Page 17 of The Magpie Lord
“My God,” he said. “I am so stupid.”
“Are you all right?” enquired Crane, cautiously.
Stephen licked his lips. “I’ve seen him before.”
“Well, you’ve seen me,” said Crane. “And the resemblance is quite strong.”
“No. I’ve seen that picture. Or rather, a reproduction, an engraving.” Stephen shook his head, incredulous. “You said he was the first Earl Crane. So, before that, was your family title Fortunegate?”
“It was. And still is, actually. I’m Viscount Fortunegate too.” Stephen couldn’t find words for that. Crane contemplated him with amusement. “I wish I’d known that would give you so much pleasure. I’d have saved it for a special occasion.”
“You’re Lord Fortunegate. Yourancestorwas Lord Fortunegate.”
“That’s how it works. Are you going to tell me why you care?”
Stephen indicated the painting. It was a large gilt-framed oil work showing a man whose lean build and patrician features gave him a distinct resemblance to the current Lord Crane. His long-fingered hand rested on a window ledge on which, inevitably, a magpie perched, adorned with a carved gold ring on which the painter had lavished detail. More magpies flew in the background of the painting, which showed Piper in well-kept days. It looked gracious, spacious, elegant.A table in the foreground was covered in handwritten papers. The first earl looked out at them with a slight smile on his face.
“That man,” Stephen said, “your ancestor, Lord Fortunegate...he was a magician. Specifically, he was one of the most powerful magicians this country has ever known. He...good God, heinventedmodern practice, he shaped our society as it stands today. His book of theory—that picture’s in the frontispiece—”
“Wait.” Crane had a hand up. “Stop. My great-great-etcetera grandfather was—like you?”
“IwishI was like him,” Stephen said. “He was one of the great practitioners and the great lawmakers.”
Crane stared at the painting. “Well, that’s something I didn’t expect. Is it hereditary?”
“Talent? A bit. You do get family lines, though they’re often rather crooked ones. My aunt’s a witch, for example.” Stephen glanced at Crane. “But there’s obviously something come down in the blood. Do you know how most people refer to him, the name he used?”
“Go on.”
“He was the Magpie Lord. And, of course, that explains the magpie compulsion.”
“The what?”
Stephen strolled down the length of the gallery, looking at the older paintings. “These go back a while. And not a magpie in any of them. I wonder if the Magpie Lord renamed the house?”
“I could probably find out. So?”
“So since the Magpie Lord, you’ve all been frantically filling the house with magpies. Carvings and cutlery and appalling porcelain...”
“It’s the family symbol.”
“Look at the paintings. It wasn’t the family symbol before the Magpie Lord. Did you never wonder why a family titled Crane would use a magpie for a symbol?”
“It occurred to me forcibly when I had my tattoos. Unlike magpies, cranes are common in China. And a lot easier to ink.”
Stephen shook his head. “You hate your family. You loathe this house. You were five thousand miles away and never coming back. You could have chosen any design you liked. And youstillfelt compelled to etch magpies into approximately a quarter of your skin.”
“It was a whim.” Crane sounded slightly defensive.
“How long did it take, start to finish?”
“Three years or so, but—”
“Quite a whim. I bet they hurt, too.”
“I chose to have my tattoos,” said Crane, with a flare of anger that took Stephen by surprise. “Ichose them. I don’t know what you’re suggesting but I didn’t get them done at the command of some long-dead warlock—”
“He was not a warlock!”
