"Leave that." He's a sturdy man, James Flint, but there's something plenty agile in how he prowls forward from the office threshold to close in on Benedict's desk. "You and I are going to have a conversation."
If there's a chair on this side of the desk, he doesn't bother with it. Instead, coming to stand across from where Benedict is sat, Flint helps himself first to one of the blank sheets of parchment ready for an assistant's quill, and then to the quill itself (presuming Artemaeus had dropped it in his haste to go scrambling after the crystal's chain).
Flint dips it in the waiting inkwell. Scrapes the excess ink from the nib.
"You can start with a list of names. Your mother's associates in the Magisterium, and their children."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2023-09-05 05:49 am (UTC)If there's a chair on this side of the desk, he doesn't bother with it. Instead, coming to stand across from where Benedict is sat, Flint helps himself first to one of the blank sheets of parchment ready for an assistant's quill, and then to the quill itself (presuming Artemaeus had dropped it in his haste to go scrambling after the crystal's chain).
Flint dips it in the waiting inkwell. Scrapes the excess ink from the nib.
"You can start with a list of names. Your mother's associates in the Magisterium, and their children."