Unnatural Issue Page 19

  With an alarmed squeak, the faun snatched the sandwich and vanished, leaving nothing behind but waving meadow grass.

  “Robin!” Susanne exclaimed happily, turning to greet him. He was clothed in the seeming he wore most often around Whitestone, that of the young gamekeeper.

  “Well met, damozel,” Robin replied with a mock bow. “And pleased I am tha’s found a safer bower, though it took me fair long to track tha’ to it.” He had a broad Yorkshire accent himself today. Perhaps to throw Polly off a bit.

  “I’m sorry for that,” she replied, shamefaced. “But I left in rather a hurry.”

  Polly’s eyes were going from Susanne to Robin and back again, as if she were watching a game of tennis. Finally she could sit silent no more. “Is tha’ th’ new gamekeeper?” she blurted.

  Robin laughed. “Oh, gamekeeper of a sort, Polly Dobbins, but not of Branwell,” he replied, silencing her by knowing her name in full. “Nay, I be a friend of Susanne, come to see if she be settled well. And she be, so I’ll be off again.” He turned back to Susanne. “I’ve much to do, now tha’s gone, and tha’ th’ only Earth mage about.” His eyes warned her not to ask more. “But tha’s better gone than stayed. I warned thee that there was badness in those parts. Best tha’rt gone. But there be worse to come, not just for our parts, but for all England and beyond. Bad times are comin’, and I think we will not see each other for many seasons. Now I know tha’s safe, I can do what I can. Merry met, powers be thanked, and merry part.”

  “And merry meet again,” Susanne said faintly, as she understood that Robin was saying goodbye, perhaps for years.

  “Powers willing.” He gave her a little nod and turned and somehow vanished as completely as the faun had.

  Polly stared at Susanne as if she wanted to ask a thousand questions but understood she would be given no answers. Finally, she took a bite of the chicken leg left neglected in her hand and, instead, began chattering about her sister, the new baby, and what her visit had been like.

  Susanne recovered quickly. Robin had warned her from the very beginning that once he considered her trained enough, he could disappear for days, months, or even years. That if she desperately needed him, he would come if he could—but that there was no telling if he would be wrapped up in some greater trouble.

  She’d understood that. And indeed, he did vanish for months at a time. But this was the first time he had actually said something like “goodbye.”

  It sounded as if the things he had been predicting were getting much, much worse—and it sounded as if no other Earth magician had stepped forward to take over her care of the Whitestone lands. Which just made her want to take her father by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled for his carelessness.

  And pigs will fly before I would dare, she thought wryly, but also with a touch of fear. The more she thought about her father, the more dangerous he seemed to be. On the one hand, she wished she knew more. On the other . . . she was glad that she did not, and gladder she had not found out the hard way—by remaining at Whitestone.

  She put all that aside, firmly. There was nothing she could do about any of this—not the nebulous prophecies of bad times to come, not her father, and certainly not that Whitestone was without an Earth magician. She schooled her face to show Polly a more genuine smile and settled determinedly to enjoy her lunch and Polly’s company.

  They had gotten to the cake and scones and strawberries and cream when someone else—someone that Susanne thought for a moment was Robin come back—stepped out of the trees and waved at them.

  But as the man neared, Susanne saw that he was carrying an actual gun, not the illusion of one, over one arm. And that pale wheatstraw-colored hair was nothing like Robin’s curly brown mop.

  So this must be the new gamekeeper! Polly waved back at him; a moment later, Susanne did the same.

  “Hullo!” he called. “Tha’rt from the Hall?”

  “Aye,” Polly replied for both of them as he neared. “An’ thee must be new gamekeeper. Eh! Y’needn’t look us over for snare wire or fishing gear. I wouldn’t know what t’do with a hare or a fish if I caught one.”

  “Nor I,” Susanne asserted, and then blinked, because she could see the green-gold of Water magic hanging about this man so thickly that if she looked at him with the kind of Sight that showed her such things, his features were entirely obscured by the shields made of it. “But—tha—” she gasped, and remembered that it was safe to talk about magic here. And surely, if Master Charles had hired him, Master Charles knew—knew what he was—“Tha hast—the Water magic! An’ so much!”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Water Master, aye,” he said. “An’ a fair famished an’ foolish one, for I forgot to bring victuals out an’ ’tis a long walk t’cottage. I saw thee havin’ thy nuncheon, an’ came in hope!”

