Page 24 of Harmonic Pleasure (Mysterious Arts #6)

“ I don’t entirely understand.” Vega, frankly, was feeling rather dense and not at all in control of anything.

She was standing in Trellech, which was fine.

In a workroom at Ormulu, which should also have been fine.

The ring they’d found on Saturday was sitting on the marble worktable.

On the other side stood Farran, in the centre, and to one side, Master Ettis.

The older man opened his mouth, then considered.

“You explain, please, Farran.” He glanced at Vega, then added, “I think you were doing a better job than I was managing, actually.” That was another sentence that Vega couldn’t decide how to weigh properly.

If it had been one of her aunts or her own apprenticeship, it would have been at least partly a test. But Farran didn’t seem to be concerned.

He shifted his weight, glanced at Vega, and then focused back on the ring.

“The ring is similar to a number of surviving Anglo-Saxon rings, though simpler in design than some. Made of bronze, it has a knot work pattern, and a small garnet. I am not a talisman maker, obviously. We can refer out to a specialist for appraisal. But I think it might perhaps be that which caused the dual sensation of the ring in the well. It is both from the time period under consideration, and a combination of metals that would fit within the parameters.” Farran hesitated, then added, with good humour, “At least if you squint. Thaumaturgical definitions are always a hair imprecise.”

The way he put it made Vega feel better.

She’d been staring at the ring once she’d got home, because she had felt something from it, down in the cave.

And yet, once it was cleaned up, it obviously wasn’t iron.

It didn’t feel like iron, even under the gilt layer.

And so, by note, she’d asked Farran to arrange for someone else to appraise it, properly, with the tools that would best suit.

Master Ettis nodded. “We would be glad to do some additional conservation work. There’s a standard fee scale for that, I can give you a card.

We’d also be glad to inquire if there might be a suitable auction or private buyer interested.

Such pieces have a certain body of those interested.

Especially given the location and provenance. ”

“I would like to think about it, first, please. And to check with my family records, before making any decisions. Beyond, of course, today’s consultation fee.” Vega gestured. “Would you be able to wrap it up safely for me? Are there any particular considerations for care?”

Master Ettis flicked a finger at Farran, who stepped aside, going to a side door, and looking for something.

A box, presumably. As Farran did that, Master Ettis said, “There’s nothing here that indicates that it should not travel by portal, for example.

Though that’s relatively rare in the period, there being so few portals at the time. ”

Vega made herself nod pleasantly. The portals of the time had almost entirely been in Fatae hands, her Grandmothers and their far-ranging kin.

The thing that had been nagging her is that the ring had a hint of that feel to it.

When Farran came back with a small velvet-covered box, she nodded.

“I’ll take good care of it, of course. And I appreciate your time and expertise.

Both of you. I’ll stop by the Scali and have them make the payment arrangements, separate from the work Farran has been doing for me.

” Vega took a breath, trying to figure out how to say what she wanted.

“I have been very pleased both with his skill and his dedication to the research problem. I hope it hasn’t interfered with his other work. ”

“No, not at all. In our line of work, people expect us to have various private projects, as well as the more visible ones. The work he is doing is well within Farran’s capabilities.

This is an interesting way to use some skills that do not come up as often as all that.

I am pleased we give such welcome service to you.

And your family.” That was ambiguous in the extreme.

Vega nodded once, then said, “Farran, might you walk me out? I don’t need to take up more of your afternoon, of course, but perhaps we might talk again later this week?”

Farran nodded, but he said nothing until they were climbing the steps from the underground workroom up to the ground level. At the top— they weren’t in the way of the main door— Vega turned to him. “Do you think Vivian Porter might be in her office today?”

He didn’t seem to see anything odd about the query. Or if he did, he was an exceptional actor. There was no sign of it on his face. “It’s Tuesday, so likely, yes. Though I don’t know about her schedule. Eleanor Norton, her secretary, will be there, though.”

