Fletcher wore full dress uniform and had just set his hat on a small table that was not big enough to hold anything else. “Lady Daphne,” he said formally, “you are on official business.”
“What? Oh. No, I have simply been in Lisbon, receiving new orders.”
His face went still. “And?”
“I am to report back in ten days, for a field assignment. To Field Marshal Wellesley’s command.”
“Then you are leaving.” His voice sounded so strange, and Daphne’s heart broke at hearing it. There was none of the affection, none of the love she was so accustomed to hearing from him, even when his words were not endearments.
“I am, but…” It was all wrong. She loved him, but she was doing everything wrong. “General Omberlis tells me it is a grand opportunity, and he is right, but it takes me away from you, and—though you seem so strange today, and you have been gone so long, perhaps it is what you want—”
“What I want? Daphne, no!” Fletcher took her hand and pulled her into his embrace. She put her arms around him and breathed in the smell of warm wool and sandalwood that would forever after remind her of him. “I am too late, it seems,” he went on. “My business kept me rather longer than I expected, and I was in England yesterday—”
“In England? Why?”
He detached himself from her embrace and drew her down to sit beside him on the sofa. “Because it is customary,” he said, “when one intends to propose marriage to a woman, to ask her parents’ blessing upon it.”
Daphne gasped. “Captain—Phineas—”
He smiled and caressed her cheek. “You should consider carefully before accepting me, my darling,” he said. “I am well aware that your social and economic status are far above my own. The benefits to such a marriage are entirely on my side. I can only promise to love you devotedly, to stand by your side through every trial life sees fit to send us, and to defend you against all comers, though admittedly you seem not to need much defending.”
“But I—if I am in Spain, and you are here—”
“I don’t have a solution to everything. I simply want the right to find the solution with you. Please, Daphne, say you’ll marry me?”
Daphne flung her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “Yes,” she whispered, “yes, I will, and how dare you suggest that you are the only one who benefits, when I gain your courage, and wisdom, and the way you kiss me that makes me breathless—”
He interrupted her with a kiss of that very nature, and speech became impossible.
Finally, Daphne turned her face away and said, “We should not be so indecorous here, as Miss Donnelly would positively erupt were she to know about it.”
“I find I care nothing for the Miss Donnellys of this world, so long as I have you,” Fletcher said, though he withdrew as far as holding Daphne’s hand would allow. “I meant it when I said the benefit of this marriage is all mine. Daphne, with my talent I see the very basest impulses of humanity, and I have met so many women who desired to attach me whose hearts were dark with greed and selfishness. That night at Lady Loudoun’s ball… you radiated integrity and joy, and I believe I knew without acknowledging it that you were the only woman I could see myself growing old with.”
Daphne blinked. “That is the most romantic thing I have ever heard.”
“It is entirely true. I love you, Daphne.”
Daphne stood and let go Fletcher’s hand. “I will return shortly,” she said, and Bounded away.
She raced up the marble steps and down the hall to the antechamber, where she startled the slim young man, who had just opened the door to General Omberlis’ office. “Pray do not trouble yourself,” she said, “I will only take a moment of the general’s time.”
General Omberlis frowned when he saw her. “Lady Daphne. I did not summon you.”
Daphne shut the door in the slim young man’s face. “No, General, but I must speak with you, and you will not like what I have to say, but I must say it, and when I am done it will be up to you to decide.”
The general raised one bushy grey eyebrow. He gestured toward the chair, but Daphne shook her head and stood in front of the desk. “General,” she said, “I did not tell you why I love India. Or, that is, I do love India, but there is also a man—he is—I love him, General, and I intend to marry him, and you can see how that would be a problem because he is a captain there and cannot leave. Although I suppose he could leave, it is just that he is so very good at what he does that the Army will consider it a waste to send him elsewhere, much as I’m sure it seems a waste to send me anywhere but to Field Marshal Wellesley.”
