Page 30 of Harmonic Pleasure (Mysterious Arts #6)

S aturday at noon was, of course, a relatively popular time to visit the Tower of London.

It made it a less than optimal time for their visit, but needs must. It was cloudy, though maybe a drizzle would have kept the crowds down.

Farran was waiting for Vega when she came down the path. “I’ve already bought our tickets.”

“Oh.” Vega cleared her throat. “You needn’t have? I owe you expenses, don’t I?”

Farran shrugged slightly. They’d agreed on terms, of course, at the beginning.

But he didn’t entirely want money getting in the way.

“We can discuss later. It’s not much, and I kept an account.

And see, the line’s got longer, no need to wait in it.

” The line was indeed longer, partly because of some rather larger family group, or perhaps multiple families.

Children kept spilling out of line like the tentacles of some giant ocean creature, then getting pulled back.

Vega glanced over, winced, and said, “Well, all right. Where are we going first? Do you have an idea?”

“I also have a guidebook,” Farran said cheerfully. “Last year’s, but there’s not been a new one yet, I think. This was in one of the bookstores, the used shelves, when I went by this week.”

“Do you also like a bookstore, then? I enjoy browsing, when I’ve an hour to spare.

Or more than an hour, depending on the size of the shop.

” That topic occupied them for a good few minutes, until they had crossed over to wander by the Traitor’s Gate, from the inside of the walls.

There, in a patch of quiet, with no one too near them, Vega paused to stare at the gate and ask, “What is our plan today?”

“Wander the Tower, admire the architecture, talk about the history, see the jewels, and see if a certain person appears. If we want to see the chapel, we should request a tour from the warder on duty before 2pm,” Farran said promptly.

He knew that part of it, at least. Then he cleared his throat.

“And maybe tea, after? Somewhere quieter?”

“I’d like that.” Vega said it immediately, then she looked away. Conveniently, there was rather a lot to look at, Farran thought. Most of it was stone walls, of course, but exceedingly historical stone walls. “Did your friends get home safely?”

“Yes, thank you. And they very much enjoyed the club. Maddie, especially.” She’d enthused about it in the cab back to their hotel, in fact.

“Oh.” Vega considered, now with space before she spoke. “You looked happy dancing with her.”

Farran had been about to step back onto the path, and he turned. “Did you think?” He cut off, then tried again. “It’s not like that, with her. Probably not a topic for right here, but it’s— it’s not like that.”

“You said you’d known her brother for ages. Since school.” Vega then closed her mouth. “Not for here, no.” Farran nodded, because of course any details of Schola might get into topics that shouldn’t be overheard by the non-magical. “All right. Which of these towers do we look at first?”

“We’ve a ticket for the jewel room in…” Farran paused to peer at his watch. “An hour. Do you prefer ghosts, chapels, arms and armour, or the White Tower?”

“I’d be interested in seeing the oldest to the newer, if that made sense?” Vega shrugged. “If it’s a bother, though.”

“No, no, that’s probably a sensible way to do it.

With an intermission for the jewels.” He took a moment to open the guidebook to the proper page.

“The White Tower is the oldest part, built by William the Conqueror in 1078.” He went along talking about the inner ward, pointing out the various towers as they walked through.

“Wasn’t there a Lion Tower?” Vega asked, sounding more relaxed.

“With lions,” Farran said. “That was more or less where the ticket booth is. A menagerie, though. I read a book— I don’t have it in London— that talked about the menagerie. Lions, gifts from some foreign king. And a polar bear. They used to take it down to fish in the Thames on a rope.”

Vega stopped walking. “I don’t think that would have done anyone much good, do you? If the bear had other ideas.”

“Probably not,” Farran agreed. “There was, oh. An elephant. There are drawings of it, I’ve seen a print. There were superstitions, of course. They’d name one of the lions after the king. The lore was that if the lion died, the king would follow. There’s raven lore, of course.”

“That one, I’ve heard,” Vega said. “Do you think there’s truth in it? That if the ravens leave the tower, England will fall?”

Farran walked on for a few steps, because putting what he thought into words was delicate.

“I think that people have believed that one for a long time, and that gives a thing strength. Also, it’s certainly harder for ravens to leave if they have their wings clipped.

I’m a bit more curious about some of the associations with Bran, whether his head is buried nearby, all of that. ”

Vega stopped again, tilting her head and looking at him. “You think the time passing matters that much?” Then she shook her head and smiled. “Later topic. What’s over here?”

“That was, let’s see. Mint Street, for a long time.

Imagine all the coins that anyone used, being minted all in one place.

It’s not a big bit of land, considering.

Though it’s also interesting that way. Technically, part of it is in London, and part in Middlesex.

” Farran made a note to figure out more about that what meant for the demesne estates, especially since the Pact.

It was an interesting problem of magical identity.

“Is there art around somewhere? I mean, art that you’d know about?” Vega asked it suddenly.

“Not much on display, other than the armoury and the jewels. Here. The White Tower?” There were more people around, so as they went in, Farran focused on talking a little about the architecture.

It was not remotely his speciality, but of course knowing about the buildings where art was mattered sometimes.

Besides, he had always rather been interested in the buildings themselves, what it meant about the people who made them or lived in them or fought against them.

He had Thebes to thank for that, really.

And Schola’s keep itself. Here, the guidebook had been usefully informative.

“Did you know that it’s not actually a square?

