Twenty-One

It Runs in the Family

Eventually Gratia found her way back through the twisting corridors to her quarters. The water clock signified the passing of the ninth hour and the mage was sitting by the window smoking a long pipe and humming to himself.

“You’re back. Where did you go? I failed to spot you at lunch.”

“Oh, I just went for a wander. It is a truly breathtaking palace.”

“You speak with a well-born tongue for a gypsy.”

Gratia was taken off guard by what she suspected to be a compliment.

“I lived with gentlefolk in Lariaan, they taught me much. Besides, we are not all savages,” she added with sharp weariness.

“No, no. I didn’t say we were.”

“Sorry, I forget you are a gypsy too.”

“At heart.”

“Pardon?”

“I am a gypsy at heart.”

Gratia pondered this for a brief moment. Either one was a gypsy, or one was not a gypsy – will didn’t tend to come into it.

“Explain yourself. I don’t fully understand.”

“Well,” the mage took a deep breath, “I was born a gypsy, raised a son of magic, and married a gypsy.” He chuckled. Gratia was now even more confused than before. “I was born the son of gypsies. However, our camp came under attack from unwelcoming town’s folk. Rather than see me harmed, my mother left me in a basket by the roadside, explaining that I was the son of a baker woman whose shop had burned down, and she could not afford to take care of me any more.”

Gratia hadn’t been expecting a torrent of life story. She moved to the bed and made herself comfortable whilst she listened.

“Luckily for me, I was found by a passing mage who decided I had the basics to follow in his profession once I had grown a little more. He taught me well, but eventually it came time for me to make my own way in the world. I travelled many countries for many centuries, but in all my time I have only ever loved one woman. I married a gypsy lady, a very pretty woman. She bore me a daughter. However, I was unable to gain her affections to the extent where she would actually love me back. The marriage was purely for convenience. It gave her status over her friends. I did not realise that for a long time. If I had, I would never have taken her for my bride.” He gave a resigned sigh. “So, I moved on yet again.”

Gratia’s eyes were blurry with fatigue. Although she had slept well earlier, the magic had beaten her energy. Another few hours were needed to restore it. She listened to the old man’s ramblings with polite attentiveness as best she could. Half an hour later she was dreaming peacefully.

Cathchart Sharloss was aware that his companion had slipped into her dreams, yet he continued to talk. Four hours passed and the sky outside became littered with tiny pinpricks of light, like glitter dust spilt on velvet. His pipe eventually burned out and he tapped the remaining ashes of the tobacco into a glass tray on the side table. Slowly, unhurried by time, he stood up and straightened his aged vertebrae. Turning to the bed, he knelt by her side and stared at her unopened eyes. Gently, he took the hand that limply hung over the side and drew a blanket up around her shoulders. Smiling softly, he bent over and kissed her forehead before leaving the room. She truly was as beautiful as he had remembered.

Gratia woke with the dawn and was pleasantly surprised that the closeness of the night before had given way to a cool, crisp breeze. Stretching, she pulled back the sheet and summoned the maid with fresh water and a simple-cut cotton dress. After washing and changing, she ate from a large basket of fruit and cheeses, though her appetite was somewhat suppressed due to the change in climate. Then she ventured back out into the corridor which was as empty as before. Thinking for a moment, she decided to turn right this time. Curiosity needed to know where the marble hallway led.

After a good few moments walk she arrived in some sort of lobby, with a huge white marble fountain rising from the floor. As the light from the windows above caught the tiny gem-like droplets that cascaded into the air, a beautiful wavy pattern reflected around the room like a kaleidoscope. Mesmerised, she stood for a long time, unaware of the maid’s expectant glance.

“Can I help you, m’lady?” she eventually asked, breaking the spell. 

With a start, Gratia turned to face her. “Oh, forgive me. I did not see you there.”

“That’s quite alright, ma’am. It was rude of me to startle you.” 

For some reason that sentence irritated Gratia. A maid wasn’t supposed to accept an apology from a Lady, she was supposed to accept the blame herself. A more proper response would have been “Oh gracious, not at all! I beg forgiveness for having startled you,” followed by several full and apologetic curtsies. Really, one would have thought a palace of such grand demeanour could have afforded to pick better staff. 

Gratia caught her thoughts and froze them. How on earth could she think like that? She was thinking like a grand duchess or a viscountess! One thing she certainly couldn’t claim was good breeding. If anyone knew she herself was a gypsy, she wouldn’t even be permitted to lick the Sire’s boots clean. Maybe this kingdom was so rich that even the staff were well born.

Nodding, she asked, “Where might I find Mage Sharloss at this moment?”

“Oh, sorry m’lady,. Mage Sharloss cannot be disturbed at this moment in time. He has important business he is attending to.”

Gratia was amused to find herself straightening up and assuming the posture of one greatly superior to the maid. She was quite enjoying this. As of this moment in time she was in a strange kingdom far from home, surrounded by people who she did not know and who didn’t know her. She could be anything or anyone she pleased. She could be the queen of some unheard of realm if she wanted, although she was uncertain she could stretch herself that far. But whatever she chose to play, it would be greatly above a serving maid.

“Did he actually tell you to inform his acquaintances of his preference for solitude?” She gave a polite, if somewhat cold, smile.

“Well.” The maid hesitated, caught out by the unexpected query. She was obviously unaccustomed to having her word questioned. “Not in so many words.” Her gaze, however, remained annoyingly calm. Not so much as a flush passed her pale, plump, cheeks.

“Just as I thought,” she snapped curtly. “You insolent woman, I demand to see Sharloss immediately!” 

