In the moment between waking and sleeping, the divided aspects of Poly both saw time and causality spread out before them like a map. They tore their magic apart piece by piece, put it together in a different form laced with unmagic, and scattered it into that vast spread of possibility. When they woke, it would be theirs once more, no matter where they went.
Into the bitterness of defeat, they searched for the last necessary piece, and remembered the bodily discomfort of something hard and sharp pressing against their left leg.
Our spindle, said their thought. They slid the spindle from their pocket with a sliver of unmagic, and it slipped into their blood-slicked palm.
Blood to bind the memories, they thought. They pieced the memories at the back of their mind, linked to the pain and the blood.
“Now, now, that’s no way to behave,” said Mordion, quick as a snake. They hadn’t thought he’d been watching, but his fingers wrenched the spindle from their hand. He cocked an eyebrow at them, but dropped the spindle again.
“I’m not sure exactly what you think you’re attempting, my dear. However, just to be safe–”
They saw him reach for them in the last moments before sleep claimed them, hands coated with their own magic and the universe in his eyes.
“Forget,” he said, and as he said it they stripped the spindle completely of magic, every last drop; until they could feel it calling out its emptiness to the world. Then they rested, hopeful and despairing; bitter and satisfied.
“Forget,” said Mordion again, the command impossible to refuse.
They tasted the sourness of defeat, and when Poly woke, she was one again.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” said someone’s voice remorsefully.
A smaller voice was shouting “Mum! Mum! No! Let Onepiece go!”
“We’re all right,” whispered Poly, with great weariness. “I mean, I’m all right. Come here, Onepiece.”
Melchior released the Onepiece’s skinny wrists, and the boy dived into Poly’s lap, wrapping his arms around her with feral intensity.
“Mum is safe now,” he said, clumsily patting her hair.
Melchior sat back, visibly exhaling in relief. “Unpleasant memories?”
“Very,” said Poly quietly. She lifted a hand to wipe away the tears, but Melchior caught it before she could do so.
“That’s not a good idea, sweetheart,” he said. He fumbled in his breast pocket and produced a handkerchief, with which he dabbed her tears away and wiped the blood from her hand. “Did you get what you needed?”
“I think so.”
“Mordion?”
“Yes. We–that is, I–hid away as much of my magic as I could, but he got a lot. I don’t think he was expecting it to be as strong as it was, and he only expected magic. That must be why everything went so badly wrong when I went to sleep.”
“Were your memories clear?”
“Very extremely,” said Poly.
“Good. That means we can use them as evidence. I know someone who can help with that.”
“A friend of yours?”
“Yes, not that he knows it. I can’t come with you when you see him: each of us is under strict orders not to attempt to find the others. It’s safer if we don’t know who the others are.”
“Then why do you know?”
Melchior’s thin lips curled. “I’m special.”
Poly gave a sniff of laughter. “What does your friend do?”
“He collects impressions and memories. He’s quite the artiste, actually. He’s one of the few practitioners whose work is legally acceptable as evidence in criminal or legal matters.”
“He’ll collect my memories? Will I still have them?”
Melchior looked faintly amused. “Of course. Brackett only copies the memories. Can you take Luck with–”
“No.”
“In that case I’ll take you as close as I can,” said Melchior. “The streets are a bit lively at the moment, or you’d probably be safe enough alone.”
“Yes, I seem to bring out the worst in the general populace,” said Poly, thinking of the ambered faces at the Frozen Battlefield, terrifying in their joyfulness.
“Oh, they’ve been rioting for the last hundred or so years,” Melchior said easily. “Gives them something to do. They mill about in the streets holding up signs that say ‘Give back Parras’ and ‘Parras for the Parrassians’ and all that sort of thing. Occasionally one of them does something like what happened in council yesterday.”
Poly shivered, prompting Onepiece to burble nonsense into her neck from where his head was resting.
“At least no one has tried to kidnap me again, I suppose.”
“I did hear that you’d been waylaid by a pack of Royalists. What happened?”
“Luck used it as an opportunity to ah, develop my skills,” Poly said dryly. “I very nearly hit him again.”
Melchior’s eyebrows flew up. “Again? You’ve hit him before? This, I want to hear!”
“Well, you’re not going to hear about it!” said Poly firmly. “And speaking of Luck, what exactly is he up to today? He wouldn’t tell me anything. As a matter of fact, he only said one word to me this morning.”
“Hm,” said Melchior. “I know what he’s up to, but I don’t particularly want to tell you.”
There was a leadening sense of gloom in her stomach, but Poly couldn’t help smiling. “Why is that?”
“You might hit me,” he explained, surprising a giggle from her.
“Then I assume he was on his way to visit Melissa.”
“I believe so. Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll give him a bit of a hurry-up when he gets back tonight.”
“We won’t do anything of the kind. You’ll be gone before Luck gets back, thank you very much.”
“Do you really think so?” Melchior said affably. “Well, we won’t argue. I get far too much enjoyment out of being the amiable party for once. Feeling better?”
“It’s stopped bleeding,” said Poly, observing her hand.
“Good. Let’s do something fun.”
