . . or rather, with something that wasn’t there.
The darkness got heavier and the two girls retreated.
Nan blurted in a forceful whisper, “Let’s get outta ’ere. ’Tain’t safe. Back to the school.” Even though she was a child, no one felt the slightest inclination to argue with her.
They made a hasty retreat, and Isabelle felt safer the farther they moved from the King’s bedside. When they reached the stairs, she was merely unnerved. By the time they entered the carriage, she felt adequate.
“Not a word until we are at the school,” she cautioned.
When they arrived back home, Nan and Sarah seemed comfortable and secure enough.
“I think that we could all use a cup of tea. Agansing, could you please bring it to the parlor?” Isabelle briskly took charge and chivvied everyone in that direction.
Sarah said, “Please, but . . .”
“Yes? Go ahead, young lady.”
Sarah hesitated only a moment.
“Memsa’b, before I tell you what I found out, we need Mei-Hua. She has to be here.” Her solemn tone lent her a maturity out of place for such a young girl.
Mystified, Isabelle went and found Mei in her room, talking to her White Peony in a soft melodious voice, in Mandarin. Startled, the girl looked up as Isabelle entered the room.
“Mei, we have a situation that may involve you. Please come with me.”
Mei simply bowed and followed the headmistress. She did not seem at all surprised. She followed to the parlor and took the worn chair in the corner.
Finally, with all of them gathered, Sarah spoke nervously. “The King is possessed. They seek his life force. That is why the doctors find no malady. It is almost as if his dreams hold him captive and out of his body. The longer this goes on, the weaker he will become, until the King dies.”
“Who does?” Isabelle asked. “Who controls his dreams?”
Sarah shrugged in agitation. “I do not know. Only that he is held.”
It was entirely possible the doctors couldn’t determine his condition because of limits in their art. However, Sarah had been accurate in her spiritual sojourns before. Isabelle was inclined to believe her. She did have one question, though.
“How do you know this, Sarah?”
“Mei’s parents told me.”
Mei-Hua gasped.
“What do you mean my parents told you? My parents are dead and gone, I saw them die,” Mei-Hua whimpered. “I saw them die,” she repeated.
Isabelle was glad that Mei’s memory was returning, but she was afraid that the shock could be too much. She leaned over and took the girl’s hand in comfort.
“Please wait just a moment, Mei,” she said gently. After a few moments of sobs and deep breaths, Mei-Hua nodded, and she explained, “Sarah can sometimes talk to the departed.”
Turning back, she asked, “Is that what happened, Sarah?” She gave a pleading look, wanting the girl to be gentle.
Sarah nodded around her tea.
“Yes, Memsa’b. Mei’s mother was a gardener, and Mei’s father was a foreign minister. They learned of a plot against the King because of England’s actions in Hong Kong.”
“By whom?”
“They said it was some enemy of the Emperor Zuantong.”
Mei-Hua said, “.” She looked a bit more alert.
Frederick asked, “Could it be the last gasp of the Boxers?”
Fully attentive, Mei asked Sarah, “Did they mention guizi?”
Sarah nodded and said, “Yes, I heard exactly that.”
“It means ‘demon,’ Mei said. “It’s what the Righteous Harmony Society, the Boxers, call foreigners.”
Isabelle asked, “Mei, were your parents working on a treaty with the Emperor?”
Mei shifted in the chair and looked uncomfortable.
“Well, it wouldn’t be with the Emperor, no one sees him, but with Royal Ministers. But I don’t know.”
Isabelle tabled that for now, and turned back to Sarah. “What then?” she asked.
Sarah said, “There was a spirit attack in China. Mei’s parents had come up with a counter to it. Then the spirits moved here.”
Isabelle said, “If they couldn’t succeed against the Emperor, then the King would be the next choice.”
“Yes.”
Mei said, “So, that’s why we came back.” She looked very unhappy, but sat erect and strong.
Isabelle said, “Then your parents were attacked—” she didn’t say ‘killed’ “—in London, before they could tell of it. Once Mei was under the protections of the school, they couldn’t find her. So, they’ve been at the side of the King, hoping against hope that Mei would find them.”
