Dragon's Teeth

by Mercedes Lackey

  Impulsively, the woman reached out for Mem’sab’s hand. “Then come with me!” she cried. “If this woman cannot convince you that she is genuine, and that she provides me with what I need more than breath, then I will not see her again.”

  Mem’sab’s eyes looked keenly into her friend’s, easily defeating the concealment of the veil about her features. “You are willing to risk her unmasking as a fraud, and the pain for you that will follow?”

  “I am certain enough of her that I know that you will be convinced, even against your will,” the woman replied with certainty.

  Mem’sab nodded. “Very well, then. You and I—and these two girls—will see her together.”

  Only now did the woman notice Sarah and Nan, and her brief glance dismissed them as unimportant. “I see no reason why you wish to have children along, but if you can guarantee they will behave, and that is what it takes you to be convinced to see Madame Varonsky, then so be it. I will have an invitation sent to you for the next seance.”

  Mem’sab smiled, and patted her friend’s hand. “Sometimes children see things more clearly than we adults do,” was all she replied. “I will be waiting for that invitation.”

  The woman squeezed Mem’sab’s hand, then turned and left, ushered out by one of the native servants. Mem’sab gestured to the two girls to precede her into the parlor, and shut the door behind them.

  “What did you think of the lady, Nan?” asked their teacher, as the two children took their places side-by-side, on the loveseat they generally shared when they were in the parlor together.

  Nan assessed the woman as would any street-child; economics came first. “She’s in mournin’ an’ she’s gentry,” Nan replied automatically. “Silk gowns fer mournin’ is somethin’ only gentry kin afford. I ’spect she’s easy t’ gammon, too; paid no attention t’us, an’ I was near enough t’ get me hand into ’er purse an’ her never knowin’ till she was home. An’ she didn’ ask fer a cab t’ be brung, so’s I reckon she keeps ’er carriage. That’s not jest gentry, tha’s quality.”

  “Right on all counts, my dear,” Mem’sab said, a bit grimly. “Katherine has no more sense than one of the babies, and never had. Her parents didn’t spoil her, but they never saw any reason to educate her in practical matters. They counted on her finding a husband who would do all her thinking for her, and as a consequence, she is pliant to any hand that offers mastery. She married into money; her husband has a very high position in the Colonial Government. Nothing but the best school would do for her boy, and a spoiled little lad he was, too.”

  Gray suddenly began coughing, most realistically, a series of terrible, racking coughs, and Sarah turned her head to look into her eyes. Then she turned back to Mem’sab. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” the child said, quite matter-of-factly. “He got sick, and died. That’s who she’s in mourning for.”

  “Quite right, and as Gray showed us, he caught pneumonia.” Mem’sab looked grim. “Poor food, icy rooms, and barbaric treatment—” She threw up her hands, and shook her head. “There’s no reason to go on; at least Katherine has decided to trust her twins to us instead of the school her husband wanted. She’ll bring them to Nadra tomorrow, Nan, and they’ll probably be terrified, so I’m counting on you to help Nadra soothe them.”

  Nan could well imagine that they would be terrified; not only were they being left with strangers, but they would know, at least dimly, that their brother had come away to school and died. They would be certain that the same was about to happen to them.

  “That, however, is not why I sent for you,” Mem’sab continued. “Katherine is seeing a medium; do either of you know what that is?”

  Sarah and Nan shook their heads, but Gray made a rude noise. Sarah looked shocked, but Nan giggled and Mem’sab laughed.

  “I am afraid that Gray is correct in her opinions, for the most part,” the woman told them. “A medium is a person who claims to speak with the dead, and help the souls of the dead speak to the living.” Her mouth compressed, and Nan sensed her carefully controlled anger. “All this is accomplished for a very fine fee, I might add.”

  “Ho! Like them gypsy palm-readers, an’ the conjure-men!” Nan exclaimed in recognition. “Aye, there’s a mort’a gammon there, and that’s sure. You reckon this lady’s been gammoned, then?”

  “Yes I do, and I would like you two—three—” she amended, with a penetrating look at Gray, “—to help me prove it. Nan, if there is trickery afoot, do you think you could catch it?”