At Onepiece’s insistence, they went paddling. Poly, who could feel the stream wending its way through Luck’s yard, not quite where it should be and oddly unsettled, had told him that if he could find it, she would let him paddle.
Onepiece gave a deep chuckle and darted away across the grass, lurching between hillocks and unexpected patches of briars.
“I hope he knows where he’s going,” said Melchior, offering his arm to Poly. “I don’t! I never could find that blasted stream of Luck’s. I swear it’s somewhere different every time I visit.”
“Yes, he said a bit of Don’t See must have dribbled into the water. I don’t think he’s right.”
“That must be rather good for Luck,” Melchior said reflectively. “I can’t remember the last time someone told him he was wrong.”
“Well, it’s quite easy to see the stream,” Poly pointed out. “I can see it from the window every time I look out, and most times I can see it when I walk in the gate. The trouble is getting to it. I don’t think it exactly stays still: in fact, I don’t think it’s really here properly. It feels more like Forest.”
“As much as I love to think myself magically competent, Forest has never been one of my strong points. You’d better lead the way.”
“That must have been very painful for you,” said Poly, with dancing eyes.
“It was, thank you! I prefer not to admit weakness. Hm, your boy seems to have found the stream.”
It would have been more correct to say that Onepiece had pounced on the stream, and having pounced, held it down while it wriggled wildly in an attempt to escape. That attempt proving unsuccessful, the stream had evidently decided to play dead, and was now glimmering more or less solidly not twenty feet away.
“Paddles for Onepiece!” shouted the boy, and leapt into the shallows without regard to his trousers.
Melchior, less careless of his clothing, stopped to roll up his trousers and
remove his shoes. Then he pretended not to watch while Poly tucked up her skirts and joined Onepiece in the shallows.
“Considerate of Luck to arrange for such beautiful weather in his little patch of the world,” he said. His thin lips were more than usually sarcastic.
Poly, equally so, said: “Yes, wasn’t it? I think the land does it, actually: Luck doesn’t really notice weather.”
“No!” marvelled Melchior. “I would never have guessed! Sweetheart, must you splash my second best waistcoat?”
“Yes,” said Poly, feeling wonderfully lighter for the laughter. “Yes, I really must!”
It was late afternoon before it occurred to Poly that she ought to be sending Melchior on his way. She would have remembered sooner if Melchior hadn’t been so delightfully and determinedly entertaining. By the time she did remember, it was all but impossible to usher him out. He merely sauntered and smiled, and looked mockingly at Poly when she hit him in the arm with one clenched fist.
“A person could think they weren’t welcome,” he said.
“A person would be right,” said Poly crossly. “You’re being deliberately unhelpful!”
“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. Look at the progress you’ve made: you’ve managed to chivvy me past the house already.”
A laugh escaped before Poly could quite help it. “You’re up to something, and I don’t trust you,” she said. “Go home before Luck gets here!”
“Behold me, going! I’ll come for you again tomorrow, shall I?”
“Yes, please,” said Poly, relief warring with amusement. Onepiece was already capering off toward the house, and if she was very lucky, Melchior would be outside before Luck got back.
“Oh, and one more thing,” said Melchior. His eyes were dancing with mischief and Poly automatically narrowed her eyes at him. “Now, Poly, it’s for your own good. Please don’t struggle, I don’t think my ego could take the sting.”
Poly wasn’t quite surprised to find herself being kissed. Melchior’s kiss was really very nice; warm and deep with no stand-offishness to it, so she let herself enjoy it without wondering too much what he was up to.
He let it linger pleasantly and then whispered in her ear: “You’re welcome.”
She followed the direction of his gaze and saw Luck sweeping toward them through the grass, his eyes very green and narrow, and his magic standing out around him in sharp golden shards.
Poly valiantly choked down a giggle, feeling at once elated and nervous, and saw Melchior wink.
He said: “You might need this, sweetheart,” and tugged loose the knot that kept her glove laced.
He bowed and made himself scarce before Poly could accuse him of cowardice, which might possibly have been a good thing, since at Luck’s closer approach she swiftly put a tree between him and herself, and it would have seemed perilously close to hypocrisy.
Luck dealt with the tree by exploding it into splinters, and when Poly automatically grew another he disintegrated that as well, striding through the dust without stopping.
Poly’s eyes, wide and startled, took in the way his magic leapt in intensity, and hastily threw up a protective wall that was strong and see-through, and not entirely steady.
“Poly, come out of there!”
“No,” said Poly. “You’d only start throwing magic at me.”
“I’m not going to throw magic at you,” snarled Luck. To his credit, he was holding his magic in very tight check: Poly could see it straining to break against her wall. “I’m going to give you a good spanking!”
“Oh. Well, I think I’ll stay in here, then.” Poly looked at him speculatively, and added with a hint of mendacity: “I don’t see why you’re so upset.”
Luck’s eyes locked on hers, glowing with molten gold, and Poly found that she couldn’t look away.
He said tightly: “I told you not to let anyone in! These people are raving, cannibalistic, prairie-creepers. I told you, Poly. The Royalists want to chain you to the throne, the Old Parrasians want to kill you, and the Council wants to–”
“Yes?” prompted Poly, well aware that Luck had tumbled over the reminder that Melissa was very much a part of the Council.
