Gwen nodded. Diplomats always started out with exaggerated demands and then allowed their counterparts to whittle them down, until they arrived at a compromise both sides could live with. It probably hadn’t been easy for Sir Travis, she reflected; the British Empire held the whip hand in India and had no intention of allowing any mere prince to claim even a local victory. On the other hand, if she believed everything Sir Charles had written in his dispatches, a recognition or honour from King George was enough to convince some princes to allow the British to oversee the affairs of their kingdoms.
“My brother was one of the people who saw him before he died,” Gwen said, tartly. “Did you know that he was involved in the affair?”
“It was a possibility,” Lord Mycroft said, blandly. “He was certainly meant to have seen Sir Travis on the night he died.”
Gwen glowered at him, not bothering to hide her irritation. “And you didn’t think to tell me about that little detail?”
Lord Mycroft lifted one elegant eyebrow. “It may interest you to know,” he said, “that there are some matters outside the purview of the Royal Sorceress. Those include secret diplomatic talks that could cause no end of problems if they became public too early. And yes” – he pointed a finger at her – “they include the work of said Sorceress’s brother.”
“You have ordered me to find the killer of Sir Travis Mortimer,” Gwen snapped. “The list of suspects includes my own brother. How is that not important to me?”
Mycroft sighed. “Because I needed you to view the evidence blind,” he said. “And because, like the rest of us, you are expected to put personal feelings aside and serve your country.”
He cut another piece of beef and chewed it, thoughtfully. “What have you found out?”
Gwen put her thoughts in order and outlined everything she’d discovered, starting with Polly’s innocence and ending with the missing papers. Lord Mycroft studied the ones she’d brought with her carefully, clearly recognising that some were missing. It was hard to read his face, but Gwen could tell that he was very concerned. The missing papers were clearly important.
“You had to break into the safe,” he said, when she’d finished. “Could another magician have done the same trick?”
“Only if he were a Master,” Gwen said. She’d given the matter some thought while the carriage had been rattling towards Whitehall. “Even Merlin couldn’t have cooperated closely enough to open the safe without destroying the papers inside.”
“But that leaves us with another puzzle,” Lord Mycroft pointed out. “Either we have another Master Magician running around London or Sir Travis opened the safe himself. Could he have been Charmed into opening the safe?”
Gwen hesitated. “I wouldn’t have thought so,” she said, finally. “The more... unnatural a particular act is, the harder it is to use Charm to force someone to do it without them realising what’s happening. Even if the Charmer were powerful enough to overcome resistance, there should still be some signs of a struggle on his face.”
Mycroft frowned. “Even with someone as powerful as Lord Blackburn?”
“There should still have been some trace of a struggle,” Gwen said, remembering how Lord Blackburn had taught her how to resist Charm. It would be nice to find the traitor in London and arrest him, but it was unlikely that the Turks would ever send him back. “And if there were a Charmer massively more powerful than Lord Blackburn, he’d be running the world by now.”
“There are all sorts of suggestions about the new Sultan,” Lord Mycroft commented. “But people have been very charismatic for centuries before magic came into the world.”
There was a chime from the dumbwaiter. Gwen stood up and walked over to the hatch, opening it to reveal a large sandwich crammed with beef, vegetables and horseradish. Her mother would have been offended at such fare, but Gwen found it hard to care, not when using magic often left her feeling half-starved. She picked up the plate, carried it back to the table and sat down to eat. It tasted extremely good.
“But there is a simpler explanation,” Lord Mycroft said. “Sir Travis took the papers out of his safe and had them on his desk when he was murdered. The killer then took them with him when he left.”
Gwen scowled. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“But that raises another puzzle,” Lord Mycroft added. “Your brother wouldn’t need to steal the papers, Ambassador Talleyrand should never have been allowed to see the papers and Howell wouldn’t have risked murdering anyone. And yet, the papers are worthless – unless one happens to have the key to unlocking the code. And to do that, you’d have to know what the papers were in advance.”
He frowned. “Unless, of course, the killer just took the papers relating to specific dates and times,” he concluded. “That would make a certain kind of sense.”
Gwen nodded. “Who is Howell?”
“Almost certainly uninvolved, although his presence in this affair is worrying,” Lord Mycroft said. “You should leave him out of your calculations.”
Gwen kept her opinion of that to herself, but silently resolved to investigate Howell as soon as possible.
Mycroft cleared his throat as he pushed his plates to one side. “You may have realised that there is more to this case than I have told you,” he said. “I would go so far as to say that it is of national importance. It is vitally important that we find the murderer and establish just what happened to those papers before it is too late.”
