Ned reached out and rested his hand on one of the lanterns. “It’s warm,” he whispered.
“Fire generally is,” said Kell, surveying the place. With the infusion of light, he could see that while the outside had stayed the same, inside the Five Points was a different place entirely.
Curtains had been draped from the ceiling in dark swaths, rising and falling above the tables, which were arranged like spokes on a wheel. Black patterns had been drawn—no, burned—into the wooden tabletops, and Kell guessed they were meant to be symbols of power—though some looked like Ned’s tattoo, vaguely distorted, while others looked entirely made up.
The Stone’s Throw had always been a place of magic, but the Five Points looked like one. Or at least, like a child’s idea of one.
There was an air of mystery, of performance, and as Ned shrugged out of his overcoat, Kell saw that he was wearing a black high-collared shirt with glossy onyx buttons. A necklace at his throat bore a five-pointed star, and Kell wondered if that was where the tavern had gotten its name, until he saw the drawing framed on the wall. It was a schematic of the box Kell had had with him when he and Ned first met. The element game with its five grooves.
Fire, water, earth, air, bone.
Kell frowned. The diagram was shockingly accurate, down to the grain in the wood. He heard the sound of clinking glasses and saw Ned behind the counter, pulling bottles from the wall. He poured two draughts of something dark, and held one out in offering.
For a moment, Kell thought of Barron. The bartender had been as broad as Ned was narrow, as gruff as the youth was exuberant. But he’d been as much a part of this place as the wood and stone, and he was dead because of Holland. Because of Kell.
“Master Kell?” pressed Ned, still holding out the glass.
He knew he should be going, but he found himself approaching the counter, willing the stool out a few inches before he sat down.
Show-off, said a voice in his head, and maybe it was right, but the truth was, it had been so long since anyone had looked at him the way Ned did now.
Kell took up the drink. “What is it you want to show me, Ned?”
The man beamed at the use of the nickname. “Well, you see,” he said, drawing a box from beneath the bar, “I’ve been practicing.” He set the box on the counter, flicked open the lid, and drew out a smaller parcel from within. Kell had his glass halfway to his lips when he saw what Ned was holding, and promptly set the drink down. It was an element set, just like the one Kell had traded here four months ago. No, it was the same exact element set, from the dark wood sides down to the little bronze clasp.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
“Well, I bought it.” Ned set the magician’s board reverently on the counter between them, and slid the clasp, letting the board unfold to reveal the five elements in their grooves. “From that gentleman you sold it to. Wasn’t easy, but we came to an agreement.”
Great, thought Kell, his mood suddenly cooling. The only thing worse than an ordinary Enthusiast was a wealthy one.
“I tried to make my own,” Ned continued. “But it wasn’t the same, I’ve never been much good with that kind of thing, you should have seen the chicken scratch of that drawing, before I hired—”
“Focus,” said Kell, sensing that Ned could wander down mental paths all night.
“Right,” he said, “so, what I wanted to show you”—he cracked his knuckles dramatically—“was this.”
Ned tapped the groove containing water, and then brought his hands down flat on the counter. He squinted down at the board, and Kell relaxed as he realized where this was going: nowhere.
Still, something was different. The last time Ned had tried this, he’d gestured in the air, and spoken some nonsense over the water, as if the words themselves had any power. This time his lips moved, but Kell couldn’t hear what he was saying. His hands stayed flat, splayed on the counter to either side of the board.
For a moment, as predicted, nothing happened.
And then, right as Kell was losing his patience, the water moved. Not much, but a bead seemed to rise slightly from the pool before falling back, sending tiny ripples through the water.
Sanct.
Ned stepped back, triumphant, and while he managed to keep his composure, it was clear he wanted to thrust his arms in the air and cheer.
“Did you see it? Did you see it?” he chanted. And Kell had. It was hardly a dangerous capacity for magic, but it was far more than he had expected. It should have been impossible—for Ned, for any Grey-worlder—but the past few months made him wonder if anything was truly out of bounds. After all, Lila had come from Grey London, and she was … well, but then she was something else entirely.
Magic has no place in your world, he’d told the king. Not anymore.
The world is full of cycles. Perhaps our time will come again.
What was happening? He’d always thought of magic as a fire, each London sitting farther and farther from its heat. Black London had burned up, so near it was to the flame, but Grey London had gone to coals long ago. Was there still somehow a spark? Something to be kindled? Had he accidently blown on the dying flames? Or had Lila?
“That’s all I’ve been able to manage,” said Ned excitedly. “But with proper training …” He looked at Kell expectantly as he said that, and then quickly down again. “That is, with the right teacher, or at least some guidance …”
“Ned,” Kell started.
“Of course, I know you must be busy, in demand, and time is precious …”
“Edward—” he tried again.
“But I have something for you,” pressed the man.
Kell sighed. Why was everyone suddenly so keen to give him gifts?
“I tried to think about what you said, last time, about how you were only interested in things that mattered, and it took me some time but I think I’ve found something worthy. I’ll go get it.”
Before Kell could tell him to stop, could explain that whatever it was, he couldn’t take it, the man was out from behind the bar and hurrying into the hall, taking the steps upstairs two at a time.
Kell watched him go, wishing he could stay.
He missed the Stone’s Throw, no matter its name, missed the simple solidity of this place, this city. Did he have to go home? And that was the problem, right there. Red London was home. Kell didn’t belong here, in this world. He was a creature of magic—Arnesian, not English. And even if this world still had any power (for Tieren said no place was truly without it), Kell couldn’t afford to stoke it, not for Ned, or the king, or himself. He’d already disrupted two worlds. He wouldn’t be to blame for a third.
He raked a hand through his hair and pushed up from the stool, the footsteps overhead growing fainter.
The game board still sat open on the counter. Kell knew he should take it back, but then what? He’d just have to explain its presence to Staff and Hastra. No, let the foolish boy keep it. He set the empty glass down and turned to leave, shoving his hands in his pockets.
His fingers brushed something in the very bottom of his coat.
His hand closed over it, and he drew out a second Red London lin. It was old, the gold star worn smooth by hands and time, and Kell didn’t know how long it had languished in his pocket. It might have been one of the coins he’d taken from the old king, exchanged for one new and pocket-worn. Or it might have been a stray piece of change, lost in the wool-lined pocket. He considered it for a moment, then heard the sound of a door shutting overhead, and footsteps on the stairs.
Kell set the coin on the counter by his empty glass, and left.