R1 - Rusalka (18 page)

"Pyetr. Did she say anything?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Let him be," Uulamets said from across the room. "Let him drink himself into a stupor if that's what he chooses. It's not required he be sober." Uulamets went back to his chair and his book.

"Please," Sasha said, "master Uulamets—"

"Don't be gullible," Pyetr snapped.

"No need of anything tonight," Uulamets said, "except his existence here."

A man could justly feel indignant when the only company he had left sided with a man like Uulamets . Friend, indeed—
boy
, child, ward, charge: he had promoted 'Mitri
to friend
, and most of 'Mitri's faults, he thought, outside Mitri's outright villainy and the fact that he was increasingly tending to his father's character—were the faults of a sometimes-man, sometimes-boy. He had his own faults, too, the god knew, among them that he had constantly to look for loyalty in someone younger than himself, because he did not, he admitted it to himself in his most morose broodings, seem to inspire it in more mature folk-Mature folk who had no sense of humor, damn them all, and who could not laugh, and who plodded about their work and their affairs and their petty concerns as if it was all too grim. Or there were villains, plenty of those, who laughed only at the folk they robbed. That was more than grim, and Pyetr had never wanted to be a villain. His father had been one, the god of thieves knew, and Pyetr did not miss him: he only aspired to pluck the fools a little and make them wiser, and play pranks on the ploddingly sober sort and wake them, and generally to amuse himself and find a handful of well-placed, lively friends and of course a lady or so to admire his wit. It seemed a modest ambition for a lively, easy-going fellow, in a world in which so few people cared to fill that role.

But tonight he decided he must be out of step, he must have mistaken everything, to end up here with no friend in the world, only a boy to take care of, one of the ox-sober ilk who was desperately determined to take the world seriously, and who somehow had taken
him
in hand and bartered and traded him to some lunatic self-named wizard, all for his own good, of course, never mind the wizard was poisoning them with drugs—the god only knew what had happened to his daughter…

He was drunk. Or drugged. Probably the wizard boiled people up in his kettle when he got them to trusting him. Or fed them to whatever he kept in the cellar. Domovoi indeed. Rusalkas. House-things and Things in the yard and things going bump in the cellar under the boards he was sitting on.

He dropped his head against his arm. He listened to the boy talking to Uulamets , who was telling him things about spells and incantations and how he knew that he could bring his daughter back if he could find the right tree.

And the boy stood there and listened to all this.

The boy who thought he was a wizard himself—listened to all this and answered questions like: How did she seem to you?

Sasha said: Just a wispy thing. All white. Like a cloud. Couldn't you see her, sir?

And the old man said, after a moment: No.

Then, the boy asked—how did you know where to look for her?

Liquid gurgled into a cup. The old man said, I didn't. But my daughter wouldn't give up life so easily. Her mother—

The cup banged onto the table.

Her mother's disposition and my ability, Uulamets said harshly. Go to bed, boy…

The cup was in danger. Sasha lifted it carefully from Pyetr's fingers and put it on the shelf, and Pyetr never twitched. The old man wanted his book, Pyetr was asleep, and that was just as well, Sasha reckoned: Pyetr just did not deal well with this kind of thing—no discredit to Pyetr: Sasha reckoned that, too, that being deaf and blind to certain things all one's life and then being knocked down and trampled underfoot by one had to disturb a man like Pyetr, who, Sasha figured, might joke and clown about—but certainly, certainly when he had ridden so recklessly under The Cockerel's signboard, and it
looked
as if it was all chance—Pyetr had known better than most folk ever did just precisely where the ground was.

That was what he sensed about Pyetr, and Sasha was greatly put out with the ghost-girl, who after all was cruel—rusalkas were always cruel, it being their nature—but still,
still
, he was the one of the two of them who truly would have wanted a glimpse of her, and the one of the two of them who might have-he hoped—had at least a chance of reasoning with her; and she had gone and played her tricks instead on poor Pyetr, who could have gone all his life quite happily thinking there was a dog in the yard and a bear under the house and that Sasha Misurov's wishes had no power over him.

He
wanted
Pyetr safe. That was all he let himself think about, sitting there beside Pyetr, listening to the slow turn of pages in Uulamets ' book; and knowing that the domovoi beneath the house was mightily disturbed and manifesting itself with all the threat it could muster.

He wanted himself safe. He did not forgive Uulamets for tricking them, most of all for not forewarning him, when a forewarning might have helped. He did not forgive himself, for losing his wits in the chase after Pyetr and not remembering that against a magical thing, his wishing
might
have some virtue. So he sat and wanted them safe now with all the strength he had, quite collectedly, and did
not
want to-see the rusalka: he dis missed all curiosity toward her, and simply did not want her, as hard as he could.

After which decision the domovoi at least settled down and quit meandering about the basement. He thought that that was a good sign.

He did not let himself think otherwise.

Only, eventually, there came a prickly feeling to his left, and he was aware that there had been a long silence of pages, and that Uulamets was looking at him.

Then he knew by wishing that way he had made a great mistake.

