My Dearest Liana,

I have written this out because I want you to understand what I am saying.

Sometimes the spoken word runs past too quickly,

especially when it is not something the listener wants to hear.

And now, I fear, you have stopped reading. Without using my talent, I see you rolling your eyes and looking away from this page,

maybe even setting it down and walking away. But paper is patient.

I know you will return to it and take it up again, and so I continue.

You tell me Brigitte’s girl is in trouble. Or rather, Bill is in trouble, and therefore the whole family. You tell me Judith had hopes of winning the Kilkenny Award, and of traveling to Harvard, getting her medical degree there, and that now those hopes may be dashed.

Of course you want to help. You want to put a stop to this mountain that is falling on the family, and you appeal to me, or rather, to my talent. You ask me to do something, or at least, to advise you on what you can do.

Shall I go to Capitol Hill and shout at the sky?

Burn down another archive?

Should I perform the superhuman feat of crawling into the minds of senators, aides, entire committees, and altering their actions? Should I committ the profound crime, watch the chaos that results, and wait for Le Bon Dieu to devour you or Laney?

There is nothing our magicks can do, Liana, against the tide of history. I am not Merlin, and I am glad of it.

Judging from the stories, he was a stupid and arrogant man who did more harm than good waving his arms over a kingdom.

If it is a matter of money, both you and Derek have the means to help without resorting to the supernatural.

Whether you approach Brigitte or Judith is up to you, but you should sensibly work out how much would be needed to cover Judith’s expenses. For the sake of good will within the family, I would strongly advise offering it as a gift rather than a loan, or at least framing it as something Judith can repay later — much later — if she so desires.

This sounds impractical to you, yes? Unbusinesslike?

Well, you have known me all your life, so that should not surprise you. I can only repeat what I told you years ago when you were fourteen.

Never forget that you and I and all those like us have resources others do not.

You, Liana, more than most of us, can afford to be generous. I know you will give my advice serious consideration.

With my love, and my thoughts, and always, always my heart,

Papa

Liana read the letter twice.

She set it back on her desk. She walked to a window and looked out of it for a moment, thinking.

When she returned to the desk, she was not surprised to see the letter had vanished.

Liana picked up the phone and dialed the number of Brigitte’s house.

Day 4

He’d thought about it carefully.

There was another option, another point to be made.

If Grandmere would not listen, someone else might. He remembered his father’s advice.

Visit at night.

Visit when she was alone.

“What do you want, Fido?”

“You know what I want.”

“Ah. Is this about Bill or about Judith?”

“The Kilkenny Award…”

“…will go to somebody else,” she said. “You know why.”

Kristal turned and walked to her desk. When she sat in her chair, he saw her eyes were tired. “Do you think I like this?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you are an even bigger idiot than I thought. Oh, please, sit down. And for God’s sake get a shave or something. You’re not scaring me in the slightest, Leon. I’ve gotten too used to you.”

She looked around at her office. “Sorry about the Fido crack. It’s been a bad day. Look, I don’t give a damn about Judith Scardino, or anyone else in your family. I do give a damn about this Island. She’d hve been great for the award. We could have counted on her not to embarrass us. Hell, she’d have been a credit to the Island. But that’s changed. I give a very, very big damn about publicity, and this business is bad publicity. Rotten. We’re making the Mainland papers as a bunch of Stalinist stooges. And we’re going to hand an award to the daughter of the man being named as the chief Commissar here? No. I don’t think so.”

“My sister shared a stage with Paul Robeson back in ’27. Did you know that? Booked, of course, by your lecherous bum of an uncle. And to top it off, she’s been writing letters to Communists like Pete Seeger. Do you understand the scrambling and truckling I had to do to prevent Kitty from being dragged in front of that stupid committee?”

“So you fed them Bill.”

“Bill Quiller walked of his own accord into the lion’s mouth, with the help of my senile brother-in-law. Don’t blame me for it.”

“Look, Leon. I can understand Artiste not going to New York. The man is ga-ga, absolutely blithering at this point. But Bill isn’t. He’s sick, but so far he’s still got his brains.”

All he has to do is fly in and open up for the committee, repair the damage done by that Pascoe woman. Tell them what they want to know.”

“Be a friendly witness,” Leon said, nodding. “Name a few names.”

“That’s right. For his stepdaughter’s sake, if not the Island’s. Really, it’s in his own best interestst.”

Leon thought for a moment. Mayor Abbot’s blue eyes were wide, and she had on her “let’s-all-help-each-other” smile, but he wasn’t fooled.

She was afraid. He could smell it. It wasn’t the coppery, ammonia-tinged fear he remembered from that night when he and Grandmere had visited her, but it was fear nevertheless.

Kitty Rose. She was afraid of Kitty being grillled by the committee. The mayor’s sister. If that happened, Mayor Abbot would never get another term.

“Bill won’t do it,” he said.

“WHY? Is he a Communist?”

“Of course not. He’s decent, Kristal. I don’t think he could live with himself”

Her hand slammed down on the desk. “LIVE WITH HIMSELF? THE MAN IS DYING. WHAT DOES HE CARE?”

“He just does. And yes, it’s frustrating. Believe me, I know. The whole family knows.”

She looked at him.

“How does your sister feel about this?” she asked.

“Brigitte? She’s mainly preoccupied with keeping Bill comfortable.”

“Hm. Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “That is important to her, isn’t it?”

Kristal was reflecting. He chose to consider that a good sign.

“Madame Scardino-Quiller has always struck me as the least offensive member of your family. In fact, she’s quite an intelligent woman, isn’t she? At council meetings Bill was always bringing up things she’d said, advice she’d given him. She still knows all about what he gets up to, doesn’t she?”

“She’s his wife,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “She can’t testify…”

“No, no, of course not. That’s not what I’m thinking at all. Don’t worry about your sister. Nobody’s going to drag her off to the mainland.”

“Give me a day or two.” She smiled.

“The award won’t be announced until next week. I think there’s an option that could make almost everyone happy.”