Page 1 of Apt to be Suspicious
Chapter 1
Monday, October 6th, 1947 at Oxford
Edmund considered his situation, which was certainly an improvement over last year in all respects except for the venerable age of the building. Last year, he’d had rooms on a staircase in college, sharing a scout with half a dozen other men and their rooms. It had been steeped in history, but it had also been dashed inconvenient on nearly all practical fronts. Well, except for having hall and meals being right nearby. He would not miss, not for one moment, having to cross the quad for the loo or a bath.
This year, the inconveniences would be the opposite. His new digs were in a large and undistinguished Victorian home south of the Isis. It was at the cost of a longer walk, but had a number of other virtues.
Now he had about a mile to Exeter College itself, but less than that to the Academy. That was at least the preferred geography. He fully expected some long evenings in the workroom at the Academy once he and Uncle Alexander settled into a regular schedule for the term. He not only had more space, but the much appreciated magical conveniences of abundant hot water and heating, both right at hand.
Better still, his absences in the evening would be far less visible to others in his college. If Edmund were not about in the college library, people would easily assume he was at the Bod, or at his digs. The new digs were too far a walk for someone to just drop by, or for an easy comment on seeing him coming in at some particular time.
Best of all, the space included his own workroom, for times he didn’t want to go to the Academy, or for rituals that involved a longer working lasting days or weeks. Of course, he also had a sitting room with an abundant desk and a fireplace, and a proper bedroom. A small conservatory joined the rooms together as a private entrance. He was certainly looking forward to doing some of his reading there.
Food would be a bit of a bother. His ration cards went to the college hall, of course. Current practice was that students who lived out picked up a package weekly with those parts of the rations intended for breakfast. And of course Mama and Papa and Master Benton had made plans.
Edmund would have a regular delivery to pick up via the Academy’s portal with some supplemental eggs and milk and such from Ytene’s home farm. Nothing too extravagant, of course, but enough to bring his rations up to the preferred permitted levels for intensive magical work. A poor second to actually being home, but vastly more flexible than eating in hall for all his meals.
He’d come up early— the Monday of Noughts week, days before term began— for three key reasons. The first and most obvious was collections, the practice exams designed to give advance notice of any places he needed more attention to his studies. More to the point, it would give his tutor warning. He was not unduly worried about how he’d do on any of his exams, but Honour Mods were looming next term. The seeming mattered here, and that meant some obligatory fussing about studying for collections and taking the results seriously.
Of course, he had two other reasons. Three, technically. Second was to settle into his rooms properly. The third was to make all the necessary noises and gestures at the places his various selves needed to see and be seen. The trick was doing it while tidily avoiding all enticements to take up sport, a part in a theatrical production, or any other club membership that would involve a substantial outlay of time. Edmund was already going to be entirely too busy. Last, but by no means least, he planned on a few walks or maybe an outing on the river, to get a feel for the land here again properly.
Today, he intended to check in at the Academy and make sure the workroom he’d been assigned this year was up to Uncle Alexander’s requirements. Then he’d do a little reading in the Bod and see which of the many people he knew he could say hello to. There was a trick to being visible while not letting anyone see the details he was trying to obscure. The rest of term would be much easier if he were more visible now. Setting the habit and the assumption, as Mama and Papa had both taught him.
In the next few days, he had reading to do— there was always reading— and some translation work, ditto. Uncle Alexander had given him a list of exercises to work through, with notes to make about anything remotely unusual. It would mean a faster shift to the more interesting work next week, and Edmund was entirely in favour of that.
The trick of this time of his life, he thought, was that he was in a liminal space. He was no longer a boy, he had served during wartime if not in direct combat. But men and women at university were some special class of being, neither fish nor fowl, still forming. Edmund particularly felt so today. It was about shaping the way he wanted to be seen, even if it still often felt more show than solid truth. Make the shape and maybe he’d grow to fill it.
Today, though, was a prime time to do some of what was needed for that. They were not actually in term, but he slipped on his gown just in case. His book of magic was tucked into his jacket pocket, sized to fit. He’d likely not need it today, but he’d not leave his rooms without it, anymore than he’d leave home without a pocket knife with half a dozen blades and tools.
After a glance at the sky and a quick charm to confirm the weather, he decided to walk rather than take the bicycle, so he left that tucked safely at the back of the terrace outside his door. There would absolutely be days he wanted it, especially if he wanted to take a punt on the river or go a little further afield. Or if it seemed like rain, when the bicycle at least meant a faster trip. But today had a haze or mist, but no actual rain. It would be far easier not to have to bother finding a place to leave it while he was out and about.
