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Dragonfly in Amber (Outlander #2) Page 63
Author: Diana Gabaldon

"They have no more—and surely no less—magic than the skulls. Call them the bones of the earth. They hold the essence of the matrix in which they grew, and whatever powers that held, you may find here as well." He flicked a small yellowish nodule in my direction.

"Sulfur. Grind it with a few other small things, touch it with a match, and it will explode. Gunpowder. Is that magic? Or is it only the nature of sulfur?"

"I suppose it depends who you're talking to," I observed, and his face split in a delighted grin.

"If you ever seek to leave your husband, madonna," he said, chuckling, "be assured that you won't starve. I said you were a professional, did I not?"

"My husband!" I exclaimed, paling. My mind suddenly made sense of the muffled noises coming from the distant shop. There was a loud thump, as of a large fist brought down with considerable force on a countertop, and the deep rumble of a voice inclined to brook no interference made itself heard amid the babble of other sounds.

"Bloody Christ! I forgot Jamie!"

"Your husband is here?" Raymond's eyes went wider even than usual, and had he not already been so pale, I imagine he would have gone white, too.

"I left him outside," I explained, stooping to cross back through the secret opening. "He must have got tired of waiting."

"Wait, madonna!" Raymond's hand gripped my elbow, stopping me. He put his other hand over mine, the one that held the white crystal.

"That crystal, madonna. I said it is for your protection."

"Yes, yes," I said impatiently, hearing my name being shouted outside with increasing volume. "What does it do, then?"

"It is sensitive to poison, madonna. It will change color, in the presence of several harmful compounds."

That stopped me. I straightened up and stared at him.

"Poison?" I said, slowly. "Then…"

"Yes, madonna. You may be still in some danger." Raymond's froglike face was grim. "I cannot say for sure, or from which direction, for I do not know. If I find out, be assured I will tell you." His eyes flicked uneasily toward the entrance through the hearth. A thunder of blows sounded on the outer wall. "Assure your husband as well, please, madonna."

"Don't worry," I told him, ducking under the low lintel. "Jamie doesn't bite—I don't think."

"I was not worried about his teeth, madonna" came from behind me as I walked duckfooted over the ashes of the hearth.

Jamie, in the act of raising his dagger-hilt to hammer again on the paneling, caught sight of me emerging from the fireplace and lowered it.

"Och, there ye are," he observed mildly. He tilted his head to one side, watching me brush soot and ashes from the hem of my gown, then scowled at the sight of Raymond peeping cautiously out from under the drying table.

"Ah, and there's our wee toadling, as well. Has he some explanation, Sassenach, or had I best pin him up wi' the rest?" Not taking his eyes off Raymond, he nodded toward the wall of the outer workshop, where a number of dried toads and frogs were pinned to a long strip of hanging felt.

"No, no," I said hastily as Raymond made to duck back into his sanctuary. "He's told me everything. In fact, he's been most helpful."

With some reluctance, Jamie put up his dirk, and I reached down a hand to draw Raymond out of hiding. He flinched slightly at the sight of Jamie.

"This man is your husband, madonna?" he asked, in the tones of someone hoping the answer would be "no."

"Yes, of course," I answered. "My husband, James Fraser, my lord Broch Tuarach," I said, waving at Jamie, though I could scarcely have been referring to anyone else. I waved in the other direction. "Master Raymond."

"So I gathered," said Jamie dryly. He bowed and extended a hand toward Raymond, whose head reached a few inches past Jamie's waist. Raymond touched the outstretched hand briefly and yanked his own back, unable to repress a mild shiver. I stared at him in amazement.

Jamie merely raised one eyebrow, then leaned back and settled himself against the edge of the table. He crossed his arms across his chest.

"All right, then," he said. "What about it?"

I made most of the explanations, Raymond contributing only monosyllables of confirmation from time to time. The little apothecary seemed deprived of all his normal sly wit, and huddled on a stool near the fire, shoulders hunched in wariness. Only when I had finished with an explanation of the white crystal—and the presumed need for it—did he stir and seem to take on a little life once more.

"It is true, milord," he assured Jamie. "I do not know, in fact, whether it is your wife or yourself that may be in danger, or perhaps the two of you together. I have heard nothing specific; only the name ‘Fraser,' spoken in a place where names are seldom named in blessing."

