A Study in Sable Read Free Page B

with a chess problem. She smiled. “Exactly like that, sir. Chess problems are ideal. Even when you are disguised, chess is a hobby that transcends class, race, and wealth. Oh,” she added, “Do not concern yourself about performing these mental gymnastics at all times. A psychical receiver cannot easily discern the thoughts of an individual at any distance. It is not unlike trying to pick out a single voice in a theater audience. Even if you know the voice, even if you know the ‘words’ to listen for, once you are more than a few yards distant, the voice is lost in the general hubbub.”
    â€œBut if one was alone—out on the moors, say?” he hazarded.
    â€œAh. Then you would have to take some care. But except between people who are both psychical and related by bonds of blood or affection, it is still intolerably difficult to sense thoughts at a distance of greater than half a mile.” She nodded at the flash of relief in his eyes. “Also . . . while it is not unheard of, in general, anyone who is Talented in the way I am is either too empathic to function as a criminal or utterly mad. Not that the utterly mad could not be criminals,” she added thoughtfully, “But they generally betray themselves in their madness.”
    He blinked a little at that. “Well then,” he said, turning to Sarah. “Have you a similar demonstration to make?”
    She shook her head slightly. “Not in the way you expect,” she said candidly. “I am mediumistic, and there are no departed spirits hanging about you with whom I could converse.”
    A flash of humor lit his eyes, and his mouth quirked in a little smile. “Then you would be the first so-called medium I have ever encountered that has made that confession to me. Most of them seem to think that spirits are flocking about everyone like pigeons in pursuit of crumbs.”
    â€œSpirits have very little interest in the living,” Sarah laughed. “Which is just as well. However, you do have a bit of a guardian. A ‘watchdog’ is more what I would call it. Besides being mediumistic, Nan and I are also able to see what your friend the doctor has tried to convince you actually exist—creatures we call Elementals.”
    Nan gave a ladylike snort. “I hadn’t wanted to mention that, since I couldn’t
prove
it to him.”
    â€œWell, I would be remiss if I didn’t say something about it.” Sarah shrugged. “Sadly, as an Air Elemental, it’s not the most . . . reliable of watchdogs. It’s a sylph, and they do tend to be rather flighty.”
    Out of the corner of her eye, Nan saw the sylph, a winged, half-naked little female about a foot tall, dart into clear view, stand up in midair with her wings beating furiously, stamp her tiny foot, put her fists on her hips in a gesture of offense, and then stick her tongue out at Sarah.
    The grey parrot—named Grey—laughed. “She’s angry!” Grey chortled. “Sarah! Be nice!”
    â€œYou can talk!” the gentleman exclaimed, far more interested in
that
fact than that there was an Elemental guarding him.
    â€œSo can I,” Neville the raven croaked. “We can talk, can you fly?”
    The gentleman sat straight up at that, and looked sharply from Neville to Grey and back again. Finally, he threw his hands in the air. “All right!” he growled, although he sounded as amused as irritated. “You can come out, John. The wretched girl is right. I have eliminated the impossible, and the improbable remains. Evidently my brother has not had wool pulled over his eyes by these young women. Consider them vetted.”
    A screen had been put up over by one window, and a man shorter than the gentleman interviewing them came from behind it. He was midsized, strongly built, with a square jaw, sandy hair, and a moustache, wearing a well-fitted black suit of the sort doctors