Page 25 of Claiming the Tower (Council Mysteries #1)

That evening at Verdant Court

“ H ere’s your chocolate.” Bess offered a delicate porcelain cup to Hereswith, then poured out another for herself.

They’d just finished a somewhat late supper.

Bess had been in Trellech until five, but Hereswith had not come home until nearer seven.

Now it was nine. Her father was in bed. Hereswith had just changed into her nightgown and wrap, obviously intending to do the same sooner than later. “A longer than expected day?”

“Longer, more annoying, also more terrifying.” Hereswith’s voice had a curious neutrality to it, given the second and third adjectives. “Do you want to hear it?”

“If you wish to talk about it, yes. Otherwise, if you need a distraction, I have decades of experience in talking about slight, pleasant things that have no real bearing on the world.” Bess was not quite as good at matching the tone as she’d wanted, but it got Hereswith to smile for a moment, so that was all right.

Hereswith stretched her hands out for a moment, some slight cracking audible in her shoulders.

Bess considered that, but held her tongue for a moment.

If Hereswith were inclined to deeper topics, Bess didn’t want to discourage that.

“It was the weekly meeting with the Council Members and a range of senior Ministry staff.” Again, her voice had that distance to it. “I was sent out, part way through.”

“They what?” Bess nearly dropped her cup of chocolate, leaning forward. “Why?”

“Oh, that’s not the interesting bit.” Hereswith glanced over at Bess before looking out the window into the dark. “Magistra Ventry, Council Member Ventry, came to speak with me about it.”

“That would be the terrifying bit, then.” Bess didn’t need to make it a question. She had only ever seen Council Member Ventry at a respectful distance, but she’d heard some of the gossip. Everyone had, who paid any attention to the gossip or the news.

“Oh, yes.” Hereswith swallowed. “I can’t remember right now. The chocolate is restorative, but its powers have limits. What have I said so far about the meetings?”

“Weekly, with various representatives, for discussion about what Albion’s role in the current conflict could and should be.

Resources, in terms of people, materials, magical items. And also knowledge and experience.

” Bess considered what she already knew.

“Council Member Tipson and others of his generation, who served under Wellington, for example.”

“This is, as people keep reminding us, a different sort of war, but yes, that sort of thing.” Hereswith paused and took a sip from her chocolate.

“The point I raised, just before I was sent out, was about the lack of accurate information being provided to us. Or, I am increasingly certain, to the relevant Ministry departments on the non-magical side.”

“Huh.” Bess had questions about that, but instead she asked, “And where does Council Member Ventry come in? Or the rest of the Council, actually. I thought they rarely did that sort of administrative work.”

“The Council’s remit is everything that affects the land magic.

Which gives an exceedingly large scope, when they want it to, or a good excuse to ignore something when they’d prefer.

” Hereswith twisted her fingers in a back-and-forth motion.

“Here, three of them— always the same three. Ventry, Tipson, and FitzHugh— for a meeting, nominally for coordination and information purposes.”

“But that would require information and coordination to be occurring.” Bess said immediately. “And I gather it isn’t.”

“See, this is a point that it took people in the meeting an hour to admit to.” Hereswith sighed, peered at her cup, and then took a longer sip. “The Council Members, at least, always turn up prepared for the meeting, with thoughtful commentary. Also sharply incisive commentary as required.”

Bess considered, peering into her own cup before taking another sip while she thought. “Why three of them? And why those three? Or is that the sort of mystery that other people aren’t supposed to think about?”

“That’s a good question.” Hereswith sounded bemused now, which was a much better mood than either angry or terrified.

Bess wasn’t entirely sure what that would look like on Hereswith, but suspected it might well depend on the cause, and particularly whether Hereswith was angry on someone else’s behalf.

“All right, let’s see. There are the formalities.

The Council rites at the solstices, with the offerings from each of the Lords or Ladies of the land and their Heirs.