  “We’ve plenty!” said Polly, and patted the edge of the blanket where the birds had been devouring their crumbs. “But we’ve naught t’drink.”

  “That, at least, I have.” He had a game bag at his side, and he pulled a leather bottle out of it. “’Tis usually my brother that’s the woolly-minded one. Might’ve been the thought of strawberries that made me so careless.”

  “Tha’ canna live on berries,” Polly said sternly, and she pressed a bit of chicken, two bread-and-butter sandwiches, and a slab of cheese on him. “I’m Polly, this is Susanne.”

  “Peter,” the young man said, giving them a little two-fingered salute. “Peter Devlin. Kitchen or parlor?”

  “Neither,” Polly laughed. “Dairy.”

  “Then I’ll compliment tha’ on most excellent cheese,” he replied immediately, bringing a bit of color into her cheeks. “And butter. Magic tha’ has, and sure-eh-ly. Kitchen magic! The usefulest kind!”

  Susanne studied him and liked what she saw. Though he was slight of build and mild of feature, though his pale hair and light green eyes made him look a little washed out, there was strength in those slender limbs, and a look in those deceptively guileless eyes that made her think he was not one to be trifled with.

  Well, was any Master?

  Me, maybe, she thought, remembering ruefully how she had run from her father without even trying to fight him.

  Then again, what else was she to have done? Even Robin thought she had been wise to escape. I must learn more about magic, she decided, slowly. It isn’t enough to be the caretaker of the land. I have to learn how to protect myself and others. I have to learn how to recognize dangers that aren’t obvious. If bad times are coming, what if they unleash things I don’t know anything about?

  This man, she sensed, did know all about such things. As she passed him strawberries and cream and cake, and Polly extracted from him the location of more choice beds of berries, she wondered if he would be willing to teach her.

  And there was another incentive, too, and one that was, perhaps, more immediate. This was, after all, a household that recognized and valued magicians. And if she really became an Elemental Master in every possible way, Charles might take notice of her.

  Maybe more than take notice of her. And maybe his parents might think it no bad thing to have a Master about the Hall.

  Maybe—maybe there might be a chance.

  A check on the dairy had shown that all was in order, which meant that she and Polly were still free to do what they wished until suppertime. She and Polly handed over their basket, but she hung about the kitchen a moment longer, and Polly stayed with her.

  Cook had been very pleased to see that they had filled all three baskets and had brought her two. More than pleased enough to offer a little gossip.

  “Oh, aye,” Cook said, when Susanne made what she thought was a discreet inquiry about the new gamekeeper. “That one sees fair through the millstone, he does. Tha’ should see the undines about him. Besotted! Altogether besotted!” Cook chuckled as she carefully and deftly removed the berries from the two baskets Susanne and Polly had brought her—the third being in their room, where they could h
ave themselves a bit of a treat. Each layer of berries had been carefully cushioned with watercress leaves to keep the berries cool and from crushing each other, and Cook was thriftily setting those aside for cress soup. “We was a-wonderin’ what Master Michael was thinkin’, hirin’ on this fellow Peter Devlin, even allowin’ that Master Charles was his brother’s friend, but seems he was thinkin’ clear. There now! These will be a rare treat, an’ thanks to the two of thee.” Polly helped herself to a handful of the last berries in the basket, and Cook simply wagged a finger at her. She put the berries away to reappear in some other form, probably for the kitchen meal, and turned back to Susanne. “Now, might not be my place to say, but if I was in tha’ shoes, I’d be thinkin’ I could do worse nor take magic studies with that one. An’ if tha’ was t’ask for leave t’do so once work at dairy is done, well, I’d be givin’ it.”

  Susanne blinked. Had she been that obvious?

