Chapter 11

MARCH 16TH

T alking to the jet workers hadn't got Griffin very far. And he'd meant it when he said Lord and Lady Hutton weren't particularly in favour of him. Just before the War, he'd been the one to point out some factors in an inheritance case for Lady Hutton that hadn't gone the way she wanted. Fortunately, Charlus knew the family, and had got hold of a contact or two within the magical community in Whitby for a conversation.

It meant they were ensconced in an exceedingly ornate parlour that hadn't been redone since perhaps 1870. Griffin had set the crutches to one side, but it was the sort of place that didn't like to admit furniture had legs, never mind people. Everything was covered by pleats of patterned fabric and doilies in an excess of fabric decoration. Mistress Hemworthy certainly extended the theme. She was wearing unfashionably long skirts by modern standards, her ankles tucked back under the chair she was settled in.

"I don't know what you young men think you'll manage, coming here. Whitby is beautiful, but she is insular. Particular about who is welcome, and who isn't." Mistress Hemworthy sipped at her tea. "I married in, but it took me, oh, two decades to have any acceptance at all. And that was with my dear Simon smoothing my way, every step. And my own poor skills, of course."

"Mistress Hemworthy, word of your skills has spread far and wide." Griffin wasn't exactly lying, but he was laying it on thicker than he usually did. She did a particular kind of porcelain painting. It was a genteel lady's art of the previous century. Hers had a touch of magic to bring a little protection to the cup and well-being to the drinker. Like the cups they were using now, and Griffin felt he could use as much of the latter as was on offer. "But we would be most grateful - myself, my apprentice, and my colleagues back in Trellech - for any assistance you might provide on how best to approach things."

"Grateful, is it?" Mistress Hemworthy let that hang there for a moment.

It wasn't a bribe. First, this woman would not be so crude, and second, it wasn't actually the sort of thing bribes worked on. Griffin took a moment to consider his options. "You mentioned you make it down to Trellech every so often. The Courts would be glad to include you as a guest to one of the Temple of Healing garden parties in the summer. Or I believe there's an opening for an exhibit at the museum, Chinese porcelain and such, coming in..." He let his voice trail off.

Charlus cleared his throat. "August, sir. Magistra Hollings mentioned she thought it should be a spectacular show. She has quite an interest herself. A number of pieces from private collections, and so on."

This sort of thing was the usual way to spread goodwill. Griffin would never touch it for something dealing with a specific case, but when it came to the other business of the Courts, how to keep them running smoothly, he knew the parameters of what he could offer on his own. Neither of those would be difficult to arrange. The Courts got extra tickets for just such a reason.

Mistress Hemworthy sniffed, then nodded. "The museum. If you could arrange tickets, that would be a delight."

Charlus nodded. "I'll check into the arrangements and confirm the dates, mistress. There may be a possibility for a private tour." Very polite, almost demure. Charlus carried that off well.

"As to your question," Mistress Hemworthy turned her attention fully to Griffin. "No one knows what to make of you, of course. You are not from here. You are asking complicated questions. And your, your..." She gestured at the crutches. "We're not used to that sort of thing. A few people in town use a wheelchair, a few use crutches, but not both."

Griffin caught Charlus stiffening a bit beside him, but he kept his tone light. "It's always an awkward thing to handle. People will make assumptions, and of course if someone sees me across the street or some such, they can't even ask the polite questions." He wouldn't say - not here and now - how often the questions were something far from politeness. She wasn't a stupid woman, she could figure it out. "I was injured in the War. The way the Temple of Healing put it, when they were sorting out what happened, was that sometimes my head and my feet don't talk to each other very well. Like seeing the bottom of a muddy pond, one of my Healers said. You know it's there, you can feel it, but you might mistake a rock for a turtle."

