Page 38 of Enchanted Net
“Well-respected in her role, doing a fair bit of illusion work for them, of course, especially around the guarded portals and other locations where there’s more of a Fatae touch. She was close to Hereswith Rowan, and friendly with many more.” Niobe lifted her eyes. “I’ve heard rumours she was in Four Metals, though rarely at any general gatherings, actually. You would know that better than I.”
He’d told her about his own membership - Four Metals was a secret society, but they were not as ridiculously restrictive about it as some. Besides, a lot of the work of making things involved knowing crafters who had specific skills and inclinations. But he’d never seen Metaia Powell there. “Huh. And Thessaly?” Now he reached out to touch the ametrine.
“Magically gifted - well, you spotted that already, didn’t you? Sharp-eyed young man that you are. Marrying a Fortier would set her family up, including her younger sister, and that would matter to her. Born to consider family before anyone else, from both sides.” Niobe weighed her next words, Vitus could see it. “More like her aunt than her mother, and from what I’ve seen, she doesn’t have as many trustworthy friends as she should. Several married, young children at home, or they’re expecting. No portals. From what has come through in the newspapers…” Niobe paused. “If she came to me asking for a talisman, I think I’d be suggesting one that would ease her way to true friends. Not just a circle of pleasant acquaintances.”
Vitus nodded slowly at that, leaving the implications of the last part for later. “So I should, um....”
“You should go write a condolence note that makes it clear you are thinking of her. That you are sorry for her, as a person who has lost someone she loved, and that you see the shape of that stone accurately enough. You could offer her a talisman, if you wanted to make one, for sleep or ease.” Niobe considered with her head cocked in the position that meant she was working through what we had in stock.
“I can’t imagine there’s anything she’d feel guilty for, so no need for the jasper, even if we do have some lovely pieces right now. Amethyst, maybe. That’s a house stone for her, in Fox, and it would go with mourning dress. Not rose quartz, unless and until you have a talk about her agreements in more direct forms. Entirely too suggestive at the moment. Howlite, maybe, for all it’s a modern discovery, I still argue that it’s calming in suitable ways. How about I pull a few pieces for you this afternoon, and you can look tomorrow? It wouldn’t be bad to make one up, even if she’d rather not have the piece. I’ll cover the cost of the stone.”
Vitus let out a breath. “That’s very generous, of course. And it would be something I could offer, she’d understand. It might help just a little. Better than flowers or something like that.”
“I am sure they have abundant floral arrangements and wreaths by now. And you could let her know you hope to attend the funeral, that you have a memory of her aunt, one of the times you met her. There. Off you go, find the address. The Stream will have some suitable notepaper for you too.” The Stream, like all the Schola House clubs, kept supplies on hand for this sort of thing. He could find properly black-bordered notecards, as well as get it put in the post properly. “And if you go now, it should make the three o’clock. Get to her before supper.”
Vitus stood. “You don’t mind my not putting everything away?”
“Of course not. I’ll pack this up. You can come back to it when there’s time. Off you go.” Niobe shooed him off with a wave of her hand.
Fifteen minutes later, he was in one of the small writing rooms in the Stream. It took him seven versions of the note before he hit on a combination of phrases that were both sincere and gentle, undemanding of the reader. He expressed his condolences. He wrote that he had been taken at the St. George’s gala not only by Council Member Powell’s costume, but by their obvious affection for each other. Vitus said, as simply and plainly as he could, that he hoped that memory would bring some pleasure again in due course. And he offered the stone, suggesting amethyst and howlite. Or that if she had some other preference, he’d be glad to see what he could do, for a talisman for sleep and ease. He sealed it up and went off to consult the directory for the address.
As he got closer, he heard a cluster of voices. “Won’t be in the paper until tonight, apparently, but he died yesterday, or at least there was a fuss at his flat. Guard in and out. Penelopes too.” That meant an investigation, certainly, but that ‘he’ meant it wasn’t related to Metaia Powell.
“Pardon, I couldn’t help overhearing...” Vitus cleared his throat. “May I ask who?”
“Landry. Philip Landry.” One of the men cocked his head. “You’d know him a bit, wouldn’t you, Deschamps?”
