He nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“But don’t misunderstand me," he said. “What I gave, I gave willingly, without regrets. I would have given my life, and yet –" He gestured to take in the room around them. “Here we are." He shrugged again, and lit another cigarette from the first. “That’s all. Would you like some tea?"
“Yes, please," Grace said, and as Ned went across to the little gas ring to make it, she raised a light, high above them both, which shone brighter and longer than the first.
___
Grace had two visitors that afternoon. The first knock on the door of chambers was tentative, and Mrs Throckley’s voice uncertain when she came through to inform them of their guest. “A coloured gentleman here to see you, miss," she said. “Says he knows you."
“Send him in," Grace said. When the man came in, looking around himself nervously, she grinned. “Amir! I’d been meaning to come and see you. Mr Ramanujan over in Pump Court speaks Hindi, we were waiting for him to have a free day – sit down, do. Ned, this is Amir. Amir, this is Ned Devlin, he’s my friend and colleague."
She wasn’t sure how much of this spiel Amir had understood, but he sat down in an armchair and accepted a mug of tea, and when Ned tapped the sugar pot, offered a small nod in response. After taking a sip, Amir set down the cup and unfolded a newspaper from the inside of his jacket, smoothing out one of the inner pages and pointing at one headline in particular; Grace skimmed the story of the floodgates at Blackfriars and nodded when she got to the picture of herself and Thanet, taken as they left the station with the tunnels sealed beneath. “So that’s how you found me?"
Amir nodded. He lifted the cup again, then set it down. It took him a minute to speak. “Well done," he said, finally, with clear enunciation. “And thank you. For – before."
“I’m glad you got away," Grace said soberly. “I was so worried. I’m so sorry that that awful thing happened. I think you’re very brave."
Amir nodded, and smiled at her, then set the cup down once more and stood up.
“Surely you’re not going already," Grace protested, and he must have understood her tone if not her words, because he smiled again and shook his head.
“Please wait," Grace said. “Oh, I do wish Mr Ramanujan were here. You know about magic from iron. You could – stay." She gestured around the room, at the books on the shelves, at her own and Ned’s practitioners’ bars. “Ned and some others are trying to recruit people, like the signal operator in the station, and you – people who can do your sort of magic. You could help them. You could help us, too, we could learn so much from you."
Amir held her gaze for a moment, then shook his head.
“No," he said, again with clear, determined enunciation. “Not yet."
He bowed on the last word, took up his newspaper, and was gone, breezing past a surprised Mrs Throckley.
“Not yet," Grace said, thinking of the riots, and the stones thrown, and all that abject fear. “If he doesn’t want to help – then we’ll leave him be. But I hope he does."
“What an odd bloke," Mrs Throckley complained from the doorway. “Wasn’t here five minutes and didn’t finish his tea. Grace, dear, do you know if Kira likes pound cake? I’ve a hankering myself, and all the eggs we’d need."
“I’ve no idea," Grace said. “But Ned and I would be in favour."
The cake was just coming out of the oven when there came another, much more stentorian knock.
Grace started towards the door, but was prevented from getting any further by the arrival of a stately galleon carrying a horsehair wig. “Ned, my darling, make yourself scarce, this is ladies only. That’s right, off with you."
“Good afternoon, my lady," Grace said, amused, as Justice Devlin took Ned’s vacated chair and settled herself into it with a deep sigh. “Will you have anything to drink?"
“No, dear, this is a flying visit." Justice Devlin reached into her handbag and began polishing her spectacles with a handkerchief. “I know you’ve been through the wars. I’m going to ask Ned to surrender the lease on this house, that’s all."
“That’s all?" Grace repeated, horrified. “My lady, if it’s a matter of the rent, I know we’ve been behind – but if you’ll allow us just a little more time, I’m sure –"
“Hush, dear." Justice Devlin put her spectacles back on her nose. “Nothing like that. I want Ned to surrender the lease and I want you to sign another, on new terms. Call it a new business proposition."
