It was just after five o’clock; they were weaving against the traffic in the building, which was full of people chatting and fastening coats and donning hats. Miss Morrissey led him to an office where two men stood back with a tilt of hat-brims to let them enter, then left via the same door, leaving them with the sound of a woman speaking and the louder sound of a typewriter’s keys.
“Wotcher, Kitty,” said Miss Morrissey.
The sole remaining occupant of the office glanced up, and Robin’s heart jolted. That woman, with her white shirtwaist and blue tie. This room. And this typewriter, paused now, which had clearly been imbued in a similar way to Edwin’s note-taking pen. It was the third time Robin had found his own experience lining up with one of his visions; the others had been the maze, and the view up through the Barrel, only minutes ago. Tension locked his shoulders. He had seen something relevant. He had managed to steer it.
“Hullo, Addy.”
“Kitty, this is the new Home Office liaison,” said Miss Morrissey, continuing to blithely ignore the existence of Robin’s resignation letter. “Sir Robert Blyth.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss—”
“Mrs.,” she said swiftly, and yes, there was a ring on her hand. “Kaur. How d’you do.” Mrs. Kitty Kaur had an arrangement of lovely features beneath the same coiled nest of black hair. She, if Robin remembered correctly, was the one who’d inherited all the magic that Adelaide Morrissey lacked.
“Kitty,” said Miss Morrissey. “Edwin Courcey’s gone missing, and we think he could be in danger.”
“You know I don’t work for the Coopers anymore. Don’t you?”
“But you still have access to the lockroom. Don’t you?”
A pause. Robin had had enough silent conversations with his own sister to realise when one was happening in front of him. He’d expected a lot more in the way of arguments and persuasion, and was prepared to embarrass himself in any number of ways if it would help, but the sisters Morrissey had a searching shorthand of glances that bypassed all of it.
“Addy,” said Mrs. Kaur. “I’ll still have to log it, and account for it later.”
“Blame me,” said Robin at once.
One thick black eyebrow arched.
Miss Morrissey leaned forward and smiled at her sister. “Would you say Sir Robert is a threatening figure?”
“Er,” said Mrs. Kaur. It was the most diplomatic single syllable Robin had ever heard.
“Are you afraid for your maidenly virtue?”
“I’m married, Addy,” said Kitty Kaur dryly. “I have none.” She eyed Robin. “He does seem the kind of well-built, pugnacious fellow who would follow through on a threat of bodily harm.”
“I beg your pardon,” Robin began to protest, and then the penny dropped. “Oh. Would it help if I raised my voice?”
“Yes, that would do nicely. Sir Robert strong-armed my sister into bringing him here to seek my help, and threatened us with harm unless I abused my access to the lockroom in order to locate Mr. Courcey. Overcome by concern for his friend, of course, but still. Most brutish behaviour.”
“And we are but feeble women,” said Miss Morrissey. “Woe.”
“Your sister is a magician,” Robin said, pointing out what seemed the largest hole in this story.
“Woe,” said Mrs. Kaur firmly, and Robin recalled what Miss Morrissey had said about the assumptions made by men.
Two more oak doors took them to their destination. The second one required a complicated cradle, which Mrs. Kaur fumbled the first time and then made a face as she began it over again—“The identification clause is a fiddle, and the secrecy one even more so,” she apologised, and then: “Hah,” with satisfaction as the rune flared into being.
Robin’s first thought was that Edwin had probably appreciated the lockroom, if he’d ever been there. It resembled nothing so much as the stacks of a library: a windowless room that had the feeling of being well below ground level, illuminated by pale orange ceiling lights that could have been either electric or magical. Rows of wooden shelves and drawers stretched away from the entrance. There was a peculiar, cathedral-like, anticipatory silence to the air.
“What is this place?” Robin asked.
“This is the Lockroom,” said Mrs. Kaur, and now Robin heard the way she said it. Title, not descriptor. “Every registered magician in Britain is represented in this room.”
A leather-bound ledger the size of a decent card table lay open on a bench, with words arranged in columns. A pen lifted itself from its stand as soon as Mrs. Kaur stepped close to the book. She raised her hands and moved them through the motions of a new spell, then paused with fingers held at angles.