And at least a summary of the six months in documentation.

I assume there’s some longer form version provided too.

Most of those are just a single paper scroll. ”

“And presumably there’s some sort of ritual that goes with that, as well as the formal dancing.” Bess said.

“Have you ever seen it? Rather lovely, and yes, the ritual aspects are intriguing. Not that they ever talk about those. But Papa and I went several times, when he was in better health.” Hereswith tilted her head.

“That sort of family. Especially when everyone was hoping I might actually marry, despite being on the shelf.”

“A few times. Not with Madam Judson, though. Before that, with Madam Howard.” She had been a lovely older woman, a long-widowed aunt of the current Lord Howard.

Vastly easier and more enjoyable to work for than Madam Judson.

“Ten years ago, perhaps. And I agree. The way the dances shift and change.” They began always with the same sequence, old dances from the founding of the Council that made patterns among all the dancers.

“We have the recognition of the land. We have the ritual. But they also take on various tasks. Dealing with the consequences of the Pact, though I’ve never heard that fully explained.

But that is part of the reason for the Council presence in the meetings.

This war is not on Albion’s land, but during the Napoleonic wars, invasion was a concern.

The Spanish Armada. Negotiating with the Fatae if someone must, I gather. ”

Bess tilted her head. “How different is that than what you do?”

“I have no idea?” The question had made Hereswith laugh, though, possibly with the ridiculous idea. “I’ve never talked to one of the Fatae. That’s the point of the Pact, that we don’t. That almost no one does.”

“It makes me wonder how they choose people. How the Challenge works, whatever it is.” Bess tipped her cup slightly, then added a hint of a warming charm to loosen the cooling chocolate just the right amount. “Does your cup need a little help?”

Hereswith peered into hers and then handed it over without comment.

“There’s a great deal of gossip about the Challenge, but I admit I haven’t figured out much of the truth of it.

It’s like the gossip you hear about men’s private clubs.

Surely not all the tales are true, but which ones are exaggerations and which are not? ”

“At least some of the ones about private orgies probably are exaggerations. Most men haven’t the stamina for some of those tales. A couple in a room, maybe, but all of them?” Bess said it a little off-handedly.

“You hear much more interesting gossip than I have.” Hereswith didn’t seem put-off. “Do you think that of most men, then, that they exaggerate their virtue?”

“In a particular way, men. Women do the same, but in a different landscape, on the whole. Who can be most perfect in whatever way is fashionable or desired?” Bess shrugged.

“Men, at least the ones I’ve heard talking, it’s more physical prowess.

In bed, in bohort, in whatever other activity they take up. ”

“In war.” That comment brought Hereswith back to the original topic.

“The Council don’t wage wars. That’s not the realm of their power.

The British Ministry certainly doesn’t seem to consult them formally.

All of what we’re doing is funnelling that— the Council’s desires, the reality of what’s on offer, and so on— through to our contacts there. Who act or not, as they see fit.”

“And you think there’s some larger problem there?” Bess frowned. “And also, why were you terrified?”

Hereswith took a breath. “The rot, first. You read the papers. Same as I do, or perhaps even more. A war brings opportunity for that sort of rot. Profits made on food that’s bought for the troops and never arrives.

Perhaps they claim it got lost or spoiled or whatever, and in reality it’s been sold on for coin.

Or materials that don’t last, you saw the piece about shoddy tools yesterday? ”

“I did, yes.” Bess had found that disturbing, on a fundamental level. It was Horse House’s weakness, perhaps, to expect that the tools of one’s trade should be reliable.

“But there are other sorts of problems. Generals getting assigned whose skills are perhaps not up to the task. Or not suited to that kind of task. I don’t know enough about being a general to have a fully informed opinion. Generals are what happens when the diplomacy fails, after all.”

Bess snorted, but then passed the chocolate cup back to Hereswith reassuringly. “What else?”

