Page 13 of Harmonic Pleasure (Mysterious Arts #6)

“ Y our noon, Mister Michaels.” Mrs Malden knocked briefly, and Farran looked up.

“Thank you. Feel free to go off to lunch. I’ll lock up if I leave.

” She turned away with a sharp nod, and then Vega was standing there.

And while she was feigning everything ordinary, Farran was certain something wasn’t right.

Her asking to reschedule from half-four to as early in the day as he could manage had certainly been a clue.

She’d telephoned the office at ten, while Farran had been down the street.

Fortunately, he’d planned to spend the afternoon working on notes for the catalogue, and that could be rearranged without too much trouble.

Now Farran stood. “Please, come in. I’ve nothing out on the desk. I could fetch some tea?”

Her mouth curled up slightly. “I could use a cup.” Vega permitted him to take her coat, and he hung it up as she sat down.

Getting the tea took a few minutes, and he brought the tray back.

As he set it down, he realised she was far more plainly dressed.

Her hair was up in an entirely ordinary sort of braid coiled low at the nape.

Farran went back to close the door, then bring up the warding.

As he sat down, he cleared his throat quietly. “You’ve had a problem.”

“It’s that visible?” She looked over his shoulder, out the window— an undistinguished view, just the wall of the next building. Farran was certainly not senior enough to have a good view.

He shrugged. “Perhaps not to most people. But that’s some of how I do my work, sensing the state of things. Also, I grew up mostly in a house with a number of lodgers. Getting a sense for who’s in a mood, for whatever reason, makes things easier.”

She blinked at him once. “Oh?”

“Family home, a little outside Oxford. Big place, and when my uncle was raising me, money was scant. We took in lodgers, mostly people working at the university, a few widows. People who preferred a bit of company at meals, ideally intelligent, but their own space and less noise. These days, we don’t need to do that as much, but we still enjoy it.

” Farran considered his antecedents and added, “We being me, my uncle, and our housekeeper.”

There was a silence. “Not something you usually explain?”

“It’s not usually terribly relevant,” Farran pointed out. “But yes, I noticed you seem uncomfortable. Though asking to see me sooner was also a tip-off. May I help with something, then?”

She rocked forward in the chair for a moment, as if she were about to stand, then took a breath. “I’m sure you can’t.”

“But you’re here.” Farran took a breath and kept himself steady.

Master Philemon had actually talked about this a fair bit in their training.

Items, especially enchanted ones, that had been in a family for many years could raise potent emotions.

People needed to sell, to raise funds, or they knew it was a good idea.

That didn’t make it easy. Plenty of his training had been about how to handle the people in all stages of the process.

It was as much part of his work as every bit of the art history and materia knowledge that had been poured into his brain.

There was a long silence, then she hummed something under her breath before speaking again. “It sounds like something out of a pulp novel. I met an American man on a bridge, Blackfriars, and he turned up at the club Saturday night.”

“And you had an odd feeling about him.” Farran could see that. “You’re a performer. You’ve learned how to read someone’s mood, at the least, if not their magic. What did he do?”

“Send a note to my dressing room saying he’d like to call. And I—” Her shoulder twitched. “I sang some of my best, Saturday night. I didn’t last night, I stayed home. I don’t know what to do now, who to talk to.”

“Why not the Guard?” Farran said, first. It was the sensible thing to say.

“There’s nothing solid there. He approached me while I was on the bridge, the way many men have approached me over the years.

Or not quite the same, but there’s no single thing that’s obviously different.

He was a trifle forward, but he kept his hands to himself.

” She glanced up, meeting Farran’s eyes now. “Do you know how that goes?”

“Oh, yes. Not something I do myself, but I have colleagues who make that sort of thing work for them. And I’ve had it done to me a few times, by women, hoping for an edge.” Farran did his best to keep his voice even.

“Not something you cared for?” Vega’s voice was lighter now, less of a sharp edge to it. “No, that’s too personal a question, isn’t it? Now I’m being forward.”

Farran shrugged once. “Whatever my personal situation, that’s not the way I’d choose to begin something. You either, I gather.”

“No.” The comment put her in slightly better humour, perhaps. “I wasn’t sure he was magical. Not out there, with the noise of the Thames and the traffic and such.”

“And while one can ask, circuitously, asking has consequences. And Americans have a different set of cues, and they’re not anchored in the Pact the same way.” Farran nodded. “So you made your excuses and left. I assume he doesn’t know where you live, or you would think about the Guard.”

Vega shook her head. “I’ve rooms in a lodging house, I don’t do my own cooking. I take a cab to and from the club, though I could walk it.”

“But not late at night, in your dress shoes.” Farran said. “Quite.” He picked up his tea, adding a sugar cube. That gave her the cue to add a bit of cream and sugar to her own, the spoon clinking as she stirred a few times. “What do you think I can help with?”

“Do you think he’s—” Vega sighed, breathing out over her cup.

“I can’t help wondering if he’s trying to find the same thing.

It’s a ridiculous idea. It’s a venerable city, with thousands of things someone might find interesting.

