The stuff was getting thinner, less a sludge in the blood and more a color—then less a color than a stain—then it had thinned to the point where he could barely find any of it at all—
And that was when Almsley shook his elbow, and he fought his way back out through that horrid fog, which had by this point thickened to the point that it was a sludge, or a kind of quicksand. It left a taint in the back of the mind in the same way that a mouthful of foul liquid left a taint in the back of the throat. He came back to himself, retching in reaction to it.
Gopal was at his elbow, steadying him, as he opened his eyes on the surgery.
Almsley looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes and strain in every feature; he knew he didn't look much better. It was hard to make out O'Reilly's face under all that hair, but his complexion was certainly pale enough.
And we aren't even close to finished yet—
His hand sought Maya's, and he felt her wrist for a pulse. Strong and steady, thank God! And her chest, now decently covered with a sheet, rose and fell normally. She looked asleep to all outer appearance, except that her eyes, too, were sunken, her cheeks hollowed, and her skin as pale as porcelain, every vestige of color drained from it.
"We're holdin' our own," O'Reilly said, as Peter looked up at him. "That was good work ye done." He glanced past Peter at the other man. "Almsley, I had no notion from that silly-ass manner uv yours that ye had that level uv skill."
"Well, that's rather the point of the manner, old man. I want people to underestimate me," Almsley said wearily, then turned to Peter. "What are we going to do about that spell that's on her?"
No beating around the bush with Almsley, thank God. "I have someone out trying to find out where these dacoits are; where they are, that's where we'll find the source of all this." His own gaze moved past Peter Almsley to Gupta, who shook his head slightly. He stifled a groan. "Well, she's not back yet—frankly, Twin, she's a member of a gang of thieves and footpads, and if they can't find what we're looking for, no one will."
"Seeing as we already know your Hindu sorceress has managed to cloak herself handily from everything the Lodge has tried, even that idiot Owlswick couldn't manage," Almsley agreed, and grimaced. "Damn the Old Man for a fool! There are half a dozen other things he could have done when you first asked him for help that would not leave us at such an impasse!"
O'Reilly growled in his throat. And he might have said something himself on the subject, but just at that moment, the doorbell rang, and Norrey burst into the surgery.
"We found 'em!" she shouted in near-hysterical triumph. "We got 'em pinned i' their 'ole!"
It took time to get organized; Peter fretted more with every passing second, his nerves at such a pitch that he thought the top of his head would split. He ordered Gopal to stay behind, for he didn't want to leave the house physically undefended. Magically, O'Reilly, who would also stay behind because of his medical skills, was more than a match for most direct attacks. Of all the Masters, the Fire Masters were the most adept at combat, as well as having the power best suited to fighting. And while it would have been ideal to have that combative ability with them, O'Reilly was their only physician, and he had to stay with Maya.
Peter wanted to leave Gupta behind as well, but the old man wouldn't hear of it. He vanished briefly and came back armed to the teeth with a brace of ancient Army pistols, knives in his belt, and even a sword slung over his back. "I have slain men ere this," the old man insisted. "I can slay dacoits now, with little more harm to my karma."
Almsley insisted on going as well, nor was he unarmed; he'd brought his own revolver and a second one for Peter, and a pocketful of ammunition.
And they quickly found, as they looked for a second cab—their remarkable first driver and his fantastic horse having been hired by Almsley for the day, with immense forethought on Almsley's part—-that the animals were not going to be left behind either.
All but Rajah the peacock, that is; he placed himself at O'Reilly's side, somewhat to the bemusement of the doctor, and would not stir. But Charan and Rhadi could not be separated from Peter, Sia and Singhe fastened themselves to Norrey, and Mala and Nisha set up such a clamor of falcon screams and hoots that it was clear they were going along with someone. So once their redoubtable cabby had summoned another of his brotherhood, Norrey and Peter crammed themselves into the first cab, and Gupta and Almsley into the second—Almsley bearing Mala on a leather driving glove like a knight of old, and Gupta with Nisha on the improvised protection of multiple layers of rags wrapped over his left arm and wrist, held in place by an additional wrapping of harness leather.
By now it was dark; none of them had eaten, so Gupta made them all wait long enough to drink a concoction of eggs, cream, and sweet sherry to sustain them. Only then did they take to their chariots for another wild ride through the streets of London.
The langur and the parrot were silent—unnaturally so—during the careening drive. Charan gave little more than a chitter or a grunt of protest when he was squeezed by one of the cab's more violent movements, Rhadi uttered no sounds at all from his perch on Peter's shoulder. The streets were a little clearer—most people were at their suppers—and the horse pounded almost unimpeded into the depths of the East End.
"I want to stop a block or so away from this place!" Peter shouted into Norrey's ear over the thunder of hooves and the rattle of wheels on the pavement, the creaks and groans of the cab as it shuddered with every bump and lurch. "I don't want to alert them—"
"Already thunk o' that, guv!" Norrey shouted back. "An' Oi got some mates waitin', too!"
