I looked at the sandwich, safe in its paper wrapping. “Ah,” I said. “Thanks. I could do with some vittles.”
Cora narrowed her eyes at me a moment, then seemed to come to some decision. She reached over and took my bookbag, and then bustled me over to the stairs. I went mostly willingly, too tired and numb to resist all that much.
“By Hercules, something unpleasant happened to you today, Ariana Trevelyan,” Cora hissed in my ear so no one else overheard. “You smell of brandy and you look like you’ve seen something awful.”
I frowned. Apparently I hadn’t stopped with the brandy in time.
“I’ll be damned if you don’t spill all the details to me toot-sweet, up in that gear and spring-filled workroom you call your bedchamber.”
I nodded dully and we made our way up the stairs to my bedroom. Cora dumped my bookbag on my desk, then pointed at my bed. “Sit. Eat,” she commanded as she made her way over to shut my door. Then she took her place in my desk chair.
I sat. I opened the wax paper and took out half of the sandwich, my mouth watering. It was beef, cheese and mustard on some hearty white bread and it tasted heavenly. I consumed the first half quickly, feeling vitality return to my body and mind as I ate. I went slower with the other half of the sandwich. Once I swallowed the last bit, Cora handed me a ginger beer, already uncapped.
“How did you—“ I asked, taking the bottle. I looked her up and down. I hadn’t seen her carrying the bottle, nor had I seen her open it. “Where did you—“
“Later,” she admonished. “Drink now, then talk.”
I nodded and took a long sip, then sighed. My extreme hunger made it seem like the best ginger beer I’d ever tasted.
“Now,” Cora commanded, “tell me what happened from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”
I took another swig from the bottle and handed it to Cora, who put it on my desk. Then I started the story of Laufeson and our unpleasant encounter in the library. Cora listened attentively and didn’t interrupt as I described the mesmeric influencing the fellow had attempted and how Mr. Avery came to my aid. Once I finished the story, Cora emitted a low whistle.
“Good grief,” she said, “Germans trying to mesmerize female students? How rude. It’s bad enough their operas and philosophers put one to sleep. We’ll have to put out a campus wide alert so all college females know to avoid the fellow.”
I nodded, hugging myself. Now that I wasn’t starved and had time to go over the events with a clearer head, I started to feel truly frightened. Who was Laufeson? I wondered. Why had he chosen to go after me, of all people? What would have happened if Mr. Avery hadn’t—
“Mrs. Sneed gave you brandy?” Cora asked, interrupting my train of thought like a herd of cows on the railway tracks.
“Sorry—what?” I asked.
“Brandy?” she prompted. “What did you think of it? Did it help calm you down?”
“It… certainly made me think of something other than the man who grabbed me,” I said, grimacing. I could still taste the stuff though I wasn’t sure if that was the residue on my lips or a resurgence of the unpleasant memory of my imbibing. “I am sure the beverage has many uses, but I fear most of them are industrial in origin.”
Cora smiled in delight at my quip. “That’s what I’ve always thought, too. No idea why it’s touted as such a remedy. I dare say it’d do fine service as a floor cleaner, so long as the ventilation was excellent.” She tilted her head, thinking. “So Sneed and Avery brought you home. What happens now?”
“Mr. Avery is making a report to the dons and the constable. He swore Laufeson would be kept well away from me. I suppose Mr. Avery will be the one who suggests the ‘campus-wide alert,' as you call it. It also wouldn’t surprise me if he moved my study spot at the Faraday to one more near his reference desk just to be safe. I think I’ll be studying here at Towson for a few days for my own piece of mind, anyway.”
Cora picked up the ginger beer from my desk and handed it back to me. I took another sip as she leaned forward and looked me in the eyes.
“He rattled you all the way through, didn’t he?” she asked softly. “You don’t want to admit it, but that’s the truth.”
I looked away and nodded.
“I have a suggestion and a request,” she said gently. “First, the suggestion. You make sure you go nowhere alone. I will speak to the other third floor girls and we’ll coordinate schedules so someone will always be available to walk you to class, go with you to the infernal Bosch hangar or study with you at the library for a while – just until you’re less frightened or the ruffian is well and truly off university grounds. Is that all right?”
