Page 26 of Brave Truth

The last obligation was to Alexander, who’d asked about someone a few years younger than Claudio. He was fairly sure Alexander wasn’t actually interested in him as a candidate for the next Challenge, but Octavio Holland had a couple of interesting knacks. And it also reminded him of something that had come up in reading yesterday about a bit of Council history he’d come across from the 1840s. Writing up that bit of analysis didn’t take terribly long, and then Claudio could turn his attention to the note to Matthew.

It was a pleasure to write it out to someone who didn’t have any specific known interests in the topic. And he liked the challenge of figuring out how to lay out the various pieces of it enough that Matthew could ask questions if he wanted. Claudio found himself with a desire for it that felt different than writing to Orion or Hypatia or Cammie did. He would need to spend some more time thinking about why. Claudio wanted more of that, whatever it was, even if he couldn’t name what he wanted or even begin to figure out if it might be on offer. He didn’t even know if he wanted anything that had names. That was going to be a rather complex problem to sort out.

By the time he finished, Gabe had curled up under his blanket, reading, and Claudio did the same. The book, it turned out, was not remotely a help. He’d been reading a retelling of a bit of Geoffrey of Monmouth. He was at the part about the young Merlin Ambrosius coming to explain why Vortigern kept building towers. And, more helpfully, why they kept falling down. The answer was the dragons. He’d been thinking about those since he’d done that bit with the water, weeks ago now. He’d let the book settle when he suddenly sat bolt upright, cursing. Not loudly, he had better manners than that, but Gabe woke immediately.

“Sorry, sorry.” Claudio got it out immediately. “A thought.”

“Mmm.” Gabe rolled onto his side to peer owlishly at Claudio. Then he laughed. “Alexander’s comment caught up with you?”

Claudio blinked several times, then he swore again. “Damnation.” He ran his hand through his hair and firmly set the book aside. “When did you talk about it?” Claudio couldn’t quite name it yet, even to Gabe. That somehow, for some reason that of course he wouldn’t explain, Alexander obviously thought Claudio should contemplate challenging for the Council seat he was about to vacate.

“Wednesday, for the record. He said he’d prodded you sufficiently that the penny would drop sometime within the fortnight. You may rightfully be smug that you’re ahead of schedule. He’d been thinking about it since the experimentation with the water, though.” Gabe pushed up on his elbow. “You don’t need to decide anything now. And this certainly isn’t the place or time for that conversation.”

“No.” Not remotely enough privacy, and there were a dozen tactical problems, starting and probably ending with Claudio’s own mother. But in the middle, there were the questions of whether he was brave enough, what he even wanted, what Orion would say or think, what Gabe thought. What it would mean for every other part of Claudio’s life.

Electra would, however, probably be delighted to be divorced. She had never particularly enjoyed the Council obligations as events. Though that presumed that Claudio would be successful, and he knew his history entirely too well to make that assumption. He was competent, not arrogant. Arrogance ended badly. He knew that too. Especially when it came to the Council.

Carefully, he set the book aside. “Later.” Claudio firmly put his head down. He’d gone to sleep in far worse settings before, and he probably would again, the world being what it was. He heard Gabe shift to curl up in his blankets and forced his own breath to slow and even out. That worked as badly as forcing it always did, but once he began working through the various meditative exercises Isembard had taught him, he did eventually fall asleep.

Chapter 18

Tuesday, April 25th

Tuesday afternoon, Matthew came down to the meeting room a few minutes early to find someone already waiting. He knew who she was, of course, twice round. First, he’d known her, at least enough to put a name and face to the role, before the war. And second, Claudio had sent a note saying who would likely show up for the Penelopes.

“Penelope Doyle,” Matthew nodded. “Afternoon.” He went around the near side of the table to his usual spot at the head of the table. She looked well, though she had to be— he did the maths quickly— something like seventy now. Plenty of grey in her hair that she wasn’t bothering to hide by charm. She had a walking stick, but she also looked quite cheerful. “Do you have any questions before we start?”

“Warren sent along the notes, and he’s admirable like that. You get me because I do not actually hate meetings and I’m no longer out in the field. I am therefore a reliable person who’d be around. Warren went to some effort to avoid suggesting a few of our number for whom meetings are, shall we say, skills they are still improving.” She considered, then stood to go put the kettle to heat. “Tea, while I’m up?”

“Please,” Matthew took a minute to set his notes out in the sequence he wanted. “He’s been very useful as I’ve taken over here. He’s got an excellent sense of what’s most relevant.”