Grace blinked. “I don’t understand."
Justice Devlin leaned back in her chair. "Did you know," she said, after a moment, "that Ned was born in the Temple gardens?"
"Yes," Grace said, surprised. "I was the same – I was brought up around the High Court in Liverpool, my father practises there."
"Grace, my dear, you misunderstand me," Justice Devlin said. "I meant it quite literally. Ned was born in the gardens." Off Grace's look, she smiled, spreading her hands. "I had a nasty prosecution I didn't like to leave, and it seems a fourth child may arrive more quickly than the others."
“My goodness," Grace said, faintly, finding her imagination not up to the task of envisaging it.
“Things are different, here in the Temple gardens," Justice Devlin said. “But women must work for what they want: that’s the same everywhere. Last Candlemas, did you light Ned’s lamps for him?"
That was one of her judicial trademarks, the lightning-fast change in subject. “Yes, my lady."
“Don’t do that again," Justice Devlin said, sharply. “I propose a simple arrangement: rent as a percentage of your receipts. Thanet’s back on the roll and you’ll be sending the little one out to earn pin money soon enough. I trust I’ll get perfectly reasonable returns, and handsome ones, in time."
"What about Ned?" Grace asked, gently.
"Ned was the baby," Justice Devlin said, matching her gentleness. "The beloved youngest. Hard to remember sometimes that he's thirty years old and the bravest person I have ever known, save one or two." Her eyes twinkled. "Oh, my boy hasn't outlived his usefulness. Quite the reverse, in fact; I fear there will be others like him, in time, and they'll have need of him then. But that's not for you to worry about, Grace. I'll bring the new lease along in time for the quarter day. Look after yourself, darling girl."
She kissed Grace’s forehead and swept out in a flurry of perfume and skirts.
“Is she gone?" Ned peered around the door, and came in when he saw the coast was clear. “Grace, what is it?"
“Your mother thinks I should take over this practice from you," Grace said, spreading her hands.
Ned took a moment to react, but when he did it was only to take some of the pound cake, sitting out on the table, and reach for the teapot.
“You don’t need my permission," he said, and poured out.
___
(vi) Christmas Day
“The quarter days," Grace explained to Kira, while decorating the tree, “are the days on which people enter into contracts, raise auspicious magic, that sort of thing.
“Begin apprenticeships, even," she added. “It’s been six months and change, little one. Shall you be keeping on with us?"
“Yes," Kira said, determined, and Grace grinned.
The new lease had been signed that morning, sealed in Salt, and taken away merrily by her ladyship, whose real errand, she said, had been to deliver a goose. Mrs Throckley was roasting it in the kitchen, filling the house with delicious smells, and Thanet was halfway up a stepladder with two armfuls of holly.
“Why do we always leave our decorating until the last possible moment?" she asked, irritated. “Kira, will you be having your Christmas dinner with us or at your mother’s?"
Kira looked disappointed, and Thanet giggled. “Two Christmas dinners is one of the perquisites of apprenticeship, Kira, don’t worry."
Kira brightened up. Thanet clambered down from the stepladder, and surveyed her handiwork.
“Now," she said, “come with me for the last touch."
On the windowsill, she carefully sprinkled a layer of table salt, and put down a handful of feathers. “For good luck in the year to come," she explained, to a doubtful Kira. “It’s just a tradition, no magic in it."
“Then shouldn’t we have iron?" Kira asked, and Thanet nodded.
“Quite right, I should have thought. Ned’s got a horseshoe above his desk – run and ask him for it, would you?"
Kira did, and brought it out to hang off the corner of the ledge.
“Very nice," Thanet said, and when they went back inside Grace had almost finished with the tree, raising Salt lights on the end of each fringed branch.
“It’s very pretty," Kira said, sounding a little shy, and Grace grinned.
“Glad you approve, little one. Ned, are you quite sure?"
