Page 18 of Brave Truth

The jacket, however, would have done well on a Georgian fop. It suited the man, absolutely. The brocade had peacocks in blues and greens shading into purples, with bits of gold picking out beaks and eyes and a thread in the background. His cravat and pocket square brought out the purple. Matthew could never have worn anything like that, but he suddenly wondered what it would be like to be the sort of man who did. Just because it was Thursday. “What caught your eye, may I ask?”

“The—” Matthew gestured. “The lamp shade. The stained glass. The different colours.” He added quickly, “Glass only. I’m not interested in leather or fabric or anything like that.” He absolutely couldn’t explain why, but he didn’t think he’d actually be asked.

“The quality of the colour or the shade?” Aelfdane glanced at him. “Schola man, then? And Boar House, by the tiepin.” It wasn’t really a question. Matthew had worn it today. There had been no meetings where it would be a problem, and well, Claudio had clearly already known.

“Yes,” Matthew managed the one word. “Does that matter?”

“Well, I’m considering whether you’re the sort of man— just you at home?” Matthew nodded, warily. “Who wants that sort of thing visible, or who wants something different. I happen to have two rather lovely cushions, just came in. One of the crafters makes them up for me. Interesting weaving and thread both, because one of the dye mistresses enjoys playing with the colours, and one of the weavers likes doing smaller quantities. Let me bring those out so you can see them and feel them, and if you like those, it’d give us an idea about the lamp. Do you have a particular budget? I cater to a range.”

Matthew had not thought about this question before coming inside, but of course it was a shop. It existed to sell things. “It’s a bit of an impulse, but I’d be glad to consider things. Um. Moderate prices, as a general guide?” He wasn’t actually sure what ‘moderate’ might mean here, but he could always ask to think about it and come back tomorrow. He did have money set aside for the flat. He just hadn’t spent it beyond the basic furniture.

Aelfdane nodded and disappeared back down the hallway, ducking into one of the side rooms. He came back out almost immediately, holding two deep red cushions, and brought them out to a table. “Here, take a good look at those.” The colours were in fact nothing Matthew would have thought to ask for.

Both were shades of red, ranging from scarlet into the deep blood-red with more than a little blue. And oddly, none of the red made him uncomfortable. The range of the shades made it unlike the remnants of the banners and heraldry that kept cropping up from the war. This was red like poppies and red like brick, and red like sunsets.

They didn’t match exactly. The way the shades varied across the weave were different. But they’d equally obviously been made to go together, and the end result had a vibrancy he found decidedly attractive. The label with the price was also remarkably reasonable, actually, for quality work and the likely cost of the dye plants. Matthew couldn’t help thinking about it from that angle.

Aelfdane had stepped back, not crowding him, hands behind him. When Matthew looked up, he seemed pleased, though. “Ah, that’s why I have the shop. Seeing people find something they hadn’t realised was the right thing. So, shall I bring over a couple of the lamps? More of the red, or more of other colours?”

“I honestly don’t know? I hadn’t expected...” Matthew flushed. “I’ll take the cushions, obviously.”

“Grand, grand. Now, if you wanted a rug or a blanket for the back of the sofa, or a hanging for the wall, the weaver takes commissions. It’d take a month or three, depending on the size. It wouldn’t be a perfect match for this wool, but it’d be quite close enough and coordinate nicely. You needn’t decide about that right now. That’s just me telling you in case the information’s useful. Let’s see, let me bring over the one from the window, but there’s two others I want you to have a look at.” He gave Matthew a considering look. “Maybe three.”

Three minutes later, Matthew had been presented with a row of lamps, all of them carefully lit with charmlights so he could see what they looked like lit. Four of them, in fact. The one from the window was on the right. There was something soothing about it, probably because the shades were so familiar. Schola had been a time when the world had made sense. Next to it was a simpler design, a Greek keyhole pattern, gold and red. Next to it was one with poppies on it, on a green ground with leaves and petals overlapping each other.

The one on the left, though, he kept staring at it. It wasn’t like anything he’d imagined liking. The colours were opalescent, not the strong jewel tones of the first lamp he’d seen. There were greens in there, and purples, and golds. Also, enough red that the pillows looked rather good with it, actually. But the whole effect had something magical about it, the shimmer of something that insisted on beauty and wonder, far beyond sheer utility. It was an utterly impractical item, and Matthew wanted it.

