“You realised that something was wrong,” he said. “Had I suggested something a little less...unpleasant, you would probably not have noticed until it was far too late. A suggestion implanted in a receptive mind becomes impossible to distinguish from a genuine thought, rendering it very difficult to notice, let alone defeat. You must always bear in mind that highly emotional people are easier to Charm. A person who thinks through every step, bit by bit, and seeks logical reasons to justify his actions is far harder to Charm. The intent is always to push them into accepting the Charm without thinking or close examination.”
Gwen felt…dirty. She’d known that her brother had had some fun with the serving maids, before he’d become respectable, and she hadn’t understood. But then, she’d been protected by her birth and the rumours surrounding her and no one had taken an interest in marrying her. Her mother had even talked about marrying the simple-headed Lord Percy, Heir to the Duchy of Northumberland. No one else would have wanted a magical wife. Blackburn had pushed a thought into her head and she’d obeyed. She knew now how the maids must have felt, when they’d been used for someone else’s pleasure.
“Don’t do that again,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended. The whole prospect terrified her. “I’ll…I’ll…”
“I’ll keep doing it until you learn how to defend yourself against it,” Lord Blackburn said, flatly. “And until you learn how to use it for yourself. I understand that apart from an…unfortunate incident, you have never learned to practice Charm. Like all of the talents, it requires constant practice to learn how to use it perfectly. And you will be perfect by the time you graduate from this school. Your blood demands it.”
He strode over to the door before Gwen could reply and opened it, beckoning for someone to enter the room. Gwen’s eyes went wide as she saw a scullery maid, wearing a simple white dress that was stained with food and drink. It was quite common for youngsters to enter family service and rise up through the ranks, leaving their families behind until they were completely dedicated to their masters. She had been surprised to discover that Cavendish Hall used a similar system, but then far too many of the servants handed in their notice after being the target of a handful of magical jokes.
The maid bowed. “You called me, sir?”
“Yes,” Blackburn said. His voice sounded as cold and harsh as always, even when the maid hastily lifted her dress in a curtsey. “Take a seat by the table and wait.”
Gwen frowned as the maid did as she was told. The maid’s body was trembling and her eyes were wide with fear. Somehow, Gwen knew what was about to happen before Blackburn closed and locked the door. They were going to use the maid as the target for their magic, practicing her Charm. And the maid was going to hate it. Cold logic told Gwen that she needed to learn and to understand; human sympathy told her that she should call a halt right now. The maid, she resolved, would be paid enough never to have to work again.
If Blackburn had any similar thoughts, he kept them to himself. “Your task is simple,” he said, looking the maid in the eye. “You will remain seated while Lady Gwen gives you orders. You will do everything you can to remain seated. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” the maid said.
Gwen winced at the frightened expression on her face. “What is your name?”
“Fiona, My Lady,” the maid said. Her accent was clearer now. She had to come from Ireland, or perhaps an Irish family who had immigrated to London in search of food, work and lodging. There had been riots a few years ago against Irishmen taking English jobs, if she recalled correctly.
“Very good,” Lord Blackburn said. “Gwen…you may issue a few orders.”
Gwen hesitated. The last time she’d used Charm had been a disaster.
“Go on,” he prodded her. “She’s here to serve.”
Gwen gathered herself. “Stand up,” she ordered.
Fiona didn’t move. “You need to really want her to move,” Blackburn said. There was an odd look of almost predatory excitement in his eyes, one that Gwen couldn’t understand. “You have to focus your mind on her motion.”
“Right,” Gwen said, crossly. But she didn’t want Fiona to obey. Charm had scarred her mind – and she’d been the Charmer. “Stand up.”
This time, Fiona half-rose to her feet before sitting back down. Gwen saw her eyes, wide with fear and terrified anticipation, and shuddered. The Church damned Charmers who used their powers on unwilling subjects, although she’d heard that Charmers were sometimes used for social control. And Blackburn...Blackburn’s eyes were still gleaming with a hellish light. What was he thinking? Master Thomas had warned her that she would probably never be able to read minds – that required a powerful Talker – but she thought she sensed his feelings. Something was pushing him onwards, something almost...unholy?
