The Mapmaker's Apprentice (Glass and Steele Book 2)

by C. J. Archer

  "You had nothing?" Duke showed his cards. "I would have beat you."

  "Here, take my matches. I don't care." She pushed her considerable pile toward him. "There ain't no point playing unless real money's involved. This…" She waved her hand at the card table. "This is pathetic. We're pathetic. Christ, I need to smoke."

  "Not inside," Duke quipped.

  "The dragon's not here to see." Willie pulled out her pipe from her pocket and set about packing it with tobacco from her tin.

  "What did you learn at the guild today, Cyclops?" I asked, eager to get on.

  "That Daniel wasn't well liked by the other apprentices." He sat and stretched his long legs out toward the fire. "He was a skillful mapmaker but he knew it. He liked to lord it over the apprentices, telling them he'd been picked to be apprenticed to the master of the guild without any previous training."

  "Sounds like a right little prick," Duke said.

  "Was there any talk of him being magical?" I asked.

  Cyclops shook his head. "They thought he was lying about not having any formal training. Everyone thought he was too good to be a first year apprentice. I'll continue making inquiries tomorrow."

  "Be subtle. We don't want to raise anyone's suspicions."

  "He knows what he's doing." Willie shook the match to put it out and puffed on the pipe. "He ain't a green little miss now, is he?"

  "I take it that's a barb meant for me."

  She lifted one shoulder. "Take it however you like." She grinned around the pipe. "Don't mean I don't like you. You won't always be green, if you keep in our company."

  I wasn't sure how to take that, so I said nothing.

  "What happened with you today?" Duke stoked the fire to reveal hot coals beneath the ash. "Why was Matt so tired when you returned home?"

  I told them about our visit to Worthey's and the French factory worker who'd run off. The hope on their faces was plain as day.

  "It's something," Willie breathed, expelling a cloud of smoke through both her nose and mouth. "Thank the lord."

  "We have to find him before we'll know if he's any use to us," I said.

  "And he don't want to be found," Duke added. "Why?"

  "Because he must be Chronos, and Chronos knows that magicians are being badly treated by their guilds," Cyclops said. "He panicked when he recognized Matt. Magicians are supposed to be a secret, but Matt knows he's a magician. Dupont will be worried."

  "Perhaps," I said. "But Worthey was adamant that he was French, not English, and we know Chronos is English. It could be that he was simply a timepiece magician and suspected we knew it."

  "What does he think will happen to him if people learn he's magic?" Duke asked. "He doesn't own a watch shop, so it don't matter that the guild won't have him as a member."

  "Maybe it's more than that." Cyclops's dark eye pinned Duke. "Maybe the guilds want all magicians dead."

  I gasped. The three of them looked to me. "No one has attacked me," I said. "Even though Abercrombie and the other Watchmakers' Guild members seem to suspect that I…that I have some magical ability."

  "It's only a theory," Cyclops said in his reassuringly deep voice. "I'm sure Daniel will be found safe, and Pierre DuPont's behavior can be explained."

  I nodded and smiled, but my heart continued its mad rhythm. I would be watching over my shoulder at every turn now. "Even if you're right, and DuPont is Chronos, he must know Matt doesn't want to see ill befall him. Assuming he is Chronos, then he saved Matt's life. Surely if there's anyone he can trust, it's Matt."

  "When a person is hunted, they don't trust no one. Not even people they used to trust, and especially if they're with a stranger, no matter how pretty and finely dressed she is."

  I got the feeling from the way the others bowed their heads that Cyclops was speaking from experience. I hated thinking of him as being a hunted man. He was a gentle, friendly soul.

  "All of this is assuming DuPont is Chronos anyway," I said. "I'm still very uncertain."

  "Who else would he be?" Duke asked.

  "Mirth."

  "I s'pose. Maybe Mirth, Chronos and DuPont are all the same man."

  "Mirth were in a home for the old," Willie said thoughtfully. "That man today must have been able bodied if he evaded Matt."