  “’Tis plain as tha’ nose that tha’ has a fair bit o’ power, more nor anyone here, plain that tha’ knows how t’use it, an’ plain that tha’ does not know all the ways tha’ can’st,” Cook continued. “’Tis plainer that he does. Undines would not be makin’ thesselves fools over anybody not a Elemental Master. Maybe he ain’t thy Power, but Master can teach Master, or so I allus heard. Asides, Marster Charles says that the man what doesn’t keep learnin’ is a man who’ll fair grow into a fool. Since I don’t take tha’ for a fool, tha’ should be learnin’ more.”

  Susanne took a deep breath. “Well, then,” she said carefully. “Have I leave t’ask new gamekeeper for lessonin’?”

  Cook nodded. “Go after supper. If he says aye, then tha’ has leave t’ venture there long as need be. I’ll be askin’ Missus if there be workroom tha’ an’ he can use when weather turns, come fall. An’ as tha’ be here, might as well have tha’ victuals now, afore the rest.”

  She set their food down in front of them both, and it seemed a little strange to be so alone at the big table. For once, Susanne was in a great hurry to finish her meal.

  Polly sat next to her and watched her inhale her food, with great curiosity. “What’s this lessonin’?” Polly asked. “Why’s Cook givin’ tha’ leave for it into winter?” When she explained to Polly in detail what she was going to do, Polly looked a little envious.

  “ ’Twill be more than a little time with him, then. Here I thought tha’d just go, get a lesson or twain, and no more. Eh! An’ he’s a fine man,” she said wistfully. “Tha’ll be spendin’ some time with him, no doubt, an’ likely for a long time. That might lead t’courtin’. Were a person t’be courted by such a man, a person might be sayin’ ‘aye’ before long.”

  Susanne shook her head, which was, to be sure, too full of Charles to see anything other than “pleasant man, possibly good teacher” in Peter Devlin’s features. “Don’t be seein’ more than there is t’ see. Cook thinks strong I be needin’ more lessonin’ in magic, an’ I’m thinkin’ strong she’s right,” she explained. “But no more than that. ’Tis only teachin’ I want, naught else.”

  Polly sighed again. “I’ll save thee berries,” she promised. Then she brightened. It didn’t take magic to divine what she was thinking. If Susanne wasn’t interested in the handsome young gamekeeper, that meant the field was clear for Polly to campaign.

  Susanne laughed. “Tha’d best!” she said warningly, and leaving Polly to amuse herself until bed, she set off for the gamekeeper’s cottage, taking the path to the woods once again.

  Peter was pleased, but not at all surprised, when the girl turned up at “his” cottage mere hours after he had left her and her fellow dairymaid. If he’d let fall any more hints and indications that he was a Master and was willing to teach, the poor thing would have been buried in them.

  He was sitting on a stool by the door, cleaning his gun, when she turned up just after supper. He had purchased wild mushrooms from one of the locals who knew what he was about in that regard, and Garrick had made a fine omelet with them. Of course, the undines here would have warned them both, long before the mushrooms hit the pan, if the fungi were poisonous. The local undines were charmingly attentive; they tended to get short shrift at Branwell since most of the magicians on the estate seemed to be Earth-oriented. They adored Peter and Garrick and took every opportunity to flirt with them.

  It had been a most satisfactory supper, and Peter would have been perfectly happy to lounge about in bucolic idleness, waiting to see if the girl turned up. The gun, however, had been fired today, and consequently wanted cleaning. It had unfortunately been necessary to make it clear to one of the few unsavory local poachers that he knew what he was doing and that he knew how to use the rifle he was carrying.

  It was possible, he acknowledged, that he had been a bit more aggressive than was strictly warranted. On the other hand, the man had been setting leg traps for hawks and owls.

  Now, first of all, you couldn’t eat an owl or a hawk. Second, if you were trying to catch one for falconry, a leg trap was not what you would use. Third, there was no reason other than sheer spite or evil to trap and kill a hawk or an owl, and especially not on someone else’s land, where you couldn’t even make the claim that you were protecting your chickens. And finally, of all the ways to trap and kill a bird of prey, the leg trap was the most cruel.

  Fortunately the trap hadn’t actually caught anything yet, or Peter would have lost his temper entirely. As it was, when he told the man to be off and never be found on estate lands again, he’d used some language.

