Wister adjusted the violet glasses and peered at Clem through them. “You would have greater powers with a spirit thew.”
Once again, I sent Clem a rush of approbation. Her brow furrowed. They had reached the house and Clem was breathing hard.
“You may rest for one minute,” Wister said. “At this point you would reach the shelter.”
Clem nodded, panting. When she had recovered her breath a little, she said, “My ambitions are limited. I have no wish to raise cathedrals. All I want is to master protective castings and practice medical enchantment. To do it competently, maybe skillfully. And to be allowed to practice. None of that requires a thew.”
Wister nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Do those objectives have something to do with this?” She gestured to Clementine’s covered forearms.
Clementine grew very still. “What do you mean?”
“Your arms and back,” Wister said calmly. “They clearly require something more than bandages. Medical enchantment would do. And perhaps protective castings would have prevented them.”
Clem was silent. “How can you see them?” she finally asked.
Wister pursed her lips. “I’ll tell you afterward. First tell me about the cuts. Let us be frank with each other in this endeavor, Clementine. Tell me while we do the second lap.”
They set off again toward the oak. To my surprise, Clem recounted truthfully what had occurred, first at Commonwealth and then at the courthouse. Perhaps Maxwell’s warnings had indeed persuaded her to take the injuries seriously, or perhaps she only wagered that concealing the events from Wister would prove fruitless. Wister listened without interrupting.
“I appreciate your candor,” Wister said gravely, as they reached the oak tree for a second time, and she doubled back without pausing. In the near distance, the waves crashed against the cliffs. “These attacks are not trivial. You needn’t credit the attacker’s words to recognize their true meaning: there is genuine hatred in these messages. When I saw them yesterday, I understood that I’dneed to teach you, regardless of any other circumstance. You have need for greater defenses.”
Clem squinted at Wister, blocking her eyes with her hand. “Tell me then—how were you able to see them?”
Wister removed the violet spectacles that rested on her prominent nose and dangled them in the air. “If you’ve read Stewart, you will have learned about residues. Do you remember how he describes them?”
“He says,” Clem panted, “he could see. Spectral shapes. When he got back. Like thumbprints in wax.”
“That’s correct. Stewart has many flaws, but he describes the residues well.” Wister put the spectacles back on. “They’re not ghosts so much as ghostly impressions, of the living and the dead. Fleeting images of things that have occurred, sentiments that have passed through. Strong sentiments leave strong impressions. For most enchanters, as far as I know, they vanish a few days after returning from the realm. For me, they’ve never left. The spectacles help diminish them, so they appear only as auras. Otherwise I would have difficulty navigating even the most ordinary spaces. At Keel House there are more than a dozen such specters, mostly innocuous and a few quite disturbing—all of them distracting. In this way, I can see the violence wrought against your back and arms; the malevolence of the enchanter hangs about them like a miasma.”
They had reached the house at last, and Clem sank down on the doorstep.
“Good,” Wister said. “Your legs will be aching tomorrow, but they’ll get stronger. You may remove the greaves.”
Clementine unbuckled the greaves with evident relief. She stretched her legs out. “Why? Why have the residues never left?”
Wister smiled, this time without any irony. “I’ve come toaccept it; in fact, I almost don’t mind. Shall we mend your arms and back? I know enough medical enchantment to make you much more comfortable.”
“So then you also practice illegally?”
“When the law is wrong, disobedience is just.” Her eyes gleamed as she gestured to the doorway. “Come.”
Wister led Clementine toward the ironing room. Clothes hung on hooks from the ceiling to capture the hot steam that swirled up from the stove. Four long ironing tables stood against the walls, each equipped with its own iron and piled high with garments. The room reminded me powerfully of my mother’s ironing room, though hers was smaller and had only one table.
A stout young woman, with brown hair tied up in blue ribbons, stood at one of the tables ironing a gingham shirt. It was Gertie. She glanced curiously at Clem and Wister as they entered the room, her slightly pointed nose and sharp black eyes giving her the appearance of an inquisitive mouse.
“Gertie, we need a warm space for undressing.”
Gertie looked Clem up and down. “Oh, I see. Itisa bit of a mess, love,” she said sympathetically. “That hem. Next time bring it to me and I’ll wash it up for you.”
Clem looked down at herself.
Wister chuckled. “No, Gertie. I need to mend some injuries on her back and arms.”
Gertie’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Oh! Don’t start without me! Please wait just one moment!” Putting down her iron abruptly, she dashed out of the room.
“I’m afraid we’ll have an audience,” Wister said.
Clementine carefully unbuttoned her sleeves and dress front. She pulled the blue fabric off by the neckline, letting it hangabout her waist. The sound of clattering footsteps in the corridor made her pause. Gertie burst back into the room, blue ribbons flying, with another woman close on her heels. “Meg and I want to watch,” Gertie exclaimed. “Can we, please? Oh, please, Wister?” She was wringing her hands anxiously.