Mercedes Lackey - The Gates of Sleep

“Oh, bless you, mum,” Sarah said, in answer to some question of Elizabeth’s that Marina hadn’t heard. “E’en when this table’s crowded ‘round with daft painterly chaps, I’d druther be workin’ for Master Sebastian.”

“And why would that be, Sarah?” Thomas asked, grinning over a slice of buttered toast. “Could it be that our company is so fascinating that you would be bored working for anyone else?”

“Lor’ help you, ‘cause none of you lot ever wants breakfuss afore eight.” Sarah laughed. “Farmer, now, they’re up before dawn, and wants their breakfuss afore that! As for a Great House, well e’en if I could get a place there, it’d be cooking for the help, an they be at work near as early as a farmer. Here, I get to lie abed like one of th’ gentry!”

“You are one of the gentry, Sarah,” said Margherita from the doorway, her abundant dark brown hair tumbling down around her shoulders, shining in the light from the oil lamp suspended above the kitchen table. “You’re a Countess of Cooks, a Duchess of Domestic Order.”

Sarah giggled, and so did little Jenny. “Go on with you!” Sarah replied, blushing with pleasure. “Anyroad, as for going on to a Great House, like I says, my cooking’s too plain for the likes o’ they. And I’m not minded to fiddle with none of your French messes. Missus Margherita can do all that if she wants, but plain cooking was good enough for my old mother, and it’s good enough for me.”

Margherita took her place at the broad, heavy old table and Sarah brought over the skillet to serve her fresh sausages and eggs.

Marina poured more tea for herself and her aunt. She wanted to ask their guest what they were going to start with, but she was constrained by the presence of the two servants.

“I think I’ll borrow one of your workrooms for my visit, Margherita,” Elizabeth said casually. “The little one just off the library. I’d like to organize the notes I brought with me, then get started on my project.”

“Project, ma’am?” said Sarah, who was always interested in at least knowing what the guests at Blackbird Cottage were about. Perhaps in any other household, she’d have been rebuked or even sacked for her curiosity, but curiosity wasn’t considered a vice here, not even in servants.

And Elizabeth already knew that from her previous visits, so she answered Sarah just as she would have another guest, or a visitor from the village. “I’m trying to do something scholarly, collecting old songs, Sarah,” she said. “Very old songs—the ones that people might have heard from their grandparents.”

“What, them old ballads? Robin Hood an’ Green Knights an’ witches an’ ghosts an’ all?” Sarah answered, looking both surprised and a little pleased. “Is this something for them university chaps?”

“Why, exactly! How did you know?” Elizabeth might very well really have been here to collect folk ballads from the way she responded. Marina wasn’t surprised that Sarah knew that scholars were collecting folk songs for their studies; with all of the talk around this table, Sarah picked up a great deal of what was going on in the world outside their little village.

“Well, stands to reason, don’t it? Clever lady like you? Went to university yourself, didn’t you?” Sarah chuckled, and tenderly forked slices of thick bacon onto Marina’s plate, then onto little Jenny’s. After all these years, she knew exactly what each of them liked best, and how much they were likely to want. “I could ask around, down in village for you,” she offered deferentially. “Some folks might know a song or two, and a pint would loosen tongues, even for a strange lady.”

“If you would be so kind, I would greatly appreciate your help, Sarah,” Elizabeth replied with all sincerity, though her eyes were twinkling. Marina knew why; her feigned errand had gotten an unexpected touch of veracity.

“Pleased to, ma’am,” Sarah replied, and turned back to her cooking with a flush of pleasure.

But Marina knew that the “little workroom” was the one room in the house used for serious and involved Magical work. Margherita had put compulsions upon the door that worked better than any orders forbidding Jenny or Sarah—or anyone else who was not a magician—from entering. That was a special ability of the Earth-Master, to create compulsions that worked even on those without a hint of magic in their souls. Oh, others could do it, but the trick came most easily to Earth Masters.

Each compulsion was gently tailored to the individual. For Jenny, the moment she touched the door, she would be under the impression that she had just cleaned the room and was leaving. Sarah, on the other hand, would suddenly think that there must be something on the stove or in the oven that needed tending. Visitors would believe that the door was locked, even though it wasn’t, and would promptly forget about the room the moment they turned away.

“That will be fine, Elizabeth. Would you like Marina to help you?” Margherita replied casually.

“I certainly would! You know me—completely hopeless when it comes to organization!” Elizabeth laughed, and the conversation went on to other things, leaving Marina tingling with excitement and anticipation.

Elizabeth lingered over her tea until Marina finished her breakfast, then nodded at her as she rose. Marina jumped to her feet, and followed the older woman out of the kitchen and down to the workroom. As an Elemental Master herself, Elizabeth was not affected by the compulsions on the door, and opened it without a pause, beckoning to Marina to follow.

According to Uncle Thomas, many Elemental Masters preferred to have a religious cast to their magical workrooms; they often had an altar and religious icons such as crucifixes, statues of ancient gods or goddesses, censers for incense, and other religious paraphernalia. But since this room was shared by three—counting Marina, four —magicians, all of whom had their own very definite ideas about their magic, the compromise had been reached of leaving it bare. Uncle Thomas had installed cupboards with shutters to close them on all of the walls, and whatever each person felt was absolutely necessary to his or her working lived in the cupboards until needed. There were two benches pushed up against one wall, and a small table (which could presumably serve as an altar) against another. Although the room did not have a fireplace of its own, the back wall of the library fireplace radiated quite enough warmth for the small space.

And it had only one small window, ivy-covered and high. Marina would have had to stand on tiptoe to see through it. So it would be fairly difficult for anyone to spy on whatever was going on in here.

The floor was of slate, like the rest of the ground floor of the farmhouse; the panels of the shutters were of wood with grain that suggested far-off landscapes and distant hills. Between the panels, Uncle Thomas had carved the graceful trunks of trees that never grew in any living forest. The two benches were also Uncle Thomas’ work, as was the table.

“Close the door, dear,” Elizabeth said, and pulled one of the benches out further into the room while Marina did as she asked. “Now, come sit down, please.”

Obediently, Marina did so.

“One of the great advantages of using a permanent workroom is that the basic shields are already in place, and one needn’t bother with putting them up,” Elizabeth said with satisfaction. “I know that you’ve been taught perfectly well in all the basics, so I shan’t bother going over them again. Nor am I going to put you through a viva voce exam on the subject.”

Oh! Well that’s a relief! Marina had been expecting something of the sort, and was very pleased to discover she was going to escape it.