The Fire Rose

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When Rose reached the haven of her room, she finally collapsed on the sofa, and allowed herself the luxury of feeling again—and of thinking, instead of merely accepting what she saw.

The result was an emotional collapse as well as a physical one. Shaking in every limb, she buried her face in her hands and let the reaction and tension play themselves out. She did not, as she had half expected she would, weep hysterically—though she did shiver until her teeth rattled.

It was a horrible moment, and it felt as if it would last forever. She had to keep reminding herself that Jason Cameron was more to be pitied than feared, and that he probably had no surer friends in the world than herself and Master Pao. I can cope with this. I can deal with becoming his Apprentice. I can cope with his rudeness and his arrogance, and even handle his anger, if I must. He needed her, however ungraciously he might act. She could not desert a fellow man who was in the state that he found himself.

As her shivering subsided, she forced herself to recall, as clearly as possible, every aspect of his face and figure, for there was still fear within her now that she was no longer caught up in the urgency and unreality of the emergency in his rooms. She confronted the monster directly, if only in her mind, contemplating it until it was no stranger than anything else she had witnessed in this strangest of homes. I must make him commonplace to myself, so that I can concentrate on the work and not on him.

The more she recalled, the less there was that seemed outre. Certainly she was able to think about working beside him without a shudder of fear. Paul du Mond is more to be feared than he, I suspect. If the Salamanders do not like him, and if Sunset fears him, there is surely a reason.

When it came right down to it, Cameron looked no worse than any of the animal-headed gods of ancient Egypt, and she had always thought them to be oddly attractive!

Yes. I will think of him as a kind of lesser Anubis.

Somehow that made everything fall into place; she had a "name" for what he was, and a category, and the world fell back into some semblance of order again. Once that happened, her feeling of disorientation vanished, and so did the last of her unease. That was hardly logical—But then, as I am well aware, the emotions are not very responsive to logic.

She took three deep breaths, and ordered the Salamander who tended her rooms to fix her a bath. She certainly needed one! I was sodden with perspiration before the whole incident was over. My clothing will have to be cleaned before it is fit to wear again.

She vaguely heard du Mond returning, heard a faint echo of him talking with Jason through the speaking-tube as she undressed. She was glad she had taken the precaution of locking her door. For some reason he seemed more than usually repellent to her. Could it be because Jason no longer trusts him? I wonder why he was so insistent on helping Jason with his Magickal Working? To do the man justice, he might simply have had the welfare of his Master in mind....

But somehow, she thought, as she stepped into the steaming bathtub, I don't think so. But what could his motive be?

"Thank you for fixing my bath. Now take the clothing I left on the floor and clean it all thoroughly, please," she ordered aloud. She never forgot "please" and "thank you" with the Salamanders, and she had the oddest feeling that they appreciated the small courtesy.

But her mind kept turning back to Paul du Mond, in spite of her determination to enjoy her bath in peace. And a thought occurred to her that made her blood run cold in spite of the hot water she soaked in. He is Jason's secretary, and he has had more than enough time to learn to forge Jason's signature. His reason could be strictly material! He could have been hoping for such an outcome as this one, hoping to catch Jason at a moment of extreme weakness and—

And what? Murder his employer, perhaps? Her hands closed on the side of the bathtub, and it was all she could do to keep from leaping to her feet to run downstairs to warn Jason.

It was certainly a possibility. Cameron had been a recluse for long enough that no one remarked on the fact anymore. He communicated with his underlings by means of the telegraph set in his office, or by letters. Anyone could use a telegraph, and as for letters, du Mond already wrote the majority of them. Every secretary she had ever met was an adroit forger of his or her employer's name, and she doubted that du Mond was an exception to that rule.

He need only dispose of Jason, keep up the pretense that Jason is still alive, and enjoy all the fruits of Jason's wealth for as long as he cares to. She began shivering all over again, and hoped that Jason had not exposed his weakened state to du Mond. Would he snatch the opportunity, or would he wait for a surer time? I fear he is the type to grab for any chance....

It would be all too easy for the secretary to cover his employer's absence. Her imagination carried out the scheme further, until Paul du Mond appeared to her in her mind's eye as a very Moriarty of crime. If anyone suspected, he could purchase a ticket to Tahiti, China, or Australia, hire someone to impersonate Cameron for the trip, and then "Cameron" would either vanish overseas or simply "Send back orders" now and again. The only person who would know that Cameron was no longer among the living would be me—I am the only person he could not fool, for I know Cameron's voice.

That made her grow even colder. Of course, du Mond could always appear with orders for her dismissal, but would he? Why should he let her go? There was no one to miss her if she disappeared. If du Mond balked at killing a woman, he could simply overpower her and put her into the hands of a white slaver...

