He stood up. “We have to move as quickly as possible,” he said. “We’ll have everything in place within the next two days. And then we will rescue them...”
“Or die in the attempt,” Davy pointed out. “Are you sure that this is going to work?”
“Probably,” Jack said. “I want you to gather all of the magicians in the underground at...Clark’s Pub. They’re going to be needed for the diversion. And then I want one of the Welsh mining experts...”
Davy held up a hand. “You’re going to dig a tunnel into the Tower of London?”
Jack grinned at him. “Of course not,” he said. The Tower of London would have magical protections against someone trying to dig an escape route out of the castle. A number of very prominent people had been imprisoned there over the years and most of them had had allies on the outside. “My plan is far crazier than that. No one will see it coming.”
“I really hope you’re right,” Davy said. “And what happens if you should happen to die in the attempt?”
Jack allowed his smile to widen. “That really won’t be my problem, will it?”
Chapter Thirty
My name is Irene Adler,” the woman said. “Perhaps you have heard of me?”
Gwen frowned. Irene was tall, with a face that seemed too elegant to be beautiful. Long dark hair framed her pale face, falling down her back to her rear. She wore a simple dark dress, topped by a bonnet that called attention to her face. Lady Mary would have envied her poise, Gwen suspected, but there seemed to be something about Irene that didn’t quite make sense. And Master Thomas had introduced Gwen to her and then left the room.
Something clicked in Gwen’s mind. “You’re a magician, a woman magician,” she said. “I thought I was the only one.”
“The only openly practicing one,” Irene corrected. Her voice was soft, almost musical. “Can you identify my talent?”
Gwen, who disliked being tested, scowled. “You’re not a Master – unless you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel,” she said, tartly. “You have to have something special, or…”
She felt an odd tickling at the back of her mind and looked up, sharply. “You’re a Talker,” she said. “And you’re trying to read my mind.”
“Very little to read,” Irene said, but she was smiling as she said it. “I am one of the most powerful and capable Talkers in the world. I spent several years in Europe, moving from Austria to Prussia to France, reading minds and gathering intelligence for my superiors. If I hadn’t run afoul of a nobleman in Bohemia, I’d be in France still. No one suspects a girl whose only known talent is to sing like an angel and push her chest out at the right moments.”
Gwen had to smile. “And so you read their minds,” she said. “What have you found out?”
“That men lose the ability to think clearly when they’re trying to keep their eyes off your breasts,” Irene said, and winked. Gwen flushed. “Am I too crude for you? I’ve never regretted being what I am, not when Lord Mycroft pays me through the nose to gather intelligence for him. Would you like to know what the Crown Prince of France has in mind for his reign when his father finally shuffles off the mortal coil?”
“Not particularly,” Gwen said. The tickling at the back of her mind was still there. “Why are you reading my mind?”
“Force of habit,” Irene said. Her smile widened. “That…and Master Thomas has asked me to help you develop mental shields. You’re going to need them when you become the Royal Sorcerer.”
She waved Gwen to a seat – as grandly as any queen – and took the seat facing her. “One thing about acting is true of mental powers as well,” she said. “It isn’t enough to say something; you have to deliver the lines with conviction – you actually have to become the person you’re playing. Have you ever seen a play?”
Gwen shook her head. Going to the theatre – even the renowned Globe Theatre in London – was not ladylike behaviour. And besides, she’d never been particularly interested in acting, or even dressing up, as a child. Lady Mary had been quite concerned about that, although the older Gwen suspected that her mother’s performance at balls and parties was at least partly an act. Few people were that confident naturally.
“You should go see a few,” Irene said. “Would people admire a Romeo who declared his love for Juliet in flat, unconvincing tones? You have to put yourself in the character’s shoes and play the role to perfection – and if you can’t, you’re in the wrong career.”
“Women rarely take to the stage,” Gwen pointed out. Even she knew that, although she also knew that at least one of the bawdy actresses had become one of the King’s mistresses. “And I don’t know how to act.”
