Chapter 23
“Good afternoon, sir, and thank you for the time.” Claudio offered a bottle of brandy.
He’d done his research, of course, to find out what Cyrus Smythe-Clive might particularly prefer.
Though mostly it had involved asking his daughter for ideas.
It was not cheating to find the easy and sensible solution to this sort of problem and save time and effort for other things.
Now he’d been shown to an office on the first floor, lined with bookshelves, and what Claudio was sure was a ritual room attached.
The office itself was unremarkable for a man of Cyrus’s generation and class.
It was all oxblood leather and dark wood.
Oak, mostly, burnished with a sheen that suggested the pieces had been in use for decades.
The desk was a little unusual, though. It was a good size, but of rosewood, pieces chosen to bring out the exquisite grain and obviously lovingly tended. It had curving legs rather than the straight and strong ones Claudio would have expected in this sort of office. A family piece, he presumed.
That made him look more closely at the rest of the room.
There were fresh flowers on the windowsill in a blown-glass vase that was dancing with colours that highlighted the blooms. A handful of photographs stood on the shelves.
Many of them were of Gemma Smythe-Clive, his daughter, along with her husband and stepsons, and one of Cyrus and what must have been his wife, Tanith, who’d died when Gemma was born.
And of course Mabyn Teague, Cyrus’s partner for some twenty years now, though they’d never actually married.
She was nowhere physically in evidence, which made this conversation a little simpler.
Two easy chairs were set in front of the fireplace.
Claudio had been in the house before, but always either for larger gatherings or to chat with Gemma.
She and he were the two members of what was probably Albion’s most exclusive club: children of the Heads of the Council.
Claudio qualified twice over, and Cyrus had been Head from Father’s death in 1932 until his own retirement in 1946.
Gemma was nearly a generation older, more or less the same age as Isembard and Thesan. But she’d treated Claudio like a sensible adult from quite early on. When Cyrus had become Head, she’d appreciated having someone to complain to who understood exactly what she meant.
“Ah, I see you’ve put your research skills and connections to good use.
Thank you, this will be a treat.” Cyrus set the bottle to one side, on a small drinks cabinet.
“Have a seat, one of the comfortable chairs. Drink? Tea?” It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday.
A drink was not out of the question, but Claudio knew he’d need his wits.
“Tea, but only if it’s not a bother, sir.
” There was a minute while Cyrus fussed slightly with a waiting teapot, pouring out cups for both of them, before he sat down in the other chair.
The fire wasn’t lit, of course, not this far into May in a well-managed home, but there were a few boughs of apple blossoms across the opening, scenting the air.
Of course, now he was here, Claudio wasn’t sure how to start. Or precisely where.
There was a silence, then Cyrus chuckled softly.
“Shall I lend a hand? I have a question for you, actually, about a bit of ritual theory. You come across different sources than I do. But first, Alexander has been unusually forthcoming with me. He mentioned last week that he’d set some wheels in motion that mean you might consider Challenging for his seat.
I have not mentioned this to anyone else, nor will I mention this conversation unless you indicate you’re willing.
” That was a rather open way to put it, without caging Claudio into admitting the decision.
Cyrus was first and foremost a ritualist, along with his other talents.
And there was the shared humour, because Alexander was not known for being informationally forthcoming.
It was one of his basic principles of being.
“Thank you.” Claudio took a second to weave through the implications of that set of information.
It was a particular gift to have that amount of consideration.
Cyrus was entirely within his rights to discuss whatever he liked with Mabyn, at the very least, if not also with Alexander.
“I appreciate knowing where things stand, of course. May I ask first what the ritual question was?”
“Oh, have you looked at Theobold’s Resonances recently?
I’ve been working on a set of rituals based on it.
The source I’m looking at is about two-thirds early Victorian nonsense, but there’s a seed of something there that I think has merit.
A bit of resonance to draw on for the season, in particular.
