Chapter 9
By the time the Materia meeting came around on Tuesday, Claudio felt like he’d gone nine bouts with his mind and come out ahead on only about five.
Not nearly enough margin for comfort, but also not something that was proving easy to shift.
Alexander had passed along word after the Council’s Wednesday meeting that he’d managed to talk to both Orion and Gabe.
However, having permission to talk about it did not actually produce more hours in the day or fewer conflicts in the diary.
Gabe had been away Thursday to Sunday dealing with an odd problem near Grimsby, and then Claudio had been on call Saturday evening through Tuesday morning.
Well, barring eight hours for going home and some amount of sleep Monday night.
He and Orion had at least had time Thursday evening before supper to kick around what Alexander had asked.
Orion had not had any particularly useful commentary yet.
That would come in a week or three. His brother was entirely capable of charging at a problem.
But for this kind of thing, about staffing and who would make the best work of a task, he wanted to stew on it a bit.
Well, stew on it, map out the plausible parties to historical figures, and then nudge the setting until he had an idea of what the plans of attack looked like.
Claudio fully expected a journal message in the middle of the night in about a fortnight, give or take three days, with a list of scribbled names and shorthand symbols.
The question, of course, was what names Orion would put on that list. Claudio was reminded of a quip from someone he’d worked with in Scotland, early in the war, who had a fondness for reading Herodotus in the original.
He argued that when the man was talking about anything other than food or foreign customs, he could begin by translating any verb he didn’t know as ‘to attack’ and come back to the specifics later.
There were the usual sword and spear or stone, but there were apparently also nuances like ‘to make pincushions out of one’s enemies with spears’.
The first rush with Orion was like that.
Everything translated to ‘attack’ and then it was refined.
He should not be this scattered; that was the problem.
Claudio had actually had a fair bit of rest Sunday, but he’d stayed in Trellech in one of the rooms at the Fox’s Den, so he wouldn’t have to disturb anyone at home.
Mother was in fact scrupulous about not commenting on it, but he still wasn’t entirely sure what she did and didn’t pick up.
Warding was not one of her skill sets, but she could be quite sensitive to other shifts around her, and usually at the most tedious times.
Claudio had been inclined to be a well-behaved young man, and when Father was alive, he certainly would not have dared to put a toe out of line. But the habit stuck now, even with quite different circumstances. And he’d been up late enough, partly pacing, that she’d likely have noticed something.
Today, nearly ten days after that conversation with Alexander, he was still annoyingly distracted.
Not when it actually mattered, at least, he’d proven that to his satisfaction over the weekend.
But the last thing he wanted to be doing right now was to maintain the proper balance in this meeting.
The items on the agenda at least didn’t look too terribly demanding.
The gentian discussion promised to be a little interesting. There were a couple of proposals about whether they could get enough to try a couple of new applications. But the personalities were more of a challenge, and Claudio was not in the mood to be as delicate about it as he ought.
He was fully aware that the reason he’d ended up with these meetings was that ordinarily, he quite enjoyed them.
The vast majority of the other Penelopes— he’d put it at least nine and a half out of ten— hated this sort of thing.
They chafed at the regular schedule, at having to plan to be there, at the reading beforehand so the meeting wasn’t complete chaos.
Potts and Hetherington were good examples there.
They were both absolutely competent at their work.
None of the Penelopes stayed on if they didn’t have the skills.
But they skittered from point to point rather like hawks spotting a mouse in a field that must have dozens of them.
They weren’t shaped— or hadn’t shaped themselves— for the long strategy of a steady meeting with the same people week after week.
Orion understood that one, though he preferred the sorts of military clashes that had been limited in scope at the time.
The Wars of the Roses, for example, where the battles had largely been few and far between, rather than the gruelling stalemate of the Great War.
Normally, he enjoyed the game of it, seeing how people were today, what they brought up, what they ducked away from.
He definitely enjoyed the puzzle of figuring out how to improve the meeting.
This group was pleasant in that way. What they were doing mattered, and everyone had their own preferences.
But they were also willing enough to listen to decent reasons for doing something else.
As people filtered in, Claudio focused on making the right sort of amiable comments.
He was not at his best, but he was certainly managing sufficiently competent for the purpose.
And this was, after all, a meeting of eight people who got on reasonably well, not a fractious debate.
Nor was it the Council rites and the dozens of plots in the air at such times.
They got through the first three items smoothly enough.
Lawson had settled into chairing these meetings well, honestly.
Claudio certainly preferred his mode of it to Hall’s.
Lawson had a gentle hand. That was what Claudio had noticed. He laid out his parameters steadily, but then held to them in a way Hall often hadn’t. The yielding was the worst thing. A chair who did that trained everyone in the meeting that certain kinds of pressure would get the result they wanted.
Lawson was still figuring some of it out.
He’d only been at this six weeks, after all.
But he kept to what he’d set out, and if it looked like a different approach might work, he’d try that the next week.
He insisted people add new business to the next meeting, rather than having to stop partway through a debate.
And he’d had a good eye for how long things ought to get, too.
They’d overlapped at Schola, but Lawson was enough younger that Claudio had never had a strong impression of what he’d be like as an adult.
He’d played bohort, though on the reserve while Claudio was in school.
