Page 9 of Brave Truth

But his flat was still bare, and while he was used to the odd layout now, it still felt awkward. He had to go through the kitchen— which he barely used— to get to the bath. The second bedroom, the one he used as a library, was so long and narrow he wasn’t entirely sure how it would fit a bed. But he’d been able to bring his books out of storage, and he could browse second-hand bookshops for a treat.

There were two steps from the kitchen to the lounge that felt like they wanted some sort of decoration. He couldn’t be bothered. That was true of the whole place. He’d not added anything, so it was all white walls except for the brick around the fireplace, and a strip of yellow in the bath. He’d bought furniture from a shop, second-hand but barely used. It fit all right, but it never felt entirely easy.

Not that it mattered. He’d certainly forgotten what it felt like to have something that suited better. For now, the privacy still felt like a luxury. He didn’t need decorations to lie on his back, stare at the ceiling, and enjoy the fact that he couldn’t feel anyone hovering nearby. There were good, sturdy walls between him and the rest of the world, and magically buffered to boot.

Now, he opened the door to Urania’s Apples to find the place had a few more people than usual, and that meant he wasn’t sure about taking one of the tables as he normally did. There was one spare, but what if a couple more people came in? He put in his order with York, glancing around and trying to decide if he wanted to sit at the bar. York nodded at someone behind him, then said, “Man behind you, that’s Treeve Dixon, if you don’t mind sharing. Or there’s the bar.”

Matthew craned round. Unsubtle, but he didn’t exactly have other options. The man at the table behind him was maybe in his sixties. He was dressed precisely: black suit, sharp tie, a bit old-fashioned, but in a way that Matthew knew meant he was senior administration in the Ministry in some form. Dixon nodded at Matthew amiably and gestured toward the table. He’d seen the man a couple of times on previous days, but in conversation with two or three others. Matthew nodded. “Thanks, York. Fish and chips, please.”

It got a nod, and then Matthew had to negotiate sitting down. “Kind of you.” There, he could start. “Matthew Lawson.”

There was a small, precise smile. “I’ve heard several good things about your work recently, actually. I’m sure we’ve not met. Treeve Dixon. Senior these days, research and accounting.” Not a combination that Matthew ever had much to do with directly. “And York speaks well of you. Which, of course, counts far more than the professional.”

That made Matthew blink multiple times. That suggested several things, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to take it. “Sir.” That came out reflexively; the man was senior to him, and they were in a line of work that liked deference. Then he tried again. “I was a regular here before the war, and it’s been good to know the old place is still more the same than many.” There, two could do coded messages.

“Oh, quite. I saw you in here then, though I’ve never been grand with crowds of people. Too much noise. Do you mind if I bring up the privacy charms once we’ve got our food? They’re a help.” The man made it sound entirely ordinary.

Matthew hadn’t thought about that aspect of it, though of course it could just be a cover for other topics. He nodded. “As you like.” He was out of practice with them, because for all the confidentiality of his work in Germany, using magic to manage it would have been obvious.

“I gather you’re managing the enchantment licensing now?” That made it clear that Dixon had been paying attention rather closely. Or had a mind like a steel trap. “And a bit of materia.”

“Yes. The mix is pleasant, actually.” Before Matthew had to figure out how to say something more, York brought out their food. York turned to grab a bottle of malt vinegar from a nearby table before putting it down with a satisfyingly heavy thump.

Soup for Dixon, but he nodded at Matthew’s fish and chips. “Always a solid choice here.” Then Dixon lifted his fingers, a few precise gestures and a murmur, and Matthew could feel and hear the rest of the room receding. “The weekly materia meetings can be contentious, I gathered. People of good will, but with strong opinions and the ability to advocate for themselves. Did anyone give you much background, or did you just get handed it?”

The sharpness of that comment made Matthew pause with his fork halfway to his mouth. He put the fish back down on the plate, and then blinked. “Research and accounting, you said.”

“Part of which involves understanding the patterns of the people, as well as the goods. Though admittedly, most of what I do has to do with places where the maths don’t add up. Signs of embezzlement, people billing at one quality and buying another, that sort of thing.” He waved two fingers delicately. “I’d been looking to see if we might chat informally, actually. In case you spot something that needs another eye, or just to have someone who has a bit more background about that or any other committee.”

