The Royal Sorceress (21 page)

“No one who knows everything, if that is what you mean,” she said, shortly. “We did lose a couple of recruiters. They didn’t know anything beyond the meeting points, but…”

“We’ll have to switch warehouses,” Jack said. He hung up his coat and passed Lucy, heading into her sitting room. Davy was seated in one of the chairs, drinking what looked like a cup of tea with added alcohol. Jack picked up one of the bottles of wine and poured himself a large measure. A sorcerer should know better than to get drunk, Master Thomas had said, but one drink wouldn’t kill him. “I trust that you have burned all of our bridges?”

Davy nodded, wearily. “I sent one of your boys to order the warehouses evacuated,” he said. “Luckily, the
Aurora
and her master were already up at their harbour. One of the horsemen will reach them before they return to London.”

“Good,” Jack said. Captain Mordecai Smith – and his first mate Tonga, a former cannibal from the Andaman Islands – were only slightly involved with the underground, but they knew too much to risk them falling into enemy hands. Someone with imagination might be able to take the handful they did know and deduce Jack’s grand design. And then the Dragoons would be on the streets and the entire plan would become impossible. “I’ll head up that way tomorrow and meet with Ruddy. He can brief me on progress at the estate.”

“We’ll have to cut back on recruiting,” Davy said, sourly. The recruitment plans had been proceeding faster than Jack had dared hope – but then, the relentless press of modern technology had turned hundreds of thousands of young men off the lands and out of work. They had started to gravitate to London and the other cities, only to discover that there was no work for them there either. Jack and his recruiters had found it easy to meet their quotas; so, unfortunately, had the Army. The government’s final weapon against the urban poor had enough manpower to pose a quite serious problem for the rebel underground.

“Or move to Manchester or even Colchester,” Jack said. There were thousands of urban poor in every city. Spreading out the recruiting would ensure that they weren’t dependent on a single city, even if it did run the risk of exposure. “I’ll leave you to handle that.”

“You’ll have to be careful when leaving the city,” Lucy warned, from her corner. She still looked grim. “The Dragoons have watchers on all of the city gates. You won’t get through without a great deal of luck.”

Jack grinned. “I was thinking of taking Olivia,” he said. His lockup, with his store of clothing and makeup, hadn’t been touched by Master Thomas and his servants. Jack would find it easy to pose as a nobleman. It hadn’t been difficult in the past. “The lass has never seen the countryside – and besides, she would be mistaken for my ward.”

Lucy nodded, slowly. “Don’t get yourself killed,” she said. “The toffees are terrified of you right now. If they find your body...”

“They won’t,” Jack promised her. “Speaking of which, there is a new player in the game.”

He described the girl he’d seen with Master Thomas briefly, unwilling to admit to Lucy or Davy that he’d felt a flicker of attraction when he’d realised that the girl had to be a Master. There had never been anyone else, apart from Master Thomas, who knew what it was like to hold and use all of the talents – and it had been years since he’d been able to share a drink and a relaxed chat with the Royal Sorcerer. The girl might be someone well worth getting to know – particularly since he’d seen her defend the editor’s wife. Master Thomas would do whatever it took to uphold the government, no matter how personally repulsive he found it; the newcomer might have more doubts and scruples. She might be just like Jack himself...

The thought was banished quickly as a pair of messenger boys ran in from outside, carrying a warning that Dragoons had been seen searching a set of brothels only a few blocks away and rousting out all the customers. Jack smiled as he donned his hat and headed up to the hatch that led out onto the rooftops; some of the Bow Street Runners might find themselves in a nasty situation if they happened to encounter someone of noble blood. There was no shortage of aristocrats with a taste for slumming – and not all of them were as perverted as Lord Fitzroy.

His smile grew wider as he considered how Lord Fitzroy’s family would take his death. Some of them had probably hated him; he hadn’t been the kind of man to make friends easily. And the others might try to conceal where he’d been when he died, knowing that Master Thomas or one of his subordinates would be following up on that, trying to discover where Jack had killed his prey. The brothel had been burned to the ground – Olivia had reported that the firemen hadn’t been able to quench the blaze – and they would find no leads there, but there would be a great deal of embarrassment for Lord Fitzroy’s family. There were some perversions that would never be accepted, even by High Society.

