“Oh, what utter nonsense,” she said to herself. “He probably wouldn’t even have noticed.”
Chapter Nineteen
Luck was already gone when Poly and Onepiece finished breakfast. Poly wasn’t surprised by that, but she was surprised that Isabella hadn’t yet made an appearance, and a sneaking suspicion made her stroll to the gate with Onepiece prancing beside her. Having done so, she found Isabella leaning elegantly against one of the alley walls and sighing at her polished fingernails.
When she saw the gate open, Isabella said resignedly: “What’s Luck done this time?”
“Silenced the hailer, by the looks,” said Poly, giving the door magic a brief overlook. She ushered Isabella in, finding in the process that when open, the doorway strenuously resisted any attempt she made to approach closer than a foot towards it.
“Dear me!” said Isabella. “Luck has been busy, hasn’t he?”
Poly, struggling to close the gate again, gave her an expressive look.
“How wonderful!” Isabella said, laughing delightedly. “Luck is becoming more interesting than ever! Shall you be confined to the premises, then?”
“I don’t think so,” said Poly grimly, succeeding at last.
“Good for you! Will you be going out straight away?”
“No: I need your advice first.”
“Even more wonderful! I delight in giving out advice!”
“Amongst other things,” said Poly, with a rather dry laugh. Isabella was younger even than Margaret, but her quickness of mind made it difficult to remember that she was two years younger than the other girl, and some three or four years younger than Poly herself.
Isabella’s grey eyes danced. “Oh yes! Amongst many other things! But I do believe you and Luck are my favouritest thing at the moment. Shall you be wanting advice on matters of dress?”
“Yes: I made a few things last night.”
“Just made a few things last night!” sighed Isabella enviously. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for your talent! Very well: show me to the goodies.”
Much to Poly’s secret satisfaction, Isabella immediately pointed to Poly’s favourite emerald-green ensemble.
“This one, without a doubt. Lengthen the cuffs a trifle, and make the bustle more of a suggestion than an actual bustle, and you’ll be the most fashionable lady traversing the streets of the Capital. Excepting myself, of course.”
“Of course,” agreed Poly, making the suggested changes with a few tweaks. “Anything else?
“Well, that depends.”
“On?”
“Well, were I making this particular ensemble for myself–and do feel free to take that as a hint, by the bye–I’d put in an extra fall of material just here, beneath the bustle.”
“That’ll make it heavier, won’t it?” said Poly curiously, making a few more tweaks. Her experience with Isabella’s sense of style had led her to believe that Isabella preferred a certain simplicity and elegance of cut.
“Oh, certainly; but the benefits far outweigh the drawback of an extra pound or so of weight. The cut will still look slim and tight, but should you need to run–”
“Now, where would you get the idea that I might need to run?” asked Poly, her eyes bright with amusement.
Isabella met them, her own dancing. “An extensive knowledge of Luck. Besides, the extra fall of material is decidedly elegant, don’t you think?”
“I do,” agreed Poly, observing the difference. She made a little blue flicking of magic that slithered around her and curled out into green velvet.
“The world is an unfair place,” Isabella sighed, watching with envious interest. “Shall you be walking out with Melchior today?”
“I shall.”
“So unfair! Oh, not those shoes, Poly! You can’t wear slippers out for daywear!”
“What if I need to run?” countered Poly.
“Learn to run in heeled boots, naturally! Black, of course, tooled with an elegant version of spats– not real ones, thank you very much. If you’re very sophisticated you may have a red or gold heel, but I suggest leaving those for evening wear.”
“I’ll probably break an ankle,” said Poly; and then, observing Isabella’s shoes: “Yours aren’t black and white.”
“No, but I am excessively sophisticated.”
“And very modest,” nodded Poly.
Isabella gave her an enchanting grin. “So Aunt Oddu says. Is that yelling at the gate, do you suppose?”
“Melchior!” said Poly in dismay. “I’d better go. Onepiece is working on a spell: don’t let him experiment with it in the house, will you?”
“Certainly not,” said Isabella cheerfully. “Do have a lovely day! I’m sure you will: after all, you’ll have some delightful scenery to look at.”
