The Gates of Sleep

She had just come to realize what was going to happen to her with that much lead in her. Her hands were starting to go. But the ones I’ve got to replace them are orphans off the parish rolls, and both are Earth, which should bolster our power immensely in that element.”

Arachne smiled. “Lovely,” she purred. “You are a wonderful pupil, dear.” She raised her cup of chocolate to her lips and sipped, savoring the sting of brandy in it.

“You are a wonderful teacher, Mater,” he replied slyly, and her smile broadened. “Fancy learning that you could steal the magic from those who haven’t come into their powers. I wouldn’t have thought of that—” He raised his glass of wine to her in a toast.

“It was others who thought of it before I did,” Arachne admitted, but with a feeling of great satisfaction. “Even if none of them were as efficient as I am.”

“That’s my mater; a model of modern efficiency. You took one ramshackle old pottery and made it into four that are making money so fast you’d think we were coining it.” He chuckled. “And in another six months?”

“There is a fine deposit of porcelain clay on this property, access to rail and water, near enough to Barnstaple for cheap sea shipping, plenty of water…” She flexed her fingers slightly as if they were closing around something she wanted very much. “And cheap labor.”

“And it is so very quiet here,” Reggie prompted slyly. “Well, Mater, I’m doing my part. I’m playing court to the little thing, and I expect I’ll have her one way or another by the summer, if your side doesn’t come in. Have you discovered anything? Just between the two of us, I’d as soon not find myself leg- shackled; it does cut down on a fellow’s fun, no matter how quiet the little wife is.” He shrugged at her sardonic expression. “There’s the social connections to think about, don’t you know. They don’t mind winking at a bit of jiggery-pokery when a fellow’s single, but once he’s married, he daren’t let ‘em find out about it, or they’ll cut him.”

She smiled, but sourly. “Ah, society. Well, once married, you needn’t stay married to her long.”

He frowned at that; the sulky frown he had whenever he was balked. “I’d still rather you found a way to make that curse of yours work,” he told her crossly. “Folk start to talk if a fellow’s wife dies right after the wedding. And this isn’t the middle ages, you know. There’s inquests, coroners’ juries, chemical tests—”

“That will do, Reggie,” she said sharply. “At the moment, we have a number of options, which include you remaining married to the girl. She doesn’t have to die to suit our purposes. She only needs to sicken and take to her bed.” She allowed a smile to cross her lips. “And no one would censure you very strongly for a little peccadilloes if you were known to have an invalid wife.”

“Hmm. And if I had an—institutionalized wife?” he ventured brightening. “A wife who followed—but perhaps, more dangerously—in the footsteps of her mother?”

She blinked. “Why Reggie—that is not a bad notion at all! What if we allowed some rumors about Alanna to spread down into the village? What would Marina think, having heard of her own mother’s fantasies, if she began seeing things?”

“A mix of illusions created by magic and those created by stage-magic?” he prompted further, a malicious smile on his lips. “Your expertise—and mine? Why, she might even be driven to suicide!”

She laughed aloud, something she did so rarely that she startled herself with the sound. “Ah, Reggie! What a team we make!”

“That we do, Mater,” he agreed, a smile spreading over his handsome face. “That we do. Now—I believe I have every detail set for tonight, but just go over the plans with me once again.”

The mare, whose unimaginative name was Brownie, was probably the steadiest beast that Marina had ever seen. And she knew these lanes and paths far, far better than Marina did. At the moment, they were on the lane that ran along the side of another great estate called Briareley Hall, a pounded—dirt track studded with rocks like the raisins in a cake, wide enough for a hay wain pulled by two horses, with banks and hedgerows on either side that went well above Marina’s head even when she was in the saddle. The bank itself, knobby with the roots of the hedge planted on it, came as high as Marina’s own knee. The road was in shadow most of the day because of the hedgerows, and snow lingered in the roots of the hedgerow and the edges of the road no matter how bright the sun elsewhere. Brownie knew that she was on her way home, back to stable and oats and perhaps an apple, so her usual shambling walk had turned into a brisk one—nearly, but not quite, a trot. Marina was thinking of a hot cup of strong tea in the kitchen to fortify herself against the insipid tea she would get with Madam. She had ridden this route often enough to know that there was nothing particularly interesting on it, as well. So when Brownie suddenly threw up her head and shied sideways, she was taken completely by surprise.