He’d turned into a solid but never flashy player in the matches Claudio had seen when he’d visited.
Boar House, but not given to the excesses of unfocused driving at the target that was so common for younger Boars.
There his mind was going again. The conversation had got onto one of the seasonal rounds of discussion about whether there could be a better distribution of some of the nutritive herbs.
That was of less interest to the Penelopes.
They certainly went through a reasonable amount of nettle and oatstraw and such, but mostly household quantities, not the way they went through vervain or mistletoe or mandrake when they could get those.
But then they got onto the gentian. Claudio had been charged yesterday by Doyle to see if they could argue for an equitable distribution of the varieties starting to be more available from continental Europe again.
Well, available and with some reasonable expectations of standard processing.
That discussion took them a quarter hour, to the end of the meeting.
As they were wrapping up, Claudio realised suddenly that he hadn’t heard Lawson say anything for a few minutes.
He was right next to the man, and that wasn’t ordinary.
He glanced over, suddenly realised there was a problem, and then cleared his throat.
“I’ll write a proposal based on the notes, shall I, and circulate it?
By the end of the week, but I hope earlier.
Lawson, I’ve got something I wanted to check with you, if you’ve got a moment?
” He paused, as if there might have been a response, but then sailed on, with a “And I’ll look at my notes, Professor, and get back to you. ”
He stood, gently encouraging everyone else to pick up their various things and wander out. Thankfully, Healer Lovel did at least half the work for him, glancing over his shoulder and giving Claudio a brief nod, making it clear he understood what Claudio was doing.
Caroline helped chivvy the rest out, but of course the Guard training made that bit easier.
They’d worked enough of the same cases by now where he’d been the Penelope— four, if Claudio remembered right— that she was used to how he went about a problem.
Here, getting everyone else out of the vicinity was the most helpful thing she could do.
Once the room was clear, Claudio considered and gently closed the door.
Better that than someone thinking they could come barging in, though closing a door made some people feel penned.
Lawson was sitting at the end of the table, his shoulders rigid, hands underneath the table.
Claudio pitched his voice softly. “They’re all gone. Take as long as you need. Tea?”
It didn’t get an answer, just a tiny jerk of his chin.
Claudio checked the kettle with the back of his hand and set it to heat up again.
The water was still warm, just not boiling.
Once that was going, he went to his bag, moving steadily but without excess noise.
He rummaged in the small pocket, coming out with the stone, the pale ocean-smoothed weight of it reassuring in his hand.
He rarely brought it out, not around anyone other than his actual friends, but it seemed like the right thing now, and he’d been trained to trust that instinct.
Then he took a breath. “Hold this, see if it’s a help?
” It wasn’t particularly charmed, not exactly.
But Claudio wasn’t going to try to explain that right now. “It— I find it reassuring.”
That sounded suave and competent, absolutely.
He mocked himself for just a second. But Lawson lifted his head, blinking, and that was enough to give Claudio space to set the stone down.
Lawson’s hand went over it, covering it, then his other hand picked it up.
Now the man was staring at a stone, but his breathing was getting a little less shallow. Excellent.
Claudio backed off to the far end of the table and the tea cabinet, waiting for the water to boil. The room was utterly quiet for a good couple of minutes until the kettle had a rattle that suggested it was about to sing. Claudio turned it off before it could.
By the time the mug had steeped and Claudio brought it over, Lawson was at least a little more responsive.
That was good. Claudio hadn’t thought it was the sort of issue that needed an immediate Healer, but he had been starting to worry.
It wasn’t as if he knew Lawson well enough to know what his normal was.
Now he put the cup down where it was easy to reach, and pulled his chair out, back far enough that he wouldn’t crowd.
“Bad minute or two, then? Can I fetch anything or anyone?” Claudio kept his voice even.
Lawson shook his head, a little jerkily, but obviously engaging a bit more. He put the stone down carefully, not quite pushing it back toward Claudio, so he could pick up the mug. Once he had his hands around it, he stared into the tea before he asked, “The stone?”
“Had it since Schola. A good friend on a hard day. It’s old, it’s seen so many things, been battered around.” It wasn’t something he talked about much. Even with Orion, who’d found it for him, given it to him, and who had one of his own. “I find the weight reassuring.”
“Not charmed?” That was a little hesitant.
“Mmm. It’s had a lot of attention over the years. There are theories and bibliographies and all about that. But nothing intentional. Just friendship. Comfort. Coming back to a steady point.” Claudio hesitated. “Take as much time as you need. There’s no one needing the room.”
“No,” Lawson took a deep breath. “Sorry. Shouldn’t—”
“None of that.” Claudio did his best to be firm about it.
“Doesn’t seem like the most enjoyable few minutes.
Well, I know from my end that sort of thing isn’t.
But it’s not a bother to me. Everyone else cleared out.
Did you have anywhere you needed to be tonight, anyone you might want to let know?
” He was, in fact, used to Penelopes in the aftermath of a bad spell forgetting they needed to be somewhere.
Lawson shook his head. “Go to a pub, usually. After the meeting.”
“Well, if you want a little company, I can walk you along there when you’re ready. Or not, if you’d rather. You can tell me to go away if you want. I will if you say the word.”