“I’d think so. You weren’t—” Mina glanced around. “Nothing happened to you while you were away, did it? Everything’s been peaceful enough here.”
“No, nothing happened. Not physically, at least—and no, not magically, either,” said Stephen, lowering his voice. Baldwin had gone off to deal with his baggage, and the other servants were clearly about other duties, but caution would always serve him well. “I’ve found at least one of Ward’s likely hiding places, though not where he lives.”
Mina’s eyes went wide. “Really?” Hope shone on her face, making it almost too bright to look at. “Then you’re safe, aren’t you? You can call the Yard and—”
“Best not,” said Stephen. “Not without knowing more. They wouldn’t know how to manage the matter. I’m not entirely sure myself, not when he’s got magic at his command.”
“He’d escape,” Mina said, coming back down to Earth. Clearly she was disappointed, and Stephen didn’t blame her. She’d almost been free of his house, free to pick her old life up again. “Or he’d kill the men who came to get him.”
Stephen nodded. “Probably both. That’s the sort of thing that happens when you bring outsiders into a sorcerous matter. It doesna’ often end well for anyone, particularly them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Mina, her mouth quirking up at the corner. She folded back the end of one glove and laid her fingers against her wrist, pretending to take her pulse. “No untimely end so far, at least.”
“And there won’t be,” said Stephen, his voice echoing in the hall. Mina looked up at him, her lips slightly parted in surprise. “That is, I take my responsibilities very seriously.”
“And I’m one of them? Dutiful of you.”
She didn’t sound particularly happy about it. Stephen cleared his throat. “It seems the least I could do.”
“Ah.” Mina replaced her glove. “Well, whatarewe going to do?”
“Colin and I will have a look from above once it’s darker,” said Stephen, “but that’s some time yet. It shouldna’ be any trouble with your plans. Where were you headed off to?”
“The British Museum,” said Mina, responding in kind to his attempt to lighten the mood. “Bit of a busman’s holiday for me, I suppose, but they’ve got an exhibition—”
“The Indian artwork?” Stephen lifted his eyebrows. “I’ve heard the collection’s very good, but I’m surprised to hear Colin’s taken an interest.”
“She suggested it,” said Colin, coming through the door from the hallway. Naturally, he was both impeccable and fashionable; Stephen absently tried to smooth the wrinkles out of his sleeve. “Don’t start thinking I’m becoming a scholar. The shock wouldn’t be good for you, not after the day you’ve had.”
“Your concern is truly moving,” said Stephen, “but I think I’ll bear up for a little while yet.”
“Come with us,” said Mina, suddenly. “If you’re not too tired, I mean. It wouldn’t be any more risk than we’d have been taking if you hadn’t come back now.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be—”
“And you’d be along to keep Miss Seymour safe,” said Colin. “You can’t really trust me to do that sort of thing, can you?”
“I’m not answering that question,” Stephen said, “but I will come.”
***
Two hours later, he stood in one of the museum’s more spacious halls, eyeing a golden statue of a naga, while from behind him came the sounds of subdued conversation and the quiet click of heels against the polished stone floors. An elderly gentleman to Stephen’s right was telling his grandson a story about Shiva, while somewhere behind him, three young men were earnestly debating the translation of a word that Stephen hadn’t caught.
London did have its attractions. As Stephen walked along the gallery, he could feel some of the day’s strain leaving him. His problems and his tasks still remained, but he could put them aside for a little while.
In the middle of everything to see, his gaze kept going back to Mina. He’d seen her looking around wide-eyed, pointing out a particularly fine landscape, examining a statue’s inscription, all fascinated concentration.
Now, at his side although carefully not too close, she looked from the statue to Stephen. “The nagas turned into people when they wanted, the legends say,” she said quietly. “Or at least according to the plaque.”
He met the silent question in her eyes with a smile. “Aye. And it’s not so far-fetched as all that. Traders along the Silk Road from India or China to Rome. Roman legionnaires crossing the water to Britain, later on. It could be—although the Russians have similar legends. Perhaps there was more than one beginning for my people.”
“You don’t know?”
“Not for certain, any more than I know who my more…regular…ancestors are after half a dozen generations or so. We’re no better at keeping records than you are. Well,” he added, looking at Mina, “most of us are much worse at it thanyoupersonally. I took a bit of an interest in the subject when I was younger.”
“Not now? I mean,” Mina added, “when you have time and leisure.”
“I’m interested in the past. I’ve given up trying to trace back so very far, though. My family’s affairs here and now started to be more important in the last few years. Or, rather, I’ve needed to take more of a role in them. They’ve always been important.”
