Modern Magick

The Road to Farringale: 20

Later, Jay and I lay slumped in opposing chairs in the first-floor common room. We had adopted identical postures of exhausted inactivity, flopped like a pair of stringless marionettes.

On the table before us stood an emptied chocolate pot.

We had not spoken for a while. Neither of us had the energy, I think, or perhaps our minds were too busy with their own thoughts. It had been an unusual week, after all.

But it occurred to me that Jay wore an expression of particular, and deepening, despair, and I felt moved to enquire.

'My first assignment,' he said, as though that explained everything.

When nothing more was forthcoming, I cautiously prompted: 'And?'

'Going to get fired.'

'For what?'

'Disobeying a direct order.'

I scoffed.

'What?' he said. 'You heard Milady.'

'Yep.'

He nodded, confirmed in his woes. 'How long does it usually take them to give notice?'

Like he was expecting the letter of doom any moment now. 'In your case,' I told him, 'I'd say you'll be losing your job in about fifty years. More, if you eat right and exercise regularly.'

He blinked at me. 'You heard Milady.'

I had indeed. And it was fair to say that Milady was not at her most delighted with us. She had not been outright angry; that was not her way. But there had been a crispness to her tone, a certain air of cool, brisk efficiency not characteristic of her, which was only apparent when she was displeased. Despite his inexperience with Milady, Jay had certainly picked up on that.

On the other hand...

'See that?' I said, pointing to the shining chocolate pot.

Jay's frown deepened. 'The pot? Yes. I see it.'

'Means we've done well.'

'But—' Jay began.

I cut him off. 'No. It always means we've done well. If you've underperformed but given it your best shot, you'll probably get tea. Good tea. Or coffee, if that's your preference. If you've really screwed up and it's genuinely your fault, well... I once heard of somebody getting a bowl of stagnant rainwater.'

Jay grimaced. 'Harsh.'

'Not really, he was a prat. But you see my point.'

Slightly, slowly, Jay shook his head.

I tried again.

'We did disobey a direct order. And Milady can in no way endorse our actions because she is our boss, and no employer alive wants to encourage a regular display of such outright disobedience. But we had due reason, and she knows that now.'

I recalled the high points of the conversation well.

'How did you get the key, Cordelia?' Milady had said (like a displeased parent, she resorted to my true, full name when she was unhappy with me).

'The House gave it to me,' I'd replied.

Prior to that moment, she had been all cool displeasure. That disclosure was the turning point. The chill in her manner did not noticeably dissipate, but I'd been able to recount the outcome of our journey without interruption.