Cameron watched Rose leave, seething with a mixture of positive and negative emotions. He supposed he should be grateful to her, but he didn't feel grateful, and he wasn't about to feign an emotion he didn't feel. He was angry, though not at her, and frustrated, though not with her. He was mortified that it should have been she who rescued him. He was relieved that the masquerade was at last over, and utterly astonished that she had reacted as well as she had.
His predominate emotion just at the moment, however, was disappointed exhaustion. All that work, and to have failed again! Perhaps Rose-and Master Pao-were right. Perhaps he should give over taking those pain- killers.
He listened as her footsteps receded, then heard the door at the end of the hall open and close again. 'Don't bother to lock it,' he told the Salamander wearily. 'Now that I've given that damned interfering woman permission to 'help' me, if she finds the door locked against her, she'll probably batter it down.'
The Salamander did not reply, but he sensed that it disapproved of his attitude. Well, let it!
The tea that Pao had so cleverly gotten to him seemed to be helping, at least. The aches in his malformed joints had subsided, and his energy was trickling back sooner than he would have expected. He sat up, experimentally, and found that his head was no longer swimming with every movement.
At least I can get back into my own bed by myself. The one thing that the Salamanders could not do despite his assurances to Rose-was to touch living flesh without burning it. Only in the Conjured form called a 'Firemare' could they actually, physically, touch and be touched. And they could not levitate more than-say-the weight of a fully-laden suitcase.
But I would crawl to my bed rather than have her assist me there!
It had grated on him, deeply, to find himself in the position of being unable to help himself. And then to have her appear and retrieve him from the results of his own folly-a subordinate, an employee, a woman-oh, it was ignominious! He gnashed his teeth as he extracted himself from the embrace of his chair, stopping often to pant with exertion.
To have du Mond discover me in such a case would be bad enough-but her! Why, two months ago she did not even believe in the power of Magick, and now she gives me lectures about how to conduct myself! The cheek! I, who rescued her from abject poverty, from that hovel of a boarding-house, from ruin! And she sits on my footstool, in my private chambers, in my home and dares to tell me that she will dose me like a sick puppy if I do not voluntarily take some vile potion that quack Pao has made up!
Still, his conscience whispered, she was right, and so was Pao. The opiates were affecting his judgment; he would not have attempted tonight's exercise if they had not been affecting his reason. And Pao's potion, vile as it was, had certainly revived him....
But that was not the point!
He clung to the back of the chair for a moment, then got a hand on the wall behind it. Using the wall as a prop, he worked his way over to the bed, still stopping at frequent intervals to rest. The bed had never looked so inviting; the covers were turned down, and all he needed to do was to fall into it once he finally reached it. He untied the belt holding his velvet Working robe to his body, writhed out of it, and dropped the long robe halfway along the wall for the Salamanders to pick up later. He could have trousers and shirt off in a trice, and today he had been in too much of a hurry to bother with anything else.
Working that damned tail through the Tight places in the seats of my clothing takes twice as long as everything else. Thank heavens this is no clime for long underwear!
It was with a groan of relief that he reached the bed, and lunged for it, landing half in it and half out of it.
No matter; that was close enough. He rolled himself onto the mattress, and with a growl of frustration, clawed the clothing from his body, ripping seams and popping buttons as he did so. It was not the first time he had done such a thing, and it would probably not be the last. The Salamanders could see it was mended, or he could buy new. He certainly didn't lack for the means to do so. Though everything else was falling down about his ears, his finances were prospering, especially with the Panama-Pacific International Exposition in the offing.
Naked now, he scrabbled the covers up over himself, and lay with his eyes closed. His head spun, but fortunately not in a way that made him sick to his stomach.
'Why don't you make me another dose of Pao's damned medicine?' he said, knowing he would be obeyed by the Salamander still waiting for orders. 'You watched her do it, didn't you?'
'I did,' the Salamander replied. He heard the dry ticking of bits of herb falling into the cup, then water pouring.
