Page 12
“That seems a tad pigheaded,” Howard pointed out, not unreasonably. “It can’t possibly be true, can it, Professor?”
“Why doesn’t he ever stop talking?” Professor Walter asked Luke in a beleaguered tone of voice.
“Tea?” Howard said at once, delighted to have her attention at last.
“Only if it’s been steeped in the thrice-blessed waters of Elysium.”
“What she meant to say was yes, and thank you,” Luke said to Howard.
Over the last sixteen years, he had ascended from a rare, coveted spot as one of Professor Walter’s apprentices to very nearly her scholarly equal and was, therefore, the only person alive who dared remind her of pedestrian concerns like manners.
Verity Walter was a brilliant historian, an exacting instructor, and, in her own words, a walking, talking funhouse mirror the Guild didn’t particularly enjoy catching a glimpse of themselves in.
She was fiftyish, had short grey hair and a deep voice, only ever wore tweed and riding boots in spite of having never been within ten feet of a horse, chomped on the end of a pipe that she never actually smoked, enunciated her syllables with more cutting precision than any monarch of England, and was so committed to the act that even Luke had never seen her out of character (though every now and then, he thought he heard a bit of Suffolk creep back into her voice when she spoke to her sister on the phone).
Her family had just enough magic in it to be considered reputable but not so much that they were considered important, which meant the respect (and terror) she inspired in everybody who knew her had very little to do with pedigree and a whole lot more to do with her talent, work ethic, and disinclination to accept any nonsense.
“Isn’t Posy supposed to be in school when you’re working?” she asked now, observing that there was a child curled up in one of the armchairs with enormous fluffy headphones over her ears. “Is this why you look like you haven’t slept since the heyday of the Ottoman Empire?”
“You have such a marvellous way of putting things,” Howard swooned.
Verity ignored him. “By the way, if you saw a fox in the library on your way out last night, you didn’t.”
“I didn’t,” Luke agreed.
“Very good, Luke. That’s very convincing.”
“No, I really didn’t. Should I have?”
“No,” said Verity at once.
Luke looked at Howard, who was contentedly sipping his tea. “Really? You have no questions at all?”
“Too exhausting, old bean,” said Howard cheerfully.
“While we’re sharing things,” said Luke, turning back to his redoubtable employer, “I hope you aren’t counting on Bradford Bertram-Mogg’s vote for any funding at the moment, because I’m pretty sure I poked the old gargoyle in the eye.”
“In a literal sense?” Verity asked, looking happier than Luke had ever seen her.
“No,” said Luke.
“I suppose this means you’re not coming to the winter masquerade either,” said Howard gloomily. “And don’t say you were never planning to in the first place.”
“I was never planning to.”
“Damn it, Luke! I just said don’t say it!”
“Even if I had been about to apply for additional funding, I would never have counted on that walking cadaver’s vote,” Verity reminded Luke.
“He doesn’t so much as scratch his nose without Albert Grey’s permission, and we all know how he feels about me.
He didn’t even want me to have you! I had to get a private grant to pay your wage! ”
“Well, you’re always saying you don’t want us to be beholden to them.” Luke shrugged.
But Verity was on a roll. Having polished her tea off in a single, efficient gulp, she seized her pipe and clamped it between her teeth. “The Guild has never been perfect, but Albert Grey has all but ruined it. The sooner we can throw him and that entire spineless Cabinet in the bin, the better.”
“ I’m in that Cabinet,” Howard protested.
Verity gave him a puzzled look, like she either had no idea who he was or had no idea why it ought to matter whether or not she threw him in the bin.
As most of her interactions with Howard involved the words “my friends call me Verity. You may call me Professor Walter,” Luke thought it was probably both.
“I have yet to decide how I feel about the new Chancellor,” Verity went on. “The ghastly, nepotistic antiques surrounding her, however, are another matter.”
“Nepotistic!” Howard cried, apparently deciding that was the descriptor he objected to most. “The Cabinet is democratically elected!”
“Does he actually believe that?” Verity asked Luke, but didn’t wait for an answer before moving on. “So if you didn’t actually take out his eye, what did you do to Bertram-Mogg?”
