Once it had felt peculiar, addressing a woman who scarcely came up past his waist; now it felt even more peculiar, seeing Gertrude under a glamour of height. Though it should not have, the difference lent weight to her warning. "I won't forget it, Gertrude. I'll watch him myself; he's my responsibility, after all, and my friend beyond that."

It didn't erase her worry, but she nodded. "That's the best anyone can ask for, then."

The Onyx Hall, London: August 29, 1758 With the theft of the tripod from the British Museum's collections, few barriers remained between the fae and the creation of a veil to conceal England from the comet. Galen, considering that business all but done, had almost forgotten the debt he owed-until Edward brought him a letter written in a flowing, foreign hand.

The genie.

Galen cursed. Mrs. Carter had confirmed the inscription on the bowl; it was an adaptation of some Arabic invocation, summoning clouds and rain. Lune had given Irrith permission to use it, which meant Abd ar-Rashid had done them a genuine service. Now Galen must do him one in turn.

At least he had an easy means of discharging his duty. Galen wrote to Dr. Andrews, whose health had improved distinctly since his removal to the Onyx Hall. The man was sleeping below more nights than not, with Podder to see to his needs; it was simple enough to arrange a meeting between him and Abd ar-Rashid.

The genie was too polite to complain of the delay, beyond the gentle nudge of that one letter. Galen was rather more worried about Dr. Andrews. Given the man's new familiarity with the fae, it seemed silly to disguise Abd ar-Rashid as anything other than what he was; but how would the doctor respond to an Arab? Would that strangeness be just one more drop in the sea that was the Onyx Hall, or would it be one too many?

Andrews seemed composed enough, and even friendly, when Podder showed them in. He was sitting up in a chair, dressed properly once more, and if he didn't rise to greet them, that was easily explained by his health. "You will forgive me, I hope, Mr. Abd ar-Rashid," the doctor said, indicating his seated position, and the genie hastened to a.s.sure him of it. "Mr. St. Clair tells me you come here for learning."

"It is so," the genie said, settling into his own chair. "Heard I of your Royal Society, and wish to converse with its Fellows upon many topics. A physician, you are?"

Andrews smiled ruefully. "I was, until my illness forced me to retire from such work. But I daresay I could spare the effort for a bit of tutoring; indeed, with instruction, I expect you could a.s.sist me in basic tasks, which would be a great boon to the work Mr. St. Clair has asked me to do."

All Galen's happy satisfaction drained down to his stomach and congealed into something more like embarra.s.sed horror. Oh, G.o.d. He misunderstood me completely. Oh, G.o.d. He misunderstood me completely.

Abd ar-Rashid's excellent manners kept him from saying anything immediately offensive, but his back stiffened. Choosing his words with care Galen suspected had nothing to do with his imperfect English, the genie said, "I fear there is a... confusion? A physician I am already, studying the medical arts since the days of Ibn Sina."

"Yes, well, we've come on a bit since Avicenna," Andrews said with a dismissive wave. "He was good enough for his time, I suppose, but after seven hundred years anyone would be a trifle... hmm... outdated?"

"O doctor," the genie replied in that same, even tone, "wrote Ibn Sina, seven hundred years ago, in the Al-Qanun fi al-Tibb, Al-Qanun fi al-Tibb, that the disease afflicting you can go to others-but maybe the physicians of England forget, as I see you do not keep away from the healthy." that the disease afflicting you can go to others-but maybe the physicians of England forget, as I see you do not keep away from the healthy."

Andrews went from patronizing to affronted with remarkable speed. "Contagion? Balderdash; that's as great a piece of nonsense as the innkeeper who thought it was caused by faeries. They have a.s.sured me it is not so."

