Charms and Death and Explosions

by Honor Raconteur

  It took considerable cleansing spells to get the magical influence of the bad sickness charms out of the air, and only when we’d achieved moderate success at this did we make any headway. People’s normal cleanly habits fell by the wayside during their sickness, and I’d waded into more than one apartment filled with leaking garbage, soiled linens, and pails of vomit. The assault on my nostrils was horrific, but not as much as the knowledge that these people suffered under such conditions with no energy to improve their own environment. I do believe I used as many cleaning charms as I did magical clarifying ones.

  Warner, bless her soul, sent in a large batch of the rubbing alcohol, and Jamie immediately drafted Penny to help her spread it about and educate people on its use. With that solution’s addition, we were able to cut down on the amount of cleaning charms, and the air smelled sharp and acidic instead of sickening after that.

  Anyone who works in a hospital understands that caretaking can be particularly exhausting. While we had many specialists and doctors on scene, they still had to work nearly eighteen hours a day, and that took its toll very quickly. In an effort to keep them from dropping where they stood, we received orders to switch with a new set of professionals at the six-day mark. I must say we were all very glad to hear of it and only spent the bare amount of time necessary to catch our replacements up to date on the situation before thankfully handing the reins over.

  We were given an official examination, which all of us passed, thanks to the anti-sickness charm amulets that Seaton and I had made sure everyone wore at all times. After the doctors cleared us, we loaded up in a wagon—the only vehicle both charmed and large enough to carry the entire group out—and went to a hostel across the street cleared for our use with orders to not step even a toe outside of the building for forty-eight hours.

  At this moment, staring at the very inviting double bed in my room—away from Seaton’s interesting sleeping habits—the concept of staying forty-eight hours inside of the building did not bother me in the slightest. They’d be lucky if I chose to leave this bed in the next forty-eight hours.

  Shucking off my jacket, I tossed my bag to the carpet, toed off my shoes, and flopped gracelessly onto the mattress, face-first. Oh how lovely, the sheets were freshly laundered. I wallowed, snuggling further in, not caring that my nose pressed into the linens.

  My body thrummed with exhaustion, an almost audible hum of tension and unhappiness. I could feel darkness encroach on my vision and the thought vaguely tantalized me that if I took off my suspenders, and properly got under the covers, I would rest better. I should do that.

  Energy to move, I summon thee.

  Hmm. That clearly failed.

  A soft tap sounded at the door before it opened a creak. “Henri? Are you decent? Oh boy. You didn’t fall asleep like that, did you?”

  I turned my head just enough to stare at her from one eye. “How do you have the energy to check on people?”

  Jamie snorted amusement. “Some of us possess more energy than others. Our hostess, Mrs. Kerr, is offering us a late lunch/early dinner. You interested?”

  I thought of food, and while that did sound nice, my body was more interested in rest. More to the point, the idea of climbing down and back up the stairs to reach the room sounded utterly vile and I shuddered at the thought. “No, thank you.”

  Frowning, she crossed into the room and put a hand to my forehead. “Are you sick? I thought the only way that you’d turn down food was if you’re dying.”

  “Just fatigued,” I assured her, the words dragging. I could hear my own weariness in my voice. It was likely even more obvious to her. Although I liked the feeling of her hand against my skin. It was comforting, for some reason that I could not define.

  She smoothed back a curl dangling over my forehead, nodding in understanding, but the frown continued to linger upon her features. “Alright. I’ll let you sleep. But get under the covers, alright?”

  I groaned in compliance, wallowing about like a seal until I got my arms under me. The door closed with a soft thump behind her, and I shed clothes down to my underthings before slipping back onto the bed, under the covers this time. I barely got my head situated on the pillow when the land of dreams rose up and snatched me away.

  I have never seen Henri that exhausted. I mean, he turned down FOOD. I thought he’d have to be at death’s door for that to happen. Then again, I understood why, as he’d run about like a chicken with its head cut off for seven days straight. Sixteen to eighteen-hour days, a week straight—that would push anyone into exhaustion. It would have done me in too if I didn’t have enhanced stamina and muscles.