  Nan had no doubt. “I bet I could,” she said. “Can’t be harder’n keepin’ a hand out uv yer pocket—or grabbin’ the wrist once it’s in.”

  “Good girl—you must remember to speak properly, and only when you’re spoken to, though,” Mem’sab warned her. “If this so-called medium thinks you are anything but a gently reared child, she might find an excuse to dismiss the seance.” She turned to Sarah. “Now, if by some incredible chance this woman is genuine, could you and Gray tell?”

  Sarah’s head bobbed so hard her curls tumbled into her eyes. “Yes, Mem’sab,” she said, with as much confidence as Nan. “M’luko, the Medicine Man that gave me Gray, said that Gray could tell when the spirits were there, and someday I might, too.”

  “Did he, now?” Mem’sab gave her a curious look. “How interesting! Well, if Gray can tell us if there are spirits or not, that will be quite useful enough for our purposes. Are either of you afraid to go with me? I expect the invitation will come quite soon.” Again, Mem’sab had that grim look. “Katherine is too choice a fish to be allowed to swim free for long; the Madame will want to keep her under her control by ‘consulting’ with her as often as possible.”

  Sarah looked to Nan for guidance, and Nan thought that her friend might be a little fearful, despite her brave words. But Nan herself only laughed. “I ain’t afraid of nobody’s sham ghost,” she said, curling her lip scornfully. “An’ I ain’t sure I’d be afraid uv a real one.”

  “Wisely said, Nan; spirits can only harm us as much as we permit them to.” Nan thought that Mem’sab looked relieved, like maybe she hadn’t wanted to count on their help until she actually got it. “Thank you, both of you.” She reached out and took their hands, giving them a squeeze that said a great deal without words. “Now, both of you get back to whatever it was that I took you from. I will let you know in plenty of time when our excursion will be.”

  It was past the babies’ bedtime, so Sarah and Nan went together to beg Maya for their delayed tea, and carried the tray themselves up to the now-deserted nursery. They set out the tea-things on one of the little tables, feeling a mutual need to discuss Mem’sab’s strange proposition.

  Gray had her “tea,” too; a little bowl of curried rice, carrots, and beans. They set it down on the table and Gray climbed carefully down from Sarah’s shoulder to the table-top, where she selected a bean and ate it neatly, holding it in one claw while she took small bites, watching them both.

  “Do you think there might be real ghosts?” Sarah asked immediately, shivering a little. “I mean, what if this lady can bring real ghosts up?”

  Gray and Nan made the same rude noise at the same time; it was easy to tell where Gray had learned it. “Garn!” Nan said scornfully. “Reckon that Mem’sab only ast if you could tell as an outside bet. But the livin’ people might be the ones as is dangerous.” She ate a bite of bread and butter thoughtfully. “I dunno as Mem’sab’s thought that far, but that Missus Katherine’s a right easy mark, an’ a fat ’un, too. People as is willin’ t’ gammon the gentry might not be real happy about bein’ found out.”

  Sarah nodded. “Should we tell Karamjit?” she asked, showing a great deal more common sense than she would have before Nan came into her life. “Mem’sab’s thinking hard about her friend, but she might not think a bit about herself.”

  “Aye, an’ Selim an’ mebbe Sahib, too.” Nan was a little dubious about that, having only seen the lordly Sahib from a distance.

  “I’ll ask Selim to
tell Sahib, if you’ll talk to Karamjit,” Sarah said, knowing the surest route to the master from her knowledge of the school and its inhabitants. “But tell me what to look for! Three sets of eyes are better than two.”

  “Fust thing, whatever they want you t’ look at is gonna be what makes a fuss—noises or voices or whatever,” Nan said after a moment of thought. “I dunno how this medium stuff is gonna work, but that’s what happens when a purse gets nicked. You gotta get the mark’s attention, so he won’t be thinkin’ of his pocket. So whatever they want us to look at, we look away from. That’s the main thing. Mebbe Mem’sab can tell us what these things is s’pposed to be like—if I know what’s t’ happen, I kin guess what tricks they’re like t’ pull.” She finished her bread and butter, and began her own curry; she’d quickly acquired a taste for the spicy Indian dishes that the other children loved. “If there ain’t ghosts, I bet they got somebody dressed up t’ look like one.” She grinned slyly at Gray. “An’ I betcha a good pinch or a bite would make ’im yell proper!”

