“I didn’t say I hated them, only that I had no time for them.”
He responded in a low, powerful tone, speaking the words, “?‘What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel.’?” His voice reverberated in the great space, soft yet clear. “That’s Hamlet.”
“You should’ve been an actor.” I was impressed.
“Do you think?” He seemed pleased. “Sometimes I imagine I’d give up sorcery and duty just for the opportunity to tour the countryside with a small troupe. Mother always said I had a knack for voices.”
Blackwood came by and hushed us.
After my tour, we stopped at an inn for lunch, complete with chops and potatoes and ale. A few more months eating this way, and I might attain some feminine curves. Magnus entertained us with stories and jokes, but I tried bringing Blackwood into the conversation. Despite how badly our relationship had begun, I wanted us to be civil. It would make training easier.
“How old were you when you became the Earl of Sorrow-Fell, my lord?” I asked.
“I was eight when my father died,” Blackwood replied, studying his half-drunk ale. “The youngest seal bearer in the history of my family. They thought that was terribly exciting.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, and meant it. To be that young and head of a family was one thing, but seal bearers were responsible for their entire magical line. The pressure would’ve been tremendous.
“Father died battling R’hlem in his country’s service. It was a noble end,” Blackwood said, as emotionless as if he were reading the words out of a book. “What of your family?”
“Father died before I was born, mother soon after.” I felt uncomfortable, as I always did when talking about my parents. I’d no memories, no connections. I wished I could feel something more than curiosity and longing when I thought about them.
He nodded. “So you truly grew up at Brimthorn?”
“Well, I lived in Devon until I was five.” There. There was a real memory, a real flash of pain. Blackwood noticed.
“Why did you leave?”
I thought of my aunt walking away from me, back to her carriage. And me, hanging on to her skirt, begging her to take me home. She hadn’t listened. She hadn’t cared.
“Several reasons,” I said quickly. “The war, for one. I’m sorry that training in London left you so little time on your estate. As I’ve said, the girls at Brimthorn would have loved to meet their great benefactor.”
“I’ve visited Brimthorn before. I might have seen you. We just would not have been formally introduced.” Of course not. He was an earl’s son, and I, a charity girl. Very little chance of meeting. “Before the war, Sorrow-Fell used to host events for the Brimthorn children. I’d have continued the tradition, but I couldn’t arrange it from London. It’s better to be present for those sorts of things.”
“Yes, one of the wretched girls might make off with the silver tucked under her bonnet,” I said. Magnus snickered.
“I don’t like strangers on the estate when I’m not there,” he said defensively, as if this were an old argument.
“Perhaps it’s for the best. ‘Sorrow-Fell’ sounds like a gloomy place for a picnic.”
“No. It’s beautiful.” Blackwood’s expression cleared. “The founding earl received it as a gift from a faerie lord. The land is steeped in magic. Some find it rather melancholy.” No wonder he loved it. “But the forests and grounds are deep and lush. White stags live on the property. My father always forbade a stag hunt, as he said it would be wrong to kill any magical creature. My father…” The light vanished from his face in an instant, and he said no more.
“Do you see Sorrow-Fell often?” I asked, feeling a small flash of sympathy.
“No. My studies keep me in London.” He withdrew into himself; I couldn’t get another word.
A pretty serving girl arrived with more ale. Magnus winked at her, sending her into a giggling frenzy.
After lunch, Magnus hustled me toward the carriage. “We have to move fast or all the best spots will be taken,” he said.
“For what?” I asked as we drove down the street.
“Have you ever seen a ship launch before?”
The docks were outside the protected area. Living in Agrippa’s fine house only made the devastation I witnessed beyond the ward more terrible. Magnus talked, but I didn’t pay much attention. I watched the burned houses and debris-strewn streets roll past the window. Just sitting in a fine carriage made me feel guilty.
We got out at the docks, elbowing our way through crowds as they waved handkerchiefs and flags. Squeezing between them, we strained to catch a glimpse above the throng of cheering humanity. A massive sailing ship moved down the river, toward the sea. It was a great square man-of-war with billowing white sails and an unfurled blue flag. The launch had the air of a national celebration. A small brass band played as men selling apples and meat pies moved through the crowd.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Magnus cried. He seemed to glow with excitement.
“You want to go with them when you’re commended?” I was impressed despite myself. With Nemneris the Water Spider attacking the coast, the navy was about the most dangerous place for a sorcerer.
“Yes. I don’t want to stay here and uphold the ward. Put me in the midst of the battle. I’m ready!” He whooped and threw his hat into the air. The people around us applauded his enthusiasm.
“I never thought so many would turn up for a ship launch,” I said. Some poor woman sobbed beside me as she waved her handkerchief toward the departing vessel. Then again, perhaps seeing any boat leave the harbor was cause for celebration. Even if a ship got past the Water Spider, the English were persona non grata on the continent. Europe did not want to invoke R’hlem’s wrath by aiding refugees. “Do ships never come in?” I asked. Magnus easily followed my train of thought.
“Well, naturally there’s been some contact. How else would Cellini have arrived? Italy’s the only nation that will offer assistance. Other than that, dear Miss Howel, we are on our own. Here. Cling to me for comfort.” When I didn’t fall into his arms, he continued. “You hear of smugglers taking men and women out of England, heading for America. They’ll charge a fellow a king’s ransom for the chance to escape to a new life. Just between us, if I’m to choose between Korozoth and a Yankee tavern brawl, I’ll take my chances with old Shadow and Fog any day.”
Blackwood came over to us, jostled by a drunkard and his chums. “We should escort Miss Howel home. The people are getting rowdy.” As we walked through the crowd, I studied the faces about me. Many looked pinched and worn with hunger, with tiredness. I knew these people, how they felt. I certainly understood them better than I did the sorcerers.
Rushing back behind the safety of the ward didn’t appeal to me.
“Wait,” I said as we walked toward the carriage. “We’re here anyway. What’s to stop us from looking about?”
“You want to see the slums?” Magnus sounded puzzled.
“I don’t think it’s the safest idea,” Blackwood said.
“If I’m going to fight for London, I should see how all of its people live.”
“Perhaps one day, but not now,” Blackwood said, taking my arm. He spoke with beleaguered patience, as if I were an errant child. I shook myself firmly out of his grasp.
“Don’t you ever make charity calls? Look.” I held up my reticule. Inside, I had the three shillings I’d saved from my time at Brimthorn. A poor savings after eleven years, but it would do. “I’d rather give this to someone who needs it than spend it on myself, especially now that I have so much. Come on, just through Ha’penny Row. It’s not too dangerous there.”
Blackwood set his jaw. “I said no.”
“Let’s put it to a vote,” I said, ignoring his order. I raised my hand into the air. “I vote yes.”
“No,” he said again.