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stressed

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I thought I’d see Maddie over the weekend but it’s been impossible to reach her; I suppose she’s been busy with work. Everett’s over here, somehow—I wrote him a letter, and I hope he gets it, wherever he is. He’s always so hard on himself.

Szilàrd is having a difficult time, too. I wish he would come here; the government back home is even harder to deal with than David Locke, who continues to be his usual dear, sweet, charming self. (I’m so glad I’m not poor Červenka. If I were in charge, he wouldn’t get away with so much.) There’s no real arcane government outside of localities; Britannia Nova is not Califia is not Nouvelle Orleans. Out in the heartlands there’s nothing but hedge witches and native practitioners who want nothing to do with the rest of us, and the mundane government...is downright impenetrable. I should miss Britannia Nova, but I don’t, much. Except for the coffee.

I wonder how hard it would be to get a good cup of coffee. Tea is for social occasions. With cake. Or for Jael. I miss Jael, but she’d have died if she ever knew how I really felt, so perhaps it’s just as well she never did. I think she would have married Tesla, if he’d asked; and he’d never have touched her, she’d have been one of his queen bees, and she’d be perfectly happy with that! She never looked at me, and I have never heard her speak of a man outside of her work. Well. That’s not at all egotistical, is it? For all I know she had a girl in Salem; but I think she’d have mentioned it. As for Tesla’s queen bees: there are stories about the arcane queen of Britannia that I wish he could hear.

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content

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I had drinks with Maddie last night. She was married when she was in Iberia. I can’t imagine Maddie married. Next they’ll be telling me Jael got married. (To Tesla.)

Locke is still an annoying son of a bitch who thinks he’s smarter than I am. I don’t know how Červenka puts up with him; he has the patience of a saint. I, however, put up with him only for the sake of the continued existence of the free world as we know it.

Neither of them knows what happened to Juliana de Marigny. Though Locke says he knows her adviser, who works out at Bletchley or with the diviners, and that she collaborated on one of the papers on gate harmonics he read when they were looking into different ways to create the shield.

I think I’m going to go shopping today, since it’s Saturday and I’m at a stopping point. There isn’t much in the shops here, but it’s such a large arcane enclave that just looking around will be interesting enough in itself. I’d forgotten how much I like traveling.

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pensive

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I saw Maddie Proctor today. It feels odd; there was a time when I knew nearly everything about her, and she knew nearly everything about me. And then she went to Iberia, and I went to the Université de Paris in Lutetia. And we drifted apart, and I got maybe three letters in all the time she was there, so that most of the news I heard was second or third hand, and garbled from the Salem gossip mill, so that I don’t know what’s true, and what’s false. For all I know I’ve guessed all wrong, and somewhere in Londinium she has a child by an Iberian don. But I doubt it.

I was walking through one of the older neighborhoods yesterday and I saw a girl looking out of a window who looked exactly like Juliana de Marigny. I’ve always wondered what happened to her; she was supposed to come and work with Jael summer before last, but she never did turn up. She was a brilliant girl, but she reminded me of Locke; she had exactly the same completely infuriating mixture of genius and unquestioning self-confidence. (Not that I’d ever tell either of them about the genius part.) I suppose it could have been the same girl—Armorica was completely overrun, and maybe she didn’t think she could make it to Salem, though we’d certainly have paid her passage. But if it was, I can’t imagine what she’s been through; she looked like a shadow of her old self. Maybe I’ll ask Locke and Červenka if they know what happened to her. I don’t know whether to hope that it was her, and she’s alive, or that it wasn’t her, and whatever that girl has been through happened to somebody else.

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thoughtful

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The last few days have been exciting. The budget here is far bigger than the one we had in Britannia Nova—the labs are entirely magical. Even at Salem, there was some mundane equipment. Locke has been his usual charming self and I’ve given as good as I got.

All my previous research has been into how to keep the reaction going, not stop it, but a shield is needed. If we cannot stop it, we can at least find out a way to contain the effects.

Last night I dreamed about Salem. I dreamed that I was sitting on the lawn with Jael and Maddie, and all the others, talking. It was quite a nice dream. It was summer, and everything was warm and peaceful. I was almost sorry to wake up.

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optimistic

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Locke was there. Locke was there, and the seas dıd not boil with blood, and the sky did not fall down, and the world did not end. I’ll manage here. (Once I’ve adjusted to the time change, anyway.)

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tired

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Well, this is it. I’ve arrived in Londinium and been assigned housing, which is apparently in the same building as Dr Červenka. I’m to report to the War Bureau tomorrow morning. Now, I need to unpack, and take a look around.

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shocked

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I’ve got a letter from Červenka. He’s alive. I didn’t know him well, but we went out for drinks a few times, and some of the people I worked closely with were friends of his. But after Czechoslovakia fell, no one heard anything from him.

God, I miss those days. Lutetia can’t be the same any more, but I can practically smell the smoke and the freshly baked bread, and if I shut my eyes I can taste the house red. Life was so much easier there.

There was a package with the letter. The War Bureau in Britannia wants to offer me a job, working on the discoveries we made. I’m going to take it.