Or he could imprison me here, at his pleasure. Her throat closed, as fear choked off her breath for a moment; her chest tightened, and she feared that her heart would pound itself into pieces. She clutched the sides of the bathtub as to a lifeline, and willed herself to fight the fear. Logic! Think logically! Du Mond does not know that Jason is indisposed. Nothing has happened yet, and if I confide my thoughts to Jason, he can be certain to guard himself—

Guard himself! Of course! Suddenly her heart quieted, and her breathing eased. Jason had his Salamanders to protect him; if only half of what she had read thus far was true, in defense of their Master they could incinerate a man in the space of a heartbeat! Du Mond was only an Apprentice, and not a very good one, if Jason was to be believed. It was not likely that he would be able to defend himself against the attack of a Salamander.

The fear evaporated as quickly as fog at noon. She relaxed back into the hot bath, and sighed as a calm exhaustion replaced fear. I will still tell Jason my concerns, but du Mond will not be able to overcome him now that Jason is wary of the man. Du Mond is no threat, not to someone as powerful as and wary as Jason is. I should concentrate on preparing myself to be a Master's Apprentice. I only hope I am as ready for that as I claimed I was.

The mirror showed a face far more pleasant than Jason Cameron's wolf-visage, and Paul du Mond chuckled to his reflection as he prepared for bed. His trip into Pacifica for dinner had been a fruitful one, for he had no sooner settled down to a very satisfactory meal than who should stroll into the tiny inn by the sea but Simon Beltaire!

As if it had been planned ahead of time, the inn was crowded and there were no free tables available. Paul was able to offer the "stranger" a seat at his own without looking like anything other than a polite gentleman. The owner of the restaurant had been relieved and grateful that Paul was so accommodating. They had made mock-introductions to each other with perfectly straight faces, and Beltaire had ordered his own meal as soon as the waiter hurried up to tend to the new arrival.

"I believe that Cameron attempted a Working tonight," Paul had said casually, when he thought they would not be overheard in the general chatter.

"He will not get far with it." Beltaire had chuckled, stroking his goatee with evident satisfaction. "I have reason to believe that I hold the only manuscript with the key to his troubles, and needless to say, I have no intention of allowing him to have it."

Du Mond chuckled to himself at the memory of the cruel glint in Beltaire's dark eyes. The Firemaster intended to make Cameron suffer as long as possible before striking, that much was obvious to even a dullard. Not that du Mond blamed him for such intentions. Watching one's enemies suffer was one of the few totally pure pleasures in the world, and Cameron had been Beltaire's enemy for as long as du Mond had known of the existence of the Firemasters.

It had been a good dinner, and it had not been marred by Jason's surliness on his return. He untied his tie and put it and his collar away, fastidiously hanging the tie on a special rack and curling the collar just so in the wooden collar-box.

Beltaire's appearance was no accident; he had indeed arranged their meeting, for the Firemaster had told him so in as many words. "I have been waiting for you here in the town for some days now. I needed to speak with you urgently. I would like you to do two things for me," he had said. "First, I wish to repeat my request to plant as many doubts in that Hawkins girl's mind about Cameron as you can over the course of the next two weeks. And second, I would like you to find some way to persuade Cameron to lodge you permanently in San Francisco or Oakland before Christmas."

Nothing would have suited Paul better, but he had been both surprised and cautious that Beltaire should bring the second request to him. "Is there a reason?" he asked.

Beltaire had nodded. "I would like to have you available to me for an extended period of time. I wish to probe your memories of Cameron, his methods, and everything to do with his Magickal Work. If I am to defeat him, I need intimate knowledge that only you possess, and it will take time to plumb your memories for that much knowledge."

"And what do I receive in return?" Du Mond had not been at all shy in demanding that answer immediately. If he was going to be at Beltaire's beck and call, it had damned well better be worth his time!

The answer had been very satisfactory, and Paul smiled whitely at his reflection. Beltaire promised, with vows that no Firemaster would break, that he would initiate Paul into the paths that the noted magician Aleister Crowley had pioneered; he described the methods of Crowley's followers in detail, and Paul had been very impressed. These were paths that Paul found more to his liking, and along the same line as the book Beltaire had given him—the acquisition of Magickal Power by means of Sex Magick and the use of drugs to probe directly into the realms of the occult, rather than the tedious means that Cameron insisted upon. There would be no more memorizations or thumbing through half-legible manuscripts; this was the shortcut to Power that Paul had known instinctively existed, but that Cameron had denied him. There was no reason, in this modem day and age, to confine oneself to methods used by the ancients for no better reason than "tradition!" After all, it was "traditional" to light the night with candles rather than electricity, "traditional" to cross country by horseback rather than the railroad. Why should modem means be excluded from the pursuit of Magick? He had never been able to understand why a man like Cameron, so modem in every other way, was so stubborn when it came to modernizing Magick.

