Page 39 of Apt to be Suspicious
Then a flash of the conversation he’d had with Ursula and Anthony last week came to him, and he added, more provocatively, “Even if you wish to yell. People won’t see or hear, not until they’re quite close. We’ll have warning.” Not that he particularly wanted to be yelled at on a punt on the river.
She put her hands on her hips, leaning forward, though at least she had also taken a seat. He didn't fancy fishing her out of the river. “What gives you the right?”
It was at least an interesting place to start. Edmund took a breath, let it out. “It would be a help if you laid out your concerns, so I can address them properly.”
“One, you used magic on him. You know that’s, that’s forbidden. How could you? Second, he had no protection against it. I thought better of you. Third, what did you even do? Fourth, what gives you the right to decide that sort of thing for anyone else? Fifth, oh, I don’t know.” Pen crossed her arms now, vigorously, a wall between her and him.
Edmund nodded. “That’s a fair question. Look, I brought something to eat. I need something restorative before attempting the river back. May I eat as I answer your questions?”
Pen eyed him. There was no mercy in it, but then she nodded once. “Eat. If you faint, I certainly can’t get you home.”
“You’re welcome to take us back by punt, if you like.” Edmund could offer her that degree of control. And frankly, he was exhausted and would continue so until at least tomorrow. But he had to get through supper in hall and whatever came after it. Then he rummaged for one of the sandwiches he’d made up, using bread that ought to have gone for breakfast this morning. “Right. Yes, I used magic. As you can see, the Pact did not rise up and grab me. It was not magic he noticed. Not magic most people would notice, even in Albion.”
“You’re apprenticing in Ritual.” Her eyes narrowed again.
“I am.” It was true, after all, he had no problems saying so.
“I thought that sort of thing was Incantation?” The thing with Pen was she was entirely as sharp as Mama was. In rather the same style Mama was, and that made Edmund think about things from an entirely different angle.
He took a bite of his sandwich, swallowed, and then said, “That is one way to do it. The details are not a conversation I am prepared to have here and now. It wants more privacy, comfort, and coherence on my part. Second, your charge that he had no protection against it. That is true, but I wanted him to tell the truth, I did not press him into anything terribly personal. Personal enough, yes. But we are now clear that Cecily Styles— did you notice how he said the name?— might well be up to something. Multiple somethings.”
Pen grimaced, but he was correct, and she nodded.
“Third, we have covered that. Fourth, what gives me the right?” Edmund swallowed. “There are wolves in the world, that’s one way I’ve heard it put. Sometimes it takes a wolf to catch a wolf. Or at least to find enough to take to someone with the proper authority. Sometimes there’s not a proper authority. We’ve just had a war where that was true far too often.”
Now, she was giving him an entirely dubious expression. “You’re justifying yourself.”
“Yes.” The fact he admitted it visibly disarmed her. “But that does not make the point invalid. I have obligations to the land magic. More broadly, I have obligations to the magic of Albion. Uncle Alexander’s on the Council, after all. If there is some problem in Albion that might affect the Pact, might affect the Council, I do actually have some obligation to figure out what and report it appropriately. If for no other reason than that my life is far more pleasant when he is not run ragged dealing with such things.”
Her mouth twitched at that. “Surely he’d not thank you for speaking of him like he was, oh, a child of six or eight, told to do his prep rather than play with a toy.”
Edmund laughed; he had no other choice. “Oh, I’ll tell him about the relevant parts of this conversation, the parts that are within his scope. Which includes how I described him. But he won’t argue too much, not with that. He admits to certain long-standing habits that are perhaps not optimal.” Edmund spread his hands. “I pressed my advantage here. But I took care to do so in a way that did Phipps no harm. It might do some good, if we can figure out— we, broadly defined— what happened to the jewel.”
Pen looked him up and down. “You’re not telling me everything.” She waved a hand. “I understand that, but I do not care for it.”
Edmund nodded. That was entirely fair. He took a breath. “Will you get in trouble if you’re not in hall tonight? I could pick up something from a restaurant once we return the punt, and offer my rooms— I’ve a quite pleasant sitting room— for further conversation. Or the workroom, whichever you’re more comfortable with.”
Pen stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Is there additional information in the offing for me?”
“Yes.” Edmund considered. “Question four, and possibly questions one and three, depending on how things go. You’ll get a pleasant meal out of it. I’d rather like your advice on the next step, actually. And to share some additional information.”
She sighed, then she stood up. “Best head back, then. You eat your sandwich or whatever.” Pen loosened the rope, then moved to the back of the punt, gathered up the pole, and then got them moving.
Edmund thought he was perhaps somewhat more competent with a punt, but he had some advantage of height and trousers on her. She was certainly managing well enough, none of the uneven swerving some people did, or getting the pole stuck. She knew the measure of her competence, that was a way to put it, and she took care not to exceed it. He found that particularly worthy of praise, not that she’d want to hear it from him anytime soon.
Chapter 26
Later that afternoon
It took close to ninety minutes to return the punt, acquire food from a restaurant near the river, and otherwise make all the arrangements. Now Pen was standing on Edmund’s doorstep. She was not at all certain what she’d been expecting when it came to his rooms.
He had mentioned in the punt back that he had digs in a Victorian home, some half a mile south of the Isis from the university. The house was right on the main street, but his rooms were apparently off the garden. It was rather private with a terrace and a small conservatory, especially with a little subtle magical help. Edmund placed his hand beside the door, on the metal rather than the glass, and she heard an audible click.
“The sitting room is the second door on the right, the one that’s open. I’ll just find some plates and wash my hands. The bath is straight ahead if you want to do the same.” Pen hesitated for a second before walking into the conservatory, then into the bath. She had never actually been in a man’s rooms.
At Bletchley, that sort of thing wasn’t done. Here at Oxford, well, she’d not been invited, and also that was the sort of invitation that had highly limited hours and appropriateness. He didn’t seem worried about it. She couldn’t decide if that meant he didn’t notice whatever his natural state of untidiness was, or he had actually picked up after himself this morning.
The first thing that struck her was the space. In her own rooms at Somerville, she had more space than many people had as adults, an entire bedroom and sitting room all to her own. They were not large, but they were historically scenic, and they’d been designed for student use. Edmund had not only the sitting room, but his own bathing room— that, she envied no end. It looked like there were two other entire rooms besides the solace of the conservatory with its warmth and light. It seemed ridiculous for one person, especially given he also had a workroom at the Academy.
