Chapter 52: Stories Queer and Curious
In Which Miss True forgives Strephon a bit prematurely.
Strephon felt rather pleased with himself as he wheeled his chair into the lift. He had gotten very little sleep during his nap, but at least he had settled on a course of action to take with Cassandra. He trusted that her spending the afternoon exploring his library had put her in a good mood, and he would be able to discuss the evening's activities in a calm, sensible manner. When he saw her waiting for him when the lift deposited him on the ground floor, though, he saw that calm and sensible were not going to enter into the discussion. She stood at the gate to the lift weighing a book in her hand with a cross expression which augured trouble.
Nothing to do, Strephon realized, but meet the trouble head-on. The discussion about the Council Meeting would have to wait. “Yes?” he said in his most pleasant tone.
She held up the book. “What do you have to say about this, Mister Bellman?”
“Ah.” He recognized the book: Mergyn's Stories Queer and Curious. Yes, she would be cross about that.
She advanced towards his wheelchair with a relentless pace. “It's the book. The one I told you about with Aithea's story in it. The one I've been looking for all these years that I couldn't remember the name of and I was starting to wonder if I imagined the whole thing.”
She was in the lift with him now, and Strephon really wished his wheelchair permitted him a dignified escape. It didn't.
“And you! Had! A copy! All! The! Time!” She punctuated each word by whacking him in the shoulder with the book.
Strephon tried to block her blows. “That happens to be – ow! – an extremely rare edition – ow! – and I will thank you not to damage it!” He snatched the book from her hand and set it in his lap. Then he put his hand to his brow. This was going to be difficult.
“You are correct,” he said. “I have had this book for years, and I thought of it when you told me about your mystery. As I'm sure you know, back in the early 1800s there was quite a boom in ethnography, inspired by the Brothers Grimm. All over Europe, amateur folklorists scoured the Continent looking for lost and forgotten tales in every village and woodman's cot they could uncover. Horace Mergyn was one of these, and he discovered an old woman – right here in Redemption, as it happened – with a remarkable memory and a vast repertoire of lore that had been passed down for generations. She was quite happy to have an eager listener for her tales, until she found out that he was using her to write a book and that she would be receiving neither credit nor a share of the royalties.”
“Go on,” Cassandra said in a tone suggesting not impatience as much as that what patience she was willing to extend him was severely limited. Strephon continued.
“Yes. Being an educated product of the Enlightenment, it never occurred to Mergyn that an elderly crone with a carefully curated collection of ancient lore might also be a witch. Instead of going to a solicitor and suing him, she placed a curse on Mergyn's book so that no one would ever be able to read it unless they had magic in their blood. Mergyn found himself unable to proof the galleys because every time he tried to read the pages, he found his attention drifting away. If the typesetter hadn't been the seventh son of a seventh son, the book could probably never have been published at all. As it was, buyers tended to overlook it in the bookshops, and scholars who did buy it frequently forgot that they had it. So when you told me about the book you couldn't find, naturally Mergyn's Stories came immediately to mind.”
“Then why didn't you say anything at the time?”
“Because if I had said, 'Oh, yes, I've known that old chestnut for years!' I would have sounded like a boor and a know-it-all. Aithea's story was clearly important to you, and... well... I was interested in hearing you tell it, and learning what it meant to you.”
Cassandra's expression seemed to soften a little, but she was not quite ready to forgive him yet. “If the book had a curse on it, then how was I able to read it at all?”
“That puzzled me too. My only guess is that you must have some magic blood in your ancestry. Which is not terribly uncommon in this city.” He looked down at the book in his hands. Should he tell her the rest? “That was one reason why I invited you here that night. My idea was that I would show you my library, and while we were there I would remark, 'Say, I think there's an old book in here that might interest you!' – I had it all planned out, you see – and then I'd fish out old Mergyn and you'd clasp your hands together and say 'Why, Strephon! This is the very book I've been looking for!' And then you'd be delighted and gaze at me in admiration and everything would be splendid.”
He hoped that might elicit a smile from her. She wasn't letting him off that easily. “But you didn't,” she said.
