The Royal Sorceress (22 page)

Lombardi blushed. Cannock snickered, unpleasantly. Gwen glared at him, trying to convey a threat with her eyes. Cannock looked at her, sneered, and then looked away, quickly. Gwen had to bite down the urge to lash out at him, even though she felt magic boiling through her blood, demanding that it be used. The bully wasn’t worth the effort involved in squashing him, or so she told herself. She didn’t want to admit that she didn’t want to start a fight in front of Master Thomas.

“I’m sure that my studies will prove fruitful,” Gwen said. If Master Thomas recognised the underlying sarcasm, he said nothing. “Will I be seeing you this afternoon?”

“Perhaps,” Master Thomas said. He’d been busy for most of the afternoons, assisting Scotland Yard with its raids on suspect locations within the poorer parts of town. The aristocracy had had a nasty shock when Lord Fitzroy’s severed head dropped in their midst – to say nothing of the hail of broken glass – and they were demanding action. Master Thomas had been forced to assign some of his reserve sorcerers to various mansions and houses, just to serve as guards. The King had apparently decamped to Windsor Castle, which was much easier to guard. “The Prime Minister and Lord Mycroft will require my presence to discuss security matters. I will probably be back later.”

Some of the aristocrats Gwen had known would have boasted of their relationship with two of the most powerful men in Britain – and hence the world. Master Thomas sounded almost as if he regarded it as a nuisance, an obligation that he would sooner avoid. Cannock, who sensed the same thing, seemed surprised, almost horrified.
He
would have died to have the ear of men who could bind and loose at will. Even the King, Gwen had heard, didn’t have the same level of power and influence as Lord Mycroft. He was truly the indispensable man – but then, so was Master Thomas. Gwen doubted that she could ever live up to his example.

Lombardi blushed as Gwen motioned for him to follow her. He’d been dreadfully embarrassed for the first day after the ball; in her eyes, he’d been the perfect gentleman, but spending more time with other woman than one’s escort was not regarded as polite by High Society. Gwen didn’t really blame him, not when she had no intention of allowing their friendship to bloom into romance. Besides, as a third son there was no need to choose his wife so carefully; his prospects weren’t too bad at all. There was no shortage of aristocratic women who would be happy to marry him. Marrying for love was rare; marrying for position or status was much more common.

“Don’t worry,” she said, as soon as they were alone. “I don’t mind at all.”

“You read my mind,” Lombardi accused. He sounded shocked; there
were
Talkers who could read minds, but Masters rarely developed that talent to such a level. “You…how did you know?”

Gwen smiled, concealing her confusion. What did Lombardi think that she was talking about? “Female intuition,” she said. Understanding clicked in her mind. He’d found someone he liked enough to court, someone who would be a good and supportive wife, without a flicker of magic. “What’s her name?”

Lombardi’s blush deepened. “Kate,” he admitted. It was probably a diminutive of Katherine, part of Gwen’s mind noted. “We were dancing at the ball – and then she invited me to the next ball, three days from now.”

Gwen smiled again. “Have fun,” she said. She didn’t want to go herself, even though she’d enjoyed the dancing more than she wanted to admit. “And don’t worry about it. Just concentrate on having a good time.”

She walked up the stairs to the private rooms before he could think of a response. Away from him, she couldn’t help feeling bitter, a feeling that made little sense to her. She hadn’t wanted him as a husband, or a lover; she’d only asked him to the ball because she needed a partner. A young woman couldn’t go on her own, even though God knew she’d broken enough conventions in the last few weeks. There was no reason for her to be upset, let alone jealous. And yet she felt…unhappy, rejected, even abandoned. Why did she feel that way?

Her new senses seemed to expand as she let her mind wander. Outside, she’d been aware of the garden, and of the life surrounding her. Inside, she could feel the stolid wooden walls – and stone, masked under the wood – that had been used to build Cavendish Hall. Magic infused into the stone, making the building stronger than any other in England, was easy to sense. In some ways, she was sure that she could tap it for power if necessary. Lombardi had warned her that that was incredibly difficult – and dangerous, if you hadn’t been the magician who had infused the power into the stone in the first place – but Gwen could see how to do it, safely. She was halfway towards touching the wall when she caught herself. Master Thomas would not be pleased if she drained the stone. Besides, for all she knew, it was what held the building upright. She made a mental note to study buildings and builders when she had the time – if she ever had the time – and walked into her room, closing the door behind her. No one apart from the maids had entered her room, even Master Thomas, but Gwen knew to be careful. Cannock and his friends wouldn’t hesitate to do something nasty if they thought they could get away with it.

