Chapter 20

MARCH 24TH

A nnice was waiting nervously. She'd gone round to Griffin's cottage yesterday, both to check on him and to ask him a question. The conversation wasn't helping anything at all in her head. She'd done a lot of thinking, and she still couldn't make sense of half her thoughts. They just kept circling back to the north, like someone following a compass. Or someone out on the water, using the ruined Abbey as a landmark, visible a long way away.

They hadn't talked long yesterday. She'd been able to see he was still recovering. When she'd knocked, he'd been up in the kitchen. He'd been leaning on one crutch, heating up some soup and stirring with the other hand, so that seemed better than it might be. But he'd moved slowly, like everything took thought. Now, he would be here any minute, because she'd asked him to come here.

She kept peering out the window. Finally, there he was, coming up in the chair, with the two crutches tucked however he did that. They ran down behind the back of the seat. That was good because what she wanted to ask him almost certainly involved going upstairs. She hurried around to get the gate, ducking her chin and smiling, not managing more than a few words. "Thank you for coming." It wasn't much, but she felt like it was that or it would be a flood of babble.

Once he was in the front room of the shop, he looked up at her. "You wanted me to look at something? Upstairs, you said." He turned around, threading the crutches out of where they rested between the wheel and the chair, angled up to the back. They held for a moment, then came free, and she was distracted, watching them.

"How do you that? Keep them in place?" Annice gestured with a hand.

"Magic. Though if someone non-magical asks, it's magnets. You can do it with magnets, actually. We did some of the testing that way, but it's a lot more fiddly, and you have to line them up perfectly. And in my case, actual magnets interfere with some things in my day to day work. Otherwise it's a huge bother to have crutches with you and the chair. Some people make a sort of sling, but then it catches on things or bumps into people. This, they slot into that little holder at the bottom, to make sure they don't slip down, then another near the back. There are charms that will grab them and hold them in place."

That was a lot more information than she'd expected, as if a part of the conversation three days ago had unlocked something in him. "That's very clever." It was. She could think of many uses for that kind of sticking something in place. "And you're sure you're all right to come upstairs?"

"It's only two flights, after all. You have, what, twenty-four stairs? Not a hundred ninety-nine. And I know you'll not mind me taking my time." Griffin said it easily, but it hit Annice hard, like a blow to her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. It was true, of course, she wouldn't rush him. But he apparently trusted she wouldn't, and how could he do that?

"Of course not, no rush." She let out her breath. "Look, I said a little yesterday. That there was something I think my Da made, and I don't know enough about it. It's up on the second floor, in the workroom now. But I don't know if there are other things like it in the house. And I don't know what it does."

"So, shall we start in the workroom then? I assume there's somewhere I can sit, once we're there - a chair, a stool, a bench, I can make do with an old crate just fine."

"Stools." Annice ducked her head. "If you'd rather wait a little, rest, that's fine?"

He considered, touching a spot on the chair just above the wheel, then pushed himself upright, settling his arms into the crutches. "Show me, then?"

Griffin was slower than he had been, taking each step carefully, like he wasn't entirely sure what his feet were doing. That must be an odd sensation, not one Annice knew much about, except when she had pins and needles that went away in a few minutes, or perhaps bumped her funny bone and her hand felt queer, all down her arm. He had to stop at the top of the first flight, leaning gently against a wall. He stared at a spot on the floor, rather than any of the angles that would have shown him the kitchen or the nearest bedroom or anything else.

The next flight brought them up into the studio, and this time, she immediately went and pulled out one of the stools, setting it near the door where he could see everything. He said nothing for minutes, but he was looking around here intently, as if he were memorising it all, so he'd never lose it. It made Annice look at the workroom with new eyes, but she waited until he spoke.

"Would you tell me a little about the space? What the tools do?" Griffin's voice was quiet, the way someone ought to speak in church or in the cemetery, like it was something holy. Unexpectedly holy.

"Once, this would have been a proper workshop. More than a few people working, each one doing a specific task. Now, I do them all, just in sequence." It was how things lined up, so they'd flow. "This is the bench, to check the stones over, looking for flaws. Then you chisel the bigger pieces into the size you want to start, as a rough."

