Page 37 of Arcane Entanglement
Evander sighed. “I shall vouch for him.”
“Alright, your Grace.” The sergeant nodded at Viggo and Solomon. “You, er, may proceed.”
The pair followed Evander through the gates and into the grounds.
There was a drill going on in the yard, the sergeant leading it barking orders at the young constables running briskly in the cold morning air. Dozens of curious eyes followed Viggo and Solomon’s progress as they headed for the iron clad doors at the top of the steps fronting the main entrance of Scotland Yard.
A couple of sergeants came out of the building.
They stopped and greeted Evander with deference before going about their business.
“You appear to carry a lot of weight around here,” Viggo observed. “Is it because you’re a Duke?”
“No.” Evander met his guarded gaze. “It’s because I’m a Special Arcane Investigator.”
“Is it true that only dual elemental mages are allowed to be Special Arcane Investigators?” Solomon asked curiously.
“That is correct.”
Viggo frowned at the aiguillette on Evander’s uniform. “Is that the reason yours has gold and blue threads?”
“The gold, yes.”
“What of the blue?” Viggo asked doggedly.
Evander smiled faintly. “That’s a secret.”
This answer seemed to annoy the Brute.
Then they were inside the foyer and amidst the morning rush of officers and staff swarming the administrative block of the Met.
Evander saw Viggo’s shoulders subtly knot as they navigated the crowded space in front of the ornate, imperial staircase rising towards the upper levels of the building. The movement would be invisible to most but the keenest of observers.
“You have quite a varied taste in literature,” he told the Brute in a conversational tone. “I spotted books pertaining to subjects other than philosophy on your shelves last night.”
Viggo’s stiff gaze shifted from the dozens of constables and sergeants milling about the marble-floored lobby.
“You want to talk about books?” he asked Evander leadenly. “Now?!”
Solomon was similarly looking at Evander like he’d lost his marbles.
Understanding dawned belatedly on Viggo’s face. He lowered his brows. “If this is an attempt to distract me?—”
“It is,” Evander said briskly. “I’d rather we reach our destination without you accidentally,” he waved a hand, “—killing anyone with your death glare.” His face softened at Viggo’s scowl. He wasn’t sure why he’d ever been afraid of this man. “Humour me. I am genuinely interested.”
Viggo hesitated for so long Evander thought he might avoid the topic entirely.
“I’ve always enjoyed reading,” the Brute finally confessed. “I like…learning new things.”
“Did your uncle teach you to read and write?”
Viggo shook his head. “My ma did. There was a school in the village where I was born. She was the teacher.” A haunted expression clouded his face. “She died a long time ago.”
Evander could tell the Brute was recalling the tragic circumstances surrounding his mother’s death.
The War of Subjugation began in 1825 and lasted five years. Since those with magic were afforded advantages that those without never received, the unequal society where rich mages and magic users routinely abused the poor magicless masses created a festering resentment that finally exploded into a conflict that swept not just across England but across half the continent.
The war was triggered by a single incident.
