Wondering Sight (The Extraordinaries Book 2)

by Melissa McShane

  Sophia once again picked up the fob and looked through Lord Endicott’s eyes. “He is heading south,” she said. “The sun is on his left hand. South and a little west.”

  “Portsmouth,” Mr. Rutledge said. “Look for signs. Guildford, or Haslemere.”

  “I have three and a half years of experience scouting for the War Office, Mr. Rutledge. I know how to find my location.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Mr. Rutledge said, but he sounded amused rather than offended. “I forgot myself in my eagerness.”

  “Thank you.” It was such an eerie feeling, Seeing through someone’s eyes when he had no idea she was there. She closed her eyes against real-world distractions just as a familiar whoosh heralded Daphne’s arrival.

  “Why have you not taken Lord Endicott to the magistrates?” she exclaimed, and Sophia heard paper rustling. “Look at this headline! Sophia could be arrested at any moment!”

  “Lord Endicott has escaped, Sophy is tracking him now, and I suspect Bow Street will not be sending Mr. Vane after Sophy, if you have told them Lord Endicott is the villain, Mr. Rutledge.”

  “They will not,” Mr. Rutledge said. “Though Rowley was preparing to do so when I arrived with my explanation and a line of criminals in tow. I believe he was disappointed he would not be able to make his career by arresting an Extraordinary.”

  Sophia could not settle whether to be angry or amused by this, but then Lord Endicott turned his head to look at a road sign, and she said, “He is nearing Guildford right now.”

  “Then he has not gone far,” Mr. Rutledge said. “I must hurry back to Bow Street—we will have to round up as many Bounders as we can, if we are to intercept him before he reaches Portsmouth. If we are fortunate, some of them will be able to Bound to one of the towns nearer to Guildford. Please excuse me.”

  “I can take you to Bow Street,” Daphne said.

  Sophia dropped the fob into her lap and opened her eyes to stare at Daphne, and saw everyone else was doing the same. “Why are you surprised? It’s not as if the magistrates’ office is a secret,” Daphne said.

  “But, Daphne… Mr. Rutledge is… rather large…” Sophia said, unable to look at him for fear she would start laughing, and he would believe she was laughing at him rather than at the absurdity of tiny Daphne lifting anyone larger than she was.

  “So what if he is? I want to be more than a courier in the War Office, Sophia, and I have practiced lifting increasingly heavy weights for the last three years, and—you are all so skeptical, but have I ever been unable to do something once I’ve claimed I could do it?” Daphne walked over to Mr. Rutledge and tilted her head back, looking up at him. “You’ll have to balance, but it’s only for a moment, and you can do that, can’t you, Mr. Rutledge?”

  “If you can save me the carriage ride to Bow Street, I can balance for as long as you like,” he said. He looked down at the ring in his hand, then extended it to Sophia. “Hold this, for now,” he said, “and I will try to communicate with you as we learn more.”

  “But I will be Seeing through his eyes,” Sophia said.

  “As a precaution, then,” he said. He looked so serious despite the bruise that gave him a rakish look that she took the ring and swiftly dropped it into her lap before the swirling Visions could fill her Sight.

  Daphne crouched next to Mr. Rutledge. “It is all about balance, and center of gravity,” she said, wrapped her arms around his legs just above his knees, and heaved—and Mr. Rutledge’s feet left the ground, and before he could do more than wobble, they were both gone.

  Sophia gasped, then began to laugh, and Cecy joined her. “I would not for the world make fun of her,” Sophia said when her laughter had subsided, “but that is the funniest thing I have seen in ages.”

  “I hope she doesn’t strain herself,” Lewis said. “That was… I don’t mind telling you I don’t believe I could lift him, even in this augmented form.”

  “Daphne continues to amaze me,” Sophia said. She picked up Mr. Rutledge’s ring rather than the fob. He was, in fact, inside the magistrates’ office, with Daphne beside him—she appeared to be listening closely to something he was saying, and nodding in agreement.