I looked at Cora gratefully. “That would be a great comfort. Thank you. What’s the request?”
“Tell your Aunt Miranda about this Laufeson blaggart in the next letter you write to her. She’s the most level-headed woman I know, and she’ll have some useful advice for you. She sees around corners, if you know what I mean. She’ll have a solution, or plan, or something that will help. She might even know how to combat mesmerism.”
I put up a hand to stop her. “I don’t—“
“Better her than your mother,” Cora countered. “If the formidable Duchess of Albemarle hears about this, she’ll drag you home faster than boiled asparagus and not let you come back. You’ve only a few months before the Tripos and once you finish the exam, you get your certificate. You don’t want to be languishing at home taking tea with widows and matrons instead of studying that awful mathematics you seem so fond of, do you? You tell your Aunt Miranda first, and she can run interference if your mother does find out.”
I smiled a little. “Yes,” I agreed. “You’re right. I’ll start the letter later tonight while the details are fresh in my mind.” Since the incident happened on school grounds and not as the result of something I’d done with the Bosch, I realized, I could fill my aunt in and not worry about revealing my aeronaut activities.
“Excellent.” Cora rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Now —leave the logistics to me. I’ll need a copy of your schedule along with where your usual classes and haunts are. Do you want me to ask your escorts to have weapons?”
“Weapons?” I stammered, “since when do Towson girls have weapons?”
Cora smiled conspiratorially. “Gertrude has a new neurotoxin she’s dying to try out on a living person, as a start,” she said.
“Neurotoxin?” I squeaked, alarmed, “she can’t – “
“—and Towson females are nothing if not responsible. In fact,” she pulled a small throwing knife from each of her boots and handed them to me hilt first, “best you have a couple of these.”
I gaped, looking first at the knives in my hand and then up at Cora. “Knives? You carry knives?”
Cora shrugged. “Only on weekends. Weekdays I usually get by with my parasol, fan or reticule, the staples of a lady’s wardrobe.”
“Good Lord.” I put the knives on the bed beside me. Lizzie carried knives with some regularity; particularly when we went on a dart-throwing outing on the Bosch, but she’d had never had a reason to use them, so far as I knew. When I threw anything, I never missed. Therefore, I threw darts at targets, not knives at people.
I regarded Cora with skepticism. “You’ve turned your accessories into weapons?”
“No,” Cora said, “I just use them like weapons.” She mimicked swishing an umbrella about. “For instance, this is mostly a lot of pretending the ‘brolly is a sword, but it works in a pinch. Hidden weapons, no matter how pedestrian, offer distinct advantages. Pen nibs, hairpins, certain brooches… all have offensive possibilities if you use them properly.”
“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you,” I said. “You’ve been reading too much Lao Tsu and Caesar, surely. Pen nibs and hatpins as protective devices? It’s daft!”
“A modern woman needs to defend herself,” Cora said decisively, “and if you can’t see those sorts of items as weapons, that v
ouches quite eloquently for their advantages in a pinch. That being said, I agree the neurotoxin is a bit much. If Gertrude hits herself with the stuff instead of an attacker, well… I’m actually not sure if she’s made an antidote for it yet.”
“I see your point, but I hardly think such enthusiastic precautions are called for,” I said, trying not to imagine Gertrude with a neurotoxin.
Cora’s expression grew serious. “Men are frequently bigger and stronger than women,” she pointed out, “and unless you start thinking strategically about how to deal with ruffians, you may well become the victim of one as you almost did today. You’re the daughter of a duke who’s a powerful member of Parliament. You don’t think someone would attempt an abduction to get your father to vote a certain way? Or to secure a ransom?”
