Page 9 of The Magpie Lord
“Noted.” Crane sipped his wine. “Mr. Day, while you were, ah, thinking, Merrick told me what you said.”
“Oh,” said Stephen. “Yes.”
“Is someone trying to kill me? By means of...practice?”
“Craft, actually, which is a slightly different thing. But yes. Someone set out to commit murder, and may try again.”
“That’s not a very inviting prospect.”
“I don’t suppose it is.” Stephen produced a crumpled black and white feather from his pocket. “Tell me the significance of this.”
“Where did that come from?”
“Out of the jack. Judas jacks work by a method called sympathy. Normally a jack might contain a lock of hair, nail clippings...”
“I think I know the principle,” Crane said, somewhat to Stephen’s surprise.
“Really? Well, yours had a magpie feather.”
Crane shrugged. “It’s the family badge. There are magpies carved all over the house, magpies in the family portraits, that sort of thing. My father’s—my—signet ring. The grounds of Piper are infested with the things. Come to that,piperis a country word for magpie. It’s very much a family symbol.”
Stephen had been afraid he’d say that. “No intense personal significance to you?”
“Nothing I can think of. Apart from the tattoos, I suppose.”
“You have tattoos?” Stephen had little direct experience of the nobility, but he was fairly sure they weren’t meant to be inked like common sailors. Then again, they weren’t supposed to swear like common sailors either. Lord Crane was definitely not meeting his expectations of aristocracy, or of the Vaudreys, come to that.
“I do.” Crane’s tone was unapologetic.
“Of magpies? May I see?”
Crane paused for a second. Then, moving deliberately, he undid his cufflinks and tossed them onto a side table, so that the gold clinked. He unbuttoned his shirt, taking his time, and shrugged it off in one fluent movement.
“Good Lord,” said Stephen.
Black, white and blue, three magpies perched and cawed and flew over Crane’s torso, the colours magnificently vibrant. Another bird stretched its wings on his left shoulder. He turned, and Stephen gave a tiny gasp as he saw the huge single magpie that brooded on his back, claws clutching a branch that was made of an old, jagged scar.
“GoodLord. What’s that, five of them?”
“Seven.”
Stephen peered round him, frowning slightly. “I only see five.”
“The other two are lower down,” said Crane. “Two for joy.”
There was a blank moment before Stephen felt his face flood with scarlet, reddening further as he saw Crane’s slight, untrustworthy grin.
“I see.” He kept his voice determinedly neutral. “Is there a reason you have seven magpies tattooed on you?”
“Seven for a secret never to be told.” Crane shrugged, making a magpie ripple. “Actually, I just ran out of useful space.”
“Why any magpies at all?”
“Whim. I was being forced to have a very large and expensive tattoo, and it seemed a change from the usual dragons and carp. I rather liked it, as it turned out, so I added more.”
“...forced to have a tattoo?”
“It’s a long story.”