Once Galen belatedly found his tongue, the words poured out. "My apologies to you both; I fear the misunderstanding here is entirely of my doing. Dr. Andrews, Lord Abd ar-Rashid is a traveling scholar, who spent the last several years among the academies of Paris. He asked me to provide him with an introduction to the scholars of the Royal Society, and given his... nature, I thought it best to begin with you. I do beg your pardon for giving the wrong impression, but he wishes to exchange exchange ideas. I have no doubt that English and Arabic physicians both have learned many useful things over the years, which each of you could benefit from-and surely, gentlemen, you share more than you differ. The four humors, for example-" ideas. I have no doubt that English and Arabic physicians both have learned many useful things over the years, which each of you could benefit from-and surely, gentlemen, you share more than you differ. The four humors, for example-"

They shared something indeed, turning on him. "We physicians of learning are finished with that idea," Abd ar-Rashid said, his accented reply interweaving with Andrews's heated, "Only quacks and unlettered country doctors still follow that notion." Then they both stopped, each eyeing the other like a pair of wary tomcats.

"Paracelsus," Dr. Andrews said, as if testing something.

The genie nodded. "Iatrochimie-I do not know it in English-though little was the understanding of chemistry to guide him, and he went wrong often."

Which was perfectly incomprehensible to Galen, but Andrews nodded grudgingly in return. Though the two embracing each other as brothers in medicine seemed unlikely, at least Andrews was no longer regarding the Arab as he might a precocious child. "A different perspective might be refreshing, I suppose," the doctor allowed. "I would be interested to hear what you learned in Paris, sir. My correspondence with gentlemen there has fallen sadly by the wayside during my illness."

Which left the genie, who had recovered a kind of blankness that Galen suspected meant his thoughts were not fit to be shared. "Lord Abd ar-Rashid," Galen said, "if you would consent to work with Dr. Andrews, addressing a certain philosophical problem we face, then her Grace and I would be most grateful. We could offer you lodgings within the Onyx Hall, and the protection of mortal bread, should you need it."

The genie thawed a bit at the offer of hospitality-or perhaps it was the philosophical problem. If he was half so curious as reports made him out to be, then that would be like the scent of game to a bloodhound. And he'd made some acquaintances among the fae of the Onyx Hall; if he didn't already know of the comet, he would soon. Galen had judged, and Lune agreed, that there wasn't much to be gained in trying to keep that secret from the foreigner. Much better to offer him honesty, and see if they could gain his help.

"O Prince," Abd ar-Rashid said at last, "the lodgings and the bread I need not. But I appreciate the offer. If Dr. Andrews agrees, so, too, do I."

It was the best he was likely to get. Galen could only hope this partnership would grow less th.o.r.n.y over time. Abd ar-Rashid might make a valuable addition to their scholarly circle. He had, after all, studied in foreign lands, where many strange things were known.

"Good," Galen said, with heartier cheer than he felt. "Then I shall leave you to your conversation, gentlemen, and see about fetching you a salamander."

The Onyx Hall, London: September 1, 1758 Irrith held the pole at arm's length, walking with slow care to ensure the bra.s.s box swinging from the wood didn't accidentally brush into her. Even with that precaution, she could feel the heat radiating from the metal. The salamander had been most most unhappy when she slammed the lid shut on its head. unhappy when she slammed the lid shut on its head.

She had to bang the end of the pole into the door in lieu of a knock. Podder opened it, and shied back when he saw her burden. Edging past the nervous hob, Irrith came into Dr. Andrews's laboratory.

The mortal man was waiting for her, along with Galen and a dark foreigner she'd seen around the Onyx Hall. He must be the Arabic genie Segraine had mentioned, Abdar-something. "Ah, my dear, very good," the doctor said, waving her forward, toward a contraption Irrith recognized as being one of Niklas von das Ticken's discarded Dragon-cages. It stood well above the bare floor, on a slab of stone, with a bucket of water waiting at each corner. "In here, if you would."

She dropped the bra.s.s box inside and slid the pole free. "He's been burning since I grabbed him," she said by way of explanation. "Can't touch the latch, but if you have something long enough to reach through..."

Their servant Podder fetched a thin-bladed knife and handed it to Galen, who approached the cage warily. After some fumbling, he succeeded in lifting the latch, and the salamander immediately poured free of its prison. The creature hissed and spat sparks when it discovered the new confinement of the cage.

"Take good care of that one," Irrith said, leaning on her pole. "It was a right b.a.s.t.a.r.d to catch; I don't fancy going after another."