  “And you couldn’t hurt a real ghost with a pinch.” Sarah nodded. “I suppose we’re just going to have to watch and wait, and see what we can do.”

  Nan, as always, ate as a street-child would, although her manners had improved considerably since coming to the school; she inhaled her food rapidly, so that no one would have a chance to take it from her. She was already finished, although Sarah hadn’t eaten more than half of her tea. She put her plates aside on the tray, and propped her head up on her hands with her elbows on the table. “We got to talk to Karamjit an’ Selim, that’s the main thing,” she said, thinking out loud. “They might know what we should do.”

  “Selim will come home with Sahib,” Sarah answered, “but Karamjit is probably leaving the basket at the back gate right now, and if you run, you can catch him alone.”

  Taking that as her hint, for Sarah had a way of knowing where most people were at any given time, Nan jumped to her feet and ran out of the nursery and down the back stairs, flying through the kitchen, much to the amusement of the cook, Maya. She burst through the kitchen door, and ran down the path to the back gate, so quickly she hardly felt the cold at all, though she had run outside without a coat. Mustafa swept the garden paths free of snow every day, but so soon after Boxing Day there were mounds of the stuff on either side of the path, snow with a faint tinge of gray from the soot that plagued London in almost every weather.

  Nan saw the Sikh, Karamjit, soon enough to avoid bouncing off his legs. The tall, dark, immensely dignified man was bundled up to the eyes in a heavy quilted coat and two mufflers, his head wrapped in a dark brown turban. Nan no longer feared him, though she respected him as only a street-child who has seen a superior fighter in action could. “Karamjit!” she called, as she slowed her headlong pace. “I need t’ talk wi’ ye!”

  There was an amused glint in the Sikh’s dark eyes, though only much association with him allowed Nan to see it. “And what does Missy Nan wish to speak of that she comes racing out into the cold like the wind from the mountains?”

  “Mem’sab ast us t’ help her with somethin’—there’s this lady as is a meedeeyum that she thinks is gammonin’ her friend. We—tha’s Sarah an’ Gray an’ me—we says a’course, but—” Here Nan stopped, because she wasn’t entirely certain how to tell an adult that she thought another adult didn’t know what she was getting herself into. “I just got a bad feelin’,” she ended, lamely.

  But Karamjit did not belittle her concerns, nor did he chide her. Instead, his eyes grew even darker, and he nodded. “Come inside, where it is warm,” he said. “I wish you to tell me more.”

  He sat her down at the kitchen table, and gravely and respectfully asked Maya to serve them both tea. He took his with neither sugar nor cream, but saw to it that Nan’s was heavily sweetened and at least half milk. “Now,” he said. after she had warmed herself with the first sip, “tell me all.”

  Nan related everything that had happened from the time he came to take both of them to the parlor to when she had left Sarah to find him. He nodded from time to time, as he drank tea and unwound himself from his mufflers and coat.

  “I believe this,” he said when she had finished. “I believe that Mem’sab is a wise, good, and brave woman. I also believe that she does not think that helping her friend will mean any real danger. But the wise, the good, and the brave often do not think as the mean, the bad, and the cowardly do—the jackals that feed on the pain of others will turn to devour those who threaten their meal. And a man can die from the bite of a jackal as easily as that of a tiger.”

  “So you think my bad feelin’ was right?” Nan’s relief was total; not that she didn’t trust Mem’sab, but—Mem’sab didn’t know the kind of creatures that Nan did.

  “Indeed I do—but I believe that it would do no good to try to persuade Mem’sab that she should not try to help her friend.” Karamjit smiled slightly, the barest lifting of the corners of his mouth. “Nevertheless, Sahib will know how best to protect her without insulting her great courage.” He placed one of his long, brown hands on Nan’s shoulder. “You may leave it in our hands, Missy Nan—though we may ask a thing or two of you, that we can do our duty with no harm to Mem’sab’s own plans. For now, though, you may simply rely upon us.”

  “Thenkee, Karamjit,” Nan sighed. He patted her shoulder, then unfolded his long legs and rose from his chair with a slight bow to Maya. Then he left the kitchen, allowing Nan to finish her tea and run back up to the nursery, to give Sarah and Gray the welcome news that they would not be the only ones concerned with the protection of Mem’sab from the consequences of her own generous nature.

