Annice leaned forward, blinking.
“You take it.” Aunt Sarah said it roughly. “Leave me be with this.”
“Yes, Aunt Sarah.” It was the only possible thing to say. She took the box, said, “Should I let Ruth know you’ll be down in a bit?”
“Or one of the boys.” Her aunt turned away from her and didn’t say anything else. Annice climbed down the twisting stairs, then to the ground floor, and found Roger in the kitchen. She told him Aunt Sarah would be a bit and ducked out before anyone could ask her for more information. It was now well into mid-afternoon, and she ought to go find out what was in the box.
Chapter27
MARCH 28TH
Griffin spent the day restless. Oh, he got plenty of things done, most of the ones he’d hoped for. He’d even caught a nap for an hour. But there was something twitchy in him, and not just that he’d exerted himself more than he really ought to the day before. He managed enough time upright to wash up the dishes and put them away, and to make his own lunch.
But by the time Annice reappeared around four, he was definitely ready for more information. And to see more of her. He’d said it out loud, that morning, but the way she’d trusted him, to sleep comfortably, that was something he treasured. It didn’t go into words easily, for all it was true. She didn’t trust many people, he thought, and she had good reason for that.
Now, he waved a hand at the wards, letting her in, and unlatching the door at the same time. She was blinking at it, and he offered. “Afternoon. I’ve applied myself to particularly handy magical skills, as you can see.” Then he saw how tired she looked and waved a hand. “Sit, please. Tea? Beer? I can get it. You’ve obviously been on your feet.”
Annice didn’t argue, not one bit, which was definitely a sign he was reading her accurately. “Beer. And, um. Would something to eat be a bother?”
“Of course not.” Griffin considered his current options, both in food and in cooking, and said, “Soup and sandwiches? I have some I can heat.”
“That’s fine. Something warm sounds great. And the beer.” She sat down, and he got her the beer first thing.
It took most of Griffin’s focus to get the food put together. He got the sandwiches made while the soup started heating. He brought them over to the sofa one at a time, using the left crutch to make sure he kept his balance. She looked up. “Do you need a hand with the soup?”
“If you don’t mind. Anything that can spill is a little trickier. The tray’s clean, if you like.” He went back to the kitchen, stirring the soup, to find her watching him.
“Do you not cook much?” Annice had her head tilted, as if she were trying to do maths and it wasn’t working.
“More in my kitchen at home, though I’m not a terribly deft cook. But that’s set up with counters I can use in the chair, and it’s not far from the stove to the kitchen table. That sort of thing. Here, well.” He shrugged. “More awkward. The actual cooking? I have a housekeeper, she leaves me things, I can manage an egg or some basic soup. But there are plenty of places for takeaway near me, and they’re used to me, if I want something different. Or half the time I’m working late, and Charlus or one of the clerks will do a run for food. We can eat from the Guard refectory, though I admit their food is nourishing but not necessarily exciting.”
“Feeding a lot of people, then.” Annice seemed intrigued by that part.
“Feeding many people on irregular schedules, or who need to grab something fast. Stasis magic helps a lot, but also things that can just sit there and keep warm. Hearty stews and soups, pasties, that sort of thing.” Griffin considered and then judged she’d be all right with a more personal question. “You enjoy cooking? Beyond what you need to do?”
She made a delightful grimace at the question, the way he’d deliberately asked it. She wasn’t insulted, that was obvious, but she was also visibly baffled by it. “I cook because that’s the way food happens.” Then Annice paused. “All right. Maybe I do actually like some of it. Bread. Rolls. Yorkshire pudding. Baking things, mostly.” Before he could ask anything else, she added on her own, “Sometimes it feels like the inverse of carving. Instead of removing things to show what’s inside the stone, you’re adding things to expand and make a new shape. I suppose that’s silly.”
“Not silly at all. Here, though, the soup’s ready. Do you mind?” He backed up into the far end of the kitchen space. That let her grab the bowls he’d set out, then shifted to pour out the rest into something for storage and rinse the pot. Once they were settled again, he kept the conversation on simpler things until they were both done eating. A question here or there about what would make her feel more comfortable staying at the inn, what kinds of places might she want to know about. Explaining the options filled up the time nicely.
Finally, Annice swallowed and looked up. “I found something. Or my Aunt Sarah did.” She gestured at the bag she’d brought in with her. “Should I clear the dishes and bring it out?”
“Absolutely. Let me grab my notes. That will help.” While she took the dishes off and washed them quickly, he pulled out his notes. Tonight, he settled himself squarely on the sofa, with space for her and space on the table for the object. Once she came back, she glanced at him, then brought out the cardboard box, placing it on the table.
Griffin nodded. “When you’re ready.”
Annice swallowed, and he could see her hands shaking for just a moment. Then she lifted the lid, then removed the stone inside and slipped the box out of the way. “Is it - it has to be, right?”
“Here are the sketches.” Griffin kept his voice deliberately relaxed, lower pitched and a hair slow. “There, yes. See, the angle on this one is different, the way it was supposed to move.” He pulled out a copy of the map he’d been using, adding an angle to the map itself. “A triangle, getting a fair bit of the coastline. The parts where you look for jet, particularly, right? All along here.”
Annice leaned over and peered at the map, then ran her finger along it. “Like that. A bit up the coast, but that’s probably the way the lines run, right?”
“Exactly. If there were more points, he could have done something more nuanced. Three points, you get a triangle.”
“Did it do us any good?” There was a sudden echo in her voice. He suspected she might be on the verge of tears. Part of Griffin - actually, a lot of Griffin - wanted to touch her, give her whatever human comfort he could. And for all she’d slept peacefully last night, he wasn’t at all sure she’d accept it.
Instead, he took a breath. “Can you talk to me about it? Why you wonder?”
“We did all right. Not wonderfully. Not so much money we never had to think about what food we were buying. But we could buy the potions we needed at the apothecary, and shoes, things like that. Tools for the workshop. We had enough. A bit more than enough, almost to comfortable.” She waved a hand down toward where the bridge ran, and the other side of the river. “My cousins, they’re not like that. It’s part of why I didn’t want you to come today.” Her breath hitched. “Besides the stairs. The stairs would be a lot. And things on the floors. Babies. Scrap wood. All sorts of things someone meant to do something with. It’s chaos, and I don’t think you like chaos. You wouldn’t like that.”