Dr. Andrews was peering through the bars, drawing closer and closer; he leapt back when a lick of flame almost singed his nose. Rubbing his hands with undisguised eagerness, he said, "I fear we may need several, my dear. The chances of our correctly extracting pure phlogiston on the first attempt are dubious at best."

"Pure what what?"

"Phlogiston." Galen smiled at her. He looked happy, she realized; he truly enjoyed this sort of thing, poking and prodding at creatures to learn what made them go. Far more than he enjoyed politics, and she could understand that very well. "Fire-in its pure form."

Irrith grinned back. "I can spare you the effort, then. Here's your flodgy-thing." She prodded the salamander with the end of her pole. It attacked the wood with astonishing speed; fast as she drew back, she didn't save the tip from catching fire. "See?"

With two delicate fingers, Galen guided the burning end down into a bucket, where it died in a hiss of steam. "We know the nature of the salamander, Irrith; that's why we asked you to catch one. But we need to separate the fire from the creature."

"But the fire is is the creature," Irrith told him. Clearly he did the creature," Irrith told him. Clearly he did not not understand, whatever he claimed. "That's what a salamander understand, whatever he claimed. "That's what a salamander is is: elemental fire."

"That is an outdated theory, my dear," Andrews said. She was beginning to grit her teeth every time he called her that. Irrith didn't need her t.i.tle, but she would have appreciated the simple courtesy of her name-especially coming from someone whose entire span, cradle to grave, was scarcely a flicker of her own. "Robert Boyle showed the insufficiency of the cla.s.sical elements as a means of describing the world, so that now we think there are many more elements, though so far the definition of them has proved beyond us. Phlogiston may be one of them, but it is not elemental fire, and this creature cannot be composed of it."

Irrith had forgotten the Arab, standing silent watch over this exchange; she jumped when he spoke. "The lady is correct. Created were my kind out of smokeless fire. This salamander is the same, perhaps."

Andrews's mouth took on a sour cast, and Irrith smirked at him. "See? Faeries are different."

The mortals against the immortals. Galen was even standing next to Dr. Andrews, though the genie was a little distance away, half-aloof. In mollifying tones, the Prince said, "It doesn't work that way, Irrith. The whole object of natural philosophy is to discover the laws of the world-laws that must and do apply in all places equally."

"The world! But we're in a different one, aren't we? Or halfway between two, I suppose." She gestured with the charred pole, skimming it over the cage in a shallow arc just for the pleasure of watching Dr. Andrews twitch apprehensively. "I bet you have a law saying time has to pa.s.s at the same speed everywhere, but faerie realms don't obey that one, either." world! But we're in a different one, aren't we? Or halfway between two, I suppose." She gestured with the charred pole, skimming it over the cage in a shallow arc just for the pleasure of watching Dr. Andrews twitch apprehensively. "I bet you have a law saying time has to pa.s.s at the same speed everywhere, but faerie realms don't obey that one, either."

Galen hesitated, but Dr. Andrews did not. "Let me demonstrate something to you, my dear. I haven't yet devised an experiment to investigate the illusions spoken of at Midsummer, but I can show you something simpler."

He went to one corner of the room, where various prisms, lenses, mirrors, cards, and other items were piled on a table. "Mr. St. Clair, are you familiar with the basics of optics? Excellent. Then if you would aid me-I intend to conduct Newton's experimentum crucis experimentum crucis. That should be enough to begin with."

Together the men set up a pair of prisms and two cards, one with a small hole pierced in it. "Now," Andrews said, holding up a small box, "this contains a faerie light, which we may use as our source. In Newton's time, there were two competing theories of light: one being that a prism creates its rainbow effect by 'tinging' the light as it pa.s.ses through, and the other being that it merely bends the light, separating its different components by the different angles of their pa.s.sage. That latter is the true theory, as I will now show. If we pa.s.s our source through the first prism-" Lifting the box's hinged flap, he created a rainbow against the first card. Podder whispered to the faerie lights around the room, so that they dimmed and the rainbow appeared more clearly. "Thank you, Podder. Now, if we position this card so that the hole permits the violet light through, we may send that portion through a second prism, and when it strikes the second card-Mr. St. Clair, if you would-"

Galen moved the pieces into position. A moment later, the card fluttered from his hand, whispering to a halt on the stone.