He cleared his throat. “The one on the left. How much?”

Aelfdane’s eyebrows went up. “Made in Albion, from someone who’d spent some time working in Tiffany’s studios in New York, if you’re familiar. I can give you the proper documentation, of course, and a bit of a writeup if you’re the sort who likes to know about the artist.” Matthew nodded slightly. Then Aelfdane named a large but actually quite reasonable number, if he looked at it as art and not simply lighting. He added, “You’re living in Trellech?” Matthew nodded again. “We could mount the base for electricity, but I’m assuming you’d rather use charms.”

“Yes.” Matthew knew that in a sensible way of doing things he’d ask to go sleep on it. “Will you take payment from the bank? The Scali.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Something in it amused him, but he immediately shared the joke. “My wife’s one of the Scali. And you’re either at the Ministry or go that way often enough, I’ve seen you go by. That’s no bother, I use the expected run of confirmation charms, nothing unusual. Shall I pack up the lamp? I can have someone take it round tomorrow or package it so you can carry it safely.”

“The latter, please.” It did not take terribly long to make the arrangements. Or for Aelfdane to pack it up securely with both paper and charms to keep it safe, and the cushions tied together with a loop of string to carry them. Perhaps ten minutes after the decision, he found himself outside the shop again, having promised to consider the question of a rug or some such to go with the cushions.

He brought them home, setting the two gloriously red squares on his entirely beige sofa, startled to realise how much they changed the room. And how much they brought out the exposed brick on the wall with the fireplace, rather than fighting with it. It somehow made the entire room feel like it meant to do that.

Then, moving as carefully as he ever had, he unpacked the lamp and set it up on the table in front of the small window. He’d be able to see it best from there, whether he was sitting on the sofa or on the chair across from the window. He checked the table three or four times, then carefully added charms to make sure it wouldn’t topple. Aelfdane had reassured him that the shade itself had protective charms, but they’d want renewing in a year or so.

Matthew wanted to stay home, but he also wanted to be around people. He took a deep breath and then went out to the pub. He could linger in the light of his new lamp tomorrow, with a new book, as soon as he’d finished the various household chores after work.

Chapter 13

Saturday, March 11th

“Come in, come in. They’re in the back. Cammie’s wearing Kenna out before bedtime.” Claudio blinked at the door as it opened. Cammie’s husband, Duncan, waved him in. The man looked well— half a head taller than Claudio was, dark auburn hair cut shorter than Claudio’s. But Duncan spent his days in and out of aerodromes and planes, with mostly non-magical folk. He couldn’t indulge in the longer hair still seen as more traditional in Albion, and besides, it had to fit under flight helmets.

Claudio nodded once, handing his coat and hat over. He knew the garden— well, what they had instead of a garden— would be entirely pleasant in terms of climate. And it was a fairly mild evening out. Cammie and Duncan’s townhouse was tucked into one of the tidy Trellech neighbourhoods. The houses along their street were home to a variety of working professionals who preferred a magical city to any other place. Duncan led the way down the hall to the other end of the house, then opened the door.

Their backyard was not the well-kept garden of the other houses along the row. A long trellis covered most of the garden, twined about with vines. Claudio knew— because he’d done some of the relevant work— that the trellis mostly anchored illusion and sound-muffling charms, ensuring the family’s privacy. As he came out the door, he spotted a fast white shape darting across the open area nearest the door. It was followed by the smaller and not yet graceful fumbles of a toddler.

Kenna was a bit over three years old, fast on her feet for that, but there were limits given how short her legs were. She was wearing a deep red smock, bringing out the brown of her skin— between her mother’s mid-brown and her father’s Scottish paleness. Her dark hair was pulled up in a pigtail with a matching red tie.

The white shape— Cammie, very much an ermine still in her winter coat— paused to let her daughter catch up and bobbed up on her hind legs to acknowledge Claudio. Then she went bounding off again. There were the great high leaps that didn’t cover much actual distance, giving Kenna a chance to try to grab at her tail here or there.

It was a grand chase. Claudio leaned back against the wall, watching. Cammie as a stoat was an infinite delight. She was shameless about her joy and her utter ability to be a terror on four legs. When she had two, she usually kept to common manners. Now, she took advantage of the series of shelves and leapt up, out of Kenna’s reach, darting along the trellis’s posts, then down the other side. Kenna squealed and twisted, aiming herself in a new direction.