“Wear one dress; become a noblewoman,” Irene said. “Wear rags; become a sewing woman sitting in a room, weaving dresses for pennies. It’s all about presentation, really.”
Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “And what were you doing last night, young lady?” She demanded, in stern tones. “Were you properly escorted when William walked you home?”
Gwen had to laugh. Irene had changed, becoming the very picture of a stern mother of aristocratic linage. The Talker laughed and relaxed back into her confident poise, although Gwen had to remind herself that that might just be another act. Just who was the real Irene?
“It hardly matters,” Irene said. Gwen flushed, feeling…violated. Irene could invade her thoughts. “You don’t have to worry about that, I’m afraid. All you have to do is worry about keeping nosy parkers like myself out of your mind.”
She reached out and took Gwen’s hand in hers. “Talking requires discipline, right from the start,” she said. “Those who cannot build mental shields in their minds often go mad, unable to separate their thoughts from the thoughts of everyone else within range. Even when you do learn to control the ability, it can be hard to lower your shields and listen to another person’s thoughts. A person with very strong thoughts might overwhelm you and you might find yourself lost in their mind.”
Gwen frowned. “Like a Charmer can slip a thought into your mind,” she said, slowly. “You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between one of your thoughts and one of theirs.”
“Basically,” Irene agreed. “Most Talkers can only really link their minds to other Talkers. The ones who can actually read mundane minds…well, they’re rare. I don’t think that you will ever develop that ability for yourself, but you will be able to send messages around the world. I believe that that would come in handy, wouldn’t it?”
She winked. “I heard about your rooftop chase,” she added. “Wouldn’t it be useful to be able to send a message to someone when you’re attacked by rebels?”
“Yes,” Gwen said. Irene’s words reminded her of things she had to keep secret – and why Parliament was so concerned about Talkers. “Can you teach me to do that?”
“Of course,” Irene said. She sat upright and winked at Gwen. “I want you to close your eyes and slowly relax every part of your body.”
Gwen frowned, puzzled. “Why…?”
“Because the body is the house of the mind and must be relaxed so that the mind can follow likewise,” Irene said. “Now…please close your eyes and relax.”
Gwen did so, as best as she could. Thoughts kept surfacing in her mind, reminding her of things she had to keep secret – either because they were dangerous, or embarrassing. The day she’d started her womanly cycles had been one of surprise and horror, when she’d believed that something was dreadfully wrong with her. Her mother hadn’t told her anything about being female and the textbooks she’d read had only mentioned monthly cycles in the most elusive language. And then there was her brief meeting with Jack…everything she wanted to keep to herself bubbled up into her mind, there for Irene to read. Cold determination flowed through her as she concentrated on her breathing. She would learn to master this talent, if only for her own safety.
“Breathe in…and out,” Irene said, gently. “Breathe in…and out. Let your body relax, bit by bit. Relax into the
chair; let all the tension fade away from your muscles. Breathe in…and out; breathe in…and out. Breathe in…”
Gwen was suddenly very aware of the pounding of her heart. Slowly, it started to fade, dropping down to a slow, but steady beat. In the darkness, she could almost feel sleep prowling at the corner of her mind. Irene’s voice – urging her to breathe in and out – seemed to be coming from very far away. It would be so easy to fall into sleep.
“I want you to visualise your own body,” Irene said. Gwen concentrated, recalling what she’d seen in the mirror after dressing herself. “I want you to think of yourself floating in the midst of a vast ocean, all alone in the night. Focus on the image; concentrate until you can almost feel your presence. Allow your mind to drift, but hold the image in front of your mind’s eye. Breathe in…and out. Breathe in…and out.”
Gwen felt as if she were drifting, her mind slowly sinking into a vast ocean of thought. Now that she had grasped it, she was suddenly aware of whispers at the back of her mind. Automatically, she reached out towards them, only to find her mental tendrils falling apart in her mind. She heard what she was sure was a giggle, although she couldn’t place its origin. It didn’t feel like part of her mind. A second nexus of thought was right in front of her, glimmering in the darkness of her mind’s eye…
…And then there was contact.
