Chapter Text
If I had been hoping for answers from Renée when I went to the hollow below the oak hill, I was destined for a greater disappointment than I had gotten when Mother had told me that by no means could I keep the white snake I had found. Not only had Renée neglected to appear, I was given the decidedly unfair substitute of Jasper Marston and Lady Granleigh.
"Well?" Marston demanded. "Who are you?"
"No, no. I asked you first. I also, if you recall, asked you how you found this place and what you intend to do here, and you haven't told me that either."
"We might ask you the same thing."
"You might, but I don't recommend it. You'll get a reputation as a poor conversationalist if all you can do is repeat what other people say to you."
"This is absurd," Lady Granleigh declared. "Tell us who you are and what you're doing here, or be off about your business. I haven't time to waste on this nonsense."
"It is impossible to refuse such a charming request." Given the circumstances, there was really only one role I could play that I was sure would make sense. "My name is de Mare, and I'm here by way of guarding the Sacred Hill."
Though Jasper Marston seemed determined to send me off, Lady Granleigh obviously had other ideas, and led her brother off into the woods. I was left eying Stuggs, whose expression contained far more interest than I would have thought a typical manservant would have in his master's doings. Since Marston did not intend to sell the Saltash Platter, he couldn't have promised Stuggs a cut of the profits. So why was the assistant so willing to get involved in these shady dealings? If he had an agenda of his own, it would complicate things even more.
I caught a few words of Lady Granleigh's conversation with her brother, enough to know that they were engaged in some sort of argument, but no more than that. It did seem that she had yet again gotten her way, for Marston was scowling by the time they rejoined us.
"Mr. de Mare," said Lady Granleigh, "you have an honest face, and your reasons for being here interest me." I almost laughed. I had received criticism in my life, from the Duke of Wellington on down to the French courtesan's errand boy, but nobody had yet accused me of having an honest face. "Are you by some chance acquainted with Mr. Jonathan Aberforth?"
"He is the leader of the company that meets here." I of course did not add that he was also one of the worst fumblers I'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. I simply thought it. Very loudly.
"Very good. My brother and I are on our way to Swafflton. A young man in the village requested that we deliver a package to this place, and we agreed." That, I seriously doubted. Lady Granleigh was not the sort to go even this far out of her way for anyone else. "The package is addressed to Mr. Aberforth; presumably he will know what to do with it. I trust you can see that he receives it?"
"I am quite capable of doing so, madam." The question of whether I actually would was another matter, naturally, but I conveniently kept this to myself.
Stuggs delivered to me a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. I displayed rather more courtesy than was my wont, giving half-bows at every opportunity to keep Stuggs from getting a good look at my face. The three of them then departed, leaving me with the package, which was flat, roughly rectangular, and quite heavy. "Well, well. How very interesting."
A rustle sounded from the bushes nearby. "Renée?" If it wasn't, somebody had been eavesdropping, and I didn't like that idea at all.
"No, it's me." Kim's voice emerged from the brambles, and my erstwhile assistant appeared, wearing a number of dead leaves as souvenirs of her hideout.
I honestly couldn't bring myself to be surprised. "You were supposed to stay with the wagon."
"That's what you said. I never told you I would."
"True." And she apparently had little fear of spying on two wizards—this from a girl who called magicians frogmakers. Every time I thought I had Kim's measure, she showed a positive talent for the unexpected. "I can see I'll have to listen to you more carefully in the future."
We discussed the increasingly odd state of affairs on our way back to the wagon. Any annoyance I might have retained over Kim following me vanished when she related the conversation between Marston and Lady Granleigh—it is always so useful to have an extra pair of ears about. Not to mention another perspective—during our discussion, she pointed out more than one thing I might have missed.
I was beginning to see that comparing all this to Aunt Agatha's embroidery basket was rather an insult to the basket. Marston, Lady Granleigh, Jonathan Aberforth, Jack Stower, Lord St. Clair—we had more competition to get our hands on the Saltash Platter than I would have thought possible. Although usually I relish a challenge, in this case I would have preferred a bit of quiet bribery here and there. But we had to play the hand we'd been dealt.
I realized belatedly that I was mentally including Kim in the scheme, when it had previously been only Hunch and me. That was something I'd have to watch. I couldn't fairly expect Kim to run the same kind of risks I'd take on myself.
When we returned to find Hunch at the camp, it was to be greeted by his righteous indignation—which I must admit, I deserved. "Don't you gammon me, Master Richard. What 'ave you been up to now?"
"This and that." A convenient phrase, for it can mean almost anything. "What did Lord Shoreham have to say? Or did he send you off without any information? I hope not; I did tell you to wait."
"'E 'ad a lot to say." Hunch paused in order to subject the right side of his pitiable mustache to severe abuse. "And I ain't repeating any of it til you tell me what you've been doing!"
"Oh, we've been keeping busy." I am very fond of my ears, and if Hunch found out we had burgled Bramingham Place in his absence, they would be in severe peril. The tirade he would deliver would surely make me deaf. "Haven't we, Kim?"
"Don't go draggin' me in! It ain't none of my lay!"
So much for an ally in the field of manservant-related secrecy. Though she was quite correct—none of the insane ideas of the past few days had been hers, and she had done her best to talk me out of them. If I kept acquiring sensible people as companions, I would simply have to try all the harder to maintain my recklessness. It was only proper, after all, to keep a sense of balance in one's life.
"You 'adn't ought to—" Hunch's eyes fell on the parcel under my arm. "What 'ave you got there?"
