The Wizard of London (47 page)

“There
are more important, and more lasting, things than power and position,
David,” Isabelle continued. “Power is ephemeral and can be taken
away. Position is just as ephemeral. But no one can take love and friendship.
You can lose them by your own actions or lack of them, or by neglect, but they
cannot be taken away.”

The
clouds parted overhead, and bright moonlight shone down on them. The spirit
moved closer, head tilted to one side. She glanced at her companions as she
said that, and they moved closer to her. Her husband put one hand on her
shoulder, and in another moment of clarity, David saw what he had not seen
before. These people were not masters, pupils, and servants. They were also
friends.

And
what of his friends? He recalled their names and faces clearly and they were no
longer in his “circle.” He had told himself he had outgrown them,
but that was not the truth. The truth was he had thrust them away, or ignored
them, because Cordelia had told him that his precious time was too valuable to
waste in their company. And so they had stopped calling on him, stopped issuing
him invitations. And he turned from friends to those who were politically
valuable. His life had become an unending round of work. He no longer even read
things that were not in some way related to his ambitions. He looked back over
the past several years and saw nothing but empty hours, gray and uninteresting.
He looked ahead to the future, and tried to imagine what life would be like if
he achieved those ambitions. Surely, it would be worth the cost.

But
he realized with a sinking spirit and a feeling of nausea that it would only be
more of the same. More empty, pleasureless years, punctuated by a few hours of
fame, which would only bring him to the attentions of people who were just like
him, who had ambitions of their own, and hoped to maneuver him to get
something.

If
he married, it would be to a woman who brought him more connections, perhaps
more wealth, who would spend as little time as possible in his company. She
would be too busy exercising her own ambitions to become a notable hostess in
the most exclusive of sets. Even if she felt some dim stirrings of affection,
she would have no time for anything other than bearing the “heir and a spare”
required of her, and furthering her own social climb.

“What
was the last moment of simple pleasure you remember having, David?”
Isabelle asked quietly. “Something you enjoyed for its own sake.”

With
a plummeting heart, he realized that the only simple moment of pleasure he had
experienced in the last several weeks was sitting down to dinner in his club
and enjoying a well-cooked meal.

Weeks!
He had gone weeks with the only memorable moment being a meal!

Cordelia
glanced sharply at all of them, and must have sensed that she was losing him.
“Enough,” she barked.

But
he was too deep in despair at his situation now to pay any attention to the
author of his misery. He looked at Isabelle, who had one hand resting
affectionately on the shoulders of each of the children—at her husband,
whose very posture proclaimed that he would quite cheerfully and publicly take
her into his arms for a loving embrace at any moment, and know it would be
returned with equal fervor. He looked at the three “servants,”
whose protective posture said that they would lay down their lives for these
friends—

These
children were not even Isabelle’s by birth, and yet he could see they
loved her unreservedly. If he had children of his own, they would grow up in
the company of nannies and nursemaids, tutors and governesses. They would be
sent away to school, return home only for a few days at a time, and over the
course of twenty years, if he was in their presence for a grand total of six
weeks’ worth of time it would be amazing. They would call him
“Pater,” and they would respect him, but they would not love him,
and when he died he would go to his grave with their dutiful attendance and
concealed pleasure that he was gone and they could now enjoy his wealth and
property unfettered by any rules or constraints of that stranger who had been
their father.

The
Hartons were surrounded by servants who loved and protected them. He was
surrounded by servants who probably resented and definitely cheated him.
Frederick had a wife who so clearly adored him that nothing made her unhappy
except to be separated from him. He lived in a lonely empty house, a condition
that would not change even if he took a wife of his own.

“I
would not exchange a single moment of my life for all of your wealth, David,”
Isabelle told him, as Cordelia seethed. “Your power cannot buy me peace.
Your position cannot bring me friendship. Your estates cannot give me hope. And
your wealth cannot purchase love.” Her voice took on tones of remote
pity. “What you have is worth nothing to me. And this is what Cordelia
has brought you to.”

Bleak,
black despair settled over him like a blanket. If he could have gotten himself
past the shame of it, he would have wept. By now, he was a cold, heartless,
ruthless creature. He had lost the friends he had once had, and no longer knew
how to make new ones.

