“You noticed the thaumaturgical flash?” Elodie managed to ask Gabriel, albeit without looking at him.
“Yes,” he answered, not looking at her either. He began rolling up the maps, returning them to their leather cases. Elodie watched as if mesmerized. His hands were geographer’s hands, calloused, marked here and there with tiny scars from scraping against rocks and being bitten by enchanted wildflowers. In contrast, the cuff of his shirt, peeking out from beneath his jacket sleeve, was so pristine it seemed to shine against his olive-toned skin. How could a glimpse of plain linen be erotic? Elodie did not know but would rather like to make a physical study of the matter—in the name of science, of course.
“Are you hungry?” someone inquired, and she had to admit herself indeed more hungry than it seemed respectable to be, metaphorically speaking. Then she realized Tegan was standing beside their table with a handful of cutlery. The girl had set down a cup of tea while Elodie was woolgathering (or wool-removing, more accurately: she’d got most of Gabriel’s suit off him before her imagination had been interrupted), and she reached for it gratefully. If anything could civilize her thoughts, it was tea.
“I could really do with a banger in a bun,” Algernon said, and Elodie nearly dropped the cup.
“Sorry,” Tegan said, “no sausages today.”
Algernon sniffed with disappointment. “What’s the hearty stew?”
“Mutton.”
“Ugh. What about the country pie?”
“Mutton.”
“And the—”
“Mutton.”
Algernon sighed peevishly. Gabriel snatched the menu from him and passed it to Elodie.
“Um, thank you,” she said, setting down her cup on the table, there being no room in her brain just now for such ephemera as tea saucers. She took the menu, looked unseeing at it, said “mutton pie” at random, and handed it back to Gabriel.
He put it down without a glance. “Three servings of pie, please, and some boiled potatoes for Mr. Jennings. Thank you.”
“I’ll bring them now in a minute,” Tegan said, and placed knives and forks before each of them before hurrying off.
“Is that the Geographic Paranormal Survey of Dôlylleuad?”Elodie asked before her thoughts could degenerate once more. She nodded at the last remaining map on the table.
“Yes,” Gabriel said, bringing out a handkerchief in order to polish his cutlery. “I’ve been making notes about the potential hazards in the immediate zone, should there be a farther outburst from the fey line. The angle of the riverbank protects Dôlylleuad from flooding, and the hills are far enough distant that there’s no threat to the village from possible landslides should a thaumaturgic disturbance result in earthquakes. Liquefaction does remain a concern, although as to that…”
“The graveyard is not on the line,” Elodie said.
“Exactly.” He tapped a finger against a red dot on the map. “Here is the trove, located inside an ancient mine approximately one mile, five hundred and eighty yards outside the village. Andthisis what I calculated the trajectory of this afternoon’s thaumaturgic energy stream to be.” He traced a newly drawn pencil line from Dôlylleuad’s graveyard southward, passing some six hundred yards west of the charted fey line.
“It wasn’t an unsurprising divergence,” Elodie said. “The adjacent fields are no doubt waterlogged due to the recent storms, creating anaerobic soil conditions, which don’t easily conduct thaumaturgic energy. Subterranean movement of mineral-infused water could induce not only an overflow of the fey line, but also intermittent intensities, such as the lightning that destroyed your umbrella.”
“Hm,” Gabriel responded.
“Excuse me, what did you just say?” Algernon asked, agog.
Elodie gave him a gentle smile. “Sorry, I suppose that was all rather technical. Allow me to explain about anaerobic—”
“I don’t care about anaerobic,” he interrupted. “I care aboutthe destroyed umbrella! Do you know how much it costs to make a Weather Mitigation Device?”
Elodie’s smile wavered with bemusement. “Professor Tarrant used that umbrella to harness lightning—”
“Good God!” Algernon turned to Gabriel, who was frowning at a speck on his fork’s handle. “How could you be so reckless with a valuable piece of equipment?!”
“An umbrella is not worth more than a man’s life, Mr. Jennings,” Elodie said.
The young accountant sniffed. “I couldn’t comment on that without first reading his insurance policy.”
Elodie laughed. “Geography wouldn’t be an adventure if we had life insurance.”
“So says the woman who decided to catch magical fire with her bare hands,” Gabriel remarked, setting aside the fork as if it were contaminated.