Hello, Gwen, Irene thought. Can you hear me?
Gwen started…and the contact broke. It left her feeling unsettled, as if something vitally important had been lost. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Irene looking back at her, a sparkle in her devilishly green eyes. The spy grinned at her as Gwen started to close her eyelids, reaching down inside her for the quiet place she’d found. Instead, she could sense tendrils of thought reaching out from Irene towards her. They were probing into her mind.
You can stop me, Irene said. Her mental voice sounded vastly amused. All you have to do is keep me out.
But how do I do that? Gwen thought. Her thoughts seemed to dance in the air between them; Irene was a presence within her mind. It was confusing, as if Irene was all around her and within her...almost a part of Gwen’s mind. What do I do?
She remembered, suddenly, visiting the madhouse with Master Thomas. He’d taught her how to build a barrier within her mind. Slowly, recalling the image of herself floating in a vast ocean, she built a mental barrier around her. The thoughts kept fragmenting, as if the barrier was built out of eggshells, but she learned rapidly. If the barrier’s strength depended upon what she chose to use to construct it – what mental representation she used within her mind – she would build it out of the strongest possible materials. Great bricks of cold iron materialised within her mind and started to form into a wall. Irene’s mind seemed to hop back, and then she was within Gwen again. And the wall was still in place.
This isn’t real, Irene thought. She was definitely laughing now, Gwen realised. Cold anger flared through her mind. This is the realm of the mind. Your wall may shield one angle of attack, but there are so many of them…
As if Irene’s thought had showed it to her, Gwen realised that she was right. The wall she’d built might block anyone walking down a path, but Irene could climb over the wall or dig under it. Thinking rude thoughts, Gwen rebuilt the wall all around her mind, a solid sphere with no way in – or out. Irene – and the whispering at the back of her mind – snapped out of existence. Gwen blinked in astonishment and then realised that she’d been picking up on outside thoughts without being fully aware of what she was doing. If she’d been nothing but a Talker, she might well have gone mad before anyone realised what was wrong.
She opened her eyes and saw Irene smiling at her. “Not too shabby,” Irene said. “And now…let’s see if you can keep the wall in place.”
Gwen had no time to react before Irene’s power slammed into her mind. It was a metaphorical battle, fought – or thought – with concepts rather than real weaponry, but none the less real for all that. Her mental barrier – a solid sphere of iron – melted as Irene created a blazing stream of fire and started to burn her way through the wall. Gwen couldn’t believe it, and then realised that because she’d created her barrier out of iron, it could be melted. She hastily imagined the barrier as composed of water instead, and then switched back to Iron.
The battle seemed to spin out of control. Irene would lunge forward, threatening to crack the barrier, and then alter the angle of her attack, forcing Gwen to think rapidly to keep up with her. Maintaining the barrier in the face of a determined onslaught was mortifyingly difficult, even when she realised that there was nothing stopping her from deeming the barrier unbreakable. But then she had to hold it firmly in place, or her confidence would weaken and the barrier would be destroyed. She quite lost track of time and was surprised when Irene called a halt. They’d been skirmishing for over two hours, and yet it had felt like nothing.
“You have the home ground in your mind,” Irene said, as one of the maids brought them tea and cakes. Irene poured Gwen a cup and she sipped gratefully. “You determine the mental terrain, something that gives you a powerful advantage. But it only works if you train yourself to recognise when someone is trying to peek into your thoughts – they have to enter your mind – and to keep a barrier in place at all times.”
Her smile widened. “But you also have to avoid concentrating too hard on the barrier,” she added. “Can you guess why?”