He waited, patiently. Patience had been one of the first lessons Master Thomas had caught him, back when the world had been a simpler place. An hour passed slowly, finally broken by another messenger boy informing him that the Bow Street Runners had gone to raid another building on the other side of the Rookery. Jack was mildly surprised that they were showing so much energy. No Runner would want to be in the Rookery after dark. They’d never be seen again.

“I know who she is,” Lucy said, once they were back in her room. Davy had gone off to roust out a handful of stevedores to help move boxes once darkness had fallen. The underground would have to scatter its supplies, just in case the Bow Street Runners had a stroke of luck. Or, for that matter, just in case a Seer managed to locate the rebel hideout. “She’s Master Thomas’s new apprentice.”

Jack nodded, without surprise. He had already deduced that the girl had to be a Master. Nothing else, after all, would have qualified her for her position. Master Thomas was showing a remarkable degree of flexibility in one so old, but then he’d witnessed more change in a long lifetime than had Jack – or his new pupil.

“Rumour has it that she’s a witch, with powers over common folk,” Lucy continued, dryly. Jack snorted. There were all manner of rumours about magic and magicians; indeed, everyone he asked came up with a new – unfounded – rumour. “She was kept in near-seclusion until Master Thomas visited her father and convinced him to allow her to study with him at Cavendish Hall. I don’t know what they said to each other...”

“Probably Master Thomas crossed his palm with silver,” Jack said. The thought made him scowl. “Anything interesting in her family tree?”

“Nothing too much; minor quality,” Lucy said. “The father works for the government – he may be getting a promotion in the next few months, if my source tells me true. It might have been the father’s requirement for giving his daughter to the Royal College. The mother is a party creature, just like most of the rest of High Society. And her brother seems to be a staid and respectable businessman. There may have been some...questionable deals in the past – her father used to be in business before going to join the government – but nothing my sources could dig up.”

“Bribes – or something else,” Jack mused. He shook his head. “Anything else?”

“Her brother is celebrating a birthday in a fortnight,” Lucy said. She caught sight of Jack’s expression. “Let me guess; you’re going to send him a birthday present?”

“I thought I would go pay my regards,” Jack agreed. “I should be back from the country by then.”

Chapter Eighteen

R
eady?”

Gwen braced herself. She was standing in the centre of the garden, a heavy blindfold covering her eyes. Darkness had enfolded her, to the point where she wasn’t even sure where she was in the garden. Master Thomas had spun her around after he had blindfolded her and she was unpleasantly aware that she probably looked like an idiot. Cannock, thankfully, had the wit not to laugh at her. He’d been much more respectful after their brief and violent confrontation two weeks ago.

“Ready,” she said, and tried to open her mind. Master Thomas had said that combat sense – using Sensing, one of the least understood and least reliable talents – was something that came with practice. Right now, Gwen had little confidence in her own abilities. “Go.”

There was a pause and then something smacked against her arm. Cannock, Lombardi – who still blushed every time he saw her – and Master Thomas were hurling small beanbags at her, pushing her to develop her own abilities so that she could dodge them or use her powers to deflect them from her body. They wouldn’t inflict permanent harm, she’d been assured, but there
would
be bruises. Master Thomas was a great believer in the school of education through hard knocks; besides, as he’d admitted after he’d explained the rules; the only real way to learn was through practice, practice and endless practice. Gwen was a quick study, but Sensing continued to defeat her. Even the Sensitive admitted that they didn’t really understand or control their abilities.

Gwen grunted in pain, determined not to scream like a foolish female as the second beanbag impacted against her leg. A third smacked to the ground near her, followed rapidly by a fourth; someone – she suspected Lombardi – was deliberately aiming to miss. She overhead Master Thomas handing out a lecture in a sharp whisper and smiled inwardly. The next beanbag passed so close to her head that she felt it the force of its passage through her hair.

