Madam Helena had snorted. “You make them look good, and sound better, and they’ve the sense to know it. And your routine with Pasco looked entirely perfect tonight. You?”
“I thought so too. It’s just a matter of getting the angles and the timing right, but going through it a couple more times got it up to our standards.” Their exceptionally high standards.
Madam Helena had snorted. “You don’t order him around. It helps.” Then she’d tilted her head. “You willing to consider extending your stay here?”
They’d arranged for four months, with an option to extend. Vega nodded. She had reason to stay in London now, for at least a bit. And she was clear that Madam Helena was going to give her a much better arrangement than the other clubs would.“What terms did you have in mind?” It didn’t do not to bargain, or at least see if a bargain was an option.
“Hah. How about we talk about it when you get in tomorrow? But I think I could see my way to some considerations.” That meant it’d be up to Vega to figure out what she wanted to ask for. That was an excellent question. Now, she just nodded, and made her way off to her dressing room to change. On the way she asked Bob to see about letting Fred the cabbie know she’d be out in a few minutes if he got the chance.
Twenty minutes later, she’d changed into a far more comfortable frock, removed all the performance jewellery and locked it in the safe, and put on her cosier shoes. She took her cloak and handbag and made her way to the door to find Fred and go home. As she came back out from the stage door to the street, she found a couple of people chatting in front of the club. Three went off in one direction, the other appeared to be waiting for a cab.
It was the young man she’d noticed earlier, because he was new, and he was with people who weren’t. The rest of his table were frequent enough regulars, every fortnight or so. She’d gathered, from some gossip, that they rotated through the clubs. They spent freely enough. Not with the extravagance of someone with a lot of money flowing their way, but not people who were counting every coin, either. Middle of the range drinks, food to nibble on for the entire table, but not a full meal.
The man glanced over at her, and then took a step backward, rather than toward her, as if giving her space. That was unusual, and Vega took a step or two closer to the door. Rob, standing there, said, “Miss Vega, Fred said he’d be along in a minute or two. He got a nearby fare.”
“Thank you.” She could wait easily enough, and she didn’t want to retreat. One of her heels had a blister, and while it didn’tache now, she didn’t want to encourage it that way. Then she inclined her head at the young man. “Your first time here, I believe?”
“You’ve an excellent eye. I’d say even finer than your voice, but then we’d be into the hubris of the gods, and that doesn’t seem wise, does it?” He had a pleasant speaking voice, and now she could see him better. He was also well-dressed. Quality suiting, in a deep blue, a tie that strongly suggested Owl House at Schola, confirmed by the tie pin.
The comment, though, was a trifle intriguing. It certainly wasn’t the tongue-tied flattery she sometimes got. “Guests here rarely begin with a classical reference.” She offered her hand after a moment. “Vega Beaumont, of course.”
“Farran Michaels. My uncle, who raised me from 1912, is a classicist. One picks up a fair bit of it by sheer proximity.” He took her hand, shook it, but also made a slight bow over it, in a way that came across as charming rather than entirely too contrived.
“And are you new to London, or just to the club?” They would need to be circumspect; the club was magical, the street was not. On the other hand, it was late enough there wasn’t a great deal of walking traffic.
“I work at Ormulu. I’m in the city for a project for a few months. Albie and the others thought I ought to see a bit of the town. Or hear, as the case may be. I’m certainly intending to come back. The entire evening was...” He hesitated, as if searching for a word. “It fit together. Far better than some places, where everyone’s jostling for attention.”
“Ah. You are clever. Not everyone spots that. Rather fewer understand why it’s important.” Vega thought she might have a word with Madam Helena about this one, tomorrow. A steady guest in the crowd, who understood what they were doing, that was a foundational point all the performers could benefit from.That was no bad thing. Making sure that this man got a slightly better seat, where it meant someone wouldn’t be bothering the dance mistresses and waiters coming through. That didn’t hurt either.
Then something else occurred to her. “Ormulu, you said.” The question now was how to ask what she wanted to know. Asking if he were a clerk would be insulting. Ah, there, that was the way to do it. “Do you have a specialty?”
“I’ve a knack for the feel of an object. Which ones might deserve closer attention, beyond the obvious.” Now, that was a deft explanation, suggesting a magical competence without coming out and saying it. It was also exactly the problem Vega had been struggling with. The question was whether he was trustworthy, or could be sworn to be. She tapped her toe once.
Ormulu had an excellent reputation. They made a point of keeping it so, not just to the ordinary magical standard, but by her family’s line. She remembered one of her aunts saying in passing that more than one line from the Grandmothers favoured Ormulu for that reason, but she couldn’t recall the details just now. “And you are...”
“An apprentice still.” He was frank about that. “If you have a question, I’d be glad to let you know how you could best get in touch with someone. I’m apprentice to Philemon Ettis. Working my way towards being done, but I’ve a year or two yet. This...” He gestured at London as a whole, “Is meant as a seasoning of experience.”
Vega nodded. “Would it be possible, then, to arrange a consultation in some form? I don’t know how to put it, what the options might be. From what you have said, perhaps you could direct me to what to consider.”
Mister Michaels considered only briefly. “Of course. It would be my pleasure. When would be convenient for you? I’ve a littleflexibility in my duties, but at the end of my day might work better? I assume you’re not fond of mornings.”
Vega snorted. No, she was not, and for several reasons. “The club is closed Mondays and Tuesdays in this season. Perhaps one of those afternoons, when you’re done?” The question of where was more challenging. “Is there somewhere I could meet you, or a preference?”
“I’ve a small office on King Street. If you arrived at half four, there’d still be someone at the desk.” He fumbled in his jacket, then pulled out a card case, offering her the card.
Vega was about to say something else, but then Fred pulled up. She didn’t want to keep him waiting; Friday night was good for fares. She nodded once. “Half four, Monday, this address. I beg pardon, that’s my cab.”
“Of course.” Michaels made another of those small bows, stepping aside so Rob could get the door. Once she was in the cab, she murmured to Fred. “Home, of course.”
He chatted amiably as they went about his night, and she made a few comments about hers. Once she was in her flat, she stripped down efficiently and removed all the cosmetic charms. Then she had a quick wash to remove the more physical cosmetics and the dried sweat of the evening. Performing was always like that, between the lights and the dancing and the heat of the bodies in the room. At least for her. Tomorrow, she’d have to look at the maps and figure out how much she did and didn’t want to say to that polite and possibly helpful young man.
Chapter 8
FEBRUARY 13TH IN LONDON
Monday afternoon, Farran tidied the office for the third time. It wasn’t as if it actually needed it. He was naturally in favour of having things in order, and Master Philemon had trained him beyond those tendencies. One didn’t want to risk some piece of art or sculpture to a pile of papers. One didn’t want to risk a spill, and one certainly didn’t want a client’s private details out. So his desk was clear, barring some blank notepaper and his second-best fountain pen. He didn’t bring his favourite to an office like this. That was just asking for trouble. And the photos of his parents and Uncle Cadmus, but those were in the corner.
The rest of the day had gone well enough. He’d gone round to Sotheby’s, and looked at a handful of items of interest. Two had been magical, four had not been. But he’d been able to add some commentary on the details of one of the nutmeg graters. He’d also offered to do some research on a cameo no one else had felt entirely confident about. That was his task for tomorrow. He’d need to work on it there, and also consult a number of reference texts.