He nodded, and that gave her a little more confidence to go on. "The grindstone, here, where you get the piece into a rough shape. It's sandstone, and it can crack if you're not careful, and that's..." She shivered. "Grandad had stories about injuries. Magic helps that one. We can keep the shards from going everywhere."

Griffin glanced at her, his head tilted a little. "I'm clear that this is difficult, skilled work." His voice was still that odd quiet. "What's in those boxes, there?" He gestured at the shallow wood boxes next to the grindstone.

"Sawdust. You have the stones, and you've been using water with the grindstone. You put the pieces in the sawdust until they dry out a little. Ours have charms, again, to help that happen evenly, but sawdust still does most of the work." She should think about replacing the sawdust. Change of season always meant that. "Then the carver's bench. Everyone has their own kind of tools, a lot of us make our own." Annice swallowed hard, because she'd said ‘us' out loud, and she normally hid that.

When she managed to look at Griffin, he was still smiling, encouraging her along with a little wave of his hand. "The stove's for glue, or for making a new milling wheel. You melt lead, pour it in the mould, sharpen it with a file, and then add some carborundum powder. That's for the grooves and lines. I don't use that as much anymore. Most of my work is carving."

"So, you're saying that besides all the skills that go with the jet, you have to manage all these tools, making new milling wheels as you need them. Keep all of your tools in good shape." Annice had never heard someone put it that way, but who else was going to do it if she didn't? She nodded, hesitantly, and Griffin went on. "That's a skill in itself. Plenty of people don't have it. And that?"

"Rouge wheel." This one made her laugh. "Charms definitely help here, too. You heard, maybe, what they call jet workers?"

"Red devil, is that what you're aiming at? It seems a specific sort of term, doesn't it? But no one explained it." Griffin settled back a little on his stool, then moved to lean the crutches against the wall at the edge of his reach.

"There's a reason for that. That's for polishing, the rouge wheel."

"The name does in fact suddenly make sense, yes," Griffin considered. "Jeweller's rouge, of course. Isn't that, um." He looked up at the ceiling, as if searching his memory. "Ferrous, no, ferric oxide."

"That, and then linseed oil, some paraffin, some lamp black. You work it into the stone. But the oil and the paraffin are slick, and that sprays up from the wheel, mixes with the dust, which is that sort of dried blood brown, and then, well. We work with sharp tools. There's often a bit of our blood in there." She held up her own hands, looking at them in a way she didn't usually, all the little nicks and scars and minor injuries. A couple of fresh ones, still healing. Nan had been the one who made the best healing salve, and she'd long since run out of Nan's stock.

Griffin nodded. "There's a line of thinking about crafters that a piece isn't real until it's been blooded. Doesn't take much, but just a drop."

She blinked at him. "How do you know that? How'd you know about ferric oxide? Or any of the things you knew."

He spread out his hands. "You wouldn't believe me if I said that a Schola education can do wonders. Though actually, that is part of it. We don't turn out as many pure crafters as Alethorpe does. Who could?" That had an amusing, teasing note to it, like it was a joke that had run through part of his life. "But the houses, at Schola, we have different things we focus on. I was in Salmon, people who want to be excellent at lots of skills. One of the way to do that is crafting. We had workshops - nothing specifically like this. But a woodworking shop, a little bit of carving, certainly sewing and leather. Some people got very interested in little devices that did things. You picked up a lot, just talking to people. But this is ..."

He nodded, looking around the room, pivoting on the stool to see all of it. "This is elegant. This is a dance. Of course what you make is beautiful. You've set it up so that beauty is the natural result."

Annice felt her jaw drop. She had no idea what to do with that. Again.

Before the silence went on too long, Griffin asked, "What was it you wanted to show me?"

"That worktable, here, with the good light. Can you just move around a little? I'll go get it." Griffin nodded, and she heard the scrape of the stool as she dug the box out of the cabinet down the hall. At least she could do that. When she came back, he was leaning one elbow on the top, looking down that side of the workshop. "Here." She brought the box over, then went to bring over another stool. It put her next to him, a few inches between them, but she could suddenly feel him present in a way he hadn't been before. "I found this. I don't know what it is, or what it does. Rob and Cliff just said it was some sort of talisman."

