They are human too, he reminded himself firmly, as the girl stopped outside an unmarked house that seemed to be in remarkably good condition. The sound of laughter and male grunting from inside confirmed that it was a brothel, even before Olivia started to back away, making motions and gestures that seemed to imply that Mistress Lucy was inside. Jack caught her arm before she could start running and pulled her with him as he opened the door. Inside, a line of lovely young women waited for him, trying to look alluring. Jack wouldn’t have been tempted even if he’d had time. He knew just how badly they had been used, even if Mistress Lucy treated them as more than cattle.
“Here,” he said. He produced a gold coin from his pouch – not his wallet, which had nothing more than a few metal filings to imitate money – and gave it to the girl. Her eyes went wide; the chances were that it was more money than she’d had in her entire life. Given that he’d charmed her, it was a fair recompense. “Wait for me here. Once I have finished, I may have other tasks for you.”
He smiled as one of the young women finally approached. Her face suggested a mixture of English and Negro in her blood, part of the great melting pot of lower-class London. She would have been pretty if her eyes hadn’t been so tired, if she hadn’t known the truth about her existence before she’d grown old enough to try to make her own way in the world.
“Like what you see, sir?” She asked. Her voice was light and breathy. “We have others, far more exotic, if you are a real connoisseur…”
“I’m here to see Mistress Lucy,” Jack said, cutting her up. He allowed a little more Charm to slip into his voice. “I’m an old friend. Take me to her at once.”
“Well, well,” a new voice said. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Jack looked up and smiled. “Lucy,” he said. “It is simply lovely to see you again.”
“I’ll give you lovely,” Lucy said. She was older than he remembered. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to overthrow the government,” Jack said, cheerfully. “Isn’t that a lovely idea?”
Chapter Five
Gwen rose to her feet as Cannock stepped into the room. Master Thomas had told her that the next series of magical lessons would be coming from her fellow apprentices, who were more skilled with their individual powers than he was with each of them. It wasn’t something that entirely pleased her – and it was clear, looking at him, that Cannock bitterly resented having to teach anyone. He would graduate in June and start serving the British Empire in foreign parts. Teaching a young lady wasn’t among his ambitions.
He was a short young man with messy dark hair and darker eyes, barely old enough to go dancing on his own. Gwen guessed, from the way his eyes lingered on her chest for just a second or two longer than necessary, that he’d already discovered the pleasures of drinking and wenching, just like her brother. It was a double standard – men could enjoy themselves with whores, women had to be chaste – but it wasn’t one she intended to challenge. The thought of sharing her body with hundreds of men was horrifying. If she ever found a husband, someone she could love, perhaps she would feel differently about it.
“Thank you for coming,” Gwen said, as graciously as she could. She had already learned that the Royal College and Royal Sorcerers Corps judged by talent, rather than noble blood, but even they couldn’t avoid it entirely. Cannock was the younger son of the Duke of Essex and a bad word to his father could lead to unpleasant repercussions for the Royal College. At least he’d earned his awards through hard work and endless practice. She didn’t have to worry that he’d purchased his commission. “I am very pleased to meet you.”
Cannock gave her a half-bow, rather than kissing her hand. Gwen was rather pleased about that, although she knew that he had intended it as a subtle insult. Kissing a woman’s hand was a way to show respect; a bow suggested a certain reserve. The way his eyes kept dancing over her worried her, even though part of her mind found it amusing. Men never seemed to change. At least a magician from the Royal College wouldn’t find her powers intimidating…or perhaps they would. They had spent years practicing to rise in the ranks and Gwen had succeeded merely through an accident of birth.
“Moving is one of the simplest talents and yet it is the most complex,” Cannock said, at once. His voice was flat, almost dead. Someone had twisted his arm quite badly – Gwen hoped that that was metaphorical – to force him to teach Gwen his talent. “It basically consists of using your mind to move objects about without actually touching them physically. The more practiced you become at using the talent, the more you will be able to do with it. An experienced Mover can unpick a lock, or even fly through the air. A really capable Mover will be able to manipulate objects without maintaining eye contact.”
He shrugged, impatiently. “It obviously takes more energy to move heavier objects,” he said. “Movers deplete themselves quite rapidly; if you happen to be flying, get down on the ground the moment you feel yourself tiring. You will run out of energy quicker than you will believe possible and then you will fall. A number of Movers have died through hitting the ground at great speed.”
Gwen frowned, but nodded. A moment later, she felt an uncomfortable itching under her buttocks. The feeling spread rapidly until she found herself being picked up by an unseen force and lifted into the air. She could feel the magic tingling all around her, but it didn’t seem to be part of her. The whole feeling was vaguely uncomfortable, even unpleasant. Cannock didn’t seem to notice her distaste, but she knew it could be an act. She resolved not to show any signs of distress.