A quarter of an hour later, he turned into a small and unmarked alley between stone buildings, tucked in just west of Christ Church Meadow. The small quadrangle held the Academy portal, the library, and along three sides, the common rooms and workrooms that allowed those of Albion who were at Oxford to continue their magical lines of study.
He went first to the door to the south nearest the portal, checking his pidge for notices or mail. There was a letter from Mama, though that wasn’t anything urgent. Timely matters would have been in his journal, of course. He tucked that away for the comfort it would be to read that night. Mama made a particular point of sending along something that would remind him of home, easing the transition.
Then he went along to the porter’s lodge. “Good afternoon, Harris. Papa sends his regards, and he hopes you’re well.” Harris had been settled at a desk by the half-door, and he got up, beaming. The Academy porters and most of the scouts had been there for decades. Harris, in fact, had been working already when Papa was at the Academy, and now he was training up a grandson to replace him.
“Pleasure to see you again, Mister Carillon. And it’s kind of Lord Carillon to remember me.” Harris, of course, had the same precision of language that Edmund expected from Master Benton. Edmund was still apprenticing, and until that was done, he would be mister and not master to anyone who knew about Albion’s ways. “You’ll be wanting to check about your room.”
“Please, if you’ve a moment. Magister Landry was certain everything would be ready, but I’m eager to start up as soon as he can get free next week.” Technically, Uncle Alexander had some leisure this week, but appearances continued to be important. Uncle Alexander showing up here this week would imply things to observers. There were always observers paying attention to what Uncle Alexander did. Besides, one of his American contacts was visiting, someone Papa was also looking forward to catching up with.
It took a moment for Harris to gather up both the key and the token that would let Edmund set the warding properly. He called out to his wife, deeper in their set of rooms, that he’d be back in a few minutes. Then he led the way not to the staircase Edmund had been on last year, but to the central stair. Edmund had not expected that. Uncle Alexander certainly had status, as one of Albion’s Council, and Papa did also, as Lord of the Land. But Edmund hadn’t expected one of the better sets of rooms, not in just his second year.
Harris waited until they were in the hall, with no one else nearby, to say anything about it. “The Dean was most particular you should have this one. I’d not argue with her now. It was young Wilton’s last year.”
Wilton had earned a first in History last June. He’d very much been the model of everything Edmund wanted out of his time at Oxford. A solid apprenticeship, an earned first, and all the skills to move smoothly between Albion’s people and interests and Britain’s. He and Wilton hadn’t been close— two years between them made that unlikely. Besides, Wilton had been mostly doing work in Incantation. Though that might explain the Dean’s interest. After a moment, Edmund set his hand against the metal panel, felt the warding acknowledge him, and then the door clicked open.
In any other college, these spaces would have been a sitting room and bedroom. They wouldn’t be large, merely adequate, with bath and lavatory either down at the end of the hall if one was lucky or across the quad if not. Here, where no one lived in except a handful of the dons, the rooms usually had a narrow entrance space, and then the workroom proper. The workrooms often had no windows, since for certain kinds of ritual work windows were several kinds of problem.
The room in front of him was not that. There was a hallway, more or less, running perhaps twelve feet to the far wall. It was a good six feet across, wide enough so Edmund could stretch out his arms and not quite touch the walls on either side. A desk filled the space in front of the window, with a view out toward the garden, accompanied by a comfortable-looking chair and a reading lamp. A door halfway down the space on the right must open into the ritual room, but there was a small sink set into the left wall by the door, along with cabinets for storage and a set of bookshelves. There was enough space by the desk for a well-padded bench, suitable for chatting before or after the work. He wouldn’t have to haul all his ritual items elsewhere to clean them. That was a particular delight.
Edmund took it all in, then went to open the door to the workroom itself. This was splendid; the marble was gleaming, and the table Uncle Alexander had asked for was waiting. It was one of the clever folding models that could become a circle or a rectangle, depending on the need. Harris, behind him, added, “There’s a small square folding table in the tall cabinet, should you need that. Part of the set.”
“This is brilliant, Harris. I’ll see about a note to the Dean in appreciation.” Edmund yearned now to give it a proper go, but he wasn’t prepared for any of the ritual forms he’d actually like to run. He didn’t have the proper soap to wash up for it, or the robes, or the incense. That needed tending to. “If I ask for a trunk to be put through, when would be convenient?”
“I’ll be tending the portal until eight tonight, sir. Or starting at eight in the morning. We expect tomorrow to be a tad quieter.”
“I’ll see about tomorrow morning, then, around half-eight if they can manage it. If you could have it brought up?” That led naturally into a few questions about the scouts, and which of those men and women would be tending this room, along with which parts Edmund would do himself. Harris made quick work of the details as they walked back downstairs. Harris was also up on all the latest about where to consider eating and drinking, and the gossip that one particular new establishment was worth the time and coin.