Gwen hesitated, unsure. She’d had to hold the barrier firmly in her mind when Irene had been reaching into her, or it would have shattered. If she’d had to keep the barrier in place while chasing Jack across the rooftops…she realised what Irene meant and swore aloud. No one, not even Master Thomas, would be able to maintain a formidable barrier in the heat of a battle. Her thoughts could be raided while she fought her opponents in the physical world.
“Not too far wrong,” Irene said, once Gwen had finally put it into words. “But there’s another point.”
She reached forward and tapped Gwen lightly on the forehead. “You were concentrating on stopping my mental assault so hard that you couldn’t have stopped me if I’d punched you in the throat,” she said. Gwen flushed with embarrassment. Irene was right. “Something I’ve noticed about magicians is that they tend to become dependent upon their magic to protect them, thinking that it makes them invincible. But a bullet will kill a Blazer as surely as a burst of magic; a Mover cannot concentrate on more than a few items at once…and a Charmer’s powers are useless, if his opponent happens to be deaf.”
Irene smiled. “If you happen to want to kill a Charmer, block up your ears,” she added. “And a Talker can be distracted by too many people surrounding him…”
Gwen nodded, impatiently.
“I think you need to learn to fight hand-to-hand,” Irene said. “I’ll speak to Master Thomas about finding you a trainer. It isn’t particularly lady-like, but being able to fight with your bare hands may save your life one day.”
“I know how to fire a pistol,” Gwen said, flatly. Master Thomas had insisted that she learn, pointing out that pistols could be reloaded, while using magic could lead to exhaustion. “And I know how to use a dagger.”
“And you’ll know how to use everything else once we get you a proper trainer,” Irene said, remorselessly. “Now…it’s time to start focusing on sending a mental message.”
She looked directly at Gwen. Hello Gwen, she thought. You can hear me.
Gwen nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“I pushed my own thought at you,” Irene said. “It’s the basic Talker talent; only a handful of Talkers can do any more than send messages to other Talkers. When I was trying to read your mind, I opened a link between us; if you can’t open that link for yourself, you won’t be able to read minds.”
“I see,” Gwen said. “Can Master Thomas read minds?”
“If he can, he’s kept it to himself,” Irene said. “You’d be surprised to know that a number of aristocrats have empathic talents. They
keep them to themselves, using them for their own advantage. I…never really wanted a life of fancy gowns and vapid chattering about the weather. My parents disowned me ten years ago.”
Gwen had to smile, sensing that she’d found a kindred soul. She’d never really had a proper friend, not when she’d been kept at home ever since her magic had flared into life. Who among High Society could have understood her?
“I used to sing in the opera before going to Austria,” Irene added. “My parents never got over the shock.
“But enough of such thoughts,” she concluded. “Try to send a message to me.”
Gwen concentrated. Irene, she thought. Can you hear me?
“You muttered the message aloud,” Irene said. “That’s a very bad habit, so try to lose it at once. This time…think the message aloud, without speaking.”
Irene, Gwen thought. It was harder than it seemed, but she felt part of her mind unlocking as soon as she shaped the thought. She had to speak without speaking…it took a moment to work out how to do it. Can you hear me?
Yes, Irene sent back. Can you hear me?
Gwen nodded. “I want you to listen to the next thought,” Irene said, “and tell me what you make of it.”
Gwen, Irene thought. You have dark hair.
Gwen recoiled. The thought was…unclean. No, it was a lie; her blonde hair wasn’t dark. And that meant…?
“It’s very hard to deliberately lie mind-to-mind,” Irene explained. “The sender knows that he is telling a lie and something of that will leak through to the receiver. But…”
“If the sender doesn’t know he’s lying, it won’t feel like a lie,” Gwen said. Irene nodded in agreement. “It will feel like the unvarnished truth.”
“It’s something to watch,” Irene said. “When things have gone wrong, it normally happens because the sender genuinely thought he was telling the truth.”
She clapped her hands together and settled back into her chair. “And now…it’s time to see if you can reach someone else,” she added. “Why not give Master Thomas a call?”
The Royal Sorceress Page 28