  She had a point. None of it made sense, and there were too many possibilities and no certainties. One thing I did know for sure—we had to find DuPont and Mirth.

  "Now what?" Duke asked.

  Unfortunately none of us could think of anything beyond watching Worthey's factory to see if DuPont returned. Duke and Willie assigned themselves to the task. In the mean time, Matt, Cyclops and I would continue to look for Daniel, until Wednesday when Matt would wait at the bank for Mirth to show up. If we didn't see Pierre DuPont again, perhaps Mirth would know something about him that could help. They quite possibly knew one another, at the very least.

  We four studied the fire in silence until the clock on the mantel chimed ten-thirty. I was about to retire for the evening when Willie pulled her pipe from her mouth and drew her legs in. She sat forward and regarded me. "Magicians inherit their magic, yes?"

  "So we've been told," Duke said.

  "My father wasn't magic," I pointed out.

  "We don't know that. He may have hid his magic, because he wanted to keep his guild membership and his shop."

  It was a possibility I had considered over and over. Where had my magic come from? Father's watches and clocks were excellent pieces but entirely worldly. I'd not felt any warmth in them after he touched them. That left only one other possibility, one that I didn't want to contemplate. My father wasn't my real father, and my mother may not have been my real mother either. I wasn't truly a Steele at all. So who were my parents? And why did the guild members suddenly begin to suspect me around the time of Father's death? Who had given them an inkling of my magic when I didn't even know about it myself?

  So many questions and not a shred of an answer. It all felt so wrong, somehow; as if it ought to be happening to someone else, not plain old me. My life had been uneventful to date, with loving parents and a safe, happy home. It was impossible to think they weren't actually my mother and father. Quite impossible.

  "What are you getting at?" Cyclops asked Willie. "What's India's family got to do with Chronos?"

  "Not Chronos," she said. "Daniel. Who did he get his magic from? Not Commissioner Munro, I'd wager."

  "His maternal grandfather was a mapmaker," I said. "Daniel must have inherited the skill from his mother, and she got it from her father."

  "Then that's where you need to go tomorrow. To visit the mother and grandfather, and find out why they let him be apprenticed to the guild's master when Daniel's magic needed to be kept hidden."

  Chapter 4

  The visit to Daniel's grandfather had to wait, as Matt wanted to meet Jeremiah Duffield first. We walked to Burlington Arcade, since it wasn't far, while Cyclops returned to the Mapmakers Guild hall, and Willie and Duke took turns to watch Worthey's factory. Our walk through the spring sunshine gave me time to apprise Matt of the theories we'd discussed in his absence the evening before. He agreed that we ought to speak to Daniel's family to learn more about his magical skill.

  We nodded at the beadle at the arcade entrance, dressed in his traditional uniform of frock coat, gold buttons and gold braided top hat. "You English have some odd customs," Matt said once we were out of the beadle's hearing.

  "You think their clothing odd? You ought to see the beefeaters at the Tower."

  He grinned and patted my hand, nestled in the crook of his arm. "Come, my dear. Let's find this mapmaker so we can get on with our shopping."

  I smiled, relieved that he was his cheerful self again. His ability to throw off his troubles was remarkable—that or his ability to hide them.

  We found Duffield's shop between a jeweler and toyshop. A fine globe occupied prime position in the window on a brass stand, surrounded by a display of items that an intrepid explorer may
need—a compass, maps of India, water pouch, goggles, traveling writing desk complete with paper, ink and pens, and a pistol in its holster.

  A man looked up as we entered. He was alone in the shop. "Good morning," he said brightly, coming out from behind the counter. "Welcome. Pleasant morning, is it not?"

  "Very pleasant," Matt said.

  "How may I help you today?"

  "Are you Jeremiah Duffield?"

  "I am. You've heard of me?" His smiled widened. He was younger than I expected, perhaps about forty. His black hair had begun to recede, leaving a widow's peak at the front, but it sported no gray. He held himself straight and tall, standing almost to Matt’s height. With his broad shoulders and direct blue gaze, he was quite a striking figure.