Each wall is a different length, and three of the four corners aren’t right angles. But you can’t tell by just looking.”

“Huh.” Vega peered at the White Tower suspiciously. “I don’t suppose we know why?” That was not something Farran had found, and he admitted he wasn’t sure.

They took their turns walking around and admiring the vaulting where there was vaulting, and the somewhat austere chapel. “It feels...” Vega pursed her lips. “Has it been a chapel the whole time?”

That made Farran muffle a laugh until they got back into the main area of the tower.

“No, actually. It wasn’t complete when William died, and then they built other spaces.

It was storage for records for quite a long time, apparently.

A different kind of temple, at least I like to think so, to storing the history of the place.

Now, though, I believe it’s a chapel in regular use again.

I rather liked it. There’s something about the plain stone.

But if you want to compare, there’s St Peter ad Vincula. ”

Vega turned and peered at him. “Is there something odd about that one too? Like you showed me before?”

“Also a royal peculiar. But it was built for the people who lived and worked here, not as a royal chapel? Originally twelve hundreds, I think. I’ll look at the guide when we get outside.”

When they got outside, however, they both were turning to move toward the church at the northwest of the inner ward, when Vega elbowed Farran. Diagonally across the parade ground, up near the far end of the Waterloo barracks, she nodded with her chin, and Farran saw a recognisable figure.

“Chapel? One of the towers? There’ll be more space in the chapel,” Farran offered. “Probably more other people. Certainly a warder right there.”

“That, then.” Vega curled her arm through Farran’s, and he felt like he should be more protective. Except, of course, he was not the sort of man who did that naturally. And he wasn’t trained to it, not like some people had been. He took a breath, though, and led off bravely.

“Do you think he’s the sort of man who avoids a church?” The question occurred to Farran when they were most of the way there. They were passing by the marker that he knew from the guidebook marked the site of the private executions in the Tower.

At the door to the chapel, the warder agreed to let them in, giving a brief tour to them and another handful of sightseers.

People murmured, but it felt good, to Farran at least, to have others nearby.

He felt they couldn’t trust an American of unknown desires to behave properly, but at least other people might be a deterrent.

When they came out again, Vandermeer had disappeared again. “It’s just about time for our Jewels ticket,” Farran said. “Perhaps he went in there, but there will be both people and guards.”

Vega nodded. When they entered the Wakefield Tower, and climbed to the second floor, the lighting focused on the jewels themselves. Those were splendid, of course, both the gems and the settings.

Farran thought a few times that Vandermeer might be some people ahead of them, but it was hard to tell.

When they’d made their proper circuit and come back downstairs again, Vega drew him aside, under a tree.

“Shall we, I mean, do you want to see the Beauchamp Tower? I gather there are some rather interesting carvings?”

“I think we’ve more or less proved our point,” Farran said, keeping an eye out. “But I admit, I’m sort of curious to see if he approaches. Or what he says.”

Vega blinked at him. Then she squared her shoulders. “Onward, then. A promenade, around the grounds, then the tower? And if we don’t see any sign of him after that, reconsider?”

“Just so.” Farran offered his arm, and they went along again, down the south side, through one of the arches through the inner wards, and then into the central area again, up a broad cobblestone path toward the Waterloo barracks. Those weren’t open to visitors, but it made a pleasant circuit.

They did not see anything out of the way until they were almost at the doors. Vandermeer appeared from around the corner of the White Tower, on the other side. This time, he absolutely saw them, touching his hat and coming over, his coat behind him.

“Miss Beaumont! A pleasure.” He beamed at Vega, whose hand tightened a bit on Farran’s arm. “And you, sir?”

Farran had a sudden shiver, reminding him of the way one wasn’t supposed to give a proper name to the Fatae.

Vivian had explained where those tales came from, and of course, it was more complicated than that, but still.

“Michaels.” He cleared his throat. “Anthony Michaels.” It was a common enough last name, and Tony never minded Farran borrowing his first name.

Farran was uncommon enough it stuck in the memory far more.

Vega, thankfully, picked up on it evenly. “Anthony and I were just thinking whether we’d call it a day. Such a pleasure to see the history, but I’m afraid I ought to get back.”

“I won’t keep you. Not today, then.” That also had an edge to it, to Farran’s ear. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the club again.” That definitely was half a threat or warning or something else of the kind. Then he took a step back.

Farran nodded once before gesturing. “This way, then. I saw the cabs lining up down the road. It will be easiest to catch one there.” They walked, not too quickly, but briskly enough, across the bridge, up the slight hill, and away from the Tower.

“I did not care for that.” Vega’s voice was tight. “Can we go somewhere and talk? I’d rather not my rooms, in case, well.”

“Your landlady would disapprove of him. I’ve a serviced flat, a small one, but private, and there’s a porter. If it wouldn’t bother you, come to mine?”

“Oh, that’s no bother.” Her voice brightened. “I’m curious to see how you live, actually. You’ve seen mine.”

“It’s not much. I wasn’t set up for entertaining. But Uncle Cadmus taught me to be tidy. Besides, you might want a look at some of my notes.” He nodded and then gestured. “I meant it about the cabs. And we can ask the cabbie to take an unusual way back, just in case.”

“Grand. I dislike the feeling there’s someone watching me behind my back.”

When they got to the row of black cabs, Farran looked back, as he was guiding Vega into the seat. He thought he could see Vandermeer— or again, someone very much like his silhouette— standing on top of the walls, looking out toward them.