Heart and Soul (22 page)

And maybe that was true. Well, at least it was as much true as anything else that Papa or Mama said. Very often they made no sense at all, and Hettie knew she was being given half explanations, as though she were no more than a babe in arms. It was insulting but, in a way, she understood that.

Papa and Mama had tried very hard to have more children, but something had gone wrong when Mama had Hettie, and therefore they must be contented with her. Mama said it was just as well, because Papa traveled so much as first mate for the carpetship line, she’d never be able to keep watch over a passel of brats, particularly if all the brats had been as full of mischief and invention as her Hettie. Only, Hettie didn’t think that was quite true, because when Mama said that, she got a sad and distant look in her eyes, as if she were looking at a lovely picture of something that could never be. And Hettie thought that Mama and Papa would have liked to have a dozen children, and since they only had her, they must protect her as if she were an entire dozen.

Only now, she wasn’t sure what they were doing was in the name of protecting her. In fact, if anything, they seemed to be going out of their way to endanger her and themselves. And that she couldn’t allow, because though she was only seventeen and in many ways she supposed she was spoiled—at least she was the only girl in the neighborhood whose parents had scrimped and saved for years to be able to send her to a private school with the children of wealthy merchants—she did have proper feelings, and she did care for her mama and papa much more than they seemed to care for themselves, absurd creatures that they were.

And when it came to bringing a wounded man into the house, who talked in his sleep—and it was no use at all Papa thinking she did not know what the man said, because she did—and who in his sleep spoke of himself as a lord, and who furthermore called himself Mr. Jones, as if that could be anyone’s true name…Well, it was no use at all thinking that Hettie was going to believe it, because she wasn’t.

And then today, with dragons and all, and a completely naked Chinese girl showing up right after the Chinese dragon disappeared, well! Hettie was not a fool. She tossed her head, as she made her way out of the house as quietly as may be.

Hettie had looked through the dining room keyhole and seen a great red glow. There was something about a ruby or some magical jewel or another. She remembered Papa talking to Mama in whispers about a jewel, and she wondered if the man who called himself Mr. Jones had stolen it.

After all, she’d grown up on stories of carpetship magicians, a breed that, until this Mr. Jones, Papa had absolutely no use for. He’d always said they were at the very least petty thieves, and most likely worse than that. He said they were all on the run and most of what they were on the run from was their own bad habits. All of this he’d said throughout most of Hettie’s life, only to reverse it now, over this man, as if it had never happened.

And yes, she had heard what the man had done and how he’d saved the carpetship, and Papa’s life. But the thing was, even Hettie—who was not nearly as grown up as Papa and not nearly as jaundiced—had seen how often it was true that people might be very brave or very capable of sacrifice in one thing, and yet remain the most black-hearted villains who ever walked the Earth. So how could Papa not think of that, Hettie reflected, as she slipped out the kitchen door and into her parents’ carefully planted, well-tended garden. Her mother did most of the work, since Papa traveled so much, but their apple trees were the envy of the neighborhood. And as for their quinces, well, there was simply no one to touch their quality. And their roses, too, bloomed with more color and fragrance than any of their neighbors’ flowers. She walked carefully between the rosebushes, taking an odd path to the left, then knitting herself to the wall.

She did not think any of the older people were going to look out of the dining room window, but they might, and if she took the garden path straight to the gate, they might see her. No reason at all that she shouldn’t be walking out the back gate, but you never knew when Mama and Papa would decide to go all protective and irrational. She might be going to visit her friend Mary, or her friend Jane, who lived just down the street and who had been her friends since they were all learning to walk. The fact that she wasn’t only made it more imperative that no one should see her leave. Because this would be a very bad time for Mama and Papa to get curious.

For almost a week now, she’d managed to keep her meetings with Captain Corridon a secret. He was tall and handsome, with the sort of suntanned pale skin that always seemed to her to bespeak adventure. Except in Papa, where, of course, it just bespoke Papa.

He was the second son of an earl, and so tall. And though Mary said that his red hair clashed with his red uniform, that was just foolishness. Besides, the captain had told Hettie he didn’t always wear a uniform. He was—as well as an officer in the army—a secret agent for Her Majesty, entrusted by the queen herself with missions that he couldn’t discuss with Hettie, since on them might hang the fate of the world.

In fact, from things he had let drop during their various conversations, she knew he’d been to China and India, knew all of Europe and had visited the Americas, and he knew how to get out of the most harrowing situations. He’d let it drop that he’d once been surrounded by a hundred Zulus on the warpath. He’d never explained how he got out of it, mostly because he’d immediately begged her to forget that he’d said anything at all, since he wasn’t supposed to speak of his adventures. But it was clear he had got out of it, because he was now here, in Cape Town.

And though he’d never explained under what circumstances, he’d mentioned hunting the buffalo on the American plains, and he’d said, too, that he’d become a Cherokee chief’s son by adoption.

