“I suppose he can be those things, and not be notorious. Especially since he delegates the Keeper role. And it’s to his advantage to not be well-known if he investigates on behalf of the Suleviae.”
Fennington tossed off the last of his second glass. “And yet, nor is he unknown. Quite half the people I spoke to—among those who make it their business to know things—were fully aware of the ‘Wind’s Lapdog’, as they call him.” He smiled at Rian’s helpless snort. “Yes, it’s a marvellous name. Brings to mind the Heriath of the Melanian rule, without the teeth. Surely a marvellous little titbit to share, yet no-one does. Those who know simply don’t talk about the man, as if he was completely uninteresting.”
The Amon-Re line can control minds. To the extent that dozens, even hundreds, unconsciously chose not to discuss Makepeace?
“You’re talking about him,” Rian pointed out.
“I am! It’s not as if people don’t answer questions when asked. Young Lynsey Blair explained how you came to encounter him, and I found him entirely unexceptional to talk to. And yet I am fascinated! He is like the word on the tip of one’s tongue, out of reach and ever so tantalising.”
“To talk to?” Rian blinked, then decided it wasn’t worth anger, that she should have expected it. “You’ve met him then?”
“Oh, yes, a few days ago, quite as if he’d heard I’d been asking about him. We chatted about the Sheerside attack, and the Huntresses, but he managed to tell me nothing at all.”
“The main thing I know about him is that he dislikes blood service. And seems determined to annoy me.” Makepeace had evidently found nothing to pursue after vetting Fennington, but Rian decided to press on anyway. “To be fair, he did put me forward for the Keeper’s role once he’d made it impossible for me to serve as Lord Msrah’s Bound. Forest House will give the children the stability they’ve lacked since Eiliff and Aedric’s deaths.”
“Then I hope that Tangleways will aid in that goal,” Lord Fennington said, with not the slightest hint that the names meant anything to him.
“I saw that you had an excellent workshop,” Rian continued doggedly. “Eleri’s the only one who has followed her parents into automaton work, but she’s certainly inherited the Tenning flair.”
“If ever there was a school suited to a budding—why, Matthiel. Are you ill?”
Rian turned, and hid a tiny sigh, for on the face of Fennington’s handsome assistant was all the recognition that his lord had lacked.
“Do you—forgive me Dama Seaforth,” the man said. “But do you mean to say that Eiliff Tenning is dead?”
“She and Aedric died toward the end of spring,” Rian said, keeping her voice neutral while she strained to gauge his feelings. “In an odd accident, after the theft of an automaton.” She allowed a trace of suspicion to leak through. “Did you know Eiliff?”
“What is this, Matthiel?” Lord Fennington asked.
“The—the self-determination experiment, my lord. Eiliff Tenning was the independent commissioned.” The golden young man stared at Rian. “I—I am sorry, did you say an automaton was stolen?”
Lord Fennington puffed out his cheeks, cheer fading into bewilderment, and then his skin mottled red briefly before he shook his head. “I am at a loss. Rian, could you please explain what it is that has happened?”
She told them an edited version of the truth, leaving out Monsieur Doré, and any suggestion that she had been investigating anything.
“The children insist that the house had been searched, and an automaton was missing from the workshop, but I’ve not been able to find any trace of it, or who it was intended for. This was you, then, Folly?”
“So it seems,” Lord Fennington said. “Matthiel, why have I not heard of this theft until now?”
“The arrangement was for Dama Tenning to report at the beginning of autumn, unless a breakthrough was made.” The man blinked rapidly, though Rian realised this was due not to fear of his master, but simple distress. “You believe the accident was staged, Dama Seaforth?”
“The children were convinced of it,” Rian said. “I could find no proof, though I did try to push the authorities into looking deeper. I don’t understand—Fennington Industries runs several workshops. Why would you need to commission Eiliff and Aedric at all? What was the need for secrecy?”
“For that investigation? Every need.” Lord Fennington rose and placed a hand on his assistant’s shoulder. “Sit,” he said. “No arguments, please.” He waited until the man obeyed, and then poured him a generous shot of brandy.
Offering Rian one before he sat back down, he tugged at his lower lip briefly, then said:
“Haunted automatons. There have always been stories, guesses as to what could cause such movement. Angry spirits who have escaped Arawn, or lesser godlings finding strange new homes or…oh, any of a dozen explanations. They make a fine tale, but there is a fear that underlies them. Automatons are tools that should only ever dance to their master’s tune. An automaton that acts on its own—that could replace people—well, fear of that’s what the automaton riots were about. Any research that moves to create such a thing must be done on terms of utmost secrecy.”
“You—you think that the automaton was stolen by anti-technologists?”
“Upon my soul, I have no idea. But that movement is why, when some particularly odd fulgite fell into my hands, I had Matthiel send most of it to a skilled independent. There is no way to keep such a thing secret in a workshop.”
“Particularly odd?” Rian said.
“Round! And practically unbreakable! I hit one with a hammer, and didn’t even chip it. I bought them from Jilly Eyleson, who races, you know. Ridiculous engines, and a need for more than the fingernail-sized shards that is all you seem to be able to get of fulgite these days. She rather lost her enthusiasm when her latest toy kept taking off without her, finally touring half Tollesby Falt with her youngest in the passenger seat, and no driver. Ended in a mill race, and the lad left with a broken arm. Between that and all the attempted thefts, she’s gone back to horses, with a sideline of one of the new motopetrol things.”
“Fulgite is becoming unsustainable,” he continued. “Fennington Industries lost a dozen pieces in a most curious accident last month, and we switched to wiring the workshops rather than try to replace it. Why, Jilly was telling me that even her own source was trying to buy back the pieces she sold me.”
“I suppose it’s possible that a large piece of fulgite itself may have been the target,” Rian said. “Simply for its value. But, no. Why take the automaton, if that was the case? It’s so strange, though, since even Aedric’s apprentice had no idea there was anything unusual about the commission.”
“If the arrangements I made were kept, then I should have been the only person who knew that the Tennings had that fulgite,” said Matthiel.
“How did you find Eiliff in the first place?” Rian asked.
“We had a list of exceptional independents prepared when looking for teachers for the school,” Lord Fennington said. “A useful smokescreen.”