“Hello,” said Agnes, walking up. “I’d like to see the godmother, please.”
The guard tilted his head almost imperceptibly. “She does not see any visitors.”
“It’s important,” said Agnes.
“You waste your time. She does not bless anyone but the royal family.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” Agnes reached out and patted his arm as if he were a small child. “I don’t need a blessing. I’m a godmother.”
Marra braced herself to grab Agnes and roll out of the way if the guard took offense to being touched, but he only looked bemused. “Another godmother?”
“Yes. Can you go tell her I’m here?”
“Is she expecting you?”
Agnes shrugged. “Well, I don’t really know, do I? If she’s an extremely powerful godmother, she might be able to see the future, in which case yes. But if she’s like the rest of us, then probably not. Or she might be very powerful, but not good at seeing the future, which happens, too. Futures are very muddy. You can’t really get much out of them, you know.”
He was beginning to get the look that most people dealing with Agnes got. Marra wondered if that was something a person could learn, or if you were born with it. Or perhaps it only works if you’re obviously older and seem a bit silly and so obviously devoid of malice …
“How do I know you’re a godmother?”
Agnes searched his face. Little strands of white hair had escaped from the pins and gave her a wispy halo. “You … did not have a godmother,” she said slowly, “but your mother did, and the blessing was … was … Oh dear, I’m afraid I can’t tell exactly. That her children be born strong or born healthy, one of the two.” She patted at the air with her hands. “It was a good blessing,” she said. “I think it worked.”
The guard’s eyes widened. He looked over his shoulder at the door, as if expecting to find someone looking at him.
“Wait here,” he said, pulling the door open, and stepped inside.
“You could really see that blessing?” whispered Marra.
“Oh yes. Normally you can’t go too far back, but the ones about what kind of children you have leave marks on the child. They have to or they wouldn’t work. It doesn’t last forever, though. I tried with mice.” She shook her head. “By the third or fourth generation, even if you wish that all their descendants be healthy, it’s just too faint. Magic spreads itself thin after a while. It has to, I think. To keep itself going past that, it’d be constantly drawing on the person who cast the spell, and that’s no good. One litter of mice isn’t much, but a hundred or so, having litter after litter? You saw what happened making the magic stick to Finder. I don’t want to find out how many healthy baby mice it takes to make me drop dead of exhaustion.”
The guard opened the door again. “The royal godmother will see you,” he said, his face impassive once more.
“Thank you,” said Agnes, beaming at him. Marra gave him a wry look as she passed, aware of the effect that dealing with magic could have on ordinary souls. She thought that she caught the trace of a smile around his eyes, but perhaps that was only her imagination.
The godmother’s dwelling was also a temple.
It was strange to see. Marra had expected doors, apartments, the trappings of normal living. Instead it was a long, narrow hall, hung with tapestries. The godmother sat on a dais at the far end, her robe forming a triangle with her pale skull at the apex. Bowl candles with a dozen wicks flickered, casting deep shadows on the ceiling, and the room smelled of scented wax.
Does she sit here all day? Marra wondered. Is this how she receives visitors, or does she simply sit here and wait to be called to the palace?
It was somehow easy to believe the latter. There was an immobility to the godmother in this pose, as if she had been crafted from leather and layered fabric, a doll that had never been made to move. She looked like the god of the temple, not like a person in her own home.
When she moved, it was a visceral shock. Marra took a step back as if she’d suffered a blow. It seemed as if that ancient skin should crack apart instead of stretching.
“Come closer,” said the godmother in a voice like an echo from the bottom of the bone pit.
“Hello!” said Agnes. “I’m a godmother, too.”
“Yessss…” The sibilants drew out and faded away. The godmother’s eyes flicked over Marra, dismissed her, and settled on Agnes. Marra wondered if, having said that, the godmother was about to throw them out again.