No sooner had she said that, than they pulled up at the mouth of a dark and noisome little street—more of an alley—and once they were all out of the cabs, Norrey led them down it at a trot, one mongoose on her shoulder, the other cradled in her arms.
This was all happening much too fast for proper thought, much less planning. Part of Peter wanted to bring everything to a complete halt, to return to the house and map things out properly, but the rest of him screamed in growing panic that it wasn't going fast enough, that they had to hurry, hurry, hurryl If it hadn't been that the animals were so supremely calm and confident at this point, Peter would never have ventured down this street at all, for he'd have been certain Norrey was going to betray them—
Especially when a scurvy lot of ne'er-do-wells materialized around them as Norrey stopped halfway down, just outside a little hole in the wall that might be what passed for a pub in these parts. Certainly there was some sort of light passing through the greasy, cracked windowpanes, and the sound of shrieks and laughter coming from inside.
"These are m' mates," Norrey said, gesturing with her free hand to the dozen or so cutthroats and footpads around her. "These are the blokes for Miss Maya, lads."
"Don't unnerstan' more'n 'alf whut Norrey sez," spoke up the tallest and nastiest-looking of the lot. "But she 'ad th' White Cough, an' she ain't got it naow, so—" He shrugged. "Reckon Miss Maya fixed 'er, an' since there ain't no cure, 'adda bin—magic, I guess. So I guess there cood be magic as 'as 'urt 'er."
Peter was at a loss, but Almsley wasn't. "We've got work for you, whether you believe in magic or not— and if we don't get to these people and stop what they're doing, Doctor Maya will die," he said, stepping forward, with Mala mantling on his wrist.
Norrey hissed at the leader and tugged at his sleeve; he made as if to cuff her, until one of the mongooses ran up on her shoulder and showed its teeth at him. He laughed uneasily, then turned back to Almsley. "Aye, some on us owes Miss Maya—but some on us don't," he replied aggressively. "So whut's in it fer all on us?"
Almsley leaned forward, his eyes glittering in the dim light from the single street lamp at the corner and the fitful illumination from the pub. "I'll not spin you any Banbury tales," he said, "but think about this. Those people must have bought that building they're in—a whole building—or they couldn't be doing what they are without a landlord nosing around! Where did t
hat money come from? They don't work and don't steal—but they have to eat, so where's their living coming from? There's more money in that place; there has to be."
"Eh," the leader replied thoughtfully, stroking the sparse whiskers on his scruffy young chin.
"Hindu women have all their wealth in gold jewelry," Peter spoke up suddenly, out of his own memory. "Oh, surely you've seen that, seen one or two of them walking around! Well, the woman who bosses all of those men is from a high-caste family—and she's a powerfully important person in her own right, too! Doctor Maya came to England with all her people, bought her house, rebuilt it, and started her surgery with what she got from her own jewelry, and she wasn't nearly so high-caste or important. What do you think that woman's fortune looks like?"
"Ah!" said the leader, as some inarticulate mumbles from the rest of the group indicated their growing interest.
"And besides all that, there's a temple in there somewhere," Almsley concluded triumphantly. "You know what's in temples!"
That got them muttering. Perhaps one or two of them had gone into the British Museum out of curiosity. The rest would have heard the stories from returning soldiers or even seen a moving picture.
Almsley went on persuasively. "Even if there's no gold and gems, there'll be silks and statues and lots of things you can sell, and not to some pawnbrokers either! Whatever is in there is yours. All we want is the woman herself."
"Done!" said the leader, holding out his hand to Almsley, who shook it with the full solemnity the pact deserved. "Let's get 'em!"
Maya woke.
Between the time that she fell into blackness and the time that she woke, her mind had not been idle. There were conclusions ready for her the moment that she was conscious—that the old apple seller must have been her aunt Shivani, or in Shivani's pay, that this had been a trap. She knew when she woke that she would awaken in Shivani's power, and that Shivani expected her to be frightened, disoriented, and helpless.
Shivani was wrong. She woke angry, and prepared to fight.
So when she found herself floating—in midair—unable to move or make a sound, it was the "floating" part that momentarily confused her, and not her surroundings.
How can I—wait—of course. She had learned enough from Peter, had traveled in the realms of Earth Magic often enough, to recognize after a moment that Shivani had somehow managed to magically dissociate her spirit from her body, and now held the spirit captive. When she looked for it, she could still find the frail "silver cord" that attached her to her physical body, but Shivani had done something that made it impossible for her to follow it back home.
Stop. Look. Where am I?
If she couldn't move or speak, she could still see and hear, and what she observed did not bode well for her.
She hovered, as it were, just above something that could only be an altar. Behind her was a many-armed, brightly painted statue of a woman bedecked in necklaces of flowers and skulls. Each hand held a different weapon, or a severed head. She had no difficulty in recognizing Kali Durga, and that was no great surprise—though it was odd that the statue's eyes were closed.
