Chapter 10

MAY 16TH IN TRELLECH

V itus had found Landry’s rooms without difficulty. The directions had been quite clear. They were along one of the streets off Trivium Way with smaller shops, quieter places like a tailor’s or someone who did ordinary domestic enchantments like keep-cold boxes and stoves. The first-floor rooms were popular with young professionals, living on their own or with a friend. The flats that included the second and third-floor rooms were often taken by young families. Vitus had gathered in his travels that most folks didn’t like small people who charged across the floors in the wee hours living above them, but magic at least helped with muffling the noise here in Trellech.

Vitus checked to make sure he was not early. It wouldn’t do to presume on the other man’s time. He knocked at the undistinguished door, just a plain brass nameplate that read only “Landry”. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a simple parquet floor, well tended, the walls painted a pale brown like parchment. Landry was wearing a sleeveless ritual robe in dark blue over a charcoal suit, his hair pulled back. “Deschamps. Do come through.” With one gesture he closed the door, then gestured to one across the hallway, putting himself between Vitus and another door on that wall.

Vitus went through. Naturally, he would not be rude. And even if he’d been inclined to rudeness in the first place, he would not have done it to any of the Landrys, for about five good reasons. This room was both what he’d expected and nothing like it. The first thing he saw were bookshelves lining one wall on either side of an unlit fireplace. The mantel was lined with a mixture of photographs and sculptures.

Vitus might have expected elaborate Egyptian sculptures, but nothing like that was visible. Not other than four small stone figures and a painting above the mantel that seemed likely to be some particular landscape in Egypt. It certainly had sand and dramatic colours in the sunset. The photographs were quite ordinary, curiously humanising. There was one of Landry with his mother and brother, quite recent. On the other side, there was one likely of Landry at about the age of ten, with what must be his father as well as his mother. A matched piece suggested grandparents on his father’s side, given both their complexions, even in the daguerreotype image, and the shape of the cheekbones and nose.

The statues, however, were a series of four men, all crafting unspecified objects. Vitus could identify one as a gem cutter immediately. Of course, he could spot the tools of his own trade. The others, though, were harder to make out at a distance.

A large desk stood at the far end of the room, under the window, to make the most of the natural light, but there was a table with three chairs near the door, and a sofa and two easy chairs facing the fireplace. More bookshelves lined the entire right side of the room. Vitus glanced at his host for a sign of where to sit, and Landry waved him toward the fireplace. “Your question does not seem to call for significant note-taking or design work, but if the table would be more comfortable, let me know. I copied out some examples of texts to discuss.”

It was a curious set up. The room was obviously set as a room where many things were done by the man who lived here, but it was not set up as any kind of workroom. Vitus knew a little about Landry’s skills. He’d thought materia played at least some role in them, and there was no sign of materia storage at all. There wasn’t even the sort of ordinary household apothecary chest that many people kept on hand. Vitus tried not to stare, instead sitting down and tucking his feet out of the way. Landry took the chair nearest him.

Vitus took a breath. He wanted to ask a dozen things about the layout of the rooms, why Landry had chosen this presentation of himself. Landry obviously periodically did consultations here. The space was set up for that, and Vitus knew he didn’t have offices elsewhere. He’d checked. But this was a more personable sort of space than he’d expected. Magistra Landry had a fearsome reputation as a consultant, the sort to approach cautiously and only at sufficient need. She did not explain herself; she never had, but her work was impeccable.

Her son, however, seemed to work in a different mode. Philip Landry had also built up a reputation as a skilled specialist, but he was decidedly seen as more approachable if also still foreign. Merryn’s comments had suggested that and Vitus was indeed finding it so. No one knew Landry well - he had not gone to Schola, nor was he in any of the societies. And he was not a member at either Bourne’s or Wishton’s. That last was curious, because if the Fortiers had extended themselves, they could have sponsored him, even given how much of his background was not of Albion. Before Virtus could wander too far down that train of thought, Landry spoke. “Now, let’s see.”

“Before the explanation you’re so kind to offer, I brought along notes about my travels. I included several letters of introduction that might be of interest and not, perhaps, as readily available through your own sources. Gems and minerals, as you noted. And two hotels I would recommend avoiding.” Vitus reached into the portfolio he’d brought, pulling out a file folder with twenty sheets of paper clipped together, along with three letters in unsealed envelopes.

That last one made Landry’s mouth shift just for a moment. “What brings you to recommend against them, then?”

“I presume your brother would prefer to spend his magic on other things than avoiding pests, for one. The other, mmm.” Vitus tried to figure out how to put this. “The proprietor’s daughter would very much like to be married, or failing that, cause herself a scandal. I did not find it remotely restful or supportive of my studies.”

It came out more primly than Vitus had meant; not that he was opposed to a mutually agreeable tumble in the right circumstances. He’d had several on his travels, even. Having Maria Antonia turning up in his bed on no notice had not been comfortable. Vitus had been quite worried about what her older brothers might do to anyone who found themselves in that situation.

Vitus coughed and added, “I have a younger brother as well. He’s two years out of Schola, Boar House. He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, as I am sure yours is. But that is no reason not to spare them unnecessary and unproductive difficulty.”

Landry nodded, taking a moment to glance through the notes. Then, Vitus was rewarded with a slow smile, perhaps an agreement at the desire to spare younger brothers avoidable problems. “These will be of great help in the planning. That is much appreciated, and generously done. I assume you bring the same attention to detail to your talisman work?”

