Chapter 18

THAT AFTERNOON

A nnice looked up at that, watching Griffin. "I've only been to Trellech twice, really briefly, and when I was little. It's much, um. Much more? Isn't it?"

"Oh, if you get me going about that, I'll be going on for hours. And I'm likely boring." But his eyes lit up, even just at the idea of that conversation. Annice still did not understand him, not remotely. She didn't understand some of his references, certainly not how he looked at the world. There was an optimism there out of season, as well as the stubbornness that had absolutely been on display this afternoon.

Now, she considered. "If I tell you about Whitby, will you tell me a bit more about Trellech?"

"Of course. If you'd like. Tell me to stop when it gets too much." He considered. "Beer, to go with your fish and chips? It's chilled. No, you stay, I can get it." Before she could do more than nod, he set his food back on the table, apparently so it wouldn't fly off. He leaned back slightly, getting the chair to near enough pivot. He opened a trunk up against one side of the room, to one side of the window. Out came two bottles, and he was setting them to rest against the side of his chair and his leg as he came back. He opened one with a flourish of a charm and handed it to her.

Annice curled her hand around the cool glass, and wondered about a lot of things. For one thing, he used his magic easily. That must be living in Trellech. He was used to not having to hide it all the time, not in school, not in the shops, not on the street. For another, the beer was the right kind of cool, and he'd been able to grab it without any fussing. That meant all sorts of planning, the kind she'd learned to do taking care of Grandad and Nan, having things in the right place so half her day wasn't taken up running up and downstairs.

Now she lifted it as he opened his own. "Thank you. You're very generous. That's not like here, for one thing. Not for people who aren't from here."

"Nets of families, I'm sure. Everyone's got history with each other, if you've been here for a while. And I'm guessing some of it is where you live - east side of the river and west?"

Annice couldn't stop herself from laughing. "Aye. My cousins, they're on the other side of the Esk. More of the jet workers were here. The other side's the fishing, and all the things that go into that. But also some jet. Can't escape the jet." She was feeling a little odd now, giddy with having done something complicated, unexpectedly complicated. And the way he was smiling at her, encouraging her, not laughing at her or expecting her to keep quiet. Then she took one more swallow of her beer and thought about how to talk about Whitby.

"You've seen one of our legends. And if you did much reading, you know about St Hild and the ammonites." Griffin nodded at that. "I've got a few good ones, polished, in the shop. One that opalised, it's gorgeous." Then she considered. "And if you've read the guidebooks, you know a bit about Dracula and about Captain Cook."

"Both of those. Though I'm more interested in Cook, he actually lived here. I mean, the atmospheric lurking is all well and good, but it's not the same as knowing a place. Leaving from a place that's been home." Griffin's voice took on a deeper note, something that made Annice frown. "Something the matter?"

"The way you talk about being from a place." Annice said it before she could think better of it.

"Going overseas nearly did me in. Not the actual Army or the fighting, but not being in Trellech. Knowing I would not get back to Trellech for ages. And when I did wake up there - I was in the Temple of Healing for, mmm, eight days, ten, before I came back to myself? The first thing I remember was knowing I was home, down to my bones. Which were objecting to a lot of other things at the time."

He'd bristled immediately when she'd asked earlier. And besides, she'd heard aunties and nans and all asking people how they'd got hurt, as if there were some test of approved injuries that counted and nothing else did. That was rude, and it wasn't kind, and it certainly wasn't helpful. She refused to do that. Carefully, she said, "What's it like there? You hear about the gardens?"

"With good reason. There are plenty of healing plants, things they use in salves and potions and just plain in tisanes. But there are also a lot of flowers for beauty. It was different during the War - everyone was working flat out, including the VADs, helping the nurses. But now there are people who come around and bring you flowers and all that. And a little cart with books to choose from. But besides the gardens, there are the baths, below the temple, all sorts of different ones. Most are consecrated to a deity, there are people who help you pick which one might help. Sometimes that's the cause of how you got hurt, or who suits your, I don't know, soul." He added after a moment. "We went with the second, for me. I'm Christian. My parents were, and there's a lot about the idea of a great architect I find interesting."

Annice blinked, because at least two-thirds of that was nothing like what she'd expected. "Did it help, then?"

"It helped me feel like I could keep going, so yes. Keep figuring out what my life looked like now. Did it heal me? No. Nothing like ‘throw aside your crutches and walk', obviously." Griffin looked away, to the side. "It confuses people, really."

Annice cocked her head, considering him like he was some piece of jet. Oh, he wasn't wearing black at the moment, though his tweed suit had more than a bit of the brown mark that true jet made when tested. She was thinking more about the angles and the way he was carved. People were vastly more complicated, of course. For one thing, they kept moving. "It doesn't confuse you. Not now?" That last bit, her voice arced up, more uncertain than she'd meant to sound.

"Not now. I know what I can do, what's at the edges, what I really can't. And I am a solicitor. I am very good at understanding not only the lines but the implications. Like I said about architecture, earlier. That's why I went up to the Abbey in the first place. I wanted to get a sense of the space, how it went together."