"Well, my." Mistress Hemworthy considered him, looking him up and down like some exhibit. "Well, it's really quite inspiring, working like you do, with such limitations. Not like so many others we see, hurt during the War, poor things." The mix of fawning toward him and pity toward others wasn't something Griffin heard often these days, not directly. But it always grated. Other people disabled by the War hadn't had his resources and existing standing, for one thing. And for another, he was here to keep the Courts working as they ought, not to be anyone's inspiration. Same as he had been before the War.

Beside him, Griffin could tell Charlus had frozen, unsure how to act. Griffin shrugged slightly. "I care a great deal about the work of the Courts. But my work relies on my mind, not my feet, fortunately. I'll never be a grand dancer, but I wasn't much of one before the War, so it's no great loss."

It provoked Mistress Hemworthy into a small snort. That was a very human reaction. Griffin went on. "Sometimes I trip - and a fall can be quite painful." Worse, he'd broken his wrist once, and that had him out of commission entirely for a week, even with quick access to healing magic. "More my balance than the strength of my legs." Though the nastier falls were usually the latter, he wasn't going to get into that. "But a lot of places aren't set up well for a chair, so while I prefer it when I can, sometimes the crutches are easiest." Like here, where there had been a set of stairs up to the front door.

"I suppose that you have had practice making it sound sensible." Mistress Hemworthy sounded dubious. "If people ask, what should I say?"

Griffin had a great deal of practice being sensible about it, but again, he was not going to have that argument today. It wouldn't do any good. "That it's a War injury, that it's about my balance rather than whether my legs work. That's usually what I say in brief. Most of us, I think, know some older relative who needs a cane for balance. Mine's just a bit more so."

There was another little sniff, but she let it drop, changing topics a bit abruptly. "The other part, of course, is you're from Trellech. And the people here - the fishing folk, the crafters, the people who make up much of the town - they don't know what to do about that. We pay our fees and taxes, of course, to Trellech. Some of our folk go to one of the Five Schools, though far more often Forvie than any of the others, for the fishing. A few went to Alethorpe. Our former apothecary, of course, and the current one. Frederick Matthewman, that was, poor man, but of course he wasn't born here, just married in. John Whiting, he was born here, a respectable family." That first name caught Griffin's attention immediately, but he just nodded.

"That's normal, of course, even expected. Even with the portals - and there's some history, isn't there, that there are two within a few miles, and a road between them?" Griffin asked.

It got a louder sound, not quite a chuckle, but definitely heading that direction. "Oh, the answer's easy. Smugglers. I don't recall which portal came first, but there are the two, and easy enough to pass goods from the one to the other, depending which direction is needed."

"Ah." That put an interesting complexion on it. "I'd thought most of that was earlier in time? Not contemporary."

"I'm certainly not the sort of person who would know," Mistress Hemworthy said. Though she was certainly the sort of person who would buy a thing that had been smuggled. Especially if it put a bit of luxury on her table or in her wardrobe. That wasn't Griffin's to investigate, and so long as no one rubbed his nose in it, he wouldn't.

Griffin let the silence linger for a hair longer, just to see if it made her uncomfortable. She moved a little, the sort of tell that Griffin had learned to notice very early, helping behind the counter in the department store. Once he was sure of it, he cleared his throat. "Who would you recommend talking with, about finding someone who might be a help with matters in Trellech? We seem to have exhausted the jet carvers, but it may be there's a crafter or someone who does pieces here and there, who might consult?"

That got him an extended discussion of the notable magical families in town. From what Mistress Hemworthy said, they tended to be larger clans. There would be multiple generations in the same line of work: grandparents, children, grandchildren, so it was more getting a sense for the family lines. There were a couple who might be promising, if he could get into a conversation with them in the first place.

After two cups of tea, they made their proper farewells. Fortunately, they weren't too far up on the west side of the river and harbour. Getting back to their rented cottage did not take as long as Griffin was afraid of, though certainly longer than he'd wanted. There had been a number of stares in the process and comments that picked up after they went past.

