“I just...” Vega took a breath and let it out, feeling her nerves rise even just talking about it. “I don’t want to be surprised by him.”
“I don’t either. But we’ll have the potions. We’ll have the timing on our side. We’ll have an option for access he doesn’t. Few people do, and it’s the sort of thing where you need an introduction to get them to agree to take you somewhere.”
“Is there a process for it, then?” Vega was suddenly distracted by that idea. “How often?”
“Something like this? People with a specific project, but private? A couple of times a year, maybe, in a given area. The people working the lines, they have a specific range, of course. As far as they can walk, do the work, and walk back to a safe exit in maybe six hours. Sometimes just four.”
“So there are a lot of little jurisdictional fiefdoms.” Vega said, thinking through the implications. “And Bill’s only goes so far.”
“Exactly.” Farran stretched a little. “And like I said, different lines. They hire their own staff. It’s complicated.”
Vega looked at the maps one more time. She was going to have to do something to move this forward. And she was going to have to trust that Farran had some clue what he was doing. “Go have breakfast with Bill, then. And write to me. We can work out the details for once I’m off tomorrow night. Now, though...” Her chin came up. “I’ve got an hour or so?”
“And we could find something decidedly pleasant to be doing for an hour?” Farran agreed. “Getting more familiar with each other. Is that the way to put it?”
That made her laugh, and reach out to touch his nose with one finger. “Like that. Can I clear the tray for you? Do you need to tidy anything up in your bedroom?”
“Oh, I was hoping we might end up with a little time for the bedroom,” Farran said, cheerfully. “Already tidy. But if you’d like to see to the tray, I can do something about the lighting.”
The following hour was, indeed, everything Vega wanted and needed out of the time. Not enough time, certainly. She really wanted to figure out when the two of them could have an evening, overnight, and see what that gave them. No rushing, no needing to set an alarm. But in the meantime, some pleasure was certainly vastly better than none.
In the midst of it, what she figured out about Farran was that he had a particular touch. It wasn’t just about the usual sorts of touches that came with sex or whatever they were doing. Farran was doing something more aligned with his magic, or at least she thought it must be. It was decidedly something she wanted to explore more when they had time and space to talk about it.
Chapter 34
2AM ON MARCH 25TH, BELOW LONDON
The wee hours of the morning were definitely not Farran’s best time of day. Of course, he’d done his best to plan. There had been a potion in the afternoon, so he got a good solid nap, and a different one at midnight to keep him up. He’d arranged for a day off, since he’d likely be sleeping most of Monday, even if everything went absolutely smoothly. And then, of course, the potion to make it unlikely they’d be noticed.
Bill and Frank had turned out to be cheerful and somewhat weather-worn men in their fifties. They had that useful mix of competence and also having seen a fair number of things. That Farran wanted to go down in the tunnels wasn’t terribly unusual. That he was looking for something magical was more so, but still didn’t bother them. They’d only wanted to know if the thing was dangerous.
Over their breakfast when they’d gone off shift at half-five on Sunday morning, Farran had explained quietly. The item wasn’t dangerous as it was, but it might be if the wrong people interfered with it, and they knew of someone who might be looking for it. He’d explained that he and Vega wanted to see if they could get more information about where the specific item might be. It had taken a bit of back and forth chat, and severalroughly drawn maps on the copies Farran had brought. But by the time the plates had been cleared and Farran had paid the bill, they had a decent plan.
Now, here Vega was. She’d wrapped up for the night a hair early, and Farran and Bill had met her near the door at street level. She was wearing entirely sensible clothes. Brown trousers were tucked into calf-high boots with a good tread, a jacket over a blouse and her hair up under a scarf, with only a few wisps showing. There had been a long and nerve-wracking climb down dozens of stairs until they came out a door onto a disused station platform. All the signs were still in place, even posters and such, though those were peeling in places and faded. There was a smell of damp, but not too much like the worrying sort of flood.
“Had a fair bit of water in here, January.” Bill was scanning the station. “Now, off this way. The track’s not on, but avoid it anyway. Good practice. Stay single file, follow me. There’s a bit of tunnel I think’s where you want.”
Vega cleared her throat. “Can we try something here? A little singing, nothing loud.”
“It’s a tunnel, luv. Echoes.” But then Bill shrugged. “No one to hear, though. Just the rats.”
Farran caught Vega wincing at that. Rats were, he assumed, not her usual sort of environment. Nor his, other than that Thebes certainly had some, and mice, like any old estate that also farmed grain did. He reached out to touch her arm, and she nodded just once. Then she took a half step to the side, cleared her throat, and sang.
It wasn’t in English, whatever it was. And it wasn’t in Latin, either. Farran knew that well enough to be sure. It wasn’t even the same language she’d used before. It had vowels like something out of Chaucer or the Pearl Poet, great rolling things that had depth and space like the tunnel beside them. But if ithad been Middle English, even Old English, he’d have made out a word here or there, and he couldn’t.
Maybe Vega would tell him if he asked. Or she’d sing it again for him, so he could listen. Now, though, it was like the music made a space around them, and then flowed. She moved her hands, as if trying to feel for it, the way Farran felt for the flow of magic in a piece. The charms were anchored, everything else shifted around it and made a new pattern. Only Vega was doing it with space in three dimensions. She brought the chant to an end, a long held note that echoed down the tunnel a little.
“That way, yes.” Her voice was suddenly crisp and entirely different from the singing.
Bill looked impressed. “Didn’t know you meant like that, miss. Ma’am.” There was an instinctive sound of respect, even if Vega was— well, she looked about the age of Bill’s children, Farran suspected. “Frankie’s up this way, by the door.”
They went along the platform, to the end, then hopped off the platform to land on rocky ground, covered with gravel that shifted under their feet. Bill had a charm lit lantern. He held it out and then nodded for Farran to set a charmlight in his. They kept well to the left edge, away from the tracks, following the surprisingly sharp curve of the tunnel until there was a door. Bill knocked on it once, then two more times in quick succession, and someone inside opened it.
Farran felt that sensible people might not be down in a tunnel with strangers at this time of night, but they were committed to this now. He took a breath and then went in. Better him first than Vega. Not that he’d be much use if something went wrong, he kept thinking that. But needs must and people had expectations of the men in such outings. He’d do the necessary thing.
The room he found himself in was square, maybe eight feet on each side, and three of them made of brick. Frankie noddedonce. “This’d be Miss Beaumont?” He didn’t stick out a hand, largely because his were more or less coated in soot. Or possibly grease. “You’ve an idea where you want to be going, then?”
“That was her singing,” Bill said, cheerfully. “Like a nightingale. This way, you said, miss?”