Maya fancied she knew who that “friend” was, and in spite of Gupta’s worried expression, she smiled a little. It was no bad thing to have Lord Peter Almsley on your side. Still, if Gupta and Peter were both worried, it didn’t bode well.
“I will be careful,” she promised. “I won’t go anywhere other than the hospital or the clinic alone, and I’ll make a point of renewing and strengthening the house defenses every night. And I pledge you, I won’t go anywhere after dark.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I do not think that Shivani will be able to pass the protections I have put on the house, even in person, but I believe that I can make certain of that.”
Because I believe, if I petition him, Charan will speak for Hanuman and the others, and they will help me in this. She had done some long thinking on the subject, and it seemed to her that she had a basic grasp of what was possible and what was not. The others would not wage a direct conflict with Kali Durga; gods evidently no longer warred with gods, no matter what was in the legends and sacred texts. But they would help her with passive defenses.
That would have to be enough.
“I think that is all we can do,” Gupta admitted. “Perhaps she will give up—”
“And if she does not—we will leave,” Maya said firmly. “We will go to America, and live among the Red Indians if need be. Surely she will not follow us where she is in danger of being scalped.”
Gupta smiled weakly at that. “You will be wise, I know,” he replied, and stood up. “And you have your duties. What would our lives be worth, if we allowed fear to keep us pinned within our own dwelling?”
Gupta’s words were on Maya’s mind as she finished her breakfast, and the more she thought about it, the angrier she became.
What have I ever done to this woman that I deserve to be so persecuted? she thought hotly, stabbing at her eggs with her fork. What have I done to anyone? Father and I treated hundreds of my people without ever asking to be paid—and if I had ever done anything to offend any priest or temple, why is it that I have the help of seven gods? What is wrong with me, that this is happening?
She lost her appetite, poked at the cooling remains of breakfast for a moment, then gave up. I have done nothing, she decided. It has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with her. And I doubt that after all this time anything is going to make a difference in what she thinks. She took up her tea and drank it down, forcing it past the angry knot in her throat. She felt curiously adrift as well as angry; she didn’t even know what this woman looked like! She wanted to hate her, but how did one hate someone who was faceless?
Oh, to the devil with it, and with her! she decided, all but slamming her cup down on the saucer—in fact, she “put it down” so hard that it cracked. Curse it all!
She has killed—what?—a dozen people thus far? Maybe more? She wants to kill me, and maybe all my people into the bargain! She’s a vicious animal and I will not let her drive me into a hole to cower like a rabbit!
She got up abruptly, shook her skirt out, and headed for her office. She packed her medical bag, putting everything else out of her mind. She owed it to her patients not to be distracted by this.
Or at least, she had to try.
She put on her hat, took her bag in hand, and went out into the street, pausing to close the door of the house behind her. It was a slightly overcast morning. Blue sky showed between the slatey clouds, and there was a hint of damp in the air. She took a deep breath of cool air to steady herself.
Somehow nothing had changed, not here. Not in this calm and peaceful street, narrow and shabby, but now become home through some strange alchemy of time and circumstance. And the ordinary, homely sights of men on their way to work, women sweeping their steps before going on to their own tasks either here or elsewhere, and all the other bits of everyday life somehow steadied her as nothing else had. She even smiled at an old apple seller who approached her with a matching smile on her wrinkled face.
The woman looked like a withered old apple herself; shrunk and bent beneath her layers of skirts, smocks, and shawls. Maya had seen her sort a thousand times in this street—and hundreds of times in the Fleet, poor things. But this one looked in good health, moving spryly enough. She wouldn’t be showing up in the Fleet any time soon.
With hair as silver as a new-minted coin under her shabby little black hat, the woman was obviously old. Maya wondered what it was that made her so healthy that her stride had the bounce of a much younger woman. Perhaps she wasn’t really a Londoner. Perhaps she came in from the country just outside the city. Maya had heard it claimed that people of country stock were hardier.
And perhaps it is just that she is the best customer for her own apples. They do say that “an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” she thought, with better humor than she had felt since Gupta approached her this morning.
The old woman continued smiling at her as they neared one another. Maya smiled back, and felt in her skirt pocket for some change. No doubt the dear old thing expected her to buy an apple or two—and why not? They’d make a nice little present for Nurse Sarah.
But just as the old woman came even with her, the poor thing suddenly seemed to lose her balance. She stumbled, the apples tumbling out of her tray, and she fell heavily into Maya.
The woman was much heavier than she looked. She clutched desperately at Maya, clung to her, and pulled her off her own feet. And as she did so, Maya felt a sudden sharp pain in her side.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, in surprise as much as in pain, and her legs gave way under her. She landed heavily on her knees and hands. But the impact of landing hurt quite as much as that odd pain, and drove it right out of her mind. A scattering of street urchins appeared from out of nowhere and began snatching up the rolling fruit, shouting with glee and greed.
“Curse it!” she swore, and looked up. Somehow the old lady had managed to remain—or struggle—upright, probably because it was Maya who had taken the brunt of the collision.
The old woman shook her head, looking remorseful, and made a helpless gesture with both hands.
“Oh, dear—are you mute?” Maya asked, mouthing the words carefully so that the old woman might be able to make out what she was saying if she was also deaf. The old woman nodded sadly.
“I’m sorry. It’s all right, dear, it wasn’t your fault. Here, let me help you—” She groaned a little for her bruises as she levered herself up off the street, then stooped to help the old lady gather up the scattered fruit and replace it in her tray. They weren’t able to gather anywhere near as much as had fallen—the little brats had stolen half of them and carried them off.
“Here you are—and here, dear, this is for the apples that were run off with—” Maya said, giving her a handful of random coins. The old lady nodded, and patted her hand, then turned to go back the way she had come.
Sudden dizziness overcame her, and she put one hand against the wall to steady herself. A second wave, more powerful than the first, struck her, and she had to cling to the wall with both hands.
What—
The old woman turned around and looked back at her—and smiled—and held up a syringe filled with red, filling her sight, red, filling her mind with red—
Then black, black, black came up and filled mind and eyes and everything, and she slid down the wall and knew nothing more.