Not for Use in Navigation

by Iona Datt Sharma

  "All right," Kira said, looking up with her eyes fierce and determined again. "What comes next?"

  "What do you give?" Grace said, giving the words the resonance of a quotation, though in truth, she did not know - and perhaps, no one did - where the recitation had come from. Perhaps with the Salt itself, from the sea.

  "Is this like," Kira said, shaking her head so her braids bounced, "when Mum makes the cakes?"

  "Cakes?"

  "When she's baking she keeps one aside, sometimes, and then it's not there any more after but the others taste better."

  Grace laughed, but not too much. It wasn't her place to comment on another woman's practice, but the neatness of the trick amused her. "Something like that. Magic always has a price. Not money," she added, at the confused look on Kira's face, "though it could be, I suppose. No reason why not." Working quickly in her mind, she raised a light, a tiny globe suspended off the tips of her fingers. "I did that just with the gift of my own energy," she said, as Kira looked at the light with wide-eyed, unalloyed joy. It had not been difficult at any point to understand why the girl wanted to learn. "Just my energy," Grace said again. "So I'm a little more tired than I was. But what if I wanted to light a whole building for a month? Or the whole City for a year?"

  "Something bigger?" Kira guessed.

  Grace nodded. "That's right. So what might we do?"

  "I've seen," Kira said, again hesitantly, "out in the parks sometimes, they burn rubbish."

  "That's certainly one way," Grace said. "You can sacrifice the flames to magic, if you're careful. There are other things, too." She hesitated, trying to put it in terms that Kira would understand. "I might give up something I'd made, like your mother and her cakes. Long ago in the Middle Ages people used to give up their arms and legs."

  "Really?" Kira said, sounding fascinated; Grace hurried on.

  "And finally. What do you ask for?"

  "Light," Kira said, grinning, pointing at the one still hanging off Grace's fingers, and Grace grinned in return at her joy.

  "Yes," she said. "Yes, exactly."

  "Will I have to do that whole thing every time?" Kira asked, suddenly dubious. "You didn't have to, when you made your light."

  "Eventually," Grace explained, "it'll come to you quick as thinking. Quicker than that, it'll come to you like breathing. But it'll be the same in your head, even so: your name, your calling, your gift and your asking. That's how magic works."

  "Right." Kira put her little hands together. "Well, my name is Kira."

  "Good," Grace said, reserved. "That's good."

  Kira looked at her, her eyes still wide with hope, and Grace was saved from facing them by the ring of the outer bell and footsteps in the passage.

  "Ned?" she called, thinking suddenly that Ned and Thanet would be Mr Devlin and Miss Thanet to any apprentice of hers, and wondering at where the years had gone for the three of them. "Thanet? What is it?"

  Thanet was shaking off her coat with far more violence than necessary. "Damn their eyes and damn them all to hell," she said, caught sight of Kira and gave Grace a quick, miserable look of apology.

  "What happened?" Suddenly, Grace thought the worst, imagining an abortifacient gone wrong, and blood tainted with failed magic; she'd seen that before. "The girl - your client..."

  "I never got to see her." Thanet threw herself down into a chair and put her face in her hands. "I've just been barred."

  Grace looked at her in confusion. "You mean, Ned..."

  "Not me," Ned said, throwing his hat on a hook as he came in and landing heavily in his own chair. "It seems the coroner's interim recommendation was to bar Thanet from practice until, and I quote, it becomes clear, or otherwise, that her work has not been grossly defective, negligent, or otherwise reprehensible. The Birds-in-Flight Registrar rolled over and agreed."

  "That bloody coroner." Thanet lifted her head and looked straight at Grace. "Where were you on the night of the accident? Bit of an odd time of day, wasn't it? And now if I don't get my act together, if I can't be trusted to work a simple signalling magic—“

  "It wasn't remotely simple," Grace said. It had been the last major project Ned and Thanet had worked on before the war, and had involved months of effort and planning, but most of all Grace remembered the joy they had both taken in it, filling their study with tinkling silver bells, ringing out a different complex melody with each combination of signals. "Thanet, what exactly did they say?"