But not before everyone had seen a second, stranger rainbow cast across its white face.

In the near darkness, Dr. Andrews stuttered, "I-it should have-"

"Been violet." The genie's accented voice lent a touch of strangeness to an already strange scene. "As in Newton's essay 'Of Colours.' But he used sunlight."

Not a faerie light. Irrith heard a creak: Andrews collapsing into a chair, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Podder hastily brightened the room again, revealing the doctor white as a sheet, and hardly breathing.

"Our world is different," Irrith said, and thought it very virtuous of herself that she let only a little of her smugness show through.

The urge to gloat faded, however, when she saw Galen. He was still on his feet, but he looked almost as appalled as Dr. Andrews, as if someone had come along and told him Heaven was empty, with no one watching over him. "What?" Irrith said, uncertain now. "Isn't this good? You have what you were after."

Galen's head moved side to side, blindly; it might have been stirred by the wind. "No. It isn't good. Because if nature as we understand it does not operate the same here..."

Dr. Andrews's whisper would have been inaudible in a less-silent room. "Then nothing we know is of any use."

"I do not think so."

That came from the genie. Abd ar-Rashid, that was his name. He looked from Andrews to Galen to Irrith, then went on in a more judicious manner. "It is only my idea, uncertain in truth. But I am wondering, for some time..." His sharp-tipped fingers played against each other, a nervous gesture that made him seem much more familiar than foreign. "That which is right in your world, appears to be wrong in ours. Perhaps that which is wrong in your world becomes right, in places such as this."

"Earth, water, air, and fire," Irrith said. She pursed her lips in doubt. "For salamanders and sylphs and the like, maybe-but we aren't all elemental creatures."

"No. But mixtures of those four, perhaps, as not true of mortal substances."

Andrews was still white and unrea.s.sured. "But there have been many wrong ideas-more wrong ideas than right. How are we to know which ones apply?"

Galen exhaled sharply; it might have been a laugh. Certainly a faint, mad light was growing in his eyes. "Even as Boyle did, and Newton, and all the others. We experiment. At great speed, I should think; though once the Dragon is disposed of, we'll have greater leisure to explore the laws of faerie science."

Those two words formed such an incongruous pair that Irrith stifled her own laugh. She didn't want to mock the Prince. On the other hand, she knew enough of what he meant by experimentation to doubt whether it would work; surely her world and the people who inhabited were not some kind of clockwork device, predictable once one found the gears. But he seemed to think it worth pursuing, and he knew enough of faerie things that she trusted he would get something of use out of it.

Abd ar-Rashid said, "Speaks alchemy of four elements, and three principles, and such. These ideas from Arabia, and I know something of them; perhaps they are of some use here."

It brought Andrews upright in his chair, and then onto his feet once more. "Yes. It failed the mortals who tried it, but it should be easy enough to determine whether we find different results in this place." The hand-rubbing was back, this time with blazing eagerness that made him look almost healthy for a moment. "Come, gentlemen. Mr. St. Clair is right. We haven't a moment to waste."

The Onyx Hall, London: September 15, 1758 Lune came to Galen in his own chambers-a startling reversal of their usual habit. Once they were settled in the parlor, she dismissed Edward Thorne and her own attendants, with Sir Peregrin to guard the door and make certain no one listened in.

"The Delphic tripod has been delivered to the Greeks," she said, without preamble. "We have their agreement, and their aid. In three days' time, we shall take action to hide this island from the comet. The effect will not be complete until a fortnight has pa.s.sed; Savennis has advised Irrith that it would be more effective to link it to the waning of the moon, rather than the new moon itself. But when it is done, we should-I hope-have some protection."

Galen's muscles kept drawing themselves tight, despite efforts to release them. "For how long?"

The Queen shook her silver head. "No one can say for sure. This has never been done before."