She turned around, raised an eyebrow, and then changed the subject, entirely unsubtly. The Penelopes of his experience ranged along a scale. At one end, they ran from quite subtle through to Claudio’s general charm and occasional personal awkwardness. At the other end of the scale were the people who could generally manage conventional social pleasantries only if provided with a map, a flowchart, and the incentive of treating it as a puzzle with a deadline.

Doyle had a firm reputation as the first, though he knew more about her father’s skills there. He’d still been known as a terrifyingly adept solicitor when Matthew was doing his own apprenticeship back in the twenties.

After the kettle sang, she poured the tea to steep in the pot and turned back. “Warren suggested you might hold the discussion of the saffron until he’s back, but I’ve got additional questions about vervain, mandrake, and amber. Not unreasonable requests, I think, but better to deal with them this week than next.”

“Given May Day.” Matthew nodded slowly. People would not be at their best next week for a variety of reasons. That sort of city-wide celebration put demands on the Guard and the Healers. Other people— well, him, for one— had complex family conversations to negotiate. May Day was a command performance for a number of families. “Urgent, on your end?”

“A couple of applications for them, yes, are things that will be more of a problem the longer they grow. From the numbers I have, I think it might be possible to do some swapping around, especially if the schools have sent in up-to-date lists of what they’ll use the rest of the year.”

Those were done quarterly and due at the end of the quarter meeting, namely today. Matthew did indeed have the lists, but he hadn’t looked at them in that kind of detail. He waved a hand. “I’ve got the lists, so we have the information, but I don’t know what you need or what they’ll argue they might want on hand. Glad to move the agenda around a bit. Ten minutes? Fifteen?”

“Fifteen if we can spare it, and I’ll do my best to be efficient.” Then others started coming in, and she turned her attention to them. Doyle obviously knew everyone else fairly well, at least enough to have some comment about family or friends or some professional topic. Everyone turned up on time. A few commented on Claudio’s absence, then they got into the work of the day.

Matthew was, in fact, entirely occupied keeping the meeting flowing. Even in the few minutes break in the middle for people to refill their tea or use the lavatory, he had to keep all the various balls he was juggling in the air. But he was, throughout, aware of just how much he relied on Claudio to keep things moving.

Not that he glanced in that direction more than any other— he’d learned long ago to be scrupulous about that kind of thing. But he kept expecting Claudio’s voice, the deliberate choice of words and posh diction all coming together to say what needed saying in a way that people would listen to. Oh, certainly sometimes argue with, but they’d take his points seriously.

Doyle had some of the same skills, but it came out differently in her. Of course, she was sitting in. That was a time to move things along, not establish her own way of doing things. It was clear she’d had a number of specifics from Claudio, too, and that she had them at her fingertips. There were the vervain numbers, but several other times she popped up with a specific note or aspect. She managed the conversation in twelve minutes, an admirable sort of accomplishment, and she got almost all of what she initially proposed.

It made him think about the general patterns, not just in this current meeting, but in the Ministry as a whole. Doyle had a firm idea of the precedent, how things were done, but she wasn’t sticking to it. The Ministry folks— Matthew included at the moment— clung to precedent like it was a life raft in a storm. But he could see shimmers of something where it wasn’t serving, something like a bruise coming up. He’d have to think about it more.

Matthew also kept having a moment where he could see a way to angle the conversation, but he’d need something to get it moving in that direction. And he wasn’t quite brave enough— shameful as that was— to take the leap himself. Doyle gave him the chance once or twice. A couple of the others did too. But he could feel the gap now, see it forming, in a way he hadn’t been able to weeks ago. He’d have to chew on that as well, and what it meant about his work and how he did it.

Doing this correctly mattered. And by correctly, he didn’t mean the forms filled out properly or the lists in a sensible order. It was about the machinery of administration supporting the work that needed to happen in the world, rather than hindering it. Maybe the way to put it was to look at the larger need, rather than the individual preference. Or who was most persuasive on a particular day in a particular hour.

There was nothing he could do about it at the moment other than make a few notes in shorthand to remind himself to think about the different parts later. The end of the week should be quieter for him, probably, as people took a few days holiday to prepare for May Day. Or just because the weather was a bit more appealing. Or because May Day falling on a Monday was a good excuse for a holiday, which was accurate enough. Matthew wasn’t taking extra time, though. If he did, he’d have to find something to do with it, outside his normal routine, and that seemed like entirely too much effort.