A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(69)
“What do you mean?” Now Alexandre was mystified.
“Hit said, hit wanted four more pairs, which’s seven, which’s good solid magic. But th’ last time, hit said hit wanted fancy girls, so’s they’d be kept t’gether. Roight?”
“Right,” Alexandre replied dubiously, then it struck him. “Oh! With this one, there would only be two kept together, which would mean we’d need five more pairs, not four!”
“Roight. So fer some reason, they went an’ moved th’ fust girl.” Alf nodded. “Thet means we c’n ’unt fer somethin’ a bit less risky from naow on.”
“Well . . . well spotted, Alf!”
Alf laughed, and touched two fingers to his temple by way of a salute. “Thenkee guv. I jest wanter find out ’o ’ad th’ fust girl moved, an’ why. Then we’ll figger where next t’ ’unt.”
“Meanwhile . . . peckish?” he asked, getting up and fetching the brandy, intending to raid the larder. It occurred to him at that moment that lately he’d been doing a fair amount of waiting on Alf, rather than the other way around.
He shrugged mentally. Alf wasn’t getting above his place—and in a sense they were partners now, with Alf contributing as much or more to the situation as he was. I certainly couldn’t do this without Alf.
“Fair starvin’, guv,” Alf replied. “But arter all that ridin’ around i’ th’ snow, Oi want somethin’ ’ot. Yew jest sit, an’ Oi’ll make up a rarebit.”
There, see, he knows his place. He set the brandy aside and got bottled beer for each of them. The brandy could wait until later.
He had the feeling that after that “conversation” with the entity . . . he was going to need it to sleep.
13
“I THINK we should go to the theater,” Sarah said suddenly, over breakfast.
“What, now? Today? Why?” Nan looked up from her eggs, and Neville took the opportunity to steal the bite off her fork. He flapped off with it, cackling. She sighed. She’d given him eggs . . . but evidently stolen food tasted better.
“Because we’ve been working our minds into a froth, trying to get even a glimmer of an idea about these abductions,” Sarah replied, giving Grey a piece of buttered toast before the parrot could follow Neville’s example and steal something. “We’ve been eating, drinking, breathing, and even dreaming about this problem, and we need to give our minds a rest. Hamlet is playing, and I’ve never seen it on the stage, I’ve only read it.”
Nan rubbed her temple as she considered the idea. It had merit. She’d been thinking in circles for at least two days. There was no news from Sherlock, none from John and Mary, and Memsa’b’s visit to the hospital had only led to the same conclusion that Nan had come to—that the two girls were completely soulless, which was absolutely of no use whatsoever. The only references to being unensouled any of them had found thus far were in folk and fairy tales and fanciful theatrical productions. None of these were in the least helpful, since people without souls in such things were perfectly able to think and act—they just did so with no morals whatsoever.
“Well, I hate to admit it, but we’re getting nowhere,” she said. “All we know for certain is where and when the girls were taken, and where and when they were found. The fact that they were found in Battersea suggests their abductor took them somewhere about there, but we can’t search five boroughs for a magician. It would be like asking a blind man to search for a red marble in a bowl full of white marbles.”
“I’m certain Sherlock is doing something clever about that,” Sarah replied. “Really, when it comes to searching the non-magical aspects of this case, it should be left up to him. He is the detective, he has the practice, the skills, and most of all the knowledge of what clues to look for. Robin is looking for the magician, and he and John and Mary are best suited to that. What we need to do is to figure out what we, and we alone, can do. We already know what we can’t. And for that, we need to give our minds a rest. And I think the theater is the best way to do that. If we try to read, we’ll just keep interrupting ourselves, fretting, and losing track of the story we’re reading. At least, I know I will. And if we listen to a concert, I am certain I won’t be able to concentrate on it. We need a complete distraction.”
“All right,” Nan agreed. “The theater it is.”
After no more visions from Amelia—and time for Amelia to get better acquainted with Memsa’b—they had returned to their flat for a few days. Amelia was feeling braver, and more confident, after that last foray into—wherever it was the visions had taken her. And she had agreed to let Memsa’b accompany her the next time it happened. Her room was already next to Memsa’b’s, and thus far, the visions had all occurred shortly after her usual bedtime. So, it had been decided that Memsa’b would simply stay up a little while longer, reading, and if nothing happened by midnight, go to bed. Sahib had agreed to let her sleep late and take over any of her morning duties.
Nan looked over her shoulder at Neville, who had finished his stolen beakful of egg and was now eating his own food. “Do you two have any objection to us going to the theater this afternoon?” she asked.
Neville looked up, and shook his head side to side. Grey swallowed what she had just picked out of her bowl and said, “Go play.”