The endless discussions and arguments had come down to this: they needed to know, before anything was done with them, which of their adversaries had the pieces of the Last Contract. Or where they had hidden them.
The contract was undetectable to magic. A fossicking-spell for silver would be all but useless in a formal sea of pocket watches and canes and cufflinks and tiaras and necklaces. And they were up against suspicious and powerful magicians, one of whom commanded a gang of men trained in suppressing any kind of threat to magical society, and all of whom would be extremely on their guard.
All they had to work with was that suspicion. And the fact that most of them were, indeed, extremely visible, with one prominent missing piece. Edwin. A missing piece who’d shown himself capable of greater and stranger magic than anyone knew he had, even if it had ended in disaster.
The plan, as Maud had put it, was to pretend that they’d already succeeded.
Robin and Violet had between them three exact replicas of the contract pieces, formed painstakingly in silver from Edwin’s magic and Robin’s memory for pattern. They had the hardest piece of theatre to perform: to bring these into the open, in front of Walter or Morris or both, and let them be seen. All they needed was enough of a reaction to determine if one of them, or George, was carrying the items. Or for one of them to hurry away to check on someone else or some secret hiding place.
The cradlespeak was for anyone to signal to Alan which person was most suspect, or which person should be followed. Simpler than magic, and faster than coloured pebbles. Alan would then pass that information on, via the same signals, to Edwin; both of them should be moving unseen by their enemies until the time came to act.
Edwin had been practicing a directed sleeping spell until he could cast it with one hand and no string. He would get up close to their target and use it.
Violet’s next role would be to keep anyone else away, through illusion or defensive magic or simply having hysterics, while Edwin found and retrieved the contract pieces. Maud and Jack would run whatever interference was needed there.
It would be risky and tight. But they needed only a few moments. As soon as Edwin had the silver in his hands, Jack would ask the Hall to revoke the guest-right of their enemies, once and for all.
And then they would go to the Lady’s Oak and transfer the Last Contract into a form that could not be carried off Jack’s land.
Jack nearly swayed into Maud and caught himself on his stick as a man shoved bodily against and past him without so much as an apology. Jack turned to snap something and was distracted by the sight of Dufay, who was not wearing anoraks. Nor was she wearing a dressing gown. She was wearing—there was no other word for it—robes. As if this were a costume party and she’d come as the concept of spring.
She was attracting even more looks than Jack himself, and carried herself with twice as much scowling arrogance. Jack was impressed. Everyone would assume she was exactly what she was: an elderly recluse deigning to emerge only for the gala.
“George is keeping an eye on us in return. He’s holding court. Lots of handshakes. This would be easier if all men did not insist on dressing exactly the same at formal events,” said Maud. “At least the women—oh. She is here after all.”
She wasn’t speaking of Dufay. Maud had caught sight of Seraphina Vaughn, who was entering the terraced area with a look of suppressed pain on her face, as if climbing even the gentle lawn slope had been more effort than she wanted. The last member of the Forsythia Club looked around and clearly saw Maud, too, because she changed direction to approach them.
“I’d been hoping for someone to be loudly unpleasant to,” said Jack. “And a harmless old woman, no less. Time to put some tarnish back on my reputation.”
“I want to talk to her,” said Maud.
“Maud. Do you need reminding of the fact that she tried to kill you?”
“Don’t let her do it again, please,” said Maud, and actually reached out her hand as Mrs. Vaughn approached, a determined portrait of greeting from a young girl to a respected old woman.
Jack took a half step around until he could keep an eye on George over the top of their heads. At least both Maud and Mrs. Vaughn were barely scraping his collarbone in height. They had not considered it likely that the men of George’s conspiracy would trust Mrs. Vaughn to carry the contract pieces for them.
They might, Maud had stubbornly said. It’d be a good misdirection of their own. Of course she wanted to keep Mrs. Vaughn in sight too.
“Well, Miss Blyth?” said Mrs. Vaughn. “Hoping to convince me onto the other team at the final stretch?”
“Yes,” said Maud.
Mrs. Vaughn gave a warm, creaking laugh that seemed to catch at her ribs. “I see. What brilliant story will you try to sell me?”
“One you’ve heard before,” said Maud steadily. “Your whole life, in fact. Men have decided over and over again that you can’t or shouldn’t wield power, or should be forced to wield it in secret. Your father, your brothers, your husband. Are you going to let a horrible, self-important man like George Bastoke do it again? Because he will. You know he will.”
That was a story. Half from the woman herself, and half from the tale that Mrs. Navenby’s ghost had given them. Seraphina Vaughn’s eyes flashed to hear it.
But she calmed herself at once and cast a glance over at George. “I have his word. Trite, but it means something to men like him.”
“He killed his own cousin trying to steal her magic,” said Maud. “His word is useless.”
Perhaps it might have moved her, given another hour and all of Maud’s powers of persuasion. But Mrs. Vaughn put a gloved hand to her side, grimaced, and then reached out with her other hand towards Maud’s face.
Maud flinched. Jack put his hand at her back.
Mrs. Vaughn smiled like the cool decision of a falcon and patted Maud’s cheek.
“What are you and your doomed friends offering me? Nothing. You’re no better than any of those men, or Beth and Enid and Flora. You want to deny me this as well. I haven’t much life left to me, Miss Blyth, and I will have the power I deserve before I die. Right out in the open.”
George was bending his head to listen to Richard Prest. Movement stirred nearby. It was—yes, it was Morris, striding up to the group of politicians. George’s magical thug was better dressed than Jack had seen him before, but he didn’t wear the finery with any kind of comfort. George drew aside at once to speak to him.
Jack tilted his body to watch closely, heart rising into his throat. He saw George’s hand move, in a single sharp motion, to his pocket. Saw George relax, recover his poise, and then speak intensely to Morris.
An answer. And the enemy were on their guard. Time to move fast.