Griffin let Annice go first for at least five reasons he could think of off-hand. First, and most important, she actually knew where they were going, and he didn’t. Second, he was doing better than he’d been afraid of, after the travel and conversations and research yesterday, but he was not going to push himself more than actually necessary today. Even if rather a lot of it was likely going to be necessary. Third, he was thinking a lot about what Lamont had said. Griffin had been gnawing on it all last night, about being over-cautious. Fourth, having Annice go first gave him a look at the way the ground changed, and that much more information about how to manage. And fifth, well. He enjoyed watching her.
That was another thing that had kept him up last night. He had friends. She had been right about that. He had colleagues whose company he enjoyed, and he was very much looking forward to more conversations as a peer with Charlus when his apprenticeship was done. But he’d been right when he said he could always use more. Or closer. Both.
Lamont’s comment, however, had brought it sharply home that he had fenced around the idea of anything like a partner, a romance, even a momentary fling. Not that the fling was likely, given that he refused to court pity. Of course, most people he met now were because of his work, which was fine for a friendship but more complicated for anything else. Certain kinds of overtures weren’t appropriate in that setting. They were a kind of bending of authority that turned everything in his magic bitter, an aversion he had no desire to change.
The thing was, he wasn’t entirely sure if he were interested in Annice herself, the ways someone properly should be for a romance. It might just be that she was someone new, unlike other people he knew. It had been so long since he’d even let himself consider the question, he was entirely out of practice with it. And to be fair, he had put a good face on the dear John letter during the War, and he honestly wished Madeline well. But it had also hurt, and he was not at all eager for anything like that again. He’d had too much of the hurting and confusion already for one lifetime.
Watching Annice, though, from behind, he kept being drawn to her. They were aiming at a handful of small huts squished in against the rise of the cliff, that looked like an unusually bad storm at high tide would sweep them away. Griffin found himself watching her rather than the brightly painted huts against the cliff that rose sharply up behind them. Her dress was the same muted grey, echoing the greys and black and browns of the beach, but somehow she drew the eye, even without being able to see her face.
Suddenly - enough he nearly overbalanced when he stopped - she turned to a hut down near the end. “This one.” There was a bit of fumbling with the key, a creak of a lock that needed a touch of oil, and then the door came open. The hut itself wasn’t fancy - a set of cupboards and a workbench along the back, a cot along one side. It had been built in, it looked like, not a creaking camp cot. It was chilly, of course, but with a warming charm, it wouldn’t be unpleasant for a night, or at least a nap. There was an old battered wood chair, facing the cot on the other wall, with several crates full of smaller containers beside it.
It wasn’t large, which meant there were only so many places that might need to be searched. Griffin counted them out; cupboards across the top of the bench, the ones below, if there were any spaces under the cot or in the crates. Just possibly something in a loose floorboard or a ceiling panel or some such. Griffin cleared his throat. “Do you see anything out of place, or unfamiliar?”
“It looks just like it has.” Annice turned, considering. “There’s a lantern, and I brought a candle. We do sometimes get people coming this far down the beach.” Which meant no magic, not where someone might catch a glimpse of it. It also limited what charmwork Griffin might reasonably do. He nodded. “Is it all right if I sit?” He nodded at the cot and chair.
“Oh, yes. Either. Do you have any idea where to start?” Annice waited a moment, and once Griffin took the cot, she sat in the chair, leaving Charlus to lean against the wall.
“We want to be systematic, I think. And also not fall over each other in the process. Though I think we might solve that by you and Charlus checking various locations and handing me anything that isn’t obviously fit for some other purpose?”
“A lot of it is fishing bits and bobs. Do you know about fishing?” Annice was entirely dubious, and that wasn’t unreasonable.
“Enough to know when something isn’t one. Or to set it aside and let you look too. Though I admit my fishing experience is rivers, not ocean.” He gestured at the back cabinets. “I’m going to suggest starting at the left there, working your way across the top, then the bottom, then the crates. I’m thinking about if there might be something under the cot, or hidden by a floorboard, and the best way to discover without more chaos than necessary.”