“Quite sure," Ned said, looking up from the journal he was reading. “It shan’t be called after iron, after all. Ferrous or Ferric magic, so say the great and the good. There’ll be a Ferrous Worshipful Company before too long."
“Ferrous magic," Thanet said, trying it out for size. “I think I’ll stick with Birds-in-Flight, myself."
“About that," Grace said, now fetching Kira a footstool, so she could place the star on the top of the tree. “Are you glad to be registered again, Thanet?"
Thanet tossed her hair impatiently over her shoulders.
“Yes, and no," she said. “They hadn’t any right to take it from me to start with, of course. And the next time I help a girl with loose morals or some such ridiculous thing, they’ll be after me again. But I’ll fight the fight when it comes to me. Kamala is doing well, by the way," she added.
Grace smiled at her and helped Kira get back down.
“Right, all. Dinner time for witches," she said, grinning, “and Ned."
Ned threw a popcorn string at her, following which the party arose and descended to the kitchen, where more Salt lights gleamed on every surface in honour of the occasion, and Mrs Throckley beamed beside a plump and crisply gleaming goose.
Everything was delicious, of course. Kira and Ned pulled the wishbone, and Kira got the wish. When the Christmas pudding emerged from the pot, Kira set it alight.
“Name, calling, gift, asking," Grace coached, and the flames rose a lovely blue.
“When I was in the lift," Kira said, a little hesitantly, as they ate it with brandy cream. “With Mr Devlin, and I took the heart out of him – could I, sometime, try again?"
“No," said Thanet and Grace together, and Ned only laughed.
“You will again, little one," he promised. “But you’ve so much to learn, yet" – and opened his palm to reveal the silver sixpence.
They sent her home with it, in the end, alongside with gifts of books and sweets from all three of them, and a Christmas cake in a tin for her mother. Thanet offered to take the walk down the Embankment with Kira to her mother’s house, and after they’d gone, Ned and Grace helped Mrs Throckley clean up, presented her with a wrapped gift and a handsome bottle from the Temple cellars, donned their hats and went out.
“It’s good brandy, that," Ned commented, in the crisp and frosty air. “There’s another one on the side for us, we should crack it open when Thanet gets back."
“That’s a plan," Grace said, putting her hands on the railing, looking out across the river. “Speaking of plans, Ned – what are you going to do with yourself, now?"
Ned considered. “I’ve been asked to help with the new Worshipful Company. After that – well. My mother thinks I could be called to the bar, if you can imagine that."
Grace chuckled. “I think I can."
Ned shook his head, disbelieving. “I almost forgot," he said. “Christmas Day, the last quarter day."
He reached up to the piercing in the top of his ear and pushed, hissing with pain. The metal bar landed neatly in his hand.
“That’s that, then," he said.
Grace nodded. “Thanet will be able to clean that up for you," she said, motioning at the old wound. “Though it’ll leave a scar."
Ned smiled. “Thank goodness for that. Twenty years of my life ought to."
“Whatever you do next, you should come home often," Grace said, earnestly. “Quite apart from anything else, you’ll have to take care of Kira’s Latin. I can read it, I can’t teach it. Forsan et haec meminisse, quite beyond me, et cetera."
“Grace…"
“The world is changing," Grace said, cutting him off. “All around us the world is changing. It may be that a young practitioner trained for modern times doesn’t need—"
“All right!" Ned held up his hands. “I will teach Kira her Latin." He overturned his palms in supplication. “There is only so much I can bear. Latin will be taught. Greek also. If she has a yen to learn Sanskrit or hieroglyphs I will arrange for a tutor. Après moi, there will be no deluge."
Grace laughed at his outrage, and settled alongside him on the bench by the water. “I missed you a great deal, when you were gone," she said, presently. “Which surprised me, as you were quite unbearable when you were here."
“Slander. I am a respectable Salt practitioner and an officer and a gentleman."
“One out of three isn’t bad," Grace said, wickedly, and wondered for a second if she’d misjudged it: but Ned laughed easily enough, and was still smiling a few moments later, as they watched the boats go past on the river.