I stilled. That hadn’t even occurred to me. “It seems a long way to go to get—“
“Precisely,” Cora said, pointing at me. “This Laufeson fellow didn’t go ‘a long way,’ as you put it, and persons with agendas have only their goals in mind. You don’t even know why the dratted German wanted you in the first place. His first, and hopefully only, attack failed. Vigilance will be required to make any other attempts equally unsuccessful.” She pointed at the knives. “Take those, at least, if only to make me feel better. I have several I keep in my room, and Papa will send me more, if I ask.”
I marveled that Cora’s father would give her more knives, but kept my thoughts on that to myself. I could see the logic of her argument, but the possibility of my use of knives against anyone made me distinctly uncomfortable. “I will, but I doubt I’ll actually use them.” I took another sip of ginger beer and asked: “From what did Gertrude make this neurotoxin, by the way?”
Cora shrugged. “Something slimy that lives under rocks, or something terrifying and multi-legged she liberated from the Biology department, I should imagine. She’s also carefully maintaining a colony of spiders in her room, and plans on relocating them to one of the yew hedges in the garden once the weather allows, so I suppose they could have been the source. Guildersleeve will have kittens if she finds out, of course. We’ve a bet going on how long it’ll take the woman to catch on. Want to throw in a shilling or two?”
I laughed. Cora delighted in tormenting our house manager. “No,” I said.
Cora stood up and motioned to my desk. “Write up your engagements and itinerary for the week, and I’ll start making arrangements for escorts.”
“I’ll do it right now,” I said, standing, “and thank you.”
Cora waved off my thanks as she moved to my door. “You helped me through my math course last year,” she said, “so it’s the least I can do.” She pointed at my desk. “Get writing. I’ll be back in a bit to get your schedule, and you need to get the letter to your aunt squared away. You can post it Monday.”
Cora left and I sat down, pulling writing paper from the top drawer of the desk. It took a few minutes to write out my schedule for the week. I set it aside and started my letter to Aunt Miranda.
Chapter Eight
I stayed in my room rather than go down to dinner. Cora came by after the meal to check on me and pick up my schedule, then left, knowing I wanted to be alone. I spent the rest of the evening crafting the letter to my Aunt Miranda. It came out at a whopping four pages long, which was unusually verbose for me. I put it in an envelope and planned on dropping it in the post on Monday morning. Then I did some more studying, tinkered with a few Ladies’ Devices and lay down to try to sleep at some wee hour of the morning. Sleep didn’t come easily, and when it did, I dreamt of ravens, wolves, snakes and arctic cold. I woke only slightly rested and distinctly unnerved Sunday morning.
As I prepared for church that sense of unease increased, crawling up my spine and sitting hard in the back of my mind. What will I do if I meet Laufeson on the way to church? Can he use his mesmerism on me from a distance? I worried. I thought about giving church a miss, but knew that would generate questions and unnecessary concern in my friends. So, I squashed what worry I could and finished dressing, hoping no one would notice how jumpy I was.
I moved into the Towson foyer, tugging on my gloves to hide my apprehension. Other girls stood in corners in groups, making the final adjustments to their clothing as they spoke quietly to each other. I turned my attention back to my gloves when I found myself flanked by three Towson females bearing parasols. Gertrude, Melisande, and Cora, dressed in their Sunday best, held the rain repelling devices at what could only be called ‘parade rest’ and exuded an air of heightened vigilance.
“Is it supposed to rain?” I asked, dismayed. “Shall I get my parasol?”
Cora shook her head. “Not until you’ve been properly trained in its use,” she said gravely.
“Oh, good heavens,” I muttered. “You can’t be serious.”
“We’re your guards,” Melisande told me with a wink. Her blond hair, striking features, and nearly turquoise blue eyes emulated the Nordic heritage she studied in her Viking saga curriculum with Professor Einarsson. “Don’t worry. Cora’s briefed us on what needs doing. We’ll be escorting you to classes and that horrid air shed and disreputable clubhouse until further notice. She even spoke to Millie to send a message to Max and your other Bosch friends so they know to be vigilant.”
I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand, now worried Laufeson would try to hurt my friends. “I appreciate your concern, but doesn’t this seem… I don’t know… a bit more martial than is really necessary?”
