Chapter 35
That evening
Edmund kept his mouth shut. The trick with this conversation— well, one trick among a dozen— was pacing what he said against what he wouldn’t say.
He trusted Circe a certain amount, now that the charms were in play.
Mostly, he trusted her to have an eye for her own benefit.
She’d been truthful enough about what her goal was. It meant, though, that he had to wait.
It also meant he could not focus on Pen.
Edmund had wanted her there because he was certain she’d spot several things that Edmund wouldn’t.
Things that would be useful later. But he’d also wanted her there, like he wanted Ursula handy for certain kinds of conversations, or Anthony.
Or Mama or Papa, for that matter, depending on the topic and people.
Certainly, he hadn’t wanted to leave her out.
There was a certain strategy in having another woman present, too. If Circe had thought of it, she could theoretically have argued that he’d been aggressive in his actions. Or more than just the charms he’d used, even if his words were mild. Having a witness present was a help.
Finally, Circe found her tongue. “What do you think you can do about it? You’re still at university.”
It made Edmund smile. “Ah.” That made it time to do what he’d planned to do since the range of her skills became clear.
“I’m going to write a note to someone. I believe I should hear back fairly quickly this time of night.
” He reached into his interior jacket pocket, not for his book of charms, but for the small bound book on the other side.
This one was not one of the regular magical journals.
It was the bound volume that let him communicate directly with Major Manse, and with a couple of others who were both magical and working at MI6.
Circe tugged against the restraining charms. “Someone in the Guard.” She sounded resigned to it.
“Oh, no.” Edmund patted his pocket, then pulled out the fountain pen. “Nothing like that. Though I’ll want the gems back, so they can be returned. I suspect the Guard will do that part. Or one of their connections. Let’s see if I get an answer.”
Briefly, in the shorthand Mama had taught him long since, he jotted down a note, built from phrases.
He kept it brief, because a fair bit of this was going to come down to Major Manse’s own evaluation.
What Edmund needed to know was whether there was a chance of a meeting.
That done, he closed the book, but left it out and at hand, resting against his thigh.
Then he looked up to focus on Circe again.
She had settled with her hands folded in her lap, her expression unreadable.
He was grateful she was not attempting to fight him.
He was fairly certain the charms would hold, but he had not been entirely confident.
Everything he’d learned from Papa and Master Benton and Major Manse and Uncle Giles and especially Uncle Alexander was that you did not trust something in the field until you’d done it under field conditions.
Reality always posed unexpected challenges.
Circe met his eyes, then spoke clearly. “Why are you like this? Given—” Here, her voice did crack, and she flinched. “Given Aunt Margot.”
“Were you close to your aunt and uncle?” Edmund parried that smoothly enough.
She shook her head. “Not really. They were away most of the time while I was growing up. They’d send letters. I’d hear gossip.”
“You know what the court case said.” Edmund didn’t make it a question, because he could see she knew. “Deliberate destruction of people’s lives. Do you want to do that?” The truth magic was still in play.
“I suppose—” Circe swallowed. “I want to feel safe. It’s reasonable to protect myself, surely.”
“It is.” Edmund agreed. “But there are different manners of protection. And different people to help or harm, to choose. Your choices so far— well. Many women in need of a bit of stability have done near enough the same. Men, too, certainly. If in a slightly different mode. The magic makes it trickier.”
“You wouldn’t.” Now, there was something sharper in her voice, a chasm between her experience of the world and his.
Edmund chose his words carefully, entirely aware that Pen was a foot or two away and listening.
“Not like that. I wouldn’t need to. I will not claim I understand the pressures you’re under, or how you’ve chosen to deal with them.
I am going to say that you have other choices that have advantages both for you and Albion as a whole. ”
“You are a prig.” Circe pronounced it, each word distinct.
The thing was hilarious, so much so that Edmund let himself laugh.
There was the play on words and myth, of course.
Circe was famous for turning men into pigs.
“The seeming is not the same as the reality. You know that.” He kept his voice light.
“I won’t argue that all men are good, or all women otherwise.
I’ve more sense, thank you. And sisters.
