Page 21 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
Chapter Six
Thornby sat on theend of Blake’s bed, trying to control the impulse to keep looking over his shoulder. He felt that, at any moment, something might claw its way out of the walls. His hands were shaking and he laced his fingers together and hooked them over his knee to still them.
Blake was kneeling on the floorboards beside an odd pattern of salt he’d laid out. He was rubbing bright blue powder onto an ordinary-looking key, which was absorbing the powder in a most unlikely way. Every so often, Blake touched the key to the salt. And although all this was hardly normal behaviour, Blake did it with such calm assurance that eventually Thornby’s knotted muscles began to relax.
After Thornby had thrown up, Blake had taken charge. He’d brought water for them both to drink, and tidied up as efficiently as any servant. He’d offered Thornby brandy, which he hadn’t been able to face. Then Blake had gone downstairs briefly, returning with bread and cheese. Not that Thornby had been able to face that either.
“What are you doing?” Thornby finally managed to say.
Blake gave him an appraising glance. “Making a chimera key. Today’s Monday, so we’ve missed a night’s sleep and breakfast. I think time works differently in that other place. Your father just sat down to lunch, so while he’s out of the way, I’ll go to his rooms, use this key to get in, and look around.”
“You think he’s got something in there that’s holding me here?”
“Yes, a spell of some kind. His rooms, and your mother’s old rooms, are the only places in the house I haven’t looked. I’d have sworn he wasn’t using magic; he just doesn’t seem to have that kind of power. But where you’re concerned, magic doesn’t work the way I expect, so maybe I can’t sense it because it’s all aimed at you. Raskelf’s a dashed difficult place to work. There’s old magic everywhere. You’ve no idea how confusing it is. So, I need to get in there. I can tell a lot by touch once I’m in. I might find out a bit about this curse he seems to have on him, too.”
“But can’t you just tell him to let me leave? In that magic voice?”
“It wouldn’t work. It has to be something at least vaguely acceptable to the person. And in any case, I’ve told him he invited me here. I can’t tell him anything else until that wears off. Sorry, Thornby. Not that simple.”
“I see.” His heart sank, but only a little. Perhaps he hadn’t really expected it to be that simple either. “Tell me, what’s gramarye? Those creatures mentioned it.”
“It’s another word for magic. I think, for them, it means my kind of magic, human magic. Didn’t think much of it, did they?” Blake held the key up and looked at it critically, head cocked to one side. “This’ll be ready in a minute. You should get to a boundary. If I can break the spell, you’ll be free. But don’t let anyone see your face or you might have some explaining to do. She healed you; did you realise?”
Thornby put a hand to his cheekbone. The skin was as smooth as if he’d never been hurt. He looked at the back of his left hand; that too was whole. “Just like that, eh? Imagine what she could do in a hospital.”
“Mmm, or she’d turn everyone into toads just for the fun of it.”
“But she let us go, didn’t she? In the end.”
“Only because you answered the questions.”
“That hedgehog thing helped us.” He noticed the rose hips drooping from his lapel, tugged them off and crushed them in his fist.
“Thank goodness I gave it walnuts.” Blake bent over his key intently. “You know, Thornby—that place—you could have stayed. She wanted you to. Would you rather have stayed than come back and dealt with all this? Because I could probably get you back there. If you wanted.”
“Stay there? In that place? With those things? I hope you’re joking. Didn’t you see her feet? She had goat’s hooves! And a dress that grew out of her middle!”
“Just because things are different doesn’t mean we should fear them.” Blake looked up from his key, blue powder all over his fingertips, his expression earnest. “I know most people wouldn’t want to live there, but maybe you could belong. It’d be an escape of a kind, wouldn’t it? She liked you. I think, in their way, they’re decent enough to their lovers. I know it would be an unusual way to live, but—”
“Mr Blake, I can tell you categorically that fairy queens are not my type. Good Lord! Going back to her? I can’t think of anything worse. I donotbelong there. I’m certain of that.”
“All right. Sorry. Just checking.”
Blake put the key down, dusted his fingertips, and began sweeping the salt together with the side of his hand. A few grains got caught in a crack and he flicked them out with a small brush. He took an oilskin bag and began pouring handfuls of salt into it.
Thornby noticed for the first time that Blake had a nasty-looking gash on the back of his hand, presumably from that magical thornbush. Blake might well have mysterious powers, but he was clearly not omnipotent, or impervious to hurt. If they hadn’t escaped, what would have happened to Blake? Part of him wanted to ignore the issue, as Blake seemed to be doing, but if something else happened, did he really want Blake’s blood on his conscience?
“Mr Blake, it’s not safe for you here, is it? If Raskelf’s concealing some world where your magic doesn’t work, well—what if they catch you again?”Go on, say it. “Shouldn’t you leave?”Christ, please don’t leave. Please stay and help me.
Blake was pressing his fingertips to the floorboards to pick up the last few grains of salt. He shrugged.
“I don’t think it’s peculiar to Raskelf. I think there are probably gateways all over the place. I didn’t get in by chance. I know what I did.” He glanced up, eyes amused. “Don’t worry, I won’t do it again.”
Thornby wasn’t sure the argument was entirely sound, but relief was warming him more thoroughly than Father’s fine cognac ever had. Blake pocketed his bag of salt and stood up with the key. “If you hadn’t come and answered those riddles, I’d still be there. Or dead by now. My thanks, Lord Thornby. You have a cool head under fire.”
“Not that cool. I beg your pardon for the—unpleasantness.” Thornby gestured towards the spot where he’d thrown up, feeling a fool for his loss of control.
