“Tell me everything that happened,” said Hartley.
Will related the day’s events, leaving out only Adrian’s request for a favor. Hartley tilted his head back in the chair for a moment and squeezed his eyes shut, as though trying to focus on some obscure internal principle of philosophy. “You don’t have any candidates to blame in this thing?” he finally said.
“No, or I would have mentioned it. —Hart? Are you selling interdicted drugs to these aristo kids?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Hart, with some acidity. “I’m letting them sell interdicted drugs to me.”
“And making a list of names for later blackmail purposes.”
“That goes without saying. Shut up a minute.” He closed his eyes again. Then he opened them and looked at Will quizzically. “How did Adrian take it?”
“I told you what he did. He helped her to the chair—”
“No, no. You were there, Willie. You were standing next to them both. We both know you notice things. What was he feeling? Do you think he’ll try to call off the wedding? Is he trying to be polite to damaged goods?”
Inwardly Will cursed himself. He ought to have anticipated that Hart would want to turn the direction of this interrogation around. It was obvious. He’d let his emotions sweep him in here, while he knew very well—Hart himself had explained it more than cogently, at the age of twelve—that he was at his weakest point when he was emotional. Some people did well in the grip of violent feelings, but Will was not one of them.
“You’re asking for an opinion.”
“Of course I am.”
“I think,” Will said, “that he is fonder of her than ever. I think he was concerned about the accident. I think that the experience may have added feelings of protectiveness to good old simple lust. I think this is all speculation.”
They were conversing in court speech. Hartley smiled gently. “How nice for us,” he said, in an aristo accent so pure it was almost repellent.
“How do you figure that?”
“Willie, anything that makes Adrian more vulnerable is to be encouraged. These protective instincts are an excellent thing. Human beings tend to trust those who are entrusted to their care. Certainly they don’t perceive them as a threat. How much easier it will be for Iolanthe to gather information for us!”
“Have you ever noticed that you talk about human beings in the third person?”
Hart chuckled. “What a good day it’s been all around. The aristos love me, you’ve been a hero—we have something to complain to the Diamond about, and yet everything’s going perfectly.”
Not for Iolanthe, Will thought. “But you say you’ve had nothing to do with it.”
“Cross my heart, Willie. ‘Fate turns the mother’s face toward us; she saves the dagger for tomorrow.’ We’ve just been lucky. Have you had dinner?”
Will rose to his feet. “Not yet. I didn’t feel like eating.”
“Nor did the drugheads in the other room. Care to try the Malachite Common with me? On second thought, I think I’ll order in my chamber. Cold chicken and spiced salad, a bottle of wine—better than what they serve the City Guard.”
“You must be joking.” Will walked to the doorway, feeling the tiredness of the day suddenly settle over him.
“As you like. Oh, Willie? What on earth made you think I was involved in this thing?”
“I don’t know,” said Will. “It must be force of habit.”
He left Hartley sitting there in his carved brocade chair.
Granny Seaton dipped her scented cloth in the bowl of liquid beside Iolanthe’s bed, and reached out toward her face. Io turned toward the wall.
“Child, I’ve told you the marks will fade. This will help, and it’ll keep them from becoming infected. You have to be a big girl and let me wash you—”
Iolanthe tensed. A big girl, indeed! She felt all of six years old around this ancient lady, and it was clear the lady took her for about that age in fact.
She turned abruptly and faced the woman. Granny Seaton was wearing a long, plain brown dress, her white hair done up in braids and her face shining with the patina of very old age, like an ancient piece of ivory. The edge of a strand of pearls could be seen poking from beneath the first open button of the dress.
“Are you a witch?” Io demanded.
Granny Seaton regarded her for a moment. “Yes, I am, dear,” she said tartly. “And fortunate for you that I am, and you’re not facing some half-baked boy of a doctor, who’d cause you twice as much pain and do you no good at all.”
“Witches are evil company, and their spells are useless in any case.” It was a rude thing to say, but Iolanthe felt justified by circumstances. Also, she was a little afraid of this witch, and wanted her to leave.
Granny Seaton did not seem offended. She said, “Well, I’ve been able to ease dear Prudence’s way with her husband’s headaches; and I’ve helped the boy from time to time, too.”
“The boy?”
“Adrian. A nice boy, very polite.”
They looked at each other. “It won’t hurt,” said Granny finally.
Iolanthe sighed. “Just the face,” she said. She tilted her head up toward Granny, eyes squeezed shut as though expecting a blow. The cloth was cool, damp, and gentle. After a moment she opened her eyes. “I suppose you could do the arms as well.”
“That seems to me a good plan.”
A quarter-hour later Granny wrung out her cloth for the final time. “When do you get married, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know. Within a few months, I suppose. Or perhaps sooner.”
The old woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Have you been examined?”
“Examined?”
“Inside and out, as they say.”
“Certainly not!”
“Well, this would be a good time for it. You have your clothes off, and I don’t come to court all that often—”
“No!” Io squeezed her legs together.
The witch sighed. “Sweetheart, we won’t do anything that would upset you. But you’re a bright child,