  Sahib took both Nan and Sarah aside just before bedtime, after Karamjit and Selim had been closeted with him for half an hour. “Can I ask you two to come to my study with me for a bit?” he asked quietly. He was often thought to be older than Mem’sab, by those who were deceived by the streaks of gray at each temple, the stiff way that he walked, and the odd expression in his eyes, which seemed to Nan to be the eyes of a man who had seen so much that nothing surprised him anymore. Nan had trusted him the moment that she set eyes on him, although she couldn’t have said why.

  “So long as Nadra don’t fuss,” Nan replied for both of them. Sahib smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “I have already made it right with Nadra,” he promised. “Karamjit, Selim, and Mem’sab are waiting for us.”

  Nan felt better immediately, for she really hadn’t wanted to go sneaking around behind Mem’sab’s back. From the look that Sarah gave her, Nan reckoned that she felt the same.

  “Thank you, sir,” Sarah said politely. “We will do just as you say.”

  Very few of the children had ever been inside the sacred precincts of Sahib’s office; the first thing that struck Nan was that it did not smell of tobacco, but of sandalwood and cinnamon. That surprised her; most of the men she knew smoked although their womenfolk disapproved of the habit, but evidently Sahib did not, not even in his own private space.

  There was a tiger-skin on the carpet in front of the fire, the glass eyes in its head glinting cruelly in a manner unnerving and lifelike. Nan shuddered, and thought of Shere Khan, with his taste for man-cub. Had this been another terrible killer of the jungle? Did tigers leave vengeful ghosts?

  Heavy, dark drapes of some indeterminate color shut out the cold night. Hanging on the walls, which had been papered with faded gold arabesque upon a ground of light brown, was a jumble of mementos from Sahib’s life in India: crossed spears, curious daggers and swords, embroidered tapestries of strange characters twined with exotic flowers and birds, carved plaques of some heavy, dark wood inlaid with brass, bizarre masks that resembled nothing less than brightly painted demons. On the desk and adorning the shelves between the books were statues of half- and fully-naked gods and goddesses, more bits of carving in wood, stone, and ivory. Bookshelves built floor-to-ceiling held more books than Nan had known existed. Sahib took his place b
ehind his desk, while Mem’sab perched boldly on the edge of it. Selim and Karamjit stood beside the fire like a pair of guardian statues themselves, and Sahib gestured to the children to take their places on the overstuffed chairs on either side of the fireplace. Nan waited tensely, wondering if Mem’sab was going to be angry because they went to others with their concerns. Although it had not fallen out so here, she was far more used to being in trouble over something she had done than in being encouraged for it, and the reflexes were still in place.

  “Karamjit tells me that you four share some concern over my planned excursion to the medium, Nan,” Mem’sab said, with a smile that told Nan she was not in trouble for her meddling, as she had feared. “They went first to Sahib, but as we never keep secrets from one another, he came to me. And I commend all four of you for your concern and caution, for after some discussion, I was forced to agree with it.”

  “And I would like to commend both of you, Nan, Sarah, for having the wisdom to go to an adult with your concerns,” added Sahib, with a kindly nod to both of them that Nan had not expected in the least. “That shows great good sense, and please, continue to do so in the future.”

  “I thought—I was afeared—” Nan began, then blurted out all that she’d held in check. “Mem’sab is ’bout the smartest, goodest lady there is, but she don’t know bad people! Me, I know! I seed ’em, an’ I figgered that they weren’t gonna lay down an’ lose their fat mark without a fight!”

  “And very wise you were to remind us of that,” Sahib said gravely. “I pointed out to Mem’sab that we have no way of knowing where this medium is from, and she is just as likely to be a criminal as a lady—more so, in fact. Just because she speaks, acts, and dresses like a lady, and seeks her clients from among the gentry, means nothing; she could easily have a crew of thugs as her accomplices.”

  “As you say, Sahib,” Karamjit said gravely. “For, as it is said, it is a short step from a deception to a lie, from a lie to a cheat, from a cheat to a theft, and from a theft to a murder.”