She stopped as she saw the envelope lying on the ground, where it had been left after someone had pushed it under the door. It had surprised her to discover that mail was taken in by the staff and then distributed privately, but she guessed that it allowed Master Thomas a chance to check the letters before they were given to their intended recipients. Gwen simply hadn’t had many letters since she’d arrived, leading her to wonder if her parents had chosen to forget that they had a daughter. Lady Mary probably found having a magical daughter deeply embarrassing in Polite Society.

The envelope was stiff and formal. Gwen opened it – noting the cost of the paper – and frowned as she unfolded the letter. It was very simple; David Crichton, son of Lord and Lady Crichton, requested the pleasure of Gwen’s company at his birthday dinner. Gwen hesitated, and then smiled to herself. Her brother David might have been a stuffy pain in the posterior most of the time, but he’d never picked on her. And he’d even stood up to their mother several times for Gwen’s sake. Gwen disliked parties – a treacherous part of her mind reminded her that she’d enjoyed the dancing at the ball, before the rogue Master had appeared to cause havoc – yet she would go to her brother’s dinner. As his sister, she could go alone.

Putting the letter on her dressing table, Gwen headed for the bathroom. The maids, at least, knew better than to meddle with her small collection of expensive bathing supplies. Pouring a hot bath, Gwen undressed and examined herself critically in the mirror. There were bruises on her arms and legs where beanbags had struck her body. A dark mark on her abdomen, just above her groin, showed where one had struck with savage force. She was lucky that it wasn’t worse, she told herself, as she gritted her teeth against the pain. Her determination to succeed – to excel – had only grown stronger. It was the only way she could prove herself worthy of the trust that had been invested in her.

Climbing into the bath, she closed her eyes as the steaming hot water enveloped her body and slowly started to soak away the aches and pains. She was tired, even though it was barely noon; she found it hard not to relax into slumber. Only the thought of accidentally slipping below the water and drowning kept her half-awake. No magic could save her from drowning, at least as far as she knew. There were no recorded humans who could shift to a marine animal form. They might not have survived their first transformation. God knew there were enough weird tales out there that might – stripped of the lies and exaggerations – have represented a failed transformation.

Her mind started to wander, slowly. It drifted out of the bath and floated into the bedroom. Gwen was only partly aware of what was happening, which made it easier. Her awareness shimmered towards the door and passed through its wooden frame, unbothered by the magic running through the barrier. One of the maids was just moving up the stairs, carrying a basket of washing, unaware of Gwen’s ghostly presence. She walked right through Gwen and, for a second, Gwen found herself looking into the maid’s brain. No wonder, part of her mind realised, that researchers had discovered so much about the human body. Seers could look right
into
a body and, with the proper medical training, perhaps know what was wrong. And if they could
look
into a body, could a Changer not
heal
a body?

She found herself choking as she snapped back to her body. Gwen thrashed about in the tub, almost panicking before she hauled her head out of the bath. She’d slipped down while her mind had been wandering elsewhere, almost drowning, just as she’d feared. What had happened to her? Understanding came slowly, but surely. Her mind hadn’t wandered; she’d learned how to use her Sight. No wonder Seers were so useful to the Crown. A trained Seer could spy on anyone, and only another sorcerer could even sense that it was happening.

Slowly, she leaned back in the bath and closed her eyes. This time, she imagined her awareness detaching from her body and floating up into the air. The ceiling provided no barrier as she kept heading upwards, into the uppermost levels. She spun, imagining that she had a ghostly body, and found herself looking at Master Thomas. He was standing at a table, reading a letter. It looked official, even though it carried no golden seal.

