Phoenix and Ashes

awaken poor Reggie. Finally they seemed content with the praise, and she sensed they were ready to be dismissed. With a wave of her hand and the proper glyph she obliged them, and they dispersed, fading into the sunlight, leaving nothing of themselves behind but the faintest of warmth around her ankles and wrists.

Which left her still with the unanswered question of what to do about Reggie. Finally she dispersed the shield, picked up her basket and walked to edge of the meadow. Once there, she did the only thing she could think of. She began to whistle, and saunter along as if she had only just arrived.

As she had hoped, his head popped up immediately; eyes a little startled, but she ignored that. 'Hullo!' she called, waving her hand. 'I've brought some nice things for tea, if you want some!'

'And I've brought ginger-beer,' was his reply, as he sat up, shaking his head, and rubbing at his eyes. 'Hang if I didn't doze off—must've been the sun, makes a chap sleepy.'

She paced up to him as he stood up and took the basket from her. 'I say,' he said, a little shyly. 'I'm awfully glad you came. I've been here nearly every day, hoping you would.'

It was her turn to blush and feel shy. 'It's hard for me to—to get away—I have to work, you see—' she managed, around her stepmother's prohibitions. 'Perhaps you shouldn't waste your time.'

'It's my time to waste, isn't it?' he retorted, and softened the words with a smile. 'Besides, this is probably exactly what the medical johnnies have in mind for me, dozing out in meadows and what-all. They'd probably be perfectly happy about it. In fact, if it will make you feel any better, I'll write one of 'em and ask her to write out a prescription for just that. Before I came out here she was threatening to descend on Longacre to make sure I rested; I'm sure she'd be pleased to find out I had a reason to want to.'

Her smile faltered a little. 'She?' she replied. 'A lady-doctor?'

Of course, and a lady-doctor would be just the sort of woman he'd be fascinated by; able to stand up for herself and clever, and able to talk to him about all manner of things—

'Oh, yes, the only one I really know personally, Doctor Maya Scott,' he said happily, completely oblivious to the fact that she had gone quiet. 'Married to a friend of mine; capital wench, and does she know her business! If there were any justice, she'd be head of surgery at least, maybe head of an entire hospital.' He shook his head, as she belatedly reacted to the words 'married to a friend of mine' and brightened again. 'Well, maybe she doesn't want that, come to think of it. Can't say I would.'

'If she is a really good doctor, she probably doesn't want to be made head of anything, so long as she's left to do what she feels is right, and that she needs to do,' Eleanor replied, thinking as she spoke. 'It seems to me that taking a good doctor and making her into a—a glorified clerk—isn't the sort of thing that a good doctor would want.' 'You probably have something there,' Reggie said, with a nod. He patted the blanket. 'Well, you're here now and I'm glad you could get away. Come sit down and we'll have our tea. What have you been doing with yourself all this time?'

'Work,' she replied truthfully. 'Not at all glamorous. Servant's work, to tell the truth.' That last was pulled out of her, almost unwillingly, but she felt she owed it to him.

He reached into the basket and handed her a sandwich without faltering. 'Our good vicar would tell you that there's no shame in an honest day's labor,' he replied. 'And I'd second him. We got all sorts in our air-wing. Not just the mechanics and the orderlies, either—truth is, I never saw where being a cockney guttersnipe or a Yankee cowboy made a fellow a worse pilot, or being a duke's son made him a better one. Opposite, more often than not, in fact.' He bit hungrily into his sandwich, cutting anything else he was going to say short, and she nibbled on hers to keep from having to respond. It was a rather astonishing thing for him to have said; he certainly wouldn't have felt that way before he went off to war.

Yes, and he's been spending all his time down at The Broom, and not at the Broom Hall Inn, hasn't he? she answered herself.

'Did you meet a lot of Americans?' she asked, seizing on his last statement as a way to draw him out a little more.

'More Canadians, which aren't quite the same thing.' He ate the last few bites of his sandwich neatly, then uncorked a bottle of ginger beer and handed it to her, before taking one from his rucksack for himself. 'The Canadians were—quieter. Didn't seem so intent on making a rowdy reputation for themselves. Mind you, the Australians are at least as loud as the Yanks. Only ever met a few of the Yanks, and they were all cut of the same cloth—right out of a Wild West show, tall, loud, rough. Good lads, but seemed determined that they were going to show all of us that they were larger than life.'

She laughed a little at his quizzical expression. 'Maybe they only thought they had to live up to what's written in their novels?' she suggested. 'And the only novels I've ever heard of that had Canadians in them were all about the mounted police, not about cowboys and outlaws.'

'Which came first, the novel or the stereotype?' He grinned and shook his head. 'Well, if I could answer that, I'd be a wiser man than I am. All I can tell you is that the Yanks fly like they're trying to ride a wild horse, all seat and no science. It makes them either brilliant, or cracks them up, and nothing in between. The Huns are all science and no seat—'

'And the French?' she prompted.

'Ah, the French. Science with style, and a great deal of attitude.' He nodded wisely. 'They fly like their women