Beltaire had even hinted that use of such Magick did not confine one to the Mastery of only one of the Elements, but allowed the control of all four!

"I was able to subdue that Chinaman's Sylphs when he tried to hide the slave I had purchased," Beltaire had said. I drove them away long enough to give him proper punishment for his impertinence. Cameron could not have done that."

I will be a greater Master than Cameron ever dreamed of becoming! he exulted in his mind. There will be no limit to what I can do!

But while he worked out the means to that end, he must somehow persuade that skittish Hawkins female to listen to him.

I can't imagine what possible reason Beltaire has for wanting her to desert Cameron, but he must have one. Well, I don't particularly care, either. That's his business, not mine.

He would do his best; but that was not his primary concern. The most important thing for him was to find a reason for Cameron to send him into the city for an extended stay.

"Find some reason to take an apartment of your own—and don't worry, I will arrange one that will be precisely to your liking," Beltaire had also urged him. "That way you'll have a place where Cameron's Salamanders cannot overlook you. I can make sure of that, in a way that will not make him suspicious." He had chuckled. "There are many things that Salamanders do not care for; I can arrange for your new dwelling to be in a haunt of Undines and they will not venture near it."

That had been altogether to his liking. If I can have my own apartment, I will have a place I can bring a woman without that supercilious Snyder gazing down his nose at me. Paul had not been at all loath to agree to this arrangement, especially since he and Beltaire shared many of the same interests. He would be able to indulge himself in his long-cherished fantasy of having a girl to himself, for as long as he wished.

A Chinese, I think. They're cheaper for one thing; for another, if she's damaged or dies on me, I can dump her somewhere without anyone bothering to investigate. No one is going to bother about another Chinese whore turning up in an alley—they might fuss a bit about a Mexican or a colored girl, and if anyone found a white girl in the same position, it would force a policeman to look around. He felt a familiar tightening in his groin at the very idea of having his own little slave to do what he liked with. The only drawback to breaking girls for someone else was the need to keep them relatively undamaged. At last he would be free to indulge every fantasy. For that matter, if Beltaire was to be believed, he would be able to use a great deal of what he did with his women as a road to further Magickal Power. Beltaire was going to get him some texts and fiction by Crowley soon, so that he could see for himself what the potentials were.

Those will make better reading than Cameron's old fossils, by a damn sight!

He undressed carefully, as always; got into bed and turned off the light, and composed himself as if for sleep, but his mind was going at full speed. What can possibly require my presence in the city for an indefinite length of time? It will have to be business matters. I must look through all the recent correspondence and try to find something appropriate, then blow it up out of proportion.

Planting doubts into the Hawkins girl's mind would not be at all difficult. The circumstances under which she had been brought here were duplicitous; she should be ready to believe that Cameron had told her further lies. She was a scholar, and they were notoriously unworldly. And anyone who prided himself on being clever, the way she did, was an easy target for deception. People who considered themselves to be clever, to be more intelligent than those around them, simply would not believe that they could be fooled. A large lie will be better than a small one. The best thing I can do is to hint that I have found things in Cameron's correspondence that indicate he is a party to the white slave trade. I can point to the nearness of his townhouse to the Barbary Coast as circumstantial evidence—also to his friendships with Chinese of dubious repute, and the presence of a man with connections to India in his very service. Did Beltaire only wish her to flee, so as to remove the only potential witness to Cameron's destruction, or did he have some further goal in mind? Did he plan to offer himself as the girl's protector, in the most innocent sense? If she were frightened enough of Cameron—and if Beltaire presented himself in the guise of someone to be trusted, say a clergyman, he just might be able to pull it off. Perhaps it would not do any harm to mention again that Jason is not mentally stable, hint at an addiction to opium. That would give further connections, for the white slavers were also the men who supplied opium to the dope dens. Before he left, the wench would be terrified at the very thought of encountering Cameron in the flesh!

Now, how to convince Jason he should have his own apartment...?

