“When?”
“Perhaps two hours ago, before the briefing with Knox.” Sir Robert settled himself next to Edwin and reached for a muffin. To Alan he said, “I don’t know if anyone’s told you this part, but I’m under blood-oath to report my visions to the Assembly, in exchange for Walter Courcey leaving myself and my household alone. When I’m having plenty of them, I can be selective. But I hadn’t had one for a while, so when this one hit, it was the only one I could tell them about.”
“What was it?” asked Edwin.
Hesitation didn’t sit well on Sir Robert’s affable face. He glanced around the room. “I was hoping Maudie would be here. It was her. She was standing in a graveyard, looking down at a grave.”
Edwin made a small movement as if stopping himself from reaching out. He and Sir Robert exchanged a look dense with uneasy emotion. Alan felt uncomfortable all over again. He was an interloper in whatever was happening here.
Violet set her teacup in her saucer with a deliberate noise. “What was Maud wearing?”
“Pardon?” Sir Robert tore his eyes away from Edwin. “Er—a coat. The pale blue one. And her blue-and-white hat.”
“Not in mourning, then,” said Violet.
Sir Robert’s posture relaxed and he remembered the muffin in his hand. Now it was Violet and Miss Morrissey’s turn to exchange a look.
Miss Morrissey said, “And I assume Knox didn’t think to question you about something as frivolous as her clothes either, did he? Good. Let them assume the worst from it if they wish.”
“You mentioned a letter,” said Edwin. Sir Robert wiped butter from his fingers before opening his briefcase and pulling out a stamped and opened envelope, which he handed to Edwin.
At first glance of the handwriting Edwin made a fastidious face. “The Grimm?”
“I know. Read it,” said Miss Morrissey.
“Aloud,” said Violet pointedly.
Edwin did so.
You know really if you’re given a gift the least you could do is Not be careless of it
More than half a century of peace since that last little snarl in the tapestry and now everything’s MOVING again the paths are lying full like floods weak like drought You were supposed to be the Leaders and you’re letting it all go to waste
But that’s the least of it the dawn’s borrowed gifts won’t help past dusk you need your own stars for that and indeed all you can get with the Midnight that’s coming I told you and the Song Told You and I’m telling you again
Years on years you’ve been losing sight of the stars in favour of looking down at your own hands well there’s no point in a cradle with Nothing to put in it is there
yours the Grimm of Gloucester
P.S.
look I took My Own self My Own bones to that church in the North and if YOU don’t know where the silver is now YOU have a problem we ALL have a problem or soon will
Edwin’s voice changed on the word church, and his eyes were wide as he finished.
“Yes,” said Sir Robert grimly. “Makes you think we should be paying attention to the rest of the nonsense, doesn’t it? And you know I’ve no hope of deciphering it, but…”
Something of importance was happening and Alan had no bloody idea what. He did remember that the Forsythia Club had hidden the silver of the Last Contract in a church in North Yorkshire—so, someone else knew about that? And was writing to say that they knew?
And—“Stars?” Alan said, looking at Violet.
“What?” said Edwin.
“You were singing something like that,” said Alan. “Stars and dusk. The orrery.”
Violet’s eyes widened. “Yes. It’s something like a nursery rhyme—any English magician knows it.”
“Man’s marvellous light,” said Sir Robert. “Edwin, you said it was by—Dumas? Something?”
“Dufay,” said Edwin in his teaching voice. “Alfred Dufay. The song told you. Blast, I hate riddles.”
“No, you don’t,” murmured Sir Robert.
Edwin reached out without breaking his hungry perusal of the letter and flicked the back of Sir Robert’s hand, winning himself a smile that he didn’t notice.
“That postscript is the most sense the Grimm’s ever made,” Miss Morrissey said.
Edwin nodded. “And the timing … how … I can’t believe I’m asking this, but has anyone in the Office ever tried to write back? Adelaide?”
“There’s a return address, if we want to try.”
“Or visit.” Edwin looked almost as shaken as when Alan had revealed the seventh door. “How did we miss this? I should have been reading these letters all along.”
“Sorry, but before we go down that rabbit hole—there’s something else.” Sir Robert had a second envelope in his hands, this one sealed with a round of purple wax, and he held it out to Violet. “It was in the liaison pigeonhole at the Barrel. Addy’s been checking it daily. But it’s addressed to you.”
“Well, that’s … making a statement,” said Violet.
“Yes. I don’t think there’s any point pretending they don’t know we’re all equally involved in this,” said Sir Robert.
Violet slid her finger beneath the sealed edge to open it. She made a startled sound as the purple wax melted abruptly, forming a dark trickle that wrapped up her finger like a vine and wriggled its way to the back of her hand. And then there was no wax at all, just an intricate bracelet that encircled Violet’s wrist like a woven strand of purple leather. When she touched it, her fingers slid over her own skin. Not woven. Written. Inked, magically.
“Hell,” said Violet. “More bloody runes.”
The room was quiet and tense as her eyes flicked down the single typed page. Violet’s face was set in one of her theatrical masks now, but her fingers tightened on the paper. She looked at the marks on her wrist, then up at Edwin, when she was done.
“It’s a summons,” she said. “To a hearing at the Barrel, tomorrow, about the details of Lady Enid’s will. I assume the runes will provide a painful reminder if I fail to turn up.”
“Let me see.” Edwin took the letter and gave a sharp, empty laugh. “And it’s signed by my brother Walt. Of course it is.”
Miss Morrissey and Sir Robert both peered over Edwin’s shoulder as he read. Miss Morrissey was the first to look up, worry creasing her brow.
“It’s not just a hearing, Violet. We’ve been waiting for their next move in regards to getting inside Spinet, and this is it. It’s a direct legal challenge to your inheritance.”
There was a loud, splintering crack from the floor. Alan jerked. One of the floorboards had torn itself free and snapped in half.
“No,” snarled Violet, and her voice had splinters in it too.
8
Spinet House might agree with Jack that he was no longer a magician, but the Barrel seemed to be siding with Cheetham Hall on the matter. He walked over the threshold without feeling the warding or needing a pass-token for the unmagical like Robin did.
Jack hadn’t been to the seat of the Magical Assembly since he was a boy. It hadn’t altered from his memory. The lead-and-glass ceiling of the main foyer, over which people walked. The standing oak doors set in their frames, scattered across the marble floor, which could take you anywhere in the building.