“But perhaps it doesn’t mean anything,” said Walter. “You had to go off and get your hands on another property instead. Just like Miss Debenham over there.”
It was like that Oscar Wilde story about a painting: Walter Courcey looking calm and reasonable on the exterior, forcing all of his own viciousness to appear on Edwin’s face as Edwin fought to keep his balance in front of the brother who’d tormented him for their entire childhood.
“Stop it,” Edwin hissed. “Stand there under a truth-spell and declare you haven’t let this project of yours run to kidnapping, torture, and murder.”
“There’s no such thing as a truth-spell,” said Walter. Even Jack was tempted to gasp at that. Walter had used a truth-spell on Edwin, when trying to get the coin.
Edwin looked molten with indignation and lifted his hands to begin a cradle, even without string.
The panel’s reaction was instant.
“No unauthorised magic in the Library!” snapped Prest. “Have some respect for this institution, young man!”
Jack was contemplating just hauling the lot of them out of there before any more damage could be done—respect be damned—when the only person to so far escape the fiasco made an abrupt reentry.
Overlapping footsteps came from behind them as Arthur Manning strode back into the Library with another person by his side.
“Kitty?” said Edwin.
Now accompanying Manning was one of the lovelier women Jack had ever seen, with a wealth of blue-black hair, glowing brown skin, and an elegant profile. She held a few leaves of yellowing paper.
She was also extremely, visibly pregnant.
Even Jack, who was usually in favour of throwing convention out the window, felt a stab of startled displacement. One didn’t usually see women outside the house when they were this far along. Cowling had turned red; Prest’s entire face was folded into an expression of deep discomfort, and he seemed unable to make his gaze focus on the newcomer.
“Ahmph,” said Cowling. “I say. Hardly the place to be—my dear madam—”
“Catherine.” Singh’s tone was faintly querying.
“Good afternoon, my dear,” said Catherine Kaur. “Assemblymen. Evers.” A slight, masterful pause. “Courcey.”
Edwin managed to stop staring at Mrs. Kaur and escaped back to the desk. Manning joined them.
“I was going to tell you,” Manning murmured. “Mrs. Kaur practically trained me. She was never allowed to stand dicentis, but she did a lot of work with the Coopers. She knows some parts of magical law better than anyone. She’d heard about the hearing and dug up the papers on inheritance law for me. I thought she might still be in the Barrel, and”—a helpless nod to where Mrs. Kaur was making her slow, swaying way up to the dais—“she was. Is.”
And she might have prodded her husband into volunteering for the panel so there’d be at least one semi-friendly face. Or at least one not actively primed against them.
Mrs. Kaur apologised for intruding and somehow managed to give the impression that Arthur Manning had not in fact ducked behind his teacher’s skirts, but called upon her as a research assistant. She then unfolded her pieces of paper and laid out a concise summary of a case heard in the Library some forty years ago, where a magical estate in Wiltshire had been the subject of a tedious inheritance dispute. It included a brief note that the current residents, including one of the disputing parties, were deemed able to remain in place during the nearly six months that the case dragged on.
She punctuated the whole with the occasional wince or hand in the small of her back. Jack wanted to invite the entirety of Parliament into this room to learn by example.
He didn’t know much about Catherine Kaur. She had worked with the Coopers. And then stopped working with them and moved to a different role, in a different part of the Barrel. He wondered why—and wondered if it had coincided with his cousin George assuming control. The Coopers weren’t an army, but they were damn close to one, and Jack knew how armies worked. Atrocities were committed first and legitimised later, if the high brass were forced to acknowledge them at all. Perhaps Prest and the Assembly didn’t know what George had been doing on their behalf, but Jack was quite sure they preferred it that way.
Walter Courcey looked livid during Mrs. Kaur’s speech. But he didn’t yank on any of Evers’s strings when the dicentis stammered: “Well—in that case—no objection to Miss Debenham remaining in residence, although the challenge may still be brought—shall discuss with my client—”
“Yes, yes,” said Prest impatiently. He levelled a disapproving look at Violet. “I must say, some of the accusations made today have been very concerning, Miss Debenham. Very concerning indeed. But I shan’t argue against precedent if it exists in this specific case. Singh? Cowling?”
The other Assemblymen agreed that Violet’s eviction was unnecessary. Cowling, too, was now frowning at Violet as if he suspected her of bad behaviour but hadn’t been able to personally catch her hand in the biscuit jar.
“Dismissed,” said Walter shortly. He stalked very close to their desk on his way out of the room, probably to intimidate Edwin further, and Jack had a fleeting wish that it’d been a bad leg day. If he’d brought his stick, he could have tripped the bastard.
“Thank you, Mr. Manning,” said Violet. “I doubt that was what you expected out of your third time standing dicentis.”
“Not exactly, no,” said Manning. “If I’m to stand for you again, Miss Debenham,” he added, with a sudden flare of personality, “I hope you decide to fill me in on the pertinent context.”
“It’s a matter of what’s safe to know,” said Jack.
Manning looked at the doors through which Walter had vanished, made a complicated face, and took his leave of them. After this, the unmagical Inns of Court would probably seem a blessed relief.
“I think,” said Mrs. Kaur, “that I, too, will avail myself of the safety of ignorance. You can have Addy catch me up on anything you think I should know.”
“Thank goodness for you, Kitty,” said Robin. “Not to look a gift horse, et cetera, but are you really sure you should be—ah—” He went pink and abashed in the face of a long stare from Mrs. Kaur.
“I am expecting, Robin, not infirm. Glad to be of assistance, Miss Debenham. Edwin, you owe me a letter about that book I lent you.”
She sent a smile up to her husband on the dais and left. The rest of them reappropriated the preparatory office, where Violet cast a muffling spell on the room and Edwin added an auditory illusion of indistinct conversation. Nobody asked if the precautions were necessary. Edwin’s hand shook as he produced an odd one-handed cradle for the illusion, but he didn’t reach for string.
“Well,” said Violet, hurling herself and all of her skirts into one of the few chairs. “Did anyone else notice that that was a complete setup? Not just Aunt Caroline trying to get her hands on the goods.”
“They may not have talked to your relatives at all,” said Jack. “They didn’t need a challenging party to stand there. Just Evers.”