Poly met Isabella’s saucy look with a narrow-eyed one, and hurried off to do battle with Luck’s gate once again.
“I really approve,” said Melchior. “In fact, I congratulate Luck.”
“You could have helped,” said Poly. Her cheeks were still hot and flushed. The enchantment Luck had put on the gate hadn’t been easy to bypass. In the end she had been forced to shove through it by sheer brute force, leading to some disarray of her new ensemble and a very high flush. Luck’s enchantment had fared much worse.
“And miss that particularly luscious little blush? I think not. Is the firebrand responsible for your new outfittings?”
“By and large,” said Poly, growing a little pinker. “Melchior, do you have to put your arm around my waist?”
“Rhetorically, or essentially?” asked Melchior, his thin lips curling. “I’ve a feeling that my time with you is fleeting. I therefore feel it incumbent upon me to take up every opportunity of putting my arms around you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” said Poly. “Not with Mordion and Luck, and everything.”
“Yes,” said Melchior, still with that twisted smile. “Everything. However, things must eventually change, whether or no I will, and until then I shall enjoy the moment.”
“I thought I was in love once before Luck,” Poly said. “It was silly, now that I come to think of it. Only he was so beautiful, and so much fun, and I got a bit carried away.”
“Are you sharing life lessons, sweetheart? Life goes on, and so on?”
“No,” Poly said slowly: “Only by rights, I should have fallen in love with you: you’re obviously cut out to be the hero of the piece. I’m sure it would have been more comfortable than being in love with Luck.”
“Ah, the double-edged sword,” said Melchior. He was grinning. “One wonders if one is supposed to be inordinately flattered, or mildly insulted. One likes to think that one would be an exciting lover.”
“You’re exciting in all the right ways,” Poly said comfortingly. “Luck is exasperating and annoying– oh, and wonderful and home. I’ve never felt at home before. Melchior, you’ve made me maudlin!”
“Then do feel free to consider this arm a comforting rather than a romantic gesture.”
“Very kind of you.”
“Altruistic, in fact,” nodded Melchior. “No, Poly, I think we won’t go down that street.”
Poly looked around him. “Are those people holding sticks?”
“Signs. Someone must have arranged a protest. Shall we go by the back way?”
“Another of your secret passages?”
“I’ve only one talent,” said Melchior, his mouth more than usually sarcastic. “I flaunt it where and when I find myself able. Stay close.”
This hidden corridor was stone instead of brick, and didn’t curve as circuitously as the first had. Poly paid attention this time, running her fingers idly through the sable strands of magic that forged an impossible path through stone and wood and mortar, and thought she understood how it was done.
Melchior gave her a swift look beneath his lashes, but only said: “Here is where you and I part ways, Poly. It would be unfortunate if anyone inconvenient was to see us together in B
rackett’s vicinity– especially when it leaks out that he’s Preserved your memories as evidence. I have something of a reputation to uphold.”
“All right,” said Poly, feeling absurdly abandoned. It was ridiculous to feel anxious about something as relatively normal as paying a house call. Luck had dragged her into far more perilous situations.
Only if Luck was with her, Poly thought, she wouldn’t feel anxious. Because Luck, for all his throwing magic and suspicious lack of attention, had always been paying attention at just the right moment.
“I’ll be right here waiting for you,” said Melchior encouragingly. “And Brackett doesn’t bite, after all. He’s a bad-tempered, penny-pinching old miser, but he knows his job. Number eight.”
The memory business must have served Brackett well– his house was the finest in the street, and the street itself was finer than any Poly had yet seen, excepting only the Capital Square. It was certainly nothing like the ordinary little street that Luck’s house was attached to.
There was no door-knocker, nor was there a bell-pull; but when Poly dubiously pressed the little button beside the door, she heard a faint buzzing from the other side of the door. She sent out bright blue tendrils of magic to explore this new phenomenon, and discovered to her surprise that unlike Luck’s hailer, this buzzer was not magical. It sparked with a sharp metal life all of its own. While she was still surveying the metal-wired buzzer the door opened, a soft, inward tug of air that disconcerted Poly.
