"Sir." Ferguson looked down, clasped his hands together behind his back, as if to avoid temptation.
Pearl frowned. "Why does that matter, sir?"
Carteret looked down at her, eyebrow arching high, then nodded. "Didn't tell you, did I? Beg pardon. You might notice that while I retrieved the magic theory book for you, there in the library, I had you collect your beginning sorcery book yourself.
"You see, just as those ancient books of magic in the center of the library are sealed against those who cannot practice that school of magic, so each quadrant of study is protected. Along the outer edges, protection is so minimal that virtually anyone can pick up the books on the simplest, most elementary beginnings of the practice of that particular magic."
He stepped into the street to hail a cab. "However, when Yvaine of Braedun was murdered in 1636-a date we've all had to memorize in school-and women vanished from the ranks of the Magician's Council of England, the books of sorcery-all of the books of sorcery, even the simplest-became inaccessible.
"Which is why I had you collect the sorcery book. I had no desire for another nasty shock. Oh yes, I've tried. All the schoolboys try at one point or another, and all of them fail. Until now. Until you."
"An electric shock?" Pearl didn't like that idea.
"Something like. But nastier. And-not so shocking. Not such a physical jolt. Less harmful, more unpleasant."
"I . . . see." It appeared she would have to continue to carry the book herself. Perhaps she could get a basket. Pearl stepped beside him as a cab pulled up. "Are we going now to retrace your steps?"
"Later. First-" He looked at the sky to gauge the height of the moon, but clouds blocked his view with a high, ruffled grayness. "I want to see if I might have a word with Mr. Galloway."
"A word-oh. You want to conjure his spirit?"
"He's likely still a ghost. Murder victims usually are." Grey turned to assist Pearl into the cab and found Ferguson already there, offering his hand, blast the man.
Of course, that was precisely why he was bringing him, to act as a buffer between Grey and his apprentice. This was why females shouldn't apprentice to male magicians. Because male magicians were such strutting beasts, they could not keep their minds on the magic and off the dainty charms of their apprentices. Except the buffer in question, young Ferguson, only made Grey more of a snorting, pawing beast, one who wanted to knock the younger stag aside and take the lady's delicate hand into his own.
Grey satisfied his beast by taking the seat beside Pearl-Miss Parkin-and forcing Ferguson to sit opposite, facing backward.
"Can conjurers call ghosts?" Pearl tipped her head so he could see her face beneath that awful bonnet. "How are ghosts different from spirits? Are they?"
Grey found himself explaining yet again. Too few members of the public were aware of-or cared about-the differences. "Ghosts are earthbound, trapped here for one reason or another. Spirits have ascended, and simply come back to visit now and again.
"Because of the violence or other conditions that trap them, ghosts are uncontrollable, usually irrational, and often dangerous because of it. Conjurers must ward against ghosts, control when and where and how they appear. Spirits however, if they are willing, will work with a conjurer to do magic."
Usually it irritated him, having to explain about ghosts and spirits, because he had to do it so often. This time, it didn't. Because Pearl was his apprentice and it was his duty to instruct her. His lack of annoyance was emphatically not due to the fact that she had her face turned up to him and those amazing two-toned eyes fastened upon him the entire time he spoke.
"Ah." She smiled and sat back in her seat, turning her face away so all Grey could see was the top of her straw bonnet with its red ribbon trim.
She continued to smile, or so he assumed, for Ferguson suddenly acquired a smarmy grin. Did neither one of them remember Grey's admonition against flirtation?
"Have you been with the Briganti long, Mr. Ferguson?"
"Call me James, please."
Still, it was better that she flirted with James Ferguson than with Grey. Wasn't it?
"I was invited to join Investigations," Ferguson said, "while I was still at school. At Magister's College in Oxford. Because of my magic sense, you see."
Braggart. Or was it bragging if it was true? Grey couldn't remember. Slander was still slander if it was true. Bragging was likely the same.
"Why is that important?"
