An’ ye prove ye gots th’ exact same Gifts’s Marchand too. Aye, I see where this’s goin’. But he didn’t object. On the contrary, this was one of the better ideas he’d heard. And using Projective Empathy for a purpose like this? Not only was it ethical, it was probably something that everyone in the know was wishing Marchand would get off his behind and do himself.
“Ye know what,” Mags said after a moment. “Might could be I kin find out what’s goin’ with yer healin’ kits and mebbe find out why Amily’s Healin’ got canceled too.”
“You aren’t—” Bear began.
“Not a bit,” Mags replied. “They’re expectin’ me t’ snoop an’ listen wi’ m’Gift. Well, I’m still gonna, when I git a chance t’go down inter Haven, but I bet they find reasons t’keep me up ’ere. An’ I ain’t gonna use m’Gift fer that up ’ere. I’m gonna go lookin’ at comin’s and goin’s and records. Gonna chat wi’ Guards. Dependin’ on what I find out, might could tell me if’n some’un makes a lotta liddle trips down inter Haven thesselves that nobody else does. Gonna watch who’s watchin important thin’s—who gits thesselves duty so’s they kin be at partic’lar place. An’ I reckon whoever this is, they ain’t all doin’ th’ same thing... so who’s meetin’ up on the sly wi’ sommun odd.”
Bear was very quiet. “Well, I had a notion... there’s a City Healer who belongs to one of those charitable orders that came up to talk to me about the kits. And he’s asked me a couple times if I’ll come down a few days a fortnight and work with him down there. There’s a lot more people who’d trust a potion than a Healer down there. Now... I could do that. And people talk when they’re getting helped. Heck, they babble sometimes. I could have you come along as my helper, Mags, and you could—”
“Aye, could do,” Mags said, seeing immediately where he was going. “Yer right, people, they sorta rain bits’a thinkin’ when they’re hurtin’.” He perked up at the thought. “Now thet there’s a fine notion, Bear! An—ye know what? Ye do thet, yer gonna show ev’body i’ th’ whole damn Healer’s Circle thet yer gonna shove right up an’ do th’ dirty work, not jest the stuff where yer fiddlin’ wi’ yer plants an’ all an’ niver touch a real human patient.”
He heard the life come back into Bear’s voice. “Aye. I’ll show I not only can accept responsibility, I’m willing to take it on my own.”
“And I’ll prove I’m my father’s daughter, but... without being so self-centered,” Lena said, firmly.
“An’... an’ I’ll show I kin figger stuff out wi’ jest usin’ m’head. An’ Dallen,” Mags said.
::Thank you for that.::
::Yer welcome. Yer half m’brains anyway.::
::Only half?:: Dallen teased.
::Ah, hush.::
Slowly, Mags felt his stomach unknotting, and the tension behind his eyes easing. It felt good to have a plan again, and better to have one that didn’t involve torturing children.
He felt his eyes starting to drift closed... and became aware of something else.
Bear and Lena. They were probably unaware of it themselves, but now that they had something they could actually do about their situations, they would be a great deal happier if he was elsewhere at the moment. Mags was always careful to screen out stray thoughts around these two, but nevertheless, a great deal of feeling swirled around them... .and . . .
“I’m a-gonna find Amily an’ tell ’er what’s goin’ on,” he said, trying to keep it from sounding abrupt as he sat up. “Reckon she needs ter know right off, aight?”
“Oh... damn, I can’t believe I forgot about Amily!” Bear exclaimed, “Definitely, she can use some good news. She’s kind of gotten over being mad at her pa, but... she’s not happy.”
He got to his feet. “Mebbe I kin change thet,” he said with a smile; he started to leave the grotto but then turned back a moment.
He caught Bear just reaching for Lena’s hand and suppressed a grin at Bear’s flush. “Lena—ye mind what yer Dean said. Aight?”
She looked confused. “What my Dean said?”
“ ’Bout playin’. Reckon t’day ye kin skip class fer once. Or at least, fer a liddle.” Without waiting for their answer, he strode off.
He regretted the brisk stride within a few steps as the heat hit him like a hammer, and the headache threatened a return. ::I’m a-gonna cheat. Dallen, where’s Amily?::
It had occurred to him that Dallen seemed to be able to locate Amily just fine, even though she was not a Herald. And Dallen did not challenge this observation. ::Well, that’s interesting... :: the Companion said after a moment.
::What is?::
::I’ll have to show you.::
Following Dallen’s mental instructions, Mags found himself going into the Palace, which was not a surprise since Nikolas and Amily had their rooms in the Heralds’ Wing there—but then, following further instructions, he went down a half-hidden set of stairs he never even knew were there, into what must have been a basement, and from those stairs down a long, dim—and blessedly cool—corridor. There were several doors leading from it; the place had a definite feeling of age and was plain, without being shabby. He stopped where Dallen indicated, and tapped lightly on the solid oak door there. “It’s Mags,” he called softly. “Kin I come in?”
“Mags?” the door muffled Amily’s voice, but the surprise in it was clear. “Yes, of course! I wasn’t expecting anyone down here—”
He opened the door to a room scarcely larger than a closet, round and with a round table in the center. It was lit by one lantern, heavily shaded, suspended from the ceiling above the exact center of the table. Beneath it, resting on a padded base, was a sphere of crystal. The table itself was surrounded by padded benches with backs to them. As the door closed behind him, the “dead” feeling to the room showed that it was so well-insulated against outside noise that a small riot could probably take place outside the door without the occupants of the room being aware of it.. Amily was sitting on one of the benches, and it seemed she must have been staring into the sphere.
“What—”
“What is this place?” Amily asked. “It’s a workroom for doing things at a great distance. It’s one of the most shielded rooms on the Hill, and the shields are tremendously old. It’s said Vanyel made this place, though no one remembers how or why. We’re right underneath the Royal Suite, in fact.”
“I was gonna ask, what’re ye doin’ down ’ere all alone?” he said, with a half smile.
“Just... thinking, I suppose,” she replied, as he sat down beside her. “It seems easier to stay calm down here. And it doesn’t hurt that it’s cooler than upstairs.”
“Aye t’thet.” Her hand lay quietly on the table; he considered it, then put his over it. This seemed as good a time as any to ask her about something that had been on his mind for a good long time. “Y’know, yer pa started up this thin’ ’tween us t’gi’ me a reason fer hangin’ about. We were friends an’ all, an’ thet was fine, but now, ev’body seems t’figger we’re courtin’. Even yer pa. Nobody seems t’hev asked you how ye feel ’bout thet. An’ nobody seems t’hev asked ye if ye fancied the courtin’ be fer real.”
Amily looked right at him, no blushing or faltering. He liked that about her so much—she was so straightforward.
“I was hoping that you holding my hand right now meant you were happy with the idea,” she said, with a faint smile. “Because I don’t think I would care to be courted by anyone else.”