  It might have provoked the poacher, but on reflection, Peter thought—not. The man rushed him with the attitude of someone who uses his fists to get what he wants and has no idea that the word “no” applies to him. The man was very large, clearly a bully, and probably accustomed to getting his way with just about everyone.

  Think I’ll pop by the pub and verify that. And with luck, he’ll come at me again, and I can humiliate him, Peter thought vindictively.

  Attacking had been a very grave mistake; he might have thought he could intimidate someone like Peter, relatively small and not anywhere near as heavily muscled as he was. Peter had stopped the rush by shooting—very accurately—right between the man’s legs. The poacher had certainly felt the sting of the bullet’s passing. “There is another shell in this gun,” he’d said, calmly and clearly, with no trace of Yorkshire accent. “Keep coming and I’ll aim higher.”

  The bully had turned several interesting colors, growled that Peter wouldn’t be so brave without a gun in his hands, and reluctantly lumbered off, leaving the traps behind. Peter took them with him, and once he got back to the Hall, he handed them over to one of Charles’ people that had a bit of a forge. “Do what tha’ want with’em so long as no body can ever be usin’ ’em again,” he’d told the man. “An’ make right sure the folks hereabouts know I brought ’em to thee. I won’t have no leg traps for hawks an’ owls on this land. Ever. I’ll have every one of ’em that I find destroyed, an’ I will find every one of ’em.”

  At least now the local bully knew he meant business. But he was all too well aware that this was only the first stage in what would be an escalation of conflict until he trounced the blackguard in a way that discredited him completely or got him sent to gaol.

  He was reflecting on this when he spotted a girl in a white apron and blue gown coming up the path toward him, and it didn’t take being a Master to make a shrewd guess at who it was. He finished with his business as she approached and put the cleaned and lubricated gun just inside the door as she got to within a few feet of the cottage.

  “Good evening, Miss Susanne,” he said, genially. “Bit late for huntin’ strawberries, isn’t it?”

  “Strawberries aren’t what I came hunting, Mister Devlin,” the girl said politely. “’Tis the instruction that tha’ made known tha’ could be givin’.”

  Ah, Yorkshire! he thought fondly. Blunt and straight to the point. In other places—like London!—the girl would have danced around the su
bject for hours before getting down to her request. But in Yorkshire everyone spoke his or her mind, straight out. It saved a tremendous amount of time.

  “And ready I am to do so,” he said. “Would tha’ be comin’ inside, or would tha’ prefer to speak out here?” He had dropped some of his accent. She didn’t seem to have noticed, perhaps because she was a bit nervous already. As she hesitated, he added, “My scholarly brother Garrick is inside also.”

  “Inside, then,” she said, as the tacit offer of a chaperone decided her.

  He waved her inside. Garrick was tidying the last of the supper things away, but he immediately offered their visitor a cup of tea.

  “Not now, thank thee,” she replied politely. “I’m Susanne, from Hall. I work in dairy.”

  Interesting. Most of her accent is gone as well. She’s not entirely what she seems, either.

  “And I am Garrick, and I collect songs,” Garrick replied just as politely. “It might not seem very important, but the songs are disappearing as old people die and young people only listen to the gramophone. And if I go on any longer on the subject, my brother will be cross with me.”

  “Eh, haven’t I heard it every time tha’ meets some’un?” Peter said good-naturedly. “Have seat, Miss Susanne, an’ we shall see what we shall see. Now, first thing, us must find out what tha’ knows, Miss Susanne from Hall.”

  He began to question her closely, starting with the simplest things that her mentor had taught her and ending with the most complicated. Could she see the power? Could she see other peoples’ ? Did she know what Elemental Magic was?

  It took quite some time, and before too long she was glad to accept that cup of tea after all. He watched as she came to realize that she knew much more than she had thought she did; however she had gotten her teaching, it had been quite thorough, though it had been much more on the order of the practical rather than the theoretical. Garrick placed an oil lamp on the table between them, and the soft light gilded her features. He wondered, inconsequentially, if she had any idea how pretty she was.