Page 3 of Apt to be Suspicious
“Merry sent me a card on Friday.” Edmund said cheerfully. Merry was apprenticing in Materia. Her joy was in the energetically sought after types, very much in Papa’s original line of work. If he did the maths right, she was currently a third of the way across the Atlantic. She was planning to do some investigation in Canada as part of an expedition exploring plants that grew in the colder climes and their magical uses. She was delighted at the prospect of moose and excessively large bears, among other fauna. “Have you heard from Ros?”
“In three languages. You might do me a favour and pick up writing to her in Arabic. She could use a wider range of vocabulary, and I’m not able to get out there as often as I’d like for that.” Edmund’s youngest sister showed signs of wanting to go into diplomacy in some form. Ros vastly preferred modern languages compared to Edmund’s even-handed love of all of them, but especially the ancient ones no longer spoken. She’d been making noises about wanting to learn Russian, if she could find someone to teach her.
“If you think mine’s good enough,” Edmund said, giving the expected answer here.
Predictably, Uncle Alexander switched into Arabic with no hint of a pause, in the dialect preferred by the region’s magical community. The topic of the conversation was simple, checking in on Edmund’s college obligations, his tutorial schedule, and which evenings were best between the two of them for longer stretches of ritual work. All the minutiae of making sure they’d have the time for all the things they wanted. Or at least, make a good effort at it.
Edmund knew Uncle Alexander would need to cancel here and there, often with little notice. The Council and its needs came first. But that had happened less last year, and perhaps this year would be even better on that front. Edmund answered, of course, but as the conversation went on, he recognised that Uncle Alexander was changing dialects— and modes within them. Edmund kept matching the switches until they got around to discussing his current rooms, when he made one last shift.
Uncle Alexander broke out laughing. “You’ll do very well. Your sense of idiom is particularly solid.”
“I blame my Latin translation work over the long vac,” Edmund said cheerfully.
“To be fair, I have not been worried about your grasp of idiom, mode, register, or anything else along those lines. You have a well-trained ear for it, and a gift beyond that. And that will serve you well if you continue in philology.” The thing was, Edmund needed to figure out what to do with himself. He did not precisely need to work for a living, but he wanted to do something useful.
His commitments to the land and Ytene made him a poor fit for most ongoing employment with MI6. They’d made it clear they wanted him back once he was done with university, but he’d never be able to take a position overseas for any length of time, and that would limit his options severely. Going into philology or linguistics might let him consult in interesting ways and even travel, with no need to be abroad for extended periods on someone else’s command. Now, Edmund smiled for a moment at the entirely genuine compliment— Uncle Alexander never dissembled about that sort of thing— and waited.
What came next was an unexpected but welcome change of topic. Uncle Alexander went on smoothly, as if this were entirely ordinary. “I do think you are now in a position where we can sensibly delve further into the Naming magics. I’ve a schedule of rituals marked up as well, of course, but you have much of the underlying theory. The question now will be exposure to a range of forms. I’ve annotated which rely on specific timing, and which are more flexible. As well as those you can do without me if I cannot join you.” He took a breath, then added— only long experience of his uncle made it clear to Edmund that this was because the question was more delicate. “And I noted a few your father might wish to join us for, if you wish.”
“Papa?” Edmund kept his voice light. “Why would I mind?”
“I am the wrong person to have this conversation, you know. Differentiating myself from my father was not a problem I had in adulthood.” There was a note of something tight and bitter under the comment. Uncle Alexander’s father had died before he was born, and his brother and mother before he was nineteen. “You’ll want to talk to Gabe for it, most likely.”
Edmund settled his hands behind his back. “Will you talk to me about it, though? Why you mention it in this case?”
Uncle Alexander met his eyes, held the look for a good thirty seconds, and then shrugged. Edmund read that as well, as a deliberate choice. “Each man or woman who becomes a skilled ritualist develops their own style. You have seen a fair range now. Borea Leonard at Schola, your father, your humble servant.” He gestured at himself.
“Among others. Leo’s got his own style developing, doesn’t he?” Edmund, unlike a number of people, had no trouble giving praise to those younger than he was. Leo Fortier did indeed have a different approach, one far more intuitively nuanced than Edmund’s. Both were useful, both were needed, but he couldn’t have made that work for him if he’d tried for years.
Leo’s was something out of Debussy or one of the others of his generation. Edmund’s ritual had more of a fugue or intricate counterpoint to it. Then he added, to make this easier on Uncle Alexander. “And mine is like Papa’s.”
“Like and unlike Geoffrey’s, yes, and I am not sure which ways having him here would change things.” Using Papa’s forename— rather than ‘your father’— was a telling shift, and of course Edmund made note of it.
“Perhaps we might find a ritual that is not delicate when it comes to the timing, something that could be repeated?” It wasn’t as if Edmund hadn’t done plenty of rituals with Papa. Sometimes with Papa, Mama, Uncle Alexander, and Master Benton, in various combinations. But the family and land rites differed from the sort of thing he and Uncle Alexander would be focusing on.
“That might do.” Uncle Alexander tapped one of his fingers on his wrist. “Would you object if I invited Cyrus at some point? He’s not as familiar with Oxford. You’d need to handle the guest invitations and such.”
“I would be honoured to.” Edmund let himself smile. “Is he getting bored again in retirement?”
“A trifle, I believe. And his style is, I think, one you might find interesting as a potential model.” There was another small breathing space, before Uncle Alexander said, “Do you know of others who might be interested?”
“Magister Smythe-Clive might suggest some?” Edmund laid it out clearly enough. The thing was one of those dances of delicate etiquette. Edmund knew Uncle Alexander knew that Edmund and Cyrus Smythe-Clive shared a secret society. Animus Mundi was definitionally full of ritualists; that was its purpose. “May I write and mention you’d suggested he might be interested in a working here, and also ask who along those lines he’d recommend?”
“I appreciate having clever and socially adept apprentices.” Uncle Alexander agreed, promptly. “Though if you’d wait on the letter for a week or so? Until after the Council Challenge.”
“Of course. Spare you dealing with both me and Ursula laying out different plots at the same time.” That made Uncle Alexander chuckle, and it eased the rest of it. “It’ll give me time to think of who might be interesting. Do a little research on the current areas of focus.”
“If you can fit it into your busy schedule. Ritual first, and then that discussion?”
“Please, yes. We can always do the practical parts by journal.” Edmund was clear about the priorities here. The lists and dates mattered because they let both of them make appropriate plans. But the doing of the magic mattered far more.
“Well. Now, as you know, Naming magic can be done in a number of settings, so long as the preparatory work has been done. But a properly formed and consecrated ritual space gives a number of additional options, along with ensuring a lack of outside interruptions or distractions. I’d like to work Fossington’s Third, with an ear to the impact of the sound-muffling charms and the tuning of the space for acoustic pitch.”
Edmund had read up on it, of course, but he had never worked the Third. Second and Fifth, of course, Papa was particularly fond of the Second. But the Third had several twists in the doing that took a greater level of control. “Which parts did you wish to take, and which should I?”
Uncle Alexander, it turned out, wanted Edmund to take the first role, the larger and more complex part, which immediately turned the afternoon into another exam of sorts. A test to see where he was now. But at least here, the feedback would be immediate, pragmatic. And while the experience would not be gentle, it would be made of a kindness that knew competence was the best preparation for the challenges of the world to come.
Chapter 3