Flirt, flirt, flirt. Except she wasn't flirting. She was simply asking questions. It was Grey's mental state that turned ordinary conversation into flirtation.
"He can sense all the magics." The words came out of Grey's mouth without his conscious intent. "I can't sense wizardry very well, and am utterly awful at sorcery, at recognizing its presence. Ferguson can sense them all."
"So I can track the path of a spell," the man in question said. "If the magister was bespelled that night, it's possible that I can pick up the traces." Ferguson looked entirely too smug for Grey's comfort.
"We should bring in the Greek," Grey said, just to see the other man squirm. "Nikos Archaios can determine who worked which spell simply by . . . sniffing around. Perhaps he has some tricks to teach you while he is in England, yes?"
"I would be delighted to learn whatever Mr. Archaios can teach me."
If Ferguson was off learning from Archaios, he couldn't be in the way-he couldn't chaperone-couldn't buffer Grey's interactions with Pearl. Maybe Elinor would. Maybe Grey would resent Elinor less than he resented Ferguson.
7
THE CAB PULLED to a halt and Grey hopped out. Ferguson descended behind him and both men turned to hand Pearl out of the carriage. She blushed when she saw them both with their outstretched hands. The blush didn't show on her face, except for right at the edge, near her ears, almost hidden by the bow tying her bonnet on. The blush tightened things inside Grey that did not need any more tightening.
"Come, come." He beckoned with his fingers and she put her hand in his, clutching that oversized volume to her with her other arm. Grey did not smile triumphantly at Ferguson, nor did he gloat. Gloating was common and not done by gentlemen. Too bad Grey hadn't been a gentleman in ages.
Ferguson didn't appear to notice the lack of gloating. He was too busy catching hold of Pearl's elbow and keeping that blasted book from overbalancing her.
"Thank you, James." She grinned at him, at Ferguson. James. Did she wink? At least it wasn't a shy, blushing, flirtatious "I like you" smile. No, it was a cheeky, winking, flirtatious "I like you" smile. If she had winked. Had she?
"I daresay that book is larger than you are." Ferguson flirted back, the bounder.
"Parkin." Grey did not bark her name. He was not a dog. He never barked. "Ferguson. Our corpse is not getting any fresher."
"Yes, sir." They both said it as they stopped looking at each other and looked at him.
Grey led the way inside. He never liked coming here, descending into the miasma of misery and ghosts draped along its walls. The hospital wasn't so bad, but the basement-where they brought the bodies of murder victims and suicides and all the other stray corpses that turned up every day-the basement was dreadful. Thank goodness Pearl wasn't sensitive to spirits.
In the hallway outside the stairs leading down, Ferguson caught Grey's arm and stopped him, virtually leaping around as if to block the way.
"You're not taking her down there, are you?" Ferguson said in a hoarse stage whisper.
Grey stopped his automatic retort. Ferguson, and Pearl as well, needed to understand. "Yes, Mr. Ferguson, I am. I must."
"Good God, sir." The wizard still spoke in his whisper, as if Pearl did not stand right there beside him, as if she should be protected from even hearing this discussion. "There are bodies-things too horrible-She should not see such things. They are too awful. Too much."
Grey nodded, doing his best to appear wise and thoughtful, though he was much better at dissolute and disreputable. "That is entirely possible, that it will be too awful for her to bear. But she will be a sorceress, Ferguson. Sorcery can see inside the black hearts of men and relive their worst deeds. If it is too terrible for her, we should know it now, so she can flinch away and guide her magic toward sorcery's gentler side."
Ferguson blinked, as if it had never occurred to him that sorcery might have a gentler side.
"Sorcery has its own healing arts," Grey said with a sardonic smile. "That also I have seen."
"I want to go." Pearl spoke up, startling both men.
Even though they'd been talking about her, they'd both forgotten she was there. Or rather, her presence hadn't been forgotten, but they'd treated her like some life-size figurine without a mind and a will of her own. As if their decision would determine what she did and where she went.