Fortunately, the little mare was too fat and too indolent by nature to do anything, even shy, quickly or violently. It was more like a sideways stumble, a couple of bumbling steps in which all four feet got tangled up. Marina was startled, but too good a rider to be thrown, though she had to grab the pommel of the sidesaddle and drop the reins, holding on for dear life and throwing all of her weight onto the stirrup to brace herself against the sidesaddle. Her stomach lurched, and her heart raced, but she didn’t lose her head, and fortunately, neither did Brownie.

When Brownie’s feet found purchase again, the mare slung her head around and snorted indignantly at the thing that had frightened her.

Sweet heaven—it’s a person—it’s a girl!

A girl, huddled into the roots and frozen earth at the foot of the hedgerow. And one glance at the white, terrified face of that girl huddled at the side of the road sent Marina flying out of the saddle that Brownie’s antics hadn’t been able to budge her from.

The girl, dressed in nothing more than a nightgown and dressing-gown, with oversized slippers half falling off her feet, had scrambled backward and wedged herself in among the roots and the frozen dirt and weeds of the bank. Marina had never seen a human so utterly terrified in her life—

If her mouth hadn’t been twisted up in a silent scream, if her eyes hadn’t been so widened with fear that the whites showed all around them, she would have been pretty.

But she was thin, so very thin, and her skin was so pale the blue veins showed through. Too thin to be pretty anymore, unless your taste ran to the waiflike and skeletal.

All of that was secondary to the girl’s terror, and instinctively, as she would have with a frightened animal, Marina got down on her knees and held out one hand, making soothing sounds at her She heard Brownie snort behind her, then the unmistakable sound of the horse nosing at the sere grasses and weeds among the roots.

Good, she won’t be going anywhere for a while, greedy pig.

“It’s all right, dear. It is. I’m a friend.” she said softly, trying to win past that terror to some kernel of sanity. If one existed.

From the way the girl’s eyes were fixed on something off to Marina’s right, Marina had a notion that the child wasn’t seeing her, but something else. A tiny thread of sound, a strangled keening, came out of her throat; the sound of a soul certain that it was on the verge of destruction.

Except, of course, there was nothing there. At least, Marina thought there was nothing there.

Just to be sure, Marina stole a glance in the direction that the girl was looking, and made sure there was nothing of an occult nature there. Just in case. It was always possible that the girl herself had a touch—or more than a touch—of Elemental Magery about her and could see such things.

But there wasn’t; nothing more alarming than sparrows in the hedges, no magic, not even a breath of power. Whatever this poor creature saw existed only in her own mind.

Marina crept forward a little; even through the thick wool of her skirt and three petticoats, she felt the cold of the frozen ground and the pebbles embedded in it biting into her knees and the palm of the hand that supported her. “It’s all right, dear. I’ll help you. I’ll protect you.” Her breath puffed out whitely with each word, but the girl still didn’t seem to notice she was there.

Then—all at once, she did. Her eyes rolled like a frightened horse’s, and the girl moved her head a little; it was a jerky, not-quite-controlled movement. And at the same time, her right hand flailed out sideways and hit a root, hard, hard enough to scrape it open. Marina gasped and bit her lip at the thought of how it should hurt.

The girl didn’t react, not even with a wince. Exactly as if she hadn’t even felt it.

There’s more wrong with her than I thought. There’s something physically wrong with her. As if it’s not bad enough that she’s seeing monsters that aren’t there!