This time Sir James had brought a closed carriage. He waited for Aubrey to settle inside, then tapped the roof. The driver snapped the reins. The carriage started along the street.
“Am I so valuable?” Aubrey said.
He gaped at her, baffled by her sharp tone. Kittens weren’t supposed to scratch.
“You can help us, Miss St. Clair—”
“I don’t remember anything about being a cat.”
“You might be surprised.”
By the things men will do to win points against other men? I doubt it.
They traveled along the foot of Palisades towards its south face, still the base of nobility from the days before the royal family was sent gently into exile. The mansions there were just as large as those on the north side but composed of timber and leaded windows. Fewer columns, more ornate carvings.
Sir James said conversationally, “Lord Simon comes from the distaff side of the old royal family—one of Prince Karl’s bastards married the youngest daughter of Count Drann; they produced a dozen children. Unfortunately, disease and degeneracy have left Lord Simon the last survivor.”
“Unfortunately.”
Again, that curious stare, but Aubrey saw no point anymore in being coy.
“Our royal family may be happily ensconced in Ennance, Miss St. Clair, but our aristocracy still has a role to play in our country’s progress. Advancement requires a price.”
Aubrey couldn’t answer, didn’t know how to argue with Sir James’s premise, only, Why should I be the one to pay that price? Sir James certainly wasn’t paying any price. Kev and Dmitri should pay.
“Why is Lord Simon banned from the Academy?”
“Well, eh hem. Lord Simon has always gone his own way. There are actions, scandals—the Academy, you know, would never have sanctioned Mr. Marlowe’s experiments.”
She flinched and her claws partly unsheathed. She let Sir James see and was glad when he sucked in his stomach to widen the space between them.
“Who told you about the experiments? Mr. Stowe didn’t.”
“Does Mr. Stowe know?”
“Lord Simon? Kev?”
“I received information.”
From Lord Simon. Or from Jacobs speaking for Lord Simon. She said, “Do you make potions?”
“I protect Academy interests.”
No, Aubrey decided.
“I think the police should be able to arrest magicians,” she told him.
He tutted. “You’ve had a terrible experience, Miss St. Clair. But you reverted. You’ll see your family soon.”
You give your word? The word of a gentleman?
The carriage stopped. Aubrey stepped out and looked up at a monstrous manor of overhanging eaves, narrow windows—three-a-piece to a single casement—and baroque arches. It was impressive although its edges (of sashes, of pointed roofs) were crumbling. This was the shadow side of Palisades’ hill, tucked away from Kingston’s bustle and the modernism of New Government House.
They walked up a stone path to a pair of heavy double doors. Sir James dragged on a bell pull. Far off, chimes sounded. After several minutes, a butler opened the left-hand door.