  "My name is Prescott," Matt said, "and this is my wife. I want you to create a map for me."

  The smile turned hard. "You're the American who visited the guild yesterday."

  "I am."

  "You made inquiries about Daniel, my missing apprentice."

  "I heard he was the best, and I want only the best to create this map for me. It's very special."

  "You're mistaken. He wasn't the best, he was merely an apprentice. I am the best."

  "That's quite a bold statement." Matt sounded amused, like he was goading Duffield.

  It seemed to throw Duffield off. He glanced from me back to Matt, as if he were hoping my reaction would help him understand my “husband.” As a shopkeeper, it was important to get the customer's measure. It was easy to sell to a man who wanted to be seen as the purveyor of fashion among his friends, but less so to a man who cared little for appearances. Mr. Prescott was proving a challenge to pin down, and I, Mrs. Prescott, wasn't going to assist him in any way.

  Duffield indicated the plaques accompanying a display of two maps and a globe on a nearby table. "I have the awards to prove it."

  "Awards mean little to me," Matt intoned. He wandered around the shop, picking up items, giving them cursory inspection, then returning them. He behaved like the sort of customer shopkeepers disliked yet needed. He had little respect for the wares and a disdain for the shopkeeper himself. Gentlemen like that usually had more money than manners. It was worth ignoring their rudeness to keep their custom. "However, since your apprentice is missing, it seems I must settle for your services instead."

  "I'll try not to disappoint, sir."

  Matt continued his slow walk around the small shop. "I'd like a map of India. A region in the north east, to be precise."

  "Then you've come to the right place." Duffield indicated his window display, and several framed maps hanging on the walls. "I'm an expert on the sub-continent. I've visited India many times. Have you been, sir?"

  "To India?" Matt's gaze flicked to me. "Not yet."

  My face flamed, and Matt's lips curved into a curious little smile.

  "You plan to visit?" Duffield asked.

  "Hence the map."

  "Yes, of course. It's a fascinating place, so vibrant and complex. One could visit every year for the rest of one's life and never grow tired of it."

  "I don't doubt it."

  "Would you like one of my existing maps of the area, or do you require something more personal?" Duffield opened a long, flat drawer behind the counter and pulled out a stack of maps. He set them on the counter.

  Matt spent some time going through them. I stood by and watched, waiting. I felt as if we'd gotten precisely nowhere so far, and I couldn't think what Matt was getting at by not asking more probing questions. The silence stretched on, and I couldn't bear it any longer.

  "Tell me about the guild that you're master of," I said to Duffield. "My husband's country doesn't have guilds, you see, although I've explained the system to him. I found the Mapmakers' Guild rather fascinating on our visit yesterday. There's something I don't quite understand, however. Map shops seem to be rare in London, so what is the point of the guild?"

  "Shops are indeed rare," Duffield said. "This is one of only four in the city. We're not a very large guild, but we do have more than four members." He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if I were hard of hearing or a simpleton. "Many cartographers don't have shops at all, but use stationers to sell their maps on commission. Others are employed by the government, railway companies and various private enterprises."

  "Fascinating. The process of making maps seems quite involved."

  "Oh, it is. They originate as drawings, penned by a cartographer's own hand after extensive surveying. Do you know what surveying is, Mrs. Prescott?"

  Oh, good lord. Did he not credit me with any brain at all? "I think so. Do go on. This is fascinating."

  "The drawing is then refined, embellished and improved upon until the cartographer is satisfied. This is where the process may end if the map being commissioned is a one-off piece for a private customer."

  "As with my friend who commissioned your apprentice," Matt said, paying attention now.

  Duffield swallowed. "Your friend?"

  "You must remember him. He commissioned a rather elaborate map of central London. Unfortunately, he never received it." Matt shook his head sadly. "I heard the apprentice refused to give it to him, although I can't think why."

  Duffield suddenly looked rather hot and uncomfortable. "Nor can I."

  "It doesn't make your business look very professional."