“He was kind enough to do a consultation for me a few weeks ago.” Vitus said it automatically, while he was trying to keep his feet under him, metaphorically and physically. “He’s dead?”
“Found in his flat last night. That’s what I heard. More in the paper, but it won’t be out for a bit. You sure you’re all right, old man?”
Vitus waved off the offer of help. “A shock. Pardon, I’ve got something I need to get in the mail.” Before he could get dragged into conversation, he found the address he wanted. He dropped a few coins for the club’s messenger boy to run it to the mail sorting immediately, rather than wait. Then he went out again, feeling like he needed a long walk somewhere with no one around to see if he could get any grip on his thoughts.
Chapter29
JUNE 22ND, LATE AFTERNOON, AT THESSALY’S HOME
Thessaly had a headache. Worse, she felt trapped, and that she absolutely couldn’t let any of that show. She had spent the early afternoon in the parlour with Mama, sorting condolence notes and messages into various piles. There were those that needed a reply promptly, some detail relevant to the funeral or the immediate future. Some had to be read and tended, for a reply later, after the funeral. Some were brief notes and wouldn’t get a personal reply, just a printed card thanking them for their kindness.
What she wanted to do was go and duel, but she was not to be out in public. There would be the funeral, and that would be public. Then she would be expected to be at home for a fortnight, at least, for callers, supporting Mama. She wasn’t to go to her apprenticeship. Though she might reasonably retreat to her own room or some other quiet place on the grounds with a book or something of the kind. If the weather held, she might go outside into the garden or orchard. She didn’t know how she felt about the fact it was sunny and mild. And it was Aunt Metaia who had loved a garden beyond all reason.
She and Aunt Metaia had been supposed to be at the Faire today and tomorrow, taking in all the joys of it. There should have been cakes and fizzy drinks, flowers to consider for next year’s garden, lectures to attend, and dancing to be had. The Faire ran to the delightful abundance of country dancing, as well as the partnered sort, people in vast rings or lines.
“You should rest before supper, Thessaly.” Mama didn’t bother looking up from her desk. “You needn’t hover.”
Thessaly was doing anything but hovering. She’d been sitting in the corner of the sofa, her hands folded, for the last twenty minutes. Probably twenty minutes, she’d lost track of time again. The only possible thing to do was go upstairs. “Of course, Mama. I’ll be down for supper.”
As she came out into the foyer, Master Harris, the man Magistra Rowan had sent over, was just coming in. “Oh, Mistress Thessaly. Third post just came in, there were a few for you, let me just sort them out. Is your mother in the parlour still?”
“She is, yes.” Now Thessaly had to stand awkwardly, waiting for him to sort through the envelopes. There had been ten in the first post before she’d come downstairs, and six from the noon post. All had been school connections, nothing demanding, and she’d sent back replies to the first two batches already.
Master Harris made a slight bow. “If you have any replies to go out this evening, I’ll be taking the last mail down with me when I leave. Half-seven.”
“Thank you.” She inclined her head. He really had been a help. He’d done all the things someone else could do. Master Harris had seen to the post, laying out notepaper and envelopes for Mama. He’d even run out and fetched some additional black sealing wax when it was clear they’d run out sometime today. And he’d been helping with all the other logistics, making sure everyone’s clothes for the funeral were in good form. He’d even arranged for Mama’s dressmaker to come out for a fitting for her and for Thessaly tomorrow morning.
He finished the sorting, flicking through the envelopes one last time to check. “Five for you, Mistress.” Master Harris handed over the envelopes, the top one with the Fortier seal showing. None of the Fortiers had come around, and none of them had - unless there was a note in this batch - written Mama and Father, either.
Thessaly just nodded once more and retreated upstairs. Once she had the door to her room closed and warded - for privacy and sound, both - she settled at her desk and reached for the letter opener. It was cunningly made like a fencing foil, not that she fenced like that, but it was a reasonable physical representation of duelling. Aunt Metaia had found it in a little shop on one of her trips elsewhere in Albion, and brought it back delighted. There was something absurd about opening a letter with a sword, miniature or otherwise, but it certainly worked well.
