“I’m all right,” said Edwin. “He didn’t—Robin, I’m all right.” He righted himself, chin lifted and eyes everywhere but the body on the floor.
But when Robin released him and began to pull away, Edwin’s grip on his arms tightened, a wordless refusal. Something inside Robin collapsed. He pulled Edwin closer, wrapping his arms all the way around him. Edwin alive and warm, and not stabbed, or memory-wiped, or anything else that might have happened. Robin rested his temple against Edwin’s for a long moment. The Morrissey sisters could think whatever they wished. Hell, they’d already heard Billy’s question—Why do you care?—and seen the answer that was Edwin’s lack of answering.
Edwin pressed his face into Robin’s shoulder and took a breath deep as a sail snatching a breeze, expanding in Robin’s arms. Then he disentangled himself.
“Thank you,” he said. “For coming. How did you—where did you—”
Robin smiled. “I had help.”
“Mr. Courcey,” said Miss Morrissey, “what did you do to him?”
Edwin prodded the splinter-pile with his shoe. “I cast a splitting charm on an imbued oak-heart, with a clause for release of power. I closed his hand around it. I didn’t know quite what—I thought it would. Distract him.” Edwin looked almost grey. He rubbed at his forehead and left a smear of ash. “There was a lot more power stored in there than I thought.”
“Bloody sodding hell,” said Miss Morrissey. “Er, sorry.”
“And there was me,” said Edwin savagely, “sitting there going on about how we’re the ones who aren’t murdering people.”
“Bugger that,” said Robin. “Sorry.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Kaur, “that we can extend to one another some diplomatic immunity as regards the use of foul language. Given the circumstances.”
“Right,” said Robin. “Bugger that, Edwin.” Edwin gave a small explosive sound that was halfway to a laugh. Robin went on, “He had a knife to your ribs, and he was working his way up to using it. You acted before he did. You didn’t mean to—you didn’t mean him to die, but he did. It’s over.” He bit back and I’m glad.
“And I have a dead body in my parlour,” said Edwin. “A body with friends. Family.”
“His family are in Bath,” said Mrs. Kaur. She, too, had gone washed-out and uncertain, but there was an emotion more complicated than grief in the way she looked at Billy now. “I’ll go back to the Barrel. I used to work for the Coopers; the night shift all know me. I’ll explain. They’ll send someone along.”
“You can’t,” said Edwin.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard him. Anyone who knows about what they’re trying to do, about the contract, can’t be allowed to remember. Or live, I’d guess, if they’re trying to contain the damage. You used to work for the Coopers, ma’am? Do you want to tell me you’d bet all of our lives on there not being a single person in that office who’s mixed up in this plot, somehow?”
They exchanged a look that Robin didn’t understand. It felt like trying to guess the shape of an animal having seen only the ears; it was related to Edwin’s reluctance to go to either the Coopers or the Assembly for help, at any point in this disaster. Robin pushed his questions down to join all the others. They would, he sincerely hoped, have time for them later.
“No. Damnation,” said Mrs. Kaur. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
They all looked at the corpse of Billy Byatt. The switch-knife was lying half-concealed by his body; Robin bent to retrieve it. Edwin’s gaze clung to the blade like fearful glue, so Robin folded it hastily and pocketed it, getting it out of sight.
“Can you make him disappear?” Robin asked. “Not turn up having been dragged from the river in three days, I mean.” He felt rotten for asking such a thing of a woman who’d cared for the man at one time. But he didn’t see many other options.
“Not tonight I can’t,” she said, sharp. “I’m not a bottomless well, and that curtain-spell took effort.” She added grudgingly, “Tomorrow. I’ll come back. You’ll have to keep the staff out of your rooms for a while, Courcey.”
Edwin nodded.
“And when his friends start asking about him?” said Miss Morrissey.
“I’ve an idea,” said Robin, thinking of Billy at the Penhallick dinner table. Not my girl any longer. Mrs. Kaur’s rejection of him was public knowledge, which had clearly rankled as much as anything else. “He came to you, Mrs. Kaur. He visited you at your office, this evening. You argued. You didn’t realise how upset he still was, about everything that had happened between you.”