“The Sleeping Princess to see Doctor Brackett,” she said, startled into a brief staccato of words.
The butler’s face went slightly blank with shock and then firmed into lines of immense rigidity.
“Will you come in, Your Highness? I will place you in the sitting room, if I may be so bold. Doctor Brackett will be with you immediately.”
He wheeled in as grand a manner as any steward, and Poly followed his poker-straight back down the grand hall and into a large receiving room. The windows were tall and thin and clear, streaming sunlight into the room from the road: the effect was at once warm and slightly chilling. Poly sat down in one of the elegant chairs, careful of her half-bustle, and was composed enough to cross her ankles and incline her head graciously when the butler said: “May I say, your Highness, what an honour it is to welcome you. I shall fetch the Master.”
Brackett’s examination room was as contradictorily warm and chill as the lower rooms had been. Poly, sitting more gingerly than ever on the leather chair she was offered, watched Brackett pour tea. He was a small, white-haired man in very precisely mended clothing, as if after the extravagance of the best house in the street, he had felt the need to economise. His face was sharp and acquisitive, with clever eyes and a sly smile that Poly wasn’t sure she liked. He looked capable.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said at last, offering one of the teacups to her.
“So I understand,” Poly said, refusing to be impressed.
Brackett gave a sharp grin. “Friends in high places, Your Highness! Friends in high places, eh? You have some memories for me?”
“I believe so. Our friends would like them– well, copied, or whatever it is you do to them.”
“Evidence, is it?” Brackett’s eyes were sharp. “Sorry, highness: I forgot the sugar cubes! Allow me!”
Poly opened her mouth to protest that she didn’t take sugar in her tea, but a cube had already tumbled into her cup from Brackett’s silver sugar tongs.
He said: “Help yourself to biscuits, your Highness. I have a few things to prepare.”
Interested, Poly sipped her tea and watched him. There were magical things about the room, mostly small, uninteresting charms; but Brackett wasn’t tinkering with any of them. When it came right down to it he didn’t seem to be doing much except moving things around on his desk, and that was curious.
Poly blinked at his quick, clever fingers, her teacup tumbling to the carpeted floor, and thought: That’s funny. The room’s gone dark.
She felt a soft, distant tickle of fear in her stomach. The curse was broken: why was she falling asleep? What had Brackett put in the tea?
She moved one heavy hand, fingers tangled in the laces of her other, gloved hand, and somewhere across the room, a small magical something sparked a huge magical Something Else.
“Sit. Still,” said Brackett’s voice. There was something stiff and wrong about it. “I. Will attend. To you. Shortly.”
He was moving his fingers again–this time curiously, jerkily–and Poly thought she understood. The magical Something Else was surrounding Brackett like a haze, seeping into skin and nail, and Someone Else was gradually taking over his body.
Poly fumbled at the laces of her glove again, cold and heavy and clumsy, and felt the warmth of antimagic spiralling up her arm. It pricked at the lethargy in her limbs, sending a shock of wakefulness through her, and Poly gulped in a breath that felt fresh and blissfully alive.
“Don’t bother struggling, darling,” said Brackett. It was still his voice, but Poly knew the cadence of the words: the slightly mocking tone to the endearment. “It’s not a spell– it’s tincture of lilly-pilly. There’s no fighting that, I’m afraid.”
“Mordion,” said Poly, curling the fingers of her antimagic hand. She had the feeling that she would need it before long. The lilly-pilly, now– that was easy enough. “There’s magic in everything. You should know that, but I’m glad you don’t.”
From somewhere in the depths of her stomach she found the specks of ambient magic in the lilly-pilly, and pulled them upwards. Then she vomited it onto the floor until she was headachy but awake.
“Well,” said Mordion, through Brackett’s face. “I have to say, darling, I didn’t expect such an er, earthy solution from you.”
He lunged for her and Poly tumbled out of the chair, her legs trembling but supportive. Brackett’s body was old and slow, and he was far behind her when she dashed for the door.
“Locked, I’m afraid,” he said, panting.
Poly tried the knob anyway, jabbing with her magic at the lock, and found that her magic didn’t work. It was there, and present, and powerful– and was sucked up as soon as it touched the door. That was familiar.
