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I WAS ENGROSSED IN a book of engravings depicting the floral emblems of Voonran houses when Hal found me. It took me a moment to realize he was there, standing at my shoulder and grinning steadily at me.
“Only three books?” Hal said when I looked at him, nodding at the small stack in the crook of my arm.
“My boxes are over by the tellers,” I said vaguely. “You pay each vendor separately.”
“Do you need longer to fulfill your commission?”
Spending an hour (or two; I hadn’t been counting) investigating the book fair was a salve to my spirits, and I felt much less unsettled than earlier. I considered Hal’s question as we joined the short queue before the bookseller’s table.
“Mrs. Etaris said to take a portion of the funds for transportation, which I don’t really need to do, given the falarode.”
“Unless you want to ferry all these up to your accommodations yourself, I’d suggest hiring a porter with a wagon.”
“I would have thought of that eventually.”
He chuckled; we both shuffled forward a few steps. I shifted the books in my arms slightly. “In that case, while I’m sure I could spend many more hours here, I’ve spent most of Mrs. Etaris’s budget and all of mine for myself.”
“Excellent. In that case, may I take you to my club for a sup of lunch? You may tell me about your book purchases.”
We shuffled forward another spot. “You have a club here? I’d have thought Kingsford?”
Hal smiled easily. “Oh, I have one there as well, which I expect to use more frequently now that I’m home, but this is still the cultural and economic capital of Northwest Oriole, you know.”
“I suppose so,” I replied. That made sense for why both Mr. Buchance from Chare (and living in South Fiellan) and Hal, Duke of Fillering Pool in northern Ronderell, did their banking here.
“It is so,” Hal assured me. We stepped up to the counter and I started laying out my books so they could be tallied by the seller. One partway down was the botanical illustrations I’d thought Hal would appreciate. I was gratified to see his attention immediately diverted upon seeing it.
The seller looked at me. “Alongside your other boxes, that’ll be a gold emperor and seven wheatears, six bees, young sir.”
I pulled out my wallet and counted out the money with care. I was sharply reminded of Mr. Buchance as I did so, recalling a lesson in the etiquette of merchanting. He’d said that while everyone respected what money could do, few showed that respect in their transactions with those who dealt in it. Recalling my own experiences working at the bookstore in Ragnor Bella, I realized what he meant. Counting the money in front of the merchant, so both he and I could see no shenanigans were involved, was not the sign of distrust or miserliness I would once have taken it for.
“Starting a library are you, young sir?” the merchant asked genially as he accepted the coins and began re-packing the books into some wooden crates that had been behind him.
I chuckled dutifully, even as Hal laughed his whooping laugh outright—no doubt thinking of my small flat above the store.
It was rather thrilling to realize that I could start a library, now. Arguty Manor’s was very good on fish and artificial waterworks (my uncle) and pre-Imperial Alinorel history (my aunt), but held almost nothing else but the sort of books ordered by the yard for effect. My grandfather had run through the estate and it was only my elder uncle Sir Rinald’s hard work that had seen it even begin to recuperate. Sir Rinald had not been able to keep much of the once-excellent library, unfortunately.
“Some of it’s coming to me,” I said agreeably. “The greater part is a commission from Mrs. Etaris, who is—”
But the merchant’s eyes had lit up with recognition. “Mrs. Etaris of Ragnor Bella! I should have known from your subjects of choice, sir. Do give her my regards—Jack Jospian, she’ll know me, she once did me a very good turn. Oh yes, I know her.”
“How did that come about?” I asked curiously.
Jack Jospian rubbed his balding head in some embarrassment, then winked at me. “Not something to talk about in public, but it saved my marriage, it did. Now, if I give you a book for the lady herself, will you see it reaches her?”
“I shall,” I said, confused at the earnestness of this question. Was I not already taking half a cartload of books to her?
Jack Jospian reached into the small strongbox on the floor next to him before pulling out a plain-covered book with no title or author’s name visible. He wrapped it efficiently in brown paper, tied off with string, and set in on my last crate.
“And there you are, young sir.”
“Thank you. Now ... do you know where I might hire a porter with a cart?”
The merchant gave me a series of directions I found about as clear as those I’d received in Tara, but Hal was nodding along, so I put the crates with those containing my earlier purchases, promised the urchin watching them another bee to wait an additional few minutes, and let Hal guide me to a stand of hansom cabs drawn by single horses I would never have found on my own. He glanced at me, smiled, and let me negotiate what I thought was an exorbitant price for haulage but which seemed, from everyone else’s reactions, to be a hard bargain.
