Mercedes Lackey: The Fire Rose

A riding accident! That is not something I would have thought of. It would be a reasonable explanation for bruises, scratches, even broken bones! How was she thinking of these things?

The same way I did, I suppose; part of her is having fits of hysteria, but it is not the part that is in control of what everyone sees.

He had not intended to watch her in the mirror during the train trip, for after all, nothing was likely to happen to her there-but he could not help himself. There wasn't a great deal to see; she sat in her chair with her hands clasped in her lap, and did not even raise her head to look out the window. That alone told him of her state of shock, for he had never once seen her sitting idle. If she had nothing else to do, she always had a book in her hands.

He knew that his own men could be trusted to care for her properly, but he had not expected the same consideration from strangers. Yet the driver of the taxi that was waiting for her, the doorman of the hotel, and the hotel concierge all seemed to sense her precarious mental state and treated her with amazing delicacy. And once she was safely in her room, with the door locked, he felt himself able to attend to other matters. More telegraphs went off to his agent; arrangements for the transfer of a substantial sum into her account, for someone to replace du Mond in Oakland, for notices of termination to be sent to the servants and his landlord. Cameron's lips twitched as his hand sent further signals to ensure that no one would inquire after the deceased; authorizing his agent to have an audit done of the accounts du Mond handled, and to report du Mond's disappearance together with a large sum of cash and other valuables kept in the safe of the townhouse. The police would go to the townhouse, of course; the safe would be opened, and there would be no cash there. That would be because a Salamander took it, not du Mond. The police would question the servants, who would give them the evidence that although du Mond had not been seen at the townhouse for many months, he had every opportunity to make a key to the front door. Cameron would post a reward asking for information concerning du Mond's activities. People would come to claim the reward, and although there would be nothing forthcoming about his whereabouts, his unsavory pastimes in the Barbary Coast would soon be uncovered. The police would eventually assume that du Mond had bought his way aboard one of the many tramp freighters that used San Francisco as a port-of-call, and advise Cameron's agent to that effect. A reward would be posted, which would never be claimed. And the trail would be neatly covered.

He sent off the Salamander to empty the safe, and leave a note warning the servants that du Mond might have absconded, possibly with valuables. They often received notes slipped in through the mail slot, which they assumed came by special messenger-and in a sense, they had.

He completed his arrangements, and looked in again on Rose. She seemed to have gone directly to bed, which was probably the best place for her.

He glanced longingly at the dust-covered bottle of narcotic pills on the corner of his desk. Oblivion would be very welcome tonight....

But he dared not take the chance-what if he were unconscious and she awoke with the sudden conviction that she must leave the city? What if she awoke, disoriented, and wandered out into the streets?

No; she deserved the respite of sleep, but while she slept, he would remain on guard.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

When Rose awoke, it was late afternoon again. For one moment, she thought perhaps she had not slept at all-but then she realized by the stiffness of her bruised limbs and the hunger-pangs in her stomach that she had actually slept the clock around.

She probed mentally at herself, expecting to trigger a paroxysm of weeping or hysteria. All that she uncovered, however, was a weary confusion. She stirred restlessly beneath the smooth hotel sheets, stretching a little while she thought.

While she had slept, something had resolved itself in her mind. While du Mond's death was horrid, he could have been killed by a fierce mastiff sent to protect her, and the effect would have been the same-

Except that once I got over my fits, I would have made that dog the most pampered canine on the face of the earth. No, the problem is not what happened to that cad. The problem is not that it was Jason who did it. The problem is that it was Jason who acted like a wild beast in order to protect me. And I do not want to leave him-yet I am not sure I can trust myself with him anymore. I simply do not know what to do. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. There was only one thing she could be utterly certain of. She must not, under any circumstances, make any hasty decisions. For one thing, she did not have enough information.

I am in the city, as I planned, just not in the townhouse. I will proceed precisely as I had planned for today-for what is left of today, at any rate. I shall get dressed, have a fine dinner, and go to the Opera. And tomorrow I shall take a taxi to China-town and visit Master Pao. Perhaps he will have some ideas.

Perhaps there were drugs that could help; perhaps even the tea that had been intended to help Jason's condition had led to his berserk rage, who could tell? She realized now that she had made a serious mistake in not revealing all of Jason's secrets to Pao in the first place. It was as if she had described less than half of a friend's symptoms to a doctor, leaving out the most important ones, and expected him to work a cure with only that information.

She rose with a care for her injuries, and went directly to the private bath, already missing the presence of the attentive Salamanders who would have had a bath ready for her. As yet, she did not feel secure enough in her own relationship with the Sylphs to command them as servants. Perhaps that could come later, but she did not want to force anything now.

I particularly do not want to face them as emotionally unsteady as I am. If I lose them once, it will be the Devil's own time to get them back.

As she soaked in another hot bath, relieving the aches of her many bruises and examining the deep scratches her ordeal had left on her arms and legs, she reflected wryly that she might have saved herself a great deal of pain if she had just thought of calling up the Sylphs to help her against du Mond. In his drugged condition-for he must have been drugged, to act as he had-he could never have commanded Salamanders to counter them.

Unfortunately, it simply didn't occur to me. After all, I have only been in "Command" of them for a month or so. I am still very new to all of this....

She wondered what Master Pao would make of the Apprentice of Air appearing in his shop to ask for help. Air and Fire are complements, but Air and Earth are opposites ... though not quite as deadly enemies as Fire and Water I wonder what his reaction will be to me now?

He would probably just smile, and utter something ineffable, inscrutable, and utterly Chinese. Something about Yin and Yang, I suppose, or Dragons dancing with Clouds.

She dressed quickly, and not in either of her Opera gowns; both revealed more flesh than she could cover with cosmetics. There were bruises on both her arms up to the elbow where du Mond had grappled with her, and she looked as if she'd been dumped into a briar patch and had to fight her way out. Out of the steamer-trunk she pulled a heavy black silk moire skirt, and a high-necked, long-sleeved black silk shirtwaist trimmed in black silk embroidery and jet beads. It will look as if I am in mourning, but no matter Perhaps I am, in a way. At any rate, the evening-hat with the best veil was also black, which would enable her to keep her injuries secret, even in the well-lighted restaurant.