Jamie glanced sharply at him. "Aye? And you frequent such places, do you, Master Raymond? Are the people you speak of associates of yours?"

Raymond smiled, a little wanly. "I should be inclined to describe them more as a business rivals, milord."

Jamie grunted. "Mmmphm. Aye, well, and anyone who tries something may get a bit more of a blessing than he's bargained for." He touched the dirk at his belt, and straightened up.

"Still, I thank ye for the warning, Master Raymond." He bowed to the apothecary, but didn't offer his hand again. "As for the other"—he cocked an eyebrow at me—"if my wife is disposed to forgive your actions, then it isna my place to say more about it. Not," he added, "that I wouldna advise ye to pop back in your wee hole, the next time the Vicomtesse comes into your shop. Come along then, Sassenach."

As we rattled toward the Rue Tremoulins, Jamie was silent, staring out the window of the coach as the stiff fingers of his right hand tapped against his thigh.

"A place where names are seldom named in blessing," he murmured as the coach turned into the Rue Gamboge. "What might that be, I wonder?"

I remembered the Cabbalistic signs on Raymond's cabinet, and a small shiver raised the hairs on my forearms. I remembered Marguerite's gossip about the Comte St. Germain, and Madame de Ramage's warning. I told Jamie about them, and what Raymond had said.

"He may regard it as paint and window dressing," I finished, "but plainly he knows people who don't, or who is he looking to keep out of his cabinet?"

Jamie nodded. "Aye. I've heard a bit—only a bit—about such goings-on around the Court. I paid no attention at the time, thinking it only silliness, but now I'll find out a bit more." He laughed, suddenly, and drew me close to his side. "I'll set Murtagh to follow the Comte St. Germain. That'll give the Comte a real demon to play with."

17

POSSESSION

Murtagh was duly set to watch the comings and goings of the Comte St. Germain, but beyond reporting that the Comte entertained a remarkable number of persons in his home—of both sexes and all classes—detected nothing particularly mysterious. The Comte did have one visitor of note, though—Charles Stuart, who came one afternoon, stayed for an hour, and left.

Charles had begun to require Jamie's company more frequently on his expeditions through the taverns and low places of the city. I personally thought this had more to do with Jules de La Tour de Rohan's party, held to celebrate the announcement of his wife's pregnancy, than it did with any sinister influence of the Comte's.

These expeditions sometimes lasted well into the night, and I became accustomed to going to bed without Jamie, waking when he crawled in beside me, his body chilled with walking through the evening fog, and the smell of tobacco smoke and liquor clinging to his hair and skin.

"He's so distraught about that woman that I dinna think he even remembers he's the heir to the thrones of Scotland and England," Jamie said, returning from one of these expeditions.

"Goodness, he must be upset," I said, sarcastically. "Let's hope he stays that way."

A week later, though, I woke to the cold gray light of dawn to find the bed beside me still vacant, the coverlet flat and undisturbed.

"Is milord Broch Tuarach in his study?" I leaned over the banister in my nightgown, startling Magnus, who was passing through the lower hall. Perhaps Jamie had chosen to sleep on the sofa in the study, so as not to disturb me.

"No, milady," he answered, staring up at me. "I came to unbolt the front door, and found that it had never been bolted. Milord did not come home last night."

I sat down heavily on the top step. I must have looked rather alarming, because the elderly butler nearly sprinted up the stairs to me.

"Madame," he said, anxiously chafing one of my hands. "Madame, are you all right?"

"I've been better, but it isn't important. Magnus, send one of the footmen to Prince Charles's house in Montmartre at once. Have him see if my husband is there."

"At once, milady. And I will send Marguerite up to attend you, as well." He turned and hurried down the stairs, the soft felt slippers he wore for his morning duties making a soft, shushing noise on the polished wood.

"And Murtagh!" I called after Magnus's departing back. "My husband's kinsman. Bring him to me, please!" The first thought that had sprung into my mind was that Jamie had perhaps stayed the night at Charles's villa; the second, that something had happened to him, whether by accident or by someone's deliberate intent.

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Diana Gabaldon's Novels
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» Drums of Autumn (Outlander #4)
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