Jack and Elliott drifted back down Headington Hill like ghosts. It reminded Jack of Elsie's description of Ellini, trapped in one, horrible moment in her past, and only haunting the present. He and Elliott were still stuck on the Academy's lawns, in front of that fiery circlet of mountains. Whatever it was that was drifting down to the centre of town, idly kicking out at stones, it wasn't them. It lacked all substance and conviction.

After a while, Elliott said, "How did he do it? How did he get that mad girl out of her cell?"

"I don't know," said Jack.

"All right, how would you have done it? That's pretty much the same question, isn't it?" 

There was a bit more life in his voice now, as if his Headington-Hill-self was catching up with him. Lucky bastard, thought Jack. The young got over things so quickly.

"Well, I'd like to stress that I wouldn't have done it, because somebody could have been killed," he said. "But if we're just talking about a thought exercise..."

He trailed off and rubbed his jaw. He had that bitter taste in his mouth again – bitter but heady and all-consuming. He always got it when he was trying to think like Robin. "There are lots of ways he could've got to the girls..."

"But didn't your people say he hadn't been communicating with anyone except Ellini? And what about this famous loyalty that supposedly would've taken years to overcome?"

"I didn't say years, I said time. More time than four days, anyway. And... oh." Jack stopped in his tracks, causing Elliott to come hurrying back for him.

"What?"

Jack stared right through him. "They didn't say he hadn't been communicating with anyone except Ellini. They said he hadn't been communicating with anyone except the Sahiba."

"What's the difference?" said Elliott. "She is the Sahiba, isn't she?"

"It's just an odd way of expressing it. Don't you think? They knew her name – why not use it? Calling her the Sahiba emphasises her Indianness. And there's another Indian woman who has access to the Academy. You'd have to be looking quite closely to tell them apart..."

He leaned his back against the nearest wall, feeling the now-familiar rush of piggybacking on Robin's thoughts. It was a jarring, sickening, but somehow exhilarating ride.

What a bastard. It would be attacking them on their weakest flank to target the Anglo-Indian prostitute – Mary Stryde. She'd only been with them a few weeks. She had no deeply-ingrained loyalty to be overcome. And she looked enough like Ellini that nobody would think it odd if Robin was seen meeting up with her.

"I would not be surprised," said Jack carefully, "if Mary Stryde turns out to be missing when Danvers finishes the head-count."

"Who's Mary Stryde?" asked Elliott.

"Oh, it's a long, nasty story. And you've been hearing too many of those recently."

Elliott didn't argue. He went back to kicking stones in silence for a while. It seemed as though he had just wanted to get Robin's guilt straightened out in his mind. There was no point going back to Ellini and saying, 'Look, he engineered this situation.' The damage had already been done.

"What are you going to do now?" said Jack, as they crossed the road into Holywell Street.

"I don't know. Go back to America, I suppose."

"Not to Magda?"

"God no!" said Elliott, hunching his shoulders. "The one good thing about pursuing Ellini was that it got me away from all that – society and pleasantries and dinner engagements and afternoon tea." He shuddered. "I'm not going back to that for anything. My father still lives in New Hampshire. He misses us, I think. He knows he couldn't visit Magda – oh, she'd never say so, but he knows his presence would shame her. He's too provincial. Too American. I'll go and keep him company until-"

"Until what?"

Elliott shrugged. "Until either he dies, or I forget about Ellini. Whichever happens first." They walked on in silence for a while. Then he added, "Do you think she'd come and say goodbye to me if she heard I was going?"

"No," said Jack, without hesitation. "She'll be ashamed of how she acted, and afraid of encouraging you again. She might write to you once you're safely on the other side of the Atlantic, but... Well, if Robin's still in the picture, he'll make sure those letters never get to you. Believe me, I know."

Elliott said nothing. Presumably, this was no better or worse than the injustices he'd already been subjected to, so it didn't require comment.

Jack took advantage of the silence to try and work out how he himself was feeling, so that it didn't come as a nasty surprise when they got to the Faculty and he was left alone.

The only thing he was certain of was that he was numb. Was he sorry for Elliott, or relieved that he was going? Was he glad Ellini had rejected his two rivals, or despondent because she had rejected him too? He was angry with Robin, of course – that was always a given. But was there a tiny grain of admiration? Or, if not admiration, exhilaration at following his dastardly train of thought?

"The funny thing is," said Elliott, who seemed to have been following his own train of thought during this time, "it isn't how story-book girls say no. I mean, she knows that, doesn't she? In stories, the ring always turns up – in the belly of a fish or something. The challenge for the suitors is... well, it's how story-book girls say 'Later'."

"That's the tragedy of it," said Jack. "Story-book girls can't say no. 'Later' is as close to 'single' as they'll ever get."

"The ring always turns up," Elliott repeated, with a trace of defiance.

"I'd like to see it do that this time."

"No, you wouldn't. Not if it turns up in his hand." Elliott was silent for another few footsteps. "Would you recognize those mountains if you saw them again?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Elliott, let's get one thing straight: whatever happens in stories, Ellini meant this as a rhetorical gesture. She meant 'I'll marry one of you when hell freezes over'."

Elliott raised his chin stubbornly. "But when hell does freeze over, you'll still be in love with her."

"I'll be dead."

"That's what I mean. You'll be on the spot."

Unwillingly, but unavoidably, Jack smiled. "Oh, I'm going to miss you," he said. And he wasn't being one hundred per cent sarcastic.

***

He didn't last long at the Faculty. He had barely hung up his hat and coat when the restlessness overtook him again.

He went to find Robin. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to lie down in that bed and ache for her. And it would be nice to be with someone he could hit for a change. Besides, walking helped him think, and there was a lot to come to terms with.

The thing that worried him most – almost as much as Ellini's wholesale rejection of men – was the ring. He hadn't gotten a very good look at it, but he had seen rose-gold and rubies. It had looked just like the awful, gaudy, pirate's-treasure thing that Elsie had described. The ring of the 'Ring. Sister. Piano'.

Was that what he needed to save Ellini from her past? The ring she had just thrown into the deepest, darkest pit of hell, where even the little mother couldn't find it? Bringing her sister back from the dead had started to seem possible, but finding that thing?

And how could he go looking for a ring she didn't want him to find? Even if he didn't intend to use it to make her marry him – and he didn't, he hastily assured himself – it was still going against her wishes.

Or was it, he wondered? Because she knew stories – she lived by stories – and the ring did always turn up in stories. Had there been a part of her that had wanted one of them to take up the challenge?

But you couldn't think like that. It was dangerous. You couldn't assume that a woman didn't know her own mind when she rejected you. You couldn't think you knew what she wanted better than she did.

Bloody Robin, he thought – bloody, bloody Robin! If he hadn't had some stupid macho score to settle, none of this would have happened.

And Elliott wouldn't be leaving, said a sneaky voice in his head. And you know how she thinks. She doesn't want to be owned – she doesn't want to give up her freedom – but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you. It doesn't mean she wouldn't look at you now and again.

Jack sighed. He really wished his hope wasn't so resilient. But then that was her too. It was part of the gift that kept on giving. He couldn't complain.