Mercedes Lackey - The Fire Rose

She put down the note; considered the room she sat in, the clothing she wore, the books on the table beside her. Her self-confidence returned, and she began to think that she might well be the equal of Jason Cameron, even in manipulation.

If this was a gilded cage, why not abide in it for a while? Where else did she have to go-and what else had she longed to do, but use her mind and her skills in pursuit of learning? He could not keep her if she was determined to leave. She was certain that she was clever enough to outwit any attempt to trap her here.

She picked up the end of the speaking-tube, coughed to clear her throat, and sent her first words into it.

"Mister Cameron?"

A moment later, the reply; hoarse, rather deep. And to substantiate the story, it did sound like the voice of someone who had suffered an accident of some devastation. "Miss Hawkins? Have you come to a decision, then?" "I believe I have, sir." She took a deep breath, then committed herself. I have what he wants and needs, she reminded herself. This is still a seller's market. "I see no reason why I should not continue as your employee under the new requirements that you have outlined to me."

Another question occurred to her-then why insist on a woman? Why not a male? But the answer was obvious. He could not, dared not, trust a man. A male would be all too likely to take advantage of the situation, perhaps overpower the secretary and thus control Jason Cameron's life and fortune. Though Paul du Mond was not precisely robust, no woman would be able to physically overwhelm him. Thus, only a woman would be safe to trust.

Once again, then, I hold the cards.

A deep sigh, as if Jason Cameron had been holding his breath, waiting for her answer. "I should add something to this, in all honesty, Miss Hawkins. My path of research is very - outre. Very odd. You may find yourself reading books that are unpleasant to you. Perhaps even shocking."

Her self-confidence was soaring, to the point where she actually felt giddy. She surprised herself-and possibly him-by bursting into laughter. "Mister Cameron-I have read the unexpurgated Ovid, the love-poems of Sappho, the Decameron in the original, and a great many texts in Greek and Latin histories that were not thought fit for proper gentlemen to read, much less proper ladies. I know in precise detail what Caligula did to, and with, his sisters, and I can quote it to you in Latin or in my own translation if you wish. I am interested in historical truth, and truth in history is often unpleasant and distasteful to those of fine sensibility. I frankly doubt that you will produce anything to shock me."

There was silence for a moment, then a chuckle. It sounded like an appreciative chuckle. "Miss Hawkins, I am rightfully rebuked. You are a scholar, and there is nothing that shocks the mind of a scholar except censorship and falsehood. I confess that I was not aware that you were so widely read, and I commend you for your self-possession. You will find my research odd, then, but not shocking."

"Thank you," she said simply, glowing a little with pleasure at his words.

"I have, in the light of this, a new contract for you. You are evidently a lady of much stamina, and one who understands the need that drives the seeker of knowledge when the trail is hot. I had intended to ask you to read for a fixed number of hours in a day. I would like to change that-and ask you to read for as long in a day as I need you to. If you can put up with the whims of my research, and if you can bear with the fact that I shall need you for long and difficult hours, I shall see to it that you have all the resources you require to pursue your own goals of research, in addition to all else I promised you. In fact, I shall have all my recent book catalogs of rare and antique volumes sent to you for you to look through and make selections, and I shall have them purchased for you. Is that a bargain, scholar to scholar, equal to equal?"

If he had been Mephistopheles, he could not have offered her a bargain to tempt her more. If he had been able to read her mind, he would not have phrased it any differently. It was an offer she could not possibly reject. "It is a bargain, sir," she said, immediately. "And as I see you have had some books left here for me, I am prepared to begin reading immediately, to seal our agreement."

Was it her imagination, or did she sense elation on the other end of that long tube?

"Thank you," came the answer, "And-if you will forgive an impertinence, before you begin, I have a final question for you."

"You may ask," she replied, "but I will not guarantee to answer, if it is that impertinent." A bit bold, perhaps, but had he not just addressed her as equal to equal? Let him take what he had offered.

"Miss Hawkins-are you sentimentally attached to those garments you brought with you?" There was a plaintive, pained quality to his words that brought another laugh bubbling up out of her throat, which she suppressed only just in time. His poor, bruised sensibilities! It was the question of an aesthete confronted with an object of terrible banality stuck squarely in the middle of an otherwise matchless vista.

In other words-he really doesn't want to know that there is anything shabby trailing about in his beautiful home. Poor man! He's probably afraid that I'll disgrace him if anyone should see me! She giggled again. He's probably dreading the censure of that terribly superior secretary of his if he permits a dowd to stalk his exquisite halls.

"Mister Cameron, I am not," she said firmly. "Provided that I may keep these replacements that you have graciously provided for me, you may do with them what you will. Burn them, bury them, use them for cleaning rags; I will not be sorry to see them gone. They are inferior specimens of their type, have nothing of grace or charm to recommend them, and deserve an ignoble end. Frankly, I bought them because I had to, not because I wanted to. My taste, sir, is better than that."

Another sigh of relief. "Miss Cameron, once again you please and surprise me. If you would take up the first volume in the stack and begin at the place marked?"

The leather-bound book was without a title or any other identifying marks; the ribbon bookmark within fell at a new chapter. Somewhat to her surprise, it was hand-printed, in medieval French. Within a few words, she knew what it was, although such books had never been of interest to her. It was a treatise on alchemy, full of maunderings about "Red Lions" and "White Eagles," "male and female principles," and allusions to "Hermetic Mysteries." Despite obvious flaws in grammar and syntax, she read it precisely as it had been written, for these tomes were often encoded, and to correct what was there might render it indecipherable.

Alchemy! I wonder what his "researches" are? Not a search for the Philosopher's Stone, surely; any man as acquainted with science and rational thinking as a man in his position must surely know what nonsense such things are! Besides, he does not need a Philosopher's Stone to render him wealthy; he already has wealth in abundance. Then again-perhaps he was interested in the occult aspect of such things. He had suffered a terrible accident-would someone in his place not crave some supernatural remedy to his injury, since science could not supply one?

She came to the end of the section and was about to continue when Cameron spoke.

"No more," he said, sounding resigned. "I remembered that passage imperfectly; there is nothing there I can use. Pray, go on with the next volume. You will have to translate for me, if you would be so kind."

The second book confirmed her guess, as it was another treatise on an occult subject, this time printed in Gothic black-letter German, and of a more recent date. She read as she was accustomed to, given an unfamiliar text; when she encountered a phrase she did not immediately understand, she read it aloud in the original, then puzzled it through aurally. Cameron did not correct this habit; evidently he approved of it, for once or twice he suggested an alternative translation that made a great deal more sense in the context of the book-though not a great deal of sense in terms of the real world.