“Not too bad, but too mild,” Lord Blackburn observed. His voice shifted with a snap. “Stand up – now!”
Fiona rose to her feet, still shaking with fear. Gwen looked at Blackburn and saw him lick his lips. She shuddered as Fiona broke free of the compulsion and sat back down, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. How could anyone just sit and endure being Charmed by a pair of sorcerers? But then, the maid had no choice. If she didn’t obey, she would be put out on the streets.
“Try again,” Lord Blackburn ordered. “Focus your mind on something more subtle.”
Gwen scowled at him. “Stand up and touch your forehead,” she ordered. This time, she felt the subtle magic weaving its way into her voice. Fiona rose and barely stopped herself before her hand touched her forehead. Blackburn snickered at the look of confusion and horror on her face.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, directly to her. “You are here to obey.”
“I am here to obey,” Fiona repeated. She sounded as if she’d been put into a trace. “I am here to obey. I am here to obey...”
Gwen rounded on Blackburn. “Enough,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “Stop it, now!”
Blackburn smiled, amused. “Make me,” he said. She could feel his magic woven into his voice, threatening to influence her thoughts. It was a devilishly subtle power – and all the more dangerous for it. “Use your Charm to command me.”
He leered at her. Gwen saw red and slapped him before she quite realised what she was doing. He staggered backwards, a bright mark appearing on his cheek. She watched his hands as they clenched into fists, wondering if he was going to hit her back. No gentleman would ever hit a lady, but she’d known long before Master Thomas had invited her to the Hall that few gentlemen lived up to their high standards. If he took a swing at her, she vowed to herself, she’d use her magic and send him flying right across the room.
Somehow, he kept his own temper under control. “You’ll regret that,” he snarled, as one hand rubbed his cheek. Gwen hadn’t thought that she’d slapped him that hard, but if she’d lost control there might have been magic in the force of the blow. “I’ll make you regret that...”
“Get out,” Gwen ordered. It was tricky to use magic to move two things at once, even though she’d been practicing – and she’d had the unexpected battle with the other students to hone her skills. She pulled the door open and pushed him towards the exit. He cast one last murderous look at her and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Gwen rolled her eyes, feeling her temper cooling. If Master Thomas felt that she should be punished, she would accept it. But only if he punished Blackburn for his cruelty to Fiona.
The maid cringed away from her as Gwen tried to help her to her feet. She practically ran for the door, as if she expected a bullet to hit her or a charmed voice calling her back. Gwen watched her go, feeling cold bitterness congealing around her thoughts. She was already isolated from the other students because of her sex and age; now she would be isolated from the staff too. But then, she couldn’t have shared herself completely with them. It was funny how she’d felt happier alone at home, but not now that she’d found her niche in life. Would she ever have m
agical friends?
She pulled herself to her feet before she lost herself in self-pity and walked out the door. Fiona was nowhere in sight, thankfully. Gwen headed down into the library, knowing that Master Thomas would probably be waiting for her there. The library was easily her favourite room in Cavendish Hall. It was big, with thousands of books on magic, books that Master Thomas had admitted were largely nonsense. Other books had been banned by various authorities and had only been stockpiled in the hall because the previous Royal Sorcerer had hated the very concept of destroying books. The librarian glanced up at her as she entered, and then pointed to a corner of the room. Master Thomas was seated at a small oak desk, reading his way through a sheaf of papers. He looked up at her as she took the seat facing him.
“You look unhappy,” he observed, as he closed the set of papers before she could start reading them. They looked official, with a seal she half-recognised at the bottom. “I thought you’d still be learning Charm.”
“I lost my temper,” Gwen admitted. The whole story spilled out, from start to finish. “I...why...why did that happen?”