“Concentrate harder,” Master Thomas said. He hadn’t been able to put the skill into words, nor had any of the magicians whose sole talent was Sensing. They’d just explained to her that understanding would come, if she concentrated hard enough on her practice. Gwen was starting to suspect that they didn’t realise that Masters tended to focus on the easy powers and therefore found it harder to develop the more complex and less understood talents. Or maybe they were just trying to reassure her that success wouldn’t come easily. “Focus on the beanbags with your inner eye.”

Another beanbag smacked against her buttocks. Gwen felt a hot flash of anger, remembering the time that Cannock had used his abilities to pinch her bottom, and closed her eyes. Somehow, it became easier with her eyes closed, despite the blindfold. The air around her seemed to be shimmering with potential. She was suddenly very aware of the garden around her, of the life buzzing from plants and trees that ran through the air. The sensation was so overpowering that she felt weak at the knees. She gasped as something intruded on her senses, followed rapidly by a jolt of pain against her chest. It took her a moment to realise what she’d done; she’d sensed the passage of the beanbag before it struck her body. And as soon as she’d realised what she’d done, her abilities seemed to slide into place.

She looked up as she felt another beanbag passing through the air, and then stepped forward sharply. It missed her and thumped down somewhere in the grass. Gwen lifted a hand as she felt a third beanbag, but failed to catch it before it hit her. The more she used the ability, the harder it was to comprehend the sensations – and then she realised that comprehension simply took too long. By the time she’d worked out what was happening it was already too late to avoid being hit. She had to allow her mind to wander freely and guide her body by instinct. It sounded easy, when she shaped the thought in her mind, but trying to put it into practice was difficult. She’d spent a lifetime learning to control herself – without the benefit of a tutor – and how could she surrender control to her instincts?

Her lips twitched, remembering one of the few lectures her mother had given her that had turned out to be actually useful. “Listen to your intuition,” her mother had told her, firmly. Gwen hadn’t taken much notice at the time, something that – in hindsight – she realised had probably worried Lady Mary. “You won’t often know
what
is wrong, but you will know that
something
is wrong. And don’t then fail to act on it.”

Gwen scowled as more beanbags came hurtling out of the darkness. She just couldn’t react in time. By the time she sensed them, it was almost too late to do anything. A hail of beanbags – thrown by Cannock, the Mover – slammed into her back and she found herself falling forward onto the grass. The impact stunned her for a long moment, not so much because of the pain as the sudden sensation of being so close to the natural world. Her enhanced senses were overwhelmed by the life surrounding her.

“Enough,” Master Thomas said. “Gwen – can you get up without taking off the blindfold?”

Gwen scowled, but obeyed. She could still feel her body – and she could feel where she was in relation to the garden. It was almost as if she was watching herself from a far distance, even though she had never been able to develop Sight, one of the most fickle of the talents. Once she was standing upright, she reached for the blindfold and pulled it off. The sunlight streaming down on her forced her to use one hand to cover her eyes before she became accustomed to the light.

“You were getting somewhere,” Master Thomas said. He didn’t sound as if he was angry or disappointed. “And you have the benefit of a teacher. I had to discern most of the rules on my own.”

Gwen nodded, wiping sweat off her brow. In truth, she was starting to suspect that having a tutor for this particular talent was not really helpful. Master Thomas had learned through doing – and had formed his own way of using the talent. Gwen found herself crippled by inadequate explanations. The Royal College would have to come up with a whole new set of words merely to explain the talent to prospective students. Very few of them came to Cavendish Hall before they had acquired at least some control over their talents.

“Thank you,” she said, finally. It was a talent she needed to develop, quickly. She’d seen Master Thomas pick a bullet out of the air, but Gwen couldn’t even catch a beanbag. A bullet would kill her just as surely as it would kill a mundane from the streets. “I think we should do more work on this later today.”

“Perhaps,” Master Thomas said. She’d barely seen him for the last two days, ever since the raid on the printer’s shop. They’d found nothing, or at least nothing that pointed the way towards finding the rogue Master. They
had
found enough evidence to have the printer and his staff transported to Australia as convict labour. At least their families would be going with them. Gwen had insisted and, somewhat to her surprise, Master Thomas had agreed. It seemed that he had far more authority than Gwen had ever realised. “Or perhaps you need a rest and a hot bath. You can study your books after lunch, if young Lombardi is unavailable to assist you with developing your other talents.”