Page 80 of The Trick of It

The old man nodded, stretching his fingers so that they gave delicate cracks. “You ought to consider making the fiction a truth.”

“I consider fiction and truth very similar at all times,” Rhys replied easily. “Don’t you?”

Merlin huffed. “You had better not say that to her, should she ever ask you about the particular fiction in question. I mean it, boy. Women like that are hard to find. I should know. I’ve scoured the world looking.”

“So have I,” said Rhys, dropping the grin and heaving a deep breath. “So I know that perfectly well.”

Merlin nodded, as though he approved, and then glanced down at his lantern on the carpet in front of him. “Ah, but I’ve mangled my Stingy Jack, haven’t I?”

Rhys gave him a flat look and then reached over to examine the turnip. The eyes were uneven and the mouth was jagged and gaping. “Merlin,” he said, “this is the most perfect jack-o’-lantern I’ve ever seen. It’s terrifying.”

It made the old man pause and then laugh, a deep, belly-shaking laugh that then made him cough and double over, fighting between wheezes and chortles as he batted away any and all attempts at concern.

Once he’d caught his breath, he looked to Rhys, the old man’s pale eyes watering, and asked, “Could you help me to my room, lad? Subtle, like?”

“Do you want me to light your lantern?” Rhys asked, already standing and offering his hand. “You could sleep with it next to you or keep it at your door.”

“Hm,” said Merlin, considering it. “If I light it tonight, is that the only use it will get?”

“They last a while if you want them to,” Rhys told him as the old man’s cool hands locked into Rhys’s warm ones and he heaved him up and to his feet. “I’ve seen them weather the entire month if they’re kept out in the cold.”

“I see, I see,” said Merlin, still peering at the turnips on the ground, like he didn’t quite trust them. “And does it frighten away all spirits, or only the malevolent ones?”

“I … I don’t know, at that,” Rhys said, blinking. “I’m not certain.”

“Well, perhaps at least for tonight,” Merlin allowed. “For the novelty, if nothing else.”

Rhys took both his and Merlin’s lanterns to the fire and dropped embers into them, jostling them a little to get the glow nice and roused, and then came back, turnips in one hand, and the other extended to assist the ailing man to his bed.

They walked quietly out of the room, avoiding notice as Seph’s laugh tinkled at something the uptight footman had asked her, proffering an offensively beautiful carved turnip to her for inspection.

Rhys might have had thoughts about that some other time, but just now, he was turning over what Merlin had said in his mind. Ruminating upon it. Trying to find the right way to ask.

“You want to know what spirits I’ve been seeing,” the man guessed as they took the stairs very carefully, one at a time. He didn’t look at Rhys as he said it, his gaze on his own feet, placing them carefully and leaning when he needed to. “None, of late, and much to my sorrow.”

“‘None of late,’” Rhys repeated, wrinkling his brow. “They came and went, did they?”

“They came and went,” Merlin agreed, and then he took a shallow breath, as though the stairs were taxing him.

Rhys did not press further while they were still attempting locomotion. “I’ve never met an English Catholic before,” he said of Father Wheeler. “Unless his accent’s a ruse like the medium’s.”

Merlin shook his head, huffing. “Recusant,” he managed between breaths. “Northampton. Stubborn bastards.”

“Really?” said Rhys, immediately more interested in Father Wheeler than he had been before. “And did he help you today? Did any of it work?”

Merlin nodded, gripping the banister as they took the final step. The old man let out a wheeze and a little self-conscious chuckle. “It did, in fact,” he said. “He ran his hands along the bones in my back and jolted them back where they’re supposed to be. Then he gave me a salve for my mouth and a little prayer to say over my tea at nighttime.”

“That doesn’t sound very magical,” Rhys commented, frowning.

“He also gave me a candle to hold and burn away my pain,” Merlin added, raising his gray brows. “And it worked.”

Rhys blinked a few times. “Oh.”

“Indeed,” said Merlin. “Let us hope it continues to do so.”

Rhys led him to the end of the hallway, to the room that was last on the left. Merlin had taken a guest room for himself, which seemed odd, in his own house.

But of course, he and Seph had been given the master suite. Hadn’t they?