Whatever I choose to be my excuse for being in the city, I shall make certain most of the business will take place at odd hours and as far from the townhouse as possible. It will then be only logical for me to lodge where the business is, rather than disrupt the household with my comings and goings. He knew that the help at the townhouse had complained to Cameron in the past when he had come and gone at odd or late hours—they could not all go to bed until the last of the "guests" were seen to, nor could they lock the place up until everyone who should be in residence was safely in his bed. If some aspect of Jason's business required him to be out late at night—

Then, all at once, he knew his answer. I have it! The shipping company in Oakland he just purchased! It had been part of a larger acquisition, but the relatively small company had proved to be unexpectedly key to much of his rail business up the coast into the great lumbering areas. There were bound to be problems with such a new purchase, problems that Paul could not only exaggerate, but even make worse by communicating ambiguous orders to those in charge. Cameron did not have an agent in Oakland; Paul could volunteer. Shipping companies kept late (or early) hours, for consignments must be on their way long before a "normal" business day began. And in addition, a daily crossing of the Bay would waste an intolerable number of working hours—if he could find a ferry that operated at such times!

This would be perfect. Beltaire had a home of his own across the Bay—placing him as far as possible from his rival Firemaster, and yet still remaining within the area. That home was probably where he did most of his Magickal Work, and being in Oakland would put Paul near enough to him to receive frequent personal instruction.

Beltaire has a private motor-launch, and I suspect he will be reasonable about my use of it if I want to visit the city after dark.

Yes. He smiled to himself as he put the final mental touches on his new plans. This was going to work out wonderfully well.

The last place that Rose expected to find du Mond was in the conservatory. She had taken to doing her reading there, soothed by the sound of the fountains and the twittering birds, but today, when she rounded a corner, there he was, sitting across from her favorite bench with a book in his hands. She doubted that he was reading it, since he didn't seem at all absorbed in it. He had never struck her as the kind of man who would find anything interesting about plants or small birds—

Except, perhaps, to find a way to do something unpleasant with them—

She shook the uncomfortable thought from her head. It was too late to turn around and leave; he had already seen her, as if he had been waiting for her, and was smiling that particularly false, bright smile at her, the one that made her feel as if she should check her hemline for an immodest display of ankle. She sighed, and continued to walk in his direction.

He stood up, and met her halfway. "I beg your pardon if I am intruding. I was not aware that you ever came here to read, Miss Hawkins," he said, before she could greet him. "And since I really should be getting back to my work, I shall leave you to the solitude you would obviously prefer and not inflict my company upon you."

Oh, drat. Did I make myself that obvious? Annoyed by her twinge of guilt, further annoyed by the fact that she had been patently impolite, she now felt moved to protest, even though she would rather have thanked him for being observant. "Oh, don't go on my account," she replied, doing her level best to cover her irritation. "Please. It is not as if you were practicing a trumpet, or something of the like. Surely two people can read quietly without annoying each other."

But he only laughed. "No, indeed, the only reason one could wish to come here would be to enjoy the illusion of summer and the quiet, and I will not spoil these things for you with my presence. I could wish you felt more comfortable with my company, but you do not, and I am not the kind of man to force myself upon you in any way."

The deuce you aren't! she thought rebelliously, feeling certain she had caught him in an outright lie, but he was continuing.

"I don't know what has put you off about me, and I do apologize. It may be that—that I am aware of many uncomfortable truths about our employer, and you are insensibly aware of this," he said earnestly, as if he actually meant every word of it. "Even hardened skeptics will admit that a woman's instincts are surer than a mere male's, and that a woman is far more sensitive to nuances. It could be that it is the burden that I carry that makes you uncomfortable in my presence, and not my presence itself."

She knew he was waiting for her to ask about the "uncomfortable secrets," and she was not about to oblige him. Instead, she bowed her head as if hiding a blush. "Most men of power have uncomfortable things about them," she murmured. "It is not my place to inquire about my employer, and still less to go hunting what may be nothing more than gossip."

But he took that slender rebuff as the invitation to confide! "I have recently learned some things that would make many people more than merely uncomfortable," he said, in a low, persuasive voice. "It is not gossip, I do assure you, but fact, and in his own handwriting."

Now I know you lie! Now that I have seen him I can understand why he cannot write anything for himse—those poor paws of his could never hold a pen!

But du Mond was hardly privy to all that Jason had revealed to her. He probably still thought that she believed she was translating obscure works for an eccentric invalid. Everything he told her was based on that assumption, and as a result, she was in a position to catch him in quite a few lies, if she cared to.

