That had been the point of the Pact, as her foremothers and forefathers put it, to make the distinction a great deal more clear for everyone. What her grandmother had said, when Vega had had this lesson in her schooling, was that back in 1484, having the patterns sorted better had been good for everyone.
The Cousins, those descended from the Fatae, could tend to their magics and their gifts and their obligations, without humans tromping through and messing things up. Humans could get on with their lives without someone being a trickster or worse. The Cousin estates got much better protections in several dimensions, with people who’d agreed to do some of the more tedious bits of the work keeping them safe. Magical society had got a number of techniques out of it. As hergrandmother had put it, everyone thought they’d got the best of the arrangement, which was ideal for a treaty.
The problems tended to come when a matter of the Cousins brushed up against human law. And especially non-magical law. Albion at least had an understanding that there were things covered by the Pact. Vega thought this qualified, but she wasn’t sure. She certainly wasn’t confident she could explain that to anyone in any kind of authority.
Farran took a breath. He was obviously gathering his thoughts. “So, there are laws about what happens when someone finds something in the ground. Who has the rights to it. Some of it depends on what kind of object it is. There’s a difference between a hoard and a burial, for example. Or something found mudlarking. And that’s before anyone gets into what the archaeologists want, which is to know where something came from, without anyone moving it.”
Vega’s chin came up. She couldn’t help it, she could feel herself hardening. “And where do you stand on all of that?”
“Well, I’m not agreeing to break the law. On the other hand...” Farran held his hands up, a gesture of a pause. “Look, I need to figure out what the options are. Legally and otherwise. Can you tell me anything more about this? Why your people know about it, why it’s been wherever it is, who it ought to go to.”
“It ought to come back to us. To be handled safely. You understand familial magics, surely. Does the law?”
“Albion’s law does. Britain’s? Not so much.” Farran parried it back, promptly. “And it’s been a while since I read it. It doesn’t come up that often in my usual line of work. But I’m fairly sure there are clauses for familial pieces, specific lines of magic. But there may be some steps about proving that, in the Courts or such.”
That wouldn’t do. Or at least it would involve a great deal of fuss, multiple great-aunts and great-uncles who rarely left the family estate, and a lot of delicate dancing around explanations. Vega let out a puff of frustration. “I’ll have to talk to my family about some of it.” Then a thought occurred to her. They must be aware of that possibility. “Let me think about what I can say now.”
Farran nodded once, then settled back in his chair and cupped his hands around his cup of tea.
Vega took a minute or two. Perhaps more like three. Then she began to speak, choosing her words carefully. “The object is something my family’s been aware of for a long time. From the notes I have, it’s possible one of our ancestors made it. Certainly the sort of thing that’s been in the family keeping for a long time. The last time we’re certain of its location was a little after 588. After the Romans had left Britain. During the time of the Saxon incursion.” There were a number of ways to put that— invasion, attack, whatever one chose. Her family liked incursion, because of course, they’d been there all along, just as the early Britons had been. Before the Romans, too.
Farran nodded. “Made using the sort of materials you’d guess?”
“My family thinks it’s most likely metal. Both because it’s still active, and that, isn’t that more likely with metal than with ceramic or stone?”
“Stone might last,” Farran said. “But you’re right. Silver or gold, especially, they survive better. Iron might have rusted away.”
Vega hesitated. It wouldn’t have been ordinary iron, she knew that. She’d have known that without having to see the notes. There was a chance it was meteoric iron, but saying that might give rather a lot about the family away. Instead, she shrugged and reiterated, trying to get her thoughts back ontrack, “Metal, they thought, more likely. Possibly stone. Not terribly large, smaller than a breadbox, like I said. More like the size of a slice of bread, perhaps, but not smaller than that.”
“You said you’ve some notes. I assume that includes something about the shape or size, even if it’s coming from lore or assumption?” Farran had started to fiddle with something, his fingers, a stub of pencil.
“Yes. And the general properties. We know it was carried sometimes, that sort of thing. Moved around, fairly easily, from location to location.”
“Right, so not a large stone. Not the London Stone, either.” Farran said it as if it were a joke, and Vega tilted her head. “Do you not know that bit of lore?”
Vega shook her head. She expected him to make fun of her for that. But then she took him in. Farran looked cheerful, not the way people did if they were about to hold something over your head. Not the way Thomas Vandermeer had made her feel. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “What sort of thing is it?”
“It’s a reasonably accurately named bit of lore. It is actually a stone. Some tales are similar to the Stone of Scone, but this one has been part of London for much longer. 1100, if I remember right, the earliest documented date. I’d have to look up what it’s made of, but it’s been there for a long time. You can see it marked on maps. People would visit it. By the 17th century it had iron railings around it, perhaps three feet high?”
“So, not the sort of thing you’d move around casually.” Vega saw the connection now. “Or the Stone of Scone, I gather, though I don’t know much about it.”
“Exactly. There're some legends about Jack Cade—” Farran paused and glanced at her, and this time Vega shrugged and let him see it. “Led a rebellion against Henry VI. When he got to London, he came and struck his sword on the stone, declaringhimself lord of the city. That’s not how it works, obviously, even if the current demesne wasn’t quite the same then.”
Vega snorted. “Well, and imagine if you could change the Lord of the Land for the city just by taking a sword to a stone. There’d be chaos. At least the tales of Arthur pulling a sword out, it’s clearly only one person who does, no matter how many people try.”
“Exactly. I do like, what’s the word, plausible results from my legends? Anyway, like any other mythical object of long standing, it’s acquired a lot of theories and ideas. There’s rather a well-developed one that suggests it was brought by Brutus when he came to Albion and established us here. Or there are tales about King Lud. The tale I like best is about the stone being married to a water fountain, the Bosse of Billingsgate.”
Vega tilted her head. “The earth and the water. That’s something from Albion, surely. Or—” She waved a hand. “You know what I mean, before the Pact.”
“Exactly. It’s moved a few times since those early maps, but always in the same immediate area. The Church of St. Swithun, these days, with a rather nice Victorian grille keeping people from chipping bits off it as souvenirs.” Then he shrugged. “We’ve gone astray. May I ask a question you probably can’t answer, but that might be good to bring to your family?”
“Yes?” Vega said it cautiously, because she wasn’t sure what made him put it that way.
“Is there a chance that this Thomas Vandermeer might be looking for it specifically? People seeking items is far more than a staple of pulp literature, though of course it doesn’t look like it does in the serials.”
“I have been wondering about that. You’re right. I should ask my family, who else might know about it. It seems very odd to bring an American here, though, like that. I mean. There’s an ocean. And while this matters to me, to us, it’s not the sortof thing that would be of interest to most people. Or that most people would even know about. You don’t.”
“No, but I am not a specialist in lost or misplaced magical items, particularly. That’s a long list, but also a relatively finite one. I’d be interested in whatever your family knows about any sources that might have talked about it. I can probably figure that out myself, if I know what it’s been called over time, a better description.” Farran held up his finger. “Which I know you will not tell me now. Just laying out the option, if you don’t want to do the research yourselves. Also, I can see how someone not bound by the Pact, here a brief enough time they only make the visitor’s version, could be useful to a certain sort.”