“Heavily soaked in antimagic,” said Mordion. He held a small tube filled with something dark and fluid, the tip of which looked unpleasantly sharp. “So is Brackett’s body. I had a suspicion that you might have got back your magic, and I couldn’t positively count on the tincture working. You’re a resilient young woman, Poly.”
“I’ve had a lot of practise fighting off unconsciousness,” said Poly, rather bitterly. Behind her bustle she rested the palm of her antimagic hand on the door. It tingled where it rested against the wood, like recognising like, but didn’t suggest any way of unlocking the door.
“This will be much more pleasant for you if you sit down again,” said Mordion, leaning casually on a chair-top with Brackett’s hand. “If you make me chase you around the room I will become less inclined to be gentle with you.”
“I remember sitting down for you once,” said Poly. “It wasn’t very pleasant. I’ll take my chances.”
Mordion pushed a thumb against the end of the fluid-filled tube, and a tiny spurt of dark liquid leapt in the air, scenting the room with lilly-pilly.
“I’ve measured the dose myself this time,” he said. “It works rather devastatingly quickly when injected. No time for any of that nastiness.”
His voice was thoughtful and calm, and despite herself Poly wasn’t ready for him to toss the chair aside and leap at her. She dodged away with desperate slowness, and Brackett’s fingers bruised her arm where he grasped at it, throwing her off balance and into the cluttered occasional table. Poly spun and fell, tumbling over the table. Mordion caught her as she was trying to scramble up, Brackett’s stubby fingers clawing at her shoulder and his weight heavy across her legs. Poly kicked desperately, her breath loud in her ears and the floorboards rough and unforgiving beneath her. There was ho
t breath at her neck, fabric tangling her legs, and then Poly’s heeled boots found soft, sensitive flesh and she kicked once more, viciously. Glass flew and shattered, and Poly scrambled to her feet as fabric tore, her palms bleeding. Mordion swore behind her in a groaning gasp, horribly close. There was a warmth in Poly’s antimagic hand that wasn’t from the bloody scapes across her palm, and she threw a wild look around the room. Antimagic door. Antimagic Brackett. No windows. Solid block walls of quarried stone. There was no way out.
But Melchior opened passageways in the space between mortar and brick, and he had shown her how.
Poly ran for the wall ahead of her and didn’t stop. Then she was running down a shadowed passage at impossible angles, her gloveless antimagic arm clenched tight to her chest where her heart beat hard and fast. Mordion stumbled into the passage behind her, Brackett’s footsteps heavy and irregular. The sound spiralled behind her as he traversed the same impossible angles that she had done, and caught up so quickly that Poly only had time to give one short, startled scream as she was spun roughly around.
Her glasses jerked off her nose and clattered to the ground somewhere out of sight. Poly, reverting to instinct, plied her black-heeled shoes with such vigour that Mordion abruptly released her. She fell, backwards this time, her antimagic arm flying up and out in a vain attempt to catch herself. Brackett’s body fell with her, and Poly felt her fingers scratch flesh and then magic. The passage collapsed in on itself but Poly was already falling free. She landed heavily in a familiar brick alley, and sent something skittering sideways with her skirts.
Mordion said something that sounded like: “Urk!” in Brackett’s voice and slumped to the ground, a blurry muddle to Poly’s unaided eyes.
Poly felt frantically for her glasses and found them against the alley wall. She put them on with shaking hands and straight away wished she hadn’t. Brackett was sprawled out on the ground–the half to three-quarters of him that had been outside the passage when it collapsed, that is–but the rest of him had vanished with the passage. Poly caught a fleeting glimpse of slick red, and white bone, and took her glasses off again. She climbed stiffly to her feet, feeling the warmth of tears on her cheeks, and carefully made her way to the gate. Something stirred her hair as she stumbled over the threshold, but when Poly twitched herself around in fear she found that it was only Brackett’s magic following her. It sank into the strands of her hair and made a single white streak from the crown of her head to the end of her hair.
Spindle (Two Monarchies Sequence Book 1) Page 31