  Letting him sleep, I wandered back downstairs and into the kitchen. Mrs. Kerr stood at the stove fixing up hot sandwiches for anyone who wanted one, Sherard and Gibson being the only two not flat in a bed at the moment. It made the very large farmhouse table look empty, with only two men sitting at it, but I felt sure it wouldn’t stay that way.

  Gibson looked up as I entered the room, asking, “Not even Davenforth’s coming down for food?”

  “He said to let him sleep, he’s too tired to eat.” Sherard drew back, his expression poleaxed and I nodded in sour amusement. “I know. Believe me, I know. I figured Henri was the type to demand a plate at his own funeral, and here he is, turning down food. We really worked him into the ground on this one.”

  “It’s magical depletion,” Gibson informed me, passing a tired hand over his face. “He was doing just as much as the rest of us but didn’t have the means to really pull that off. Magically speaking, he doesn’t have as much power as the rest of us. Even I have about double his strength.”

  I paused in pulling out a chair, looking at him sharply. “Are you serious? I knew there was a difference in strength, but that much?”

  “He’s not powerful, barely above the level of a hedge wizard,” Sherard clarified for me. “What makes him formidable is his intelligence and how craftily he uses his power. He does more with less, and does it with such finesse that he often shames magicians who have three times his power. It’s truly elegant, his spellcraft.”

  Gibson nodded along in support of this. “I can see why he’s such an excellent Magical Examiner and why he maintains that he won’t be good at any other line of work. Although I think he’d make a decent Kingsman, myself.”

  I snorted a laugh at that, taking my seat. Oh heavens, that felt lovely, being off my feet. Chairs were invented by a wonderful person who never got as much recognition as they should. I vote for their nomination of sainthood. “You’d never get Henri in shape enough to be a Kingsman. He thinks exercise is evil and loves food too much.”

  “He’s actually lost a good stone since partnering up with you,” Sherard observed dryly, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Probably because he’s constantly chasing after you.”

  “It’s good for him,” I retorted sweetly. “But getting back to the point, Henri’s magically depleted. Check. What does he need to recover?”

  “A lot of rest, food, and no demands for him to do anything magical for a good week,” Sherard rattled off. His dark eyes flicked thoughtfully toward the ceiling and in the general direction of where Henri lay sleeping. “The last part might be more difficult to pull off. We got severely sidetracked by this outbreak, but we still have a case to solve.”

  “Yes,” I sighed in agreement. “So we do.”

  Our hostess came over and tutted over us. “You poor dears, and you didn’t even get to celebrate the anniversary of Belladonna’s passing. Here, I’ve got a cake coming in, we’ll make a small go of it, alright?”

  I caught the looks my friends shot me, the worry and concern they felt when reminded that we’d let the anniversary slip right past us. To my mind, that was a better way to go about it. I was quite happy to let it slip by. Still, I appreciated this woman’s efforts and gave her a smile. “A cake sounds lovely.”

  Sherard shifted uneasily and leaned in to murmur, “Jamie, if you’d rather—”


  With a slash of the hand, I cut him off, keeping my smile firmly in place. “I don’t mind missing the celebration, but doesn’t a cake sound good? If nothing else, we can celebrate being able to leave quarantine.”

  Perhaps my eyes adequately conveyed the message that if he tried to wrap me up in wool and pat me like a child, I would stab him with my fork. Sherard instantly backed down. “Of course. A cake sounds wonderful.”

  Forty-eight hours passed and we were released from our quarantine. All of us unanimously voted to take another day off to recover, as some of us were still magically depleted from seven days of straight magical strain. I believe that the offer was made more for my benefit than anyone’s, but we all agreed to it. We’d tackle the case again come Gather Day.

  Jamie and I shared a cab back to our apartments, and I let my eyes rest as I slumped into the seat, swaying with the rocking of the carriage. I was still too tired—not exhausted as before—but not my usual self yet. I hoped that by the start of the work week, I’d be back on my feet once again. If nothing else, I wished for the energy to at least be functional.

