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religious to me, Sister M-Madeleine. What's your Order?"
"Oh, I'm with the Sisters of Divine Mercy, the nun said, with a dreamy smile.
My Order isn't all that strict, Questor Grimm. We are expected to exercise
decorum and so on during hours of observance, of course, but we are allowed a
limited amount of socialising. I've been resident here for three weeks as an
assistant to my Prioress. She's been liaising with the Prelate over the
possibility of formal recognition of our Order by the Guild, giving us primacy
over other religious orders in towns and cities where the Guild is
established."
She bit her lower lip in a manner that Grimm found highly appealing. He was
not experienced enough in the ways of the distaff sex to realise that he was
supposed to. Are you allowed alcohol, Grimm? she asked.
Grimm thought of the drunken affair of his Acclamation ceremony and nodded.
Surely they don't let you drink, Sister Madeleine?"
"No, but there are beverages other than alcoholic ones that I am allowed, she
said with a smile. There is one bar in what you call the Secular zone, where
Guild members are allowed to mingle with outsiders. I'd like to meet you there
in a couple of hours."
Grimm's head felt his head spin.
"A couple of hours sounds just fine to me. It seemed as if somebody else had
spoken.
"I'll see you in two hours, then. As she walked away, Madeleine blew Grimm a
small kiss over her shoulder. The kiss seemed to impact his cheek with the
gentle caress of a feather stuck to the head of a sledgehammer. Grimm found
himself beginning to count the minutes until they met again.
He felt happier than he could remember.
He might have felt different, had he been able to see the rather sinister,
knowing, self-satisfied half-smile on the young nun's face as she walked back
to her quarters.
Chapter 17: Infatuation
Grimm almost danced, fighting hard to keep a dreamy, beaming smile from his
face. The invaluable locating gem lit the way to his room, and he felt as if
his feet bore wings. He debated with himself over what he should say to
Dalquist, and decided not to mention Madeleine to his friend. All the Guild
Rules emphasised that close relations with women were anathema to Guild Mages,
and could sap a magic-user's power.
Still, Grimm thought, what harm can there be in a little convivial company for
the evening?
He was, of course, deluding himself. A part of him recognised that it was
wrong to deceive his friend; if he believed that his little soiree was so
innocent and harmless, why did he need to keep it from Dalquist?
Unfortunately, the frontal lobes of Grimm's brain were no longer in full
control of his actions.
* * * *
Grimm realised he did not know which of the two rooms mentioned by Shael had
been reserved for him; however, the terminus of the magical green trail made
clear which door was his. It opened at his touch, and he stepped inside as if
wafted on a breeze.
The splendour of the room was in keeping with the rest of High Lodge, richly
carpeted in blue and gold, with a sumptuous four-poster bed and tables of
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tempting sweetmeats and viands. Crystal decanters of wine and liquor were also
in evidence, but Grimm had his mind on only two things: Madeleine, and the
desire to impress her.
A magical fire burnt in a grate in the middle of the wall to the left of the
door, producing no smoke and consuming no fuel. A hipbath had been
thoughtfully placed beside the fire, with a selection of unguents and oils.
Grimm thought that a hot bath was just what he needed.
He stripped off his expensive silk robes and carelessly let them fall to the
floor. A kettle was provided for hot water, but Grimm had no need for such
mechanical devices. He filled the bath with cold water and cast a variant of
his well-practiced Fire spell at the bath. He miscast twice, something that
had not happened since he had become an Adept, but he dismissed the discomfort
this brought. On the third attempt, he directed a small portion of his
energies into the water until steam began to rise.
Still wearing his seraphic smile, Grimm lowered himself into the bath. He
intended to appear at his very best for his meeting with Madeleine.
* * * *
"How fared you with our young Questor friend, Sister Madeleine? The harsh,
sibilant, voice sounded like the rustle of dry, dead leaves underfoot.
The young Sister bore little resemblance to the gauche, flirtatious girl who
had so entranced the Questor. Her eyes hooded, she took an apple from a tray
and took a mouthful from it before answering.
"It was easy, Prioress. He's just a boy. I'll have him eating out of my hand
before you know it."
A wizened hand snatched the half-eaten apple from the girl and tossed it on
the floor. Just remember, Madeleine: he is also a powerful Mage Questor, and
I want him to stay that way. If you exceed my orders, Sister, you know what
will happen to you."
The old woman picked up a stout rod from behind her and waved it
threateningly.
Madeleine clasped her hands and sank to her knees. I apologise, Reverend
Mother. Everything will be as you order. Please forgive my levity."
Still waving the stick, the Prioress continued, I do not wish for tainted
goods, girl, so bear that in mind. I want you to ensure that he is so
infatuated that he will seek me out at once when I take you away from him.
"If he wants to see you again, he will need to do a few favours for me;
nothing much; just enough to get used to the idea of working for me on
occasion. Just remember, promise all, but give little."
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