“Charmers have a tendency to irritate everyone else,” Master Thomas remarked. He hesitated for a moment. “And Lord Blackburn, who may be the most capable Charmer in the world, has a habit of irritating people. The two don’t go together very well.”
He looked up at her. “But in Blackburn’s case...I’m afraid that slapping him was not the best way to deal with him,” he added. “Luckily, with you being an emotional woman, he will probably overlook it once his temper has cooled down.”
Gwen flushed. She’d heard her mother say that women were naturally more emotional and sensitive than men, but she’d seen plenty of evidence that the opposite was true. But then, women were more affected by their lives than men. A man who wenched every night was a hero to his fellows; a woman who took a different lover every year was a whore. It didn’t seem fair to her, somehow, but no men had ever shown any interest in her anyway. They didn’t want to marry the subject of such disturbing rumours.
“He was mentally raping her,” Gwen snapped. Her mother would have fainted if she’d known that Gwen had even heard that word, still less knew what it meant. Somehow, Gwen found it hard to care what her mother thought. “He was enjoying forcing her to be his slave...”
“Lord Blackburn is a Darwinist,” Master Thomas admitted. He didn’t seem perturbed by Gwen’s use of the word rape. “I’m afraid that such people have been growing in power lately. And if you hadn’t existed, one of them might have been put into the position of Royal Sorcerer.”
Gwen blinked. “I thought that the Royal Sorcerer had to be a Master,” she said.
“Yes,” Master Thomas agreed, “but what if we had no Master?”
He shook his head. “Charles Darwin is a young man with a magical talent; he’s actually a fairly powerful Blazer. Darwin believes in the survival of the fittest – and that the fittest is the one who will survive. Magicians have an advantage over mundane humans – and aristocratic magicians are more powerful than common-born magicians. The Darwinist Creed says that magicians are superior to mundane humans and should be ruling the world.”
Gwen snorted. “I doubt the King enjoys hearing such talk,” she said. “Why hasn’t Blackburn been arrested for treason?”
“The man has a powerful family,” Master Thomas said. “He also has considerable support among younger magicians who would not normally inherit any titles from their parents. The King...feels that such people had better be ignored until they cross the line into outright treason. No one wants a repeat of the Jacobite Rebellion – the Pretender had a great many friends in high places back in ‘45. If they’d risen against the King’s grandfather, the results could have been unfortunate.”
He shrugged, slowly. “I don’t know if the Darwinists will become a major problem on my watch, but they will certainly become one on yours,” he added. “I’d suggest learning as much as you can from Lord Blackburn. And don’t ever forget that he is a very capable magician. I’ve seen him do far worse than convince a serving maid to take off her dress for him.”
“And you allow him to work here,” Gwen said, sharply.
“My dear girl,” Master Thomas said. “Whatever made you think I got to choose the magicians I have to work with?”
He stood up and picked up his hat and cane. “But we have other matters to turn our attention to,” he said. “I received a note from Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Someone has murdered Lord Burley – and a magician was definitely involved. And that means that we have to investigate.”
Gwen frowned. “And you want me to come with you?”
“You may as well see what happens when a magical crime is committed,” Master Thomas said. “You’ll be investigating them yourself soon enough.”
Chapter Ten
Gwen could barely remember Lord Burley.
They’d met briefly, if she recalled correctly, during a dinner party held at her home. Lord Burley had nodded gravely to Gwen – who had been barely seven years old at the time – and then proceeded to talk to her parents about boring adult matters. He hadn’t brought any children with him, so Gwen had been taken back to her room by her nurse once she’d been presented to the guests. She couldn’t remember why her mother had held the dinner party in the first place. Her mother rarely needed an excuse to hold a party.