"This? I'm not sure. Kim says it's the Saltash Platter, but I haven't looked yet to see whether she's right." Kim started to protest, and I shot her a look. I wasn't going to take all the blame for our excursions. "Let's find out, shall we?"
The package proved indeed to be a copy of the Saltash Platter. The light in the library hadn't allowed me to get a good look at it—not to mention we'd been in a hurry—and I wanted to examine it further. But, like so many of my attempts lately, it was rudely interrupted.
"No, you don't." I turned to see a vaguely familiar man by the corner of the wagon, a sack slung over his shoulder and a pistol in each hand. Unlike Aberforth, he carried his guns as if he knew how to use them. "I'll have that there wicher cheat, and no gammon."
"Just so. Do I bring it to you, or do you come and get it?" Unless I could figure out some plan quickly, we'd have to let him go. I might have risked my life for the real Saltash Platter, but this was a forgery, and I wouldn't want to put Kim and Hunch in that much danger anyway.
"Put it on the ground, there. Then you and that turnip-pated cove get over by the fire. Hop it!" Hunch and I moved as he directed, me watching him for any sign of distraction. If he lost focus for even a few moments, I might have the opportunity for a spell. "Now, you, boy. You take that wicher cheat, and—Kim!"
"Surprise." Kim didn't sound pleased. "Long way from London, ain't it, Stower?"
So this was Jack Stower—and that was why he'd looked familiar, I realized. I'd seen him in the Bramingham library.
"I'll London you! You think you're going to nick a few of the yellow boys Laverham's offering, don't you?" So Dan Laverham really could be added to the ridiculously long list of people trying to acquire the Saltash Platter. I shall never understand why people read sensationalist novels, when they can experience adventures such as this in reality. "Well, you ain't getting nothing. This is my lay, see? How'd you get here ahead of me, anyways? You didn't follow the old cove from the inn. I'd a seen you."
"Just luck." Kim sounded ill, and I wondered if it was the effect of the pistols or something else.
"Sorry, Master Richard." Hunch sounded repentant. "I thought as I 'ad shook 'em off the trail in London."
"But Mr. Stower wasn't in London." I had to be careful with this method of spellcasting—using mundane sentences as the basis for magic is always risky. "He was in Ranton Hill," I continued, building the foundation for the spell with my seemingly inconsequential blather. "He should still be in Ranton Hill. He should go back to Ranton Hill before something happens to him, tzay min po, katzef!"
Stower yelped and threw his pistol at me. Hunch knocked me over and Kim flung herself down as our would-be thief fled, leaving his bag behind. The gun went off, but I heard no cries to indicate that anyone had been hit. That spell should have made Stower drop his pistols, among other things, and I suppose he was bereft of one, though not exactly in the way I would have chosen.
"The shotgun, Hunch. He's still got one pistol, and that spell was only a makeshift. It won't hold him long."
We all ran for the wagon. I was glad to see that Kim had the presence of mind to grab the platter and Stower's sack before hurrying inside. I barred the door behind us and opened the hidden panel in the ceiling. "The gun, and a lift, Hunch, if you please."
Hunch grumbled, but helped me up through the panel regardless. Once outside, I kept my eyes open and my ears pricked—for all I knew, Stower might be clever enough to circle around behind the wagon, if he hadn't been frightened off by the display of magic.
As I watched and listened, I ran over the brief conversation we'd just had in my mind. The Saltash Set wasn't well-known outside of wizarding circles. To an extent, though, everyone's desire for it up until now could be explained in some way. Renée and Lord St. Clair both ran in those circles, of course. Lady Granleigh, and by extension her brother, could potentially have heard about it from Lord Granleigh. Aberforth's obsession with his Sacred Dish seemed to be an unfortunate coincidence. But this Dan Laverham—what was his connection to the Saltash Set? And why did it suddenly seem more sinister than everyone else's blunderings?
It was Kim. She had said Laverham was after her, I remembered, when I'd questioned her with the Saltash Bowl. What had she said? He ain't to be trusted, not even by folks he's hired. He talks them a right smooth line and turns on them when it does him good. The description reminded me, I realized, of Lord St. Clair. My imagination could be acting up—Laverham could be just as much of a fool as the others—but my instincts were screaming otherwise.
If Stower had planned to come back, he probably would have done so by now. I said as much, then climbed back through the panel. "I'll have to see about setting up some wards; we can't have people popping in and waving pistols around whenever they feel like it. It's becoming altogether too popular of a sport to ignore."
"Like that Aberforth cove the other night," Kim agreed.
"And just what 'as that got to do with all this? What 'ave you been at while I've been gone, Master Richard?"
"Back to that again?" Heaven preserve my ears, forever and ever, amen. "Really, Hunch, I'm beginning to think you're prudish, and I see no reason for Kim and me to elaborate on our relationship merely to satisfy your vulgar curiosity. Particularly when we have more important things to do." Perhaps I should stop provoking Hunch. Then again, perhaps I should stop breaking into houses, risking my life for dishware, and trying to substitute deadly nightshade as a component in various spells, and I had no plans to desist in doing any of that either. I gestured at the sack Kim had grabbed. "Just open that up, Kim, so we can see what our Mr. Stower has been hauling about the countryside."
Kim obligingly got the sack open and pulled out—the Saltash Platter. I felt excitement leap in my stomach. "Well, well. What have we here?" I reached for the platter—and felt no magical vibrations whatsoever. Disappointment crashed over me again.
"It looks like this other one," Kim pointed out.
"That's exactly what it is. Exactly."
Hunch sighed. "What does that mean?"
"It means that it's another fake."