The Serpent's Shadow

invisible, that.'

Why Lord Peter's open approval should have made Peter feel as if a huge weight had been taken from him, he didn't know—until Almsley added, after allowing an expression of bliss to pass across his features following the first bite of his meal, 'I'll back you in front of the Old Man himself, if that's needed. Absolutely. And I doubt he'll argue with me.'

'You will?' Perhaps he sounded a bit too surprised; Almsley chuckled.

'Oh, ye of little faith. Of course I will. We're not doddering about in Victorian parlors anymore. We have serious business to attend to and not enough hands to attend to it. Well, think of it! The more people there are in the world, the more mages there will be, of course! And the more mages there are, the more likely it is that some of 'em will go to the bad, or be born into it. The Old Man's obstinate refusal to bring in the ladies or the—ahem!—tradesmen—'

'Other than me, and that only because I was too strong to ignore—' Peter interrupted, with just a touch of bitterness. '—and even if I wasn't one of you, I was at least a ship's captain, which might slide in under the definition of 'gentleman.' '

'Pre-cisely.' Lord Peter allowed another bite of the tender lamb to melt on his tongue, and Peter Scott followed his example, finally doing justice to the meal by according it the attention it deserved. 'It's antiquated, it's ridiculous, and it's going to cost us one day. What if we need more manpower than we've got? That lot old Uncle Aleister's got hanging about him isn't worth much, but what if some day he corrupts a real Master? What if one of the ladies decides she's had enough of being patted on the head and patronized and tells us all to go to hell when we most need her? Have you ever had to try and placate an angry Earth Elemental?'

'Ah—no. The project's never come up on my watch.' Scott replied carefully.

'I have.' Lord Peter's wry expression held no pain, but from the shadows in his eyes, the experience had been no pleasure either. 'And if you ever do, you'll be glad enough to have an Earth Master there. The ones that surface in the city are—not pleasant.' Lord Peter shrugged. 'For some reason, that Mastery tends to go to women and country folk. Neither of which are likely to be invited to -the Council if the Old Man continues to have his way.'

'See here, Twin—you're not talking palace revolution here, are you?' Peter asked, a spark of alarm lighting up within him. The last thing he wanted to do was to challenge the entire structure of the Council and Lodge! To his relief, Lord Peter laughed.

'Great heavens, no! Just that the Old Man needs to change with the times, and I think your clever doctor may be the one who makes him see that. She's certainly got the brains to best him in argument, and if she's as strong as you say—well, Earth can support Fire, but it can also smother it. I don't think he'd put it to the Challenge.' He gestured with his fork. 'Now—eat. I've got heredity to thank for my lean and hungry look; there's no excuse for you to go about looking as if you were starving for something.'

It was on the tip of Peter's tongue to say that he was starving for something, but he was afraid that his 'twin' would only make a joke of it. Lord Peter was, to all appearances, perfectly content with his ballet dancers and his sopranos, and to put it bluntly, he had the resources to indulge himself with them as much as he cared to. His rank and wealth- allowed him to spend time in the company of many sorts of women, from the educated to the artists, the debutantes to the little dancers. If he wanted the company of an educated woman, or a clever one, he had any number of open invitations to the salons of the intelligentsia. If his need was more— well—carnal, he could afford a woman who made carnality into a delicate and sensual art.

With limited funds came limited choices. Peter Scott had no taste for dance-hall belles, or the women of the dockside bars, and the only other sorts of women he came into contact with were generally someone else's wives. Besides, most of the women he'd met in either venue had minds too shallow to drown a worm. Maya Witherspoon, however—

Enough of that. You're not only putting the cart before the horse, you haven't got cart or horse yet. The afternoon post hadn't come when he left the shop; there'd been nothing in the morning post. There was no telling what the doctor would think of his letter. She might not answer it at all.

No, she must! She's intelligent. Surely she's aware of how little she knows, how much more she could be with proper training. He recalled only too clearly the frustration he had felt when the magic began to wake . in him, and his natural abilities far outstripped his knowledge. For someone like the doctor, accustomed to having the answers to every dilemma at her fingertips, it must be a torment. Almsley must have been starving; he finished long before Peter Scott did. There was no vulgar business with bills being presented in a private club like this one. A meal was tallied to the member's running account, which was presented at the end of the month. Lord Peter waved off a waiter who appeared to ask him if he wished a sweet, and stood up. 'I've got business to attend to, old man—but send a note around when you've heard from the good doctor. I'm deuced curious now.'

'I may not hear from her,' Scott replied cautiously. 'She may think I'm mad.'

But his Lordship only chuckled. 'Small chance of that,' he said confidently. 'Only think what you would do in her place, and you'll know I'm right there.'

Lord Peter strode off, weaving his way expertly among the tables, leaving Scott to finish his meal in silence. He, too, waved the waiter away when he finally finished all he had an appetite for. The afternoon post should have arrived by now; he had to know if there was an answer in it.

He hurried back to the shop, unlocked it—and there on the mat was a letter, monogrammed in one corner