Page 2 of Brave Truth

Potts let out a low whistle. “Oh, that’ll be a fun teaching exercise with the apprentices when we get a chance. Keep that one handy.” Claudio grinned back, because he’d intended to, yes. Not least because it had taken half a dozen charm chains to be sure of it in the field. He was still a trifle smug about how elegantly he’d sorted that out.

Well, not so much a field as a well-outfitted but criminally under-used library with a dozen antagonistic members of the family watching him. The estate in question was one of the cadet lines of the Judsons, not the landed estate in the main line. But it was a pretty piece of property with an excellent setup for a range of some materia that was in high demand at the moment and would be for years yet.

Claudio nodded. “Glad to. We’ll find time.” Then he said, “What’s the thing you wanted my eye on, and when’s good for you?” He reached into his inner jacket pocket to pull out his diary.

“You like to keep Friday evening open, right?” Potts considered. “And Wednesday.”

“And Saturday, this week, if I can manage it.” On Wednesdays he had supper with his son, Tiberius. It was the one night Claudio’s mother was firmly occupied with the weekly Council meeting and out of the house for a predictable amount of time. Claudio moved heaven and earth every month or two to avoid conflicts. Saturday was their irregular card game.

And Friday, he wanted to join Gabe and his extended family for supper. He did that when he could, but he’d missed the last two. Sunday was for supper with his mother. That one could be skipped, if necessary. Claudio was clear about his priorities. “Right now, I’ve got two or three hours open on Thursday afternoon. Ideally done by four. And Monday is somehow bafflingly unscheduled at the moment.”

“Can’t do Thursday, actually. I forgot I’m on call. I can’t do Monday morning either. Monday, two to four, my workroom? Bring your stones; it’s a sympathetic magic problem. You have tricks I don’t know and would like to learn.” Hetherington leaned forward hopefully.

“I keep telling you that set comes from working with Hypatia closely for near enough two years. There’s no way to just make that happen.” Hypatia was, mind, absolutely brilliant when it came to sympathetic magic applications. “Can you send me round notes on it, so I can brush up?” He made a note in his diary to hold the time.

“Sure. Check your cubby here sometime after tomorrow afternoon.” Hetherington pulled out her own notebook, scribbling something down. It upped the chances she’d remember it quite a lot, though he’d probably get the bullet point version with a straggling list of other notes. He could work with that, though, and he expected it.

Hetherington’s watch chimed twice, and she frowned. “Ah. Right. I’m due over at the Courts, that deposition.”

“Grab your spare jacket,” Potts said, giving her an automatic look over. “You’ve got a smudge there.”

Hetherington peered down and cursed under her breath. “My spare’s at the cleaner’s.”

“Grab my spare then, just remember not to button it this time, all right? I don’t want to replace the buttons again.” Hetherington was rather more buxom than Potts, though Claudio was now briefly distracted about how to put that in a purely qualitative sense. He had no particular inclination toward the body type, so it was a more academic question than otherwise. They both stood, nodding at him, and left him to his tea before he went back into the fray of his own work.

Chapter 2

Sunday, January 15th

“How was your week, Mother?” Claudio began with the ritual question. He was always the one to ask once they’d settled down for supper. It was, as Sundays always were, a three-course meal. Rationing could not change some things. Their housekeeper had brought out the soup, roast carrot with a bit of dried dill from the summer gardens. Mrs Moore had an excellent hand with the food, and this was one of Claudio’s favourite winter soups.

It was just him and Mother tonight. Tiberius was dining with his apprentice masters and family, who were hosting a couple of other connections. Sunday gave them all more time to relax over the meal. Claudio was glad for his son, but he rather wished for a bit of company. He had suspicions Mother had been circling around wanting to have some sort of chat with him, one of her topics with a point or perhaps a sting.

She did not begin with that, though. “Ah, about the usual for January. Everyone’s so sluggish in the aftermath of the solstice events, but that will pass. There was some discussion about India, of course.” That country was officially becoming a republic in another eleven days, when the new constitution went into effect. His mother went on, “Not that most of that directly affects the Council, but of course there are repercussions.”

“Quite. And a range of economic and diplomatic considerations to be going on with.” Claudio was more directly interested in the materia imports than anything else there, but he also thought a great deal about what it meant for India to make all the changes that had been pouring out over the past few years. It was one of those areas where he knew he didn’t know enough about it, though he’d talked a fair bit to Gabe’s wife about it.

She still had a vast range of extended family in and around Calcutta, and they’d written and shared a number of letters. There had been tremendous violence there over the past few years because of the partitioning, and everyone in the family remained worried about what the future might hold. Not that he got into that with Mother. It wouldn’t be a productive conversation. Instead, he said, “What did you think of that new article by Harry Carlton?”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “A particular reason you’re interested, dear?” She dipped her spoon into the soup, eating it without hurry before she answered. “I’m a trifle dubious about his underlying premise, the chemical analysis there. On the other hand, alchemy is not simply raw chemistry. I’m thinking about running through the experiment as laid out if I get a moment. None of the materia is too scarce right now.”

“I’d be interested in what you think. I was discussing it with someone at work, and neither of us is entirely convinced either. I wonder if there’s something in his setup or the lab location that makes his results more reliable than they ought to be. If you run the test and it comes out differently, that would give us some reason to try it in multiple settings when we get a chance. Not for a few weeks, at least.” That was the acceptable answer, wanting to learn something new.

Claudio could run the test himself, but he’d also be worried that he’d miss some key step. He was not primarily an alchemist. As Mother reminded him regularly, he spread himself across too many specialities to be a master of any of them. For all Gabe had argued that was a particular virtue for a Penelope, and for all Gabe was probably right, Mother’s comments about it always stung and likely always would.

“Mmm.” His mother considered. “I’ll let you know. Informal notes, then?”

“Informal is fine, thank you,” Claudio replied. His mother’s informal notes were vastly more organised than most people’s. She always recorded a dozen factors, where many people only noted those that seemed relevant at the time. Time, day, temperature, humidity, weather, what equipment she used, but also half a dozen charms to indicate shifts in magical flows or her own personal magic and vitality. She argued— and Claudio agreed— that kind of data was essential if doing innovative experimentation, to help identify which factors contributed to a success or failure. “If you’re short on the pine, I’ll likely be able to collect some in the field this week.”

“That—” She paused, mentally reviewing her stores. “That would be a help, yes. Thank you, Claudio.”

He inclined his head. There. They’d had a productive conversation. That was good. Mother was brilliant. He was quite willing to admit that. It was especially true when it came to her beloved alchemy, but it was true in other areas. The problem was that she could also be tremendously stubborn, resistant to change in ways that made no sense to Claudio. Or rather, it made sense given her history, but it was damnably infuriating to deal with. Understanding where a fair bit of it came from did not actually make it easier to deal with in the moment.

They ate in silence for a minute, until Claudio finished with his soup and Mrs Moore brought out the main course. Tonight that was a little chicken, more vegetables, and a simple wine sauce. Once the housekeeper had disappeared again, Mother cleared her throat. “Your coming week? I should let Mrs Moore know about the meals.”

“Tiberius and I will both be here Wednesday. I’m out tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday, I believe. I’ll let her know if that changes. My Friday might reschedule.”

“Anything interesting?” Mother’s question sounded mild, but her inquiries into his calendar always had an edge.