  "I can assure you that won't happen in your situation. The apprentice in question is no longer here, as you know. He was a very wayward lad, highly skilled but not at all suited to shop work. I've promised to let Mr. McArdle know as soon as the map turns up. I'm sure it will, sooner or later."

  McArdle! We had a name. Now all we needed was an address. Duffield must have some way of contacting him if he promised to return the map to him. I eyed the ledger lying open on the counter. Most likely his details were in there.

  "Please tell me more about making maps," I said to Duffield. "It's so interesting." I angled myself toward the counter, with Duffield between it and me. That meant his back was to Matt and the ledger. I didn't need to look at Matt to convey my intention. He leaned back against the counter and scanned the ledger's page, upside down. "Why do some customers want to commission a map when there are so many already available at relatively low cost?" I asked.

  Duffield's eyes gleamed as we returned to the safer topic. "The uniqueness adds value, you see, and that's all that some customers want. Value and a thing of art."

  "Like the globe in the window?"

  Matt quietly turned the ledger's page and continued scanning it.

  I moved to the window display and Duffield followed with an eager smile that held a hint of shyness. "You're correct, Mrs. Prescott. I made that for display only, although it's for sale if the right offer is made." He went to glance back at Matt, so I feigned a coughing fit. Duffield fussed over me with a frown until it passed.

  "Thank you," I said, accepting his handkerchief and dabbing my brow. "You're very kind. Please, tell me more about mapmaking. What happens to a map once it's finished if it isn't given directly to the private customer? Do you bind them together in a book?"

  "I have a printing press at another premise. I reproduce my maps on the press and sell them here in the shop."

  Matt turned another page of the ledger. How far back did he need to go? I couldn't discuss maps for too much longer.

  "What about the ones bound in guides and atlases?" I asked.

  "Those are usually commissioned by the publishers. Once my map is finished, I send it to them and they bind it with others and the author's text. I've had several published, you know."

  "All of the sub-continent?"

  He nodded. "It's my favorite place."

  I smiled. "Does your wife like India too?"

  "She's never been." His faced soured. "She doesn't like the heat."

  "Fortunately the heat doesn't affect me," Matt said, joining us. "I'm rather looking forward to my journey." He smiled at me with undisguised triumph. He must have found McArdle's add
ress.

  "Will you go too, Mrs. Prescott?" Duffield asked me.

  "I'm seriously considering it, if Mr. Prescott can endure my presence," I added with a little laugh.

  "Of course, my dear," Matt said. "I'd travel to the end of the Earth with you. You're excellent company."

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. He had a habit of laying on the compliments too thickly when he played a role.

  "The map of India, Duffield," Matt said. "I'll purchase one of your regular maps of the region rather than commission something new. While I enjoy art as much as any gentleman, a more functional map will suit me on this occasion."

  "Very good, sir." Duffield returned to the counter and selected one of the maps from the stack he'd pulled out of the drawer. "This is a good general one of the area, but I suggest a guide book for the cities and villages. Their maps are more detailed."

  Matt bought both a map and guidebook, and we thanked Duffield. He walked us to the door, and I could see he wanted to say something more but held himself in check.

  "What is it?" Matt asked, noticing too.

  Duffield cleared his throat. "When you encounter your friend, Mr. McArdle, please reiterate how sorry I am that my apprentice turned out to be so duplicitous. I would appreciate it if he didn't speak of this to anyone else. My reputation, you know…"

  "I understand."

  "Of course, if the map isn't found, I'll refund his money."

  "I think he'd rather the map."

  Duffield's lips flattened. "I'm afraid it's likely lost."

  Did he know about the burglaries at Daniel's house and the missing maps? "You ought to ask the family if you can look through the apprentice's things," I said. "Perhaps the map is among them."

  "I tried, but the grandfather refused me entry. He never liked me."

  "You know him?"

  "He's a mapmaker too, but of little repute." He sounded apologetic. "Later, I heard that many of Daniel's maps were stolen. Terrible business. I can't think who would have an interest in them, aside from Mr. McArdle, of course."

  Matt offered me his arm and we headed out of the shop. "Come, my dear. I want to take you shopping."