  Whoosh. “Mr. Rutledge wants me to help transport the men to Portsmouth,” Daphne said, “so I will do that, and then return—no, I will take a few moments to learn the essence of some of the places nearer—I wish I had known I would need to know them, they—it will make my Bounding more—unless you believe—”

  “That makes sense, Daphne,” Sophia said, half her attention on her cousin and the other half on Mr. Rutledge, who had just written WE WILL FIND HIM in his notebook. That he could take the time to reassure her when he was scrambling to catch up to his prey warmed her heart.

  “Then I will return later,” Daphne said, and vanished. Mr. Rutledge was talking to Sir Arthur now, and Sophia set the ring down. Right now, she wanted only to See what Lord Endicott saw. The warm feeling she had from Mr. Rutledge’s regard turned into a fierce, joyful, angry flame when she thought of how her nemesis was riding to his doom, even if no one but she seemed to understand his death was essential to her peace of mind. She picked up the fob again. He was not stopping in Guildford, but he would need to change horses sometime, and eat—

  “Cecy, I am hungry,” she said. “Is there anything to eat?”

  She found it unexpectedly exhausting to watch the interminable landscape through Lord Endicott’s eyes without cease, and eventually settled into a pattern: watch for ten minutes, rest for half an hour, watch again. He did nothing to vary his journey except stop in some town she failed to glimpse the name of, to change horses and eat a nuncheon that was no doubt far coarser than what he was accustomed to. Lewis went off to his study. Cecy sat with her sewing and occasionally asked if Sophia Saw anything interesting. Sophia answered her briefly, and sometimes commented on what she Saw.

  She thought about setting the fob aside to See what Mr. Rutledge saw. What would he do, when this was all over? He had told her his working for the Bank of England was something new; based on what little she had seen in Vision, she suspected he had worked clandestinely for the British government for many years, or possibly the East India Company. Some organization that could afford to send him all over the world, at any rate. If Lord Endicott’s criminal activities were now permanently at an end, would the Bank of England have need of him anymore? More likely he would return to what he had been doing before this interlude.

  She set the fob aside and leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. He might need to travel again. The British Indian colonies were always in conflict with the local rulers, and she had Seen him there before; his employers might determine his experience was necessary there. Or they might send him to America, where the Iroquois Confederacy seemed once again to be on the verge of war with the colonies, disrupting trade as well as government. And then it would not matter that they had reclaimed their friendship; he would be gone, and it would be as if she had never met him.

  “You seem very somber now,” Cecy said. “Is something troubling you?”

  Sophia smiled, but did not open her eyes. “You mean, aside from worrying that my enemy will yet escape punishment?”

  “Yes, aside from that.” Cecy set her sewing down. “Are you content, dearest?”

  “With what?”

  “Content that Lord Endicott will be punished, even if it is not what you wanted.”

  “Does it disturb you that I want him dead?”

  “It does, a little.”

  Sophia sat up and looked at Cecy. “He tried to ruin me,” she said. “He took joy in seeing me suffer. He would have had me arrested and imprisoned and I have no doubt he would have tried to kill me, given enough time. How am I wrong for wanting him dead?”

  “Because it is hurting you,” Cecy said. “I know you have been trying to protect yourself, but you are taking as much pleasure in hunting him down as he did in tormenting you. If it was evil of him to do it to you, how is it any less e
vil when you do it to him?”

  “You are not calling me evil, Cecy?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. If seeing him destroyed means you must become like him, then I would rather he lived a long and miserable life on the other side of the world.”

  “I am nothing like him.” Sophia stood and walked to the window, gripped the sill and leaned heavily on it. Outside, carriages filled the street, which was wet and dirty from what was left of the last snowfall. No one looked up. No one ever thought to look up, to see what was there around them beyond the limits of their vision.

  “No, you are not,” Cecy said gently, “but you might become so.”

  “If he is not dead, he will simply return when the term of his transportation is up and find new ways to torment me!”

  “They could make his transportation permanent.”

  “But they will not. It is not justice, Cecy.”

  “And? You don’t want justice. You want revenge.”

