“Was it an egg?” Henry inquired.
“Downworlders,” said Wil . “Almost al werewolves.”
“There’s nothing interesting about werewolves.” Jessamine sounded aggrieved. “We’re focusing on finding Mortmain now, Wil , if you haven’t forgotten, not some drug-addled Downworlders.”
“They were buying yin fen,” said Wil . “Buckets of it.”
At that Jem’s head snapped up and he met Wil ’s eyes.
“They had already begun to change color,” said Wil . “Quite a few had silver hair, or eyes. Even their skin had started to silver over.”
“This is very disturbing.” Charlotte frowned. “We should speak to Woolsey Scott as soon as this Mortmain matter is cleared up. If there is an issue of addiction to warlock powders in his pack, he wil want to know about it.”
“Don’t you think he already does?” said Wil , sitting back in his chair. He looked pleased to have final y gotten a reaction to his news. “It is his pack, after al .”
“His pack is al of London’s wolves,” objected Jem. “He can’t possibly keep real track of them al .”
“I’m not sure you want to wait,” said Wil . “If you can get hold of Scott, I’d speak to him as soon as possible.”
Charlotte tilted her head to the side. “And why is that?”
“Because,” said Wil . “One of the ifrits asked a werewolf why he needed so much yin fen. Apparently it works on werewolves as a stimulant. The answer was that it pleased the Magister that the drug kept them working al night long.”
Charlotte’s teacup crashed into her saucer. “Working on what?”
Wil smirked, clearly pleased at the effect he was having. “I’ve no idea. I lost consciousness about then. I was having a lovely dream about a young woman who had mislaid nearly al her clothes . . .”
Charlotte was white-faced. “Dear God, I hope Scott isn’t caught up with the Magister. De Quincey first, now the wolves—al our al ies. The Accords . . .”
“I’m sure it wil al be al right, Charlotte,” said Henry mildly. “Scott doesn’t seem the sort to get tangled up with Mortmain’s sort.”
“Perhaps you should be there when I speak with him,” said Charlotte. “Nominal y, you are the head of the Institute—”
“Oh, no,” said Henry with a look of horror. “Darling, you’l be quite al right without me. You’re such a genius where these negotiations are concerned, and I’m simply not. And besides, the invention I’m working on now could shatter the whole clockwork army into pieces if I get the formulations right!”
He beamed round the table proudly. Charlotte looked at him for a long moment, then pushed her chair back from the table, stood up, and walked out of the room without another word.
Wil regarded Henry from beneath half-lidded eyes. “Nothing ever disturbs your circles, does it, Henry?”
Henry blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Archimedes,” Jem said, as usual knowing what Wil meant, though not looking at him. “He was drawing a mathematical diagram in the sand when his city was attacked by Romans. He was so intent on what he was doing that he didn’t see the soldier coming up behind him. His last words were ‘Do not disturb my circles.’ Of course, he was an old man by then.”
“And he was probably never married,” said Wil , and he grinned at Jem across the table.
Jem didn’t return his grin. Without looking at Wil , or Tessa—without looking at any of them—he got to his feet and went out of the room after Charlotte.
“Oh, bother,” said Jessamine. “Is this one of those days where we al stalk out in a fury? Because I simply haven’t got the energy for it.” She put her head down on her arms and closed her eyes.
Henry looked bewilderedly from Wil to Tessa. “What is it? What have I done wrong?”
Tessa sighed. “Nothing dreadful, Henry. It’s just—I think Charlotte wanted you to come with her.”
“Then, why didn’t she say so?” Henry’s eyes were mournful. His joy over his eggs and inventions seemed to have vanished. Perhaps he shouldn’t have married Charlotte, Tessa thought, her mood as bleak as the weather. Perhaps, like Archimedes, he would have been happier drawing circles in the sand.
“Because women never say what they think,” said Wil . His eyes drifted toward the kitchen, where Bridget was clearing up the remains of the meal. Her singing floated lugubriously out into the dining room.
“‘I fear you are poisoned, my own pretty boy,
I fear you are poisoned, my comfort and joy!’
‘O yes, I am poisoned; mother, make my bed soon,
There’s a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.’”