Didn't I hear something about that, somewhere, in a street tale? That someone in Ganesh's temple once offended him, and the statue of Ganesh closed its eyes to show that Ganesh would no longer answer his prayers?
She was immediately distracted by the sight of her aunt, however, who now bore no resemblance to the old apple woman at all. Shivani, the Priestess of Kali Durga, was, in fact, remarkably young-looking; except for a very few fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, she looked just as young as Maya. Her hair was black and glossy, plaited into a thick braid along with thin gold chains. She might have been considered a handsome woman except for those lines, which gave a cast of cruelty to her features, and except for her eyes, which were hard and cold. Anyone seeing her would have known at once that she and Surya had been sisters—and would have known at once that they were nothing at all alike.
The woman knelt at a brazier just in front of the altar, casting bits of this and that into it so that smoke rose in thin curls from the charcoal. Beside the brazier was a tube of red—Maya's own blood, still in the syringe. Involuntarily, Maya strained toward it.
"You are awake," the woman said, in a calm, and silky voice. "Do not trouble to speak; you cannot."
Do not trouble to boast, I am not impressed, Maya retorted, forming the words and thinking them fiercely at her captor, as she had learned to do when her spirit went deep into the realm of Earth Magic.
Startled, the woman looked up from her task in spite of herself. Their "eyes" met, and Maya strove to put nothing in her own gaze but defiance as she held her thoughts behind a tightly woven shield.
"I will have you," Shivani said quietly.
You will not. You cannot overcome me. You may kill me, but you will never have me. With that challenge, and before Shivani could react to it, Maya gathered her strength, and drove her self down into the earth below, searching for a link into Earth Magic.
It was tainted, stinking with blood; she drove down further, sensing that behind her Shivani had leaped to her feet and was belatedly trying to prevent her from going in this unanticipated direction. She felt her progress slowing, as Shivani "pulled" against her flight, using whatever hold she'd put on Maya's spirit to drag her back.
She strained against the pull, striving to inch herself clear of the polluted soil, trying to get even a fraction of her "self" into a place where she, and not Shivani, had the advantage. It was like trying to swim to the bank of a stagnant cesspool with a rope around her waist and someone pulling her deeper into the pool with it.
She would not submit! Never!
Her progress slowed—stopped altogether—
Slowly, Shivani began to pull her back.
In one final effort, Maya hurled herself forward— not all of her self, but just a tiny thread connected to a miniature javelin, a little anchor, the most invisible of grapples to connect her to a source of additional, clean strength. And the thread caught, held, fused—
She gave up the fight, and let Shivani bring her back like a dog on a leash, or a fish on a line. But behind her that thinnest, barely perceptible thread unreeled, and the magic of the Earth pulsed up it, giving her renewed strength and hope.
Shivani, however, gloated in triumph as she brought Maya back to her place above the altar. "You stupid, stubborn brat!" Shivani crowed. "I am older, stronger, and far cleverer than you! And very, very soon you will know just how little you can do against me. Look there—"
She gestured to the side of the altar, where there was a small mirror of black glass lying on a square of red silk. Maya looked closer at what seemed to be an entirely innocuous object, and to her horror, she realized that there was—something in it.
No, not something. Someone. A tortured spirit, more than half mad, imprisoned within the circle of ensorceled glass. A movement of Shivani's hands caught Maya's attention, and she saw that Shivani held up a similar mirror for her inspection.
"This one will shortly be your home, English witch," Shivani said sweetly. "Examine it as much as you please for the next hour or so. It will be the last time you see it again from the outside."
With her own laughter ringing through the temple, the priestess of Kali Durga went back to her magics, leaving her victim to contemplate the fate her captor had designed for her with a sinking, terror-filled heart.
ALMSLEY passed the falcon Mala to Gupta, glove and all, and peered around the corner of the building from the place where their party huddled in the alley. Peter was already burdened with Charan and Rhadi, Norrey with Sia and Singhe. Almsley would lead the initial assault force of Norrey's "mates," breaking into the building and distracting the dacoits, while Norrey, Gupta, and Peter tried to find the temple and the priestess. It would, of course, be hidden—but the moment that Gupta had pointed that out, Rhadi had leaned down and whispered into Peter's ear a single clear word.
"Guide."
From that moment, Peter had no doubt that they would be able to find the temple.
Footpad stealth and Almsley's magic had gotten them here from the place where they left the cabs without being detected, so far as they knew. Nisha the owl had made several flights to ensure that they were not observed from above, and Peter had never been so thankful for an owl's silent flight. The owl had found nothing—or at least, if she had found anyone, she had taken care of the problem without anything being heard where they waited below. Now, though, there was nothing for it. They would have to make a dash into the open, across the narrow street, to rush the door. There was no other way to break into the building.
"Ready?" Almsley whispered. His motley army nodded, and clutched their weapons.
Peter had expected them to charge across the street shouting; they didn't. They poured across the street in deadly silence that was somehow more menacing than war cries. The only sound came when their leader kicked the door open and they rushed inside.
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