Heart's Blood(6)

"Let's begin with some breakfast, shall we?" Elinor glided to the sideboard. "What would you like?" She held a plate in her hand, looking expectantly at Pearl.

She shouldn't. But she had to. "Everything."

Elinor laughed and proceeded to heap the plate with little dabs of fluffy eggs and strips of bacon and slices of ham and one scone and half a muffin and . . . bliss.



MR. TOMLINSON RETURNED to the house about an hour later, just as Pearl was emerging from her second bath. It had taken two to rid her of all the dirt, and she felt as if she were nearing heaven itself. She hated the filth, but hadn't had the luxury of a real bath, a whole bath where she could sink herself into hot water and let the dirt soak off, since they'd had to move out of their lovely, elegant house in Portsmouth.

Elinor came into the bathing room after the maid had wrapped Pearl in a soft dressing gown and was busy toweling her hair dry.

"Complications," Elinor said. "The magistrate's proving recalcitrant. He won't release Grey to Harry's custody as magister, because Harry has neither warrant nor authority in his individual person to transfer the investigation to the Briganti, despite the fact that the crime apparently reeks of magic.

"Nor will he release Grey on Harry's word that we have a witness to his innocence. You are Grey's apprentice, and could well be colluding in the crime. However, he will forbear arresting you for now. So, we are going to the jail, to give aid and succor to Grey, while Harry goes to build a fire under the Briganti to get the machinery moving to take over this magic-reeking murder from the regular constabulary."

She narrowed her eyes at Pearl. "Though where we'll find a dress to fit you, I don't know. I'm not surprised to find someone more slender than me, but I am utterly astonished that you are shorter. Are you even five feet?"

Pearl shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't been measured. My lack of height did make it easy to maintain my boy's disguise."

Elinor pressed her lips together. "We will have to make do." She gave Pearl a sharp look. "But don't think that you will escape telling me all about why you felt a disguise necessary and-and everything."

She laughed at Pearl's wary expression. "I suffer from insatiable curiosity. An excellent quality in a magician, but perhaps not so excellent in a friend. I'm afraid Harry's rubbed off on me, and I no longer have the manners to keep from asking. If you don't want to answer, just tell me it's none of my business and I'll leave you be. I seem to respond best to bluntness these days. I've lost my talent for subtlety."

Elinor had quite a talent for sweeping people along, however, for a short time later, Pearl found herself clothed in a dress borrowed from the youn gest maid, with her hair twisted up and pinned to her skull and her boy's boots hidden beneath her new skirts. No one had feet small enough to loan her shoes.

Elinor escorted Pearl back to the police station with only the company of a large, rather sinister-looking footman. Pearl had trouble staying awake on the journey. She'd had a long night, watching over Mr. Carteret. Lord Greyson. Greyson was his given name, but was it also his title? Or was it the courtesy title for a younger son? Whose son was he? She didn't remember reading anything about it.

She must have dozed after all, for she startled awake when the carriage stopped. The very large footman handed the ladies out and passed a large basket to Elinor, who led the way inside.

Pearl didn't like this building. It was dark and dank, with narrow corridors and cramped rooms and tiny windows that kept out what little light there was. And it . . . felt bad.

There was magic here. Angry magic. Old magic that pulled at her, wanted things from her. Things she didn't know how to give. It frightened her.

"Are you all right?" Elinor whispered, holding tight to Pearl's arm.

"I don't like this place. It makes my skin crawl," Pearl whispered back.

"I don't like it, either. It feels dead."

"It doesn't feel dead to me. It feels much too alive."





3




THE POLICE LET both the ladies enter the cell after searching the basket for weapons or tools. When the door clanged shut behind them, Pearl couldn't deny the frisson of horror that shivered down her back.

She wasn't trapped, she reminded herself. The nice, sullen policeman would come back and let them out. Surely.

Mr. Carteret stood, looking hollow-eyed and bedraggled. Had he winced at the clang? Was his head still hurting? He looked dreadful. And too beautiful for any human male. Drat him.

