The Gates of Sleep (15 page)

By the time she had only half finished her bowl, she heard
a clatter of footsteps on the stair, and the rest of the household came down in
a clump, trailed by Jenny carrying the last of the hot water cans. Properly
dressed for the day, too—a cold morning didn’t encourage lounging
about in one’s dressing gown!

“Well, finally, a sunny morning!” Elizabeth was
saying as they came into the kitchen. “Good morning, Sarah.”

“Morning, ma’am. ‘Twon’t last,”
Sarah predicted.

“Oh, try not to burst my illusions too quickly, will
you?” Elizabeth laughed. “After all, I’ll be leaving in a
week or so, can’t I at least hope that I won’t have to depart in a
downpour?”

Sarah turned from the stove, spatula in hand. “Oh, ma’am,
are you going that soon?” she asked, looking stricken. “But you
haven’t heard half the things the village folk have dug
up—and—you! haven’t even had a
taste
of one of my
mince pies—and—”

“Sarah, I’m only going away over the holidays!
I’ll be back just after Twelfth Night!” Elizabeth exclaimed, though
she looked pleased at Sarah’s reaction. “I had no idea that I was
anything but an additional burden to your duties.”

“Burden? Oh, ma’am, what’s one more at
table? ‘tis been like having another in the family here.” Sarah
tenderly forked bacon and sausage onto Elizabeth’s plate, giving her so
much that Elizabeth transferred half of it to Marina when Sarah’s back
was turned. Marina ate it quickly before Sarah could notice that
she
hadn’t finished her porridge.

“Well, Sarah’s right about that,”
Sebastian said, with a wink for his wife. “Though I must say it’s
ruined every one of the arguments we’ve had since she’s been here.”

“Oh? In what way has my presence interfered, pray?”
Elizabeth responded, with a toss of her head. “Other than that the sheer
weight of my intellect overpowers you light-minded painterly types?”

“Well, when it comes to a division between the sexes,
it used to come out a draw, and Margherita and Marina had to compromise,”
Sebastian pointed out, sounding for all the world as if it was the two females
of the household who were unreasonable when it came to sitting down for
negotiations. “Now there’s the three of you, and you run right over
the top of us poor befuddled males.”

“If you’d learn to listen to reason, you wouldn’t
be befuddled
or
find yourself in need of making compromises,”
Elizabeth retorted. “Seeing as we are the ones who generally propose
compromise in the first place, which you gentlemen seem to regard with the same
attitude as a bull with a red rag.”

Somehow, within three sentences of that challenge, the
conversation managed to come round to a spirited discussion of votes,
university degrees, and equal responsibilities for women.

Marina listened, slowly munching her way through her
breakfast, and began to see an interesting and quite logical explanation for
the dream of last night.

It had to be a dream; none of the others had mentioned any
unease at all, and they surely would. Even if they were cautious about speaking
of magic in front of Sarah and Jenny, there were ways of saying things without
actually saying them that amounted to a second language among the five of them.

No, it must have been a dream, and now Marina had a good
idea of where it had come from.

She hadn’t thought about it much, but she had known
for the last several days that Elizabeth’s return to her family was
coming up shortly. How could she
not
be anxious about that, even
though she knew that Elizabeth was going to come back? Her teacher was going to
be gone, and not only was she not going to be getting new lessons in Water
Magic, but if anything somehow went seriously wrong in her practicing, there
would be no one in the household technically capable of putting it right again.
The best they could do would be for Sebastian, the antagonistic Element, to put
the whole mess down with sheer, brute force.

That could be very bad over the long run. The Elementals
might take offense, and she’d be weeks in placating them.

So, that would explain all the unease, the tension, even
the fear. And the feeling of something bad out there watching for
her—well, dreams often showed you the opposite of what you were really
feeling, and the fear came from the fact that
no one
would be watching
for her with Elizabeth gone.

The anxiety as well—well, that was simply a straight
reflection of the fact that with Elizabeth gone, she would be feeling rather
lonely. For the first time she could remember, winter had not been a round of
day after day, the same, with barely a visit or two to the village to break the
monotony. Everyone had tasks that kept them involved except her. Posing might
be hard work, but it wasn’t intellectually stimulating. But with
Elizabeth here, she’d had a friend and entirely new things to do.

