Red, White and Blue (Book Two of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Twenty Nine: An Everlasting Rap on the Knuckles

Oxford, 1881:

Ellini walked at random after leaving Mr Danvers – turning corners more because they would take her out of his sight than because they led to where she wanted to go – and she was soon lost in the maze of cobble-stoned alleys that branched off from Holywell Street. She knew the city very well from above, but, at ground level, she was helpless.

And she was so angry with herself. What had given her the right to hope? What had given her the absurd confidence to trust Jack? Whatever she had told herself about not expecting anything from him, she was disappointed.

And none of it was his fault, that was the worst part! He'd had no choice in any of this. She had lied to him – she had told him she didn't love him – she had pretended to leave him for his worst enemy. And then, when she came back, she had refused to confide in him or remove the spell by kissing him, because – well, because it was safer. She had thought she was going to die, and she didn't want her death to break his heart. Breaking his heart had been the worst thing she'd ever done, and she never, ever wanted it to happen again.

And then, when she thought she might not have to die, he had asked for a few months to enjoy the freedom of not loving her, and it had seemed like wisdom. After all, he might try to fight the gargoyles if he remembered his feelings for her – or he might try to stop her going out at night to keep them distracted. He wouldn't understand that there were more important things than her safety.

She'd had no right to hope that he would behave as if he wasn't under a spell. Did she expect him to be clairvoyant? And – this was the worst question of all – had she even expected him to rescue her from the fire-mines? Despite the fact that she had lied, and covered her tracks so brilliantly? Despite the fact that men couldn't even get in to the fire-mines? Had she been like all the girls Matthi had warned her about, thinking 'Oh, you don't know my Ned – he'll find a way – he'll stop at nothing'?

That was it, wasn't it? She had expected better from him, even though he'd had no choice. She had got so used to the idea that he could do anything – she had got so used to being saved and taken care of by hands that weren't her own.

After a few minutes of distracted wandering, she came to the little courtyard outside the Turf Tavern, and found that she was looking back on the Faculty from behind. There was just no getting away from it.

At first, she was tempted to throw herself off the nearest ledge just to teach herself a lesson. It wasn't despair this time, but a feeling of rightness – or even righteousness. Her thoughts weren't full of barbs and needles as they usually were; her bosom didn't ache with the pity of it all. She felt like a teacher planning to correct an obstinate child for its own good. She felt like this would just be a rap on the knuckles – an everlasting rap on the knuckles – and the world would be a better and more orderly place because of it.

But after a few moments, she recollected herself. She still had to keep the gargoyles busy for another night; there were still girls left in the fire-mines.

And, as it turned out, there was another, slower way to kill herself, just standing in the shadows of the courtyard in front of her.

He had seen her before she saw him, but she was blocking the only entrance to the yard, so he hadn't been able to slink away. One look at him was enough to convince her that slinking away had been his first impulse. He was shrunk back in the shadows with his hat-brim pulled low over his eyes. He had even stubbed out his cigarette, so as not to attract attention, but a vague smell of tar and tobacco lingered in the air around him.

Ellini dropped a curtsy, but a smile was beyond her at the moment. "Professor Carver," she said politely.

"Miss Syal." The smoke was still turning itself over in the air above him, and this, combined with his red face, gave him the look of a man who was so agitated he was giving off steam.

"I hope you are well," said Ellini, without hoping any such thing.

He nodded, but didn't seem able to say anything else. Hovering unspoken in the air between them was the fact that this would be the ideal place to stand for anyone who wanted a view of her bedroom window.

Her immediate instinct was to curl up and shrink in on herself, but she was feeling too angry to give in to it. He was here for her, so he might as well get her. Did he think she was just for watching from the shadows? Did he think she didn't have a mind, or a voice?

She took up station beside him and watched her own window for a while. She was pleased at his embarrassment and wanted to increase it.

"You know," she said, after a moment, "I very seldom open the curtains anyway."

"I'm sorry?" said Carver.

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking aloud. Can I have a cigarette?"

Carver – mortified and bewildered – reached into his coat for his cigarette-case, flipped it open, and offered it to her. Ellini took one out and turned it over in her fingers.

"This is the object of a desire-displacement spell, isn't it? I've read about them. Do they work?"

Carver, who seemed bitterly resigned by this point, said, "Not as well as they do for him."

They both looked up at the window in silence for a while. Ellini drew out a box of matches from her purse and lit the cigarette. This was delicate work for gloved hands, but she was not going to lay herself bare by taking them off. 

She took a long drag on the cigarette, as though steeling herself to do something desperate, and then tossed it aside, turning to Carver with a bright, civil smile.

"Let's get one thing straight. Your spell is so feeble, I'm embarrassed for you. He's tried to kiss me half a dozen times already. Frankly, Professor Carver, your only saving grace is the fact that you didn't invent the spell. I've read about it, you see," she said, pushing closer to him, ignoring the heaving in her stomach as she breathed in his tar-like scent.

There was nothing he could do out here. Servants from the Turf Tavern were already beginning to bustle in and out of the courtyard, bringing up barrels from the cellar, laying out trestle-tables in preparation for the evening, when hundreds of students would descend on the place, calling for coffee and wine.

"I've read the story of the Kentish sorceress who travelled round England, asking young lovers to put their love to the ultimate test. I've also read that her endeavours have been taken up in this century by a group of women who call themselves the Wylies." She smiled at his discomfort, and gave him a little, sympathetic pat on the cheek. "So, you see, I know you're under Myrrha's thumb. And, if you care to, you can run back to her with this message. I'm not going to play her game until she makes it more of a challenge for me. Have you got that?"

She grabbed hold of his collar and drew him closer, until his lips were only a few inches from hers. "And can you do something about his left arm?" she whispered. "I don't want to tell you your job, but that seems like an oversight."

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