Then, before she could stall further, it came out in a rush. "Can you help me figure out what this is? If there are others, there are notes. If you can, I'll come look at your, your Trellech, your courtroom." Even though that terrified her, being in the city and people expecting her to know things. Though then she saw him smile, suddenly, at something she'd said, and she had no idea why. "And I'll help you source the jet, at the least, or advise or..."

When she came to a sudden stop, the silence felt so loud. Griffin took a breath. He kept taking his time. But he shifted on the stool, turning to look at her better. "I'd help you without that. You don't have to trade for it. But I would very much like to show you my Trellech, and my courtroom. And whatever you can suggest, I am sure we will be better off for it." He nodded at the stone. "May I touch it? Hold it?"

"Sure? I don't know if that's a problem. I don't know anything about it. It was in that box, at the bottom of a pile of other things, dusty like no one had touched it for years." Annice crossed her arms. Then that felt awkward, so she put her hands in her lap.

Griffin glanced at her, and then he was focusing on the stone, with a sudden intensity that was compelling. He took a moment, just looking at it, then rummaged for a notebook inside his jacket pocket, and a pencil. Then he pulled the stone closer, looking at it, first overall, then focusing on different parts.

It should have been boring, even though she very much wanted to know more about it. It certainly took quite a while. She could see the light shifting, as the sun moved from morning into noon. Then Griffin spoke, still quiet, so it didn't startle her. "It's a talisman, obviously. I'd have to do some research on some of it, or if you're willing, consult with an expert. But I can tell you about some of it."

"Yes?" Annice's voice cracked. "Is it - is it a bad thing?"

"Oh, no." His voice was instantly warmer. "I'm sorry. I should have said that right off. It's for protection, designed for your family. Um. Your specific part of it, your grandad and nan, and da and mam." He used her names for them, like little precise drops of rain falling and then smoothing together to dampen the jet and make it glossy black. "Will you let me guide your hand? I can show you some of it best by touch. You especially, I expect."

Annice swallowed hard. Then, cautiously, she held out her right hand, shifting her stool so the angle was better. His fingers brushed hers, his thumb curling around into place behind hers. His skin was warm, dry, not at all rough like Da's hands had always been, or Grandad's, or her own. "Here. Your index finger, mostly. Do you feel that shape?"

Da and Grandad had taught her like this, back long ago, what the feel of it was like, and it was easy to fall back into that again. "Those lines?"

"Just so, like a compass rose, only it's more in some directions than others? It's marking a particular location, I think. I know a locational magic specialist I can ask, or at least she'll know who would know. And this, here, those are symbols. Blessing here." She felt half a dozen different shapes. "And then it arcs into protection, but not, um." He was close enough she could hear him swallow, the faint puff of warmth from his breath. "Not protection from evil, exactly? But protection from jealousy, from greed, from small heartedness."

Annice let her fingers run across it, thinking about that. "Everyone loved Grandad. And Da, even though he wasn't from here. Do you think they - they were worried they might be small hearted?"

"That's one of the things that would take more research. I can make sense of most of the actual working symbols here, more or less, but the context, what it means that it's in jet, that's a whole other layer. The way they're laid out, if they were copying something, or came up with it themselves. But I think it's lovely. It's like a necklace. It brings different pieces together for an effect by the whole." His fingers moved hers up. "These are, I don't know. Things that are blessings, but about other things. Hope, love, comfort, company. Goodness. A lot of it - there we are. That's one of the symbols for home." She could feel it, under her hands, a crossed circle. "Also earth." Griffin added that. "But I think here it's the physical, homey things."

"Oh." She didn't want to pull her hand away, and he didn't remove it, so there her fingers were, just resting on the stone. "Did it, did it run out of magic? Before Da..." She couldn't say the rest of it.