“No.” He fidgeted with the book in his hands. “We were attacked by the werewolves, remember, and barely escaped. You could have died.” He meant to say that with a dramatic flourish, but it came out regretful and quiet. He lodged the book between his leg and the side of his chair's armrest. “I put you in danger, all because I wanted to impress a comely young lady. I brought you into the magical world and your life has been in peril ever since.”
“And so you've been trying to shield me,” she said. “I know. But you told me yesterday that this was a mistake and that I deserved to know the truth. Why didn't you tell me about the book then?”
“Really, Cassandra, do you think it's easy to start telling the complete and utter truth all at once? One has to ease into these things gradually, you know. Like putting your toe into a bath of cold water. You virtuous people don't realize how difficult it is to keep all one's taradiddles straight.”
Strephon hazarded a glance at Cassandra. She was endeavoring to maintain her stern expression, but the corners of her mouth kept twitching upward. Finally she surrendered. “You,” she said, “are a goof.”
Strephon assumed an aspect of sincere contrition. “Can you forgive me?”
Cassandra pressed the smirk from her lips. “Maybe. It depends. What are your plans for dinner?”
* * * * *
Dinner turned out to be sliced ham and roasted potatoes in butter and herbs. There was some disagreement between the two over whether chives would go better with the potatoes or rosemary, but they resolved their difference amicably. Actually, Strephon had no preference either way, but he held to a theory that women, as Sir Gawain once learned, most desire to have their own way; and that if one let a woman prevail in a small matter, she might be more agreeable to accepting one's judgment in a greater one. At least it seemed to work that way with Phyllis. That Phyllis might have followed the same philosophy with him, naturally, had never occurred to him.
Cassandra showed a great deal of interest in how Strephon managed in the kitchen. “It's largely a matter of preparation,” he explained. “I assemble all the items I'll need in advance so they're at hand when needed.” He demonstrated the various mundane devices he used about the kitchen, such as the handles mounted to the cabinetry in strategic positions which allowed him to pull himself up to the upper shelving, and the mechanical grabber which extended his reach, and the tray she had seen him use the day before at tea, which nested snugly across the armrests of his chair and which permitted him to transport food and drink to the table.
“I had imagined you used magic for a lot of this,” Cassandra said.
“Sometimes,” Strephon admitted. “If I've forgotten something and don't want to bother with wheeling myself across the kitchen to fetch it.” At her urging, he demonstrated by magically summoning a salt cellar across the room. Strephon found the delight she took in this simple trick slightly embarrassing, but it also gave him a glow of gratified ego.
They had a pleasant dinner, after which Cassandra cajoled him into using magic to make the dishes wash themselves. She found it entertaining and Strephon had great difficulty refraining from humming the theme from “The Sorcerer's Apprentice” during the performance. Then they returned to the sitting room and chatted some more about Stories Queer and Curious. Strephon told her what he knew about Mergyn and the witch who had cursed him. Some of the tales in the book were ones Cassandra knew from other sources and she was interested in how they differed.
Throughout the evening there must have been a dozen or more moments when Strephon could have brought up the subject of the Council Meeting and what he had decided about it; but the time never seemed right. First Cassandra had been angry about the book, and then he didn't want to discuss the matter over dinner, and then later they were having such a pleasant conversation, and so he kept putting it off 'til later.
Until there was no later.
The doorbell rang. “I'll get it,” Cassandra said, hopping off the love seat and crossing to the front door.
Was that Tobias already? Strephon had called him earlier to arrange for a ride to the Council Meeting. Was it that late? Strephon checked the mantelpiece clock. Yes, it was.
“Hello, Tobias,” he heard Cassandra say. “We should be ready in just a moment.” Blast! He still hadn't spoken to Cassandra about the meeting. Well, there was no putting it off now.
Strephon wheeled himself to the front door. “Cassandra,” he said. “I'm going to be attending the meeting by myself. I think you should stay here.”
She turned to face him with an expression like he'd just smacked her in the face with a codfish. “What do you mean? Of course I'm coming along with you. Aren't we partners?”