Once they were back in the cottage, Charlus said, too-brightly, "I'll put the kettle on, then?"

Griffin didn't argue, settling into the half the sofa he'd claimed as his preferred spot and putting his feet up. The matter of the tea kept Charlus busy for several minutes, and he was busy writing in his journal while waiting for the kettle. When he brought the mugs over, Griffin looked up. "The conversation bothered you." It wasn't a question, it wasn't supposed to be a question.

Charlus paused for a moment. "Yes. Does it bother you? I can't tell." Then he ran his free hand through his hair and sat down with a bit of an ungraceful thump. "And you don't talk about it, usually. You didn't to me until we were coming here."

"Like I said, it's mostly boring. To me, anyway. And I hope to other people, when they get over their own feelings about someone using either chair or crutches. It's a tool, like the journals or a potion from the apothecary or dozens of other things." Griffin considered the next part. "I know people talk. It's not talk about the chair that bothers me, actually. It's the other assumptions. That I must be slightly dim, or significantly dim. That I can't handle my own needs, or my own shopping, or my own home. I have a housekeeper. But every single other senior member of the Court staff has at least a housekeeper at home. Half of us have rather more than that in the way of household staff, even since the War." Griffin shrugged.

"And, sir? That's not the only part." The trouble with having intelligent and observant apprentices was that they noticed things.

Griffin grimaced. "It's that people can't see around their own snap judgements. That offends me on a professional level, more than a personal one. If we're aiming at something like the truth, how can we do that if people are so hidebound they can't see other ways of being in the world?"

"Related to, um, the larger questions with the Courts?" Charlus was feeling his way with this more. "Like you spoke about."

"Just so. Lamont is a far-seeing man. He's not remotely stupid. I'm quite aware that this particular task is very much a demonstration of my real skills. The methods I'd hoped to use aren't working. We're going to need to get creative. In ways that permit our success, of course, but we need to set aside our own assumptions."

"Like about who we're asking?" Charlus asked. "What have you thought so far, sir?"

"If it were just the jet working, Whitby obviously has people, but there are answers to that. We might even - with a sufficient fee - get Carey or Hudson to take on the commission. Or at least long enough to look over the work and make up a proposal and tell us what set of skills were needed. A skilled materia worker, a gem cutter used to other materials, they might well be able to do the actual fitting. I know several of those, but the initial consultations with them said they deferred to people who knew jet."

"Only that's also complicated, I suppose. And leaning on, um. National feeling, that's not the right word, will not work." Charlus was putting it together promptly, that was excellent.

"As Mistress Hemworthy said, Trellech is a long way away, both physically and emotionally. They don't feel any real sense of loyalty there, necessarily. That won't move them. And the, oh, the symbolic benefit of truth and the Courts probably won't. They have other priorities."

Charlus leaned forward now. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"It is what it is. Seeing the truth of that matters. We're not going to change people - hundreds of people we don't know, actually thousands - by wishing them different. And honestly, a lot of their priorities are sensible. They care about a roof over their head, food on the table, a bit of heat in the winter, that the fishing boats come home safe. I can't argue with that, and I'm not going to."

Griffin looked up, and said, after a moment, "When I was little, my father's shop was much smaller. Small enough he'd know who was having a hard week or month or year. He'd give them a break. A discount, or let them know when something was about to go on sale the next day. It taught me a lot about what people focus on, to get by, even though we were comfortable then." More so later, but Charlus knew that part himself.

There was a long silence, then Charlus nodded. "Thank you, sir. That's given me a lot to think about. Shall I go out and pick up something for supper and bring it back?"

"Please. Whatever looks best, and if they have some bread for the morning, that'd be lovely." Griffin stretched, considered getting up, then reconsidered it. "And if I fall asleep where I'm sitting, wake me up when you get back, please."

"Sir." Charlus grinned and then got up. "Back in a few." Griffin watched him go, glad of the chance to be alone with his thoughts for a little and sort things out more about their next steps.