He continued. 'They are—business arrangements with Chinese and men with connections to the East that are not only dubious, but may conceal truly illegal acts." He contrived to look very earnest, a trifle worried, and completely honest and open. "Miss Hawkins, I must admit that I have no evidence of the sort that one would take to an authority, but if I were you, I would think very seriously about my situation. These are the things that alarm me. Cameron has dealings with Chinese merchants of doubtful reputation. He has in his employ in his townhouse in the city a man of hardened mien who still has contacts in India and beyond. His townhouse itself stands dangerously near that terrible district known as the 'Barbary Coast.' And it is his habit to hire young women with few or no living relations; women who would not be missed if they suddenly were to vanish. And in addition I fear he is, in his illness, becoming extremely dependent upon opium and similar drugs. At the least, this impairs his judgment, and at the worst, it puts him in the power of those who supply such things. Remember what infamous activities this city is noted for, and please, be wary. Recall my promise to help you, if need be. I still have many worthy friends in the city, honest and honorable men you could trust without a second thought."

It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud. Did he really, truly believe her to be so very gullible? Did he believe she would so easily forget how he had acted toward her when she first arrived? To hide her twitching lips, she looked away, as if profoundly embarrassed. "I shall," she said. It seemed to satisfy him, and he went on his way after an earnest glance of deep concern.

She sat down on her favorite bench with her book clasped in both hands, thinking the encounter through. Should I tell Jason about this conversation? In the light of day, all of her fears of last night seemed foolish, the childish nonsense of a woman terrified by imaginary burglars under the bed and the scratching of twigs upon the window. She had decided not to say anything at all to Cameron of the plots and machinations her imagination had ascribed to du Mond. Why bother? There was not the slightest scrap of evidence, and she wanted to impress Cameron with her sense. Such nonsense would only annoy him.

But it seemed that du Mond had an imagination that was just as active.

She sat so still that one of the little birds landed on the back of the bench beside her, preened itself carefully, and then flew off.

She could hardly imagine the staff of the townhouse being involved in white slavery—but she also recalled that they did not at all care for du Mond, and the antipathy may have been mutual. It was always easy to ascribe a sinister purpose to someone you did not like—well, look at all the plots she had laid up on du Mond's doorstep last night!

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to measure just how many of du Mond's accusations were true. There was no doubt that Jason did have dealings with less-than-savory merchants in town, Chinese and otherwise. He made no secret of that. He was a businessman, and one who cared very little about the morals of those he dealt with, although Rose found such an attitude reprehensible. So du Mond was right, in that much.

He was also correct in saying that Cameron was using far too much in the way of opiates. She had seen as much for herself, last night, in the number of pills he had planned to take before she intervened. Even Master Pao had known that he was in trouble so far as narcotics went—probably because he had relatives and informants all over China-town, which would be where Cameron got most of his opium and opium derivatives. And as for Cameron's propensity for hiring young women who would not be missed, she had only du Monds word on that....

But I am one such, and it is logical to think that there are others in his employ who could answer that description. There are far, far more men in San Francisco than women, even at this modern date, and those women who travel here are often those who seek their fortunes even as the men seek theirs, because they have no family ties to hold them, or family resources to fall back on.

She opened her eyes again, and licked her lips. It could be that du Mond was trying to frighten her into seeking his aid in escaping this place, for sinister reasons of his own. Then again, du Mond could simply wish her out of the house so that he alone had access to Cameron, and Cameron became totally dependent on him for his contact with the outside world.

She did not need to attribute sinister plans to him. His motive could be very, very simple, and that of any man hoping to preserve his position—drive her away so that circumstances returned to the way they had been before she arrived. He might even have sensed that he was about to be replaced in the Master's service as an Apprentice, but whether or not he did, he could hardly have missed the fact that he was not the only human in the house anymore!

So he sees me as an interloper and wants to be rid of me. A human and common enough motive! And nothing I need ascribe to sinister machinations. Who knows but what he may actually have those respectable 'friends" he claims he has, who would be willing to help me find other employment. Well, why not? If she were as ignorant of the real situation as du Mond supposed, and if she were to find a better position than this one, she would never bother going back, now, would she? It was in du Mond's purely mundane interest to help her find good employment elsewhere.

No, she was attributing far too much to him and to his intelligence. There was no point in telling Cameron about this—unless she could find a way to do so that would amuse him and lighten his spirits.

Poor man! He could certainly use all the help he could get in that regard, as in so many others.

She relaxed, and settled down to read her book, grateful that du Mond had not seen it closely, for it was Cameron's own journal-cum-Workbook of his first year as an Apprentice. She had found it on her bedside table this morning, brought there, no doubt, by a Salamander. She did not know if Cameron himself had sent it, or if that one extraordinarily intelligent Salamander had taken it upon himself to bring it to her, but in either case it was proving to be enlightening in many ways.

There was not a great deal that was personal in this journal, and what there was did not tell her a great deal. She formed a vague notion of an extremely intelligent child, quite a lone wolf, who spent no time in the company of children his own age. Well, he was hardly alone in that respect; most highly intelligent children were isolated by their very intelligence.

