Witch's Daughter

Two New Chapters, 7/7/23

Hurried Out

Michael woke up with a swan trumpeting outside the door. The worst part of it was that in the space between sleep and waking, he could understand the swan completely, and what those sounds meant was “Get up you lazy bastard. Everyone else is up and at them.”

Of course, everyone else in this case was Al, Geoff-the-swan and of course, Tristan Blakely hopefully in wholly human form. Maybe. With luck.

Michael managed to sit up and peel his eyelids back just in time to see the curtains open, as though pulled by an invisible servitor and a tray with a teapot and teacup slip through the door – somehow – and deposit itself on the bedside.

Right.

Michael fumbled himself off the bed, and found a dressing gown held out for him, as though there were indeed an invisible valet in the room.

He was frowning at it, when a voice boomed through the room, “If you can get yourself bathed and presentable, Lord Michael, it is time you were on your way. If you are indeed going to keep your word to me and follow the path.”

The voice was inevitably that of Tristan Blakley, but Michael had seen enough of floating trays and invisible servitors to suspect a distance spell, and cleared his throat and asked, “Do you mean it is safe for me to leave the room.”

“Yes, indeed,” Blakey answered, in a tone that implied this was indeed a two-way conversation. “I am … very much myself, and will stay that way until you are well on your path.”

The wording confused Michael, and while inclined to, perhaps, take offense at the man assuming he’d not keep his word, he felt as though he should forgive him, since Blakley was, obviously anxious to have his sons restored to him and to be released from this pocket universe.

Between Blakley’s awkwardness when talking of his daughter and his near rudeness this morning, Michael reflected, the man must have social interaction issues. Perhaps that explained his problems with his second wife. Michael remembered mama telling him that men of his stamp, who cared more for mathematics and machines than for people would always be easy prey for a forward woman. Which formed part of Michael’s decision never to marry, of course.

He couldn’t find his suit, which he’d worn from home, until he literally stumbled over a valise, and came to find, inside it, his carefully repaired suit and also three other suits, of a practical grey kind all folded up and ready for the road.

He frowned at them, wondering which one to take out and wear, but as he straightened, a suit slapped him in the face, as though propelled by an impatient valet.  Michael picked it up, as it was ready to drop from his nerveless hands and found that it was a perfectly serviceable pair of breeches, a coat, and a shirt distinguished only for being very fine linen. As he shook it, a pair of underwear fell to the ground.  He picked it up and sighed. It was all clean, and it was obvious he was meant to wear it. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful to Blakley for the clothes, or resent being given clothes to wear. It was bad enough to be treated as a child by his older brothers, but to also be treated as a child by this man who was demanding Michael’s help was beyond the mark of pleasing.

But he grabbed the suit, and made his way across the hall, dressing gown flying behind him.

The tub filled from warm water, and he bathed, feeling slightly guilty for the expenditure of magic on a warm bath, but unwilling to forego the comfort when he knew that he would be enduring hardships of various kinds in this endeavor.

He dressed in the clothes assigned, glad that he wasn’t, at least supposed to wear something scratchy or inadequate, and was surprised to find a set of sturdy boots next to the attire, and in his size too.

With a sigh, and not even bothering to question it, he put them on. After all, he hadn’t even seen his civilized slippers in the room, and they were wholly inadequate to a forest path.

Of course, this was a magic forest path. Various cautionary tales told him by his nanny came to mind, and he shivered, as a bad feeling, like a hangover from his time in fairyland overtook him. It wasn’t exactly a memory, not even a memory of his nightmares, more of a feeling that he should know what waited him, and that he should be more terrified than he was.

At the top of the narrow stairs, he stood, and had a moment of doubt. After all, his siblings were right, in his dream – if it had been a dream, and not a true seeing – he had no business doing this for a man he didn’t know; a man that truth be told he didn’t even like.

But at the same time, there was Al. And Al was worried about her brothers. And though he didn’t know her very well, he had a feeling he’d come to like her, and that she was, as Blakley had said in his letter “sound as a roast.”

He really couldn’t let Al down.

But as he got to the breakfast room, Al wasn’t there. Instead, there was a fantastical breakfast on the table, composed of all the options he was routinely given at home, from fish cakes to fried kidneys.

And there was Tristan Blakley, standing, as though guarding the food. He smiled at Michael, and it looked forced, and said, with what echoed of false cheeriness “Ah, my boy. Have some food, my boy.”

The display was enough to make Michael forego breakfast. But as with a hot bath, he had a strong feeling hit might be his last chance at such a luxury in a long time, so he ate buttered toast, and some ham, and drank his tea.

But Blakley standing by, as though Michael was late for a journey didn’t help anything, nor the unseemly haste with which he grabbed Michael’s arm, as Michael rose from the table.

Michael clutched at his suitcase. “Al…”

“Oh, surely you don’t want her along, my boy. You know what girls are. She will be all worried about her hairstyle, or perhaps a stain on her gown. That is the last thing you want to do, take a girl along on your journey.”

Michael opened his mouth, to tell the older magician that he was sure Al would be an asset, then realized that for whatever reason the man said he was keeping Al behind, it was, in fact, probably to protect her. After all, Al was his daughter, and he had a duty to protect her. In that at least he was a natural father.