“The black one is sea coal. The pale one is slate. And the gold, here, or it’s much more often brown, that’s jet. How could you tell?” Annice was looking up at him again now, searchingly, like the answer mattered.
“It felt more alive.” It was the kind of thing he rarely talked about, not with people who weren’t materia specialists. Though, to be fair, Annice was in fact a materia specialist, just in a single kind of materia. “Lighter, too. Is that normal?”
Annice dropped the jet in his hand again. “Very. It’s one of the best ways to tell when everything’s wet, other than the porcelain. Anyway. We have your jet. Shall we go back?”
He didn’t want to break away. There was something about this moment on the beach where he felt free in a way he hadn’t since before the War. Maybe it was the wide horizon that made things feel more possible, or differently possible. But they had work to do, he had promises to keep. “Please. I can show you what I wanted to try.”
They went back across the beach as slowly as they’d come, but it was as much because Annice was searching for more pieces of jet as anything else. She found two other pieces, then demonstrated again to Charlus while Griffin got his kit out of his bag. He didn’t carry a full set of working stones like some people did - some of the Guard, all the Penelopes, anyone doing certain kinds of investigation. But he carried a few things, and more importantly, the little neutral cage to hold an item that he could suspend from a bit of silk yarn.
Once he had it set, he cleared his throat. “If I could have the jet? We’re going to see if I can shape a resonance between this and things like it in the essential ways. It should pull toward the nearest source. That might be beneath the floor, mind. Or the next hut over or something.”
Annice folded her arms, but she didn’t ask him questions or say anything at all. Griffin got the jet into the little horn cage, then made sure it was hanging still from his hand before reciting the incantation he used for this. He kept his voice low, but he could see how Annice leaned in a little to hear better. Slowly, the horn sphere started pulling the end of the string toward the cot. Griffin took a breath, then carefully leaned the crutches against the wall, taking the couple of steps to the other side to repeat the incantation again. This time, it pulled forward, along the wall of the hut, at right angles to the previous.
“Charlus, could you see about under the cot, please? Maybe under the mattress?” Griffin considered taking a step forward, then decided that was going to pitch him onto his knees or face-first onto the cot, which wouldn’t help anything.
A moment later, Annice cleared her throat. “Can I pass you the crutches? Or the chair?”
Griffin had to stop, breathe, stop himself staring at her. It was the right thing, in the right moment, and he hadn’t expected her to ask, not like that. Then he managed to nod. “The crutches, please.” Charlus glanced between them, baffled, but then Annice was there, next to him, handing him the right crutch, then the left, before she stepped back to look at the cot. Charlus was doing a fine job rolling the mattress back before coming up triumphantly with another box, resting in a space built into the cot’s frame itself.
A minute later, he and Annice had the entire mattress off, but there was nothing else under there, not even very much dust or sand. They spent even more time checking the rest of the hut, but nothing else turned up. Once they’d made the cot back up, Annice opened the box, carefully, as Griffin perched on the cot and watched her face and her hands. She lowered the cardboard box to reveal another broad round piece of jet, carved and shaped like the other had been. “Do we leave it here?” she asked.
“I think bring it back. If I’m right about the other, they might need some care before they could be active again. And if you want someone to look at it in Trellech, or have the option...” He let his voice trail off.
“Right.” Annice looked back down at the box.
Charlus cleared his throat. “We’re getting on for half-four, sir. Should I see about Bobs?”
Griffin hesitated. The thing he should do was ask Charlus and Annice to come back and talk through the options. But he was feeling on edge, or odd, or something he certainly didn’t have words for yet. “Please. And when we get back, I think I’m going to ask you to go back to Trellech. With a couple of people to contact first thing in the morning, if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, sir.” Charlus glanced from Griffin to Annice. “I’ll go make sure Bobs is handy and tell him you’ll both be along in a couple.” Charlus packed up his own things promptly. Annice set about putting the hut back in order, tidily making the bed and tucking in all the bedding neatly while Griffin leaned against the wall. Then he made his way out, letting her lock up. They slowly headed back north along the beach, with her continuing to look for jet all the way. The tide had begun to creep in while they were looking at the cot. But there was still plenty of room to walk for a little while yet.
Chapter24
THAT EVENING
By half-six, they were back in Griffin’s cottage, and Charlus had disappeared, back to do mysterious things in Trellech. Annice wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She didn’t want to go back to a dark, quiet house - with not much around to eat. But she didn’t want to intrude.
Before she could excuse herself, Griffin was leaning on the table, one hand on it. “Do you want to stay for supper? There are things to heat, or if you didn’t mind going out for something, that would be fine, too.” He wiggled a hand. “I did like the fish and chips.”
“Sure.” Annice swallowed, because that had sounded grudging. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He rummaged in his satchel, pulling out some coins and handing them over. “If I’m not out in the sitting room when you get back, I’ll just be a minute. I’m going to wash up a bit. You’re welcome to do the same, now or after.”
“When I bring the food.” It wasn’t exactly drizzling out there, but since they’d found Bobs and the cart, it had been threatening to, and that would make everything gritty. Annice could go fetch food. She knew how to do that. She might not know a lot else, besides that and finding and carving jet. Annice closed the door behind her.
When she came back twenty minutes later - there hadn’t been much of a wait, nor people wanting to gossip with her - there was no one in the sitting room. “I’m back?” Her voice hitched on the second word, and she was sure it made her sound awful.
“Wash up, if you like. I’ll be out in a min.” Griffin’s voice came out remarkably clearly from another room. Probably his bedroom. She went into the loo to find his own kit neatly laid out. Apparently he was the sort of person to use a charm rather than a razor for shaving, because she didn’t see one. But there was also soap and a handful of ointments and lotions and such. Of course, she didn’t touch anything, but it was right there, and there was that burst of memory of living with Grandad. It wasn’t just the masculine scent of the soap, but also the darker colours for whatever bits and bobs he had. And the tidy leather case for it all, the comb and brush made of some dark wood.
He still hadn’t appeared when she came out, drying off her hands on her skirt. She set herself to work putting the food out before hesitating. Then she decided to be brave. “Beer to drink or tea?” She pitched her own voice less successfully, but instead of a comment back, she heard him come out. Just one cane, and she didn’t know what to make of that. He’d changed into different clothing. Trousers, different trousers, and a smoking jacket, a dark blue lined in a muted dark golden yellow, that should have seemed garish and didn’t.
“Beer for me, thank you. Though if you don’t mind getting it, that would be grand. But whatever you like for yourself.” Griffin made his way steadily but a bit slowly, more slowly than earlier in the day, over to the sofa, sitting down on it. “And sit where you like, of course.”
The other easy chair, the one she’d used last time, was across the room. Pulling it over seemed like a lot of fuss, so instead she gathered up two bottles of beer before coming over to sit on the other end of the sofa. Annice glanced over at him, and he took one bottle, opening it with a charm, and then held out his hand for the other one.
“You use magic differently than I do.” It came out of her mouth before she could think better of it, and then she could feel herself blushing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Oh, that’s not rude. I hear a lot of rude, these days, and I can tell the difference, down to a fine art. Oh, this is just the thing, yes.” There was an entirely honest pleasure in his voice, in his distraction at the food, that made her turn to watch him. Annice had expected someone like him to be confusing, and he certainly was, but she’d expected him to hide what he wanted, and he wasn’t. Not now, about a decidedly working class batch of fish and chips. Not about hunting in the hut, earlier, and he’d lit up like a lamp on the beach, figuring out the jet.
