The Serpent's Shadow (28 page)

“Would you be wanting me to personally deal with some of the more outré matters that might involve you, my lord?” Jenner said at last, looking distinctly uneasy again. “Because—well, I'd really rather not. I'm not certain I've got the stomach for it.”

“Nor do I blame you!” Almsley responded, as a trick of the light and the way he held his head made his hair shine, creating a kind of halo about it for a moment. “Jenner, I can't promise you that you wouldn't ever be called in to help
me
with such things, because that would be a lie. I'm not much good at foretelling the future, don't you know. I'd as soon tell you that sort of thing didn't happen, I really would, but it's a kind of nasty little war that Scott and I are engaged in, and war is no respecter of persons or promises.”

Jenner nodded solemnly.

“So I shan't make a promise that I might have to break,” Almsley continued, “But I can promise that if such a need should arise, I wouldn't spring it on you as a surprise, and you'd have at least one chance to tell me to take myself and my interests somewhere a great deal hotter than here!”

Jenner actually laughed weakly at that, much to Maya's relief. “In that case, Lord Peter, I would be honored to serve you,” he said, holding out his hand, which Almsley shook firmly.

Maya let out the breath she had been holding in; two problems off her hands at once—three, if you counted Lord Peter's promise of support for the clinic. The whole atmosphere seemed to lighten, even though nothing had outwardly changed. Then Paul Jenner sagged a little, and Amelia moved into the circle of light cast by the shaded lamp.

“Lord Peter, Mr. Scott, if you are finished, P—my patient needs his rest,” she said firmly. And neither Maya nor the other two missed how she'd almost called Jenner by his Christian name, nor how her fingers had reached for his, and his for hers, for just a moment.

“I quite agree,” Lord Peter said, standing. “I'm sure we've fatigued him no end, and he could probably do with something to help him rest. We'll take our leave, Jenner—but I'll be checking on your progress, and the moment you're fit to take a rail journey, we'll get that organized and you can take up your position.”

“Thank you again, Lord Peter,” the injured man replied feelingly, before Amelia shooed them all out of the alcove. She busied herself with “her patient” as Maya beckoned them aside into the clinic's tiny office.

“Protections?” she whispered, in order not to wake sleeping patients or excite the curiosity of the night staff.

The two Peters nodded, oddly in unison, as if they were twins. “That was next,” Peter Scott said. “Maya, could you help us with this? There isn't a great deal of water around here for us to draw on—would you be willing to supply us with the energy?”

She made a face; the Fleet was hardly a “cleansed” place, but she nodded anyway.

“It will be easier than you think,” Scott said by way of encouragement, as Lord Peter straightened his back and braced his feet a little apart, closing his eyes as he did so, and tilting his head back a trifle. “You've been working here for some time, and you'll have actually done some cleansing without realizing it.”

Maya closed her own eyes for a moment to orient herself, and “saw” that Peter Scott was right; in the immediate area of the Fleet Clinic the general “feeling” of the earth was nothing like as polluted as it was outside the walls. Encouraged, she plunged her spirit deep into the earth beneath the Fleet and pulled up strength from the enormous source she found there. Then, as if she poured what she found into a waiting vessel, she passed that energy to her two companions, who received it and transmuted it instantly.

It didn't take very long; the Peters worked with a unity she could only marvel at and envy, and in the time between one breath and the next, there was a shell of power standing between the Fleet and the rest of the world, a shining barrier of protection that swirled with opalescent color and light. When they no longer needed her, Maya relinquished her hold on the Earth Magic she'd called, and opened her eyes on the real world.

Almsley opened his eyes, grinned, then settled his collar and cuffs quite as if he did this sort of thing every day, as Peter Scott ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture that betrayed his nerves.

“That was a good day's work, I think,” Almsley said cheerfully. “Now, is there any chance of a cab out here at this time of night, or must I see if my abilities to defend myself against footpads are up to the task?”

