The Serpent's Shadow (39 page)

Parkening looked positively green.

“What quick thinking, Doctor Witherspoon!” the bishop said cheerfully. “I must say, I should not worry a jot to find myself in competent hands like yours!”

“I am only one of many who are just as quick-thinking and competent, Bishop,” Maya replied, raising her eyes again. “Doctor Clayton-Smythe attracts only the best, and I venture to say that those he allows to serve in his hospital are the cream of those. I am just glad he considered that I was good enough to practice in his hospital.”

Clayton-Smythe positively swelled; any more compliments, and Maya was afraid he might burst. There was no doubt now that Maya was not only in his good books, but had risen so far in his eyes that Parkening would not dare molest her now, nor accuse her without absolute and irrevocable proof of misdeeds. And to a certain extent, Maya was not offering empty compliments. This hospital
was
one of the best; she would not have tried so hard to practice here if it hadn't been.

Parkening had evidently figured out that he was in a dilemma he could not get out of without giving up any hope of revenge on her—and that he would be fortunate if
she
chose not to play the cards in her hand. The bluff had worked. He could not possibly have looked any greener.

“Mr. Parkening, I really must insist on you seeing your physician,” she chided. “Please, you simply must go up to the Men's Ward.”

Feebly, he waved her away. “No, no, I'll be fine. I'll go home, just as you said. Send a messenger to the office—they can do without me, as you said—” He got up and staggered off, much to the surprise of his uncle and the bishop.

“My, my!” the bishop murmured. “Do you think it's wise to allow him to wander off in that state?”

“Probably not,” Clayton-Smythe replied in irritation. He signaled to one of the orderlies, and murmured to the man, who hurried off after Parkening, as his uncle scowled after both of them.

Maya somehow managed to keep her face set in a mask of serenity, while inwardly she was convulsed with delighted laughter.

Peter had arranged to meet Maya near the boat house on the Serpentine in Hyde Park; he stood up from his bench and waved to her when he saw her walking briskly toward him in the distance. She picked up her pace, hurrying as well as her skirts would allow her. She had more sense than to wear one of the fashionable hobble skirts, at least, but Peter couldn't help but wish she was costumed as she had been last night. She had looked the very spirit of freedom in that sari.

She took the last few steps between them in a kind of running walk, and caught both his outstretched hands in hers, her teeth flashing whitely in an enormous smile.

“I take it the plan worked?” he asked archly.

“To perfection!” she crowed, hardly able to contain her glee. “Oh, if only you had seen him! I don't know what he really has been up to, but the thought that
I
knew had him white to the lips!”

She related the entire exchange so vividly that he had no difficulty in picturing it. It had not surprised him that Almsley had managed to dig up an actual bishop, but the fact that he had found one who either
had
known Maya's father or was willing to pretend he had was something of a corker.

It's the Oxford connection again. Old School ties and all that.
The easy way that University men exchanged favors and backed each other up made him a little irritated and a bit jealous sometimes, but there was no doubt that
this
time the connections had served a higher purpose than usual.

“Well, since the enemy has retreated in disorder, that is at least one worry disposed of,” he replied, then sobered. Drawing her over to the bench, he indicated she should be seated, and sat down beside her. “I would like to tempt you to a victory celebration, but before we even consider that, I need to tell you about something serious that has been happening. Four men have died of magical causes—”

Now it was his turn to explain, and he gave her every bit of information he had. And to his relief, although she listened attentively, there was no recognition in her face when he described the signs, and the way the men had been killed.

When he finished, she shook her head. “I know that your Lord Alderscroft is certain India is the source, but I've never seen or heard of any magic in India that could reach halfway around the world, Peter!” she exclaimed. “And if the Separatist movement had someone with powers like that at his disposal, don't you think they would do something more to the purpose ? You know, all they would have to do would be to send a plague through all the barracks in India and there wouldn't be a single soldier or policeman able to counter a native uprising. With all of the government officials and their families held hostage, the King and the Prime Minister would have no choice but to give in to the Separatist demands.”

“How would a magician do that?” Peter asked, his blood running a little cold. “How could one person send a plague to take the soldiers and not the natives?”

“Well, he couldn't; that's the point,” she said with a shrug. “It would take too much power. But I can think of ways to do it if you
had
the power. You'd just send plague-carrying rats into the barracks full of fleas and bubonic plague, or you'd get at all the wells and poison them with cholera and typhoid, or you'd bring the rains early and use your power to make the mosquitoes that carry yellow fever breed faster. But I'm a doctor,” she added. “I think of these things. It doesn't follow that the Separatists would. I suppose there are plenty of other ways to use magic to strike at the Colonial Government, if one wanted to. My point is that it doesn't make sense to use magic against little nuisances here when you could do much more damage on
big
nuisances in India.”

“That was exactly what I thought,” he sighed, relieved that she hadn't seen the four reported deaths as a sign that
she
was in danger from anything.

“There are
plenty
of people here from home, and some of them might very well have had grudges against these particular men,” she added. “I think your gentleman is overreacting, to tell the truth. Well, perhaps not
that.
Four men did die—but I think he's seeing a menace to everyone that just isn't there.” She shook her head and smiled again. “Now, didn't you say something about a victory celebration?”

“Indeed I did! Can your household spare you for the rest of the evening?” he asked, dismissing the matter from his mind for the moment.