” She gestured toward the window. “There are thousands of other shiny objects, beautiful women, even singers out there. Why me?”

“Did he say anything else about what he was doing? Or anything about his background?” Farran tried to think of the questions Vivian would ask.

Or Eleanor, her assistant. That was easier to get his head around.

Vivian was superlative at what she did, and that made it difficult to use her as a model, like a painter beginning by copying an epic work of the Renaissance.

Her chin came up. “Why are you asking?”

“My uncle’s...” This was the trick. Generally, Farran didn’t have to explain Vivian.

People at Ormulu knew. She’d been the one to arrange his apprenticeship there.

“My uncle’s friend handles inquiries. She doesn’t talk about the specific cases, but we’ve talked about how to think through a new set of information. ”

Vega’s mouth twitched once, then her shoulder, before she took a breath and a sip of tea.

Once she had, she said, “American. His name’s Thomas Vandermeer, or at least that’s the card he gave me.

Thirties, maybe forty, sharply dressed, but not to stand out in a crowd.

The details of the suit and the fit, you understand? ”

“He gave you a card?” Farran said, but he nodded at the rest of it.

“Staying at the Hotel Cecil, or that’s what the card said.

On some kind of extended business, he didn’t say what.

But he’d had the cards printed, so not just a week or two.

” Vega hesitated. Farran could see she wasn’t sure about something.

“I gave him my name, but I thought if he turned up at the club, I’d— well. ”

“What’s your sense of him, then, besides wary?” Farran asked.

“Well, the last two songs of the set I sang on Saturday were Lady Isabel and Twa Corbies. Do you know them?”

“Several versions. Though most people will say the Child Ballads, won’t they? I rather prefer the Donning versions.” They had been collected by someone in the magical community. Wenna Newton had turned Farran onto them a few years ago. “Do you know Wenna Newton? She does research on folk songs.”

Interestingly, Vega leaned forward a little at that. “She’s not foolish about it. I do like those. But if I sing them, people— well, at least in London, maybe Trellech would be different, I haven’t tried— get upset I’m not doing the versions they know better.”

“Oh, that’s an interesting comparison of the art form, isn’t it? And it’s not as if you could do a proper study. Each performance is an island entire of itself, while also being a chain of connections.” Farran considered. “Anyway. The songs?”

“I thought it was pointed.” Vega shrugged. “I don’t know what he thought of it, except that the note to the dressing room was after my set.” She looked away. “I’m used to people wanting to take me out, get a bit of my time, hoping for more than that. His note didn’t feel like that.”

Farran nodded. “So. I suppose the question is, do you still want me to consult on whatever your question is? And is there anything else that makes sense, given the, what’s the word? Nebulous nature of the man?”

Vega let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair. “That.”

“What can you tell me, then? On the consultation.” Farran felt he was perhaps in over his head with the problem, though he’d write Vivian for her advice later, but he could possibly be of help.

“My family’s aware of an object that may have been disturbed, enough it is potentially awake again. If you’ll take that as a term here?” Vega offered.

“I’ve got a bibliography about the variants, but yes. More active, at least in potential.” They were a particularly challenging sort of bit of material culture, because they came in many sizes, shapes, and most of all, effects. “What does it do?”

Here, Vega blushed, ducking her chin. For all her performance skills, she wasn’t actually adept at dissembling.

“We’re not entirely sure, beyond amplifying magic around it.

It might draw things to it or shift magic around it.

Not if it’s buried, truly inaccessible, but if it has some space to breathe. ”

“And we had established that it is smaller than a breadbox?” It was the classic question in a game of twenty questions.

“Yes, smaller. Portable. Maybe as small as a bracelet or torc or something like that. But I think it would need to have a fairly solid metal core if it does what we think it does. I have some notes from my family, but obviously not entirely reliable.”

“Give the time scale, no.” Farran frowned. “Is it safe for anyone to touch? Would it be interested in attention from anyone? Do you know the flavour of what it feels like, magically?”

Vega took a deep breath. “No. Not really. I’ll likely know it when I feel it. That’s not much to go on, is it?”

Farran shook his head. “Not enough. London’s a big city.

And I’m not an archaeologist, though I’ve been around a few digs.

I can read a site report well enough, probably, or, well.

I know someone I could ask, maybe. But that’s a later step, likely.

We might narrow it down based on resonances, materials, that sort of thing.

Or the time it’s from, there’s a technique I saw for testing that, um.

Two things are enough like each other they can resonate?

It’s a little tricky, but I’ve done it several times in controlled conditions. ”

“This is anything but controlled,” Vega pointed out. “Aren’t you scared of what it might be?” Then she shook her head. “Not scared, I mean.”

“Respectful,” Farran said. “I will not be foolish.” He hesitated, then pressed a particular point. “Why is your family so concerned about it now? Other than thinking it might be more active again?”

“Mostly that.” Vega admitted it, glanced at Farran and then back at the tea. “Wanting to know where it is. To get it back, ideally, though if it ended up in a museum in a managed state, that wouldn’t be horrible.”

“I might need to check on the laws that apply,” Farran said, suddenly. “Giving no details away.”