” And a mother and aunts of various sorts, though he refrained from pointing that out just at the moment.
He did not need to pour acid on that particular wound.
“But do not place an argument in my mouth I haven’t made. ”
Circe was silent for six or seven breaths. “Why are you like this? Why not just turn me over to the Guard?”
“Because I think there’s a better choice. For you, for Albion. We’ll see.” Edmund glanced at her, then went back to waiting.
“Who did you write to? Will you tell me that?” Her voice had turned a little wheedling now. Just a touch, she had a good ear for it, what would be too obvious.
“Someone of Albion, but someone who might have an opportunity for you. A— mmm. One that I think would suit your talents.”
“And it suits your scruples?”
Just as she said that, he felt a slight vibration from his book.
That was more subtle than a chime or any other charmed sound.
He flipped it open, glancing at the page he’d left the ribbon in.
“Would you be able to go up to London, ideally tomorrow, for an interview? St James Square, two o’clock.
” Her eyes narrowed. “I can spot you the train fare if you need.”
“That’s your requirement, then?” Circe cleared her throat. “That I go see whoever this is?”
“Yes. Will you make oath on it? He’ll— well. He’ll follow up from there.” Edmund thought so, anyway. He’d have a proper report for Major Manse before the meeting, anyway.
Circe sighed dramatically. “All right. Do you have a text for the oath?”
Edmund rummaged in the back of the notebook.
He drew out the slip with the template he used for this kind of thing, then a blank sheet of paper.
It didn’t take long to copy it and make the necessary modifications.
Those included a time limit, that she was to find Edmund at the Academy if the interview did not result in an opportunity for her.
And that reporting to the Council was an option if he were not available.
She almost baulked at the last, when she read it. He could see when she’d got there in the text. “This is not a Council matter.”
“No, but Alexander Landry and Gabriel Edgarton are both currently aware of the general issue and that I was planning this conversation.” Not yet a Council matter anyway.
That would come. There must be other women in Circe’s general position in the wake of the war, and someone needed to think about that.
Circe sighed, but then she made the oath, with a visible and audible flinch as the Pact caught her magic. She set the page down, her hand shaking for a second. “May I go now?”
“Yes, if you wish. Any train that gets you in by one will give you enough time. Ask for Major James Manse at the door. There will be someone to meet you.” He wrote out the address on the card, the time.
“The fare?” She held out her hand, and Edmund snorted, amused. He had offered, and they had plenty of evidence she was counting her coins carefully.
He added enough to cover the fare in both directions. “Give him my regards.” Circe nodded once, and he released both the charms and the warding on the door. She stood, immediately turning and taking long steps across the floor to the door, her heels clacking slightly on the wood as she went.
Edmund waited until she was not only out the door but out of the building before he pitched his voice. “Master Benton?” Finally, after what felt like days from when he’d started, he could turn to blink at Pen. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, as if she wasn’t sure of several things now.
Behind her, Edmund saw the door open, and Master Benton coming in, with the small trunk for the supplies. Without a comment, he began by re-corking the honey wine and pouring the remaining liquid in the glasses into a jar. “The analysis, sir?”
It took a moment for Edmund to realise that was addressed to him.
“Yes, please. If you’d have them let me know by note.
Or I could go round if needed.” Papa’s pet alchemists would find it an interesting challenge.
And, Edmund expected, also of interest for their ongoing line of research on that class of potions.
“The antidote worked well enough.” He thought so anyway, though now he was done with the challenge of it, he could feel his grasp on the world slipping a little.
“Miss Stirling, would you perhaps go downstairs with young master Edmund and see about a cab or cart back to his rooms? I will be down ...” There was a tiny pause, to give the proper number. “Within four minutes with the trunk.”
Pen bobbed up. “Of course. Edmund, do you need to bring anything with you?” He shook his head, though it took him three tries to get the bound volume back in his pocket correctly.
She went ahead of him, holding the door for him, then going slowly enough down the stairs he didn’t feel entirely giddy.
Five minutes later, they were loaded in a cab trundling down the street to his digs, and he could focus on keeping himself upright.
There were half a dozen things he still needed to do, and he would force his wits to them.