“What is this plot? Who’s doing the plotting?” asked Frederick.
“They didn’t know. They were only able to find that it involved getting at the King through his dreams.”
“And the counter?”
“It’s my White Peony.” Mei looked terrified and elated at the same time. “The one in my room. It’s from the plant my mother bred. It’s like no other in the world. Its scent will protect the King from the dreams. We were coming to England to present it to the King when my parents died. Now I remember why they’re dead.” A tear crept down Mei’s face. “Now I remember who they were.”
Isabelle leaned over and carefully held the girl. Between the spirit attack and the shock of it, her memory had blocked it all until now. Its return would be painful, too.
* * *
After some discussion, they formed a new party, much smaller this time; Isabelle and Lord Alderscroft escorted Mei-Hua to the House. She carried her White Peony in a beautifully painted pot.
With due ceremony, Aldercroft’s carriage was let into the courtyard. They debarked and entered through the main foyer, in daylight this time.
The doorman and guards let them through, and their suited escort showed them to the front private stairs. Alderscroft said something, and there was another brief argument, but their guide bowed briefly and departed.
As the three of them climbed the narrow stairs, Mei-Hua slowed, and then stopped.
“I remember this place.” Her whisper was so quiet that Isabelle almost couldn’t hear it.
With increasing concern, Isabelle knelt down and looked at Mei.
“How do you remember it? You haven’t been here.”
Mei couldn’t answer her. Her eyes were wide and she was caught up in memories, trembling so hard she could barely retain her grip on the flowerpot.
“We were here,” she said. “It was on these stairs.”
The fear in her eyes caused Isabelle to glance up at Alderscroft. His expression was one of mild annoyance at the delay, but behind him Isabelle noticed a gathering darkness.
“David! Shields, now!”
Alderscro
ft reacted at once to her commanding tone, and raised the shields of a Fire Master, shields of ethereal Fire. Through their swirling flames they saw the darkness strike at them and rebound, and strike again. It resembled a swarm of insects in its glittering darkness, but with no actual discernible forms. Eventually, after long minutes, it drew back and waited, just beyond reach of Alderscroft’s shields, leaving them in a black stairwell that sucked up all the light that entered it. It even felt dank.
With the initial attack rebuffed, Isabelle felt Mei still trembling.
“Mei, what else do you remember?”
The girl stared vacantly, gasping in whimpers. She knelt and hugged the flowerpot.
Isabelle gave her just a slight shake. “Mei, we need to know now. What else do you remember?”
Finally Mei focused on Isabelle.
“They were only able to protect me, to get me out. I ran and I ran and I didn’t stop running. They died to protect me.” Tears rolled unnoticed down her cheeks.
Remembering the Elementals that brought Mei to her, Isabelle turned and said, “David, they were Earth and Air. Are your shields still holding?”
He nodded. “Yes, but we need to start moving. This is going to get noticed. We need a guide through the darkness.”
“Will a Warrior of the Light do?” she asked, though it wasn’t really a question. Firmly, she added, “Mei, take my hand. This time you are not running.”
Isabelle’s appearance changed with each step of the staircase. She began to glow with a light that pierced through the darkness and lit the way forward. Her stature grew and her aspect became that of an ancient Greek huntress, wearing a short, chemise-like garment that would have scandalized proper society. At least, it would have done so until they had seen her face, then they would have been terrified. Step by hard-won step, the trio climbed the sweeping stairs, Isabelle coaxing Mei-Hua along while Alderscroft reinforced his rebounding shields. When they had reached the top, the darkness gathered itself up for one final blow. Sensing the increase in tension, Alderscroft changed tactics; instead of blocking the onslaught, his flames engulfed the glittering bits of darkness. The flames roared up as they fed and then muted back down on his command. The hallway stretched in both directions, silent. Any staff had vacated the area from either spirit influence or in fear of the ethereal battle in progress.
Elemental Magic: All-New Tales of the Elemental Masters Page 18