He turned and looked at her. Gwen was invisible – she wasn’t really there at all – but he could still see her. “You’re a very naughty girl,” he said, with a sudden smile. Gwen wasn’t sure how she could even hear him. The words echoed oddly in her translucent ears. She flushed horribly as it dawned on her that she was effectively naked. “It’s very bad manners to spy on your master.”

Gwen panicked, her awareness sharpening up...and she fell back into her body. As she climbed out of the bath, she found herself reflecting on her new ability. Used properly, it could help her – and perhaps she had found the key to unlocking a new ability as well. She was still smiling to herself when she went down for lunch. Who knew what the future would bring?

Chapter Nineteen

I
t’s green!”

Jack smiled at Olivia’s surprise. The young girl – wearing male clothing, as always – had been born in London, abandoned in London and forced to learn to live on her own in London. She had never seen Hyde Park or any of the great gardens patronised by the rich and powerful; she had certainly never left the city. The green farmlands that surrounded London, supplying the city with food and drink, were completely new to her. Jack, who had seen them before, found himself reflecting, instead, on their other aspects. If something were to happen to the farms, London would starve.

Their little steamboat was heading up the Thames, away from London. Jack had been worried about navigating the endless series of locks and canals, but Mordecai Smith – the Master of the
Aurora
– had assured him that it was perfectly safe. Besides, there were thousands of vessels plying their trade on the river every day. Who was going to look at a single boat?

“It’s what the land ought to be everywhere,” he assured her, with a smile. “But the factories have been taking their lands and people for generations.”

The thought was a chilling one. In the five years since the Unrest, the rich had been consolidating their hold on the poor. There were thousands of farmers and farmhands leaving their lands now, even though some of them had been offered the chance to stay on and work for their new masters. The rebellion might have failed, but America still offered the poor a chance at a better life – if they managed to make it across the Atlantic and into the sprawling untamed wilderness of the New World. Jack knew that much of America was still inhabited by redskins, but no one in London or New York would care if the savages exterminated the colonists. It would remind them not to be too independent of the British Army.

He pursed his lips as he remembered meetings in Paris, just after the Unrest. Franklin – a descendent of the legendary Benjamin Franklin, one of the few rebels to escape the noose after the destruction of the rebel army – had told him that French officers suspected that the British had been quietly encouraging the savages to raid American settlements. It sounded absurd, until one considered that the Viceroy would be quite happy to see the settlers reminded of how much they needed military protection – and if a few thousand redskins were killed into the bargain, so much the better. The last time the American settlers had thought they no longer needed the British Army, there had been a rebellion. No one wanted to repeat that disastrous episode.

Olivia sensed his mood and looked away, studying the green fields as the boat headed upstream, towards the west. A large mansion was coming into view, near a jetty already waiting for the puffing steamboat. Jack allowed himself a brief smile as Smith brought the boat in to the jetty, and his black servant – who had been brought to England as a curiosity and then abandoned in London – jumped ashore and secured the boat to the stone harbour. Olivia hadn’t been able to avoid staring at Tonga; she’d never seen a black man in her life. it had only been a few years since the Cotton Gin had made slavery profitable in the American South; Blacks were commonly regarded as savages, fit only for slavery. Jack knew better than to believe such lies. The rebellious blacks on Haiti had soundly thrashed two French armies before the third had finally achieved an uneasy peace. They bled red too, just like white men.

“Thank you,” Jack said, as he scrambled ashore. “Stay with the boat; I’ll have food and drink sent out to you.”

Smith nodded. He was a sour-faced man with very little to say, not least because his eldest son had been caught up in a riot and killed by the Dragoons. His wife disapproved of him assisting the underground, but she had done nothing to stop him or his younger son. The younger son had even enlisted in the rebel army. Jack helped Olivia up onto the jetty and strode up towards the manor. Kelmscot Manor, a house built by minor gentry back in the 16
^th
Century, had fallen on hard times. The current owner was a drunk, who had no idea that his estate was serving as a recruiting and training base for the underground. His butler, a common-born man who had climbed through the ranks by dint of hard work, had been Jack’s ally for years. Jack trusted the resentment he felt at knowing that higher positions would be barred to him because of humble birth. An intelligent and capable man, trapped by circumstances beyond his control, tended to develop resentment. It was a dangerous combination for his lords and masters.