It was all as simple and straightforward as that!

Relieved now that she had found a logical explanation for
what must have been a simple bout of night-fears, she joined in the
discussion—which, despite Uncle Sebastian claiming it was an argument, never
got to the point of raised voices, much less to acrimony. Elizabeth even
appealed to Sarah a time or two, though Sarah only replied with “I’m
sure I don’t know, ma’am,” or “I couldn’t rightly
say, ma’am.” And, essentially, all of the women knew deep down that
Sebastian was firmly on
their
side in the case of the Cause. He was
only arguing because one of his greatest joys was in playing devil’s
advocate. And another was to get Elizabeth sufficiently annoyed to exercise a
talent for rather caustic wit that she rarely displayed.

At least, so long as it didn’t interfere with his
meals. The only reason that Elizabeth got in some fairly long speeches without
being interrupted was because Uncle Sebastian was enjoying his broiled kidneys.
Twice Sarah purloined her plate to rewarm what had gotten cold and
unappetizing.

Finally, he cleaned his plate with a bit of toast, popped
it in his mouth, and stood up. “You win, Elizabeth, as usual. You’re
right, I’m outnumbered, and besides, I am
not
going to waste
this gorgeous light. You’ll have to do without Marina this morning,
Elizabeth—I’ve got a buyer for Werther and I mean to have the money
in time to finance a really good Christmas. Come along, poppet—”

He gestured at Marina, who quickly rose from the table and
followed him. She saw that determined, yet slightly absent look in his eyes and
knew it of old. Werther
would
be finished—in very few days, if
the weather held.

And Marina was going to be spending a great deal of time
sprawled half on, half off that pallet, nearly upside down.

Oh well,
she thought, suppressing a yawn as she
fitted her upper torso within the chalk marks on the floor.
Uncle Sebastian’s
doing my legs this morning, since that’s where the light is falling. So
at least I’II get to make up my lost sleep today.

By the time Elizabeth left, Marina had all but forgotten
about her disturbed night. The few times she thought about it, she was glad she
hadn’t mentioned it; it would have been too, too embarrassing to be
comforted and reassured over a nightmare. And in front of Elizabeth
too—appalling thought!

She hadn’t seen a sign of a single Sylph or any other
Air Elemental since then, but they didn’t much care for the cold, and she
was too busy to summon one. The clear weather didn’t hold, either, and
they liked rain even less than cold. With Uncle Sebastian claiming her time
during the day, feverishly painting his
Young Werther,
Elizabeth
claimed the hours between sunset and bedtime. Which was only right, of course—after
all, that was why Elizabeth was here in the first place!

The result was that when the day of departure arrived,
Marina was able to build a shield two layers thick, with the outer layer
looking just like the sort of aura that any ordinary person might have. What
was more, she could shield a workspace, or even a smallish room, and within the
room, she could make the shield permanent.

She still hadn’t begun the next phase of her
tutelage, which Elizabeth said would be the offensive and defensive uses of her
power. That would have to wait; Elizabeth didn’t want her to even think
about such a thing until there was another Water Master physically present
while she practiced.

The day of departure was gray, but not raining, so they all
went to see her off, using both carts, and combining the trip with a Christmas
shopping expedition to the village and perhaps beyond. When Elizabeth’s
train was safely gone, and the last glimpse of her hand waving a handkerchief
out of the window was a memory, Marina and her aunt took one of the carts, and
the uncles took the other. Uncle Thomas and Uncle Sebastian were in charge of
arranging the Christmas feast.

“Make sure you get a gray goose, and not a white one!”
Marina called after them as they set off on a round of the little village shop,
the pub, and some of the farms. “The white ones are too fat!”

Uncle Sebastian waved absently; Uncle Thomas ignored them.
Margherita sighed. “It’s the same thing every year, isn’t it?”
she said to the pony’s back-pointing ears. “Every year, I tell
them, ‘get a gray goose.’ And what do they do every year? They get
a white one.

“Maybe if you told them to get a turkey?”
Marina suggested delicately.

