“I can still manage it just.”
The two of them laughed. Penny guffawed also as she pulled a cigar from one of her many pockets. She offered it to Malcolm, who seemed uninterested by the banter and waved a hand in refusal. She shrugged and proceeded to light it up herself.
Simon returned to sketching, but this time he switched to runes. His little journal was filled with a variety of mystic symbols derived from many traditions. There were also countless sketches of keys with runic phrases etched along their surfaces. Page after page was covered with rough pencil drawings of keys and runes. This was something Simon had been doing for months, often without even noticing.
He ignored the fact that writing was causing slight pain to vibrate through his burnt hands. Kate’s alchemical balm would heal it soon enough, but the bandages reminded him again of his vulnerability without magic. The cuts and burns and bruises of his companions caused Simon even more distress than any pain he felt himself. A sense of dismay came over him which he had struggled to banish over the months since his magic was ripped from him by the horrific demigod Ra. He had spent the first few months after the terrible event waiting for the spark of aether to return with that familiar surge of excitement that he relished. Every morning when he opened his eyes, his heart throbbed with the expectation that he would see the wisps of eldritch green slipping through the air around him, unseen by all except magicians such as himself who had intimate ties to the aether realm.
The air stayed empty. Morning after morning he saw nothing but the ceiling. Weeks passed. Months turned to seasons. The wonder that he had known for most of his life was gone. And he had begun to accept that it might—no, that it would—never return. All these runes he drew absently were nothing more than strange art. He could never use them to create magic again.
“You’re right, of course, Kate. We’ll have time enough. I promise.” Simon looked away from her because he didn’t want to see her reaction when he said, “An excellent job at Westminster, all. Malcolm, your months of scouting for hints of Gaios in the fringes of the arcane world paid off handsomely. Your hunch that his agents would make an attack on the coronation was impeccable.”
Malcolm barely nodded, his glance flicking to Kate quickly, then away. He was content with the success of his efforts but quietly grateful for the praise.
Simon continued, “And thank you, Penny, for your masterful accouterment that helped balance my lack of magic.”
Kate turned from Simon with pursed lips of disappointment but brightened when she looked at the young engineer. “The crossbow you designed for hurling my alchemical solutions worked like a charm and should prevent my right arm bulking up more than my left with all the throwing I was doing. Thank you. Now, if you could make it so small I could carry it on my person around town without attracting attention, that would be lovely.”
“Oh, good idea, Kate.” Penny nodded her thanks to both, puffing away on her cigar.
Simon continued, “We managed to accomplish our primary goals. Kate, what do you have on our fencing partners at Westminster?”
Penny leaned forward onto her elbows. “Yes, I want to hear about this Baroness woman. I looked at her gorillas and noted her engineering mark. It’s been tainting most everything we’ve come across from the sextant at the Mansfields’ house to even Dr. White’s homunculus.”
Kate’s mouth tightened as she regarded the engineer. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yes. Her mark is pretty unmistakable.” Penny poured some salt on the table and drew the odd symbol in the grains. “That and her blatant cruelty to animals.”
Simon gave a wan smile. “She did seem to enjoy pain. Mine at least.”
Kate opened a book she had retrieved from her home at Hartley Hall when she accompanied Imogen and Charlotte back there after the battle at Westminster. “Our new enemies. Ferghus O’Malley and Baroness Conrad. Both of them formerly imprisoned by Byron Pendragon in the Bastille and therefore servants of Gaios now, just as Gretta Aldfather and Dr. White and Nephthys before them. My father’s old journals have a bit of information.” She turned the book so Simon could see it. “Baroness Conrad. Born Minerva Clark, to unexceptional parents, in the eighteenth century. She connived her way into Magdelene College Society of Supraphysical Design and Special Engineering, Cambridge. Isn’t that your old outfit, Penny?”