A present for Mabyn and her greenhouses, if I can get it to come out right. ”
Claudio frowned slightly. It had been six months, maybe, since he’d looked at it.
He half-closed his eyes, then said, “Have you had a look at, what’s the name?
Philemon Hollington. 1905 or so, drawing on some unpublished experimental work from the 1890s along the idea of the ritual structure as a circuit. ”
“Ah, that would do nicely, yes,” Cyrus nodded once.
“Actually, extremely so, it puts me in mind of someone I could ask directly. Hollington’s very frail these days, but one of the people he was working with is someone I know who’s still active enough.
I’d not thought to look at that, since most of their work wasn’t focused on ritual, per se. ”
“Glad to be a help, then.” Claudio felt a fair bit of satisfaction. And the question had given him enough of a chance at how to frame things. “I wanted to come ask you about Hereswith Rowan, but I am not sure where to start with my questions. You knew her better than anyone else still around, yes?”
“Oh, there are still some who remember her fondly. I knew her best of the surviving Council, though. Mabyn only overlapped with Hereswith for a little under two years, and Mabyn was still rather retiring at the time.” Cyrus set his tea to one side, on the small table between them.
“You’re curious about her, given the theory you and Gabe proposed about the archetypal tendencies of the seats. ”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got a reasonable idea of how Alexander goes at the world, even if he rarely explains it.
Isembard and Thesan have done a fair bit of glossing for me over the years.
” It got a chuckle out of Cyrus. “I’ve read the public material about Hereswith Rowan, but of course I’m quite aware how much isn’t in that sort of source. ”
Claudio considered, but what he was about to say certainly wasn’t news to Cyrus on any level.
“Father didn’t care for her at all, as is obvious given how much attention he gave to dismantling several of her approaches.
And Mother only knew of her indirectly, given when they married.
” Claudio felt his fingers stretch for a moment as he reached for a concept.
“I always thought it had something of some of the Renaissance ritualists to it. The ones tangled up in the various city-state politics. Ficino and Mirandola and all that.”
It provoked a tremendous laugh out of Cyrus.
“Oh, she’d be flattered by that, I’m quite certain.
” He tapped his fingers together, steepling them.
“The first thing to remember about her, though obviously it’s all over her published biography, was that she was a diplomat before she was on the Council.
Twenty years or so, doing that work for the Ministry, in increasing positions of responsibility.
Limited, when it came to the non-magical, by being a woman. ”
Claudio had known the outline. “She worked with someone else for that part, didn’t she?”
“She did.” Cyrus nodded approvingly. “She positioned herself as the cousin and hostess for a man in the diplomatic service. The two of them could neatly divide and conquer a room, gather all the gossip, and leave everyone smiling. I had a chance to see them do it a few times within Albion. Though by that point Marcus Everett had retired from the Ministry.”
“He wasn’t married?” Claudio asked. He could see it more easily from her side, a woman of that time couldn’t have moved in non-magical society without a suitable man’s presence.
“Confirmed bachelor, no wife to do his hostessing.” Cyrus said evenly.
That phrasing made Claudio certain Marcus must have been gay. It was what people said. He could investigate that a bit further at some point, but right now, there were more pressing questions. Claudio tilted his head. “How was she seen on our side, then?”
“Not given nearly enough appreciation, honestly. Blanch Ventry saw something in her that could do much needed work, and in a far more pleasant mode than we were managing as a Council at the time. There is no reason everything must be a contest for control and in opposition.” That, now, was a direct comment on Claudio’s father, and it was one Father had absolutely earned.
“She understood that while the Council was about Albion, the rest of the world had an impact. Crimea was why she made her Challenge, and she built her strength in some of the debates about the American Civil War, as they call it now.”
Father had never seen the point in making allies when orders would do. He’d had the strength of personality and magic— and more than enough social weight on his side— that he’d made it work, but it had never seemed sensible to Claudio. Cyrus was being direct, which also made Claudio thoughtful.