But she showed no sign of discomfort. "Now what?" she asked.
"Now you go and change into your robe, while I set out the candles and the rest of the paraphernalia," he replied, and his mouth parted in what she now knew was a smile. "Don't be nervous. This will be very simple for you."
"I hope so," she replied, giving the room and its diagram one last examination, just to be certain they had not forgotten some small corner.
The center of the diagram was an immovable cube or table that looked suspiciously like an altar, made of white marble. Jason hadn't commented on the fact, but she had noted that a great many ceremonies seemed based on a religion, though not precisely Christianity, nor any other that she recognized. Cameron moved towards that, walking carefully along chalk-free paths that had been designed into the diagram, probably for that very purpose. In either hand he held a squat silver candlestick with a new beeswax candle in it, a creamy yellow candle as thick as her wrist. Candies of various colors also played major parts in the Work—as in religion. Curious. She moved back a little further, dusted her hands on the canvas Bloomers, and turned to leave the room.
When Jason said, "change into your robe," he meant a great deal more than that. There was an entire ritual she had to undertake before she put on the medieval-style loose gown of white silk, tied at the waist with a long belt of the same.
It began with a bath, but not just any kind of bath. She sifted a powder of various herbs over the water, and poured in a tiny carafe of fragrant oil before she took her place in the tub. When she emerged, she dried herself off and tied up her hair in a particular manner with a cord of white silk. Then she put on a simple set of underthings, brand new, and of unadorned white silk. She was not to wear a corset or stockings, and she anointed her temples, the hollow of her throat, and her wrists with sandalwood oil.
Then came the gown; it looked for all the world precisely like one out of a medieval Book of Hours, and it was made of a heavy white silk that she suspected was the literary "samite" that the Lady of the Lake was clothed in. The belt was totally unadorned in any way, and was wrapped three times around her waist before being tied in the front. The long fringed ends trailed down to the hem of her gown.
Altogether, she thought, as she surveyed the result in the mirror, I am glad that I have seen the whole of this Work, or I should begin to suspect that I was a sacrificial virgin. The effect was certainly "sacrificial." She expected at any moment to find that she was to be fed to a dragon!
Or—perhaps she would find herself carrying the Grail in a procession. The effect was just as ecclesiastic as it was sacrificial.
She probably should have felt immodest without the proper underthings, but the truth was that this gown was far more comfortable than anything of a modern nature, and she could not blame the women belonging to the Pre-Raphaelite movement for adopting such outlandish garb as their own. It was graceful, as well—and she certainly found it easier to breathe and move without a corset. The one drawback it had was that it was a trifle chilly; silk, however thick, was not as warm as wool. However, cotton or linen would have been chillier still, and that was what Jason had said that those of lesser means used for such robes. In fact, the two times before that he had performed this Work, when he had acted as the virgin for his own Master, his robe had been of plain, undyed cotton; she had found the first of those episodes outlined in his journal.
That had given her a great deal of peace of mind, for if he himself had undertaken her role, not once, but twice, that was a guarantee that she would come to no harm. Silly of her, perhaps, but she found it comforting.
Tonight she stood in the role of the Summoner, and the Summoner's clothing must be completely white, and made of a virgin fabric of non-animal origin. That meant it could not be woolen, leather, or made of any other animal hair or fur. The Petitioner—Jason wore whatever his normal Working attire was; apparently that did not matter, since the Unicorn would not be coming in answer to his presence. She had eaten nothing but vegetables for the past three days, and drunk nothing but water. Everything about her must be free of the taint of shed blood, everything must be pure and unbesmirched.
Actually, I look rather like something out of one of Lord Dunsany's fairy tales, she thought, as she turned before the mirror. The only thing that spoiled the effect was her glasses. One did not imagine the Queen of Elfland with a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of her nose. They cast the only jarring note in the whole image.
Well, too bad. If the Elven Princess had eyes as bad as Rose's, she would have worn spectacles! She certainly would not have had any choice in the matter, if she wanted to keep her lovely gowns intact and her white skin unbruised. If Rose had to do without her glasses, she would be falling over something every few minutes.
By now, Jason must be finished with his preparations, and waiting for her. She picked up the skirts of her gown and walked carefully out into the hall and down the stairs—barefoot as she was, her feet chilled quickly, and she discovered all manner of drafts and cold spots she had no idea existed.
Jason was waiting, but not as impatiently as she had thought be might be; looking around the Working Room, she saw that he had been very busy indeed.
The lamps on the wall had been extinguished, and the only light came from the special candles Jason had lit and placed around the room. The barren room itself had been transformed. The "altar" was swathed in white silk and wreathed in flowers from the conservatory, with the two silver candlesticks standing on either side of a silver bowl filled with water, which was also surrounded by flowers. There were four silver candlesticks standing waist-high, one at each of the four cardinal points of the diagram. These each upheld another thick, beeswax candle identical to the ones on the altar. Each of the candlesticks was twined with two garlands, one of ivy and one of flowers. Flower-petals carpeted the floor outside the diagram. Mingled flower-scents perfumed the air, which unfortunately was a bit chill.
Jason was barefoot, and wore a hooded robe of thick red velvet—the same robe he had worn the night she had first seen him. The hood was up, keeping his face in shadow, although his eyes glinted at her from the darkness. If she did not look at his hands or his feet, she could believe that there was only a normal man beneath that velvet. The shoulders beneath that robe were strong and broad, and the belt confined the velvet about a waist that was becomingly narrow. I wonder what he used to look like, she thought, idly. He is handsome enough now—I shouldn't wonder if he wasn't quite the dapper fellow then.
She waited for his approval of her preparations. He surveyed her from head to toe, then without warning, reached out and plucked the glasses from her face.
She uttered an inarticulate cry of protest; now he was nothing but a red blur in the candle-light. "Jason!" she said. "What are you doing? I'm blind without my spectacles!"
"Don't worry, I'll keep them safe in my pocket," he said, sounding amused. "You've read the Work; you know you can't wear them into the circle."
"But I can't see!" she complained. "How will I get to my place? How will I know if anything is happening?"
"As to the first, I'll guide you," he told her. "Just take my hand and step where I tell you. And hold your skirts up. As to the second, believe me, you will know if the Summoning works correctly."
Reluctantly, she gathered up her skirts in her left hand and gave him her right. His paw-hand felt very strange, hairy on the back and dry and hot on the front, and a tiny electric thrill ran up her spine when she touched it. This was the first time she had ever actually touched him—his flesh, and not the clothing that covered him. But she did not wince away; instead she concentrated on putting her feet precisely where he told her, somehow managing to avoid scuffing the laboriously-drawn chalk lines.