"We all know that there will be some personal danger. All rituals involve risk."
Hyde-White nodded gravely. "Risks to the participants are unavoidable; but that is not what I mean. If the ritual is not performed absolutely correctly, the consequences may be grave, indeed. The gathered power may be warped and, in its corruption, grow to threaten the land itself. Are you ready to unleash more horror on our burdened land?"
"Neville would never allow that. For all his arrogant assumptions of superiority, he feels the land's pain as much as we do. He would not harm it."
"He may not be able to prevent the harm from happening."
"And you can?"
Hyde-White pressed his thick lips together, the area around his mouth going pale. "I do not know. When we realized that the Lord Protector was blind to the need, we formed our circle and elected Neville as archdruid of our ritual circle. I fear that we may not have chosen wisely and that his leadership will have dire consequences. But my fear will not lead me to abandon you all, and my conscience will not allow such a breach of trust. I will be present and do all I can to see that the ritual proceeds as it should. But if it begins to go awry, I would like to know that there is someone else who appreciates that we may have to change our plans. Someone strong enough to take charge and lead us away from disaster. The land needs our help, Andrew. We must do whatever is necessary to heal it."
"So we all swore."
"Indeed, we did. But an oath is not strength in itself. I fear that Neville will not have the strength to see us through."
"He is a greater shaman than I."
"You are young and strong. Though your skill and knowledge may be less than his, your power is greater. Skill and knowledge may be increased with relative ease, but raw power is the gift of the young. Once squandered, it may only be bought at a dear price.
"I am old. With age, my mundane power has grown, while the tribulations of life and magic have leached my occult powers slowly away. I believe I can see clearly what must be done, but I am no longer sure I have the power to do it. You have that power, Andrew. I feel it pulsing in you. I can show you the way, and you can do what must be done."
Hyde-White lapsed into silence, apparently content to let Glover consider his arguments. If the old man's fears were real, there was no recourse. The land came first. If this was all a smoke screen for a power play, Glover wasn't sure that he wanted to be involved. Neville was an influential man; his friends were primarily members of the nobility, who could use their influence to make or break Glover's mundane career. But HydeWhite was a power as well. His GWN Corporation held a significant portion of ATT stock, as well as controlling interests in several other miiwr multinationals. The sum of his interests gave him considerable direct influence in the corporate community and made him more powerful than any one of Neville's cronies. Glover would need time to sort out his options. "I will think about what you say, sir." Hyde-White smiled broadly. "I have faith that you will make the right decision, Andrew."
"So his lordship wants them drugged, does he?" Sam's hunger vanished and he stopped instantly, his hand mere centimeters from the kitchen door. Finding the servants' attentions uncomfortable, he had approached quietly, not wishing to disturb them. If they had known he was hungry, they would have insisted on fixing something for him rather than letting him get his own. Their solicitousness, while pleasant at first, had begun to chafe as much as the confinement. Now he was glad that he had tried to keep his kitchen raid quiet. He listened to the voices on the other side of the door.
"That's what Norman said," a deep voice replied.
"I don't know why, though."
"You never know, Cholly." "Cholly's got a point, Bert. They may be Yanks, but I don't like the idea of slipping them something. I mean, what's it gonna be next? Slitting their throats while they sleep?"
"Criminy! You're such a whiner, Georgie. You're almost as bad as Cholly. It's not like we were poisoning them or nothing. The stuff is only going to put them to sleep a little early. They won't feel a thing." "But how do you know, Bert? The stuff in that bottle Norman brought could be poison. We'd never know it until the Yanks died in their chairs. Then we'd be murderers."
"You ain't got nothing to worry about, Georgie. I used this stuff before. Got me my last three wives." "Bert, you hound."
Laughter erupted. The loudest seemed to belong to
Bert.
"They'll never even taste it in the wine. A couple of sips and fifteen minutes later, they'll get real sleepy and want to head straight to bed. We just let them. If they was birds, we could have a grand old time. They'd never know. Course they might feel a bit sore in the morning."
Cholly's deep voice trammeled on the last gasps of a fresh burst of guffaws. "Burt, why do his lordship want them to sleep?"
"Blimey, but you are slow, Cholly. His lordship's got company coming in tomorrow night. He obviously don't want his house guests to know about it."
"Why don't he just ask the Yanks to stay in their rooms?''
"Because they are Yanks, ya twit. Yanks never do what they're told to do."
The scattered laughter was punctuated by the scape of a chair. Sam backed away from the door. The talk continued, but he couldn't hear it distinctly. He had just settled in a dark corner where he thought he would be safe from a casual glance, when the door swung wide spilling light into the hall. Bert the groundskeeper stepped through.
"Keep the fire burning, boys. I'll be back after I make my rounds."
Assurances and mock insults drifted from the kitchen. Bert waved them oif and shuffled down the hall, oblivious to his surroundings. Sam didn't move until he was sure that Bert had enough time to leave the building. Then he headed back upstairs. There'd be no raid on the larder tonight.
Pretending to be affected by the wine had been easy\a151far easier than waiting for the servants to make the check on the supposedly drugged guests so that they could assure their master that the ploy had been successful. But they came at last, and Sam's lack of response to their calling of his name and the tentative prods that followed satisfied them that the Yanks were safely under the influence.
The house grew quiet.
Sam crept to Dodger's room, avoiding the boards he had learned creaked the loudest. Together they waited while they heard Glover go to the door to greet his guests. When things again quieted, Sam and Dodger crept forth. From the landing, light spilling into the main hall told them that Glover had chosen to entertain in a room that Sam had been unable to penetrate as trally. A quick check assured him that the barrier still held. Any penetration of Glover's secrets would have to be physical.
Sam and Dodger skulked through the upper hall, settling where they could get a view of the meeting chamber. The room's only illumination was the fire in the massive stone hearth at one end, but that made it far brighter than the hall and upper stories. The sliding doors to the room were open, allowing a rectangle of flickering light to fall across the ancient flooring and scale the paneled wall opposite the door. At first Sam thought that Glover and his cronies were foolish to leave the panels open, but then he remembered his own eavesdropping of the previous night. No servant would creep to the door and listen from concealment, for they would be seen. Any who crept close would be disclosed to those within the room as well; the hall's flooring would announce their passage and alert the conspirators. Likewise, a servant returning from the upper stories in defiance of his earlier dismissal would be betrayed by the creaking of the old staircase.