Chapter 9
Edmund let himself into the flat. He had permission, of course.
He’d no more have dreamed of entering Major Manse’s flat without it than he’d have dreamed of entering Papa and Mama’s private library.
That wasn’t just because the warding was first rate in both places.
Edmund valued both his well-being and his dignity.
More importantly, it was about understanding boundaries and permissions properly.
Respecting them here made them easier to reinforce in his own life. It was only practical to do so.
The flat shared a cook and housekeeping with others in the building, and the building itself was entirely magical.
That had meant better and more comfortable protection during the Blitz, with a properly fortified and warded basement and bomb shelter.
Major Manse had said more than once that he appreciated the walk to and from as a chance to clear his head.
Major Manse had had his flat since the Great War, and thus had a beautiful view, two bedrooms, and a spacious sitting room.
Edmund had, from time to time, stayed in the guest room, before he’d had the room upstairs.
He’d never seen Major Manse’s bedroom. That too was exceptionally well warded, since it was where the confidential material was stored.
The parlour was comfortable, with several plush and well-padded chairs and a writing desk.
There was a small nook with a teakettle, keep-cold box, and a single burner for heating soup or something of the kind.
The flats were designed for bachelors unlikely to cook for themselves.
Now, Edmund had taken it upon himself to slice up two apples and make a pot of tea.
He’d brought his own, part of his ration.
And because the package had come yesterday, two small maple sugar candies, for a pure extravagance.
Partly because the sugar was so precious now, but also because Edmund knew it would make Major Manse smile.
With that done, everything properly waiting, Edmund settled down.
He had not brought translation with him, that was delicate to set aside in a moment without forgetting what he had been thinking.
But he had plenty of other necessary reading to do to prepare for Hilary Term and his upcoming Honour Mods.
The various histories were rather more portable revision texts.
He’d been reading for perhaps forty-five minutes— until near half-five— when he heard the warding click and saw the doorknob turn.
Of course, Edmund stood immediately, the bookmark slipped into the right page as he set the closed book aside.
By the time Major Manse opened the door, he was at attention.
“Ah, sit, sit. We are informal today, Edmund. Just let me put my briefcase away and wash up. I’m sorry, Crofts caught me while I was on my way out the door, and you know how he goes on. With some purpose, at the moment, but the man can’t say in five hundred words what others would say in fifty.”
Edmund had to smile at that, because all of it was true. “No bother at all, sir, please take your time. I've got tea and apples ready, I’ll bring them out.”
Major Manse nodded once, then disappeared down the hallway to his bedroom.
Edmund considered the man, not least because Mama had, privately, asked for a report.
Major Manse and Papa were the same age— they’d been at Exeter together in their day.
It meant Major Manse was coming up on sixty years and five.
Edmund brought out the tray with the apples, tea, and maple sugar, then set it on the table. Major Manse preferred one of the easy chairs, and Edmund took his own place on the near side of the sofa, sitting more comfortably.
When Major Manse reappeared, he had put on a smoking jacket rather than the pinstripe suit he’d been wearing, another indicator of the mode of tonight’s meeting. He considered the tray, then nodded once, approvingly. “I gather Alexander had a package from America?”
“Yes, sir.” There had been a chain of events related to a bit of espionage in 1935. Now it meant that Uncle Alexander got regular packages from someone in intelligence work in the United States.
That someone had the sort of mind that thought about what would be in short supply in the British Isles and therefore included sugar.
Almost always the maple sugar candy, which came from where he’d grown up, more or less.
Major Manse considered that, but reached for the apples first, letting Edmund pour the tea.
Black, no cream or sugar. Rationing did not stretch so far.
Once Major Manse had his cup, he nodded. “So. How are things then?”
Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Is that where we’re beginning?
” Papa and Mama had taught him how to play this game, though Major Manse had certainly refined his play.
The first one to identify the topic lost, at least in terms of style.
A moment later, Edmund deferred. “I am on pace for my reading and revision, along with some additional translation, both for Uncle Alexander and for my tutor. He allows as how I am making reasonable progress.”
Mister Balsdon, Edmund’s tutor for Greats, was highly respected both in the college and in the university at large. That did not make the prospect of Honour Mods any easier to deal with, because no sensible tutor wished to assume ahead of the results. At least not to a student’s face.
“I’m glad of it.” Major Manse nodded once. “Anything else of interest?”
That was an expected question as well. Having begun his adult life in Intelligence work, Edmund couldn’t help noticing things.
And in this case, he had. “Sir, there are some odd patterns. People having money issues, and not in the more common ways. Gaps where someone will change the topic suddenly.” The aftermath of a war changed expenses, though this one had different implications than the Great War and many of the tax implications for the larger estates.
“A few people behaving in ways that don’t seem as likely from them. ”
“Blackmail?” Major Manse raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve wondered about that, but I haven’t seen any clear evidence. Not, sir, that it’d be mine to do something about, unless I had rather more direct evidence.”
“No.” Major Manse considered. “Though within the magical community, well. There are ripple effects to consider. But as you say, evidence. You’re only seeing shimmers, and they might mean a number of things.
Including the entirely ordinary sort of troubles with gambling or addiction.
” Those were sad, a waste, but not the same as blackmail, no.
“No, sir. I’ll keep an eye out, of course.
Mostly it comes up when I’m making a point of being visibly social with that sort of set.
I don’t always hear what they talk about more privately, no matter how diligent I am about being in Exeter’s JCR.
” That was a disadvantage of living where he did.
Even the time in the Junior Common Room took planning, and of course people weren’t always around for strategic chats when Edmund was free.
Major Manse nodded, then went on smoothly. “And how do you feel about the expectations, and what’s coming?”
There it was. It was not as if the question were a surprise. “You’ve had queries from others, sir.” Edmund did not form that as a question. If he’d been saying it in Latin, it would have had none of the grammatical forms that implied either a question or an expected answer.
“Indeed.” Major Manse just waited.
Edmund gave it a little space, a moment to respect the topic. “I cannot take up a position long-term within MI6, sir. You know that. There are consequences to my being away from Albion for years at a time. A posting here would be one thing, but abroad?” They’d gone through this before.
“But others do not know that.” That was the trick, of course.
Edmund was reading Greats because of those expectations from people who had seen the quality of his mind and the quickness of his wit.
And, to be fair, the range of his capability of analysis.
Even if he’d learned most of that from Mama before ever arriving in London. “Have you seen any of them recently?”
“We’re having drinks on Thursday, sir. One of the clubs.
” The knot of men just a little older than Edmund— the ones who had already finished at Oxford and Cambridge when the war began— had made a habit of inviting him at least once or twice during the vac.
They did it at least partly to hear the gossip about dons still at Oxford, and Edmund was glad to store up some tidbits and oblige.
“I’m aware I need to have something ready to say, of course. ”
“And that is?” Major Manse was pressing.
“That I’m focusing first on Honour Mods, and then reading Greats.
The world’s changing so fast, the situation will be quite different when I’m done, I’m sure.
I’m leaving my options open, but I’d certainly consider coming back to MI6.
” Edmund shrugged his shoulders. “I can consider it, knowing I am unlikely to agree. To consult, yes, ideally.”
“On the exams, well. There are reasons I didn’t read Greats when I was up at Oxford. Which are different from the reasons your father didn’t.” Major Manse had relaxed, enough for Edmund to see it, into amiable amusement.