That, at least, she could understand. "Whitby's a little like that. Only it's not static. There are rhythms, like I guess the Abbey would have had, back when. Bells to call the hours. But we have the tides, and when the fishing boats go out, and when they come back, and what it looks like when there's a storm coming in. How the Esk sounds, on a clear day and in the rain. All of that." She gestured at the table. "Where to get the best fish and chips in town."

That reminded him, apparently, that he should finish eating, and he got his portion back onto his little side tray. That was still brilliant, and she was rather envious of how flexible it seemed to be in where he could put it. He nibbled on a chip or two, then said, thoughtfully, "And the jet's right here."

"Seven miles or a bit more, down the coast from here. When I go looking, it's usually at Robin Hood's Bay. Fewer people, though the hill's a lot." She hesitated, then added. "There's a portal, most of the way down, in the pub. I know some reliable carters near there. If you wanted to see it sometime."

He froze, went entirely still, as if every bit of him was taken up with thinking. Then he took a breath, deliberately. "Not for a couple of days, but if we get a - um. What are the good conditions for being on the beach and not slipping?"

"Sun. Timing it right against the tides. Going carefully and letting me go first? It's easy to turn an ankle if you're not careful, even hit your head, but it's not all loose stone and gravel. Not good for the chair, obviously."

"No." Griffin looked away again. "Ask me in a few days, then. If you think the weather will hold."

Annice hesitated. "You think you'll be here then? I haven't said I'd help. Or anyone else, right?"

"No one else. You are, in fact, my hope for this." Griffin looked back at her. "And you don't understand why I think that at all, do you?"

She tried to hold on to her dignity. "It's not something people have said to me. As a class of things to say."

"It seems to me that most people - your Grandad and Nan and Da and Mam excepted, I think - don't have much understanding of your skill, and certainly not enough respect."

"I can't actually argue with that. You're very annoying that way, did you know?" She suddenly wondered if he had a wife or had had a wife, or something. He hadn't said anything about it. He didn't wear a ring, but some people didn't. "Do people tell you that?"

It made him smile, which was entirely unreasonable. "Sometimes." It made him look charming, and she didn't need him to look charming. This was already complicated enough.

Now Annice swallowed. "Look, give me another day to think something over. Can you come to the shop tomorrow? Or do you have other plans?"

A cloud went across his expression, in a way she'd seen in Grandad a couple of times. "There's a decent chance I won't be up for moving much tomorrow. You're welcome to come here."

Oh. She rubbed her mouth, trying to hide her expression. "Are you going to be all right? Should you be writing to someone? Or get a Healer? I could meet someone at the portal." That last made his eyes widen. But surely he was the sort of person who could get a Healer to come out without too much trouble. Whitby didn't have their own, and besides, whatever had happened to him didn't seem entirely the sort of thing any random Healer might know. He must be like carving jet, instead of other lapidary work, where jet was so much softer, so much easier to carve, the work could barely use the same tools.

Now he was leaning back, looking at her. "You know, I really appreciate how much you aren't fussing, actually. A lot of people would be covering me in blankets and mugs of hot tea - not that that wasn't the right thing when we got in. Or insisting I go to bed. I don't need a Healer. If I do, I promise I'll write Charlus and make him deal with it. Or someone else who can come out. And I will see if Charlus can come by tomorrow, just in case I need something. Does that reassure?"

It didn't tell her much about what he was going to do, and even less about what he might be feeling now, or expecting. But it wasn't her place to pry. She swallowed, and then managed, "I'm glad I didn't overstep. Can I set anything out in the kitchen for you, so it's easy?"

"A small pot on the stove, for heating soup, and making sure the sandwiches are easy to get to in the keep-cold box? It's on the counter. Charlus set it up." He flicked his fingers at the trunk where he'd got the beer. "That one's mostly fine, but every so often it gives up for no reason, and that's fine for beer and not good for sandwiches."

She snorted. "No. All right. Are you done with your paper and all?" He nodded, and she set about tidying that much up. She dropped the old newsprint in the garbage, washing the ink off her hands, and then checked that things were easy to reach in the kitchen. She added a wooden spoon and a bowl to the counter next to the stove, then checked the sandwiches.

The keep-cold box wasn't too different from the one at home, and so she fed it a little more magic, so it would go at least another couple of days without needing more. Then she turned around, drying her hands off one last time. He'd shifted the wheelchair just slightly, so it angled to face the kitchen area, and he'd put the little tray table away, wherever it went.

"I really am grateful you came along today. I maybe haven't said that enough. I appreciate your kindness, no end."

She ducked her chin. "And now I'll get out of your hair, so you can do whatever's next for you." She didn't quite turn and flee, but it was a near thing. "I hope you have a good evening?"

"I hope you do. And I'll do my best." She thought that was as good an answer as she was going to get, and so she went out the door, making sure to close it properly behind her. It wasn't as if she could see through the curtains, but she looked back once, as she got to the alley to the street.