All in all, he was the sort of romantic man that a girl like Hettie could only sigh over. But the best part of all—and probably what caused Mary’s untoward comments—was that he liked Hettie and wanted to know her better.

For days now, he’d met her outside her gate, where the garden gave onto the narrow alley between the back wall of their garden and the back wall of Jane’s garden.

And it wasn’t as if he’d ever said anything improper. He hadn’t. He just talked about her, and was delighted to hear all her stories about her father, and what her father had always said about carpetship magicians, and how Hettie could not believe he was now being taken in by this stranger.

Captain Corridon was interested in Hettie herself, and in her life. And it wasn’t just because Hettie had used on him that small magic she’d inherited from her father—the glamoury: the ability to make anyone believe anything she said and do her will for a very short period. Mary might say that’s what it was until she turned blue, but it wouldn’t make it so.

Yes, Hettie had used that glamoury on their minders when they were both very little, and sometimes on their friends, so they could win free of supervision and have some fun. But she had not used it on Captain Corridon. She knew that short-lived glamoury would be a very bad use of magic if what she meant to do was find a husband. Which it was.

She thought he was interested in her, and he just might be the man that Mama had said would one day arrive. Of course, it was also much different from everything that Mama had told her about her and Papa’s courtship. Because Captain Corridon was a nobleman, and therefore well above Hettie. While, for all that Mama could go on about what a wonderful match she made, she didn’t think marrying a cabin boy on a carpetship was that much of a step up for the daughter of a farmer working as a maid in a noble house.

Mary, who truly indulged in the sin of envy, said that Hettie was reaching far above herself. Hettie flung her head back at the thought as she opened the back garden gate, stepped through it and closed it softly behind her.

She didn’t see why, since she had been educated as the daughter of a well-to-do merchant, she should not marry the second son of an earl. Her classmates married lords all the time. She didn’t see why she should be any different.

Outside the gate, she looked around the shady lane. He appeared from the end of it, tall, straight, with tanned skin, and dark red hair. “Hettie,” he said, extending both hands to her. And then, as though controlling himself with an effort, “I mean, Miss Perigord.” He lowered his hands and bowed to her.

She giggled. It was funny that he should be so formal. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Because I had to get out of that house or go insane.”

He grinned at her, and didn’t scold her for her unfilial sentiments, or some such rot. Instead, with mischief sparkling in his eyes, he said, “And what have your parents been doing, Miss Perigord, to deserve such a condemnation from you?”

It was a relief to tell him everything.

THE UNDERWORLD

Third Lady held the polished copper pot to her husband’s
lips, and hoped that something would show on the surface. She hoped he still had breath and life within him.

What would she do if she had killed him in her attempt to revive him? She wasn’t sure at all—beyond the unpleasantness of being prosecuted as a murder-ess—that she could go on living without Wen. In fact, she might very well end her life right here, next to him. Let them be discovered when someone else came to this cave, as true lovers who’d left the world together. And let the wheel of reincarnation send them somewhere they could be mere peasants, but peasants who loved each other and were free to enjoy each other’s company.

She heard a sob escape her lips, and disciplined herself to take a slow breath. No. Let him be alive. He had to be alive. She wouldn’t accept anything else.

Looking at the pan, she was glad to see the faintest dew of water vapor on it. She looked at Wen. Pale he might be, breathless he might seem, but he was still alive.

Which meant his spirit and mind had probably already got free of his body and were hurtling toward the underworld. Which meant she must follow as soon as she possibly could. Else he’d think she had killed or betrayed him. And besides, his spirit might do something foolish, which would allow them to charge his soul with fresh crimes.

Certainly he wouldn’t know that he was in the underworld to ransom his soul, nor what he was supposed to do to obtain its freedom.

Third Lady had wasted too much time already. She must hasten to follow.

She took from the recesses of her gown, where she’d hidden her various necessities for this journey, the goods she’d brought along to help her and Wen in the other world. It was an assorted lot—some of it leftovers from various funeral rites over the centuries, which had, somehow, found their way to the records boat and accumulated there.

There were ladies and gentlemen in nice attire—perfect paper dolls meant to follow the deceased in the other world. Though Precious Lotus was not deceased—nor had she any intention of being so—she was going to the underworld, and she saw no reason these servants should not accompany her, if they accompanied the shades of the dead.

There were fifteen or so of each, ladies and gentlemen, some in quite outmoded clothes. She didn’t know how long they’d been in the records boat, but she suspected they’d got there in the confusion after some long-lost emperor’s death. She was fairly sure the keeper of the records boat would have been very upset had he known that she had made off with the figures under her gown, much less that she was burning them now. Other things she burned—a pair of very good-looking horses, a cart and its puller and—though she was not absolutely sure what good this would be to them—a monkey wearing a very interesting uniform that she couldn’t quite identify.