Du Mond laughed dryly at that, for Beltaire had certainly discovered exactly what tempted him. "I cannot think of anything else that would interest you at this time, Simon."
"Nor can I, and it is getting quite late." Beltaire's voice turned solicitous. "Paul, I do believe it is more than time that I gave you some recompense for your assiduous labor on my behalf. Here."
He passed over a parcel; as du Mond's fingers touched it, he felt paper and string tied about what felt like a book.
"Don't allow Jason to see this, or he'll certainly know where it came from," Beltaire warned. "It is rather in my style. I told you that Jason's way was not the only method of Firemastery. This should get you started on an easier path."
Du Mond's heart leapt with exultation, and with a fierce joy that he had been right. He had been so certain that Jason was prevaricating, that there was another, easier way to become a Master of Elements—one without all the tedious memorization and the mummery.
"I have hesitated this long only because I have been waiting for something to occur that would take Jason's attention off you—and to make certain of your own temperament." Beltaire chuckled. "There are things required on this path that would be repugnant to a weaker man, but I am certain you have the stomach for them."
"I have the stomach for a great deal," du Mond promised. "Thank you. Now, I must continue to play Cameron's errand-boy tomorrow, so if you'll pardon me, I will take my leave of you."
Beltaire touched the brim of his hat with his cane in ironic salute, and faded into the darkness. Paul waited several moments for him to get well on his way, then made his own way across the docks, making certain not to retrace his footsteps.
Diego was still on duty at the Mexican's—du Mond wasn't the only breaker the Mexican used, just the most skillful—and sounds from some of the other rooms led him to believe that his counterparts were hard at work. Diego bowed him mockingly into an empty room where his clothing waited.
It was past one before he was out on the street again and hailing a cab, his precious book tucked into a pocket. It was a leather-bound, handwritten volume, like many of Cameron's treasured books of Magick, and small enough to fit in a coat pocket.
So many important things were small in size.
He hailed a cab, and took it back to Cameron's townhouse—which would not be Cameron's for very much longer—leaving the noise and garishness of the Barbary Coast behind him.
Until tomorrow.
CHAPTER SIX
Somehow, even though she had hardly seen Paul du Mond for more than a few minutes at a time, knowing that he was going to be in San Francisco for a week made Rose feel much more relaxed. She woke uncommonly cheerful, and knew immediately that du Mond's absence had a great deal to do with that cheer.
She stretched like a cat and blinked at the blurred beam of sunlight creeping past the bedcurtains. I could almost believe in six impossible things before breakfast, like Lewis Carroll's White Queen. This is such an incredible home...
Last night, she'd had the oddest feeling while reading one of Jason Cameron's books, that this nonsense she was translating for him wasn't nonsense at all. She had gone to bed only to lie awake for some time, staring at a single moonbeam that had found its way past both her window and bed curtains to fall on a single carved rose on one of the bedposts. At least, I thought it was a moonbeam and a rose. Without my glasses it's rather hard to tell what I'm looking at. Magic... in this house, with its invisible servants, its incredible luxury, and its odd master, did not seem so impossible, especially not in the moonlight.
But that had been last night, well past midnight, with the wind rushing in the branches of the trees outside and moonlight shining in her sitting-room window. Now, with the scents of breakfast coffee and bacon drifting through the bedroom door, and sunlight replacing the moonlight, she had to laugh at her own fantasy. Magic indeed! I might as well believe in Santa Claus or genies in lamps! If Cameron wished to continue to deceive himself, that was his doing. She would collect her wages and continue to amuse him, and meanwhile, with the help of the books he was ordering for her, she would continue her own researches. Then, when he finally tired of this farce, she would take her savings and enroll in another university. Leland Stanford had founded one here, in fact, that was well thought of. Would they admit a woman?
I'll worry about that when the time comes, she decided. There had been one book among all the ones she had read last night that had been well-written and coherent—unlike most of the rest, which were written as if the author had been granted a Doctorate in Confusion and Obfuscation. She had saved that one out of the pile with an eye to reading it straight through from beginning to end. Maybe if she had some notion of what Cameron thought was real, she'd be closer to understanding what be was looking for.
She had not planned on going for a walk, and by the time she had finished breakfast she was just as glad, for she would have been greatly disappointed. The sunshine had given way to a drizzling rain that didn't look as if it was going to let up any time before dark.
Well, she could get her exercise by doing a more thorough, daylight exploration of more of the house, and then she could settle in with that book until Cameron needed her.
She took the book with her, thinking that it might be pleasant to spend some time reading in the conservatory, among the exotic hothouse plants.
She had already examined the ballroom, the dining room, the music room... most of the rooms that a casual visitor would have seen. Now she decided to pry just a little, and take a good look around those bastions of masculine power, the smoking room, the billiard room, and the library.
I've never actually been in a smoking room... Women, other than maidservants who cleaned them, were not welcome in such places. Cameron had very sensibly arranged his entertaining area with the billiard and smoking rooms to the right of the drawing room, and the ladies' parlor and "withdrawing room" to the left. The smoking room was disappointing; her father had never had one, and she had actually expected something a great deal more—well—decadent. She wrinkled her nose a little at the heavy scent of tobacco as she entered, but other than that slightly disagreeable and penetrating aroma, there was not much to distinguish this room from the ladies' parlor. Instead of cut-crystal bottles of genteel sherry on the sideboard, there was a bar holding a variety of glasses and hard liquors, but other than that, it was fundamentally identical. The real differences between the rooms intended for ladies and men were in the materials used to decorate; in the parlor, the furniture was covered in damask satin and velvet. Here, it was covered in leather. There, the lampshades were fringed and elaborately painted; here, they were plain parchment.
In short, it was a luxuriously appointed version of a little boy's clubhouse, with cigars and strong liquor replacing chewing gum and lemonade; the only thing lacking was the sign on the door saying "No Girlz Aloud." No paintings of naked odalisques, no illustrated risque versions of the Thousand Nights and a Night lying about on the table. No opium pipes! I expected a den of iniquity, a recreation of Caligula's orgy-rooms, and I find a harbor of hearty male gamesmanship! What a disappointment! She had to laugh at herself, and wondered what most men thought lay in the ladies' parlor! Did they have similar fantasies, or did they assume that it was a room of such overwhelming femininity that they were afraid to venture in lest they break or soil something with their mere presence?