City of Serpents by Christina Baehr

Author:Christina Baehr [Christina Baehr]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Christina Baehr
Published: 2024-07-06T00:00:00+00:00

Once at Brunswick Square, and having asked the cook to brew me some beef tea (I ordered it through gritted teeth), I wrote a note to Farley at his office at the university.

Dear Doctor Farley,

I find I am feeling quite exhausted from our procedures. I will take a few days off to restore myself. Please be so good as to advise me of your progress so far.

Sincerely,

E. W. Fairweather

It was brusque, but I did not think Farley would mind that. He was not a loquacious man.

While waiting for the answer, I began to realise how exhausted I was. Farley had said that I underestimated myself, but I began to wonder if the reverse was true—I seemed to be growing weaker.

I woke from a long nap without feeling restored. One strand on its own is bound to break, Mother had said. I almost cried out of sheer frustration. I didn’t have time to break!

After spending the afternoon in bed, I received an answer from Farley that evening.

Dear Miss Fairweather,

As it so happens, I have some business at the university that requires my attention, regrettably. Please be so good as to notify me when you are sufficiently restored.

Your servant,

Doctor Nicholas Farley

Crispin brought me a cup of tea, then sat on the bed and kicked his thin legs.

“What did you mean before?”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“What did I mean?” I wondered aloud. The tea was tepid, but I sipped at it out of gratitude.

“When you said that I might do something auxilio divino.”

“Well, you know, for want of a nail, and all that.”

“For the want of a nail the shoe was lost,” Crispin recited, a little impatiently, “For the want of a shoe the horse was lost, For the want of a horse the rider was lost, For the want of a rider the battle was lost, For the want of a battle the kingdom was lost, And all for the want of a horseshoe-nail.” He quietened. “I suppose it’s true. But all the same, they make the story about the rider, don’t they? There’s not much glory in a nail.”

All at once, I felt as if I could see right into his heart. The heart of an adventurer, in the body of an asthmatic.

“Crispin, why did you tell your father you were a pacifist?”

He glanced up at me sharply. “How do you know I’m not a pacifist?”

“Never mind how I know. But why?”

Crispin exhaled deeply. “I looked it up.”

“Looked what up?”

“The physical requirements for military service.”

“Ah,” I breathed. “But it’s ever so far away, and who knows but—”

He glared at me. I shut my mouth.

“All right. Well, though I cannot personally imagine wanting to be blown to bits, I will join you in mourning your inability to volunteer for a glorious death,” I said gently.

He looked at me, long and hard. Then he swallowed. “Thanks.” He got up. “Speaking of physical requirements…” He glanced over me critically. “You ought to go back to Yorkshire. I don’t know what you’re really doing here, but whatever it is…it’s making you look awful.

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