Page 7 of The Magpie Lord
Merrick clambered off his back and peered down. “My lord? You all right?” He looked up at Stephen, eyes full of lethal promise. “What did you do to him?”
Crane made a grunting noise, lifted his head, pushed himself up onto his knees. There were tears in his eyes, and a huge grin on his face.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Oh my God, it’s gone. It’s gone. Oh God, Merrick.” He lunged forward and grabbed the startled manservant, hugging him hard. “You bloody genius, getting a shaman. Pulled my arse out of the fire, again. I love you. And you,” he said to Stephen. “You’re a god-damned magician. Well, exactly, that’s what youare, a magician! Oh my God, a shaman, and it worked. It’samazing. Do you know, I never noticed what a beautiful room this is. Just look at that carpet! You need to see it close up to appreciate it, of course. Lie on it, that’s the dandy.”
“What’s wrong with him?” demanded Merrick.
Stephen rose. He felt drained. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just euphoria. He’s been fighting that thing very hard for a long time, and he’s gone the other way. He’ll calm down.”
Crane bounced to his feet, grabbed Stephen’s hand, gave a startled jolt, and shook it vigorously. “You’rewonderful. And your hands are wonderful. Merrick, you should try this, they’re like...lots of little bubbles. Champagne! Hands like champagne! Do you know, Day, there’s a house in Shanghai where they import champagne and what they do, they pour it over your—”
“The shaman doesnotwant to hear about that,” Merrick put in hastily. “Sir—”
“Fresh air,” Stephen said. “Is there a garden?”
They wrestled Crane’s coat on and walked him down the back stairs, to avoid notice, and round to the private garden of the mansion block. It was a stunning April night, still warm, with a large yellow moon hanging over the London sky. There were a few shadowy figuresmoving around, fellow residents taking the air. Oblivious, Crane leapt onto a bench and began to declaim in what sounded to Stephen like Chinese.
“What’s that?” he asked the manservant.
“Poem about the moon. He doesn’t do poems till the third bottle, mostly. How long’s this going to last, sir?”
“Not long,” Stephen assured him. “It’ll do him no harm. In fact, I imagine he’s having a marvellous time. Is that still about the moon?” He didn’t understand a word, but Crane’s tone transcended language.
“Not that bit, sir, no. Gawd, I hope nobody round here speaks Shanghainese. Oi, you, my lord, get down from there.”
“Look at the lovely flowers, Lord Crane,” Stephen suggested. Merrick gave him an incredulous look, but Crane leapt down from the bench and began to investigate the flowerbeds with enthusiasm. Magician and manservant fell into step behind him.
“I thought we were in trouble there,” said Merrick. “You saved his life, sir.”
“Probably.” Stephen sounded no more enthusiastic than he felt. He jammed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “Mr. Merrick...in what capacity do you serve Lord Crane? What do you actually do?”
“Manservant,” said Merrick.
“Everything!” Crane span to face them, arms wide. “Factotum, man of all work, business partner, bodyguard. My second self. He speaks with my voice. Or do I speak with his voice? Which way round is it?”
“You speak a lot of rubbish,” said Merrick. “Go on, look at the pretty flowers. Something to say, sir?”
Stephen rubbed his chin. “The Judas jack didn’t happen by accident. Someone made that thing to kill. It’s a murder weapon.”
Merrick gave him a long, level look. “A shaman murderer. After his lordship.”
“Yes.”
“Going to have to do something about that, then.”
“Yes. I need to think. And to talk to him when he’s not so...exhilarated.”
Crane swung round to see the two men staring at him. He flashed Merrick a gleeful grin. “Are you talking to the shaman? Has he cheered up yet? If I had hands like that, I’d be cheerfulall the time.”
“I bet you bloody would,” Merrick told him. “Shut up.”
“You should smile more,” Crane added to Stephen. “You’d be quite pretty if you weren’t so miserable.”
Merrick made a stifled noise and started talking in rapid Chinese.
Stephen propped his back against a tree trunk and flexed his hands, stretching the tendons, watching master and man. Crane, tall and lean, stood on one leg, face alight with glee, pale blond hair shining silver in the moonlight. Merrick, shorter, grizzled and bright-eyed, was shaking his head but grinning.
Euphoria was like drunkenness in some ways.In vino veritas. Stephen had no idea what Crane was saying, but it didn’t map onto how he imagined Hector Vaudrey in the grip of euphoria, if the man had been capable of it at all.
