She examined the cigarette case next, and smiled immediately.
“Oh, they have such cunning artists up at Harshton and Hoole,” she said. “I can almost forgive them forsaking books in the great split of 1553.”
“You know what that is, then?” asked Susan.
“I will shortly,” said Helen. She pushed her wheelchair over to one of the smaller tables and rummaged in the boxes upon it. “Heelball, heelball . . . ah . . . here we are.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Susan. “A rubbing! I should have thought of that.”
Helen held up a ball of inky black material and took it and the cigarette case back to her table. Placing the case on a heavy wooden chopping block branded “Fortnum & Mason” in pokerwork in the corner, she laid a piece of paper over it and rubbed it with the heelball, a black image forming as she rubbed. At first it seemed no more than many small lines, but within a few seconds, the lines made sudden sense, though were still somewhat abstract.
“It’s a mountain,” said Merlin. “Or a hill. With clouds.”
“Yes,” said Helen thoughtfully. “Very simple lines, the lesser ones are almost invisible in the silver, hence the need for a rubbing to see it clearly. It reminds me of something, some part of a broader landscape, a painting or drawing . . . I daresay it will come to me. . . .”
“Thank you so much,” said Susan. “That’s already incredibly helpful. If I . . . we . . . can work out where this mountain is—”
“It’s not a very distinctive mountain,” muttered Merlin.
“What about the library card?” asked Vivien.
“The where is easy,” replied Zoë, surprising Susan, because she had an American accent, a notable Western twang. “It’s from the Robert Southey Library, one of the smaller private libraries that sadly hasn’t lasted. It closed down in 1967, and the collection was sold to the London Library, which also absorbed the membership.”
“And the name?” asked Susan. “I thought perhaps it starts with an O.”
“More likely a C, I think,” said Zoë judiciously. “With this sort of thing, the surname was often written first; I think the trace of the comma separating the names is visible. The good news is even though the ink has almost completely faded, we can probably bring up the name with a photographic technique, using ultraviolet light.”
“Thank you,” said Susan. “I’m very grateful.”
“But we don’t have the UV lights here; a friend at the museum does that kind of specialized work for us,” said Zoë. “When she can fit it in.”
“I think it really is urgent,” said Vivien.
“I’ll call Jocelyn and see if she can do it tomorrow morning,” said Zoë. “We’ve put in to get fluorescing UV light for the darkroom here in the annual stipendiary requests, but it never gets approved. I think Thurston won’t sign it off because the globes come from America now; the local manufacturer went out of business a few years ago.”
“Made in Britain,” muttered Merlin.
“Now, now, dear,” said Helen. “You were made in Britain, after all. We still make many fine new things, and who but us know the value of the old so well?”
“I know,” sighed Merlin, giving his aunt a smile so bright and charming Susan felt she had to look away or go weak at the knees. “I guess I’m . . . I don’t know . . . on edge.”
“And hungry,” said Vivien. She looked at the grandfather clock. “It’s after four and we still haven’t had any lunch!”
“They’ve got stargazy pie in the canteen today,” said Helen brightly.
The others all shuddered.
“And corned beef and Branston pickle sandwiches.”
Susan brightened at this, suppressing an urge to lick her lips. Merlin did not seem cheered.
“I’m sure Jocelyn at the museum will help as soon as she can,” said Helen. “What’s this about, anyway?”
Susan looked at Merlin, who looked at Vivien.
“The case and the card were probably my father’s,” said Susan awkwardly. “We’re trying to find out who he is because . . . um . . . well, a Raud Alfar warden shot at me, and both criminals and the May Fair goblins have tried to abduct me. All of which seems to be about my father.”
“What did Grandmother say?” asked Zoë. “Thurston said you saw her this morning. Which one was it?”
“The eldest, in the end,” replied Vivien. She hesitated. “Ah . . .”
“We won’t tell Thurston or Merrihew,” said Helen. She looked at Susan. “Yes, I can read minds a little. And I see our old granny told you something that scares you.”
“She did,” said Susan slowly. “Apparently, my father is of the oldest blood, one of the Ancient Sovereigns.”
“That would do it,” said Helen. She wheeled over, close to Susan, and held up her luminous hands. “May I touch your face, child? It won’t harm you.”
“Uh, I guess so,” said Susan uncomfortably. She leaned forward. The older woman gently laid her hands on Susan’s cheeks, cradling her as she might some grandchild. She held her breath for a long, long minute, the room silent, Susan hardly daring to breathe herself. Then she exhaled, sat back, and folded her luminous hands in her lap.
“There is a spark of some great and ancient power within you,” she said. “Only an ember . . . but embers can flare into mighty fires. Did you have a significant birthday recently?”
“May first,” said Susan. “I turned eighteen.”
“I don’t know what the power is or where it comes from,” said Helen. “Or whether it will grow. But it seems to me to be the promise of something to come. . . .”
She hesitated for a moment, before quietly continuing.
“I do not wish to give you sad news, but I suspect . . . only suspect, mind, I cannot say for sure . . . that you would not have this small spark within you if your father is still present in either the Old World or the New. It smacks of a gift given in inheritance, some small portion of a far greater magic that is no longer here.”
“You mean my father’s dead?”
“The Old Ones do not precisely die,” said Helen. “Most sleep, perhaps never to awaken, but they are here. Some have faded almost to imperceptibility. But a few have been . . . removed, I suppose you could say. Utterly destroyed. If that is the case with you, I am sorry.”
“It’s okay,” replied Susan evenly. “I always thought he must be dead. Otherwise, you know, he would have . . . I don’t know . . . written to me at least. I have my mum, a happy childhood home. I’m lucky.”
“And I bet super hungry,” said Vivien. “Can we leave the library card with Zoë and Helen? Let’s eat and then get you home.”
“Yes,” said Susan. “I am hungry. And tired. I’d forgotten I was up half the night, after I saw the Kexa watching me from the roof of the shed.”
“A Kexa, too?” asked Zoë. She frowned. “Thurston’s note didn’t mention half of these things. Only the May Fair goblins.”
“There was a Cauldron-Born in Northumberland House,” said Merlin suddenly.