“With no difficulty whatsoever,” she replied, as he rose and offered her his hand. “What did you have in mind?”

“Better to ask, what did I have
planned?”
he smiled. “And it's a surprise, so come along and don't ask questions.”

To his delight, she laughed, took his hand, and got to her feet. “Whatever it is, I hope it's cool,” she told him. “It may not be quite as hot today as it has been, but it's still too hot for these ridiculous clothes you English insist on wearing.”

“You know what they say. Mad dogs and Englishmen.” She didn't reclaim her hand, so he tucked it into the corner of his elbow as they walked toward the street. “I can promise that it
will
be cool; whether you'll like it or. not, I can't pledge.”

They caught a ‘bus for Southwark; he brought her carefully up the stairs to the exposed upper deck—dreadful in bad weather, but crowded now. He found two places on the benches and sat beside her, pointing out obscure landmarks and answering her questions with delight.

The docks and his warehouse were a short walk from the ‘bus stop. She took in everything around her with great interest and no fear at all. Of course, she had been going into and out of a far worse neighborhood than this for months now, but it was still good to see. Most women would have protested at the smells, the condition of the street, and turned up their dainty noses at the rough characters at work here.

He pointed out the customs house, told her what each of the warehouses held and explained which firms imported what goods. If she wasn't interested, she was the best actress he'd ever seen—and cared enough about him to
pretend
she was interested.

“This is my warehouse,” he said at last, with pardonable pride. “Would you like to see my imports?”

“Goodness, yes!” she exclaimed. “You know, you know all about what I do, but this is the first time you've ever talked about yourself and your everyday life. I had no idea you had a wonderful shop and brought in things all the way from Egypt!”

He laughed. “You make it sound far more glamorous than it is.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Don't you realize that it is the highest ambition of hundreds of Indians who emigrate to London to one day own a shop or a restaurant of their very own and never work for anyone else again?”

He had to laugh as he opened the door for her. “We've been called a nation of shopkeepers before, but I don't think that was intended as a compliment.”

He unpacked some of the crates, showing her the creations of his craftsmen, and in the end, insisted that she take an alabaster toiletry set she particularly admired. By then, he had heard the sounds of an engine followed by those of his men mooring a small boat up to his dock, and knew his surprise was ready.

“I hope you've an appetite,” he said, as he took up the parcel he'd wrapped for her, and conducted her toward the door. “And I hope you don't suffer from seasickness.”

“Why, no,” she laughed. “But why—”

Then she saw the boat moored up to the dock, a handy little craft crewed by what was clearly a family: four rugged men with faces sculpted by storm and sea, one middle-aged, three of twenty, eighteen, and sixteen years.

“Hello, Captain!” shouted Andrew, as the other three men waved at him. “Ready for your jaunt?”

He waved back, escorted the delighted Maya to the dock, and helped her step across the plank into the little fishing boat crewed by Andrew and his three grown sons. Andrew had been another of his officers on his last ship, but had longed to go back to the life of fishing he'd known before he lost his boat in a storm. Peter had put him in the way of a few little money-making schemes, and when Peter had retired, Andrew had done the same, for he'd stuck on once he had enough for a new fishing boat only as long as Peter was his captain.

It wasn't pretty, but it was stout, and as Andrew and his sons put her out onto the Thames, heading for Thames mouth and the ocean, Peter saw that she was trim and steady, and answered neatly to the helm. She had sails, but also a motor for working in and out of the harbor, which chugged along with no hint of cough or hesitation. Once they were in a position where they had a good bit of breeze, Andrew, like the thrifty fellow he was, cut off the motor and went under full sail.

Maya's eyes were as wide as a child's and she looked around her avidly, drinking in everything with untrammeled delight. Peter, for whom all this was no novelty, caught fire from her enthusiasm, and when the engine was shut down, pointed out all the sights with as much pleasure in telling her about them as she took in hearing about them.

“I promised you that this would be cooler,” he reminded her, as they passed Thames mouth and the breeze quickened to a wind that made the boat leap forward into the open ocean.

“You did, and it's
wonderful.”
she caroled. “It's like flying! Are we going to fish for our dinner?”

“Only if you want to eat it raw,” he laughed. “This is no pleasure craft, and no cod fisher either. We've no way to cook on board. This little lady is an inshore fisher; she goes out before dawn and back by midday, and her catch is in the fishmarkets by teatime. Here.” He reached under a tarp and brought out a stout basket. “Let's see what Andrew's good wife has put up for us.”

Andrew's wife was a good plain cook, and though the victory feast was all victuals meant to be eaten cold, they were nonetheless appetizing for all that. Knowing her boys and her man, she'd packed enough food for a dozen in Peter's estimation. Maya paused halfway through her second sausage roll to exclaim over the youngest who had come back for his sixth.

They tacked along the shoreline, close enough to wave at the children who came down to the sea and the fishermen who were putting up their nets to dry overnight. Peter used the smallest bit of his magic to make sure that the sea stayed pleasantly calm—and then just a little more.

As Maya leaned out over the bow to see the bow wave pushing up, she suddenly exclaimed with surprise as a dolphin leaped out of the water just in front of her nose. The dolphin was swiftly joined by another, and another, until there was a school of twenty or more playing in the bow wave, leaping and gamboling in the water alongside. This, of course, was what Andrew and his boys saw, which to their minds would be enough to make a landlubber girl laugh and point. What Maya and Peter saw, however, was another matter.