Elinor gave a little cry and rushed forward to envelop him in her embrace. "How are you bearing up?" she asked when she released him. Did she have feelings for the handsome conjurer?

Pearl would be safer if Elinor did, for Pearl did not poach. It was another of her rules, made up just now.

"Terribly. It's positively hideous in here." His shackles rattled as he invited them to sit on the only seat possible, the bare metal bunk. "I don't know how they think I could work magic with a blanket, but they didn't give me one, so they must. What did you bring me?"                       
       
           



       

He swept the basket from Elinor's hands and began poking through it. "Raisin cakes! I think I'm in love." He batted his eyes at her, speaking around the cake as he stuffed it in his mouth. "I'm starving."

The manacles rattled as he tucked the basket under his arm and rummaged for another cake. "So what's the word?"

"Harry couldn't get you out." Elinor settled herself on the bunk. "Even though Pearl is a witness that you didn't place the corpse where it was found. The magistrate still denied bail."

He frowned, but didn't look surprised. He pulled a bottle of ale from the basket and almost dropped it all. The manacles made him clumsy.

With a roll of her eyes, Pearl stepped forward and took the basket from him. She set it on the bench, took the ale away, ignoring his protest, opened it, and handed it back to him. Then she picked up the basket and held it within his easy reach.

Mr. Carteret stared at her a moment, the astonishment on that brooding poet's face fading into thoughtfulness as he took a two-handed swallow of ale. "Perhaps it won't be so bad, having an apprentice."

"It will, if you can't get out of jail," Pearl retorted.

He only grinned at her, merriment dancing so brightly in those dark eyes, it made her want to smack him. But one only smacked siblings, not one's magic-master. Alas.

"Where's Harry?" He pinned Pearl with a sudden scowl. "I sent you to fetch Harry, if I recall. Obviously, you've been, given your clean, clothed, and breakfasted state. And given the presence of Elinor. But where is Harry?"

"He's been and gone again," Elinor said. "Just now, he's off to the council house to see about getting this murder transferred to the Briganti."

Carteret grimaced. "Curse it. Simmons will be a perfect as-I mean, a perfect donkey's backside about it all, if it's transferred before I'm sprung. He'll take advantage. You know he will. Start lording it over I-Branch. His bully boys will be tramping their massive feet all over positively everything."

"Who's Simmons?" Pearl put in when the complaints slowed.

"Head of the Briganti," Elinor said.

"Head of Enforcement," Mr. Carteret corrected. "Colonel Simmons is not in charge of the Investigations Branch. Investigations reports directly to the council head and the guild masters. Enforcement steps up only after I-Branch has finished its part."

He frowned at Pearl again. Even his frowns were beautiful. Blast it. "Why don't you know that already? Who Simmons is? You know everyone else."

She hefted the basket a little higher. It was heavy. "Simmons isn't a magister. Who is head of Investigations, then?"

"Me." He tipped up his bottle and took a long swallow of ale, his throat moving as he swallowed.

"Oh." Pearl made herself stop watching his throat, and slid her pieces of knowledge around until they slotted into place. "So if the case gets transferred, then you'll be released?"

"Not likely." His face tightened to grim. "Simmons isn't any more likely to believe my innocence than the magistrate here is. Less so, given that I've been a thorn in his side for years. Ever since the Investigations Branch of the Briganti was created."

Carteret tucked in his chin, thrust out his lower lip, and spoke in a blustery tone. "Change? It's pernicious. No need for investigation. Obvious what's happened. Just let my boys at 'em. We'll get these rogue magickers sorted in no time."

He made a disgusted noise and handed the ale bottle to Pearl. "Still, transfer is better than the alternative."

"I can understand how you wouldn't want to stay here." Pearl shivered, looking around the cell. It wasn't any worse than some of the places she'd stayed the last several years, except for that barred iron door. That made all the difference.

He paused on the verge of plunging back into the basket. "That, too. But mostly, no ordinary will ever believe that no guild conjurer committed that crime."

Pearl frowned, holding tight to the basket while he rummaged. "But . . . I thought you agreed with that old woman, that conjury was worked in the murder."