The Gates of Sleep

So, that would explain all the unease, the tension, even the fear. And the feeling of something bad out there watching for her—well, dreams often showed you the opposite of what you were really feeling, and the fear came from the fact that no one would be watching for her with Elizabeth gone.

The anxiety as well—well, that was simply a straight reflection of the fact that with Elizabeth gone, she would be feeling rather lonely. For the first time she could remember, winter had not been a round of day after day, the same, with barely a visit or two to the village to break the monotony. Everyone had tasks that kept them involved except her. Posing might be hard work, but it wasn’t intellectually stimulating. But with Elizabeth here, she’d had a friend and entirely new things to do.

It was all as simple and straightforward as that!

Relieved now that she had found a logical explanation for what must have been a simple bout of night-fears, she joined in the discussion—which, despite Uncle Sebastian claiming it was an argument, never got to the point of raised voices, much less to acrimony. Elizabeth even appealed to Sarah a time or two, though Sarah only replied with “I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am,” or “I couldn’t rightly say, ma’am.” And, essentially, all of the women knew deep down that Sebastian was firmly on their side in the case of the Cause. He was only arguing because one of his greatest joys was in playing devil’s advocate. And another was to get Elizabeth sufficiently annoyed to exercise a talent for rather caustic wit that she rarely displayed.

At least, so long as it didn’t interfere with his meals. The only reason that Elizabeth got in some fairly long speeches without being interrupted was because Uncle Sebastian was enjoying his broiled kidneys. Twice Sarah purloined her plate to rewarm what had gotten cold and unappetizing.

Finally, he cleaned his plate with a bit of toast, popped it in his mouth, and stood up. “You win, Elizabeth, as usual. You’re right, I’m outnumbered, and besides, I am not going to waste this gorgeous light. You’ll have to do without Marina this morning, Elizabeth—I’ve got a buyer for Werther and I mean to have the money in time to finance a really good Christmas. Come along, poppet—”

He gestured at Marina, who quickly rose from the table and followed him. She saw that determined, yet slightly absent look in his eyes and knew it of old. Werther would be finished—in very few days, if the weather held.

And Marina was going to be spending a great deal of time sprawled half on, half off that pallet, nearly upside down.

Oh well, she thought, suppressing a yawn as she fitted her upper torso within the chalk marks on the floor. Uncle Sebastian’s doing my legs this morning, since that’s where the light is falling. So at least I’II get to make up my lost sleep today.

By the time Elizabeth left, Marina had all but forgotten about her disturbed night. The few times she thought about it, she was glad she hadn’t mentioned it; it would have been too, too embarrassing to be comforted and reassured over a nightmare. And in front of Elizabeth too—appalling thought!

She hadn’t seen a sign of a single Sylph or any other Air Elemental since then, but they didn’t much care for the cold, and she was too busy to summon one. The clear weather didn’t hold, either, and they liked rain even less than cold. With Uncle Sebastian claiming her time during the day, feverishly painting his Young Werther, Elizabeth claimed the hours between sunset and bedtime. Which was only right, of course— after all, that was why Elizabeth was here in the first place!

The result was that when the day of departure arrived, Marina was able to build a shield two layers thick, with the outer layer looking just like the sort of aura that any ordinary person might have. What was more, she could shield a workspace, or even a smallish room, and within the room, she could make the shield permanent.

She still hadn’t begun the next phase of her tutelage, which Elizabeth said would be the offensive and defensive uses of her power. That would have to wait; Elizabeth didn’t want her to even think about such a thing until there was another Water Master physically present while she practiced.

The day of departure was gray, but not raining, so they all went to see her off, using both carts, and combining the trip with a Christmas shopping expedition to the village and perhaps beyond. When Elizabeth’s train was safely gone, and the last glimpse of her hand waving a handkerchief out of the window was a memory, Marina and her aunt took one of the carts, and the uncles took the other. Uncle Thomas and Uncle Sebastian were in charge of arranging the Christmas feast.

