But he knew very well what he could do; it was something none of the humans he was in league with could do. He could take his courage in all paws, follow this man, and do it without being seen.
Just so long as he could avoid being detected by other means.
He jumped down to the street to wait, one shadow among many.
Ninette awoke suddenly, her mind preternaturally clear, every sense alert.
Thomas was in trouble.
How she knew this, she could not say; perhaps that encounter with that horrible man had done something to her mind, made it more sensitive or something of the sort. She had noticed it last night when she had awakened in time to warm up for her performance. She had felt things more clearly than ever before, from the stagehands, the other performers, and then, most strongly, from her audience. At first she had been a bit upset and angry, but then she realized that it was not so bad. Feeling how much the audience was enjoying what she did made her think that perhaps this could be useful.
And now she knew without a doubt that Thomas was in trouble. She felt his fear, and she knew that she could use that to find him; it pulled her like the North Pole pulled a compass needle.
She pulled on clothing, the bloomers outfit she wore to go shooting. With her hair under a cap, she would look like a boy, and that should keep her safe enough. She stuffed her pistol into one pocket, bullets into another, money into a third. She went to wake Ailse only to discover that Ailse wasn’t in her own bed.
That made her pause; then she racked her brain trying to think of where her maid could be, and came up with nothing.
“She’s walkin’ out with that lad from the hotel band.”
Ninette turned to see the creature that Nigel called a Brownie looking sideways at her. She didn’t see much of the little fellow, he was shy by nature, and she wasn’t a magician after all. But it made her obscurely ashamed that this fellow knew more about what Ailse was doing and who she was seeing than she did.
“I think they went to th’ pub,” he continued, flushing, “Though I couldn’t tell ye which one.”
Well there was nothing to be done about it. Ailse was gone, Thomas was in trouble and from the growing urgency she felt, there was no time to try and rouse Nigel, Arthur, Jonathon, and Alan. The best she could do was this.
“Thomas is in danger,” she told the Brownie urgently. “Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. When Ailse gets back, tell her that, and tell her to get the rest. Thomas was following the man who attacked me; I do not know what kind of trouble he is in, and it could be something I can solve by walking in and claiming him for mine. I know only that he is frightened and I must go to him.”
The Brownie nodded. “Aye, I can do that, miss.” Then he looked pained. “Wish’t I could come with you. . . .”
But Brownies, so Nigel had told her, were very tied to a place, once they settled into it. Literally tied in many ways; unless Ailse or Ninette were to do something that would offend it, the Brownie was unable to physically leave the building.
“Just tell her. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.” She wouldn’t have gone far, not after that madman had attacked Ninette.
But she must be thinking that Thomas was still here, and that it would be safe enough to leave Ninette with him standing guard. She didn’t know that Thomas was gone.
Ailse could be gone for as much as an hour or even more, and there was not enough time to search through all the pubs within walking distance. This was, after all, an area of boarding houses that catered to entertainers, and even when the barmen had to call “time,” they stayed open, serving food and tea while people sipped from their own flasks or made the beer they had bought before time was called last for an hour.
A jolt of fear passed through her. Thomas was definitely in trouble. There was no time to lose.
She snatched up her keys and ran.
“You are a curious creature,” said the Troll.
Thomas knew it was a Troll, because he could tell, by scent, that it was not human the moment he had surreptitiously entered the house. Here in proximity to it, inside barriers and shielding, things were very clear. The damp-soil scent of Earth power was everywhere, overlaid with the corruption that was the hallmark of the Dark Element. And the unmistakable signs of something very large and very powerful, besides the lesser boggles and simulacra, meant that the powerful one must be a Troll. The first thing that had occurred to him, and with a jolt, was that he had, all unaware, been the one to find their elusive Earth Master, for only an Earth Master would have an Earth Elemental in thrall. There could not be two such in the city.
The second thing that occurred to him was to run.
Unfortunately, he discovered that he could not.
The whole house was bespelled. Things could get in easily, but once inside, the only way to get out was to be let out. He had slipped blithely inside, following his quarry, only to discover that he was trapped.
All right, put a good face on it. Since he could not go back, he decided to go forward. He followed the man, who whimpered a little as he stumbled along the passageway and up the stairs, heading for the next floor. The entire scene was surreal; outwardly, this was the entry, hall, and staircase of a very well-appointed, moderately luxurious, and utterly respectable home. It had all the right touches, from the scenic photographs and paintings on the walls, to the Turkey carpet on the floor, from the elaborately carved balustrade to the latest in electrical lighting. But the aura of dark corruption that hung over everything, and the tortured face of the man climbing the stairs as if he was ascending the Matterhorn, made it feel more like something out of a nightmare.
Thomas followed, knowing that there was no way he could have escaped detection, even if the master of this place hadn’t done anything about him yet. So he acted as if he had intended to be in this position all along. When all else fails, try a bluff. Mind, that particular philosophy had not worked all that well for him in the past.
Then again, that could mean the odds were good for it finally working. Right?
The man paused at an open doorway. Then Thomas got a second shock, when the voice that called out to them was female.
“Come in,” said the voice, and paused. “Both of you.”
The man shambled in. Thomas followed.
And got the third shock, although part of his mind was saying, smugly, This should have occurred to you, you know. He knew the woman lounging like an odalisque on her sumptuous chaise.
It was the real Nina Tchereslavsky.
Or rather, a Troll wearing her shape.
The Troll made a contemptuous gesture at him, and he found himself frozen in place. Which was not quite as bad as it could have been, however, because the Troll’s primary attention was on the man.
“You have failed me,” the Troll said, looking down her pert nose at the man. “You stupid ass. What sort of an idiot attacks someone in broad daylight? With witnesses? Within reach of help?”
The man’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. The Troll’s words, curiously enough, were in good English, with a slightly upper-class accent. Thomas wondered how that came about, if she was supposed to be Russian.
Then again, she was a Troll, and magic was a part of them. He supposed . . .
But wait. There was something else wrong here. Where, exactly, was this creature’s Master?
“Never mind that, I will tell you,” the woman continued with contempt. “A brainless, over-educated, under-schooled fool, who has been certain all of his life that he is entitled to the finer things, yet has never worked to achieve them.”