Page 52 of Apt to be Suspicious
Edmund offered a broader smile, something like he’d looked— just for a moment— when he’d been holding Cammie’s daughter. It had a contentment in it, somehow, that was hard to describe or name, but that had weight and solidity.
Then he cleared his throat. “We believe that if we get the right permission, we can make a space where the truth is more demanding. Not forced, but more present. The desire for truth. And I’ll— by then— have been taught a couple of ways to read magical signatures. If she’s using the name she began her life with, I’m fairly sure I can spot that now. What kinds of magical training she’s had, if we get her talking about it. I say we, but you can be behind a door or something. The space I was looking at last night has a large upstairs room and a smaller one off of it. Master Benton would wait there regardless, in case we needed more help.”
“I’ll— I’ll think about it. I don’t know anything about having this sort of confrontation.” It was like something out of a story, even a school story. Standing up for what was just and true and right. The thing was, Pen knew the world didn’t work like that. Those three adjectives didn’t always run together, twisting and weaving into one cloth. “When did you want to do this?”
“We’re rapidly approaching the end of term. And the balls. I don’t know, I mean. If she has particular plans, surely those are part of them? It’s her last year. She’s got to be pushing for the next thing quickly.” Edmund shrugged.
Pen blinked at him. “Do you have plans? For the next few weeks?”
“I’d like as few as I can manage— we’ve some obligations for solstice, of course, and the week after. But I also need to make an appearance here and there. For this, there was no hope of getting a room this week, not until Sunday night.”
“And besides, you need permission and all that. So, next week?” Pen could see how that made sense.
“The middle of the week. Tuesday or Wednesday. Tuesday would be better, if we can. If we do have to call someone in, the people I’d most want handy are busy Wednesday evening.” He hesitated for a moment. “Council, both of them.”
“Your apprentice master.” Pen still didn’t know what to think of that. She didn’t have a sense of the measure of it, what it changed about the landscape. “He knows about this then?”
“Oh, gods.” Edmund laughed, the tension utterly fracturing. “He’s the one who worked out most of what makes sense to do. The other one is Gabriel Edgarton. He’s a Penelope. Professionally, I mean, rather than nominatively.”
The clarification made Pen giggle all of a sudden. “I have wondered what happens if they ever get someone named Penelope, honestly. But it’s one reason I go by Pen. Also, some people, very odd, want to rhyme the thing with cantaloupe. No, thank you.”
Edmund peered at her, briefly bemused. “No, indeed. Well. I shall continue calling you Pen. Anyway, he consulted informally, but if we need something formal, both he and Uncle Alexander have a regular meeting Wednesday night. With the rest of the Council, so it would be obvious.”
“And heaven forbid anyone should be obvious in this.” Pen said it, teasing a little, before glancing at Edmund to find an odd expression on his face.
“I said that about something earlier. But no. As a family, we abhor being that kind of visible. About anything other than what we’ve chosen, anyway.” He shrugged once. “Will you help me?”
In the end, it apparently came down to a very simple question. Four words, the easiest maths imaginable. Pen ought to have thought about it more, but she found herself saying yes without any hesitation. “Yes. Tell me what you need.”
The next half hour got her a series of notes, sketches, and additional details, all laid out as thoroughly as any brief might be. By the time Edmund walked her back up toward the university and her own supper, she permitted him to offer his arm as an escort. She did it without thinking too much about it and then rather enjoyed it.
Chapter 33
Tuesday, June 1st
In the end, the plans had come together for Tuesday. Phipps had agreed to lure Cecily Styles to the room they’d arranged, asking to meet her to discuss matters. Edmund hadn’t been entirely sure she’d bite, but she had agreed to meet, especially once Phipps had dangled the possibility of a larger payment. Edmund could not decide if she were supremely confident of her own abilities or desperate for a bit more cash, especially quickly.
They’d had plenty of time to make the arrangements. Master Benton had met him at the Academy at half-two, with a trunk of materials and supplies. Edmund had lent his shoulder, though mostly not his own vitality, to the arrangements. That involved setting up several layers of warding and protection, as well as a charm to ensure that Master Benton and Pen could hear clearly in the smaller back room.
Pen had turned up at four, unsure of her welcome. Master Benton had introduced himself— as a longtime aide of Edmund’s father— and then explained what he was doing as he went along. That had involved minor adjustments to most of the furniture. They’d ended up moving most of it back to the walls. It was set the way it might be if there was some expectation for a cocktail party or a bit of dancing. They’d left two chairs and a small sofa nearest the fireplace, along with a low table.
At six, before Edmund went downstairs to wait, Master Benton had handed him two potions.
“The usual, and the other.” Master Benton did not explain the family secrets to Pen. Obviously that was for Edmund to do, if he thought they needed explaining. Edmund had just drunk them and handed the vials back. Master Benton and Pen had taken up seats— comfortable ones— in the smaller back room, to wait.
Edmund was terribly grateful for both of them being there. If things went as he hoped, additional verification under truth charms might be very helpful. And if things went badly, well, he was in no doubt about Master Benton’s practical skills in a number of matters. Papa hadn’t told all of those tales, Edmund was sure of it, but the ones he’d shared about their War had made that competence absolutely visible.
He did not actually see Miss Styles enter, though of course he’d been making sure she’d not glance in and see him waiting. Instead, the owner paused at his table. “Your party has arrived and brought a bottle herself.”
Edmund raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Thank you.” He left a coin for his own, threading through the growing numbers having a meal or a drink, until he was halfway up the steps. Then he pulled several charms around him. None of them were a pure disguise.
He knew the theory of that, but it wasn’t a skill he was confident in. Obscuring himself, however, he’d known how to do since he was fifteen. That bit of magic had been terribly handy with the Army right near Ytene during the war. It meant Edmund was more than adept at the charm that let the eyes slide off of him. It would give him just a minute to get in the upstairs room and close the door behind him.
As he felt the door latch, he simultaneously felt the warding spring up around him. That was also as it ought to be, but he’d been expecting it. He thought the warding might be subtle enough she wouldn’t realise what was there. Or at least all of it. Doing this kind of duel with someone of an unknown background was tricky indeed.
But he wanted not to need it. Now, he let the charm on his face drop, saying, “Cecily Styles—” As soon as he said it, he knew it was a name she used but not her proper name, not as the magic counted it. Without much of a gap, he went on, “I’m sure you know who I am.”
“Edmund Carillon.” Her nose wrinkled up. “No Phipps, then?” She said it almost casually. He’d seen that expression on Uncle Alexander’s face often enough, though. And on Mama’s, actually. It was about the refactoring of plans in several directions, given some new and unexpected information.