I was, for instance. She had been shunned by other girls her age for being a "bookworm," which hardly mattered, since she had never found their games of much interest. I had more entertainment out of re-enacting the beheading of Mary Queen of Scots with my dolls than of playing at "house." And when I dressed them, I made miniature costumes of various historical periods rather than the latest fashions!

Cameron had actually begun his work as a formal Apprentice at the age of thirteen, and even at that young age his penmanship had been impeccable. The one thing that this book had that others she had read had lacked was the reason behind every exercise that young Jason had been assigned. Evidently his own Master had been very meticulous about outlining the rhyme and reason behind the most trivial of Magickal exercises, and Jason had been just as meticulous about writing them down. The result of this was a very thorough education in the Magick of Fire, indeed, of Magick in general, and the equivalent of having a Master at her elbow to explain everything.

Now a great many things she had read in other books began to make sense—including the Ordeals. All of them were designed to ensure that the prospective Master could control his Elementals under any and all circumstances, so that even when the Master lay unconscious or near death, the Elementals would not revolt and break the coercions and restrictions binding them.

Here the young Jason had noted something very interesting. 'It would be better to make friends of the Salamanders than to force them,' he had written in his unchildlike hand. 'This is how my Master conducts himself these days although he learned by the Old School; I believe his only friends are Salamanders, actually.'

She smiled wryly at that. Like Master, like Apprentice. I do believe that Jason's only friends are Salamanders.

What would happen if an Elemental did revolt? She turned a page, and found that young Jason had asked the same question. 'Dreadful things happen until the Elemental's anger is spent. If an Undine turns against her Master, rivers rise, springs appear where they are not wanted, waters burst dams unexpectedly. If a Sylph, terrible storms, esp tornadoes. If a Gnome, earthquakes, sinkholes, and cave-ins, and if a Salamander, fires everywhere that rage quite out of control, and sometimes volcanoes. My Master says that the Great Fire of London was because of angry Salamanders breaking free from an unkind Master. This is why he says it is better to make friends, tho it takes longer.'

She shivered. Was this the answer to the fabled destruction of Atlantis? Was this why Pompeii was buried? What of the Johnstown Flood, the eruption of Mount Pelee only three years ago that destroyed two cities, or that mysterious earthquake that changed the course of the Mississippi some fifty years ago? Could a Salamander have caused the Chicago Fire her father had talked about so much?

Then she chided herself for seeing a supernatural cause behind every one of the world's woes. Oh, surely some disasters are purely human or natural in origin. I shall be suspecting a renegade Elemental behind everything, if I am not careful! And what Elemental could have caused the Irish Famine, pray—a Potato Elemental?

Still, it was fascinating to think that there were some otherwise inexplicable disasters that had causes. Now the ancient Greek habit of propitiating Nature Spirits whenever building or changing something began to sound like a sound and reasonable idea!

She continued to delve into the book, as the afternoon slipped away, lost to the world around her and to any thoughts other than those of Magick.

Cameron was as nervous as any boy alone with a female for the first time. He had ordered the Salamanders to clear off the couch in his study and place the best lamp in the house on the table beside it. There was a carafe of fresh water and a glass on the table, and a pile of books awaited Rose's perusal. She had appeared promptly when he called up for her, but she had not dressed as she usually did when reading—that is, casually. She'd donned a soft cashmere suit in a warm brown shade, and was as carefully and properly groomed as any prim female secretary. Although she did not seem ill-at-ease, she was not lounging on the couch as was her wont when reading in her room.

0f course she is not! She is not in her room, thinking she is unobserved. This is her public face, and she is not likely to show me her private aspect.

But he could not help thinking that she was so stiff because she was afraid of him—that despite her brave words, she could not help looking at him and thinking of him as a monster. How could she simply accept him? It was impossible, of course. It would take someone with more experience in Magick than she to accept something like him with equanimity.

"You're certain that you're quite comfortable?" he asked nervously.

"Absolutely," she replied, and raised one eyebrow. "Why do you keep asking?"

He was not about to tell her that it was because he had watched her in his mirror and knew that her posture was not one of ease and comfort! If she ever deduced that, he hoped she would be ladylike enough to pretend that she hadn't.

"I suppose it is because I expect you to be uncomfortable," he said, finally. "This situation you are in is—not a natural one. It is—"

"No stranger than reading to a disembodied voice through a speaking-tube, Jason," she replied firmly. "Now, I take it that we are not going to attempt anything more strenuous than reading tonight? Otherwise I assume you would have said something when you called me here."

