“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
Ready?”
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.”
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 l
ocations 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.
&n
bsp; 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
It’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?
The Royal Sorceress Page 17