We showed the driver my piles, paid the urchin generously to assist in the loading, and, on Hal’s unspoken advice—in fact, he just climbed into the seat without comment once we’d finished the loading—accompanied my books to the Red Lion.
Mr. Fancy and Mr. Cartwright were both there. They efficiently took over the job of unloading the crates, leaving me to pay the driver, thank them for their work, and finally take a deep breath as I returned to Hal. He had, I discovered, held back the hansom cab.
“Swordage’s,” he said to the driver, whose eyes widened. Hal ignored his mutter and barely let me seat myself next to him before rapping on the window to indicate we should depart.
“You shouldn’t let all your purchases out of your sight,” Hal said quietly.
I brought my attention back from fruitless examination of the foggy streets. “I beg your pardon?”
He smiled. “I should say theft probably isn’t a problem in Ragnor Bella, outside of your numerous highwaymen.”
I snickered, not quite embarrassed at my naivete, but not happy about it either. Still, we were both men of Alinor, and Hal a good enough friend to let me tell him about the literary treasures I’d just acquired all the way back down to a building approximately thirty yards from the cab stand.
The cab driver dropped us off with a nearly incomprehensible mutter about mad rich nobs, accompanied by a servile leer when I paid him generously for his trouble. Leaving him to join the other hansom cabs at the stand, Hal led me back around the Guildmarket Hall to the front.
We stopped very nearly at the same corner where I’d had the unpleasant interaction with the old man, though in the intervening few hours someone had removed the beggar’s corpse, thank the Lady.
Hal caught my distraction. “What is it?”
“Someone died here earlier,” I began, and told him about the incident. He looked troubled by more than the events, but when I started to ask him why, said quietly, “Not here—once we’re in the club. This is the old centre of Orio City,” he went on more loudly, gesturing at the Guildmarket Hall and the other grand buildings, which displayed most of four centuries of Imperial architecture (the Hall being by far the oldest, probably pre-Astandalan in origin though its facade was of later manufacture).
“The main street here runs from the governor’s palace to the university, though the old city proper stopped at the Loughan Gates, just past the bank, where the cattle market used to be held.”
“Which way is the harbour?” I enquired, taking his arm as he began to stroll in the direction he’d said held the palace.
“Ahead and to our right. On a clear day you’d see it.”
“Not all that common, this time of year, as I understand.”
“Indeed, not this year. Come, we turn in here.” He indicated an old limestone building in Early Bastard Decadent style, far less elaborated than the flamboyant Grange of the Talgarths back home. Hal tugged my arm gently, and I followed hastily, trying to shake my thoughts free of the distractions occasioned by the architecture and thought of wireweed. (For the Talgarths, as Mr. Dart and I had discovered my first weekend home, had been growing wireweed on their estate all summer for the Knockermen.)
“I’d like to see the harbourfront one day,” I murmured.
“The mosaics are remarkable,” Hal agreed. We strode up the steps to the covered portico, where a doorman in scarlet and gold nodded deferentially to Hal opened the door.
“Your grace.”
“Eamon.”
It warmed me that Hal remembered the doorman’s name, though I wasn’t surprised.
Inside the club was all muted luxury, mostly in shades of dark green velvet, old oak, and gold accents. A few ancient tapestries representing the Lady, mostly amidst unicorns or holding court to her chivalrous knights, provided some leavening.
The first room was something of a parlour where mostly old and distinguished men sat with respectable women, complete with chaperones. “The Members’ Guestroom,” Hal said softly, nodding at a few people but not stopping to greet any as he led me across the room to an unremarkable door at the back of the room.
“We’re not eating here?”
He smiled. “In the private dining chamber. I thought I’d sponsor you for membership. It’ll please your grandmother.”
Because that wasn’t a daunting prospect in the least.
That it was not exactly common for the Duke of Fillering Pool to be ushering a young man of modest demeanour to be sponsored was evident by the reactions of many of the distinguished old men in the room, whose soft murmurs of conversation sharpened with interest and curiosity once we had passed. I was reminded of far too many situations in Ragnor Bella where my appearance had elicited a similar response.
Like on those occasions, I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin, and otherwise ignored them as best as I could pretend.
Hal, of course, appeared entirely comfortable in himself and utterly oblivious of the stir.
The unremarkable door opened onto a small antechamber. Once the door shut behind us, all the noise of conversation was entirely cut off.
“This is all a little mysterious,” I said. I tried for suavity—it was always good to practise—but doubted I achieved it.
Hal smirked at me. “It’s not the Unicorn, don’t worry.”
