Page 18 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Yes. And I was thinking of Professor Born’s at five. Not my usual line of things, but I’ve been finding the series interesting.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it was your area of interest, no.” Pen poured herself a cup of tea— very much mint, though a blend of them. The nice thing about the Academy was that the number of alchemists and materia specialists about the place did not stand for boring blends, even if proper tea was hoarded for personal use. “How have you found the series?” This was the last, so it was interesting to know what else he’d gone to. “I don’t think I’ve seen you there.”
“Oh, glad to defer to people in the proper fields. I find myself a corner near the back, out of the way. I missed the one on, what was it, matter, two weeks ago. And the one on Antecedence, I had some preparations to do for my apprenticeship.” He gestured casually as if that were no particular matter.
Pen tilted her head. “May I ask what you’re apprenticing in?”
“Ritual magic, with Magister Landry.” Carillon said the sentence evenly enough. But Pen felt as if some wheel had not clicked into place, as if there were still a waiting puzzle to be solved. “You?”
“Not apprenticing at present.” Pen gave the answer she’d become accustomed to. “Maybe next year.” Then she tilted her head, because of course she knew that name. “The Council Member.”
“Yes.” Carillon pushed himself up on one elbow, pivoting to sit properly. “I normally refer to him as Uncle Alexander. He’s been close to my family for oh, a decade and more now. I’m learning a great deal, but the preparations for the work can be a tad time consuming.”
“I suppose. I took Ritual through fifth year, though I’m afraid I wasn’t one of Professor Leonard’s best.” Pen might as well be honest there. She didn’t know how to measure what apprenticing with a family friend meant about Carillon’s own level of skill. It could mean he was exceptional. It could mean it was a favour. The man seemed diligent enough about it. And she supposed that if Carillon were apprenticing, it wasn’t the done thing to have a servant do the preparation. “That must take some space?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve a workroom upstairs. But I’m living in digs this year, and arranged a room for ritual work as well.” He offered her an entirely too-charming smile. “Also, vastly better hot water and all the modern conveniences at hand, rather than across the quad.”
“I miss that terribly about Schola. The hot water most, I think. Or maybe the heating. It depends when you ask me.” The honesty of it brought Pen a little closer to sit in one of the chairs. Now, she felt another spike of envy, and did her best to shove it down. Not only could she hear Grandfather lecturing in her head about that particular sin, but Mum had made it clear it wasn’t a useful sort of feeling. Envy didn’t lead anywhere good.
It meant, however, that she couldn’t think of what else to say. The silence stretched on awkwardly until she asked, “How is the crossword?”
“One completely awful pun involving Scotland,” Carillon replied promptly. “Two bits of Shakespeare, I had to look one up but not the other. At the moment, I’m wishing I knew cricket better.”
“Not your game?” It sounded inane as soon as she said it.
“Oh, no. I can watch a match and give a few comments on games of yore. I was on the House bohort team, and the School team my last two years. But I’m better at pavo. We breed pavo ponies, you see.”
She’d heard that. Not that pavo— something of a cross between mediaeval horseback training, polo, and the magical puzzles played on foot of bohort— was a sport she knew much about. But she’d heard that about the Carillons. “And I suppose there’s not much of that at Oxford.”
“No. I played some pavo last summer, and some pickup bohort. Nothing serious for either, though, not since I left school. No time to do it properly, of course, for years.” Pen listened to the tone in his voice, that slight echo of something complex.
She couldn’t figure out if that was missing the sport, having lost a good friend or two he’d played with, or something else. She certainly would not ask. “Any clues you’re stuck on?” She lifted a finger. “I haven’t done it yet myself. It’s been a bit of a day.”
“Mmm.” Carillon let his finger run down the list. “Two words, three letters each. Fourth letter is E, sixth is G. One of those dreadfully annoying things. The clue is ‘Like others it probably seemed all right till it got broken.’”
Pen frowned. “Any other letters?”
“No, there’s a wordplay, you know, rearrange the letters, for 10 across, that’d get the second letter. ‘A bit I divide in turning’. Five letters.” He was right. The form of that clue implied just that sort of puzzle. Five letters was fairly short. She contemplated. Bit. Tib? With an I and A, that made sense. “Try tibia.” She suggested it with a little more confidence once she began speaking.
“Oh! I never think of bones for some reason, terribly silly of me.” He tapped the pen— of course he was doing it in pen— then said. “Second letter A, fourth is E, sixth is G. Three letters. Egg. Bad egg!” He sounded so cheerful about it. “Thank you, Miss Sterling.”
It was ridiculously formal, but she nodded once. Then she set her cup down. “I’m sorry, I realised I ought to do something before the lecture. Do excuse me. Enjoy the rest of your crossword.”
Her sudden change took him aback, but he immediately stood. Of course he had those sorts of manners. She set her cup aside to be washed by one of the scouts, nodded once, and disappeared out the door before she said something unforgivable.
The thing was, he had been entirely cordial. She was the one who was being an unrepentant brat. Pen did not know why she was feeling like this, except perhaps the lack of sleep and general strain at this point in term. The only sensible thing to do, however, was to go away.
Chapter 13
Saturday, March 20th
Edmund had made it back to his digs, but once he’d sat down, he hadn’t managed to stand up again. His things were packed, but he was thinking he’d write to his family and let them know he’d be back tomorrow.
He’d already missed all the equinox rites at Ytene. He’d been neck deep in two different three-hour exams. Tomorrow was Palm Sunday, which he didn’t care about. Though he’d have to have his things sent along on Monday, besides whatever he could carry. There’d be no chance of getting someone to bring his trunk up to the Academy.
He was still sitting there, staring at the fireplace, when there was a rap on the doorframe. Edmund hadn’t even felt anyone at the wards, and he was far too drained to jump at the sound. Turning warily, he saw Uncle Alexander leaning against the frame, observing him.
“Uncle Alexander.” Edmund was about to get up, and was waved back into his chair.
