Page 50 of Apt to be Suspicious
“And the space? Oxford’s crammed to the gills, isn’t it?” Gabe had moved to open a notebook, sketching something out on a loose sheet of paper he’d taken out.
Edmund blinked at Gabe for a moment. “How do you know that? I mean. It’s not something I thought you’d have noticed.”
“I do pay attention to things people say around me.” Gabe was entirely blithe about it, and Edmund knew it wouldn’t do any good to press. “Some upper room of a pub or restaurant or something, perhaps? Hire it for the night?”
“Probably. I’d have to investigate.” Edmund contemplated the fact that if he did this, he’d be adding at least a dozen hours of preparation, probably more like a score, to an already busy schedule. There were not remotely enough hours in the day. He then considered the other part of the problem. “How would I know if it is impersonation?”
“Ah, that is why it is convenient to have a highly experienced Penelope handy. Such as myself. You know the basics, yes?”
“Non-magical changes of appearance through costume, cosmetic changes, body language.” Edmund began ticking them off on his fingers. “Potential for surgical alteration, much as the idea does not appeal to me.” That got a snort from both of the older men. “Magically, a charm to make people think you look like someone else. Or not like yourself, at any rate. Muting the features, Mama calls it. Charm to make you look like a specific other person, or alternately to make people think you are. The eye and the brain are in fact two different aspects. The magical ones can be handled by talisman, if you can find a talisman maker who will do it. Technically, they also need to be registered, but we all know most people who use that kind of thing won’t.”
“Nicely set out,” Gabe replied, amiably. “And how do you spot them?”
“Eyes and brain, eyes and brain and research, charms to identify ongoing magic, charms to identify talismanic use and isolate it from any others in play.” Edmund added, “I’ve some training in the first and second, though honestly, I know many people far better at it. I can do the third with Incantation. But it takes a lot of concentration, and I need a setup for the talismans.”
“You’ll have better luck with Naming, in your case,” Uncle Alexander said. “Your strength is coming along nicely, but it is rather a drain in many cases.”
Gabe nodded. “Use what works. Now, I’d have to be formal to give you official advice. But you know well enough, your parents do it. Get information that can be used, take it to the appropriate authority. Do it in a way such that you can swear to it under the truth magics. More reason to have another witness there.” Gabe shrugged. “Who would you advise for assistance, Alexander?”
“Oh, I think Benton, in this case. For one thing, if Geoffrey wanders through Oxford’s streets, he’ll have a dozen invitations for drinks and no time to be helpful. Rather obvious in those environs. For another, I think it plays more to Benton’s strengths. Especially if there’s any negotiation with the publican or whatever applies.” Alexander nodded. “Your task, Edmund, is to figure out a likely location. You’ll want a large room, ideally, preferably with a smaller room where Miss Stirling or whoever else is listening can wait. Behind a door and a hidden passage or back staircase has a certain tradition to it. Let my hard-earned experience note that a room with chairs is vastly more comfortable.”
“There’s a story there, isn’t there?” Gabe said it before Edmund could figure out how best for him to phrase it. Uncle Alexander just smiled enigmatically. “Benton it is, then. Alexander, I’m assuming you can discuss there, at least let them know Edmund will be in touch? Assuming we get done tonight at anything like a reasonable time?”
“That depends on how many arguments you’re intending to have,” Alexander said. “Will it be only three or a dozen?”
Gabe snorted. “I’m hoping other people will make at least a few of my points. Not you, of course. You’re not in the right position, and it’s not like Silvia would take it well.”
Edmund would not interrupt their banter. It was often at least a little informative. They were only a few months into the most recent addition to the Council. Paul Wicken— proposed by Ursula, who was going to be smug about it for at least another year— had shaken up the dynamics even more than expected. There was nothing, apparently, quite like a farmer who wanted a better reason for doing a thing a certain way than being told it was tradition. The two went back and forth like that for a little, before the clock chimed.
“Ah. Half four. You ought to get on, Edmund. Don’t worry about the books. I’ll do that. And then, Gabe, I want to know what points you’re aiming at.” Uncle Alexander stood, and Edmund bobbed up as well. “Edmund, you may consider your preparation for this little excursion your work for me for the next fortnight, but I’ll want a proper writeup when the thing is done. As you’d do for anything else.”
That would at least make finding the time easier. “But it doesn’t get me out of the essay about Professor Gunn’s translation flaws.” That was an ongoing project after last term’s lectures on abnormal hieratic.
“No.” Uncle Alexander grinned toothily. “Also, you should be able to manage that without too much bother, correct?”
“Better than Michaelmas term,” Edmund admitted. And it was, in fact, the sort of soothing and fiddly translation work he entirely enjoyed. It wasn’t so much translation itself, but noting the places of ambiguity in the original language, and the considerations involved. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yes. If you write to your parents and Benton, I’ll bring a letter back with me with whatever details we’ve got by then.”
That meant Edmund would need to go make a few inquiries after hall tonight. But he had a couple of potential spots in mind who might well hire out their upper room on a weeknight. He stood, made a slight bow to the other two, and then took himself off so they could continue their discussion of their evening’s work. He made it through the portal in good time and had five minutes to admire several Attic vases before his lecture began.
Chapter 32
Thursday, May 27th
“I feel like I’m skiving off lessons.” Pen glanced around. “And I need to be back for hall.”
“I’ve a five o’clock lecture I ought to be at,” Edmund said, entirely too agreeably. “I don’t think the actual conversation is going to take hours.” It was after lunch, a time when Pen normally settled down into the heart of her work.
Edmund had asked for some time and her help with a particular task, but he had not been willing to explain what it was anywhere they might be overheard. This was the worst week to be out on the river, given that it was Eights Week and the racing had already started on the Isis. It’d be going hard— as would the partying— through Saturday. Or rather, some ungodly hour on Sunday morning.
At any rate, it had meant meeting in Edmund’s rooms. There was no food on offer, but he’d poured her tea before settling down in one chair, a notepad next to his elbow. Pen watched him, still not sure how to reconcile the different things she knew about him.
She had had to admit to herself on Tuesday evening that she felt more at ease now. But she wasn’t sure if whatever he wanted to talk about would change that. “All right. What did you want to discuss?” If he couldn’t deal with her being direct, well, that was his own fault for not noticing so far.
Edmund let out a little huff of a breath. “I have been thinking about impersonation. Specifically, in this case, about Cecily Styles. More about that in a minute. But also about— the thing about reading Greats is that it’s in my head all the time, it can’t not be.”
“The amount of reading material you have to get through, and the fact I gather they expect you to make connections. Literature to language to archaeology, and so on.” Pen could at least sympathise about it. Maths was vastly easier, because while she needed to fit things together, skills built on other skills, they were all things she was actively using regularly. “What impersonation in this case?”
