Something shifted in Billy’s posture that spoke to Robin’s instincts from years of boxing. The man had moved past an inhibition of some kind. He was considering his move, and was close to making it.
Edwin’s eyes were downcast. Edwin’s fingers moved slowly, slowly, bare of string.
“What do you want us to do?” asked Robin. “You’re the one with the knife. Make your demands, Byatt.”
“I do wish you’d kept your noses out of this,” Billy said, still addressing Mrs. Kaur. “You can’t be allowed to remember. And you can’t run back to your life and play pretend,” spitting this at Robin, whose instincts were shouting even more loudly. “Even if I let you all walk out of here now, we’ll find you tomorrow. Or the next day.”
Edwin’s cuff brushed against Billy’s arm as he began to raise his hands.
“Stop. What are you doing?” Billy demanded.
“I’m reaching into my pocket,” said Edwin. He was. Gold sparks danced between his fingers as they vanished. “You know there’s nothing dangerous in there. You checked them yourself. Here.”
And he moved: one hand closing over Billy’s where it was pressed against his chest, a mockery of tenderness. The other—Robin couldn’t see, was he holding something, passing it from his own hand to— Thunder expanded in the room with a deafening crack. A flash of white light sent Robin flinching with a hand over his eyes. There were more sounds: a human choke, a ragged grunt of exhalation, a thud in two parts. All very fast. And then nothing.
When Robin blinked his vision back again, Edwin was bent over, leaning on the arm of a chair for support. On the floor was a small pile of prickly splinters and ash, as though a half-burned conker casing had somehow rolled out of the fire. The empty tea set had been knocked to the ground as well, the cup split into three wet shards.
Sprawled next to this minor pile of wreckage was Billy Byatt. There was a pattern like lightning, like the veins of a leaf, charred in black in the centre of his palm, over the mound of his wrist, and disappearing beneath his cuff.
Billy stared at the ceiling. He looked mildly startled.
He did not move, no matter how long Robin gazed at him.
Mrs. Kaur made a harsh sound of surprise and knelt down. Her fingers hovered, then sought a pulse beneath the chin. “Billy?”
“Oh hell,” said Edwin, and his knees buckled.
One moment Robin was standing near the window; the next moment, without any time or distance seeming to register in between, he was at Edwin’s side, supporting him, Edwin clinging to him for balance.
“I’m all right,” said Edwin. “He didn’t—Robin, I’m all right.” He righted himself, chin lifted and eyes everywhere but the body on the floor.
But when Robin released him and began to pull away, Edwin’s grip on his arms tightened, a wordless refusal. Something inside Robin collapsed. He pulled Edwin closer, wrapping his arms all the way around him. Edwin alive and warm, and not stabbed, or memory-wiped, or anything else that might have happened. Robin rested his temple against Edwin’s for a long moment. The Morrissey sisters could think whatever they wished. Hell, they’d already heard Billy’s question—Why do you care?—and seen the answer that was Edwin’s lack of answering.
Edwin pressed his face into Robin’s shoulder and took a breath deep as a sail snatching a breeze, expanding in Robin’s arms. Then he disentangled himself.
“Thank you,” he said. “For coming. How did you—where did you—”
Robin smiled. “I had help.”
“Mr. Courcey,” said Miss Morrissey, “what did you do to him?”
Edwin prodded the splinter-pile with his shoe. “I cast a splitting charm on an imbued oak-heart, with a clause for release of power. I closed his hand around it. I didn’t know quite what—I thought it would. Distract him.” Edwin looked almost grey. He rubbed at his forehead and left a smear of ash. “There was a lot more power stored in there than I thought.”
“Bloody sodding hell,” said Miss Morrissey. “Er, sorry.”
“And there was me,” said Edwin savagely, “sitting there going on about how we’re the ones who aren’t murdering people.”
“Bugger that,” said Robin. “Sorry.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Kaur, “that we can extend to one another some diplomatic immunity as regards the use of foul language. Given the circumstances.”
“Right,” said Robin. “Bugger that, Edwin.” Edwin gave a small explosive sound that was halfway to a laugh. Robin went on, “He had a knife to your ribs, and he was working his way up to using it. You acted before he did. You didn’t mean to—you didn’t mean him to die, but he did. It’s over.” He bit back and I’m glad.
“And I have a dead body in my parlour,” said Edwin. “A body with friends. Family.”
“His family are in Bath,” said Mrs. Kaur. She, too, had gone washed-out and uncertain, but there was an emotion more complicated than grief in the way she looked at Billy now. “I’ll go back to the Barrel. I used to work for the Coopers; the night shift all know me. I’ll explain. They’ll send someone along.”
“You can’t,” said Edwin.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard him. Anyone who knows about what they’re trying to do, about the contract, can’t be allowed to remember. Or live, I’d guess, if they’re trying to contain the damage. You used to work for the Coopers, ma’am? Do you want to tell me you’d bet all of our lives on there not being a single person in that office who’s mixed up in this plot, somehow?”
They exchanged a look that Robin didn’t understand. It felt like trying to guess the shape of an animal having seen only the ears; it was related to Edwin’s reluctance to go to either the Coopers or the Assembly for help, at any point in this disaster. Robin pushed his questions down to join all the others. They would, he sincerely hoped, have time for them later.
“No. Damnation,” said Mrs. Kaur. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
They all looked at the corpse of Billy Byatt. The switch-knife was lying half-concealed by his body; Robin bent to retrieve it. Edwin’s gaze clung to the blade like fearful glue, so Robin folded it hastily and pocketed it, getting it out of sight.
“Can you make him disappear?” Robin asked. “Not turn up having been dragged from the river in three days, I mean.” He felt rotten for asking such a thing of a woman who’d cared for the man at one time. But he didn’t see many other options.
“Not tonight I can’t,” she said, sharp. “I’m not a bottomless well, and that curtain-spell took effort.” She added grudgingly, “Tomorrow. I’ll come back. You’ll have to keep the staff out of your rooms for a while, Courcey.”
Edwin nodded.
“And when his friends start asking about him?” said Miss Morrissey.
“I’ve an idea,” said Robin, thinking of Billy at the Penhallick dinner table. Not my girl any longer. Mrs. Kaur’s rejection of him was public knowledge, which had clearly rankled as much as anything else. “He came to you, Mrs. Kaur. He visited you at your office, this evening. You argued. You didn’t realise how upset he still was, about everything that had happened between you.”
“This idea had better not be heading in the direction of framing my sister for murder,” said Miss Morrissey.
“No. He told you he couldn’t stand to be in London any longer, where it was so difficult to forget you,” said Robin, searching Kitty Kaur’s face. “He said he needed to get away from everything, and everyone.”
“Suicide?” said Edwin.
“I was thinking more an impulsive trip to the Continent, or the Americas,” said Robin, startled. “Do you think people are more likely to assume he did away with himself?”
“I’d believe either,” said Mrs. Kaur. “That’s . . .” She swallowed. “Clever. Yes. I can sell that, when the questions start. But you two are coming to tea sometime in the next few days—you as well, Adelaide—and you’re going to fill me in on everything. I don’t keep secrets without cause.”
“We can do that,” said Robin.