“I missed you too," he said, breaking the silence. “And this." He motioned to the water, to the garden steps behind them, to London in general. “What have you decided to do about the lamp-lighting, in the new year?"
“I thought it would be nice if Kira lit your lamps," Grace said..
“They’re not mine any more," Ned said, “at least, they won’t be. That’s as well, though. She can start young."
Whosoever they belonged to, and at whose hands they were raised, Grace was thinking, there would nevertheless come the seven hundred and thirty-second Candlemas of the City of London, that neither war nor peace could dismay: and they would all, as they had always done, raise and make light.
“It’s getting cold," she said, rubbing her hands together. “Do you want to go in?"
“Let’s stay out a little longer," Ned said, gesturing along the Embankment towpath, and they kept on through the frosty evening, under a clear sky full of stars.
Refugee; or, a nine-item representative inventory of a better world
1. The boy at the window
The bell, the lantern, the witching hour. (Though this happened to me one time in line at Starbucks – two of us helped the stranger up and the barista got her a chair.) Undone shirt cuffs, unkempt hair. A refugee from the republic of conscience.
___
2. Me
An old woman, now. Lonely, when the kettle whistles and there's no one in the house to wake. Kiran would have helped me get the boy off the floor, and stayed with him while I got something to clean up the blood.
___
3. What we are
Once upon a time, they say in these parts. (Not everywhere, I guess. Where Kiran came from, they don't say anything special at the start of the story, but they always finish with, and I saw the handsome prince the other day in the market, but he wouldn't talk to me.)
So, however they say it where you're from. A long time ago, my people came to terms with themselves, and each other. Some people say it was a deal with a higher power, that we signed a piece of parchment (or shook on it, or clicked "Proceed with transaction", or whatever). But I don't think so. I think the time had come and we had come to it. A thousand years of peace and prosperity. Universal basic income; healthcare free at the point of use; happily ever after.
However they say it where you're from.
___
4. Corbie
The boy's name was pretty, like a bird's. You'd know it if I said it. But for now – before he became what he became – let him be Raven the Trickster, or the clever mynah in the folk tales, or ane o' the twa corbies in the poem, who ate the knight's cor
pse in the wood.
(It wasn't me who loved poetry—that was Kiran. At the water's edge, at the scattering, I read from one of her favourites: of grief that no longer rings within the bones of a people, systematic, symphonic, but chimes in each of us alone.)
___
5. You
You know how this goes. You, who are reading this a long way from here, my kitchen with the high beams and white tiles, the spice jars, the warmth. You, who have stood on the parapet, leaned over the barricades; who have spoken truth to power; who have been torn between what is right and what is easy; you who always took orders, until you said: no.
We don't know why or how it happens, that you come to us without crossing the years in between. Only that when it does, it's in pain, in fear, in- all the lightless places of a bloody history; and that it's not to stay. A night, a day, an hour: a respite. Ring the bell as you come in.
(And don't think we're a fantasy. We have alchemists and armourers but also accountants. Kiran could do a corporate tax return at twenty paces. You are the myth.)
___
6. History
"It's because," the boy said to me, urgent, though he didn't have to explain. "It's because I'm a poet. I try—and raise them up, you know? Give them something to sing about. And people used to say that to listen to me, to hear me—was to be run through by a knife so sharp you didn't know you'd been cut. So when they came to take me away…"
Underneath the soaked cloth of his shirtsleeves, hand-carved text whirled and snaked along his forearms. I hissed and swore and put water on to boil. "What does it say?" he asked, while we were waiting.
"You can't read it?"
"No." He looked at me. "I can only—they don't let us learn…"
I thought about lying to him and didn't. There was dirt in the cuts, grit, infection. I cleaned it up and read it out, filth in filth. After a while he started to cry, quietly, and I let him be, making masala chai on the stove so the kitchen filled with the scent of cardamom, and snow gathered in the dark on the panes.
Not for Use in Navigation Page 21