“Then they’d bring back a pheasant, I swear.”
Margherita sighed again.

“Where first?” Marina asked, as Margherita took
up the reins and glanced down the road after the uncles. Her aunt gave her a
measuring look.

“Would you really, truly like a suit like Elizabeth’s?”
Margherita asked, a bit doubtfully. “Personally, I would feel as if I’d
been trussed up like the Christmas goose in one of those rigs, but if you
really want one—”

“Oh, Aunt!” Marina said breathlessly, hardly
able to believe what she was hearing. Margherita had resisted, quietly, but
implacably, every hint that Marina had ever given her about more fashionable
clothing. Nothing moved her, not the most delectable sketch in the newspaper,
not the most delicious description of a frock in one of Alanna’s letters.
“Do you think you’d really like that?” was one response, “It’s
not practical for running about outside,” was another. And she couldn’t
help but agree, even while, the older she got, the more she yearned for
something—just one outfit—that was truly stylish.

“All right then. It won’t be a surprise, but it
will be done in time for Christmas.” Margherita’s expression was a
comical mix of amusement and resignation, as she turned the pony’s head
and slapped the reins on his back.

“But, where are we going?” Marina asked,
bewildered, as Margherita sent the pony out of the village, trotting along the
road that ran parallel to the railway, into the west.

“Well,
I
don’t have the skill to make
you anything like that! And besides, we’ll have to get you the proper
corset for it as well; just compare what they’re showing in
advertisements with what you own. We won’t find anything in Killatree; we
might as well go to Holsworthy.” Margherita smiled. “You’ve
never had anything other than the gowns I made or ordinary waists and skirts
from Maggie Potter; you’ll have to be fitted, we’ll have to select
fabric, and we’ll have to return for a final fitting.”

“Oh.” Marina was a bit nonplused. “I didn’t
mean to cause all this trouble—”

“Nonsense! A Christmas gift needs to be fussed over a
bit!” Margherita laughed, and flicked her whip warningly at a dog that
came out of one of the farmyards to bark at them. “It’s not as if
we were going all the way to Plymouth—although—” she
hesitated. “You know, we could. We could take the train there, easily enough.
The seamstress in Holsworthy is good, but she won’t be as modish as the
one that creates Elizabeth’s gowns.”

For a moment, Marina was sorely tempted. Plymouth! She had
never been to Plymouth. She had never been to any big city.

But that was the rub; she had never been to any big city.
After a moment, her spirit quailed at the thought of facing all those
buildings, all those people. Not Plymouth; not unless she’d had time to
get her mind around going there. And then—well, she’d want to stay
there for more than a day. Which meant she truly needed to get herself mentally
prepared for the big city.

“I’d like something simpler than Elizabeth’s
suit,” she said, after thinking of a good way to phrase it. “After
all, couldn’t we do the ornamentation if I decide I want it later? And I’d
like that better. If you can’t actually make the suit, I’d rather
have your designs for ornaments.”

“We certainly could, Mari,” her aunt said
warmly, which made her pleased that she had thought of it. “You know,
this was Thomas’ suggestion for your Christmas present—and I
suspect he had an ulterior motive, because it means that he won’t be in
the Workshop from now until Christmas, trying to somehow craft something for
you in secret and finish his commissions.”

“Well, I can’t blame him, since he’s
running out of space in my room to put the things he’s made for me,”
Marina replied, casting an anxious tendril of energy toward the sky. Was it
going to rain? They had umbrellas, but Holsworthy was more than twice as far
away as Killatree.

No. We’ll be fine.
That was another lesson
learned from Elizabeth; how to read the weather. Later she would learn how to
change it, although that was dangerous. Little changes could have large
consequences, and disturbing the weather too much could change convenience for
her into a disaster for someone else.

So the pony trotted on, through the wet, cold air, along
the road that smelled of wet leaves and coal smoke from the trains. Out in the
pastures, sheep moved slowly over the grass, heads down, like fat white
clouds—or brown-and-white cows raised their heads to stare at them
fixedly as they passed. Jackdaws gave their peculiar twanging cry, and flocks
of starlings made every sort of call that had ever echoed across the
countryside, but mostly just chattered and squeaked.