“War is also— oh, this is just right, thank you— a wonderful place to hide incompetence in many ways. Many of them are ordinary, but you put them all in the middle of a crisis, and they cascade. And then there’s war as a way to soak up surplus.”

“Surplus?” It was not a way Bess had heard things put before.

Hereswith stared at the chocolate, took another sip, and then said, “Young men with an urge to fight can cause trouble at home. Right now, there has been an ongoing rumble of trouble in China and with China. I’ve thought we’re due for more, but it depends on the Chinese and whether they become more ardent about opium again. ”

“It’s illegal there. Surely that’s consistent?” It was not a topic Bess had paid particularly close attention to, other than some of the medicinal uses of the poppy.

“Ah, but how much they act on the illegality changes. It’s gone back and forth.

Sometimes, since, oh, 1800, there have been periods where there’s a system of bribes and accustomed levers.

It’s not legal in China, the government doesn’t want it, but the merchants are glad to buy and sell it.

And then at times, like the Opium War, starting in 1839, that shut down a number of the merchants.

A change in policy, a change in enforcement on the Chinese side, with teeth behind it.

Then things eased off, and the merchants pushed in again.

It looks a little right now as if things might become more agitated once more, but most of our attention is on Crimea at the moment. ”

Bess wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. “And the surplus?”

“It certainly gives young men who want to make their name or be brave or take risks for a hopeful reward somewhere to go. That means they make less trouble here at home. On the other hand, if what they find is death, permanent injury, all that, then everyone loses in the longer-term. War is a short-sighted gain, on the whole.” Hereswith took a last long sip from her cup and set it on the small table with the pitcher.

“And the terror? You asked about the terror.”

“I did.” Bess set her own cup down so she wouldn’t spill it.

“I was sent out like a small child sent to bed with no supper. For pointing some of this out, because people kept ignoring it. I should have done that better.” There were questions to be asked there, eventually, but Bess didn’t interrupt and Hereswith continued.

“A few minutes later, they sent Marcus out, and as he and I were trying to figure out our next steps, Magistra Ventry came to speak to me. She permitted him to stay. You see the distinction?”

“Yes. And?” That did not yet seem entirely terrifying.

“She came in, she spoke with us. But there was something odd about it. She drank most of a cup of tea when neither Marcus nor I noticed. She had a whole string of questions. Excellent questions, well-informed ones, thoughtful. But she did not tell us much, of course.”

“I gather that of everyone on the Council, Magistra Ventry is perhaps least likely to be gratuitously informative.” Bess tried to keep her tone light and failed. “What happened then?”

“Somewhere in there, she asked what I’d do, and I gave her an outline— sending observers with specific goals.

She thanked us and left.” Hereswith looked up, sighing.

“Marcus said I made a good impression and he managed to avoid unpleasant notice, but there are some kinds of impressions that have consequences. This was definitely one.”

Bess considered. “All right. What if, tonight, tomorrow, you sat down and made a list of what that would involve? Your observers. Who would be involved, how they’d be selected, what skills and supplies and travel arrangements would be needed. Then you presented that to her as a, as a map of sorts.”

“That...” Hereswith took a deep breath, let it out. “Would you help me? Talk it through with me?”

“Of course. I’m honoured you think I could help.” Bess hesitated. “After, might I perhaps see about easing the strain in your neck? You seem to be aching more than desirable.”

Hereswith blinked, looked at Bess for a long moment— a good twenty seconds, maybe more— then she nodded once. “As you wish.”

It took some time to get to that, by which point Hereswith’s shoulders were obviously bothering her.

After another ninety minutes of conversation and some note-taking, Hereswith had a working plan to tidy up and send off the next day.

Then Bess got the chance to touch, in a way she’d not hoped for.

Nothing terribly intimate, nothing a Healer or a masseuse wouldn’t have done.

But feeling Hereswith be still and begin to relax, that was worth a great deal of effort indeed.