The general opened his mouth to speak, and Daphne hurried on. “You see, General, I know I am bound to serve where I am bid, but if it is just a matter of building my reputation or my career, I find I am less eager to be the greatest Bounder ever because I have found something more wonderful. Do you know—are you married, General?—do you know what it is to find someone who wants you to be the very best self you can be, who does not coddle or protect you from yourself, so long as he can go into danger by your side? I did not believe there were any such men in the world, and I am so happy to be proved wrong. But now… General, as I said, I am under your command and I will do as I’ve sworn, and if you say I must go to Spain, I will do so. And—it now occurs to me that perhaps you have pulled strings to get me this assignment, and if that is so I am incredibly honored, and you must imagine me terribly ungrateful, but I must be honest with you, for his sake and mine.”
General Omberlis’ expression had gone from puzzled, to angry, to dispassionate in the course of Daphne’s speech. “Lady Daphne,” he said, “you would give up the assignment a thousand Bounders have schemed for, just for love?”
“I suppose I would, sir.”
The general shook his head, slowly, a frown drawing his bushy eyebrows down. “Report to me in ten days’ time,” he said. “And I do not want to see you before then.”
It felt like a blow to the face. Daphne bowed her head and whispered, “Yes, sir.” Without leaving his office, she Bounded back to the drawing room, put her arms around Fletcher, and let herself weep.
Five days later, they were married. Daphne, who found herself indifferent when it came to considering her service with the War Office, very nearly chose to marry from the church near Marvell Hall despite regulations, but Fletcher was more sensible, and in the end the service by special license was held at St. John’s Church, near Government House. Daphne broke the rules to the extent of Bounding her parents, and Fletcher’s parents and brother William, to Calcutta. It was an unexpectedly cool day for northern India, and Daphne’s happiness was almost enough to fill the aching hole in her heart that was General Omberlis’ looming deadline.
Lord Moira and Lady Loudoun gave them the use of a suite in Government House for their wedding night, and Daphne learned there are advantages to having a Discerner for a husband that he does not share with anyone but his wife.
They set up house for the next four days in a property belonging to one of Fletcher’s fellow officers who was away near the northern border. Lady Loudoun, with her usual grace, had told Daphne she had no need of her services anymore, “but you will always be a welcome guest, and I know the children are fond of you.” Daphne’s impression of Lady Loudoun’s children was less positive, but the generous gesture warmed her heart.
On the ninth day, she sat close beside Fletcher as they trundled along the paths of the maidan, enjoying the rare breezes that came off the Hooghly on a late Sunday afternoon drive. The carriage, which came with the house, was not well-sprung, and Daphne found she needed to cling to Fletcher’s arm to keep from being flung off on more than one occasion.
“I wish you would come with me tomorrow,” she said.
“I have not been summoned. It might put General Omberlis’ back up.”
“Yes, but it would also show him whose life he is ruining.”
“I would prefer not to be an object of pity, darling.”
Daphne sighed and rested her head briefly on his shoulder; the jouncing of the carriage made longer than that impractical. “I know. Regardless, I will return afterward, and we will decide how to go on. I truly do not mind Bounding from Spain to our home in India, wherever we choose to make it.”
“I mind being separated from you. I tell you, I can make arrangements to serve in the Peninsular Army.”
“But at a loss of seniority. And you are so close to being made a major.”
“I have everything I could ever want, right here. Military rank only matters because without it your father looks at me as if I am stealing away his little ewe lamb.”
“He likes you. He just enjoys making people work for his approval.”
Fletcher steered the carriage along the road toward their house, nodding at an acquaintance that passed on the other side. “In any case, I refuse to be the useless appendage to my famous Bounder wife. I must have something to do, Daphne, and if that something is in Spain, or France, so much the better.” He brought the carriage to a halt and assisted Daphne down, keeping hold of her hand when she alit. “Let us not dwell on it tonight. Let us pretend we are any other married couple, and dine early, and go to bed early.”
Daphne squeezed his hand. “That seems an excellent plan.”