“Oh, you mentioned, didn’t you? Her brother’s a friend of yours.” Vega remembered that. Honestly, she’d been combing through their conversations in her memory for the last several days, trying to decide what she felt about most of it. “Thank you. What’s the easiest way there?”

“From the Scali bank, you want to follow the street north. Her house is on the edge of the parkland.” Farran gave her the specifics as if he were used to doing that, clear and concise.

He didn’t waste energy. That was something she’d noticed and liked already.

And even more so since being down in the cave.

He’d handled a situation with a number of possible dangers without either being careless or too cautious, and that was entirely too rare in her experience.

Now Vega nodded, then hesitated before leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek once.

It was the sort of kiss someone like Vega gave routinely.

It didn’t mean anything particular. He’d know that, as surely and calmly as he’d known how to appraise the ring.

When she stepped back, he smiled at her, which wasn’t easy to interpret beyond Farran being just as pleasant as always.

Then he turned, holding the door open for her.

“Let me know when you’d be free to talk more.

Or perhaps take a walk through another part of London? ”

“Thursday, possibly. Let me double check my call times.” She’d pushed things a bit on Saturday, and they wanted to rehearse a new illusion bit on either Wednesday or Thursday.

She’d check. Then Vega smiled and set off through the door, before she had to figure out what else to say.

The walk up to the Scali bank was pleasant enough, at least. And they were not terribly busy, able to make the payment arrangements for both today’s consultation and to bring the payments to Farran current through Saturday.

From there, she followed the directions through increasingly quieter streets, to find herself before a pleasant house. It was detached, with a path to a small garden at the back, perhaps. Once she knocked, the door was opened by a middle-aged woman. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

“Good afternoon.” There was no reason to be rude, and many reasons to be polite.

“I was wondering if Mistress Porter might be available for a few minutes. My name is Vega Beaumont. I’m working on a project with Farran Michaels, and I wanted her advice on an aspect of it.

” The thing was, she’d have to explain, if this conversation happened, and she wasn’t sure how to do that.

But she knew that being here, that needed doing.

“Oh, indeed. She’s finishing up with a client at the moment, but they should be done fairly soon. May I get you a cup of tea? Fifteen minutes, perhaps, until I can ask her if she has time this afternoon, if you don’t mind the wait. I’m her assistant, Eleanor Norton.”

Fifteen minutes was quite reasonable, really, given that Vega had just turned up. “Thank you, that would be fine. Whatever tea is handy, please don’t go to any bother. And Farran mentioned your name, and that he’s good friends with your brother?”

“Oh, goodness, yes. Do call me Eleanor. There’s a delicate green in the pot.

I’ll just pour you a cup. Here, come through here.

” Vega was shown into a small room, more private, and out of the way of whoever was in the office coming out.

Eleanor disappeared into another room on the ground floor, coming back in a minute with a cup of green tea, and then leaving the door slightly ajar.

Vega at least had a book in her handbag, and she pulled it out, reading distractedly.

Just about fifteen minutes later, there were sounds, muffled but audible, of someone being shown out, a door opening and closing.

And then, after a minute, it opened again.

Vega had finished her tea, and she looked up.

“Mistress Porter will be glad to have a word.”

The office was a deep green, the green of a living and abundant garden.

There were different shades, the way the gardens on the Cousin estates were, not the dull sameness of some too-cultivated spaces.

Against that, there were flashes of colour.

One shelf had a deep purple teapot and cups, though of a different design than her own.

There were books bound in all sorts of colours along with small statues and ceramics.

“Please, have a seat, Magistra Beaumont. How may I be of help to you?” The door was closed behind her, and Vega was in the moment where she had to move forward with whatever improvisation was called for.

On the one hand, she was trained in improvisation as much as she was in incantation.

On the other, this was a particular song she’d never quite done this way.

And she noted the title, that Vivian Porter clearly had an inkling who and what she was, or at least the level of her competence.