Annice’s expression shifted several times in that, though all she said at the end was, “Thank you.” It must be difficult, being here, with people who were still strangers. A moment later, she stood up, then went over to the cupboards, and a moment later, Charlus joined her.
They worked along, about halfway through the top, before he asked a question Griffin had also been wondering. “Pardon, but do you know why there’s a portal in an inn?” He kept his voice quiet, but they had the doors open and Griffin was keeping an eye out. Also, he’d added a charm for privacy. People might still look in, but a conversational voice shouldn’t carry past the door.
Annice snorted. “Smuggling.” She seemed like she was going to leave it there for a moment, but then she went right on. “That’s the older one, here. The one in Whitby’s younger. There’s lore about an even older one, up past the Abbey, but not for centuries, I guess. Anyway. The portal was first. They built the inn around it. Didn’t know it was odd?”
“There are a couple I know of in buildings, but mostly courtyards, with some sun and wind and rain.” Griffin said. “The banks share one, the Guard has one, both private. But I think those were built up around, too. The roof is the odd thing.” He added. “Talk freely, so long as it’s this sort of volume.”
Annice blinked at him once, then nodded. “Real handy to be able to pass things up to Whitby, ahead of the customs men. Not quite as much anymore.” She added the last bit hurriedly.
“First, that’s not why I’m here. Second, it’d be a matter for the Guard, and they mostly care more about whether people might get hurt.” Griffin shrugged. “Thus, so long as no one makes me pay attention to it, we’re fine.”
“Good.” Annice turned back to the cabinets, running her hands along the shelf, handing a stack of smaller objects back, and getting on with it. Two hours later, the two of them had worked through all the obvious locations, and Griffin had handed out tea and pasties. Annice looked a little defeated now.
“Do you have a piece of jet on you? Or could you find one easily enough on the beach? It doesn’t need to be big, it just needs to be only jet, or maybe jet and metal.”
Annice frowned. “Why?” It was a clear question, and he liked how she asked it without hesitation now.
“I can do a trick to find the closest thing that’s the same material. I didn’t want to try it until we’d checked the obvious places, because, well, there could have been jet here.”
Annice sucked her lip between her teeth. “Let me go have a look.” She considered. “You want to come see how it’s done?”
It was not cautious, it probably was not sensible, but Griffin nodded. “Please.” He added to Charlus, “You can stay here, take a breather. I’ve been sitting this whole time.” A moment later, Griffin was standing, and Annice led him out onto the beach, then further down, past the end of the huts.
She was looking down, scanning the ground. “We’re looking for something black and shining with the water, but most of what you think is jet is probably going to be coal. Or maybe bits of tar, but you’re observant. You can probably spot that one fast.” It was a particular compliment, and Griffin smiled at it. He was following along a step or two behind her, so he could also see how the pebbles shifted as she walked. Then his eyes caught on a patch of seaweed and other washed up muck, but there was a dark gleam.
“Over there, to the right?” Griffin kept his voice even. “Do they look so much alike, then?”
Before she answered, there was a little cry of delight from her, something utterly joyous. She had taken two or three broad steps over to where he’d indicated. She came up with three things in her hands, juggling them into her left while her right thrust down into her pocket. “Here. Let me show you. Can you come ...” Then she took a couple of steps toward him, almost colliding. She looked at his face, her eyes wide, then back down at her hands. One now had an unglazed piece of white porcelain.
“Here. Um. Your hands. Can you get one free, without a bother?” Educationally speaking, he probably ought to suggest they go back to the hut, so Charlus could hear it, and he didn’t want to. Instead, he shifted a bit, propping the left crutch to make a better tripod and getting his arm out of the right, holding out his hand. “Feel each one first, all right? Whatever you feel.”
She put each stone in his palm, one by one, for long enough he suspected she was counting the seconds. Once she’d gone through once, he asked, “Can I feel the second one again?”
There was a laugh, something he’d said pleased her, then there it was again. He let out a huff of breath. “I think that’s the jet, but I’m not sure?” He thought it was some glimmer of the magical reactions, that it reacted more like materia than the other two. She left it in her palm, making marks on the porcelain with the first one - a black streak - and then the third, which left a pale white scrape. He held his hand steady, for her to take the last piece, and that left a surprisingly pale mark, almost golden.
