Page 12 of Boy of Chaotic Making

Chapter 5

March 1, 1847, London, England

Owein had never been to England.

He’d thought Portsmouth was enormous. Thought it was—what was that word Hulda used?Bristlingwith people and smells and things. The buildings were large, the streets long, the city vast.

But as he followed Mr. Adey and Merritt from the docks, he realized the world wasmuchlarger than he’d ever realized.

London engulfed him entirely, like it was a great beast of stone and wood and mortar with an open maw. Instead of the bug song of Blaugdone Island, the air buzzed with the loud clamor of shod horse hooves ringing on cobblestones, wheels creaking on their axels, and heels clacking beneath thousands of shoes. People, people,people. Every nook and cranny had people, people of all shapes and sizes and colors and smells. The heavy scents of fish and sea slowly gave way to the musk of cigar smoke and yeast and ... what wasthat? Owein couldn’t identify it. His dog’s tail wagged of its own accord as he followed the scent, losing it once to the pungent odor of freshly dropped horse manure—

Wait.Where was Merritt?

Panic flooded his chest. He barked.Merritt!

He felt a hand on his collar; Owein had just gotten a couple of steps ahead, that’s all. Relief, cool as snowfall, settled over him at the realization.

“Stay close,” Merritt advised. “Don’t know how I’ll find you if you get lost.”

A burr of anxiety caught in his throat at that.Don’t lose me.

Merritt nodded, like that was obvious, but it was desperately important. Owein didn’t want to be alone again. Didn’t want to lose himself in a city where no one could understand him.

A tendril of darkness, reminiscent of a forgotten nightmare, licked the back of his thoughts. He shook his whole body, causing his ears to slap loudly against the sides of his head. He took in their surroundings. They were near the crossroads of two streets. A few food vendors—had the new smell come from one of them?—a clock shop, an imposing building he didn’t recognize. There was no sign, so he couldn’t read for the answer—

“This way,” Mr. Adey said. “Just there.”

Owein huffed as his eyes landed on the biggest carriage he’d ever seen. Its colors were a little muted, like all colors were when he looked through his dog eyes. Sometimes he forgot what shades of green and red looked like; in this body, the grays ate them up. Even so, he was sure this carriage was black. Dark black, with goldish ornamentation on its corners and the center of its wheels. The roof was high enough that Merritt might be able to stand in it, though Baptiste wouldn’t. But Baptiste wasn’t here. Nor was Beth.

Owein moved closer to Merritt, pressing against his leg, nearly tripping when Merritt stopped suddenly for a man on horse to pass by. Then they were up a step on that carriage—a man in nice clothes held open a door—and he was inside, assaulted by the scent of leather and wood and bodies and ... lemon? It was similar to the candy Hulda liked, but not so sweet. Older and ... oily.

Owein marched straight for the opposite window and lifted his front legs onto the sill, sticking his head under the curtain to look out the window.

“Owein—” Merritt’s hand touched his back.

“Perfectly fine.” Mr. Adey chuckled. “He is a guest of honor, as are you. It’s no trouble to get the marks off the glass.”

The carriage jerked as the man loaded luggage onto it. Then again, harder, when it took off down the street. The city passed swiftly, though not nearly as swiftly as it did from inside a kinetic tram, which Owein had taken for the first time that week. The carriage moved slowly enough that Owein could take in the sights, sparing the details. Women in hats and men carrying barrels and driving wagons, riding horses. Another was shoveling dung off the road—there were two children Owein’s age chasing each other—

Not your age,his mind whispered, but Owein ignored it, taken in by a bakery with a word so long and convoluted it had to be French. Someone passed out papers, and there was a kinetic tram station far larger than the one in Boston—

“My goodness,” Merritt whispered behind him. “That’s the largest tram station I’ve ever seen.”

Merritt had never been to England before, either.

“Indeed, and there are many of them. This is an old country, Mr. Fernsby. We have the benefit of millennia of magic users who strove to make it better. We’ve lost some of the old family lines, of course. Time weathers all things. If you want to look out the other window at the Thames, you’ll see one of our ships, thePearl, out there. Her Majesty has the finest navy in the world, and our kineticists spare no—”

Their voices faded into the background as the carriage rounded a corner. Owein tried to keep all he saw in his mind, to make a map of it, but half went out his skull as soon as it went in. There was somuch tosee. A giant clock chimed the hour; they passed an immense stone courtyard with an enchanted water feature, from which spurts of water danced through the air before falling. Though the window didn’t open, Owein smelled roasting meat just before passing a small restaurant with loaded spits in the window. A hat shop, a fortune teller, a block of apartments that made Whimbrel House look like an anthill—

He watched, amazed, mesmerized, forgetting for a time the uncertainty of his arrival and the question of where he was going. But Merritt was here, so he was safe, and he let his tail wag and tongue hang out as houses and factories and canals whizzed by, taking away any and all sense of importance Owein had ever felt about himself.

In truth, he didn’t entirely mind it.

Hulda carefully dipped her pen into its little jar of ink and copied down the next line from the second draft of her letter to President James Knox Polk onto the third. She wanted everything worded precisely and professionally, with a neat and educated hand. This would be her first inquiry into seeking the permissions and possible grants for a facility to research magic under the BIKER name, a facility thatdid not yet exist, as far as anyone was concerned. She was the director of a prominent American institution of magic; even so, she expected her letter to be waylaid to a committee of Congress that oversaw United States wizarding laws before it ever graced the president’s desk. Still, she had to try, and when Hulda Larkin tried, she put forth effort.

Her second attempt would include the backing of other prestigious wizards, or those within the community, such as Mr. Elijah Clarke from the Genealogical Society for the Advancement of Magic. She’d start drafting a list of possible allies next week.

If Hulda couldn’t get the necessary approvals by the end of it, that would be that. She’d raze the Ohio facility that housed Silas Hogwood’s corpse if need be. But if she could make thiswork, then everyone would be happier for it. The idea of synthesizing magic was incredibly appealing. But she wouldn’t get ahead of herself.

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