Matthew blinked again, unsure how to take that. Then he said carefully. “Because we’ve both been coming here, specifically, for a good while. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“It’s good to have each other’s backs.” Dixon put his hand down and took a spoonful of his soup, swallowing slowly before setting the spoon down. “My partner’s at home. He doesn’t care for a pub.” That made it more explicit than Matthew would have dared to ask, and Matthew could feel his own eyes widen. Dixon went on with no sign he’d said anything unusual. “But that’s why I’m here every week or two. Keeping an eye out for juniors who might feel on their own and without the usual sort of connections to help. Marriages, extended lines through families, all that.”

Matthew nodded slowly, then said, just as carefully, “Thank you. I appreciate that. And hadn’t expected it.”

“Well, give me a week or three, and we can introduce you around to a few more people. I am known for, mmm, my precision. That’s how people put it when they’re being polite. Finicky perfectionism, when they’re not.” The idea that someone might do that, might have been looking for him to do that, it made Matthew look down at his food. He didn’t feel cornered, exactly. That was different. But he did feel overwhelmed.

Dixon said softly, “In the Great War, a good friend ended up isolated for longer than he should have. It got sorted, but I swore I wouldn’t let that happen again, not when I could do something about it. It’s not my best set of skills, but I know a fair number of people, or at least know the right people to talk to. You don’t need to decide right now. Just have your excellent food and your beer, and we’ll chat, shall we? Afterwards, you’ll know where to find me. Make an appointment with my office, drop in here.”

There was something painfully earnest about it. Matthew didn’t doubt the sincerity of the offer. He nodded twice, jerkily, then made himself take a sip of beer. It would cushion everything else, he knew that, even as he kept a tight rein on how much he drank. Nuremberg had taught him the problems of excess there, dozens of times over.

Once they’d both had a few more bites, Dixon began with an overview of the committee members. It was exactly what Matthew wished someone had given him weeks ago. Not right at the beginning, maybe. It had been good to make his own evaluations without being influenced by other people. But Dixon mentioned a number of things Matthew had noticed and not known how to ask about. Or who even to ask.

He had more information about the Ministry folks, of course. Isa Brown and Aldous Short were both competent, but they both had some strong preferences about particular things. And Short was touchy in the late spring, because of some family issues. Dixon didn’t specify the details. He didn’t share the truly private parts. But it would be helpful to know that.

Tess Manfred had a mixed reputation. She wasn’t nearly as precise as many of the people from the Courts, though she was competent enough with the materia requests. Dixon suggested that she was better with those things that involved interacting with other people. If there were ever a task that needed that sort of thing, she’d be a good person to pick. That fit with what Matthew had seen, though he hadn’t had a great deal of scope for it.

Then Dixon walked through the Guard and Schools and Healer representatives, before adding, “You were a few years behind Warren at Schola, yes?” As if he didn’t know, and Matthew was sure he did. Or at least that he’d looked it up as preparation for this chat.

“Four years behind, but not the same House, of course.” Matthew shrugged. “I was in Boar.” Dixon was not wearing any visible sign of his own House, and Matthew suppressed any comments about how the Foxes usually ignored Boar.

“But you don’t know the more recent news?” Dixon added after a moment. “I was Owl, by the by, in my time.” Granted, that didn’t surprise Matthew one bit, given the scope of knowledge and investigation that had been on display.

Now he shook his head. “Not the sort of thing that made it to me. Something I should know about?”

“It was a trifle bit of a scandal at the time. Warren made a point of divorcing his ex-wife, and then of making it clear they were both being entirely civil with each other. A sort of chivalric courtesy, honestly, in the way that makes it visible it is more comfortable for both of them than anything closer ever was. Of course, he was gone for a good six years, and then he went into apprenticing with the Penelopes. Not the sort of thing his family does.”

“Divorced.” Matthew could feel his eyes widening. That certainly would have been a scandal. Divorces were easier to get in Albion than in Britain. Lack of an heir was considered a reasonable cause. Warren’s mother was rather notoriously his father’s third wife, because of that. But they’d already had children. Matthew knew that. Warren had mentioned a supper with his son in passing once, and a younger daughter. “But no scandal about what caused it.”