“Eliza’s right. You should be more charitable,” I said.
Eliza beamed at me, and Blackwood grumbled as he got out of the carriage and handed us down. On the ground, I waited for the coachman to set my satchel on the dock, then hefted it onto my shoulder—despite Blackwood’s trying to take it—and walked. It banged against my back with every step. I’d attempted to pack light, but I hadn’t been sure what I’d need. The journey to Cornwall would take at least five days by boat if the weather stayed good. Even if we had extraordinary luck in finding Strangewayes’s house, this whole expedition would last the better part of two weeks.
Two weeks away from Rook. My stomach lurched to think of it. I’d left a note for him before I’d gone, hastily scribbling it while Blackwood waited.
I have to attend to the Order’s business. I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.
I’d sat there a full two minutes, debating whether to write the word love, and how to write it. Blackwood had had to remind me that the tide waited for no one.
The cool breeze snatched at my skirts as I walked along. Ships were anchored and waiting in the water, their sails tied up. Men climbed up and down the rigging, while barrels and other cargo were loaded. Sailors swarmed the decks, their sleeves rolled to show sunburned arms decorated with tattoos of frolicking mermaids or rude parrots. One of them caught me looking and winked.
Was it my imagination, or was the dock moving beneath my feet? My stomach rippled. I’d never been sailing before. My father was supposed to have drowned at sea, after all, which hadn’t made me especially keen on it. But then Mickelmas had denied that story, right before he’d vanished that terrible night in St. Paul’s Cathedral, when the world fell down around our ears.
Bloody Mickelmas.
I’d tried writing letters to him, putting them in his chest and hoping that they’d reach him. I’d kept asking what on earth he’d meant about my father, but nothing ever came of it. I wasn’t sure if he’d received the notes, or if he simply didn’t care.
Speaking of the chest, I touched the strings of the reticule at my wrist. I’d brought a few magician spells. Not all of them, of course, but one never knew when they could come in handy.
“There,” Blackwood said by my ear, pointing to a rather grand vessel. She was lacquered black and trimmed in gold along the sides, sporting enough masts to seem a veritable forest. “Queen Charlotte.”
“We’re looking for Captain Ambrose, yes?” I asked as we dodged around a pair of men wheeling a barrow. One of them looked after Eliza and muttered something I hoped I hadn’t understood.
“Whitechurch said they’d have someone assigned to help us.”
“To take us to the cliffs, or all the way to Strangewayes’s house?” I asked as we arrived at the—what was it called? Gangplank? Really, my knowledge of all things nautical could fill a small thimble.
“All the way. He’s supposed to be a great soldier.”
“Bless my soul,” a familiar voice cried.
Blackwood’s head snapped up as Magnus sauntered down the walkway toward us. “Is this a reunion? We should have invited all of Master Agrippa’s former Incumbents. Though I believe Dee vomits at sea.”
Magnus stepped onto the dock, smiling easily. He hadn’t changed a bit in the months since I’d seen him. His hair was still a shining mass of auburn curls, and his gray eyes still sparkled with irreverence. Yes, he’d the same square jaw, broad shoulders, and infuriatingly informal expression. My spirits plummeted. Blackwood looked as though he’d swallowed a raw turnip. Eliza was the only one who appeared delighted.
“You’re here?” Blackwood sounded exasperated already.
“I am, Blacky, though I appreciate the philosophy of the question. After all, are we any of us here? Can existence be truly proven? You’ve given me much to think about.” Magnus sketched me a short bow. “Howel. A pleasure.”
“Yes,” I said stiffly. Magnus wore a tightly fitted blue naval coat with tan breeches. Looking more closely, I noticed his hair sported streaks of gold. His tan face had reddened a bit at the tip of his nose and the sharp lines of his cheeks; his body had grown leaner. Perhaps he had changed in the months we’d been apart. The boy I’d known in Agrippa’s house had experienced only the briefest moments of combat. He’d been far busier helping me train, showing me the city, and growing closer than I should have allowed. He’d kissed me one night, quickly reminding me that I could only ever be a toy for him—he was already engaged, after all.
True, Magnus had come to aid me in the final battle against Korozoth, and I’d wanted us to start over as friends. But the last time I’d seen him, he’d held my hand and whispered that he couldn’t let me go. I’d walked away and hadn’t seen him since.
I’d been perfectly comfortable with that.
“Oh, Mr. Magnus,” Eliza cooed, extending her hand. “I’d no idea you’d be here.” The over-the-top way she said it indicated that she’d perhaps had an inkling. Her insistence on coming to see us off made a great deal more sense now. Blackwood’s whole face seemed to contract as Magnus kissed Eliza’s hand.
“My lady, you are more charming than ever. Is it possible you’re still not sixteen?” He tsked. “Inconceivable.”
Eliza giggled. “We’re planning a splendid party for my birthday. I hope you’ll be one of the guests?”
Blackwood and I exchanged a look. As if this expedition weren’t stressful enough.
“How could I refuse such an invitation?” He all but winked at her. Right. He hadn’t changed at all.
“Come along,” Blackwood muttered, taking Eliza’s arm and practically dragging her back to the coach.
“Goodbye, Eliza.” I waved to her.
“Goodbye!” She smiled at me, and then, “Farewell!” she cried to Magnus. I wondered if she’d toss him her handkerchief as a keepsake. Magnus kept grinning roguishly. Bloody fool.
“Don’t worry, Howel,” he said, turning to me. “You get me all to yourself on the boat.”
I wanted to strangle him.
“How is Miss Winslow?” I asked. At the mention of his fiancée, Magnus’s face fell, but only slightly.
“She’s well. And Rook?” The humor vanished from his voice. He knew about Rook’s “condition.” Granted, he didn’t know everything. Part of me wanted to tell him what was happening, to tell someone.
But I only replied, “He’s wonderful.” He was going to be. I was going to make damned sure of it. I walked hastily up the plank, wobbling a little bit, and gripped the ship’s railing. Cornwall. We only had to sail to Cornwall. Less than three hundred miles; surely they would fly by. Magnus’s hand brushed my back to steady me, and I practically jumped.
“What’s the matter?” Magnus looked rather surprised. “I thought we were friends.”
I can’t let you go. His last words to me, and he wondered why I was nervous? Did I not understand men at all?
Blackwood stumbled up the walkway, cursing under his breath. Magnus couldn’t resist. “You’ll get your sea legs yet, Blacky.”
“Tell me you’re not taking us to Strangewayes’s.” Blackwood didn’t bother to conceal his hostility. Unfortunately, that was the sort of thing Magnus relished.
“I would, but I hate to lie to you.” Magnus clapped Blackwood on the shoulder. “Just think. We’ll be as close as we ever were.” Blackwood looked as though he might commit murder. Granted, that was as close as they’d ever been.
“Howel. Blackwood.” A man dressed in the blue coat of a naval officer approached us. His long brown hair was tied back from his face. The only thing that marked him as a sorcerer was the stave by his hip. “Captain Ambrose, of Her Majesty’s navy. So. We’re to sail to Cornwall on the Order’s business? Then there’s no time to lose.”