"Oh, very amusing," Geneviève muttered, only because she was sure she would not be heard. How did one proceed to get ones self stuck up a chimney? Besides, presumably, by a dint of some effort. She twisted a loose bit of hair around one finger. Well, she had to do something, didn't she? But what?
The obvious choice of "find someone else to deal with the problem" was not even to be considered. It was never a bad thing to have a reputation for dealing with one's own problems. Even if the problem was not actually her's. But she had discovered the problem, which was practically the same thing.
Solving the problem, now...
Come on, you've had all these years of lovely education, so there must be something you can think to do.
But it was not a line from any book that came to her mind. What she suddenly remembered was old Thatcher, who lived on the estate in Marchenes (Matchenes!), and who did odd repairs in the nearby village. Once, Geneviève and Eveline had been allowed to accompany him on one of his trips. He had shown them a collapsed chimney he was going to fix.
"It's the dry spell, your Ladyships," Thatcher said, giving his bald head a scratch. "Some 'uns don't know how to build proper. They builds a chimney, and if it don't rain it drys out. You got to build a chimney proper."
"Can you hold on to something?" Geneviève called down the chimney. "Or, or brace yourself on the side, perhaps?" Would this work? Yes. It would. She would not allow herself to think otherwise. She set her jaw and concentrated on the bricks.
The thing about bricks, Thatcher had eventually said in his ambling way, was that if they dry out, they shrink. A properly built chimney compensated and would not collapse because of that. But maybe it would free up enough room inside for the stuck girl to be come, well, unstuck.
What Geneviève did was crude, basic magic, serviceable but with very little finesse. To make something dry, one had to move the water out of it. And much basic magic was learning how to move things, be they objects, energy, or your own thoughts.
Little droplets of water began to splotch the tiles around the chimney. with a scowling concentration, Geneviève dried out the bricks, oblivious to everything around her.
It was only thanks to a chance gust of wind that made her stumble slightly that the condor missed her.
And there was no way she could run out of its reach now.