  “And it seems I will have neither,” Sophia said. She flung herself away from the window and out the door, down the stairs and into the foyer before remembering she held both the fob and the ring clutched in a fold of her skirt. She stood in the tall, narrow room, feeling the hard angles of one and the soft curves of the other through the muslin, then slid the ring over her finger and let herself be encompassed by Vision. Mr. Rutledge was outdoors, standing beside a barn, possibly, some large structure anyway; she knew little of agrarian life. He was talking to a younger man. It was all extremely boring. She removed the ring and traded it for the fob.

  Lord Endicott was in a coach now, probably a post-chaise, though it was difficult to tell from the inside. It was passing through a town; all these little towns surrounding London looked the same to her, the same ancient Tudor framing, the same little inns bearing the same—

  Sophia looked again. No, it didn’t look the same, it was the same. Lord Endicott had turned around and was returning to London. He had tricked her again, had taken the road to Portsmouth just long enough to convince her of his destination, waited until he was certain she would have sent the law there to arrest him, and now was turning back on his trail. Oh, he was cunning, but she would not be so easily deterred. Where was Daphne? She needed to get word of this to Mr. Rutledge immediately.

  No. That was foolish. Lord Endicott might change his direction again and again and leave them trailing after him like puppies after a crafty old fox. She needed more information. She ran back upstairs and into her room, tossed the ring and the fob into the drawer, and flung herself onto her bed to Dream. He would not escape her. He might be able to taunt her in Vision, but he had no defense against Dream.

  She found only one door waiting for her when she dropped into Dream. That was either a good sign, or a terrible warning; if events were funneling into a single future, it meant something was coming that would be almost impossible to avoid. She laid her hand on the door and was drawn into Dream. Even before the Dream fully enveloped her, she heard the roar of applause, but found herself on a pebbly shore, watching the tide as it slammed into the cliff side. It was Dover. Toy boats bobbed on the soapy grey stone of the water; the painted white circle of the sun hovered low above the horizon; men and women like sticks with arms and legs passed around her, ignoring her.

  Lord Endicott appeared, standing between her and the shore. He was the only other recognizably human figure in the Dream. He disappeared, then popped back into existence as if he were a Bounder rather than a Shaper, vanished and appeared again. He had his back to her and was looking out over the ocean—no, he was looking at the boats as if trying to choose which one to embark on.

  A heavy weight dragged at each of her hands. In one hand, she held Mr. Rutledge’s ring, which had grown large enough for her to wear as a bracelet. In the other, a long-barreled pistol weighed her down. It was beautiful, with gold inlay and a shining barrel that looked oiled, it gleamed so. She raised the pistol, pointed it at Lord Endicott’s back, and hesitated—and the Dream came apart, and she was back in her room, on her bed, sweating and shaking from the intensity of the Dream. This was what events were leading to. Lord Endicott would Bound to Dover, where she would be waiting, and he would not know to flee her. And she would have her revenge. All the paths of Dream led to this.

  She lay, still shuddering, making her plans. It was tempting to run through the streets, looking for a Bounder who could take her to Dover, but the Dream was incontrovertible; she would be in Dover at the right time, which meant Daphne would return exactly when she was needed. That gave Sophia enough time for one more crucial errand.

  When she once again had control of herself, she went back to the drawing room, where Cecy was staring into the fireplace, her sewing forgotten on the seat beside her. “I am going out for a while,” she said.

  “Please don’t be angry with me,” Cecy said. Sophia realized she had been crying. She went to her knees in front of her friend and put her arms around her.

  “I am not angry with you, Cecy, and you are right,” Sophia said. Lying became easier the more you did it. “But I need some time to let go of my anger at Lord Endicott, do you understand that?”

  Cecy nodded. “Mr. Rutledge will capture him soon,” she said. “I know he would want you to See it.”

  “I will not be gone long.” She squeezed Cecy once more, then went downstairs to summon the carriage, gripping the fob as she waited. The Vision still showed the interior of the carriage; Lord Endicott had not yet arrived at his destination. When Peter pulled up to the door, she told him where to go, and glared at him when he seemed about to question her decision to travel unescorted into Whitechapel. But it was the only pawnshop she knew, and she dared not stop to Dream of one closer to home. Besides, the proprietor owed her a debt, even though she did not intend to identify herself in order to collect on it.