He looked so absurdly eager, as if he actually hoped for a chance to try his self-defense skills against the thieves and drunks outside, that Maya had to stifle a laugh behind her hands.

“Sorry to disappoint you, my lord,” she replied, with mock regret that made his eyes gleam at her friendly insolence. “But I'll have to deny you that pleasure. I do believe I hear my friend's hansom pulling up outside.”

“Ah, well, in that case I shall kidnap my twin and bid you adieu, then send him back for you and the other young lady. Come along, Scott,” he added imperiously. “We have a report to make to the Old Man.”

What Old Man?
she wondered, but didn't have a chance to ask. Peter only had a moment to press her hand and whisper, “May I come by tomorrow?” and accept her nod before Almsley whisked him off into the darkness.

12

S
HIVANI sat comfortably in lotus position on her tiny cushioned “throne,” as the Englishman she had recently annexed to her service stood before her. He shifted his weight from foot to foot uneasily, but made no move to seat himself before her, and thus put her head above his. He was so careful of his position, this sahib, and yet did he but know it, he might as well be in chains before her; he had forged them himself, of greed, desire, and ambition. This “Simon Parkening” could be very useful to her. She had learned much more about him since he had last brought her the list of names and addresses she had commanded. These had been culled from among the employees in the firms where he worked, and were all denoted men who had served in the Raj and thus were her enemies, and the enemies of her land. Those who would not be immediately missed had been marked out. Her thugee would seek them some dark night, and more enemies of India would fall, quietly, unregarded.

She had learned he could be even more useful to her. It transpired that his uncle was the head of a great hospital in London. This place could be the source of information on more enemies. Many retired soldiers and civil servants from the Colonies and Protectorates passed through the portals of his uncle's hospital for treatment of various tropical ailments they had contracted over the course of their careers. He was in a position to find out addresses and other details; he was also in a position to spirit some of them away and into Shivani's possession, were he inclined to cooperate.

Soon or late, he would cooperate.

“I trust that the Goddess has made all smooth for you with your uncle, as I promised?” she asked—knowing that of course She had. Or rather, Shivani had. The mere altering of a memory or two in the unguarded mind of a fat, foolish sahib was nothing, and never mind that he was supposedly an all-wise doctor. A spell, a word of power, a whisper on the wind, the clue of a strand of hair, and the Serpent slid into the old man's mind and swallowed a few memories of an unpleasant altercation over a vanished patient.

“Uncle doesn't recall a thing,” Parkening replied, a gloating smile on his sensuous lips. “I'm back in his good graces again. I wish, though, you could get him to dismiss that damned Irishman; I'm
sure
he was the one that spirited Jenner out of there. He's too arrogant by half, that O‘Reilly.”

Shivani frowned behind the black cloud of her veil. She didn't like to admit that there were things she couldn't do, especially not to this barbarian. “If the Goddess had ample evidence of your commitment, something might be done,” she temporized, her tone made sharper with an edge of accusation. “No!” she corrected waspishly as his hand moved slightly toward the wallet pocket in his jacket. “Not
money!
How often must I tell you that the Goddess requires coin of another color?”

“She'd have had it, if I'd been able to get my hands on Jenner,” Parkening muttered, coloring angrily under her gaze.

Shivani only laughed at him; he was so easy to manipulate. “And what makes you think that a damaged sacrifice would have been acceptable to Her?” the priestess taunted. “You have access, means, and
money,
which latter you seem to believe can solve every dilemma. Your first gift was acceptable—but only acceptable. It proved your intent, but not your will. If you wish to move the Goddess to help you, you must show Her the level of your devotion. The man you intended to give to Her was no fit offering. He was damaged and he was of no interest to Her. Bring Her something
She
values, not some fool you wished to be revenged upon. Bring Her one who is—or was—Her enemy. That is the meat and drink She craves, not your leavings.”

