“Did he say anything else about what he was doing? Or anything about his background?” Farran tried to think of the questions Vivian would ask. Or Eleanor, her assistant. That was easier to get his head around. Vivian was superlative at what she did, and that made it difficult to use her as a model, like a painter beginning by copying an epic work of the Renaissance.
Her chin came up. “Why are you asking?”
“My uncle’s...” This was the trick. Generally, Farran didn’t have to explain Vivian. People at Ormulu knew. She’d been the one to arrange his apprenticeship there. “My uncle’s friend handles inquiries. She doesn’t talk about the specific cases,but we’ve talked about how to think through a new set of information.”
Vega’s mouth twitched once, then her shoulder, before she took a breath and a sip of tea. Once she had, she said, “American. His name’s Thomas Vandermeer, or at least that’s the card he gave me. Thirties, maybe forty, sharply dressed, but not to stand out in a crowd. The details of the suit and the fit, you understand?”
“He gave you a card?” Farran said, but he nodded at the rest of it.
“Staying at the Hotel Cecil, or that’s what the card said. On some kind of extended business, he didn’t say what. But he’d had the cards printed, so not just a week or two.” Vega hesitated. Farran could see she wasn’t sure about something. “I gave him my name, but I thought if he turned up at the club, I’d— well.”
“What’s your sense of him, then, besides wary?” Farran asked.
“Well, the last two songs of the set I sang on Saturday were Lady Isabel and Twa Corbies. Do you know them?”
“Several versions. Though most people will say the Child Ballads, won’t they? I rather prefer the Donning versions.” They had been collected by someone in the magical community. Wenna Newton had turned Farran onto them a few years ago. “Do you know Wenna Newton? She does research on folk songs.”
Interestingly, Vega leaned forward a little at that. “She’s not foolish about it. I do like those. But if I sing them, people— well, at least in London, maybe Trellech would be different, I haven’t tried— get upset I’m not doing the versions they know better.”
“Oh, that’s an interesting comparison of the art form, isn’t it? And it’s not as if you could do a proper study. Each performance is an island entire of itself, while also being a chain of connections.” Farran considered. “Anyway. The songs?”
“I thought it was pointed.” Vega shrugged. “I don’t know what he thought of it, except that the note to the dressing room was after my set.” She looked away. “I’m used to people wanting to take me out, get a bit of my time, hoping for more than that. His note didn’t feel like that.”
Farran nodded. “So. I suppose the question is, do you still want me to consult on whatever your question is? And is there anything else that makes sense, given the, what’s the word? Nebulous nature of the man?”
Vega let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair. “That.”
“What can you tell me, then? On the consultation.” Farran felt he was perhaps in over his head with the problem, though he’d write Vivian for her advice later, but he could possibly be of help.
“My family’s aware of an object that may have been disturbed, enough it is potentially awake again. If you’ll take that as a term here?” Vega offered.
“I’ve got a bibliography about the variants, but yes. More active, at least in potential.” They were a particularly challenging sort of bit of material culture, because they came in many sizes, shapes, and most of all, effects. “What does it do?”
Here, Vega blushed, ducking her chin. For all her performance skills, she wasn’t actually adept at dissembling. “We’re not entirely sure, beyond amplifying magic around it. It might draw things to it or shift magic around it. Not if it’s buried, truly inaccessible, but if it has some space to breathe.”
“And we had established that it is smaller than a breadbox?” It was the classic question in a game of twenty questions.
“Yes, smaller. Portable. Maybe as small as a bracelet or torc or something like that. But I think it would need to have a fairly solid metal core if it does what we think it does. I have some notes from my family, but obviously not entirely reliable.”
“Give the time scale, no.” Farran frowned. “Is it safe for anyone to touch? Would it be interested in attention from anyone? Do you know the flavour of what it feels like, magically?”
Vega took a deep breath. “No. Not really. I’ll likely know it when I feel it. That’s not much to go on, is it?”
Farran shook his head. “Not enough. London’s a big city. And I’m not an archaeologist, though I’ve been around a few digs. I can read a site report well enough, probably, or, well. I know someone I could ask, maybe. But that’s a later step, likely. We might narrow it down based on resonances, materials, that sort of thing. Or the time it’s from, there’s a technique I saw for testing that, um. Two things are enough like each other they can resonate? It’s a little tricky, but I’ve done it several times in controlled conditions.”
“This is anything but controlled,” Vega pointed out. “Aren’t you scared of what it might be?” Then she shook her head. “Not scared, I mean.”
“Respectful,” Farran said. “I will not be foolish.” He hesitated, then pressed a particular point. “Why is your family so concerned about it now? Other than thinking it might be more active again?”
“Mostly that.” Vega admitted it, glanced at Farran and then back at the tea. “Wanting to know where it is. To get it back, ideally, though if it ended up in a museum in a managed state, that wouldn’t be horrible.”
“I might need to check on the laws that apply,” Farran said, suddenly. “Giving no details away.”
Chapter 13
THAT AFTERNOON
“Laws?” Vega pursed her lips. Not that she hadn’t considered that possibility. But the Cousins wandered sideways around such things. Not because they didn’t have their own customs and obligations. Those bound tighter than civil law. Rather, because the things they cared about weren’t the same things that the rest of the world did.