"I'm not sure. There would be, um. Innate energy in the stone. Maybe quite a lot, because of how jet is. Maybe they didn't know how to renew it, or someone didn't, for good reason." Things had changed after her uncles had drowned. Annice wondered if maybe one of them - more likely Da - had worried that they'd used magic in a way that people ought not to. "And you thought there might be others."

Reluctantly, she pulled back her fingers, because she had to find the notes. "Here. There are sketches, but they're not all the same symbols."

"Can I make a copy of these?" Griffin paused. "I need to go back to Trellech for a meeting tomorrow. Charlus is coming out to meet me, to make sure the travel all goes smoothly. I should be back in the evening, or if not, Saturday morning."

"You're not, um." The world Annice lived in, that kind of getting called in somewhere usually meant trouble. "Is there a problem?"

"The head of the Courts, more or less my boss, wants to talk to me. On a Friday afternoon when most people won't be around." Griffin shrugged. "There are likely politics in play." Then he turned his head. "I will come back, though. I won't leave you hanging."

Again, she felt like she couldn't quite breathe. "Why? I'm not anyone."

Before she could figure out what was going on, his fingers were on hers again, though this time his left hand, palm to palm. "You're interesting. You make beautiful pieces, you ask excellent questions, you notice entirely different things than I do. And, perhaps just as important, you don't fuss about my chair or my crutches or any of it. That's rather rare. I hope..." He paused, as if he were weighing something rapidly in the moment. "Whatever I can help you with about these stones, I want to. And I hope that after that, we'll still be in touch. Whatever that looks like."

Annice blinked at him. "You have other people." He must. He was posh, he had a fancy job, he kept talking about people he knew. There was a whole entire Charlus. She'd heard them talking and getting on.

"Never as many friends as I'd like." Griffin met her eyes, then, and she absolutely couldn't make sense of his expression, except that it was like a stone, waiting to be carved. There was strength in there, and a plane on which it might cleave, and others where it might shatter, and she had no idea which she was seeing right now.

"Oh." She took a breath and let it out. He didn't hurry her, of course he didn't hurry her. He was just sitting there, not moving, not twitching. "You're very confusing. Often. But you don't laugh at me. You don't make me feel stupid, all the things I don't know." Then she added, "I don't have so many people wanting to talk to me I should turn any down."

It made him smile, somehow. "Plenty of people can't see what's right in front of them. I try not to do that. I enjoy your company, the way you see things."

There was no possible sensible answer to that, so she just nodded. "And, um. The stones?"

"The stones." His tone shifted, though he kept his hand where he was for a moment. "I'd like to make copies of the sketches - I have paper in my bag downstairs. I can do that with a charm, if you're willing. We can try some charms - they need a bit of preparation. Especially for me being able to go where that might take us. But there are some options I can check on. Can you tell me all the places your Grandad spent time? Or your Da? I'm assuming you've checked all the places in this house, attics and cabinets and whatever's in your cellar?"

"Several times now." But the questions settled her a bit. She talked a little about the houses - her bedroom, the little one. Grandad and Nan's, and Mam and Da's. The kitchen and sitting room were next to them, on the first floor, and where the storage cupboards were. "Grandad had a fishing shack. I haven't been in there. And there are maybe a couple of other places, but I don't know."

"You think about that and make a list. No matter how unreasonable it seems. I think it must have been a place - places, if there are two - he had access to, and that he was confident wouldn't be disturbed. So not the apothecary shop or something like that."

"I'll think about it." They talked through the options for a bit longer until it was well past noon.

Finally, Griffin extracted his hand. "I have some other work to do - a few notes to write, if I want to do some research for you tomorrow, for one thing. And you must want to open up the shop, yes?"

She did. And she didn't. She wanted to stay here all afternoon, in the workshop she loved, with the sunlight pouring in the window and making everything glow, even the dust. And that was a luxury she couldn't have. "You're right. You often are."

It made him grin, and that was something, as he gathered up the crutches and made his way cautiously down the steep stairs. Down in the shop, he made the copies efficiently. Then she was letting him out the back door, through the gate, and staring off after him, entirely unsure what had just happened.