“I told him it’s a good thing his day is over.”
“Is that all? I say far worse things to him at least twice a week.”
“ How did you say it?” Howard wanted to know. “Did you, er, raise your voice?”
“Of course not. I was completely, unshakeably calm.”
“Ah,” said Howard, wincing.
“I see,” said Verity.
Luke sighed. “What?”
“Er,” Howard floundered, flustered. “The thing is, um, well, sometimes what you think is you being calm can sometimes, er, come across as, er…”
“Arctic,” said Verity succinctly. “ Ant arctic, even.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Howard objected loyally, but Luke only shrugged, unbothered.
Verity gave her pipe an emphatic chomp. “It’s a compliment.
You know how I feel about drama.” She glanced down at a translation she’d been working on, scratched out a word and scribbled something else, and looked back up.
“You still haven’t told me why Posy’s not with one of the governesses.
And yes, if you’re curious, I am indeed cringing at the fact that I have just had to unironically use the word governesses . ”
“She absconded again,” Luke said. “I’m not even sure I blame her because, as we’ve established, governesses . I think it’s time I took her home.”
“Whose home?” Howard asked.
“Hers, obviously.”
“Your parents’ house? At the university?”
“My flat is the size of a shoebox, so yes, our parents’ house.”
“You brought her here because she couldn’t stay there, old chap,” Howard reminded him somewhat unnecessarily. “You said she’d started using her magic in front of other people because she doesn’t understand she has to hide it.”
“And I hoped this would be the one place that wouldn’t matter,” Luke agreed, looking over to make sure Posy still had her headphones on.
(She did, and seemed to be absorbed in a game involving tucking farm animals into bed.) “As the last month has proven, though, all I’ve done is swap one set of rules Posy can’t follow for another. ”
Apparently at a loss, Howard resorted to appealing to Verity. “Don’t you think Luke ought to stay?”
Verity had once again been gazing into the distance with a furrowed brow, but she turned abruptly back to them and said, “No, I don’t. He should go.”
“Well, fuck you too,” said Luke mildly.
This was too much for poor Howard, who let out a piteous, scandalised whimper.
Verity chuckled. “Much as I like having you at my beck and call seven days a week, may I refer you back to the part about you looking like you haven’t slept since the siege of Carthage?”
“I thought you said it was the Ottoman…” Quailing at the look she gave him, Howard wisely abandoned the rest of his sentence.
“Setting aside my opinion that you are Posy’s brother , her well-being is not your responsibility, and your parents are a disgrace,” Verity said to Luke, pulling, as ever, not one single punch, “I think the best course of action is a break.”
“A break,” Luke echoed.
“Yes. Take your sister to a quiet spot by the sea and do nothing for a few days.”
With absolutely perfect timing, Posy took off her headphones, put her tablet down, and came over to squeeze herself into the tiny gap between Luke’s arm and his torso.
It was her usual way of letting him know she just wanted a warm, quiet moment, but this time, she also pointed at the nearest window and said, again, “Car.”
“I rest my case,” Verity said with great satisfaction.
“And I suppose you have an opinion on where we ought to go too.”
“Er,” said Verity. “Er, yes. I do. You should go to my weekend cottage in, er, Lytham St. Annes.”
Luke gave her a long, sharp look. “You hate people who have weekend cottages.”
“I’ve never said that.”
“You absolutely have,” said a very bewildered Howard. “It was just last month that you told Eustace Cholmondeley that anyone who acquires more property than they need to live in is a twa—”
“Good God, you’re a nuisance,” Verity snapped. She stomped to her computer, seized the mouse, and clicked aggressively until she reached the page she was looking for. She turned the screen around to face Luke and jabbed a finger at it. “There. A cottage by the sea. Go forth.”
“Verity, there isn’t a universe in which I believe that’s your cottage.”
“Fine, it’s my cousin’s,” she said in great irritation. “Just go, would you?”
Howard examined the little red pin on the map. “Isn’t that in Lancashire? Is there something else in Lancashire? Why does Lancashire ring a bell?”
“Get out of my library,” said Verity.
“It’s not your—”
“OUT!”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12 (Reading here)
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54