"Yes. I want you to clean and press some things of mine. They're
hanging on the edge of the bathtub. Go and get them." The maid came into his line of vision, then. She would be very heavy in
a few years, he thought, but she was handsome now, though puffed with
sleep. She had hastily pulled on a dull-black dress, but her feet were
in slippers and her hair was snarly. "Be careful with the dress. It's wool," came Tansy's voice, sounding
just as toneless as when it had been directed at him. "And I want them
promptly at nine o'clock." Norman half expected to hear an objection to this unreasonable request,
but there was none. The girl walked rapidly out of the bathroom, the
damp clothes hurriedly slung over one arm, as if her one object were to
get away before she was spoken to again. "Wait a moment, girl. I want to ask you a question." The voice was
somewhat louder this time. That was the only change whatsoever, but it
had a startling effect of command. The girl hesitated, then swung around unwillingly, and Norman got a
good look at her face. He could not see Tansy--the closet door just cut
her off--but he could see the fear come to the surface of the girl's
face as she turned, see the sleep-creased cheek pale. "Yes, mum?" she managed. There was a considerable pause. He could tell from the way the girl
shrank, hugging the damp clothes tight to her body, that Tansy had
lifted her eyes and was looking at her. Finally: "You know The Easy Way to Do Things? The Ways to Get and
Guard?" Norman could have sworn that the girl gave a guilty start at that
second phrase. But she only shook her head quickly, and mumbled, "No,
mum. I ... I don't know what you're talking about." "You mean you have never learned How to Make Wishes Work? You don't
conjure, or spell, or hex? You don't know the Art?" This time the "No" was almost inaudible. The girl was trying to look
away, but failing. "I think you are lying." You could put any construction on those toneless words. The girl
twisted, hands tightly clutching her overlapping arms. He wanted to go
out and stop it, but curiosity held him rigid. The girl's resistance broke. "Please, mum. We're not supposed to tell." "You may tell me. What Procedures do you use?" The girl's perplexity at the new word looked real. "I don't know anything about that, mum. I don't do much. Just spells. Like now my boy friend's gone in the army, I do things to keep him from
getting shot or hurt, and I've spelled him so that he'll keep away from
other women. Honest, I don't do much, mum. And it don't always work. And lots of things I can't get that way." Her words had begun to run
away with her. "Very well. Where did you learn to do this?" "Some I learned from ma when I was a kid. And some from Mrs.
Neidel--she gets spells against bullets from her grandmother who had a
family in some European war before the last one. But most women won't
tell you anything. And some spells I kind of figure out myself, and try
different ways until they work. You won't tell on me, mum?" "No. Look at me now. What has happened to me?" "Honest, mum, I don't know. Please, mum, don't make me say it." The
girl's terror and reluctance were so obviously genuine that Norman felt
a surge of anger at Tansy. Then he remembered that the thing beyond the
door was incapable of either cruelty or kindness. "I want you to tell me." "I don't know how to say it, mum. But you're ... you're _dead_." Suddenly she threw herself at Tansy's feet. "Oh, please, please don't
take mine! Please!" "I would not take your soul. You would get much the best of that
bargain. You may go away now." "Oh, thank you, thank you." She hastily gathered up the scattered
clothes. "I'll have them all ready for you at nine o'clock. Really I
will." And she hurried out. *       *       *       *       *

Only when he moved, did Norman realize that his muscles were stiff and
aching from those few taut minutes of peering. The robed and toweled
figure was sitting in exactly the same position as when he had last
seen it, hands loosely folded, eyes still directed toward where the
girl had been standing. "If you knew all this," he asked simply, "why were you willing to stop
last week when I asked you?" "There are two sides to every woman." It might have been a mummy
dispensing elder wisdom. "One is rational, like a man. The other
knows. Men are artificially isolated creatures, like islands in a sea
of magic, protected by their rationality and by the devices of their
women. Their isolation gives them greater forcefulness in thought
and action, but the women know. Women might be able to rule the world
openly, but they do not want the work or the responsibility. And men
might learn to excel them in the Art. Even now there may be male
sorcerers, but very few. "Last week I suspected much that I did not tell you. But the rational
side is strong in me, and I wanted to be close to you in all ways. Like
many women, I had not been awakened. I was not certain. And when I
destroyed my charms and guards, I became temporarily blind to sorcery. Like a person used to large doses of a drug, I was uninfluenced by
small doses. Rationality was dominant. I enjoyed a few days of false
security. Then rationality itself proved to me that you were the victim
of sorcery. And during my journey here I learned much, partly from
re-examination of my own memories, partly from what He Who Walks Behind
let slip." She paused and added, with the blank innocent cunning of a
child, "Shall we go back to Hempnell now?" The phone rang. It was the night clerk, almost incoherent with some
sort of agitation, babbling threateningly about police and eviction. To
pacify him, Norman had to promise to come down at once. The old man was waiting at the foot of the stairs. "Look here, mister," he began, shaking a finger, "I want to know what's
going on. Just now my Sissy came down from your room white as a sheet. She wouldn't tell me anything, but she was trembling like all get-out. Sissy's my granddaughter. I got her this job, and I'm responsible for
her." He seemed genuinely concerned. "I know what hotels are. I've worked in 'em all my life. And I know
the kind of people that come to them--sometimes men and women working
together--and I know the kind of things they try to do to young girls. "Now I'm not saying anything against you, mister. But it was mighty
queer the way your wife came here. I thought when she asked me to call
Sissy that she was sick or something. But if she's sick, why haven't
you called a doctor? And what are you doing still up at almost four? Mrs. Thompson in the next room called to say there was talking in your
room--not loud, but it scared her. I got a right to know what's going
on." Norman put on his best classroom manner and blandly dissected the
old man's apprehensions until they began to look very unsubstantial. Dignity told. With a last show of grumbling, the old man let himself
be convinced. As Norman started upstairs, he was shuffling back to the
switchboard.