“A skilled Mover can talk as well as holding something in the air,” Cannock said. Gwen felt the magic shifting and she found herself gliding over towards the rear of the room. It struck her suddenly that all he had to do was alter her poise a little and he would be able to see right up her skirt. She blushed furiously and then giggled, despite herself. Cannock gave her a puzzled look and started to lower her to the floor. “The more complex the manipulation, the more concentration it requires to actually carry it out without losing control.”
Gwen felt the hard stone floor under her legs. The force holding her upright vanished abruptly and she had to catch hold of one of the tables to prevent her from falling over backwards. She saw a trace of amusement in Cannock’s eyes and silently vowed revenge at the earliest possible moment. He’d probably enjoyed watching her float under his control. She walked back to the table she’d been seated at and sat down, daring him to try to pick her up again.
“Movers, once they have mastered basic manipulation, practice in the hall by playing Mover Ball,” Cannock continued. He was definitely smirking now. “Mover Ball is not unlike the games played by children on the streets, but the balls are thrown though the air by magic, rather than a person’s hands. To be hit by a ball, or to be caught touching it with one’s bare hands, is grounds for instant banishment from the game.”
Gwen smiled. “And the objective is to be the last person on the field?”
“Quite,” Cannock said. “People without the right talent can still play by hurling balls at the talented. They are forced to catch them or deflect them with their magic, or risk losing and being mocked by their peers.”
He reached out one hand and held it over the bowl of water. There was a shimmer of magic and a ball of water floated out of the bowl and hovered in the air. “And there is another trick we play all the time,” Cannock added. “We throw water at each other.”
Before Gwen could react, the ball of water flew right at her face. She held up her hands like lightning and the ball of water seemed to explode, drops of water flying everywhere. Enough touched her face and clothes to convince her that it was freezing cold – and that she would have to get some more practical clothes. Cannock looked surprised that she’d even managed to block it – he’d wanted to drench her, she realised – but recovered quickly. Absently, she wondered how long he’d taken to master his single talent.
“Not too bad,” Cannock said. “Do you kno
w what you did?”
Gwen shook her head. “You hit my ball with a blast of pure motion,” he said. “You weren’t particularly subtle – later, you will learn to catch the water and throw it back at me – but you prevented me from hitting you with the water. Well done.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said, tartly. Her mother would not have approved. “And why do we use water?”
Cannock grinned, unpleasantly. “Because when we throw stones or something material, someone gets hurt,” he said. “The worst that can happen here is that we both end up drenched. Let’s see, shall we?”
He pulled a second ball of water out of the bowl and launched it at Gwen. She tried to block it, but this time the ball resisted her efforts. For a moment, the ball of water seemed to flatten into a sheet of water hanging in the air, and then it flew right towards her and smashed into her face. Gwen gasped in shock as the water slid down her front and soaked her dress. Powered by anger, she reached out towards the bowl herself and yanked at the water. An entire stream of water rose out of the bowl and came down on Cannock, who held up his hand to deflect it. It seemed to hang in the air for a long moment, and then Cannock pushed it away. The water shattered into droplets that went everywhere, drenching the walls. He laughed and picked up the bowl. It was empty.
“I think we need to work on control,” he said, as he turned one of the taps and refilled the bowl. “You are very blunt with your power, very crude. A more experienced Mover could have drenched me while I was holding off your stream of water.”
Gwen flushed, feeling cold water trickling down her bodice. She hadn’t felt so cold since she’d taken an unplanned dip in the waters down near their country home. Cannock’s eyes seemed to light on her for a second and she flushed as she realised that her dress was clinging to her skin. He’d done that purposefully, or her name wasn’t Gwen. She ground her teeth as he placed the bowl back on the table behind him and – without any gestures – pulled three balls of water into the air. Gwen was impressed as they spun around his head, and then flew at her. This time, she was ready; one of the balls shattered, while the other two flew back at Cannock. He caught one and tossed it back at Gwen, but the other smashed into his shirt. Gwen had to smile at his expression, just before the final ball of water drenched her hair. The thought of what her mother would have said, if she’d seen her, made her giggle. Lady Mary would not have been amused.
They practiced for nearly an hour, until Gwen felt her head beginning to throb. “Time to stop for the day,” Cannock said, seriously. He sounded more concerned about her than she’d expected. But then, if anything went badly wrong, Master Thomas would have thrashed him to within an inch of his life. “You don’t want to push your talent too far.”
Gwen nodded. She disliked headaches at the best of times. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll just get changed and then I’ll join you for lunch.”
Back in her rooms, she glanced at herself in the mirror and burst out laughing. Her sodden dress was clinging to her skin, her hair was a dreadful mess and her skin was covered in droplets of water. Pulling the dress off and dumping it on the floor was not particularly easy – and when she’d done so, she discovered that her undergarments had been soaked as well. The dress was almost completely ruined, even though it had been designed for rougher use than her ballroom dresses, and she made a mental note to insist on wearing trousers. It might not be acceptable in polite society for women to wear trousers, but the Crichton Family weren’t so rich that they could afford to keep buying new dresses. Conspicuous consumption wasn’t the kind of reputation a reputable older family wished to develop.
