“Aye.” Ruth pushed upright and disappeared into the house. There was a burst of sound through the open door until it swung closed. It sounded like bedtime was even more unwelcome than usual. After a few minutes, Aunt Sarah came out, drying her hands on a dingy apron. “What’s tha, then?”
“Hoping you might know about something, Aunt Sarah.” There, she’d make it proper. “It’d be a help. And checking in, too.”
“Eh.” Her aunt settled down next to her. “We’re in a fuss, Ruth wanting t’get married, but where would we put her Sam, that’s what I want to know. And there’s nawt for space at his.”
It was, in fact, a knotty problem on both ends. Ruth and Sam had been sweet on each other for ages. He’d had steady work fishing, but it wasn’t enough to afford their own flat, never mind a house. Annice knew that one solution was to ask Ruth and Sam to live in Grandad’s and Nan’s house with her. She was rattling around. It was true. She didn’t need all that space.
But she hadn’t been able to figure out how to make it work with the shop. She loved Ruth - and liked Sam - but they were noisy as anything, even on their own and not needing to shout over their brothers and sisters and cousins and all. Sound muffling charms weren’t a magic she knew, and even if she did, they wouldn’t work well with either the shop or the workshop. She needed to hear other things in the house. Instead, Annice just made a soft, uncommitted noise.
Her aunt let it sit there for thirty seconds before snorting. “Stubborn, thou awt.” It had a fair bit of affection to it, the countryside twist to the words. “Had somewhat to ask?”
“I found something in a box, buried under other things. No one’s touched it in years. This big.” She gestured, drawing the line of it against her hand. She remembered the cool oddly light feel of it, the way jet looked like stone and wasn’t really stone at all. It made a soul remember it had been wood and still had some quality of it.
“Ah.” Aunt Sarah looked off toward the back of the fence too. It was a favourite staring spot. Someone really ought to hang something decorative there. “Your da. Don’t know much about it, mind. Just that he thought it’d bring, dunno. Good. Keep out what wasn’t.”
Protection, then, or some combination of protection and attraction. “Where’d he learn it?”
“Dunno. Saw it once or twice. Not like anything else. Then they put it away. Wouldn’t talk ‘bout it. After the boat went down with your uncles.” Fishing was dangerous, storms were more so, and two of her uncles had drowned when Annice was little. From the stories she’d heard later, people missed the way they were sober, and not the way they were drunk, and no one talked about that, either. Annice nodded slowly. “You don’t know anyone who’d know?”
“Think on’t.” Aunt Sarah shrugged. “Should go see to the littles.”
“Thank you.” Annice meant it, trying to put that in her voice. Aunt Sarah patted her absently on the shoulder, and then used that same shoulder to lever herself upright, leaving Annice and Ruth on the step. There was silence, well past when the door closed and they could hear themselves think again.
“You know what she wants. Thinks you ought t’offer.” Ruth whispered it. “Can’t tell her otherwise, me either.”
Annice’s chin came up. “You don’t want to?”
“Not unless you’re actually willing. And you’re not, so.” Ruth shrugged. “We’ll figure something, I don’t know. Sometime. Somehow.” She sounded both determined and resigned, all at once, and Annice wanted to make it better, without seeing any way to.
“Come up for tea sometime? Both of you. I don’t know. I really don’t. But tea, at least. Away from the chaos.”
“Mmm.” Ruth bumped Annice’s arm with hers, companionably. “Can.” Then she leaned back on her other hand. “You lonely, there?”
Yes. No. She liked the quiet, it turned out. Though Nan and Grandad hadn’t been very noisy most of the time. Just the sounds of them moving around. “Some. The quiet would be fine if I could make more jet pieces and sell them. Bill told me he can’t gather for me anymore. Too many people spotted it, y’know? Caused trouble for him, too.” Ruth made a grumble deep in her chest, disapproving, but Annice shook her head. “He’s got to do what he needs. No good otherwise.”
“He owed your grandad somewhat. Don’t know what it was. Just that he did.” Ruth laid it out, like she bartered at the fishmonger, cutting the deal as finely as anyone could. “What’re you going to do?”
“Dunno.” That was the truth. “One day at a time, yeah? And that stone, I don’t know what it’s meant for. Maybe I could find someone to buy it.”
“Doesn’t solve all of it,” Ruth pointed out. “You need a man to keep carving. Cover for your work. Someone the others would accept. Or the family.” Her shoulder twitched, and she glanced over behind her at the door. “And that’s not a simple thing.”
Annice grimaced. “No.” Then she stood. “You’re all up early. I should get back.”
“Come again, aye? I’ll make your goodbyes to Mam.” Then Ruth was standing, coming to open the side gate, so Annice could slip out without causing even more chaos by saying goodnight. The walk back was harder, somehow, like everything was grey and the life and light was getting sucked out of the world even more than it had.
Chapter9
MARCH 15TH
It had taken several days to find Mistress Matthewman in, and the shop open. That had given Griffin and Charlus plenty of time to ask around at every other jet worker they could find, but they’d got the same answer everywhere. Or rather, it had been two variations.
Either the shops weren’t magical, or if they were, they wouldn’t do that sort of work. Half the magical folk had the sort of reaction that made Griffin suspect they were neck deep in smuggling. It was no use trying to explain he didn’t care about that if the crafter could do the work, the two were distinct. But he also didn’t blame someone in the midst of smuggling from wanting to avoid anything to do with the Halls of Justice. Or especially anyone familiar with the truth magics. That was neither fair nor sensible.
Fortunately, one part of it had gone smoothly enough. It had been a long time since Griffin had shared living space with anyone - not since he’d been at the Gospatrick Home in the last stages of his rehabilitation healing. He’d hoped it would be all right, from how Charlus was in the office, and he’d been correct.
His apprentice had been agreeable. He didn’t talk too much in the morning before either of them had properly woken up. And most importantly, he was careful about whether he moved furniture. The cottage they were renting had some narrow pathways to navigate with a chair, but as long as the sitting room chairs were in their particular best places, it was manageable.
And Charlus had been quite willing to go pick up takeaway, or scout ahead for which of their options for an evening meal would be the easiest to manage. And which would work even if Griffin used his crutches instead of the chair because of a handful of stairs up or down. It meant this trip was exhausting - Griffin was sleeping fairly well every night, even though he also had some aches from an unfamiliar bed and a decided lack of pillows. But it was not overwhelmingly so.