She didn't ask what progress he made, with Dr. Andrews and his scholarly coterie. Their reports to her were quite thorough. So far it was more theory than experiment, but they had done enough to confirm the genie's suggestion, that the old model of matter, discredited for the natural world, was yet applicable to the supernatural. It felt like a step backward: symbolic laws in place of mechanical ones, effects governed more by poetry than physics. The Royal Society would weep if it knew. So long as their circle could manipulate it to their benefit, though, Galen did not care what basis faerie science operated on.

Lune broke his distracted reverie. "There is one other change you should be aware of."

Something in her tone warned him. Gut tightening again, Galen waited for her to go on.

"I will not be there with you."

It struck like a blow. "At Greenwich?" She nodded. "But-why?"

By way of answer, she handed him a folded piece of paper, that he soon recognized as one of the Onyx Hall's news-sheets. The Ash and Thorn The Ash and Thorn, of course, and when he unfolded it he saw immediately what provoked her declaration. The article was unsigned, but it might as well have borne the identification A Sanist. A Sanist.

As all are aware, these past few months have seen the fading of the Square Gallery, which many fae had recently been accustomed to using as a cricket pitch. It can be no coincidence that this fading follows hard upon Midsummer, when her Majesty the Queen was pleased to attend the celebrations in the Moor Fields. A sovereign is her realm, and this sovereign and realm alike are wounded; the departure of one from the other can only further weaken that which is already frayed. The well-being of the Onyx Hall depends on the uninterrupted presence of the Queen, which alone can slow the decay.

Galen's exclamation was a poor outlet for his fury. "If they paid an ounce of attention, they would know another portion of wall was taken down just after Midsummer! This has nothing to do with a few hours' absence on your part."

"I'm sure they know of the destruction," Lune said, with a sigh of profound weariness. "But to their logic, the two are not separable. Had I stayed below, perhaps the wall would have stayed up, or its loss would have had no effect. And the logic is less important than the theme, which is that I am failing to do my duty by the Onyx Hall. My reckless visit to the Moor Fields is simply the miniature of my insistence upon remaining Queen."

He handed back the paper before he could fling it into the fire. The Sanists he could not dispose of, however much he wished to; instead he concentrated on the more immediate matter. "So you will not be at Greenwich."

Lune's mouth curved into a sly smile. "That isn't what I said. I will not be with with you; as far as anyone other than yourself, Peregrin, and Lady Ailis are concerned, I will be in my chamber, like a good and virtuous Queen. But true virtue-not the sham they demand of me-means I will be at Greenwich, disguised. Thus will both our need and the Sanists' concerns be addressed." you; as far as anyone other than yourself, Peregrin, and Lady Ailis are concerned, I will be in my chamber, like a good and virtuous Queen. But true virtue-not the sham they demand of me-means I will be at Greenwich, disguised. Thus will both our need and the Sanists' concerns be addressed."

This did not seem the wisest of ideas. Fae could detect a glamour, after all, though seeing through it took effort they rarely bothered to expend. Then Galen remembered the dancers: twelve of Lune's ladies and attendants, robed and masked, who would take part in the ceremony to conceal Britain. Ailis was close enough to Lune in height that no one would notice the difference.

"I will not leave you to do this alone," Lune said. "Not because I do not trust you, but because I do not wish to discover, too late, that my absence produced a fatal weakness in our concealment. Though I fear you'll have to bear the final burden alone."

"The Sanists, though." Galen clenched his fists until his knuckles ached. "Bowing to their demands, or even giving the appearance of it-do you not fear the precedent that sets?"

The smile had lost some of its vigor when she spoke of the possibility of weakness; now it faded entirely from view. "I do. But I must choose my battles, mustn't I? A faerie has the same number of hours in her day as a man does-unless she goes to a place outside of time, and I cannot mend the rift with the Sanists while cloistered away in the Calendar Room, or self-exiled to Faerie. That I must address the problem they pose is beyond question. If I can postpone it until after the Dragon, however, then I will do so."

Galen couldn't fault her desire. Nor did he have to remind her of the if if in that sentence. "We certainly don't need the distraction. Very well, madam; I will in that sentence. "We certainly don't need the distraction. Very well, madam; I will not not see you at Greenwich. And may our efforts prove sufficient for our need." see you at Greenwich. And may our efforts prove sufficient for our need."