She wiped herself with a towel, donned a light-green dress that would be suitable for an afternoon spent in the library, and headed down the stairs for lunch. The lunches in Cavendish Hall were served at noon precisely, with anyone who was late – according to Master Thomas – forced to dine out, unless they had a very good excuse. At least the food was good, although it was a curious mixture of typically British foods and imported tastes from the Empire. Some of the student magicians would be going to India or Africa or even the Americas when they graduated and they would have to learn to eat native cuisine. The Colonial Service frowned on officers who refused to eat local foods, at least outside the network of government officers. It also frowned on British officers who formed liaisons with the local womenfolk, but Gwen had heard enough whispers from relatives of those who had served in India to know that such regulations were tacitly ignored.
The table wasn’t as crowded as she had expected. Master Thomas and several of the senior tutors hadn’t come to dine, which was surprising. A handful of students – including Cannock – sat at the table, tucking into the soup that formed the first course. Anyone who failed to arrive by the time the maids started removing the soup would have to beg and plead to receive a share of roast lamb or beef. Gwen took a seat, accepted a bowl of soup and bread from one of the maids, and started to sip at it. The cooks had produced a rather surprisingly spicy carrot soup.
She glanced up sharply as she felt the first tingle of magic surrounding her. No one seemed to be looking at her; in fact, the group of students seemed to be looking away from Gwen. The magic faded away, and then reappeared, right behind her. Gwen frowned and concentrated, trying to understand what it was. A moment later, she felt a sharp pinch on her rear end. There was no one behind her, which meant that someone was using magic to pinch her from a distance. She felt a hot flash of anger as she glared at Cannock and his friends, all of whom were clearly fighting to control the urge to burst into giggles. They could play their tricks on the maids if they liked – she’d already heard that Cavendish Hall had a higher turnover of servants than her father’s house – but they couldn’t play them on her. A second pinch made her jump, followed rapidly by a third. It felt as if someone was crawling over her body, pinching away at exposed flesh.
“Stop it,” she ordered. The students burst into giggles, followed by another series of pinches. Gwen yelped as she felt her buttocks stinging in pain. “Stop it!”
Magic flared through her and the soup bowls in front of the students seemed to explode, showering them in hot soup. It was their turn to yelp in shock, just as another wave of magic – only partly under Gwen’s control – slammed into the tureen and tipped it over onto the table. A flood of hot soup spread across the tablecloth and into their laps. She wanted to giggle herself as they jumped up, the stain spreading over their clean trousers, but she was burning with rage. A hot prickling behind her eyes seemed to be overpowering her. Cannock turned and glared at her, no longer so amused now he was dripping with soup. He used his magic to pick up the bread and throw it at her. Gwen caught it with her own magic and knocked it back at him, only to see it come apart as the other students – two of whom were clearly Movers themselves – caught it and shoved it at her. Tiny pieces of bread slashed into her skin, leaving her feeling bruised and sore. Angrily, she sent her own magic billowing out of control across the table, picking up spilled soup, tableware and even part of the table and hurling it at them. Cannock ducked in alarm as a knife narrowly missed him by inches. Maids and kitchen staff scattered, screaming in panic as the magic duel ran right out of control.
Gwen felt Cannock’s magic forming around her and pushed it back, slamming her will directly against his. For a moment, she held her own, but his greater experience and skill told and he broke through her defences. A wave of magic slapped into her and sent her staggering backwards; she hit the floor hard enough to hurt as the table started to disintegrate around her. Magic flared over her fingers, slipping from Moving to Blazing, enough magic to burn right through Cannock. If she was fighting for her life.
“ENOUGH,” a voice said. “STOP FIGHTING, NOW!”
There was enough Charm in the voice to control an entire crowd of angry magicians. Gwen felt her rage dissipate slowly, the magic she had raised to defend herself fading away. Master Thomas was coming down the long flight of stairs, his face as angry as anyone else Gwe
n had ever seen. It struck her, suddenly, that she was no longer at home. If he felt that she had grossly overreacted to their provocation, she was likely to be in real trouble. Her father had let her run wild, but Master Thomas believed in discipline. It was the key to effective magic.
“I do not expect to see student magicians fighting one another with the food,” he said, sharply. Cannock and his friends looked as if they wished to be somewhere – anywhere – else. Gwen, for once, found herself in agreement with them. Her head was starting to pound again, suggesting that she might have overreached herself. How much Moving could a person do before they risked permanent damage? “I would insist on none of you having any lunch, except you will have exhausted yourself through your silly fighting.”
For the first time, Gwen took in the scene before him. The dining hall was wrecked, with soup and bread scattered everywhere. The massive oak table had been smashed, while the soup was soaking into the carpet, paintings had been torn from the walls and a set of cutlery was embedded in the stonework. It would take hours, perhaps days, for the servants to clear up the mess, if they didn’t give their notice as a body when they recovered from their hysterics. She felt a flash of shame, despite the wooziness that threatened to send her to her knees. They hadn’t meant to tear the room apart during their fight.
The Royal Sorceress Page 5