Daphne rose early the next morning and dressed with more than usual care in her War Office uniform. Then she sat, drumming her heels, in their drawing room until Fletcher fled, protesting that her anxiety was wearing on him. Daphne grumbled, because she had not been touching him for him to experience any such thing, but she had to admit privately she found herself annoying, too.
The five-hour difference between Lisbon and Calcutta meant it was well after noon when Daphne finally Bounded to the War Office. She paused on the landing to look out over the red roofs of the city. It was beautiful, and temperate, and she wished with all her heart she was back in Calcutta, where it was still stiflingly hot and the Hooghly smelled of fish guts and corpse fires.
At this hour, the War Office was barely occupied, and no one else waited in the antechamber. Daphne took a seat and interlaced her fingers on her knee. The carpet had a subtle purple sheen to its weave, not something Daphne had ever seen before. She leaned forward to look at it more closely. Where had it come from? Persia? China? Or might it have come from some market in India? She liked to imagine it was the last, and that her feet had one last contact with the place she was unlikely to see again.
The general’s office door opened. “Lady Daphne,” the general said. “Pray, enter.”
Daphne rose and followed him, and once again sat perched on the edge of her seat. General Omberlis sank into his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. The gesture made him look even more wolfish than usual. “So,” he said. “Your business in Calcutta is finished?”
“Yes, sir, that is—yes.”
“I heard you were married five days ago. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What have you decided to do?”
Daphne decided if he were not present, Fletcher did not get a vote. “I will travel between the Peninsula and Calcutta whenever I have leave, sir.”
“That will disrupt your service. Your commanding officer would prefer you be available at all times.”
“But I will have leave, sir.”
“Not very often. Are you certain your marriage can bear such a separation?”
“We are determined that it shall, sir.”
General Omberlis tapped his fingers together, creating a rippling effect centered on his hands. “Lady Daphne,” he said, “this assignment is in your best interests. It will offer you challenges you will not find elsewhere, as well as the opportunity to serve your country. You will, I judge, become the most famous Extraordinary Bounder in England. I am doing this for your own good.”
“Yes, sir.”
The general shoved back his chair and went to stand in front of the window. Daphne focused her gaze on his thick-fingered hands, clasped loosely behind him. He let out a long stream of breath. “It is unfortunate,” he said, “that I am very bad at judging what is best for other people.”
Daphne’s head came up. “Sir?”
General Omberlis turned around. “I am informed that trouble is brewing near the Nepalese border,” he said. “The Gurkhas have made continuing efforts to take territory properly claimed by the East India Company in the name of Great Britain. War is coming to India again, and England is in the heart of it. Major Phineas Fletcher is soon to be assigned to the negotiating team—I say ‘negotiating,’ but they are an advance force, no question—and he will need to be conveyed to Nepal, and from Nepal to any number of potential battle fronts. The War Office has chosen to assign you to the major for the duration.”
Daphne’s mouth fell open. “Sir, I—major?—but what of—”
“Do you wish me to change my mind, Lady Daphne?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” A broad smile spread across her face that she could not control. “Thank you, sir!”
“It is not the choice I would have made for myself,” General Omberlis said. “On the other hand, I am reminded of what you accomplished when you were merely to be a human chaise. I believe I will be better off not trying to predict the future. Go.”
“Yes, sir!”
In her excitement, she Bounded directly from his office to the tiny, dark room she used as a temporary Bounding chamber at their borrowed house. She ran from it, slamming the door behind her, shouting, “Phineas!”
Fletcher emerged from the drawing room. “Daphne?”
Happiness like the rising sun filled her, tangled her tongue so at first she could not speak. He came toward her, concern touching his face until he took her hand. His eyebrows rose in surprise, and then the wonderful smile crossed his lips. “Daphne?” he said again.
“I’m home,” Daphne said.