  “Curry tonight?” Jamie offered casually.

  I pried open an eye, a tired grin etched across my face. “As if I ever refuse that offer.”

  “I’ll need to get the ingredients, so say in about three hours from now?”

  “That’s fine.” I patted my stomach gently, promising it excellent food soon. If my anatomy was capable of purring, it would have promptly done so.

  The cabby pulled to the curb, I paid the man, and we went about the business of getting our bags and ourselves up to our apartments. I dragged anchor more than a mite as we trudged our way up the stairs. Jamie did not bound ahead of me, as she normally did, but made short work of the stairs. Clearly, despite all that had happened, she still had energy to spare. She cast me a glance as she headed for the top floor, and I waved her ahead. If I could bottle that energy, I’d make a small fortune.

  To my surprise, I found my door unlocked. Strange, I knew I’d locked it before leaving. A vague sense of unease filled me as I pushed the door open. I hadn’t been robbed, had I?

  “There you are,” Ophelia scolded, immediately leaping from her chair and rushing towards me. She wore one of her plain linen dresses, hair done up in a casual bun, so clearly she hadn’t dropped by while in the neighborhood, but instead waited on me.

  “No, of course I haven’t been robbed,” I sighed to myself, setting my bag down off to the side. “My mother is a picklock. I’d failed to remember that for a moment.”

  “Tosh,” she scolded, enfolding me in a quick, fierce embrace. “Mrs. Henderson kindly let us in.”

  “That now explains matters,” I commented, more in a rhetorical fashion. “Father.”

  “Henri.” Rupert came to thump a hand against my back, his eyes taking me in from head to foot, a frown gathering. He, too, was in a casual dark day suit, clearly waiting on his only son to arrive home. “You look done in, son. Was it very bad?”

  “It was definitely not good,” I sighed in answer. I caught the door with my toes and shut it before shuffling off to my favorite chair. Ah, sitting was truly blissful.

  My parents quickly came to sit on the other chairs, focused entirely on me. I saw their worry, their relief, and knew that they needed to hear the details. I had the energy for that, but had a thought to explore first. Now that my parents knew Jamie was from a different world—she had taken it upon herself to explain matters to them some weeks ago—I had the freedom to ask questions like: “Jamie has offered to make curry this evening for me. If you wish to try it, I’ll need to tell her immediately so she knows to prepare more than two portions.”

  “Oh!” Ophelia perked up immediately. “Yes, please. I’ve heard you rave about it and I’m quite curious. No, wait, that seems selfish of me. I’m sure she’s tired.”

  I snorted inelegantly at the notion. “That woman can work a team of men into the ground. She’s barely fatigued. Hold on one moment.” I pulled out my texting pad from my pocket and scribbled a quick note: My parents are here. Dinner for four?

  roger roger

  Satisfied, I put it away again. “She’ll make some for you as well. I’m sure you have many questions, but I’m not certain where to start.”

  “Start from the beginning. What caused this?” Rupert suggested, leaning slightly forward. “I understand from Reggie that it had something to do with bad charms? Charms causing people to be sick? How did that happen?”

  From there, eh. I obligingly backed up to the very beginning, first explaining the murder case of Garner and Timms, then bringing the narrative forward to the present day. They exclaimed, asked questions, and interrupted multiple times, so it wasn’t a straightforward presentation, but I didn’t mind it. I wanted them to understand more than deliver the tale in some theatrical fashion.

  “But those poor people are still stuck in there another two weeks?” my mother demanded in outrage. “All because of those two men making such horrendous charms? Devil take them, what an insane turn of events. I’m glad you caught on to the situation so quickly, that you were able to prevent it from spreading any further.”

  “We are all grateful for that,” I answered, feeling the chair gain a firmer grip on me. “But thanks are largely owed to Dr. Cartwright, for sending out a message for help and not giving up until someone responded; and Officer McSparrin, whose sharp intuition told her that it was part of our case. I might not have known about it for another fortnight without those two, and think of the damage that would have been done then.”