For a long while Uulamets looked at him, and finally crooked a finger. Sasha let go the blanket and got up and came over to the table, with a greater and greater feeling of hazard. Under his feet the domovoi stirred and shook the house beams. He thought of wishing it quiet, directly against master Uulamets , of trying himself against a wizard, but that was only the merest passing thought, and he knew it was foolish, foolish now to do anything but be polite and show respect and not even to attempt to defend himself except as the most extreme last hope.

He bowed. He looked up at master Uulamets and the timbers of the floor creaked softly.

"Who sent you?" Uulamets asked softly.

"Master Uulamets , no one sent us. We haven't lied. Only—"

"Only?"

"When I was very small my relatives thought—" He was going to stammer, he knew that he was, and he locked his hands behind him and got a quick breath. "—I might be a wizard, or unlucky, or something of the like. But the wizards in Vojvoda just said I was born on a bad day."

"Born on a bad day." Master Uulamets snorted and reached after his cup. He took a drink. At the same time Sasha felt his breath stop and his heart lurch and ache and start again, along with his breath. He went very dizzy for a moment, and master Uulamets said, "They're fools."

He had no idea what to answer. He hoped master Uulamets meant fools because they were wrong, and not fools because they failed to drown him at birth. He hoped master Uulamets had no disposition to correct that mistake, if that were the case—and he even hoped, for half a breath, that master Uulamets might tell him something better about himself than any of Vojvoda's wizards.

"How have you gotten this far," Uulamets asked, "without killing someone?"

Uulamets might have stopped his heart a second time. It felt like that. He said, feeling as if he were strangling, "I don't know, sir. I try not to."

"How do you try? Explain to me."

"I try not to wish for things that can go wrong."

"Who told you to do that?"

"Just—when things go wrong. I know better after that."

Uulamets lifted a brow and looked at him a moment before the edge of his mouth drew into a crooked, unpleasant grin. "Know better," he chuckled. "Know better. Indeed." He chuckled to himself for a moment. And a very uncomfortable feeling crawled up and down Sasha's neck. "Know better than to try
me
, for instance."

"Yes, sir."

"Smart," Uulamets said. "Smart lad. Your friend's very lucky."

To be with me? Sasha wondered, and clenched his hands, suddenly beset with a very unreasonable hope in this old man, who was more knowledgeable than anyone who had ever laid eyes on him: but, again, Uulamets might only mean Pyetr was lucky not to be in worse trouble, considering his company.

"Altogether taken," Uulamets said, "you've managed very wisely—concealed yourself quite well, till your inexperience betrayed you. And so impeccably
dean
a warding. Very well done, lad."

"Thank you, sir," Sasha whispered, and wished himself and Pyetr safe against the attack he was sure would come.

"Wary, too. You don't trust flattery."

"No, sir."

Uulamets ' brows drew together. He crooked the finger again, beckoning him still closer. No, Sasha thought, and stayed where he was.

Uulamets smiled, and the smile became that unpleasant grin. "An impeccable ward. But an egg is impeccable. And vulnerable. Inexperience and too little strength, young Sasha. I had a student once. He was a fool."

He wished harder that they were safe, wherever they were. He wished so hard he stopped seeing the room around him, or Uulamets in front of him. Only himself and Pyetr, equally, inseparable, indivisible. He was aware of Uulamets getting up, taking up his staff. Walking around him. He let that go. It was Pyetr and their mutual safety he thought about and he did not look at anything.

"Stubborn," he heard Uulamets say. "I've met fools before."

He stayed as he was. Then pain struck his ankle, and the floor came up under his knee.

"Very good, boy. Very good. Magic's so simple for the young." He felt a touch on his hair, and heard Uulamets say: "But much simpler for a creature that
is
magical. Your friend's in danger, you and your friend are in terrible danger, and you can only thank yourself you found this house before my daughter found you. But now she has. I admit I had somewhat to do with that—but I didn't let her have her way, did I? Nor will, if you're reasonable; otherwise—you'll lose, boy. I was strong enough to hit you. I chose not to harm you."

Or the wish worked, Sasha thought, even on Uulamets . So he wished farther, and farther, to forever, and he let go then, and stood up, because that was all he could do.

"The effrontery of you," Uulamets said, standing back, leaning on his staff.

"You said you'd let us go. You said if I did what you asked you'd let us go and give us food and clothes and blankets."

"Oh, that I will," Uulamets said. "But getting out of this woods—that's another matter." Uulamets walked back to the table and leaned his staff against the wall. "The strength of magic depends on age; the ease of magic depends on youth. Simplicity of motives, you understand, makes magic ever so much easier. My daughter is older than you are—but her motives are ever so much simpler. You might say—a rusalka
is
motive. Could you stop her tonight? I think not. Perhaps you'll want advice."

He wanted advice—from someone other than Uulamets . But Pyetr would be for running; and Uulamets was telling the truth in one thing, that they were in very deep trouble, and there was no one else to ask.

"What should we do?" he asked meekly enough. But he was not prepared to believe anything Uulamets said.

Surely Uulamets was wise enough to know that. Uulamets gave him a long, calculating look.

"I want my daughter back," Uulamets said. "It's very simple. She wants your friend. You want your friend alive. Your
wanting
has a certain force that may prove useful—if you can hold on to that single mindedness of yours and learn a thing or two."