The Honourable East India Company was significantly less benign in real history than I have made them here. Effectively rulers on behalf of the British government, they governed large portions of the Indian subcontinent and, depending on the whims of the officials, were more or less sympathetic to native needs (usually less). As a martial presence, they were unparalleled, and they unfortunately used that presence to impose their own laws on India, not always to its benefit. In my history, the existence of magical talents, which are distributed without regard for race or color, serves as an equalizer, making the EIC more of a commercial entity and less domineering.
I fear I have unfairly maligned the character of Lord Moira, who to my knowledge was historically guilty of nothing worse than being a close friend of the Prince Regent and a horrible spendthrift who left his family deeply in debt at his death. He was, in fact, a military-minded man and a veteran of the War of Independence, so I decided it was likely he would disdain someone like Daphne whose weakness might cost good men their lives. In real history, Lord Moira did not become Governor-General until October of 1813, but he was appointed to the position in November of 1812, and with the existence of instantaneous travel, I felt justified in pushing up the date when he took command at Calcutta.
Vaachaspati’s story is from Kavi Ārif’s Lālmon Kecchā, “The Wazir’s Daughter Who Married a Sacrificial Goat,” translated by Tony K. Stewart in the wonderful book Fabulous Females and Peerless Pīrs. This collection of Bengali stories is fun and exciting, and I recommend it to anyone interested in non-European fairy tales (though calling them fairy tales is a bit of an oversimplification).
THE CORPOREAL TALENTS: Mover, Shaper, Scorcher, Bounder
MOVER (Greek τελεκινεσις): Capable of moving things without physically touching them. While originally this talent was believed to be connected to one’s bodily strength, female Movers able to lift far more than their male counterparts have disproven this theory in recent years. Depending on skill, training, and practice, Movers may be able to lift and manipulate multiple objects at once, pick locks, and manipu
late anything the human hand can manage. Movers can Move other people so long as they don’t resist, and some are capable of Moving an unwilling target if the Mover is strong enough.
An EXTRAORDINARY MOVER, in addition to all these things, is capable of flight. Aside from this, an Extraordinary Mover is not guaranteed to be better skilled or stronger than an ordinary Mover; Helen Garrity, England’s highest-rated Mover (at upwards of 12,000 pounds lifting capacity), was an ordinary Mover.
SHAPER (Greek μπιοκινεσις): Capable of manipulating their own bodies. Shapers can alter their own flesh, including healing wounds. Most Shapers use their ability only to make themselves more attractive, though that sort of beauty is always obvious as Shaped. More subtle uses include disguising oneself, and many Shapers have also been spies. It usually takes time for a Shaper to alter herself because Shaping is painful, and the faster one does it, the more painful it is. Under extreme duress, Shapers can alter their bodies rapidly, but this results in great pain and longer-term muscle and joint pain.
Shapers can mend bone, heal cuts or abrasions, repair physical damage to organs as from a knife wound, etc., make hair and nails grow, improve their physical condition (for example, enhance lung efficiency), and change their skin color. They cannot restore lost limbs or organs, cure diseases (though they can repair the physical damage done by disease), change hair or eye color, or regenerate nerves.
An EXTRAORDINARY SHAPER is capable of turning a Shaper’s talent on another person with skin-to-skin contact. Extraordinary Shapers are sometimes called Healers as a result. While most Extraordinary Shapers use their talent to help others, there is nothing to stop them from causing injury or even death instead.
SCORCHER (Greek πιροκινεσις): Capable of igniting fire by the power of thought. The fire is natural and will cause ordinary flammable objects to catch on fire. If there aren’t any such objects handy, the fire will burn briefly and then go out. A Scorcher must be able to see the place he or she is starting the fire. Scorcher talent has four dimensions: power, range, distance, and stamina. Power refers to how large and hot a fire the Scorcher can create; range is how far the Scorcher can fling a fire before it goes out; distance is how far away a Scorcher can ignite a fire; and stamina refers to how often the Scorcher can use his or her power before becoming exhausted. The hottest ordinary fire any Scorcher has ever created could melt brass (approximately 1700 degrees F). When she gave herself over to the fire, Elinor Pembroke was able to melt iron (over 2200 degrees F).
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