“What are we doing, Maddy?”
Emma and Madeira were on the deck of the Bellipotent, sitting up against the railing and well out of the way of the sailors as they bustled around the ship in the endless effort to keep it moving. The southern sun beat down on the sea, stirring up an inland wind that filled the sails but was too warm to lift the sweat off the human crew. Emma was unaffected by the heat. Besides being nearly invisible in the direct sunlight, her nightdress and bouncing brown curls did not move with the breeze, and her soulmist shroud was as uncomfortably cold as ever.
Madeira was not so lucky. The sleeves of her blouse and the legs of her linen pants had been rolled up, her collar unbuttoned, and still it was growing steadily darker in the pit of her arms. Her hair had been pulled up away from her neck, but her entire face was flush and sparkling with sweat. She settled in a small spot of shade to be found in the shadow of a crate before she answered the ghost.
“We’re going to play a little game, are you up for it?”
“Yah!” the little spirit bounced on her toes as she shimmered like a mirage.
“Good. Now shush and sit down here with me, we have to be sneaky.”
The ghost looked around spuriously and did as she was told, one hand over her crusted mouth as if to prove how quiet she could be.
“Does this mean we’re doing spirit stuff”, she asked, big brown eyes wide. The girl knew of her mistresses ban on practising witchcraft aboard, and also knew she did not follow it.
“Yes. And do you know what that means?”
“‘Mist!” the little girl squealed in delight, only to clap her hands over her mouth again when Madeira raised a disapproving brow. “Sorry!” she whispered, properly cowed. “Are you making soulmist?” she rephrased sheepishly.
“Just for you, kitten”, Madeira forgave the girl’s slip in composure with a smile. “It’s all right here”, she patted her chest, where the dough she ingested will sit until it’s ready to be turned. “But you need to play for it.”
The girl nodded eagerly, and Madeira felt more than saw the ghost sitting forward with determination.
“I’m going to use magic to disappear, and bring other people”, she continued delicately. Emma did not truly grasp the concept of the spiritism technique of Lying, as really no ghost ever did. Her mind was too scrambled and her hold on reality too tenuous to really understand that Madeira was simply using magic to change what the ghost saw, rather than disappearing entirely. “I need you to guess who it is.”
Emma pouted, pushing out her lower lip and cracking the sores in the corner of her mouth. “Does that mean you’re not bringing Ally?”
“Nope. You might not know their names, so you’ll have to describe them to me.”
There were two ways to perpetrate the Lie. The first was to use a name the ghost already knew and to push it on them, and the ghost will fill in the blank of the appearance themselves. The other kind, if one did not know the name, was to concentrate on the appearance of the person yourself. The latter was something Madeira always had trouble with, for it required a near perfect memory and total concentration.
“Ok, I can do it!”
“I know you can, kitten. Ready?”
“Yah!”
Emma and Madeira were on the deck of the Bellipotent, sitting up against the railing and well out of the way of the sailors as they bustled around the ship in the endless effort to keep it moving. The southern sun beat down on the sea, stirring up an inland wind that filled the sails but was too warm to lift the sweat off the human crew. Emma was unaffected by the heat. Besides being nearly invisible in the direct sunlight, her nightdress and bouncing brown curls did not move with the breeze, and her soulmist shroud was as uncomfortably cold as ever.
Madeira was not so lucky. The sleeves of her blouse and the legs of her linen pants had been rolled up, her collar unbuttoned, and still it was growing steadily darker in the pit of her arms. Her hair had been pulled up away from her neck, but her entire face was flush and sparkling with sweat. She settled in a small spot of shade to be found in the shadow of a crate before she answered the ghost.
“We’re going to play a little game, are you up for it?”
“Yah!” the little spirit bounced on her toes as she shimmered like a mirage.
“Good. Now shush and sit down here with me, we have to be sneaky.”
The ghost looked around spuriously and did as she was told, one hand over her crusted mouth as if to prove how quiet she could be.
“Does this mean we’re doing spirit stuff”, she asked, big brown eyes wide. The girl knew of her mistresses ban on practising witchcraft aboard, and also knew she did not follow it.
“Yes. And do you know what that means?”
“‘Mist!” the little girl squealed in delight, only to clap her hands over her mouth again when Madeira raised a disapproving brow. “Sorry!” she whispered, properly cowed. “Are you making soulmist?” she rephrased sheepishly.
“Just for you, kitten”, Madeira forgave the girl’s slip in composure with a smile. “It’s all right here”, she patted her chest, where the dough she ingested will sit until it’s ready to be turned. “But you need to play for it.”
The girl nodded eagerly, and Madeira felt more than saw the ghost sitting forward with determination.
“I’m going to use magic to disappear, and bring other people”, she continued delicately. Emma did not truly grasp the concept of the spiritism technique of Lying, as really no ghost ever did. Her mind was too scrambled and her hold on reality too tenuous to really understand that Madeira was simply using magic to change what the ghost saw, rather than disappearing entirely. “I need you to guess who it is.”
Emma pouted, pushing out her lower lip and cracking the sores in the corner of her mouth. “Does that mean you’re not bringing Ally?”
“Nope. You might not know their names, so you’ll have to describe them to me.”
There were two ways to perpetrate the Lie. The first was to use a name the ghost already knew and to push it on them, and the ghost will fill in the blank of the appearance themselves. The other kind, if one did not know the name, was to concentrate on the appearance of the person yourself. The latter was something Madeira always had trouble with, for it required a near perfect memory and total concentration.
“Ok, I can do it!”
“I know you can, kitten. Ready?”
“Yah!”