“Well, at least they’re honest about it. Nobody has ever known which side Melchior’s on.”
“He’s on my side,” said Poly. It was the one thing she was really sure of when it came to Melchior.
Luck said something rude not entirely under his breath, and added: “You’ve no business consorting with him. I won’t have people sniggering behind their hands at us.”
“Nobody is sniggering at us!”
“Melchior is sniggering,” said Luck obstinately.
Fairmindedly, Poly said: “Well, yes, probably; but Melchior sniggers at everyone, I think.”
“And what do you mean by letting him kiss you?” demanded Luck, reminded of her perfidy. “You didn’t hit him.”
“Well. No,” said Poly, and added hastily: “Luck, I need to talk to you about Mordion.”
“I don’t want to talk about Mordion. I want to know why you hit me every time I kiss you and don’t hit Melchior.”
“Luck, it’s the same Mordion I used to know. He’s the one that–”
“Rubbish. I told you that before, Poly.”
“Don’t tell me ‘rubbish’!” said Poly heatedly. “I remembered it!”
“Then you must have got the magic wrong,” said Luck.
“I didn’t get the magic wrong. Mordion was–”
“Mordion’s not an enchanter. He’s not even a particularly good wizard. Your magic must have gotten too old and decayed.”
Poly very precisely pushed her glasses up on her nose. She had a feeling that she would hit Luck if she didn’t do something else with her hands.
“My magic is perfectly fine, and I remembered perfectly clearly,” she told him.
“Poly, you’re not to go trysting with wizards when you’ve nominated me as your Champion.”
“Don’t change the subject!”
“And you’re not to keep going out for the day as soon as I leave.”
“Why not?” demanded Poly. “And if it comes to that, why can’t I talk to whomever I please? You’re off with Melissa all day!”
There was a brief moment of pause. Then Luck said: “Yes. Well. That’s different.”
“No, it’s not,” said Poly bitterly. Melissa’s magic was still twined in and around Luck’s: and, if anything, only seemed to have multiplied in amount and tenacity since the morning.
“Completely different,” said Luck. “Poly–”
“What?” Poly prompted, when it became evident that Luck wasn’t going to continue the thought.
“You’re being very difficult today. You don’t listen to anything I say and you’ve gotten prickly again.”
“I’m not prickly!”
“And you haven’t been paying attention! If you’d been paying attention you wouldn’t be making things difficult.”
“Me?” gasped Poly. “Me making things difficult!”
“Yes,” said Luck, with dignity. “I’m tired, and I’m going to bed. I will be out all day tomorrow, and I expect you to stay at home.”
He swept away toward the house, leaving Poly dumbstruck for just a moment too long.
“You can expect what you want!” she shouted after him. “I shall be out all day as well!”
By the time she got back to the house Luck was nowhere to be seen. Poly, sitting down crossly in one of the chairs she’d coaxed to grow in the living room, thought that it was just as well. She laced her glove again, conscious of a feeling of grating disappointment as the unmagic spiral disappeared beneath a layer of lace.
“Angry wizard,” said Onepiece’s voice, making her jump. He was crouched in one of the corners, dismantling a small, rusty spell. “Angry mum.”
“We’re not– oh, well, I suppose we are angry. Don’t worry, darling; we’re not angry with you.”
“Not bedtime,” said Onepiece, corr
ectly anticipating the result of being brought to her notice again. “Am splashy-wet and will catcherdeath.”
“You won’t catch your death because I shall dry you,” said Poly firmly. “Must you take that messy thing with you?”
“Yus,” he said, gathering all the pieces of the spell with surprising care. “Wizard doesn’t like little pieces everywhere.”
“Very well, but no playing with it when you’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“Pft,” said Onepiece in dissatisfaction, but he followed her to his bedroom obediently enough. He stood still to let Poly dry him off, turning his pieces of spell over in his hands, and when she was finished he put each piece precisely on the wash-stand, making a semicircle.
“Can do it myself,” he said, when she went to unbutton his shirt.
“We’ll see,” said Poly, but she resisted the urge to help him when he attempted to put his head through the arms of his nightshirt.
She chivvied him into bed, cocooning him tightly in the blanket to make him giggle, then left a tiny moonshine glow of magic to keep him company and went in search of the kitchen. She was still simmering with annoyance, so when her attempts to settle in front of the gently glowing stove with a cup of tea failed, Poly brought out the fashion plates that Isabella had brought her, and crossly made frock after frock for the pleasure of disintegrating them with a wave of her hand. The process was obliquely satisfying, and by the time she began to think that she could sleep, Poly had amassed five or six of the ensembles that she had not been able to bring herself to destroy.
Now let Melissa try to look down her lovely nose at Poly! The militant thought brought with it a renewed sense of sourness, but Poly pushed it aside. After all, it wasn’t as though she had made a push to interest Luck when she’d had the chance. If she had, Luck might not now be enscorcelled to Melissa.
Poly thought about that, then thought about Luck’s utter obliviousness to any of the young ladies in the village.
Spindle (Two Monarchies Sequence Book 1) Page 30