The odds were two to one that it was a fake, but proving it was always the trick. Farran was almost certain it was. It didn’tfeel right in his hand. But of course, while he could gesture at that, it wasn’t enough for the auction to remove it. They needed actual proof.
Precisely at half-four, there was the sound of the door in the outer office, the sound of the secretary greeting someone. Miss Beaumont was expected, so shortly he heard the click of heels on the wood floor and a knock at his door. “A Miss Beaumont for your four-thirty.” The secretary, a widow in her fifties, had seemed unsure what to make of Farran from the beginning, and this certainly wasn’t helping. Mrs Malden was magical, but not strongly so. She kept a strict order in the offices, used by a range of magical businesses who needed a suitable space in London for short periods of time.
Farran stood. “Thank you, Mrs Malden. We might need to speak past five. I’m glad to lock up.”
It earned him a slight sniff, but that was part of the arrangement, and there was a caretaker who’d come round and clean and lock up beyond that. “Well. Have a good evening, then.” He didn’t think the disapproval was about Miss Beaumont, who was dressed in an entirely ordinary sort of day dress, a cloche hat, and a coat.
“And you.” Farran gestured Miss Beaumont into the room, then moved to get the door behind her, closing it and bringing up the warding. That was solid enough for Farran’s professional purposes, both for protecting items in the office and ensuring privacy. “Miss Beaumont, please, have a seat. I’m afraid I can’t offer you tea. We don’t do that in our working spaces. May I take your coat?”
It took her an instant to consider, but she was quick to figure out why. “Too much risk to whatever you’re working on?” She shrugged out of it, letting him take it and hang it up on the hook by the door.
“Yes. There’s quite a pleasant cafe across the street, if you’d like something when we’re done.” Not with him, he assumed, but a person might want something before tackling finding a cab or the Tube or whatever they were doing next. He waited for her to sit, then crossed to behind the desk. “Before we begin, could you let me know the degree of confidentiality you’d prefer for the moment?”
She tilted her head. “What are the usual options, please? I’m afraid I’ve not done this sort of consultation before. And is there a fee? I am glad to pay.”
“For half an hour of my time, no. If we decide on something beyond that, then I will lay out a proposal.” Farran spread his hands slightly. “In this line of work, it is often to everyone’s benefit to have a conversation before making commitments. For a consultation, there is a standard oath to keep the matter private, but permitting me to consult with my seniors at Ormulu if relevant. For example, if they have particular expertise or connections that would be of some benefit. Another option would require your permission before any further consultation.”
“The second, please, for the moment.” She looked at him steadily. Farran liked that while she wasn’t certain how this normally went, she was comfortable asking questions about it. He reached under his notepad and passed her the card with the standard oath in the second form. She read it carefully, twice, before nodding.
Once she passed it back, he made it, glancing at the card once or twice for the precise wording. Farran felt the magic coil around him, and the sharp stab of his greatest fear. As always, it involved something precious crumbling into dust in his hands, while Uncle Cadmus looked on, absolutely disappointed and disapproving. Once he finished, Farran took a breath to steady himself, and then looked up. “Now, where would you care to begin?”
“This may be a situation where you do need to consult, but I —” She stopped. “Where would it be helpful to begin?”
“I presume you have some sort of object or piece of art or manuscript?” Farran tried to figure out how to ask the questions the best way. “I can talk about the process of having a formal assessment. Help you find a suitable specialist.”
“May I ask what your role is currently?” Mistress Beaumont asked, instead. “Before I, well. It’s an unusual situation.”
“I’m in the final year or two of my apprenticeship at Ormulu, under Master Philemon Ettis.” Farran said. This part was easy enough. He’d said it dozens of times. Maybe hundreds now, with slight adjustments for the timing. “Our role is to take an item and ensure first that it has been properly evaluated. That it is as stated, it is not a fake or fraud or has been altered. We examine it to see if it has any particular other qualities of note.” He looked down at his hands. “We work with the non-magical auction houses, including the principal ones here in London. But of course, Ormulu has a specialty in magical items. A significant part of my training is in identifying those items which have some magical property, as Albion would define it, and ensuring they’re handled safely. That is much of what I’m here for. Though the cover story is assisting with the catalogue for an upcoming auction, ensuring everything is described properly.”
