Page 15 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Reading Modern Languages. Quite a wit, but he’s not nasty about it. Some of them are. I agree, that’s not remotely attractive. But that leaves the rest.”
“Many of whom already have particular women of interest. And most of them aren’t magical, and...” Pen shrugged.
“Ugh. Don’t, Pen.” Audrey grimaced. “You’re used to that, aren’t you?”
“Living among the non-magical? Yes. But some of what I want to do is specifically magical.” That was the rub. Pen had spent years of her life unable to talk about what was in her head, except in extremely limited circles and circumstances. She could not imagine decades of it, in her own home. “Could I work with someone non-magical? Yes, potentially. Do I want to share a house and a bed and whatever else with them? Not particularly, no.”
“All right.” Audrey waved a hand. “I suppose you have a point. Or at least I don’t have a good argument, seeing as how you don’t explain your work to me.”
Pen shrugged agreeably, without making an argument about it. She didn’t want to argue. None of this was Audrey’s fault, just like none of it was actually Pen’s fault. It was how the world was at the moment, and it was foolish to rail against the facts of the matter. “So. Someone magical, none of the people I’ve seen appeal much. I’m not saying no, but.”
“Well. You’ll come to the Academy ball, though?” There was one every year in Trinity term. The annual scheduling was deliberately in contrast to the other colleges, which held them triennially and after the end of the term. Pen suspected that it had begun as a way to show how much better the Academy was in all ways, even celebration. Or how many resources the Academy could draw on.
On the other hand, it was a chance to dress up and have some good food, even given the rationing limitations. There’d be a fair bit of excellent things to drink, too. “I will. And I suppose I can probably find someone to escort me, given that.”
“If you don’t, I will.” That was an amicable threat. “Think about whether there’s someone you’d like to get to know. You’ve got all this term and most of next.”
“I also have other things to do this term.” Pen set her mug down. “Like my problem set. I’ll wash out your mug.”
“Ta.” Audrey held it out, then hesitated. “Look, would you do me a favour?”
“Possibly.” Pen knew better— she had certainly been trained better in Ritual class— than to agree to something without knowing what she was agreeing to.
“Could we work out a way to spend a night away? One of us. Well, probably me, the way you’re talking. Hopefully me. Not immediately, obviously.” The trick of it for women undergraduates was that the scouts paid attention to which beds had been slept in, and knew when their charges normally woke up. If Audrey were out all night and caught at it, she might well get sent down.
The men had more options. If they were gone overnight, half their scouts looked the other way. And more of the men had digs in town anyway. That meant decidedly less supervision or need to sneak back in over a wall or through someone with a conveniently placed window on the ground floor.
“Probably,” Pen said. “Um.” She could see a number of challenges. “Let’s both think about the practical bits, what would make sense. We both have journals, so if I’m checking mine, that would help.”
“You’re best.” Audrey beamed at her. “Not that I expect to need it right away, but a woman might want to have hopes.”
“We’ll talk,” Pen said firmly. Then she took the mugs off to rinse them, bringing them back before she went up to her own room and the waiting work.
Chapter 11
Thursday, February 12th
“One more time, in Arabic, please.” Uncle Alexander stood outside the ritual circle, allowing him to hear precisely what Edmund was doing without being subject to the results. Edmund stood facing east and toward a tailor’s dummy made of fabric, stuffing, and a wood frame. He took a breath, then commanded it to come closer.
There was a long pause, the sort that had Edmund wracking his brain for what part he’d done wrong. The language was right, the conjugation and mood correct. He adjusted himself, both his stance and his magic, and tried again, another sentence stuffed full of enticement.
The figure took one uneven step forward. Edmund offered a little encouragement, the way he’d cluck to soothe and encourage a horse. Then the dummy took another, and another, until Edmund asked it to stop. The modes he was choosing were about desire, not about command, even though desire was far harder to wield.
Uncle Alexander coughed, just once, and Edmund gave the command to rest, returning the dummy to a far less mobile state. He picked it up under the arms and set it back on its stand. Then, and only then, did he undo the steps of the protective ritual circle. He’d done that entire process four times in a row, once in Latin, once in English, once in Greek, and finally in Arabic.
“Your command of the jussive is improving.” Uncle Alexander nodded once. “Tidy up, we can sit more comfortably as we talk. I’ll see about the kettle.” That was an acknowledgement of Edmund’s effort. Tidying up would give him a minute to gather himself, and an excuse to wash his hands and face after. Uncle Alexander disappeared through the door, and Edmund went about the work of resetting his ritual workroom.
They had done this in Edmund’s actual flat, rather than the Academy workroom as they usually did. The first reason was that here, there were fewer varied magical influences, and certainly less in the way of background sounds. At the Academy, the sound charms and such were good but not perfect. The second reason was that while it was more of a walk for Uncle Alexander, it meant Edmund could press himself to his limits in his magic and not need to get home after.
He was terribly grateful for that now. He’d not have been able to get home on his own two feet. Not without at least a nap on the bench in the Academy workroom. He’d already planned not to eat in Hall, thanks to a small hamper from home that had come through that morning. The basket was waiting for Uncle Alexander to take back to Ytene with him.
Setting his workroom to rights took him about ten minutes. The dummy went into a wardrobe with other ritual materials, always locked unless they were in use. He tucked the four small tables that had stood at each direction into the corners of the room. The rest of the room got swept, cleaned with a charm, and swept again. Then he locked it up, and checked twice for good measure.
Once that was done, he went through the conservatory straight to the bathing room to wash his hands and face. Edmund took his time at it, murmuring the ritual phrases that were half prayer and half charm and entirely habit. Only when that was done did he come back out and turn left into the sitting room.
Uncle Alexander had encouraged the fire in the fireplace, and he’d laid out food on the low table. He’d claimed the more comfortable easy chair, of course, leaving Edmund the small sofa. There were half a dozen plates, including a bowl of apples poached in wine, a hearty vegetable soup, and some chicken. Along with a couple of the precious biscuits Edmund always yearned for.
“Eat, please. And there’s the tea. Your stamina is improving, but doing that four times in a row is a stretch for anyone. Even me.” Uncle Alexander said it in good humour, though, comfortably teasing.