  "They said, as my work is under suspicion of having caused a railway accident..."

  "It isn't."

  "I'm suspended until further notice. I can't practise until the situation is resolved." Thanet pulled a letter from her coat pocket and threw it down on the table. "Bastards."

  Kira was looking on with wide eyes, but Grace found she wasn't concerned about the effect of profanity on the girl's morals. "Thanet," she said, firmly, "we'll talk to them."

  "I tried," Ned said, spreading his hands. "I tried telling them the signals were working perfectly on the night of the accident - and by the way, the Board of Trade report has come back. They didn't find a scrap of evidence that anything had gone wrong."

  "Damn it," Thanet said, again. "It's nothing to do with the signals and you know it, Ned. It's the girls in trouble. It's always girls in trouble." With a noise of frustration, she stood up. "I'm going downstairs. I need a drink."

  The door slammed behind her, and Ned looked up at Grace. "I even tried telling them that only I designed the signals." His eyes flashed with something, not humour. "That Thanet wasn't involved. After all, they can't take my registration from me again."

  "I'm sorry, Ned," Grace said, softly. Ned shrugged, put his head in his hands, then looked up again.

  "And now what?" he said, with more bitterness than Grace had ever heard from him. "Jesus Christ, Grace, it's not - it's not just a job, or a livelihood! It's my life. It's all I've ever known."

  "Ned..."

  "And now what, for those already half-destroyed?"

  "Ned," Grace said, sharply, "you're scaring Kira."

  She wasn't sure if that were true: Kira was still staring wide-eyed at them, but whether in fear or interest, Grace couldn't be sure. Ned hesitated, and then buried his head in his hands again. "Little one," he said, and Grace took a second to realise he was addressing Kira. "I apologise, and may you be spared the sins of your fathers."

  From her expression, Kira had no idea what to make of that. A minute passed and Thanet did not return, although Grace could hear her voice rise and fall in the distance, and guessed she was relating a version of the morning's events to Mrs Throckley.

  Surprisingly, it was Kira who broke the long silence, getting to her feet and stepping out into the space of the room. "What happened to you?" she asked Ned, with-- yes, Grace thought, with interest. Ned seemed taken aback, lifting his head. To Grace's amazement, he laughed, hoarsely, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  "No one's ever told you," he said, after a moment, "that there are some questions you don't ask, have they?"

  "You don't have to answer," Kira said, composedly. "You can say you don't want to. Do you not want to?"

  Ned paused, then again to Grace's surprise, patted the edge of his own workbench. "Why don't you sit down, so I don't have to look up at you?"

  For the first time, Kira looked a little abashed, but she sat on the edge of the bench; Ned leaned back in his desk chair. "It's a long story," he said, after a moment. "But the short version is that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Salt Guildhall – perhaps you've seen it, or what's left of it? I happened to be on the premises when the first bomb fell. I'm very lucky," he added, turning to look at her properly. "I didn't die and I was pulled out after not too long. But I was hurt quite badly and that's why I walk with a cane. Does that answer your question?"

  "Yes," Kira said. "Thank you. It's just you tap your cane like my granny does, and she's blind."

  "The reason for that," Ned said, "is an even
longer story, and one I don't always enjoy telling. So I think I'm going to have to take advantage of your get-out clause, if that's acceptable?"

  "Yeah," Kira said. "I mean, yes."

  "Kira," Grace said. “Run along down to the kitchen. If you're lucky the scones will be done."

  Kira stood not upon the order of her going. Grace walked around the open space of chambers for a moment, taking in the old-fashioned beauty of this space she had always shared with Ned, its high ancient roof and weathered beams. She walked two circuits, then tapped her fingernail on the side of their kettle, using a little magic to make it steam. "Tea, Ned?"

  "Thank you," he said, sounding almost normal, and Grace felt a rush of gratitude for him: for the years of their friendship, for his quiet, reliable presence, though the world had changed around them both.

  When the tea was poured out, she asked, "Why do you tap your cane?" She held up her hands before he could respond. "If you really don't want to talk about it..."