  “I’d prefer not to,” Rupert denied with a shudder. “Bad enough as it is. Those charms, have you found them all, then?”

  “There’s no real way of knowing how many there are.” And that aggravated me sorely. “At least, not at this moment. Officer Gerring was combing through the records to help us determine how many charms Garner made under his new business name. We hope to lay hands on every last charm, but, unfortunately, we’ve hit something of a roadblock there. We’ve pulled everything from the stores, and put out notices in the Gazette and through the local theaters asking for the charms to be turned in to us, but a large quantity of them are still unaccounted for. I’m afraid that we might be dealing with the repercussions of their stupidity for months yet.”

  Neither of them appeared happy to hear this, and my mother’s mouth tightened into a telltale line of outrage before demanding, “What can we do?”

  “We’ve already received a great deal of support from you,” I hedged. Largely because I didn’t know what else could really be done. “Reggie’s financial support of his workers eased many fears. In fact, we wouldn’t have been able to maintain quarantine without him and his fellow colleagues’ support. I understand the queen is going to thank all of the men personally for that. And you, Mother, your aid in assembling all of those clothes, blankets, and towels—that was heaven-sent. We were able to throw away so much that was too stained or contaminated; it cleared the area of the other bacterial strains trying to complicate matters.”

  “But is it enough?” Ophelia pressed, agitated and gripping her hands firmly together. “Is there something else we can do?”

  Rupert shook his head, expression thoughtful. “There might not be, not at this stage. Otherwise I imagine our son would have already said something. What about RM Seaton, is there anything he’s mentioned?”

  “Yes, but most of it’s political in nature. He’s advocated for years that there needs to be an inspection process of all charms before they’re allowed to be sold on the market. This just proves it. I believe the queen is upset and focused enough on the problem to give in to his suggestions.” Seaton had showed me some of the messages he and the queen had been exchanging. She swore as creatively as any stevedore and I’d gained the impression she would lynch the next bad charm maker without mercy.

  “While I agree the situation definitely demands such actions, I can’t help but feel like we’re shutting the gate after th
e horses have escaped.” Rupert tapped a thoughtful rhythm against his knee, a mannerism I knew well. It usually preceded something insightful and brilliant. “Henri. How many bad charms did you actually find in these people’s homes?”

  “Usually stacks of them,” I answered with a wince. Just the reminder made my temples throb. “Several of the city rubbish men refuse to dispose of them, and people thankfully have been warned not to burn them, but that means they’re not sure what to do to dispose of them. They find some place to stack them up instead, out of the way, which is dangerous in its own right. I’ll have a stern word with the city waste management tomorrow, I assure you.”

  “That’s dangerous, alright,” Rupert muttered, vexed. “You explained the dangers of that quite clearly to us, years ago. But my thought was this: These people must spend a pretty turn to get the few charms they do possess. They’ll not give them up lightly, even if there is a good possibility it’s a bad or ineffectual charm. I think the only thing that you’ll be able to do is offer them an exchange. Give them a better charm in return for every charm they possess in the house. You’ll need to keep track of these people, of course; I’m sure some will try to cheat the system.”

  “Yes, certainly, there’s always the con-artists,” I agreed slowly, my mind spinning out the possibility. “But it’s a thought with merit, I must admit. It would be far more effectual than simply warning about the charms. That’s become very clear.”

  “There’s more than a few good charm makers in this city, and stores that carry them,” Rupert went on, gaining momentum and enthusiasm. “I imagine they’re all as cross as you are about this whole bloody business. For that matter, I know a few of them. How about I go around, ask for donations, ask them to pitch in a hundred charms or so. I bet if we get enough of them together, they’ll make the difference we need to see.”

  If it were anyone other than my father proposing this, I would not believe it to work. However, Rupert Davenforth had a very strong reputation in Kingston, one well regarded not just among his peers, but among every citizen. I often was given the benefit of the doubt because of my last name alone. If he were to ask for aid, to help the city as a whole, I had no doubt people would respond. Perhaps not all, but enough.