“Make sure you get a gray goose, and not a white one!” Marina called after them as they set off on a round of the little village shop, the pub, and some of the farms. “The white ones are too fat!”

Uncle Sebastian waved absently; Uncle Thomas ignored them. Margherita sighed. “It’s the same thing every year, isn’t it?” she said to the pony’s back-pointing ears. “Every year, I tell them, ‘get a gray goose.’ And what do they do every year? They get a white one.

“Maybe if you told them to get a turkey?” Marina suggested delicately.

“Then they’d bring back a pheasant, I swear.” Margherita sighed again.

“Where first?” Marina asked, as Margherita took up the reins and glanced down the road after the uncles. Her aunt gave her a measuring look.

“Would you really, truly like a suit like Elizabeth’s?” Margherita asked, a bit doubtfully. “Personally, I would feel as if I’d been trussed up like the Christmas goose in one of those rigs, but if you really want one—”

“Oh, Aunt!” Marina said breathlessly, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Margherita had resisted, quietly, but implacably, every hint that Marina had ever given her about more fashionable clothing. Nothing moved her, not the most delectable sketch in the newspaper, not the most delicious description of a frock in one of Alanna’s letters. “Do you think you’d really like that?” was one response, “It’s not practical for running about outside,” was another. And she couldn’t help but agree, even while, the older she got, the more she yearned for something—just one outfit—that was truly stylish.

“All right then. It won’t be a surprise, but it will be done in time for Christmas.” Margherita’s expression was a comical mix of amusement and resignation, as she turned the pony’s head and slapped the reins on his back.

“But, where are we going?” Marina asked, bewildered, as Margherita sent the pony out of the village, trotting along the road that ran parallel to the railway, into the west.

“Well, I don’t have the skill to make you anything like that! And besides, we’ll have to get you the proper corset for it as well; just compare what they’re showing in advertisements with what you own. We won’t find anything in Killatree; we might as well go to Holsworthy.” Margherita smiled. “You’ve never had anything other than the gowns I made or ordinary waists and skirts from Maggie Potter; you’ll have to be fitted, we’ll have to select fabric, and we’ll have to return for a final fitting.”

“Oh.” Marina was a bit nonplused. “I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble—”

“Nonsense! A Christmas gift needs to be fussed over a bit!” Margherita laughed, and flicked her whip warningly at a dog that came out of one of the farmyards to bark at them. “It’s not as if we were going all the way to Plymouth—although—” she hesitated. “You know, we could. We could take the train there, easily enough. The seamstress in Holsworthy is good, but she won’t be as modish as the one that creates Elizabeth’s gowns.”

For a moment, Marina was sorely tempted. Plymouth! She had never been to Plymouth. She had never been to any big city.

But that was the rub; she had never been to any big city. After a moment, her spirit quailed at the thought of facing all those buildings, all those people. Not Plymouth; not unless she’d had time to get her mind around going there. And then—well, she’d want to stay there for more than a day. Which meant she truly needed to get herself mentally prepared for the big city.

“I’d like something simpler than Elizabeth’s suit,” she said, after thinking of a good way to phrase it. “After all, couldn’t we do the ornamentation if I decide I want it later? And I’d like that better. If you can’t actually make the suit, I’d rather have your designs for ornaments.”

“We certainly could, Mari,” her aunt said warmly, which made her pleased that she had thought of it. “You know, this was Thomas’ suggestion for your Christmas present—and I suspect he had an ulterior motive, because it means that he won’t be in the Workshop from now until Christmas, trying to somehow craft something for you in secret and finish his commissions.”

“Well, I can’t blame him, since he’s running out of space in my room to put the things he’s made for me,” Marina replied, casting an anxious tendril of energy toward the sky. Was it going to rain? They had umbrellas, but Holsworthy was more than twice as far away as Killatree.

No. We’ll be fine. That was another lesson learned from Elizabeth; how to read the