The Master Magician

“Magician Thane is retired from that line of work,” Ceony said with a little too much push. Fortunately, Mg. Aviosky didn’t seem to notice. Or, at least, she did not respond.

The Gaffer took in a deep breath, dropped her hand, and leaned forward in her chair, placing her elbows on her knees—a very casual position for a woman Ceony had never before associated with that word. “I’m not part of Criminal Affairs,” she said, meeting Ceony’s eyes. “I only know wisps, perhaps nothing more than what you know already.”

It wasn’t an outright refusal; Ceony had been dealt enough of those in her life to know the difference. Mg. Aviosky had been more receptive to her ever since the incident with Grath. Perhaps that was why she’d stopped investigating Ceony’s relationship with Emery.

“What I know would fit in a single telegram,” Ceony said, her voice growing quiet, despite the lack of eavesdropping ears. “Please tell me more. He threatened my family. He’s”—she swallowed—“he’s supposed to be dead.”

“They did take their time, didn’t they?” Mg. Aviosky quipped, almost more to herself than to Ceony. “I wonder, once this is all over, if the need to dig information out of the man will have been worth it. I’d hate to think—”

Her voice cut short. After clearing her throat, she finished with, “Of the people who he’ll hurt.”

Ceony bit her lip. For a moment, the ghost of Delilah stood in the hallway outside the front room, laughing at some unheard joke. But she was gone, her laughter only heard in memory.

Another sigh passed from Mg. Aviosky’s lips, as if the same thought had occurred to her. “He escaped en route to Portsmouth prison, where he was scheduled for execution.”

“From Haslar.”

“Mm,” Mg. Aviosky agreed. She shifted in her chair. “Somewhere near Gosport, I believe, between cities. I didn’t press Magician Hughes for details.”

“But how?” Ceony pleaded. “I researched the imprisonment of Excisioners. Straitjackets, constant guard, solitary confinement. They even put bits in their mouth to keep them from drawing blood from their own tongue and cheeks!”

Ceony felt her neck warm.

“No need to school me, Miss Twill,” the Gaffer said. “I’m quite aware. I believe he head-butted his guard and blew out his sinuses hard enough to give himself a nosebleed. I’ve heard Excision spells cast using the magician’s own blood are far weaker, but it was enough. He managed to collapse the side of the carriage and get away.”

Ceony thought of the spell Lira had once used to break down Emery’s front door. “No one pursued him?”

“I don’t know,” Mg. Aviosky said with a tilt of her chin and the faintest air of exasperation. “I imagine there was a chase. No sane person would think to transport Saraj Prendi without a great number of guards, especially of the magician type. But it’s not under my jurisdiction. I simply don’t know.”

But where? Would Saraj try to flee England, as Emery suspected? Portsmouth and Haslar were on the southern coast, weren’t they? An easy escape. Saraj would be a fool not to take it.

Still, the contents of her stomach churned.

Ceony kept the thoughts to herself, shoving them down deep enough in her brain that they tickled the back of her neck. She cleared her throat, trying not to react noticeably to the news, and asked, “What did Saraj do prior to the paper mill?”

Mg. Aviosky tapped her chin, then readjusted her glasses once more. Instead of offering another excuse about how she wasn’t involved in Criminal Affairs, she managed to say, “I believe he was involved in some ordeal in Scotland, along with Grath Cobalt and Lira Hoppson. I’m not sure of the details. But Miss Twill,” she said, scooting forward on her chair, “you must believe that you and your kin will be safe. It’s not in Saraj Prendi’s criminal profile to pursue them any further.”

The words offered little comfort. “I thought you weren’t part of Criminal Affairs,” Ceony said. “How would you know?”

The Gaffer frowned. “Saraj Prendi has a reputation extending far beyond English law enforcement. That is a na?ve question.”

Ceony sighed. “You are right, of course.”

She wrung her skirt in her hands but stopped short of wrinkling it. Her thoughts felt like muffin batter. Smoothing out her skirt, Ceony closed her eyes just long enough to gather her senses. Then she reached into her bag and grabbed a rectangular piece of gray paper. She tore it in half down the middle and instructed it, “Mimic.”

Mg. Aviosky raised an eyebrow.