“There are a whole set of little courtyards, with homes off them. They’re called ghaults, I gather, by the locals. I found one - a former stables - redone as a cottage for rental. One bedroom above and a boxroom, but there’s a bedroom on the ground floor. And a sitting room and a small kitchen. I put down a deposit for it, like you suggested, for next week. I’ve a diagram here, and the measurements you asked for. And it’s not booked now, or until the middle of April. Not much call for rentals this time of year, she just needs a day or two to tidy and dust.” He rummaged in his notebook and passed a folded sheet over to Griffin.
The whole thing was as Charlus said, and the measurements were neatly added. The sketch wasn’t quite to scale, but well, Charlus was a solicitor and working on being a specialist in the judicial magics, not an architect. Griffin wouldn’t insult him by asking if the measurements were accurate. The key thing was that there was space in the entry for the chair, and likely also a reasonable angle into the bedroom. There was also the main bath on the ground floor, and Griffin hadn’t been sure that would be an option.
“Well spotted. And yes, that will do, if you’d write and confirm? I’ll want at least a week, I expect, possibly longer. Call it a fortnight, if she’s willing to adjust on a few days’ notice, and ask about the possibility of extending.” Griffin was considering the options. “Where is it?”
“The east side, sir, which is where the jet shops are, the few that remain. And I checked with the pubs along there. A couple have more amenable spaces, and the inn - it’s um, called the White Horse & Griffin, actually - said they’d be glad to make up meals for takeaway, in the circumstances. We’ll be right around the corner. That won’t be a bother.”
Griffin swallowed, suddenly. Then he looked up. “I’m glad you’re willing to come with me. It will make things much easier, at least to get started. If I need to be gone longer than a week, we can see about swapping out with someone else. Lucy said she’d be glad to. She just can’t get clear next week.” Lucy had been his preferred clerk and assistant before Charlus. She was always a delight. But also it would be a bit more of a scandal to have her staying in the same small cottage, by non-magical standards. That was a fuss he didn’t need. “Magical cottage or no?”
“No, but I had time to test the hot water and such, and it’d take charms well enough.” Charlus glanced at his notes again. “And the portal’s not far from there, and fairly level. There are carters and such if you want to hire someone to go further, too. The woman who owns the cottage said she’d put together a list. She mentioned a nephew or something of the kind that does that sort of work.”
“Good.” It occurred to Griffin then that they hadn’t actually talked about Charlus and his observation. That was a key conversation, and frankly, also more interesting than Griffin’s physical limits.
He leaned back a little. “I didn’t explain why I’m not surprised you think someone wants me to fail. There are people here, in our department, who don’t think I’m fit for service.”
“And you won’t name names, sir.” It wasn’t a question. That was Charlus confirming that Griffin wouldn’t.
“No. No sense in biassing you unduly. If you have a cause for concern, something you think is against our oaths and codes of practice, you should let me know. Or one of the senior staff, whoever you feel you can talk to.”
“Mistress Henning, probably.” Charlus said. She was an excellent choice, really. She did not approve of problems that impeded the work of the Courts. Charlus nodded. Charlus considered, and then asked, “How are people, erm, a barrier, sir?”
“They can’t argue with me continuing as I am. They’ve tried, Lamont was having none of it. But they think I ought to give up any idea of being Heir, or of taking over the land magic in due course. And of course, not any other sort of promotion either. They grumbled over me becoming Yew Primus, but we didn’t have a lot of other choice there. I’m meant to just go along like this for the rest of my life until I retire. And that’s not an awful life, but I refuse to be hemmed into it by other people’s assumptions.”
Charlus opened his mouth, closed it, and then leaned forward a little. “I can’t see you taking that sitting down, no, sir.” Again, he was venturing a bit of bravery.
Griffin grinned, then started laughing, warm chuckles. “Just so. Fighting them head-on isn’t any good, so I have to pick my battles. But if they expect me to fail, and I don’t, well. That’s a good thing for me, I suspect.”
Charlus went quiet for a little, fifteen seconds. Then he said, carefully, not quite making oath on it, but the weight of that was behind his words. “I hope you know, sir, that you’ve been a grand apprentice master for me, and that I’ll do what I can to help you. Now, and in the future.”
Griffin inclined his head, because that deserved proper acknowledgement. “I am glad of the former, and you don’t owe me anything other than your good work. But I am very pleased to have your support, your attention to detail.” He tapped the diagram with his index finger. “And your ideas. Also your humour, when we’re in private or with friends and allies, mind.”
That got a broader smile from Charlus. Griffin gave him a moment to settle, then said, “If you’re able to stick around tonight, I could use your help now, too. Shall we talk through what we have in mind for the evaluation?”
That led them smoothly into the complexities of the magical design, and the different techniques for evaluating the courtroom enchantments. It kept them busy until someone knocked on his door to let them know the courts had all let out for the evening and they could begin.
Chapter6
MARCH 10TH IN WHITBY
Annice put on her best face for this. She’d already put on one of the best dresses for the purpose, sensible and a little sober, without being ghastly. It was a muted grey that rather went with the spring clouds and threatened drizzle. She had errands to do, and they would not get any easier if she put them off.
First she went to the grocer, then there was a line at the fishmonger.
No one actually ignored her, not really. Whatever her other failings were - like wanting to carve jet for herself, in a rapidly dying industry that was superstitious about that - she was still of Whitby, through and through. Everyone in the shop had known her grandparents and her parents and her. Their parents had known her great-grandparents, and so on. That mattered here, no matter what happened in other places and other towns and especially cities.
Eventually, one matron coughed. “Didn’t expect to see you out here, Miss Matthewman. You had your shop open yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Oh, I had to do the shopping, of course. I’ll be opening up this afternoon, if you know someone who’d like to come by. I’ve still got a number of Grandad’s pieces for sale, of course.”
“A nice girl like you ought to find a place for yourself. I suppose you’re getting on a bit for a family of your own, but they always need another matron or pair of hands at the children’s home, up the cliff.”
Annice forced her expression to something pleasantly neutral. “You’re so kind to think of it, but I’m hoping to figure out something else. Do tell me, how’s your daughter doing? She’s due any time now, isn’t she?”
At least three-quarters of living in Whitby was knowing the safe topic to deflect to. Da had said that was the trick to any insular town, and he’d had to learn Whitby’s ways himself. At least the deflection got Mrs Summerby off on her daughter, the second grandbaby-to-be, the nonsense they were considering for names. By the time she was halfway through that, she was at the front of the line and had to give in her order.
Annice waited her turn patiently enough, got her own order in, and then went along to the baker for the last of what she needed. She could make bread, and usually did, but the last two times had turned out soggy and shrunken, and she wanted a decent loaf for once. She wasn’t even sure why the bread wasn’t behaving; the yeast was still foaming like it ought.
Finally, she brought her food back to the kitchen, going in through the back door, up the stairs to the kitchen and the flat, and then putting everything away. She wanted to go up to the workroom and do something that felt right, and she knew she couldn’t. There was a chance, a small but real one, that someone might come and want to buy. She’d work on the matching earring for the lovely women from yesterday tonight.
