The Gates of Sleep

“It would take them eighteen years, I’m afraid,” she replied, tidying her desk and making sure that the ink bottle was securely corked.

Elizabeth sighed. “I know. And it would cost me a hideous amount of money, too —I certainly couldn’t ask them to work for less than their normal commissions.”

“You’d be surprised how many would,” Marina said sourly, thinking of all the people who, over the years, had attempted to trade on past acquaintance to get a bargain.

“No magician would,” Elizabeth said firmly. “No magician could. Well, enough of that; back to work for us.”

Back down to the little workroom they went, and Marina saw when Elizabeth opened the door that she had brought in a lamp and had moved the table to the center of the room. And in the center of the table was a clear glass bowl full of water.

“What’s that for?” Marina asked, as Elizabeth closed the door behind them.

“Later,” her tutor told her. “When I’m sure you’ve mastered the first lesson.”

Marina raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue; Elizabeth was the Master here, and had presumably taught more pupils in the art of the Element of Water than she. She took a seat on one of the benches, and took up where they had left off.

It was easier this time; at Elizabeth’s signal, she released the power, then gathered it in again. A dozen times, perhaps more, she raised the power and let it flow out again, until the gathering of it was as natural as breathing and almost as easy.

Only then did Elizabeth stop her, this time before she released it.

“Good. Now, hold the power, and watch me again.” Elizabeth cupped her hands around the bowl, and gazed into the water.

Then Marina sensed something curious—she felt a tugging within her, as if she heard a far distant call or summons.

Strange—

Was the summons coming from—Elizabeth?

Yes! It was! Marina concentrated on it, and on her mentor. Slowly she deciphered the silent message written in power, sent out into the world. Not a summons, but an invitation.

But how on earth did Elizabeth expect it to be answered? There were no streams here for the Undines to follow, no way for them to get into this sealed room.

How—

Something stirred in the bowl, like a trail of bubbles in the clear water, a momentary fog passing over the surface. The water in the bowl rippled, as if Elizabeth blew on it, or moved the bowl, but she did neither.

And then—there, perfect in miniature, were an Undine and a Naiad, looking up at Elizabeth in expectation.

And Elizabeth looked up at her pupil, a roguish smile on her lips.

“But—but—” Marina could only stare. How could the Elementals have gotten there—and how, why were they so small?

“They’re creatures of spirit and magic, not flesh, no matter how they look to us, Marina,” the older woman said softly, as the two Elementals gazed around themselves with curiosity. “They don’t follow the rules of the flesh and blood world. Like the energies of Water, they can go where they will, so long as there is a place of their Element waiting for them.”

Now Marina thought about all the times she’d been with the Undines and Naiads, the other elemental creatures of spring and stream—how they would appear and disappear, seeming to dissolve into the water only to appear elsewhere. Why hadn’t that occurred to her before?

“And you just call them?” she asked.

“It isn’t quite that easy, but I’ll show you how to form several sorts of summons. They all require Water energies, of course.” She bent over the bowl. “Thank you, my friends. Would you care to go, or stay?”

“Shall we go, and see if our Fleshly Sister can properly call us too?” asked a tinkling voice that was as much in Marina’s head as in her ears. The Undine cast an amused glance at Marina, then turned her attention back to Elizabeth.

“I think that would be very gracious of you, if you would be so kind,” Elizabeth replied gravely.

“Then we shall.” The two tiny figures seemed to spin in the water for a moment; it sparkled in the light from the lamp, then there was only a trail of bubbles, then they were gone.

Elizabeth looked up into Marina’s eyes. “Now then—your turn.”

Marina was glad that she had eaten a full lunch, because somehow teatime slipped right past them. It wasn’t until after dark that Elizabeth was ready to let her go, and she still hadn’t mastered that most basic of summonings, the simple invitation. As Elizabeth had warned, it was harder than it looked.

Marina felt as limp as wilted lettuce when Elizabeth decreed an end to the work for the day, and as her mentor opened the door and the aroma of tonight’s meal hit her nose, her stomach gave a most unmannerly growl.

Elizabeth laughed at that, and picked up the bowl of water. “Blow out the lamp, dear, and let’s get you something to eat before you faint. That sort of behavior might be de rigueur for debutantes, but I think your uncles would have more than a few harsh words with me if they thought I was overworking you.”

“You’re not!” Marina protested. “I could have asked you to stop any time, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, you could. I trusted that you had gone far enough in magic to be able to judge for yourself when you needed to stop.” Elizabeth waited while Marina closed the door behind herself, and the two of them went out into the library.

Candles and lanterns had already been lit, and warm pools of light shone around them. A savory aroma drifted in from the kitchen, and Marina’s stomach complained—silently, this time.

“Have you any notion where I could pour out this bowl of consecrated water?” Elizabeth asked. “It doesn’t do to just pour it down a drain, it really ought to go somewhere it can do some good.”

“Aunt Margherita has a little conservatory off her loom room,” Marina replied, after a moment of thought. “She grows herbs and things in there—”

“Just the thing; that’s probably her personal workroom. Go join everyone and tell them I’ll be there in a moment.” Elizabeth took the left-hand door that went further into the house. After a moment of hesitation, Marina took the right.

Supper was just being served in the dining room; a shaded oil lamp above the table shone down on the pristine linen tablecloth, and wisps of steam arose from the dishes waiting in the center. Thomas and Margherita were there and already eating, but Uncle Sebastian wasn’t, yet. Marina sat down and helped herself from a random bowl in front of her; it proved to contain mashed squash, of which she was inordinately fond. “Elizabeth had a bowl of water—” she began.

“Ah. She’ll be watering my herbs with it, then,” her aunt said immediately. “Just the thing.”

“That’s what she said—” Sebastian came in at just that moment, trailed by Elizabeth, who still had the now empty bowl.

“I found this prowling in your workroom, dearest, what would you like me to do with it?” Sebastian said, pulling a laughing Elizabeth forward by the wrist.

“Invite it to supper, of course, you great beast. I trust everything went well for the first lesson?” Margherita replied, with a playful slap at her husband’s hand.

“Zee student, she progresses with alacrity!” Elizabeth said, in a theatrical, faux-French accent, which garnered a laugh. She took her place between Margherita and Marina, and spread her napkin in her lap.

“I’m glad to hear it. I assume that means we can socialize this evening?” Thomas wanted to know.

“Certainly. All work and no play—speaking of which, Sebastian, are you going to need the student for work tomorrow?”

Sebastian chewed meditatively on a forkful of rabbit for a moment, thinking. “I could use her. I need more work on the hands at the moment; hard to get them right without her. And I’d like to do some sketches for the next projects. Werther and the Wife