Parkening's high color faded, and his cheek paled. He fingered his lapel nervously. Shivani smiled. She knew that the way to keep this fool was to continue to challenge him to prove himself. While he focused on proving himself, he would not see the ropes binding him tighter and tighter. One day he would awaken and find it was no longer possible to escape, even into death. “I don't know—” he muttered.

“Then you are not fit to serve Her and be rewarded,” Shivani replied contemptuously. “Every one of Her followers here has brought Her sacrifice after sacrifice with his own hands. If you truly desire Her blessings, you cannot do less.” She made a dismissive motion with one tiny hand, on which gem-heavy rings sparkled in the dim light. Parkening gazed on that sparkle hungrily. He was well-off, but he craved riches, immense riches—among many other things.

As do all fools, jackdaws, and magpies who seek only pretty baubles to play with. Children!
Shivani thought contemptuously.

“I'll see what I can do,” he temporized.

“Do,
or do not,” she scoffed. “Make no half-promises you are too weak to keep and can renounce if you fail. The Goddess is not moved by promises, but by deeds. Make Her a gift, or seek elsewhere for what you desire.”

This time she nodded to the dacoits who stood on either side of the door behind Parkening. They pulled the door open and waited impassively. There was no mistaking her intent. He was dismissed.

With ill grace, he bowed to her, turned on his heel, and left. The dacoits followed him, closing the door behind them, to make certain that he left the building.

Once they were gone, Shivani relaxed. She reclined in the cushions of her alcove, and carefully contemplated the person of Simon Parkening.

He was weak, but strong enough to be useful, and ruthless enough so long as he himself was in no physical danger. He
had
brought the Goddess a sacrifice, in fact, one that Shivani was going to make use of in another hour or so, when the stars were right. He'd been clever enough to understand what it was that Kali Durga fed on. Last night he had gone out into the streets and obtained a girl, a child-whore, being careful to pay highly enough for her services that her “protector” focused on the money and not on the customer, and he saw that her panderer did not get a good look at his face nor inquire where he was going other than the cheap boarding house from which there were many exits. He'd brought the child here, unconscious from a light blow to the head. Kali Durga cared nothing for virginity, only for potential fecundity. In fact, the Goddess on occasion preferred a sacrifice that had been polluted. This child, her virginity plundered and potentially able to produce a dozen more enemies of the Goddess out of her body, was indeed a fitting sacrifice.

But
this was only a sacrifice valuable enough to buy Parkening a small favor, and that favor had been granted. Parkening's servant had offended him. He set his dogs on the man, hoping to kill him, and fool as he was, had not made certain of the rest of his servants before he had given in to his impulse. They had rescued the man and had taken him to the very hospital where the uncle ruled. Parkening had again proved his lack of wit by not arranging the disposal of his servant immediately and personally. Instead, he had left it to others. By the time he realized that the servant was not going to favor him by dying and had moved to act, it was too late.

And there, yet again, he proved how foolish he was. At this point, Shivani would have washed her hands of the situation. The man could not possibly obtain another place in London, so if he lived, he would have to make his way elsewhere. The place he got would of necessity be obscure. He could do Parkening no harm. What point was there in pursuit, or in trying to punish those who had aided him?

None, of course, but Parkening was a creature of emotion and rash impulse rather than thought.

Shivani dismissed him from her mind. He was as yet only potentially of great use. She would not permit him to cost her any care.

There were, however, areas of potential trouble that she could not leave unwatched. As her own strength grew, she had become aware of certain strongholds of magic in this city. Some of those were of the sort Parkening had consorted with, commanded by those who walked the shadowed paths, and whose power, like Shivani‘s, was drawn from the wells of the suffering of others. But some—and these were stronger—were not.

Those who captained these strongholds took their strength from the elements of nature itself, and their magic was an alien thing to Shivani. She was wary of them in consequence; she could not reason out their aims or their attitudes. Yet—they were English. Thus, they were the Enemy. She must neutralize them if she could not yet rid herself of them altogether.