Royal Observatory, Greenwich: September 18, 1758 For the second time in a century, the fae of London invaded and occupied the Royal Observatory.

Performing so large an endeavor in so open a s.p.a.ce made Irrith deeply nervous. This was not Moor Fields, protected by centuries of tradition, where the only folk awake at late hours had no good purpose anyway; this was a royal establishment, with men who often worked at night, and a hospital full of naval men just beyond the base of the hill. She tried to rea.s.sure herself that at least poor sickly Bradley was getting a good night's sleep for once, but it didn't go far. The observatory swarmed with faeries, and she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if someone chanced to wander up the hill with a message for the Astronomer Royal.

To Segraine, who waited at her side, Irrith said, "How exactly did it come to this?"

"To what?" the lady knight asked.

Irrith gestured at the fae busily clearing the courtyard of the observatory. "My plan. It started so simply: hide from the comet. Somehow it's come to involve two faerie tricks, one mortal proverb, a deal with Greek wind spirits, a magic Arab bowl, and an entire observatory."

"And a German story," Wilhas von das Ticken reminded her, from the other side. "Although, in fairness, you had the flute idea before ve told you about the Pied Piper."

"Together with a.s.sorted nymphs, masks, pitchers, and enough will-o'-the-wisps to light up the length of the Thames," Irrith said, with resigned amus.e.m.e.nt. "I suppose we're trying to hide all of Britain, and I should have known that would mean something large, but-Blood and Bone, I didn't expect something so motley motley."

Segraine shrugged. "It's the Onyx Hall. I doubt you'll find a more motley faerie court in all of Britain."

Looking past Wilhas and Niklas to Ktistes and the Irish Lady Feidelm, Irrith had to agree. All that was missing was Abd ar-Rashid. But no one seemed to be certain just how much they were trusting the heathen, and so he had not been invited to this night's effort-even though he'd provided the mirrored bowl that would be the centerpiece of their ceremony. A bowl that, rumor had it, was crafted on their behalf by a Dutch Jew: another patch in the ragged cloak that would conceal Britain.

No genie-and no Queen. Irrith went to stand by Galen, who kept his hands locked behind his back as if afraid of what they would do. "I'll go to the Onyx Hall this minute and fetch her, if you like," Irrith muttered to him. "She should be here." Whatever the Sanists said. Irrith wasn't certain whether the loss of more wall, and more Hall with it, had anything to do with Lune's visit to the Moor Fields, but even if it did, the Queen should still be here. That was the whole idea of the Onyx Court, to have faerie Queen and mortal Prince working together.

Galen's answering smile showed a strange mixture of serenity and nerves. "No, Irrith-it won't be necessary. We have everything we need."

"I hope so," she murmured, waving everyone into position. The pucks' hands glowed with will-o'-the-wisps, casting an eerie light over the s.p.a.ce. "Because I don't want to do this a second time."

Then she hushed the crowd, because the dancers were entering.

They'd climbed up the hill from the bank of the Thames, right past Greenwich Hospital, with their faerie faces in plain sight. Or rather, faces not their own: they wore masks of shimmering water, that covered even their eyes. How they could see to walk, Irrith didn't know. Their robes were softly shifting fog, and they bore pitchers of river water in their hands, for they were representing the nephelae, the Greek nymphs of clouds and rains.

Il Veloce, one of the Onyx Hall's Italian fauns, began to play a meandering tune on a syrinx, guiding the masked nymphs into a circle around the mirrored bowl that rested in the center of the courtyard. Their dance was a simple thing-they could hardly manage more, burdened as they were-but its movement swirled in gentle, liquid arcs, bringing them gradually inward. One by one, the nephelae poured the contents of their pitchers into the bowl.

It would have been prettier if it were clean, Irrith thought with grumpy distaste. But prettiness wasn't to the purpose. For the making of clouds, the Thames's cloudy water was very good indeed. Irrith thought with grumpy distaste. But prettiness wasn't to the purpose. For the making of clouds, the Thames's cloudy water was very good indeed.