  The pawnshop owner was disinclined to tell the eccentric woman she could not have what she wanted, when it turned out she had hard coin to spend. Sophia had left off the red gloves for this excursion to protect her identity, and there was a moment when she picked up the pistol and was overwhelmed by the images of death associated with it. That moment shook her resolve; could she shoot a man? If it is Lord Endicott, I can do anything, she thought, and gripped the pistol’s hilt more firmly.

  She walked out of the shop with her new purchase in a drawstring bag it was undoubtedly not meant to be carried in. It was not the long-barreled beauty of her Dream, but a more practical, smaller pistol the pawnbroker nevertheless assured her would be perfect “for madam to defend herself with.” She also had powder, shot, and wadding, and five minutes’ instruction in loading the thing. More than enough. She would only need to use it once.

  She returned to the house and smuggled the pistol up to her room, then retrieved her gloves and, after a few moments’ thought, Mr. Rutledge’s ring, and returned to the drawing room to find it empty. Cecy must have felt unwell again. Fortunate for both of them, since Sophia was tired of having to lie to the people she cared about. She drew off one glove, tried the fob again—still the carriage—then, after a moment’s hesitation, picked up the ring and located Mr. Rutledge’s Vision. He was alone now, standing behind the same barn, occasionally looking up the empty road. One more person to lie to, though in his case it was a lie of omission. She would send Daphne back for him once she had got what she wanted. Where was Daphne, anyway? Surely she was done running errands for Mr. Rutledge by now.

  As if her thoughts summoned her, Daphne appeared in the middle of the room. She looked more windblown than usual and the tip of her nose as well as her cheeks was red. “Is Cecy not well?” she said. “I apologize for taking so long—”

  “Never mind that,” Sophia said. “I need you to take me to Dover. Right now.”

  In which Sophia makes a decision

  over?” Daphne said. “Why Dover?” Her eyes went wide. “Sophia, did you—you would not have lied to us about—he will escape, Sophia, how could you think—”
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  “I never lie about my Sight,” Sophia said. “Lord Endicott has tricked me. He made it seem he was going to Portsmouth, but he is on his way to Dover. I have Seen where he will be and I am the only one who can stop him in time. Please, Daphne, we cannot delay any longer.”

  “But, Sophia, he cannot possibly reach Dover faster than I can fetch Mr. Rutledge. It’s a long journey.”

  “He’s not going there directly. He knows where he can find a Bounder to take him there,” Sophia said. “Please, Daphne. He is still traveling, but at any moment he could reach this Bounder, and then it will be too late.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Please. If he escapes….”

  Daphne still looked troubled. “You can fetch Mr. Rutledge after you have taken me there,” Sophia said.

  “All right,” Daphne said, “but you will wait for me to find Mr. Rutledge and not go tearing off after Lord Endicott by yourself, agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Sophia lied. “Wait while I fetch my cloak.”

  She ran to her bedroom for her largest cloak, picked up the drawstring bag and concealed it in the heavy velvet folds, then ran back to the drawing room. “I need not ask if you are able to lift me,” she said, though the joke sounded dull to her. Daphne smiled in a way that told Sophia she did not think it was very funny either. She put her arms around Sophia, heaved, and with a flicker of insubstantiality, they were in a tiny chamber with an angular symbol painted on the wall in short, broad strokes of black.

  “It’s—I should accompany you, Mr. Wallis will not know what to make of you,” Daphne said. She pushed the door open with some effort because it stuck. It gave out a loud crack when it was finally freed of the frame.

  The room beyond was dimmer than the chamber, lit by a few low-burning candle stubs, had been. Half a dozen men looked up from their drinks to regard them with a kind of dull non-interest. The man behind the bar, by contrast, gave them both a very keen look. “Lady Daphne,” he said. “Who’s your friend then?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mr. Wallis, she has the money,” Daphne said. Sophia, startled, shook her head at Daphne, and Daphne rolled her eyes and dug a few coins out of the pouch strapped across her chest. “There,” she said. “My friend is going to wait here, and I’m bringing through a lot of other people, so be polite to her and you’ll profit by it, understand?”