She couldn’t help herself. Never in her life had she demanded to see anyone. Never before had she felt in such a position of power and grace. The temptation of abusing the maid’s courtesy was all too much for her to resist. It was all she could do not to burst into laughter at the woman’s suddenly flustered expression.

“Well– I– it. It wouldn’t be wise to disturb him. He is working.” 

Right, that did it. There was no option left to her. It was time to pull out all the stops!

“I demand to see Cathchart Sharloss!” she said in her most affronting tone.

The maid struggled to suppress a gasp at Gratia’s words. Just as the gypsy had thought, some customs were the same whatever corner of the globe you were in. No one ever addressed a mage by his first name unless the person was the apprentice to that mage or of a much higher status and without manners. The only time a common person would use the first name of a mage was through reputation, such as Mage Chathchart, but it would always be preceded by the title Mage. Such disrespect for this custom signified either deep stupidity (for many mages punished those who mocked their name) or great status.

Gratia raised an ignorant brow at the maid. “What is it, woman? Cat got your tongue? Well, chop, chop, call my friend this instant. Stop dallying!”

Inside, Gratia erupted into a fit of laughter. She was confident that her breach of courtesy would not be spoken of to the mage and, even so, she feared his reaction little. Something inside told her she could trust him. But it wasn’t that which caused her such humour. It was the way she had just spoken. All these fancy words such as ‘dally’ and ‘this instant!’All this, and more, she had heard filter from the mouths of gentle folk at the pump square in Lariaan. She couldn’t deny, horrid as her last few days in the city had been, she had not left without many a lesson firmly lodged inside her head. Such vocabulary she would never have dreamed of had she stayed in her little Romany back in the valley.

The maid turned to scuttle off down a side corridor, but before she had taken more then a pace, a familiar voice took Gratia sharply by surprise. She spun around as she had by the pool as a child.

“No need, Mildred. I am already here.” The maid, too, appeared to jump at his words. 

Turning back to them, she said, “Oh, m’lord, I did not see you there!”

“No, indeed you should not have. I have been stalking these corridors most of the morning under a shroud of invisibility. I am so sick of everyone bowing and laying down their coats for me to walk across. I almost tripped on one yesterday.” He chuckled. “What good would I be to the boy if I had a broken neck, eh?” His eyes sparkled with humour.

“Oh, m’lord, you are such a lark!” The woman rocked with perfectly genuine laughter. 

Gratia’s neck prickled with the knowledge that the mage had been standing behind her all along. Maybe he had been stalking the corridors most of the morning, but she was more then certain he had eavesdropped on their entire conversation.

He turned his attention to the gypsy. “I believe you wished to see me, Lady Cilarie?”

Well, well. He was playing along with her little game. He had witnessed her blatant disregard for the honour of his profession, yet he was addressing her by a title when any other mage may well have used harsh words to embarrass her in front of the house staff. 

Gratia took a second to recover hear voice. “Ermn, yes, indeed I did. I mean, I do.” Gratia felt herself blush hotly under his kindly, blind stare. “It is of great importance. May we talk in private?”

“Of course, m’lady. Anything you wish.”

She was aware the maid was staring at her with new fascination. At last the woman was convinced she was of high breeding, though the illusion may well have been short lived if she couldn’t find a silver tongue to talk her way out of her predicament.

The mage beckoned her into a side room where he closed the door and turned to face her again. “Well?” he asked. “What was it you wished to see me about?”

“I, I– well, you see...”

He chuckled. “Of great importance, was it?” She felt a lump of embarrassment rise in her throat and she was aware that her cheeks must have burned like hot coals. “Or were you just trying to impress the maid?” She shot him a startled glance. “Oh, my dear girl,” he continued. “You could dazzle more than the house staff if you so pleased.” A warm smile pulled at the frail corners of his lips.

Suddenly, she felt anger rising inside of her. He had known all along. He had stood behind her and watched whilst she made a fool of herself in front of the maid, putting on all those airs and graces.

“Dear girl?” she spat fiercely back at him. His well-meant smile vanished instantly, replaced by the puzzled look most men express when confronted with a woman’s sudden and apparently irrational mood change. And as with most men, he was at a loss to defuse the situation.

“I am not your dear girl, old man! True, you may have saved my life,” – no ‘might’ about it, I’d be dead now if it weren’t for him – “but I do not know you and I certainly bear no resemblance to your ‘dear girl’!”

He gave a resigned sigh. “I do not know you either, yet you took it upon yourself to discredit my name.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at her. 

Like a cat, back-up against a wall, she sprang on the defencive. “The maid is an obnoxious brute. She deserved to be put in her place!”

“I fail to see how discrediting my name could possibly have put her in any place. It would seem to me that it could only have elevated your own pride.”

There was a long silence as Gratia realised her argument’s heart had stopped beating and was now lying six feet under.

“You should learn to keep your arrogance at bay, my dear. It doesn’t suit you. But let us not fight about such trivial matters. Milldrid is a very sweet woman, if only you’d give her the space to complete her work undistracted. She is very house proud. Now, shall we dine?”

Caught off guard by the sudden change in topic, Gratia nodded her compliance. “Yes. I am in need of nourishment, I ate little at breakfast, the weather here is atrocious.”

“Yes, I know exactly how you feel. I, too, find it hard to tolerate such humidity. It runs in the family I am afraid. Though, if you will permit me, I can cast a cooling spell which should ease your discomfort somewhat?”

Gratia hadn’t heard his last words. 

He turned to her and smiled slightly at her frowning eyes. “Well, shall you permit me, my dear child?”

“No. No, wait a minute. What do you mean family? What do you mean dear child? I don’t understand.”