She frowned as the carriage turned the corner and she saw the policemen outside the building. The death of a noted Lord, no matter how disliked by High Society, would definitely attract attention from the police, who would be put under immense pressure to find someone they could convict of the crime. Master Thomas leaned forward and issued instructions to the coachman, who pulled up alongside the pavement and reined in the horses. Gwen followed Master Thomas out into the cold morning air, silently grateful that she’d brought her thicker dress rather than something decorative. Master Thomas strode off towards the policemen and Gwen had to move swiftly to keep up with him. He didn’t seem inclined to wait for her at all.
The servants had been gathered by the police and asked to remain on the lawn, inside the walls. Outside the barriers, the broadsheet writers had already gathered, shouting questions to all and sundry. Gwen’s mother had often complained that the broadsheet writers either didn’t write what they were told or repeated what had been said with embarrassing accuracy, something that hadn’t stopped her reading the society papers thoroughly every morning. Gwen herself had enjoyed reading the serialised stories, until her mother had put a stop to it on the grounds that it was unladylike. Part of her still resented her mother’s decision, but it no longer mattered. She could read to her heart’s content in the library at Cavendish Hall.
Inspector Lestrade was a short, rat-faced fellow, wearing a heavy overcoat from which dangled a truncheon, a whistle and a small oil lamp. Gwen’s mother had often said that policemen – the Bow Street Runners, in popular parlance – were not the social equals of noblemen, but merely hired servants to protect the property of the rich. They didn’t have a good reputation, although Master Thomas had assured her that Lestrade was the best of a bad lot. Gwen had to smile at how he took one glance at her, registered her sex, and then fixed his eyes on Master Thomas. Perhaps he had mistaken her for a daughter or even a relative of the deceased. A murder scene was definitely not a place for a young lady.
“Master Thomas,” Lestrade said. His voice was clipped and precise, oddly accented in a manner Gwen didn’t recognise. Scotland Yard recruited from all over the country. “I’m afraid that Lord Burley is definitely dead.”
“So I was given to understand,” Master Thomas said, calmly. Too calmly; for whatever reason, Gwen realised, he was more worried than he let on. Something about the murder had drawn his attention and the mere fact that a magician might have been involved couldn’t have accounted for it. There were far too many criminally-minded magicians on the streets. “Myself and my apprentice will inspect the scene of the crime. You will keep y
our men outside until I am satisfied.”
“Yes, sir,” Lestrade said, promptly. Gwen realised that he was glad of the chance to pass the responsibility to someone else. “Should I hold the relatives when they come for the body?”
Master Thomas nodded. “They can have the body once we have finished our inspection,” he said. “Make sure you find out where they were last night and get it corroborated if possible. Who knows who might have benefited from the crime?”
Gwen followed Master Thomas up the driveway and through the big open doors at the front of the house. It was cold inside, suggesting that all the windows had been opened by the staff during the night. The hallway was a wreck, with shattered walls and debris lying everywhere. She caught a whiff of smoke in the air and glanced over at one of the walls. It had been scorched by incredible heat. It reminded her of the scene after they’d had the disastrous food fight, only with more malice and different types of magic. Master Thomas bent to inspect one of the bodies and Gwen followed his gaze. She felt sick the moment she saw the body, breathing in the stench of burned flesh.
“Breathe through your mouth,” Master Thomas advised, without looking away from the body. Gwen swallowed hard and looked back. The body’s throat was completely burned to blackened ruin, a wound that would certainly have been fatal. She tried to remember what she could of anatomy – not a fitting subject for a young lady, according to her mother – and then realised she didn’t need any specialised knowledge to understand what had happened. Only magic – a Blazer – could have inflicted such a wound.
“Certainly,” Master Thomas agreed, when she said it out loud. He looked up at her suddenly. “Do you notice anything odd about the second body?”
Gwen walked over and peered down at it. The body looked…crushed, even though it seemed to be intact. She had to fight down another tidal wave of vomit as she realised that most of the body’s bones had been broken; something or someone had thrown him into the wall with terrific force. Again, magic – a Mover – had to have been involved. She couldn’t imagine anything non-magical that could inflict that kind of damage.
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