That got them off into an agreeable conversation. Vitus was careful to keep it brief. He began with an overview of how he went about things, as he drew out his sketches and plans for the piece that had brought him here. Within ten minutes, Landry was nodding along. “I don’t know the theory here as well as I ought. Most of my work is not in the directly material, but you’re looking for something, like, hmm.” The older man glanced up, clearly thinking through how to put it.

“Do you know Montfort’s treatise on inscription?” Vitus offered.

“Hah!” Landry nodded emphatically. “Let me grab that. In fact, you can show me what you’re thinking.” Landry stood, rolling upwards with a physical ease that surprised Vitus a bit. He moved like a duellist, like Lucas did, rather than an academic swot, always bent over his books. He went across the room, precisely pulling out a book from the shelves with due care for the book itself. “Here we are, yes.”

Landry passed it over, coming back around to sit down. Vitus thumbed through carefully, looking at the right-hand pages to find what he wanted. It was about a fifth of the way in, on the right, bottom half of the page. He did not have a perfect memory the way some people did. But he had a gift for remembering what the text had been shaped like, how it was laid out, and it was decidedly handy in this sort of situation. “Like this.” Vitus passed the book back, open to the illustration of working a complex talismanic inscription down to a simplified but potent one.

“Oh, yes. I thought you might think of that one. Right. If I were to do the same thing with a text, is that what you’re thinking? Are your inscriptions more commonly linguistic or symbolic, then?”

“More commonly symbolic, but it’s not uncommon to build a word or two into the piece, to anchor the intention. And in some pieces, there is a word that activates the enchantment, and if so, that word is often built into the inscription.” These were not professional secrets, they were visible to anyone who cared to look at enough talismanic pieces. Or, for that matter, read a representative sampling of the literature. He pulled out a couple of sketches of what he was working on, passing them over.

“Ah, yes. Let me sketch a few things, then.” Landry stood, coming back with a small wooden lap desk. He took out pencils and paper, then sketched out a column of text three or four characters wide, the pencil strokes turning into hieroglyphs. Then he wrote the line again, and again, each time the shapes shifting until they were still distinct letters, but far less of a depiction of some bird or beast. “Here, you see the progression, yes?” He held it so Vitus could see.

“And in this, the, pardon, I don’t know how to ask this entirely. Do the shapes themselves also hold magic?”

Landry blinked at him, as if that were not an expected question at all. “It is not something we talk of much. But among my mother’s people, it is thought that the very act of writing is magical, that words do indeed hold magic. To a degree beyond how Incantation is taught in Albion, as I understand it, though I do not hold a mastery in that magic as it is counted here.” His finger tapped the page. “You name a thing and it becomes so. And yes, each shape has, pardon.” He cleared his throat. “I am not used to discussing this in English. Each shape has a symbology to it, associations, of what it is, which of the many gods it is associated with. Gods.” His brow furrowed. “Does that answer your question?”

“Enough, thank you. And these other two forms of writing, the hieratic and the Demotic, do they hold magic the same way?”

It earned Vitus a laugh. “Ah, if I were writing an inscription,” Landry said. “It would be the hieroglyphs by preference. But if I were, mm, designing a border for something, to frame an act of magic? Perhaps I would draw on the pattern of the Demotic, a rhythm in the design, do you see?” He sketched out a couple of shapes, repeating the same three repeatedly to make a line.

Vitus peered at it, considering. “May I ask what it says? If it is private, of course, you need not say.”

It got another of those blinks, before Landry ran his finger under the text, word by word, reading it out in the original, and then again to translate it. “Ptah, the Disc of heaven, who illumineth the world by the fire of his eyes.” He glanced up at the mantel, then said, “Ptah is a god of crafting, of enlivening what is made. A god for talisman makers, certainly, as well as for others.” He nodded once at the wall away from the window. “I have a workroom, of course, though I tend to more complex ritual forms at my mother’s townhome. As I said, most of what I make is not done in stone as you do, but ink on papyrus if it has physical form. And yet, I turn to the crafter, more than to others.” He hesitated.

Vitus cleared his throat. “If I make offerings, they are most commonly to Vulcan for the crafting. Though I do not work in hot metal or the forge, he is also a god of crafters.” Also, a favourite among those of the Four Metals, which is why Vitus had picked up that inclination in the first place, but he wouldn’t say that here.

“Ah.” Landry nodded once. “Here, let me look at your inscription, and see if I might suggest applications of the idea.” That took up a fair bit of time, passing the commentary back and forth. Vitus found himself talking more freely, as they went, about the challenges of establishing himself. Landry was not forward with his advice, but he was not shy about offering it when relevant to a particular topic, including how he selected the rooms they were in.

Vitus had been right that the presentation was deliberate. Landry had wanted an ordinary street, a room that suggested a serious scholar and magician, without being intimidating. His mother, on the other hand, had an imposing townhome in a well-off neighbourhood of Trellech, a bit to the north. Most people never saw beyond the most formal parlour. Certainly not the library, which Vitus took to be one heart of the home.

“And your brother, when he returns?” Vitus started gathering his papers together. He knew they were almost out of time.

“Ah, should he wish to set up in consulting, then we might take a house together. We will have to see. He is more inclined to formal ritual, and the spaces that requires are more difficult to arrange.” Just then, the clock chimed from the tower outside. “I would be glad to speak again, when time allows. I might have a commission for you in a month or two. It depends on how something plays out.”

“I would be glad to discuss at your convenience. You have been generous with your knowledge and your time. I won’t keep you further.” Vitus made his goodbyes warm - he really was grateful - but brief. A minute or so later, he found himself walking down the steps, out to the street. Thoughts - and new ideas for how to go about his work - were swirling around in his head. He rushed off to Niobe’s to write them down fully before they tumbled out.