  Ned shook his head and took a sip of tea. "It's a little beyond the grasp of a twelve-year-old, that's all. It's because of" – he gestured vaguely – "the other thing. Without any awareness of the salt in my own bones, I'm less aware of where I am, relative to everything else. Proprioception, I'm told it's called. The cane is grounding."

  "I had no idea," Grace said.

  "It's little-studied," Ned said. “Due to a lack of experimental subjects."

  "Quite," Grace said, with affection. "No, Ned, I hadn't noticed that you were tapping the cane on purpose, not in all this time. I didn't notice, but she did."

  "Quite," Ned echoed. "You've time to write to the girl's mother, before the last post goes."

  Grace smiled at him, tentative. "It'll be lively," she said, "to have an apprentice about the place. Like the old days."

  Ned nodded. "Grace," he said, after a minute. "what can I do now?"

  "Help Thanet," Grace said, with wrenching, inarticulable sympathy. "Help her clear her name."

  Ned nodded again. "Yes. And apart from that?"

  "Scones," Grace said, holding out a hand to him. He took it, pulled himself up to standing, and they walked down to the dark-timbered space of the kitchen, lit only with pavement lights and gas. Mrs Throckley didn't hold with magic around food. Grace helped Ned get along, down the steps, and he carried the tea.

  ___

  (iii) Midsummer

  Their first visitor of the day was a messenger bird made of light and rainwater, already soft-edged as it landed on Thanet’s hand and said its few words before becoming a puddle at her feet. “That’s a beautiful piece of magic," Grace said, admiringly, as Thanet reached down to mop up the water.

  “Not good news, though," Thanet said. “I’ve a client up by the docks. I was going to see her, but –" She shrugged, looking frustrated. “I shouldn’t – I mean, I must go by the Guildhall today and talk about my suspension, maybe I shouldn’t—"

  Grace nodded. “I can drop in, if you’d like?" she said tentatively. “I can’t do your kind of magic, but I’m going up there anyway – "

  “Would you really?" Thanet’s face lit up.

  “It’s no trouble," Grace said, and led the way down the steps. “Kira," she called down to the kitchen, “ready to go in five minutes."

  “Thanks so much," Thanet said, and gave Grace an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “Just let her know I’ve not forgotten."

  Grace smiled and went through to the study, which was colder than it had been a few minutes earlier. Ned looked up at the sight of her and turned away listlessly.

  “Oh, Ned, look what a mess you’ve made of the fire." Grace got down on her knees on the hearthrug, trying to find a speck of red in the embers; it was hard to make out in the sunlight. Strange to want a fire on a day as brilliant and bright as this one, but there was an unseasonal chill in the air. “If you’re going to sit here, make yourself of use. Don’t just poke the fire because you can’t think of anything better to do."

  Ned was wearing fingerless gloves, poker in hand. He laid it down, perhaps as some sort of apology. “What would you have me do instead?" he asked.

  Grace straightened up, brushing the dust from her skirts, and looked at him with some irritation. “You could look over the accounts," she said. “You could work out how we’re going to pay the rent next month. You could drum up some business for us."

  Ned looked like he might say something sharp, but then the idea seemed to catch on his fancy. “I could wear a crinoline and feathers and parade along the Temple gardens, advertising our services?"

  Grace chuckled. “That’s my boy."

  “Love potions and murders a speciality, of course."

  “Of course." Grace held up a hand. “You’d be drummed out of respectable practice but I’m sure you’d look very fetching. Now get up so I can measure you for a sandwich board."

  Ned laughed a little but stood up. “I’ll do the accounts," he said. “Will that do?"

  “That’s my boy," Grace said again, lovingly. “I have to be out this morning, I’m calling on Kira’s mother, so it’s just you holding the fort."

  “Ave atque vale, then."

  Grace gave him the look she reserved for idiots and the classically educated, gathered up her apprentice and the address Thanet had left, and went out.

  ___

  The accounts were not immensely thrilling, but, as Ned remarked to the kettle when making the tea, the problem of the rent did tend to focus the mind. He lifted his head from Grace’s immaculate figures at the sound of the bell, and was surprised to find no heat in the teacup next to his hand. Mrs Throckley must be out, he decided, picked up his cane and went to answer the door. “May I help you?"

