Page 42 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Oh, I suppose we’re friends.” Pen glanced away, then looked back at him. “I came in for a fair bit of teasing about you after the dance. A certain amount of envy, maybe, though of course most of Somerville does not know you’d never marry someone without magic. But you have also provided me with both a French press and coffee. So, yes. Friend.”
His mouth twitched a little. “Again, most men do not seem to have the proper idea of how to appreciate you and your interests. I hope the teasing wasn’t a bother. Isn’t. And no, I quite like knowing a wide range of people. But there are family expectations, and I don’t want the weight of them to fall on my sisters.”
Pen nodded, then looked up and caught a glimpse of the clock on the shelf. “Wait, is that accurate?”
Edmund looked up, glanced at his watch, then nodded. “Shall I walk you back up to the university? Or at least across the river? I don’t know if you want to be seen walking with me.”
That was an excellent question when it came to the gossip. “If you’re sufficiently restored for a walk to Somerville and back, I would enjoy that. It’s not as if Miss Styles doesn’t already know we’ve danced. Perhaps you might tell me a bit more about what lectures you’re going to this term? I’m sure I won’t understand most of it, but I’m glad to listen.”
“Only if you do the same. On the same terms. I suspect you’ve had more of at least some of the relevant languages than I’ve had of the maths.” Edmund stood up, clearing the dishes onto the tray and taking it back to the little kitchen before coming out. “When you’re ready, then.”
She took a moment to wash her hands and tidy her hair before they had a remarkably amiable walk, getting her back to college well before curfew.
Chapter 27
Thursday, May 20th in Edmund’s workroom
Edmund finished the movement, coming to stand in the centre of the ritual circle. Then he shifted weight minutely to bring himself into a slightly better alignment. He could partly explain why there was a tug against his solar plexus and hip that went away once he’d moved, but he understood only some of it. Uncle Alexander was sitting on a stool in the far corner, out of the scope of the circle proper, and he nodded once.
Edmund took a breath and then went about undoing the whole thing. There was a way in which it made him think about partnered dancing, where one person was ever going forward, and one backward, the turns mirroring. He made a mental note to ask Uncle Alexander about the Council dances and how that worked sometime before tucking the thought away and focusing on what he was doing. Rituals of this sort had dangers if anyone lost track of their attention. Rituals that were designed to do something often did.
Once he was standing in the centre again, the ritual space deconstructed magically, he made a slight bow to Uncle Alexander. “Sir.”
Before he’d finished, Uncle Alexander was off the stool, taking even strides over, and then peering at Edmund. “What have you been up to this week? No, wait. Put your things away. I’ll make a cup of something to drink. Do you have any food up here?”
“No.” Edmund coughed once. “Sir. I could see if they have food downstairs.” Now he felt entirely off-kilter, like he’d missed something huge and important.
“That won’t be needed. You tidy things up.” Uncle Alexander went off immediately. Through the door into the other half of the room, Edmund heard the sounds of him putting on the kettle and rummaging for something in his satchel.
This was Uncle Alexander’s firmly professional mode, and Edmund didn’t know how to read it. The tidying up was partly physical— sweeping up flower petals and salt on the floor— but Edmund found that calming. Unlike an awful lot of his various work, magical and otherwise, he could see what he had done once he finished. It was a concrete change in the world.
By the time he brought the two tables back to store in the cabinets, Uncle Alexander was sitting down on the bench. He’d cleared enough space for a tray on the desk, with a pot of tea, two cups, and a small paper packet.
“Have I done something wrong?” Edmund hesitated. “Sir?” Formality seemed best right now. The acknowledgement of relevant status and authority here seemed relevant, at any rate.
“Sit.” Uncle Alexander leaned forward. “What have you been doing with yourself, please? Beyond your ordinary studies and such. I am familiar with your lecture schedule, after all.”
Edmund’s shoulder twitched, like when he’d been a boy and caught sneaking a biscuit or sweet. He looked to one side, then sighed, because it wasn’t as if Uncle Alexander would let him get away without answering. “It’s private, sir.”
“It is affecting your magic, so no, it is not private from me.” There was absolute silence for a good five seconds before Uncle Alexander took a breath and went on. “I am not upset with you. Not yet, anyway. It would take your doing something quite awful for me to be upset. But you have obviously been exerting yourself magically, and I am concerned there may be consequences you have not considered. Do I need to be more formal about it? Would you rather come back to Ytene?”
“No, sir.” Edmund swallowed. Going home would feel good in a number of ways, but he would have to face his parents when his thoughts were entirely untidy and deal with whatever they thought on top of it. He managed to look up and meet his uncle’s eyes. “Could you confirm that we’re private, though?”
Uncle Alexander considered, then stood. He first did a circuit of the ritual workroom, then went to the hall door, out into the hall, and back. He didn’t particularly linger there, but he was brushing something off his hands when he came back. Then, he turned once the door closed and latched behind him, and pressed his hand against the doorframe. Edmund felt a wave of utter muffling quiet flow over him. It filled the room as if it were honey, all the small sounds of the building and the people nearby, the feel of their magic, disappearing.
When Uncle Alexander came back, he tilted his head. “Did you discuss whatever the private matter was here at any point? Within, mmm.” There was a pause, rather the way some people looked when naming the vintage of a wine for a challenge. “The last three weeks. May Day.”
“Um.” Edmund had to think back. “The ninth. But I took care with the warding then. Otherwise, no one except me, you, and the scout.” Never mind that Pen was part of what would come up in this conversation. He took a breath. “Why, please?”
“There’s an echo of a particularly elegant sort of listening trace in the hall. I don’t think it would have carried in here, but I’m uncertain. I’ll have a word with the Dean about having someone go over the hallways. That sort of thing is not on.” Uncle Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Not the sort of magic meant to keep people from getting up to things in a workroom that aren’t meant for a workroom. Those have an entirely different flavour to them.”
“Oh.” Edmund swallowed. “Just here, or elsewhere?”
“That is an excellent question, and one worth investigating when we go down. Here. Take your tea, mix in that restorative, and I’ll show you how to spot them before we go down. Have you had anyone around at home?”
Edmund ducked his head. “Yes. Tuesday.”
“You had a busy Tuesday then. Tell me about it. Drink first, then talk, please.” The thing about it was that it wasn’t quite an order. Not that Uncle Alexander didn’t have full authority to give Edmund orders. Besides, Edmund would have obeyed even without the formal apprenticeship.
