Caleb rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Frieda smirked.
Emily watched them go, then turned and walked to the front door. A pair of armored guards eyed her with professional interest, their eyes lingering on her face rather than her chest. Emily couldn’t help thinking they looked more like soldiers than most of the men she’d met during the war. And yet, there was a falseness around them that bothered her, an attitude that made her think they hadn’t seen real combat. Sergeant Harkin had been crude, rude and willing to do whatever it took to turn his students into combat sorcerers, but he’d been a man. He’d seen the elephant and survived. These men…she thought they’d never seen war.
A clerk, standing behind them, studied her for a long moment. “Yes?”
“Inform the manager that Lady Emily wishes to speak to him,” Emily said, firmly. The clerk’s eyes opened wide. “And then escort me to the waiting room.”
The clerk stared at her. “I…I need to see some proof…”
Emily reached out with her magic and brushed it against the wards. Markus had keyed her into the outer defenses back when he started the bank, pointing out that she was one of his best customers. The clerk jumped, then turned and scurried into the bank. Emily followed him, pretending not to notice the guards hiding smiles. There must be no love lost between them and their social superior.
Markus must have been alerted by the wards, because he entered the waiting room while the clerk was still trying to offer her food, drink or the latest broadsheets. Emily smiled as he dismissed the panicked man, then opened a hidden door and invited Emily to walk upstairs to his office. He was only three years older than Emily, but he held himself like an older man. She told herself that it probably wasn’t surprising. He was, after all, the de facto head of the Bankers Guild.
His office was large, easily five times the size of a bedroom at Whitehall. A marble desk sat in the middle, under a pair of giant glass windows; a small set of comfortable chairs and sofas sat in the corner. Emily had to smile when she saw the portrait of Melissa hanging over the fireplace. It was so accurate that Melissa had clearly sat for it, not so long ago. A pair of maps – one showing Beneficence and the surrounding lands, the other showing the known world – dominated the other wall.
“Emily,” he said, motioning for her to take a seat. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, sincerely. She’d always liked Markus, more than she’d liked Melissa. “I would have written ahead, but…”
“I heard.” Markus rang a little bell on his desk. “You’ve been to war.”
A young, dark-haired woman materialized out of a side door and bowed. Like so many others, she looked to be mixed-race, a combination of Chinese and Indian features. Her dress was professional, but surprisingly tight around her breasts. And yet, there was an innocence about her that Emily found a little amusing. She suspected, from the glint in the woman’s eye, that she dressed that way so she was always underestimated.
“Kava, please,” Markus said. He looked at Emily. “Would you like something to eat?”
“No, thank you,” Emily said.
She leaned back in her chair as the secretary returned, carrying a tray of mugs, a pot of Kava and a small collection of pastries. Her stomach rumbled as she saw them, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten that much for breakfast. Perhaps she could take one or two, just to be sociable. Markus wouldn’t mind.
“Help yourself.” Markus sat down facing her, taking a mug and a single pastry. “I believe we all owe you a debt.”
“It came at a high cost,” Emily said. Had Markus known Casper? He might well have known of him. Most magical children were taught the names and family lines of their peers. “But we won the war.”
“Yes, you did,” Markus said. He leaned back in his chair. “Did you read the last stockholders report?”
Emily shook her head. It would have been sent out three weeks ago, but naturally her copy would have gone to Whitehall. Markus wouldn’t have known where else to send it. She’d find it when she returned to school.
“There were a lot of people coming in and out of the banks,” she said, instead. “And the city feels…odd.”
“There’s been an investment boom.” Markus tapped his nose, meaningfully. “The microloans we’ve been offering, along with the other banks, have galvanized a massive boost in industry. Investment in steam engines and railways has skyrocketed. Everyone is buying stock.”
“If they can afford it,” Emily said.
“If they can afford it,” Markus agreed. He frowned, nodding towards a pile of letters on his desk. “The requests for loans – more significant loans – are coming in, day by day. My staff are more than a little overwhelmed.”
Emily frowned. “How secure are these loans?”
“Some are good, some are bad.” His face darkened. “I’ve earned a reputation for being stingy, I’m afraid. I won’t loan money unless I think there’s a better-than-even chance I’ll recoup my investment.”
“That’s common sense,” Emily pointed out.
“Not according to some of the newer broadsheets,” Markus said. “They’re insisting that I’m putting the brakes on the industrial boom by not providing money to fuel it.”