'Listen, Sister Madeleine,' he said in a reasonable facsimile of a firm voice. 'I'm really not supposed to get involved with Seculars-that is, um, people outside the Guild.'
He looked into the blue eyes for a long time, but Madeleine did not speak. At last, Grimm blurted, 'If you don't mind me saying, you don't seem awfully religious to me, Sister M-Madeleine. What's your Order?'
'Oh, I'm with the Sisters of Divine Mercy,' the nun said, with a dreamy smile. 'My Order isn't all that strict, Questor Grimm. We are expected to exercise decorum and so on during hours of observance, of course, but we are allowed a limited amount of socialising. I've been resident here for three weeks as an assistant to my Prioress. She's been liaising with the Prelate over the possibility of formal recognition of our Order by the Guild, giving us primacy over other religious orders in towns and cities where the Guild is established.'
She bit her lower lip in a manner that Grimm found highly appealing. He was not experienced enough in the ways of the distaff sex to realise that he was supposed to. 'Are you allowed alcohol, Grimm?' she asked.
Grimm thought of the drunken affair of his Acclamation ceremony and nodded. 'Surely they don't let you drink, Sister Madeleine?'
'No, but there are beverages other than alcoholic ones that I am allowed,' she said with a smile. 'There is one bar in what you call the Secular zone, where Guild members are allowed to mingle with outsiders. I'd like to meet you there in a couple of hours.'
Grimm's head felt his head spin.
'A couple of hours sounds just fine to me.' It seemed as if somebody else had spoken.
'I'll see you in two hours, then.' As she walked away, Madeleine blew Grimm a small kiss over her shoulder. The kiss seemed to impact his cheek with the gentle caress of a feather stuck to the head of a sledgehammer. Grimm found himself beginning to count the minutes until they met again.
He felt happier than he could remember.
He might have felt different, had he been able to see the rather sinister, knowing, self-satisfied half-smile on the young nun's face as she walked back to her quarters.
Chapter 17: Infatuation
Grimm almost danced, fighting hard to keep a dreamy, beaming smile from his face. The invaluable locating gem lit the way to his room, and he felt as if his feet bore wings. He debated with himself over what he should say to Dalquist, and decided not to mention Madeleine to his friend. All the Guild Rules emphasised that close relations with women were anathema to Guild Mages, and could sap a magic-user's power.
Still, Grimm thought, what harm can there be in a little convivial company for the evening?
He was, of course, deluding himself. A part of him recognised that it was wrong to deceive his friend; if he believed that his little soiree was so innocent and harmless, why did he need to keep it from Dalquist? Unfortunately, the frontal lobes of Grimm's brain were no longer in full control of his actions.
Grimm realised he did not know which of the two rooms mentioned by Shael had been reserved for him; however, the terminus of the magical green trail made clear which door was his. It opened at his touch, and he stepped inside as if wafted on a breeze.
The splendour of the room was in keeping with the rest of High Lodge, richly carpeted in blue and gold, with a sumptuous four-poster bed and tables of tempting sweetmeats and viands. Crystal decanters of wine and liquor were also in evidence, but Grimm had his mind on only two things: Madeleine, and the desire to impress her.
A magical fire burnt in a grate in the middle of the wall to the left of the door, producing no smoke and consuming no fuel. A hipbath had been thoughtfully placed beside the fire, with a selection of unguents and oils. Grimm thought that a hot bath was just what he needed.
He stripped off his expensive silk robes and carelessly let them fall to the floor. A kettle was provided for hot water, but Grimm had no need for such mechanical devices. He filled the bath with cold water and cast a variant of his well-practiced Fire spell at the bath. He miscast twice, something that had not happened since he had become an Adept, but he dismissed the discomfort this brought. On the third attempt, he directed a small portion of his energies into the water until steam began to rise.
Still wearing his seraphic smile, Grimm lowered himself into the bath. He intended to appear at his very best for his meeting with Madeleine.
'How fared you with our young Questor friend, Sister Madeleine?' The harsh, sibilant, voice sounded like the rustle of dry, dead leaves underfoot.
The young Sister bore little resemblance to the gauche, flirtatious girl who had so entranced the Questor. Her eyes hooded, she took an apple from a tray and took a mouthful from it before answering.
'It was easy, Prioress. He's just a boy. I'll have him eating out of my hand before you know it.'
A wizened hand snatched the half-eaten apple from the girl and tossed it on the floor. 'Just remember, Madeleine: he is also a powerful Mage Questor, and I want him to stay that way. If you exceed my orders, Sister, you know what will happen to you.'
The old woman picked up a stout rod from behind her and waved it threateningly.
Madeleine clasped her hands and sank to her knees. 'I apologise, Reverend Mother. Everything will be as you order. Please forgive my levity.'
Still waving the stick, the Prioress continued, 'I do not wish for tainted goods, girl, so bear that in mind. I want you to ensure that he is so infatuated that he will seek me out at once when I take you away from him.
'If he wants to see you again, he will need to do a few favours for me; nothing much; just enough to get used to the idea of working for me on occasion. Just remember, promise all, but give little.'
'Of course, Reverend Mother,' Madeleine said, puzzled, 'but if you want his services, why do you not just command him to do as you wish?'
Snorting in exasperation, the Prioress replied, 'I may want a difficult service from him in the near future, one that will involve overcoming his whole will. I have seen that he is a strong one. Even I may not have sufficient power to defeat all of his motivation. Each time he performs a little task for me, I gain a greater insight into his soul.
'Nonetheless, Sister, you are not here to ask questions. You are here to do as you are told.'
'Reverend Mother, I am yours to command, as always.'
Lizaveta leaned forward, her shrivelled face a stern mask. 'Ensure that you do not forget that, dear Sister, or it will be the worse for you.'
Grimm arrived in the bar long before the appointed time. It was a large, crowded room with many bays, and Grimm started each time somebody entered the room. The low, subtle lighting seemed ideal for a romantic meeting, but it made identification difficult.
He had spent a considerable time in preparation for this meeting. After much deliberation, he had selected a deep blue velvet robe, and he had tied back his long, brown hair in a neat queue. His beard was trimmed and pomaded, and he had even combed his eyebrows. Sitting in a comfortable chair, his entrails writhed as he awaited Madeleine's arrival.
Grimm had begun to fear that she had changed her mind, as the allotted time came and went, but his heart seemed to flip as the young nun came into view. Lurching to his feet, he pulled out a chair, into which Madeleine sank with demure femininity.
'Sister, I'm so glad you came,' Grimm said, trying to sound mature and failing miserably, his voice almost an octave above its normal pitch.
