HeartFire Page 0,68

that so? I have never found a need to do that. Painting vices as virtues, now, that is my expertise." Balzac grinned at her.

"Nonsense," said Margaret. "You name virtues and vices for what they are. That is your knack."

"I? Have a knack?"

"What were the last things Calvin said?"

Balzac held still a moment, his eyes closed. "In Blacktown," he said. "'Junk hanging all over the place,' he said. Oh, and a moment before that he mentioned going through a door. So perhaps that's inside. Yes, in a house, because I remember him saying, 'Only one other heartfire in the house.' And then the last thing he said was, 'That's bright.'"

"A light," said Margaret. "A house with one other heartfire in it. Besides the one belonging to this Denmark fellow. And something bright. And then he was taken."

"Can you find it?" asked Balzac.

Margaret didn't answer. Instead she looked doubtfully at Calvin. "Do you suppose he's incontinent?"

"Pardon?" asked Balzac.

"I'm speculating on the best place to take him. I think he should stay with you."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"If he has trouble dealing with urination and defecation, I believe it will cause less scandal for you to help him."

"I admire your prudence," said Balzac. "I suppose I must also provide him with food and drink."

Margaret opened the purse tucked into her sleeve and handed a guinea to Balzac. "While you tend to his physical needs, I will find his doodlebug."

Balzac tossed the guinea into the air and caught it. "Finding it is one thing. Will you bring it back?"

"That is beyond my power," said Margaret. "I carry well-made hexes, but I don't know how to make them. No, what I will do is find where he is and discover who is detaining him. I suspect that in the process I will find the souls of the slaves of Camelot. I will learn how the thing is done. And when I am armed with information..."

Balzac grimaced. "You will write a treatise on it?"

"Nothing so useless as that," said Margaret. "I'll tell Alvin and see what he can do."

"Alvin! Calvin's life depends upon the brother he hates above all other persons on earth?"

"The hate flows in only one direction, I fear," said Margaret. "Despite my warnings, Alvin seems unable to realize that the playmate of his childhood has been murdered by the man who usually dwells in this body. So Alvin insists on loving Calvin."

"Doesn't it make you weary? Being married to such a lunatic?"

Margaret smiled. "Alvin has made me weary all my life," she said.

"'But'... no, let me say it for you... 'But the weariness is a joy, because I have worn myself out in his service.'"

"Yoa mock me."

"I mock myself," said Balzac. "I play the clown: the man who pretends to be so sophisticated that he finds kindly sentiment amusing, when the reality is that he would trade all his dreams for the knowledge that a woman of extraordinary intelligence felt such sentiments for him."

"You create yourself like a character in a novel," said Margaret.

"I have bared my soul to you and you call me false."

"Not false. Truer than mere reality."

Balzac bowed. "Ah, madame, may I never have to face critics of such piercing wisdom as yourself."

"You are a deeply sentimental man," said Margaret. "You pretend to be hard, but you are soft. You pretend to be distant, but your heart is captured over and over again. You pretend to be self-mockingly pretentious, when in fact you know that you really are the genius that you pretend to be pretending to be."

"Am I?" asked Balzac.

"What, haven't I flattered you enough?"

"My English is not yet perfect. Can the word 'flattery' be used with the word 'enough'?"

"I haven't flattered you at all," said Margaret. "On every path of your future in which you actually begin to write, there comes from your pen such a flood of lives and passions that your name will be known for centuries and on every continent."

Tears filled Balzac's eyes. "Ah, God, you have given me the sign from an angel."

"This is not the road to Emmaus," said Margaret.

"It was the road to Damascus I had in mind," said Balzac.

She laughed. "No one could ever strike you blind. You see with your heart as truly as I do."

Balzac moved closer to her, and whispered. No, he formed the words with his lips, counting on her to understand his heart without hearing the sound. "What I cannot see is the future and the past. Can I have my freedom from Calvin? I fear