Page 33 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
“Yes, John Blake.”
“All right, Blake. And whose man are you?”
John bowed his head obsequiously, to give himself time to think, then said; “Currently, sir, I have connections to His Grace the Duke of Devonshire. As you may know, he has an interest in the Crystal Palace. I have been working with his man, Mr Paxton, to ensure everything at that great edifice has run as it should. Which it has.”
Well, it was true enough if the Marquess decided to check any of it. And John had met the Duke a couple of times.
“Devonshire, eh?” Dalton snorted. “Damned Whig.”
But, still, it seemed to have been the right thing to say. Dalton looked John straight in the eye. “So, you’ve contacts?”
“I hope so, my lord.”
“And? What are they?”
“What contacts do you need?”
“No, Blake, it doesn’t work that way. You tell me what you’ve got, and I tell you if I need it.”
Damn. “Just so.” John bowed again. “I have contacts in theurgy.”
Dalton made a small noise of scorn. “They’re no good to me. Bloody load of charlatans. What else?”
John frowned. “I assure you, sir, my contacts are of the finest—”
“I’m not interested, damn you. I’ve tried them all. Tried them years ago. Useless, the lot of them. What else?”
Interesting. So, Dalton had tried magicians and found them wanting. Was that because he’d tried to get them to remove the fairy curse?
“Marine botanists,” John said. It was a stab in the dark, but maybe the seaweed business link would be a way in.
“Botanists, eh?”
“Yes, specialising in maritime flora.”
“Mph. Don’t need a botanist.”
“Medical gentlemen.”
“Doctors? What do I need with doctors?”
“I don’t know, my lord. If you would only tell me your requirements, I could perhaps render my assistance that much faster.”
Dalton regarded him steadily for some time. John looked steadily back. It wouldn’t do to be too obsequious. He was here as a guest, after all, and even if he wasn’t really a gentleman, he wasn’t a servant either.
“What do you know of pearls, Blake?”
What on earth?
“A little,” John said, in the tone of voice that means ‘quite a lot’.
Dalton harrumphed again, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Then he snapped, “Are you married? Children? Eh?”
What the hell did that have to do with anything? Or was this Dalton’s idea of small talk?
“No, my lord,” John said.
“Devonshire’s not the marrying type. Perhaps you aren’t either.”