"Probably not for the next fortnight, at least," he told her, rubbing the side of his head, where a dull and distant headache still resided. Along with the headache, he nursed a sense of self-righteousness. He had been very good about taking that damned tea of Pao's, and it did seem to him that he felt much more alert, but he missed some of the effects of his pain-killers already. He only hoped the headache would get better and not worse with time—or else he was going back to what he knew worked. "Conditions won't be quite right for at least that long. Did you find my journal?"

She smiled at that; as always, the expression quite transformed her face, perhaps because she smiled so seldom. "Yes, I did, but I hesitated to say anything about it for fear that it had been your pet Salamander who had decided that I should have it, and not you." Her smile turned wry. "I did not want to have you annoyed at your pet when you are most likely to be irritable."

Damn. I didn't think that irritation showed. Or—maybe she's just guessing. I would certainly have cause to feel irritable after last night. He glanced at his "pet Salamander," who only spun a little in the Elemental's version of a quiet chuckle. "He is quite capable of doing just that, I suspect, but no, it was my idea. Do let me know when you feel you understand everything in that book completely, and I will get the next volume out of storage." I do not think I will respond to that remark about being irritable. Unfortunately, it is too damnably accurate at the moment. He clumsily opened his special book to the next blank page, and sighed. "The one thing my disaster of yesterday did was to suggest another train of investigation, so if you are ready, perhaps you could begin with the book on the couch beside you. Read the whole thing, if you please."

Taking that as the unsubtle hint it was meant to be, she picked up the volume and began to read aloud, as usual. And, as usual, he watched and listened, directing the Salamander to make notes occasionally. She was just a trifle distracted by this at first, but got used to it sooner than he would have expected.

So did he, for that matter. She sat in a pool of bright light in the otherwise darkened study. He sat off to one side, behind his desk with a dimmer light upon it, the Salamander hovering at his right, and the huge book of notes propped up before him, effectively screening most of his face from her. By degrees, she began to relax, and began to demonstrate the fact; first by resting her head on her hand as she read, then at last by tucking her legs up beneath her in the pose he thought she found most easy. It was a pity she felt she had to truss herself up in that infernal suit and corsets, but at least she hadn't bound herself up too tightly to breathe.

Once she relaxed, so did he. It was much easier on both of them for her to read in his study this way; he no longer had to strain to hear her clearly through the tube, and she did not have to read in a volume that strained her voice. She came to the end of the thin book and looked up in surprise as she realized where she was.

"Oh, excuse me—" she began, and dropped her feet back to the floor with a blush.

"Please, take whatever position you feel is less strained," he told her earnestly. "You read better when you are at ease. And I can certainly bear a few footmarks upon the furniture."

"It is a terrible habit from my childhood, and one my father never insisted that I break," she confessed. "It is hardly ladylike."

"I did not engage you for your deportment and posture, Rose," he reminded her. "I engaged you for your knowledge and your mind. I would not care if you read like a contortionist in a circus, with both of your feet placed on the back of your head!"

She laughed, as he had hoped she would, and picked up the next book without prompting. She paid no more attention to him or to his terrible face than if he had been his old self—nor did she evidence any more fear of him.

I believe that this is going to work out after all, he thought with utter astonishment. By George, she has surprised me again!

It was just as well that the situation with Rose was going as well as it was, because within a week, Paul brought him a file on Golden Gate Shipping that was enough to fray his temper to the breaking point before he was through with it.

"How did things deteriorate like this?" he exploded, as du Mond waited patiently for him to finish going through the papers. The secretary just shrugged.

"It seems to have mostly blown up over the last week or so," the man said. "You've sent corrective instructions, but they seem to have bungled them. And quite frankly, it would never have gotten this way if you had an agent there. If you want my opinion—" he paused, waiting expectantly.

"Go on," Cameron growled.

"Well, I think the trouble is that the men over there are the kind that absolutely require someone watching them. Some people are that way; leave them alone for a moment, and they'll botch everything, but keep an eye on them and they do fine." He shrugged. "I can't explain it, but you must have seen cases like this before."

Unfortunately, he had, all too often. Why it was that men seemed to take the absence of the boss for the signal to laze about and make mistakes of carelessness, he had no idea. "So the point is, I need an agent in Oakland, quickly," he growled in irritation. "Unfortunately, I haven't anyone to spare—"

Except that I have been trying to think of a way to get him out of the house so that Rose and I can Work without having to conceal it from him! I don't suppose—

"I—I suppose I could go," du Mond said reluctantly, in an uncanny echo of his own thoughts. "Quite frankly, Jason, there is very little secretarial work for me lately. Your circle of acquaintances seems to have gotten the idea that they are not going to pry you out of your reclusive retreat—and as for business matters, you have always taken care of most of them yourself, and your agent in San Francisco can handle what I have been dealing with. I believe I can straighten out this little tangle in fairly short order, and keep a new one from appearing with a firm hand on the reins."