And
as for love—

He
had driven it away.

He
stared at Isabelle numbly, wanting to howl his grief to the moon.

The
little girl with the parrot looked up at him solemnly, and paced forward until
she stood a mere foot from him. And she held out her hand.

“I’ll
be your friend, Mister Alderscroft,” she said soberly. “
‘Cause sometimes the reason you are friends with someone is that they
need one.”

Something
broke inside him—or perhaps, it was better to say that something melted.
Tears burned in his eyes as he took the child’s hand; they overflowed and
trickled down his cheeks. The child tugged on his hand and drew him to stand
beside her friends.

Cordelia’s
cheeks flamed, and she made a summoning gesture. “You flout me at your
peril!” she exclaimed. “You—”

“They
have the protection of Robin Goodfellow, sorceress,” said the earth
spirit, coming to stand on the other side of Isabelle. “The Fey do not
take sides in mortal quarrels—but I am a law unto myself and I say they
are under my protection—and have my friendship.”

Undeterred,
Cordelia voiced the Words of Power to bring her creatures to her.

But
David, with a little shock of surprise that he still recalled the words, called
upon the allies of his true Element of Fire to come to his aid. After the way
he had shunned them, he would not have been surprised that they did not answer.

But
they did.

A
rain, a stream, a river of Salamanders, greater and lesser, of Imps and Lyons
and Firebirds and even a Phoenix, all came crowding about him at his summons,
as if they had only been waiting for this moment.

They
stood, shoulder to shoulder, in a compact group of solidarity, surrounded by
creatures of Fire. And at last, the near-invisible Ice Lord spoke.

“
You have
failed, woman
,” it said. “
You are mine
.” In the
blink of an eye, it somehow surrounded her, and before she had a chance to
scream or cry out, they were both gone.

DAVID Alderscroft
surveyed his quarters with melancholy satisfaction.

He
had closed and sold his town house, and moved into rooms at his club. Men in
general were not so exacting of the requirements of friendship as women were.
Some weeks and months of careful tending, and he would soon be living among men
who considered themselves his friend. And at that point, he would begin
renewing his acquaintance with those old friends he had thrust aside. They
would take some more careful cultivation, but eventually he thought he could
win them over again. And he would never make the mistake of losing them twice.

But
there was no point in keeping up his town house, because he knew, deep inside,
that he would never need it, for he would never marry. He had rejected love
once. Unlike friendship, that sort of chance never came again. In the moment that
his heart had thawed, it had also broken.

And
it was his own damned fault.

Still.
In the midst of heartbreak—there were the little compensations. He
glanced affectionately at the pasteboard square in his hand.

Dear
Uncle David
, it said.
Please come to the school this weekend. We want
to show you the new ponies and take you riding on the paths we have been
cutting, and we have decided to make September 12th Nan’s official
birthday. There will be cake and ice creams. Love, Sarah
.

David’s
old estate was no longer empty and hollow. It rang with the happy voices of
children—the children of Elemental Mages, the children of the Talented
and Gifted, and the children of expatriates. It was now the home to the Harton
School, and, he trusted, would provide a harvest of fine young men and women
for decades to come.

It
was a good legacy.

And
he planned to create a second as well; his Circle would work not only for the
protection of Mages and Masters, but for the protection of all of England, so
that another creature like the Ice Lord could never slip onto the island
without someone noticing.

Good
legacies, both of them.

He
set down Sarah’s invitation, picked up a pen, and began to write out his
acceptance when a second piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Without his
prompting, a Salamander manifested, darted to the floor, and retrieved it,
returning it to the desk only slightly scorched.

Isabelle’s
note, attached to Frederick’s accepting an honorary chair in the London
Circle as spokesman for the Talented and Gifted, in response to his addendum
that he was sorry he could not invite her, but that as the Club was exclusively
male—

Dear
David, if I wanted to prance around infancy dress, I would join the Order of
the Golden Dawn. Their robes are just as ridiculous, and they serve a better
tea. Affectionately, Isabelle
.

The
Salamanders danced as the room rang with laughter.