The Unicorn—gambling hell and club for gentlemen of, let us say, diverse tastes—had been mentioned at the student tavern the night before. I decided not to engage with that (and damn my fair skin’s telltale blush). “Hal, do you you think this is a good idea? I’m trying to be inconspicuous, you know. We’re worrisomely close to the Indrillines here.”
“Not in here,” he replied easily. “This is the bastion of the old aristocracy. The current governor’s an upstart compared to my family or yours. Lark can hardly know your title yet, can she?”
“She—” I stopped. Hal had not been there at the student tavern. “Jack Lindsary’s writing a sequel to Three Years Gone, commissioned by and for Lark, to be performed at her wedding this Winterturn. It’s about Mad Jack Greenwing’s son’s return home from university. Complete with rumours of dragons.”
Hal stared at me. “How do you know? I haven’t heard that gossip.”
“I met him last night at a student pub recommended to Mr. Dart by Roald Ragnor. The general response suggested it was his first announcement.”
“I haven’t heard anything about this!”
I blinked at Hal, then realized he meant about my reaction to Lindsary’s announcement. “The conversation prior had made it clear that there were those present who might bear tales. I held my tongue.”
Hal paused a moment, then smiled grimly. “Good show.”
I bowed ironically. “Thank you.”
He glanced at the door uncertainly. “I confess I was thinking more about the longer term than your current contretemps with Lark. Like it or not, you’re a new player in the game of courts.”
“It’s a nearly empty title,” I protested. “There’s the Woods, and the village, but it’s not as if the road goes to Astandalas any more.”
“Things are happening in the wider game, Jemis. Alliances are shifting—people are less and less likely to wish Astandalas back again. They’re looking now to what we can build on our own. You know the power the anti-magic faction has—and how their fears are permitting the unscrupulous who use magic to take more and more power.”
“I do know,” I replied bitterly, thinking about my aunt and uncle, about the cult to the Dark Kings, about poor Miss Shipston the mermaid from Ghilousette, about all those poor souls sleeping away their wireweed addiction on the streets of Orio City.
“You see, then? I’m not on that side—”
“Nor am I. You know that, Hal.”
“I need allies. Jemis, I’ve spent the last few months taking up my full responsibilities. Something’s going on—half my traditional allies have backed away in the past month. I returned home from visiting you to find my sister half-frantic about the situation. People who staunchly agreed that they would support my positions on magic are abruptly declaring neutrality or, even worse, turning to open support of the governor here. These are people whose families have supported mine for generations. Something—or someone—is persuading them to change sides.”
“So why, when we’re half a mile from said governor, in the heart of his territory, do you think this a good idea? Aren’t you worried you’ll be ... persuaded?”
Hal scoffed. “I have magic and many protections. The situation with active magic is not anywhere so dire as it was—it’s fear that keeps the practice out of fashion, not necessity.”
“Terrible things happened in the Fall and the Interim.”
“Don’t I know it,” he replied grimly.
I stared at the closed door by which we’d entered. No sound came through at all. I hoped our conversation was equally inaudible.
“You think, then, that I would be a useful ally to you? I agree with you, Hal, you know that, and I’ll stand beside you as you’ve stood beside me, but you must know I don’t know who you’re talking about or even where these ‘decisions’ are being made!”
“They’re made in places like this, in conversations like this,” Hal said, gesturing at the door we had not come through. “In the quiet private rooms of aristocratic clubs, at salons and balls, and ultimately in parliaments and royal courts. But by the time the subjects are spoken of openly, the decisions have almost always already been made.”
I made a face at this. “That is so entirely unfair.”
Hal regarded me for a long moment. “I promise you I’ll support your democratic revolution in the future if you’ll support me against the so-called prince of Orio City now.”
“You needn’t mock.”
“I’m not.”
I glanced aside, taking in the understated expensiveness of this antechamber. I was never going to be any sort of great mage, and certainly would not be attending Tara for a second degree any time soon. And ... much as I had no desire to be a lord, let alone a politician, I was a lord, and therefore a politician. I knew well enough from Mr. Dart’s history lessons that if I did not decide on my position others would do it for me.
“Very well,” I said at last. “But I don’t want to ...” I faltered, not sure how to express my many reservations.
Hal clapped me on the arm, grinning not at all like an Imperial Duke making alliances. “Jemis, you need only be yourself to make all your politics and mine abundantly clear. All you need to do is stand beside me.”
I thought of Hal, unflinchingly standing beside me though all the students of Morrowlea threw stones.
“As you have stood with me, so shall I keep faith with you,” I said formally, not knowing that I thereby formed an alliance the Dukes of Fillering Pool and the Marches of the Woods Noirell had been dancing around for three and a half centuries of acrimony and embattled pride.
Not that that would have stopped me in the least.