“We are working together,” Strephon said. “I just think this is something I should do myself.”
Cassandra frowned. “This isn't some rule about only magic people allowed in the magic club, is it?”
“Heavens, no!” That would have made a perfect excuse had he thought of it himself earlier and if it were true. But although by the Council's charter, seats on the Hidden Council were limited to practitioners of magic and beings or persons of magic blood, as a matter or custom meetings were open to the public at large and mortal visitors – provided they were guests of a citizen – were rarely barred. Essentially, anyone who knew of the Council’s existence was considered a de facto member of the magical community. And if he tried telling Cassandra otherwise, Tobias just might correct him, which would be counter-productive. But more importantly, if he claimed that Council by-laws did not permit her attendance, she would ask why he didn't tell her before, and he had no good answer for that.
No, his only choice was to tell the truth. “I think you'll be safer if you stay here.”
She didn't like that. He was afraid she wouldn't. Strephon saw that his concession about the rosemary was not going to prove helpful. “I thought you said you weren't going to try to shield me any more,” Cassandra said.
“I'm not going to shield you from the truth. Shielding you from actual danger is something quite different. Remember, Phillipe is still stalking you.”
“I hardly think he's going to attack me in a public place. Besides, I think I've proved that I can handle myself in a tight situation. You said so yourself.”
Damme. She was right about that. Strephon glanced at Tobias to see if you could expect any moral support from the cabby. No such luck. Tobias had suddenly developed an intense interest in one of the street lamps outside. There must be some unwritten cabbie's rule, Strephon surmised, about getting involved in an argument between customers.
“This house has certain protections,” he said. “Once you leave it, you'll be vulnerable.”
“I think I'd be safer with somebody than I would be all alone. Besides, if there's any danger, won't you be in danger too? Wouldn't it be safer if the both of us went together? That way we could watch each other's backs.”
Another good point, curse her. Unable to counter her argument, he elected to ignore it. “This is for your own good, Cassandra.”
“I should think that I deserve a little input as to what constitutes my own good.”
“Input?” Strephon frowned. “Is that even a word?”
“'Tis.”
“I don't believe you. I think you made it up. I demand that you show it to me in the O.E.D.”
“And I demand that you stop changing the subject!” Cassandra crossed her arms and planted her feet in an obdurate stance, as immovable as Caliburn in the Stone.
Seated as he was, Strephon could not match her in his posture, so he had to rely on an authoritative tone. “The matter is not up for debate,” he said; “I have made up my mind. You are remaining here this evening, and that is final.
Cassandra stuck out her chin defiantly. “I'd like to see you make me!”
For a moment the two faced each other like mirror images of obstinacy. Strephon's better angel cautioned him not to even think of doing anything rash. So he did it without thinking. With an abrupt gesture, he cast an enchantment.
Cassandra's eyes widened, and Strephon could see a wild sequence of emotions ripple over her face: confusion and surprise as the spell hit her; realization as she guessed what was happening, followed by outraged betrayal and desperation as she struggled to fight the magical drowsiness engulfing her. The struggle did not last long. Quicker than Strephon could say 'knife', her eyes rolled back in her head, her eyelids drooped, and her body collapsed under an enchanted sleep.
Tobias barely had time to catch her as she fell. He looked at Cassandra's limp body in his arms, then at Strephon. “Gran ain't gonna like this,” he growled. His usually cheerful face was a judgement.
Strephon's temper snapped. “Well then,” he said through clenched teeth. “We just shan't tell her, now shall we!” He was angry at Cassandra for being unreasonable; angry at Tobias for being right; and angry at himself for... for...
His stubbornness re-asserted itself. Too late for recriminations now. Besides, what else was he supposed to do? Still... he had to do something with Cassandra.
“Set her on the divan,” Strephon said. As Tobias did so, Strephon hovered behind him, instructing him to arrange the cushions to make her more comfortable. This did a little to assuage his sense of guilt. He remembered the book, still lodged next to him in his chair. Strephon set the book on Cassandra's breast and clasped her hands over it.
“There,” Strephon said. “Let's be off, then.”
NEXT: What are Friends For