Oh, this was almost too perfect to be believed! But why would du Mond, who Cameron knew was lazy by nature, want to take on something that would entail real work?

"Quite frankly, Jason, this quiet house is driving me crazy," the man went on. "Since your accident, there has been nothing for an active man to do here, and no company unless I go down into Pacifica for it. And that prim little stick of a scholar of yours is hardly what I would call company. I think that may be why I've fallen back on my Magickal studies. Perhaps if I can get out among people again, I'll be less distracted by boredom, better able to settle down to my Magickal work as well."

Not likely—but possible, I will grant that. And it gives me the excuse I have been searching for to get rid of the blackguard. Cynically, he would allow that du Mond's motivation for volunteering was probably the genuine one he had stated—he wanted out, back in a position where he had ready access to the city, the Barbary Coast, and the pleasures he was doing without. The presence of Rose Hawkins, who made no effort to conceal the fact that she did not like him, was probably salt in the wounds of his "deprivation."

"You'll have to live in Oakland," Cameron pointed out. "Assuming you could even get a ferry at the hours you'll need to travel, you'd waste more time traveling to and from the townhouse than is reasonable. My agent should be able to find an apartment for you."

"I should think I ought to take care of that." He squared his shoulders as if he was taking on a great burden. "And I should also think, from the state of things in these papers, that I had better start immediately. If you can have the train brought up for me, I can be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. I'll pack up enough for the next few months; I am afraid it will take that long to get everything set in order and convince these dullards that although their employer may not be present, he is watching them."

Cameron nodded, and tried not to look too eager to be rid of the man. "I hate to do without you, but you are right in thinking that my agent can probably deal with most of the work." It won't hurt to remind him that the main reason I've kept him on was because he is my Apprentice. "I'll telegraph my agent and have arrangements made to store what you bring until you notify him that you've found accommodations." He decided to be generous, and not name an upper limit on du Mond's spending. Frankly, there weren't that many expensive lodgings in Oakland! "You could take a small house rather than an apartment, if you find one furnished. You might as well hire yourself a servant and a cook as well—no point in you ruining your health by catching bad meals on the waterfront. Maybe a horse so you won't need cabs, if you find a place with stabling nearby. Once you've made all your arrangements, send the bills to me."

He didn't even want to name an upper limit; getting rid of du Mond was worth just about any price. In fact—if the man actually made a success of this, even a moderate success, there was no reason why he couldn't acquire another business somewhere and send him off with a promotion and a raise in the form of part-ownership of the firm! Much better than doing away with him—the Salamanders really didn't like to incinerate people, and he had a notion that Rose would hardly approve, though she didn't like the man either.

Perhaps I could buy a small rail company or shipping concern in the Far East or India? Or Tahiti or the South Seas? Something far away and in a place guaranteed to indulge all of his worst vices, and with a climate that will encourage him to his natural laziness. Then, when the venture fails, I will have the excuse to cut him off without a ticket back.

And if, against all probabilities, he succeeded, Cameron could reward him with full ownership, cutting him loose to work on his own. Why not? He could afford to be generous.

"Right, then—as usual, you'll find the cash you'll need for immediate expenses in the safe on the train," he said briskly. "You might as well take my leather luggage and steamer-trunks from the last ocean trip; I think they're in storage in the stable. I'll telegraph my San Francisco agent and authorize the rest of your expenses with him; he'll see to it that you have all the bona-fides you need to establish your authority with the Oakland firm. Can I expect you to be in the saddle by the day after tomorrow?"

Du Mond smiled thinly. "I don't see why not. I can take a suite in a hotel until I find a permanent place but I don't really expect that to take more than a week. Put your mind at rest, Jason. The situation will be taken care of."

"Oh?" he replied. "You sound very sure of yourself."

Du Mond's smile widened until he looked very like the proverbial cat who stole the cream. "I am," he said softly. "In fact, I think you'll be surprised."

Cameron could no longer raise his eyebrows, but he conveyed a certain skepticism in his voice. "Really?"

"Really." Paul du Mond chuckled and rose to his feet. He stopped at the door for a parting shot. "I've decided to take this as a personal cause, something to be the stepping-stone to great success. I promise you," he continued, in a satisfied tone as he opened the door and left, "I intend to use this as the opportunity to show you just what I'm capable of."