Cora snorted. “For some it isn’t nearly ‘martial’ enough.” She indicated Gertrude.
“Cora won’t let me bring my neurotoxin to church,” Gertrude muttered dejectedly, giving her parasol a shake. Her light brown hair hung in ringlets that framed her face and neck, making her seem more like a china doll than an avid dissector of dead animals of all kinds.
Cora rolled her eyes. “Poisoning the parishioners is hardly Christian, no matter how enthusiastic you are about the stuff,” she responded. She looked Gertrude up and down. “You aren’t packing any spiders, I hope?”
“No,” Gertrude answered lightly. “According to the reverend, insects have no souls, so they’re quite beyond salvation and Heaven, the poor things.”
Melisande shuddered. “Spiders. I can do without those wee beasties at church, thank you very much.”
Cora pointed at the door as our fellow housemates moved toward it, ready to head out. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
Chapter Nine
On the way to St. Bene’t’s Church, my protectors surrounded me on three sides and kept a careful watch on everyone we passed. Melisande, who guarded my right side, maintained a running monologue at me as we went, mostly about house and town gossip. I listened politely and didn’t interrupt. Then she grew thoughtful.
“The name of the fellow who attacked you – what was it again?”
“Augustus Laufeson,” I told her. “Spoke with a German accent, said he was a transfer from Wittenburg.”
“Laufeson… Laufeson…” she mused. “An interesting name. Do you know what it means?”
I snorted. “I’m as good with languages as you are with calculus, Mellie,” I told her. Melisande was notoriously bad with suMs. “So I’ve no idea what the name meant, and it didn’t occur to me to ask.” I’d been too busy fighting whatever mesmeric influence he’d tried on me, I remembered with a shudder.
“Laufeson means ‘Son of Loki,'” she said, then looked at me as if I should know what the significance of that was.
I shrugged. “Trevelyan means ‘Village of Elian,' though I’ve no idea if such a place even exists.”
“You don’t know who Loki is?” Mellie looked hurt. “How can you not know that?”
“My area of study is the sciences and mathematics. I’ve never been one for myths and stories—“ I paused, remembering the stories Max had described my telling in the pub in Penzance. Part of me—a part I didn’t control—knew stories… though I didn’t. A chill
went down my spine, but I continued; “—just ask Cora. She’s appalled I’ve not read the Iliad or Odyssey or some such nonsense though I have read Aristotle… in English, at least.”
“Loki is the trickster god of the Norse pantheon,” Mellie explained. “Sometimes he helps the Norse gods, and sometimes he hurts them. He engineered the death of Baldur, and Odin punished him by binding him under the dripping fangs of a venomous snake for eternity. He’s a shapeshifter, illusionist, a sorcerer, of sorts… and a liar.”
“In the stories you’ve studied, did this Loki have the ability to mesmerize someone?” I asked.
Melisande nodded. “Without question. Under certain circumstances, he can put thoughts in someone’s head or make them believe things that are not true.”
That made me pause. “You speak of this Loki fellow as if he’s more than a myth.”
Melisande grimaced. “There are those—my professor among them—who think Loki exists as a force in the modern world.”
“I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this idea,” I said, “but let me make sure I understand this. You think Laufeson’s name is no coincidence, and you’re suggesting this ‘Son of Loki’ might possess some of his mythological father’s traits or abilities?”
“I know it sounds very odd,” she said, “but in some places in this world such a notion would be perfectly reasonable.”
“I’ve been experiencing some odd moments recently,” I admitted, “though I can’t figure why Loki—or a son of his, metaphorical or otherwise—would want me. I’ve no connection to Norse myths.”
Mellie shrugged. “Nor can I, but mark my words… something about your attacker is linked to Loki… whether or not you believe the god exists.”
Another chill ran down my spine at her words and a sense of foreboding filled me. “Lovely,” I murmured. “Bloody lovely.”
Gertrude, my protector opposite Mellie, hit my left forearm in gentle admonishment. “Language, Ari!” she hissed. “You can’t speak like that on a Sunday! What will the reverend say?”
The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1) Page 7