  The woman on the threshold seemed nervous about coming any further inside. She was tall, with hair pulled back from her face. “Are you a witch?" she asked.

  Ned smiled, and said, “You’d best come in. It’s this way, Mrs-"

  “Ferguson."

  “Well, Mrs Ferguson," Ned said, busying himself with the kettle again. “I have a colleague here, a Miss May, who will be able to help you with whatever you require. She’s out at present but I can get you some tea if you’re willing to wait."

  Mrs Ferguson sat on the chair he indicated, but unwillingly. “You’re a witch, ain’t you?" she said, pointing to the bar through his ear. “And you’re here already."

  “Miss May is very good," Ned assured her, picking up the sugar tongs. “I’m sure you’ll find her helpful. Or Thanet, she’s – wait." He tipped his head back and called. “Thanet, are you in? She or he?"

  Thanet peered around the door, the trim of her hat providing the answer. “She," she said, crossly. “I’ve got to go out, Ned, more registration nonsense. I’ll see you this afternoon."

  She disappeared as swiftly as she’d appeared. “Well," Ned said, bringing his hands together. “Milk and sugar, Mrs Ferguson?"

  Once the essentials had been furnished, Ned went through the next couple of lines of Grace’s meticulous record-keeping. He checked the figures, wrote a note, and then looked up at the unmistakable sensation of eyes boring into him. “You are a witch," Mrs Ferguson said, a little belligerently. “I’ve seen you before."

  “You know," Ned said, mildly, “the first time I met a northerner, I quite enjoyed being called a witch. It sounded much more exotic than being a common-and-garden practitioner. You’re from Cumberland, then?"

  “The north Lakes," Mrs Ferguson said. “I came to London when I was a girl. So you’ll help me?"

  Ned laid down his pen and sighed. “Mrs Ferguson, my colleague will be here shortly and in the meantime I have work to do. So if you don’t mind…"

  She stared at him over the rim of her cup, but said nothing. Ned wrote another couple of numbers in a column and somehow wasn’t surprised when she said, “Let me tell you about my trouble. My husband…"

  “Mrs Ferguson," Ned said, controlling his temper. “Yes, I am a witch. A Salt practitioner. I am also about to lose my registrati
on permanently and I haven’t done any magic for around six months. If you, or your husband, are in trouble, I’m very sorry to hear it, and if you would just wait—"

  “What did you do?"

  “Excuse me?" Ned stared at her, thrown by the interruption.

  “What did you do, for them to take away your registration?"

  Ned put the pen down again. “You don’t give up, do you?"

  Mrs Ferguson shook her head, moving slightly into the light, and Ned realised she was younger than he had originally thought; her face was drawn, dimmed by the black she wore, but not lined. “No. Mum used to say I was worse than a donkey at the seaside for going where I pleased."

  Ned chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Well, Mrs Ferguson, it isn’t what I did, so much as what was done to me." He paused on that thought. “But I’m sure you understand why I think you should go with Miss May – she’s a northerner like yourself, she’s a skilled Salt practitioner, and she’s not under the sword of Damocles."

  “No," Mrs Ferguson said, thoughtfully clasping her hands. “I’ll take you."

  Ned shook his head. “Mrs Ferguson, I’m not sure you understand-"

  “I understand just fine." She gestured at the room, at the books and papers and spread of mess. “You’ll do."

  Ned gave in. Getting to his feet, he closed the door firmly, and settled back in his chair. “Let’s begin at the beginning," he said. “What happened to your husband?"

  ___

  Thanet’s client turned out to be an Indian woman who spoke little English but smiled at Grace, put her hand on her heart, and said, “Kamala." Above her head, flocks of messenger birds glowed, iridescent and luminous, forming out of dispersed water and then filtering off to nothingness. Grace remembered the birds were being used by the union men on the docks in the general strikes, and liked thought of them taking flight from here, keeping the movement alive from these unassuming rooms above a whelk shop. Kamala’s husband seemed to understand a little more, when Grace explained her errand.