Page 31 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“Mm!” He swallowed, waving her forward with a free hand. “Miss Larkin, wonderful to see you. Come in, come in. How are things in the States?”

“As to be expected. I’ve nothing new to report.” That was a partial lie. She had a greatdealworth reporting, and it included a dead wizard suspended in goo in a glass tube in Ohio. But the laboratory was neither an enchanted room nor under LIKER’s jurisdiction, and by all means, she didn’t know a thing about it. Still, out of habit, she found herself quickly focusing on a portrait of the queen on the far wall. She was used to working with a superior who had the ability to read minds. Though even without psychometry, it had always been difficult hiding a secret from Myra Haigh.

Unfortunately, that had not been a two-way street, but she mentally digressed.

“I’ve a rather interesting conundrum I’d like to discuss with you.” She sat on a chair on the opposite side of Mr. Walker’s desk and situated her bag on her lap. “Without giving any specific names, for the sake of propriety.”

As she disclosed the facts pertinent to the situation with Owein and the offer of a body, Mr. Walker’s eyes doubled in size. His half-eaten crumpet lay forgotten near his elbow.

“That is ... quite a surprise.” He rubbed his chin. Stubble was already growing in from his morning’s shave. “For many reasons. Most necromancy spells only work on humans.”

“Heishuman. Or at least, he was. His mind and his soul are human,” Hulda offered. “But you understand the predicament.”

Nodding, Walker knit his fingers together. “I can’t think of any specific laws that would apply, but then again, the royal family sort ofisthe law, aren’t they?”

“Has it been done before?”

“Not to my knowledge, but I highly doubt any documentation would be at my disposal. And ... this dog of yours is a very special and extreme case.”

“That he is.” Hulda let out a long breath. “Obviously we would be against murder. Stripping the soul from an able body would be nothing less than that. Nor from an unable body that might be healed from a master necromancer’s services. So what else is there?”

“Volunteers, I suppose.”

Hulda blanched. “You think someone would justvolunteertheir life for the Crown?”

Mr. Walker shrugged. “There are many poor lads out there who might be willing, if it meant financial comfort for their families.”

Hulda found herself twisting the handle of her bag. “But accepting the sacrifice of a boy who has volunteered out of desperation is hardly ethical.”

“I agree. I’m merely thinking aloud,” he offered. “Perhaps one might volunteer because he is unhappy.”

A shiver coursed through her shoulders and into her neck. “I cannot fathom a single situation where obtaining any body, volunteered or not, would feel right and honorable.” She sighed. “Idowant it for him. He died very young. He hasn’t had human form in centuries. But ...”

“But,” Mr. Walker said in absolute agreement. “There are occasions when a babe is born without a mind, or an accident befalls a man and strips away his ability to think or function beyond anything a doctor, necromancer, hysterian, or psychometrist can hope to mend. Perhaps in the days of old, when magic was stronger, but today, even withadvancements in science, there is little to be done for it. Perhaps the unnamed nobles in this situation are looking for something like that.”

Hulda mulled this over. “I could see something of the sort working. But to find one in the next few years, before Lady—before the girl this concerns comes of age, and to find one suited to her. If they put the boy in question into the body of an infant, well, his adulthood will come too late. And to find a lost mind among the elderly ... all sorts of things could go wrong.” How utterly unfortunate it would be for Owein to gain a human body, only to approach death shortly thereafter. Then again, as a dog, his years were already limited.

Would this be his destiny, then? To constantly pop between bodies and buildings, never truly having one of his own, the only escape being death? Death was not something to fear—they would all have to meet their maker someday. But Owein ... what did he think about the situation? Was he afraid to pass on?

He’s just a boy.The thought saddened her. And yet, regarded in a different light, Owein had lived longer than any of them.

She stood. “Thank you, Mr. Walker. You’ve given me something to think about. I hope you don’t mind; I’m concerned there may be a recently deceased wizard in the walls of ... an undisclosed manor nearby.” To name Cyprus Hall would banish any sense of privacy Hulda had been trying to give the Leiningen family. “I’ll write a report.”

Two lines formed at the center of his brow, then relaxed. “Yes, go ahead. I’ve already learned the hard way to trust you, Miss Larkin. I look forward to reading your findings after my trip to Constantinople.”

She paused. “The manor in Çengelköy again?”

“The very one.”

She replied with a tip of her head, then saw herself out.

Miss Richards had the stones and spells waiting for her.

Hulda returned to Cyprus Hall as the family was meeting for dinner; she had just enough time to change into something a little more formal and then meet the others in the sitting room connected to the dining hall. Lady Cora was playing the pianoforte when she arrived, her sister, Briar, turning the pages; Owein seemed to be asleep in the far corner of the room. Lady Helen de Clare, Prince Friedrich, Merritt, and two men she didn’t recognize sat on two sofas, enthralled in some sort of conversation. Merritt lit up at the sight of her, and his expression sent pleasant nerves drifting down her torso like snowflakes. He crossed the room to her, took her hand, and brought her over. “Miss Hulda Larkin of the Boston Institute for the Keeping of Enchanted Rooms. I believe you’ve acquainted yourself with everyone but the Baron von Gayl, Ernst, uh ...” A lopsided smile tilted his mouth. “I’m so sorry. Your names are so formal and ... long.”

Back in September, Hulda might have been embarrassed by the confession. Now she merely appreciated that Merritt was honest.

As did the baron, for he slapped his thighs and laughed. “Ernst Freiherr von Gayl.” He stood and offered a shallow bow. “It’s excellent to meet you, fräulein. Mr. Fernsby has spoken of you at length.”

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