Андреа Хёст - The Pyramids of London

“Tomorrow evening I will be visiting this fencing school that Lynsey Blair recommended. In part because I want to investigate her separately from Lord Fennington. But also because I now have a need to learn to better defend myself physically. If the school seems suitable, I want you to attend as well. Unless you prefer Tangleways, of course. Do you think you’d like it here?”

“It’s no good,” Eluned said, struggling to shift her thoughts away from fates and gods. “Did you listen to that speech? All that time spent on sports. Horse-riding. And raising animals? At school?”

“Yes, those are reasons Griff and Eleri wouldn’t like it here. I asked what you wanted.”

“I want to go to the same school as Eleri and Griff,” Eluned said firmly. “But otherwise, yes, I think this place would be fun. You were right about Melly, by the way. She likes it here enough she’s working out ways to afford it.”

Aunt Arianne picked up her hat. “I expect she’ll manage it. She seems very capable. And, Eluned, it never hurts to check rather than fret. Don’t ever hesitate to ask me if something is worrying you—or even if you’re simply curious. The most I’ll do is not answer. Or lie.”

Smiling weakly, Eluned wondered whether the possibility of lies was meant to be comforting. Not that lies or truth were going to help with the problem that had been troubling her all summer—or even the new one her aunt had shared.

Instead, Eluned hauled her mind back to the task at hand. “We talked to Lord Fennington already,” she said, realising she hadn’t even mentioned it. “Griff introduced us, but Lord Fennington didn’t seem to recognise our names at all, and with all these people here I’m not sure we’re going to have a chance to talk to him again.”

“No need to worry there. As I said, a great many people want to discuss foreseeings.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“Accepted an invitation to view a painting of my father’s that he owns, and sample the Towering Folly, a cocktail invented for him. Rather ripe for double entendre, but I gather that’s unlikely to be the intention.”

The clock in the school’s central tower began to toll.

“And there’s my cue,” Aunt Arianne said, picking up her hat. “Given his ambitions to play principal, he’s less than likely to open up in front of prospective pupils. You might find it worthwhile to track down Monsieur Telaque, the drawing instructor, while I’m gone. Alain Telaque is a master of line work, and you’d probably find even a short discussion with him very useful indeed. You’re still working primarily with line and floral patterns, yes? It’s been a while since Aedric last sent me an example.”

“Father sent you my pictures?” Eluned asked, trying not to sound appalled.

“Oh yes. He was very proud of all three of you. If you’re nervous about speaking to Monsieur Telaque by yourself, wait until I return and I’ll introduce you.”

“No, no I’ll look for him,” Eluned said hastily, cast her mind about for something else to talk about, and asked: “What did he mean, your Roman friend? What was badly done?”

It was a conversational leap, but Aunt Arianne took it with her usual aplomb.

“Oh, when Felix knew me I was in the throes of a serious romance with one of his cousins, the younger son of the Dacian Proconsul.” She settled her hat back on her head, lips curving. “At least I thought I was, until his marriage was arranged, and he tried to…tidy me away, so to speak.”

“Tidy…?” Eluned didn’t know what to say.

“A neat demonstration of what Nabah was trying to ask earlier today. There are many different lands, all with their own gods, and their own laws, and their own definition of right behaviour. Rome has come a long way since the example of Lucretia, but there is a notion of…injury and false promise that I could have used to cause trouble with the very influential friend who had recommended me to the Proconsul. I didn’t understand that I posed a threat to arrangements, any more than I had recognised in the first place that in the Republic I’m someone to have affairs with, not the kind of person you marry. At least to people bound up in notions of tradition and respectability.”

She shot Eluned a faintly amused glance, then lowered her veil. “Mortifying at the time, of course, but something I look back on as a narrow escape. I hope I can claim to have become a better judge of character.”

After confirming arrangements for when they should meet for the return trip, Aunt Arianne left, and Eluned looked out at the shadow of a forest, and wondered if she’d ever had a real conversation with her aunt before. And whether she’d dare to ask her any more questions.

Eluned’s tendency to drastically change the subject whenever her drawing came under discussion was a thing Rian would need to revisit. For the moment, her concentration was needed for an uninterrupted progress through a crowd where every third person was keen to strike up a conversation, or at least stop and stare. Becoming a personage of note was truly a double-edged sword.

The advantageous blade was the entirely too handsome young man who appeared to guide her to a maple-panelled elevator in the new school building, whisking her directly to a plush little foyer on the third floor, and then into a most sumptuous example of a principal’s office, with a formidable sweep of desk set before a wall of windows overlooking the clock tower and central garden.

The owner of all this wood panelling and fine-cut glass was drooping rather before the view, perhaps because the streaming crowds seemed to be mostly made up of curious locals, with only a small number genuinely interested in having their children attend.

“My lord,” murmured Rian’s escort, as he accepted her hat.

“Dama Seaforth!” Lord Fennington said, springing from a high-backed revolving chair with a gust of energy. “Oh, how nice of you to come! Let me take you through to the Inner Sanctum, don’t mind the capitals. This room is all very well for a fine dose of pomp and awe, but that leaves very little room for comfort.”

“An impressive outlook, though,” Rian said, rather taken by the tiny pair of pompoms above the hem of his tunic, like a little tail. They were the same colour as the main cloth, and easily overlooked until the man was walking away from you. Her instinct was to distrust purposeful ridiculousness, but in Folly Fennington it felt genuine, a celebration.

Her less than reliable new sense for the emotions of others worked best when she touched a person, but she didn’t engineer contact immediately, simply gauging the man as she normally would as he exclaimed over one of her father’s farmhand series, and then fussed over settling her into a comfortable chair.

The blond man who seemed to be his personal assistant made a timely arrival with a silver trolley laden with bottles, and stood by to hand over tongs and glasses at critical moments while his lord prepared their Towering Follies.

“I was terribly complimented, of course, when Lady Prentegast named this for me, though always, always there lurks at the back of the mind a little bit of writhing embarrassment. Is it pretentious to serve a drink named after yourself? And what if people don’t like the taste? It’s a little sweet for some.”

He turned, holding out a more than generous glass of splendid sunset gradient, adding: “Gin, a dry white wine, grenadine, maraschino liqueur, and one single caper to finish it off. Do drink up, and tell me what you think of my little school.”

“I think it’s not very little,” Rian said dryly, glad she’d managed to find an opportunity to eat during his speech. “And that it would be an adventure to attend. I do, however, have a nephew with a positive horror of even the smallest animal, and a niece who considers organised sport an interruption to her studies. How would they fit in at Tangleways?”