Page 66 of Arcane Entanglement

Rufus looked unconvinced. “How can you be so certain?” he said doggedly.

“Let’s just say Her Majesty and I go back a long way.”

Alastair Millbrook’s workshop bore an unassuming facade where it stood nestled amidst more opulent storefronts tucked between St. Martin’s Lane and Adelaide Street. The exterior was weathered brick, with frosted windows covered in intricate, gold filigree that prevented passersby from peering inside. A brass plaque was affixed to a wooden door painted a dark green. It readA. Millbrook, Artifice & Enchantments.

Shaw was waiting for them in the small foyer with a couple of constables Evander recognised.

“Top o’ the morning to ya, your Grace,” Shaw greeted brightly.

Rufus narrowed his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously cheerful, Shaw. What did you break this time?”

“It was some kind of clockwork device, Inspector,” Constable Oliver Bartley snitched before Shaw could protest her innocence. The constable was short and round and wore a perpetually earnest expression on his ruddy face.

Shaw sucked in air, outraged at being ratted out. “How could you, Ollie?!”

Bartley’s ears flushed. “It’s not right to lie, Miss Shaw.”

Rufus said a rude word. “I was jesting. Did she really destroy a piece of evidence?!”

“We tried to stop her, sir, but she said she needed to examine the device closely and then it just sort of went—Poof!” Bartley made an elaborate exploding gesture with his hand.

"Turns out the thing wasn’t meant to be treated like a maraca,” the lanky figure beside him contributed drily.

Freddie Fitch was known for being observant and quick-witted.

Evander had high hopes he would make sergeant by the end of the year.

“Best go in and survey the damage, your Grace, Inspector.” Fitch dipped his chin respectfully at Evander and Rufus. “We'll be out here, making sure no one else decides to come and play shake the priceless magical artefact.”

Shaw gave the constables a dirty look and avoided meeting Rufus’s eyes as she led them inside Millbrook’s workshop.

A whispered exchange started behind Evander.

“Pssst!” Bartley hissed to Fitch. “We forgot to ask his Grace about that rumour! You know, the one saying he’s an Archmage!”

“Ollie?” Fitch muttered.

“Yes, Freddie?”

“Remember how I often tell you there are times when it’s best to keep mum?”

“Ah-huh?”

“Now’s one of those times.”

“Oh.”

Shaw sneaked a look at Evander. Having refrained herself the day before, the mage appeared to be bursting with questions. To Evander’s relief, she decided not to voice them in the face of Rufus’s warning stare.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to see, your Grace.” Shaw indicated the interior of the Charm Weaver’s workshop.

It ran the entire length and almost the whole of the width of the building.

A bright autumnal sunlight filtered through a multi-paned, arched window overlooking a small courtyard and garden at the back. It illuminated the ornate workbench sitting beneath the wide stone ledge and the array of tools and mysterious objects cluttering its surface.

The rays danced off a large brass-and-crystal ornery suspended from the ceiling, the device intended to map magical ley lines instead of celestial bodies. Shelves lined a significant portion of the room, racks crammed with bottles and vials of every shape and size. A pair of tall, wooden apothecary cabinets with assorted drawers framed a library nook containing a well-stocked collection of arcane texts, engineering manuals, and ledgers. One corner of the workshop was dedicated to metalworking, the space dominated by a magically-enhanced forge. An anvil and a table holding trays full of hammers, tongs, and alchemically-treated pliers stood next to the furnace.

Evander’s gaze landed on a wall covered in dozens of exquisite magical clocks. Each was a unique piece that would no doubt fetch several guineas on the current market. Their rhythmic ticking filled the atelier with an eerie susurration that made the hairs lift on the back of his neck.