“Which gives you a good excuse to look at each item. And, I presume, alert the appropriate person— people?— to items that need additional care?” Something in the explanation seemed to have pleased or satisfied her. She favoured him with a slight smile. Farran was not entirely sure how to read it. Of course, she was a performer by profession. She must be highly skilled in showing that connection to someone, as she chose. Getting them to lean forward, in hopes of a bit more of a smile or a laugh or a moment of her attention.
“Yes, Mistress Beaumont.” He used her name deliberately now, partly to see what she did with it. “And of course, I’ve a wide range of experience with items to draw on now. My personal interests include classical art and jewellery— my uncle is a classicist, as I said— as well as art of the last century or so. I’m particularly interested in what are sometimes referred to as crypto-talismans, and decorative art with embedded charms or enchantments.”
Something in that made her eyes widen for just a moment. “That seems quite a range. Crypto-talismans? I don’t think I’ve heard that term before.” Then she hesitated. “You may as well call me Vega, if you prefer. I’m used to it on stage.”
“I am Farran, then.” It suggested that she would not disappear as soon as this conversation was over. “A term for an item that has enchantments similar to a talisman, but is designed not to look like it. No visible inscription that might be seen through a loup. They’re often designed so that deconstructing the item would obscure the magical work entirely. Safer, in the era following the Pact, and a number of times since. But of course, there are limitations on the enchantment, they are tricky to spot, and so on.”
“If you have experience with that, though, you must have a knack for it? Identifying which items that might apply to?” Farran nodded once at her question, and she went on. “That may be a help with my question, then.” She hesitated in the way people did when they’d rehearsed how to say something, and now they were in the conversation, they couldn’t put it quite that way. “I have been asked by my family to explore whether an item of interest to us, known to last be in London, might have surfaced in some form. I know approximately when it was last known to be here or anywhere, but I do not have a description of the item that’s reliable.”
“Bigger or smaller than a breadbox?” It was a somewhat flippant form of the question, but honestly it was a useful one.
“Smaller, almost certainly. It might be jewellery, it might be a, what did you say, decorative object. Bigger than a ring or a pendant, though.” Now Vega was leaning forward slightly. “Is that something that someone with your skills could help with?”
It was an interesting question. Farran took his time to consider, as he’d been taught. Rushing at this stage could spoil everything later. “I would need more information in order to be able to say. Do you have a means of identifying it if you find it? Knowing that it is the object you’re seeking, rather than one of the many objects to be found in London?”
“Yes.” Vega said that with confidence. “Last known to be active sometime around 558 CE, but possibly older, most likely in the Roman era. I’ve heard the stories of mudlarkers and such, but I— it’s more likely it’s underground somewhere, possibly? Or presumably it would have appeared by now.”
“Which means it might turn up because of building works or something of the kind. Is there a reason your family thinks it might be found now?” It was a highly pertinent question.
“Yes.” This time, she was slower to answer. “That’s not something I can get into, but yes, they think it has become more active. Or, just possibly, that someone else might look for it.”
What Farran wanted to do was ask who her family was, the family that was relevant here. And he couldn’t. Not with the agreements they had in place. Besides, she’d likely not tell him the truth if it wasn’t her true name. Beaumont was a common enough name that it wasn’t informative, and besides, it might be a stage name. “And you don’t know enough about London yourself, a place to start?”
“No.” She admitted it rather more quietly. “May I ask if you have a suggestion?”
“To provide specific advice, I would need more details.” Farran considered the options. “And I understand if you are not sure about that.”
Vega nodded. “Quite. I am not certain how to begin such a search, in a particular area.”
