Page 96 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

Warning enough.

Baillie fired. Merritt winced and stumbled back into Hulda, not identifying the loudpop!as the bullet hitting his newly erected shield, then the soft patter as it fell to the carpet. His legs wobbled a little, but from fear or a side effect of wardship, he didn’t know. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened—to smell the smoke coming off that pistol, to feel Hulda’s nails digging into his jacket.

He blinked, forcing himself back to the present. Reassessing. Looked at Baillie.

Ah—there was one thing Merrittwascertain of.

Baillie had just fired an E.-Allen-style rifled single-shot percussion pistol at him. Fletcher had one just like it.

And it wassingle shot, so Baillie was no longer a physical threat.

“Out of ammo,” Merritt said.

Baptiste charged, crossing the room in three strides. He collided with the lawyer, knocking him to the ground. Walker followed next, jumping into the fray and wrestling the pistol away, regardless of its current lack of utility. Dropping his shield, Merritt bounded for them as well, helping get Baillie on his stomach with his hands behind his back.

MissSteverus called the constable. No one left as they apprehended Mr.Baillie, not even the newcomers Merritt had acquired. They would all be questioned, which Hulda didn’t mind in the slightest. The more testimonies, the better.

Truth was on their side.

She noticed the gruff-looking man still lingering by the door and crossed to him quickly, so as not to block the watchmen hauling a ruffled but stoic-looking Alastair Baillie out of the office. Clearing her throat, she introduced herself. “Hulda Larkin, sir. I’m a housekeeper with BIKER.”

Judge Maddock looked her up and down. “I know the name. From the papers.”

Blushing, Hulda nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. I—” She watched for a moment as the lawyer was led away. “I do hope this clears up a few things. I believe my former supervisor has already spoken to you.”

“Huh.” He snorted. “Something of the like.” He looked around the room, at Merritt sitting wearily on the desk, Owein at his heels, at Baptiste staring out the window, at MissTaylor speaking with Misses Richards and Steverus, at the sailor comforting the widow. Finally, his dark eyes drew back to her. “It certainly is not by the book, but I do think you’ve made your case.”

Hulda smiled, a sigh escaping her. “You know, if you like books, I have an excellent recommendation ...”

Chapter 21

November 27, 1846, Boston, Massachusetts

After being questioned and writing down her testimony of the previous week’s events, Hulda stood outside BIKER, watching the sun set over the mottling of city and arboreal stretches, including mostly bare trees and the distant steeple of a church. She’d collected a shawl from her room but hadn’t yet changed from the dress that had seen her through false imprisonment, dock camping, and one of the most terrifying situations of her life. It felt wrong to, when it wasn’t over yet. When Merritt and the others were still being interrogated.

It struck her that Mr.Baillie would go to the same penitentiary he’d gotten her and Merritt thrown into. There was something ironic about that. It didn’t make her feelgood, but it did make her feel safe.

She sighed, the air not quite cold enough to reveal her breath. There were so many questions ahead of her, so many unknowns to sort through. Another irony, for a woman who could see the future. How strange that the vision of Baillie that had made her believe his story had actually proven to be a peek at his unwinding. She wondered if there was any sort of augury training she could undergo, like what Merritt did with Mr.Gifford ... mayhap with a trained augurist instead of a scholar. Something to help her hone her abilities. Thenagain, sometimes knowing the future ruined the present, and now that this hysterian nonsense was taken care of, her present was beginning to look just fine.

A soft whistle touched her ears, not that of a bird, but of a person. Stepping back from the hotel, Hulda scanned her surroundings, until she saw a woman standing beneath the old oak tree, pressing against its trunk like she might become one with it. Her heart flipped painfully in her chest. Pulling her shawl tight, she crossed the way, not bothering to check for passersby. If there were any, Myra wouldn’t have called her.

She stepped into the cool shade. “Is it wise for you to be here, with the constable still inside?”

Myra glanced to the hotel. “I’m not too worried, but I can’t linger.”

“Where will you go?” So many questions, but Hulda knew her time was short. She had to prioritize.

Myra glanced behind her. “I’m not sure. North, I think.”

“You won’t give me specifics?” Hulda pressed. “I haven’t said a word about any of it to the law.”

Hulda had never had any issues with the law—she’d been an upright citizen her whole life, until Silas Hogwood had reentered it. And now the looming possibility of being in charge of this unknown facility ... She wouldn’t knowwhatto do until she saw it with her own eyes.

“I know.” The older woman smiled. “Keep writing to Agatha. If means of contacting me changes, I’ll let you know. For the rest ...” She glanced down the street, not really focusing on any one thing. “Theywill contact you. Take care of it, Hulda. And try to understand it.”

Hulda pressed her lips together. Not everything had been resolved. She feared what this “facility” might have in store for her, and what she ought to do with it. But she knew Myra enough to recognize the woman had said her piece and would say no more. Not now. And they had so little time left together. “And might I go to Agatha for responses as well?”

A small smile spread on her lips. “Thank you, Hulda, for caring about me. I wasn’t sure you would, after all that’s happened.”

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