“You said it might lead to war,” Gwen said. “How likely is that?”
“The French were blamed for the undead epidemic in London during the Swing,” Lord Mycroft reminded her, dryly. “Right now, there are questions being asked in Parliament as to why the new government hasn’t declared war on France. The Duke of India is hard-pressed to explain, if only because he cannot command Parliament as easily as he can command his army. And the Honourable Members are hearing from their constituents. The general public loathes France right now. If there were a handful of defections in the Commons, the Prime Minister’s position would be fundamentally weakened and we would go to war.
“And then there’s the proposal from Governor Arnold in Philadelphia,” he added. “Our American subjects want to invade Northern Mexico, if only to liberate the white settlers who fled there after the end of the rebellion. And several in the Admiralty support them, Lady Gwen. Do you understand why?”
Gwen shook her head. The Army worked closely with American Militiamen, even if there was still a lingering sense of distrust after the attempted rebellion, but the Navy had much less to do with America apart from escorting slavers across the Atlantic. Admittedly, there were several squadrons based in America, or the West Indies, that might have developed close ties to Americans...
“The French and Spanish hold Panama,” Lord Mycroft explained. “Some bright spark at the Admiralty has realised that a canal, dug through the country, would make it much easier to redeploy Royal Navy squadrons to the Far East, should we ever have need to intervene in China or Japan. And we really should consider the latter. The Japanese are far too like us for comfort. If they get organised as a nation, we could be in some trouble.”
Gwen struggled to remember geography lessons that had never quite gelled in her mind. “They’re just a small set of islands,” she pointed out, finally. “How much trouble can they cause us?”
“We’re a small set of islands,” Lord Mycroft countered. “And yet we rule a quarter of the globe. The French can never focus completely on us because they have to control Europe – given time, the Prussians might turn into a serious threat to their control. The Russians have too many internal problems to deploy all of their strength against an outsider, at least as long as Russia itself is not invaded. The Turks have too many problems controlling the territory they hold.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite touch his eyes. “What would happen if those factors no longer applied?
“My... predecessors were horrified at the mere prospect of France joining
the American Revolutionaries in their war, particularly when they realised just how badly Lord Bute had mishandled our relations with Prussia and the rest of the German states. If the Americans had kept the war going, I have no doubt that the French would have joined them – and the results would have been disastrous. We had alienated Prussia too badly to count on them to support us.”
Gwen looked down at her hands, remembering the fighting in London at the end of the Swing.
“If we did go to war,” she said, “could we win?”
“We would win at sea, if not easily,” Lord Mycroft said. He shook his head in wry amusement. “One has to admire French persistence. They’ve been beaten successively in naval wars and yet they keep rebuilding their navy. Right now, we have reports that suggest that they too are experimenting with steam-powered vessels, which could be a major problem in future. But we could isolate the different parts of the French Empire and pick off the smaller colonies.
“Beating the French in Mexico, on the other hand...”
His face twisted into an odd scowl. “It would be difficult,” he admitted. “Ever since the French and Spanish united their Crowns, they’ve actually been working on developing Mexico into a proper power base. They’ve even managed to make progress towards giving the locals a stake in maintaining the status quo. And Mexico couldn’t simply be isolated and left to starve. We’d have to invade.”
“Or they might invade us,” Gwen said.
Mycroft nodded. “The Americans think that they can win quickly,” he said. “I’m not so sure. No one has fought a major war with modern weapons since 1802. And the French may well have some unfair advantages. There are plenty of Mexicans in New Orleans – and the French who used to live in Quebec.”
He shook his head. “I would prefer to avoid such a war, if possible,” he concluded. “Sir Travis was working on a project that might convince the French not to push too hard. But his death may have scuppered that plan.”
Gwen leaned forward. “What was the plan?”
“You need to talk to your brother,” Lord Mycroft said. “He can tell you everything – I’ll give you a note to that effect. And you can confirm his innocence.”
“They might not trust my opinion,” Gwen said. A young lady was always expected to support her family, right or wrong. “And...”
“This isn’t going to go public,” Lord Mycroft said, sharply. “I trust your opinion.”
He reached for a notebook and scribbled a note, then pulled a cord that would summon a steward to collect it. “This could be important for you too,” he added. “You know how many people there are out there who think that you’re nothing more than a weak and feeble woman – no, a little girl dressing up as a man – who had the good fortune to assume Master Thomas’s legacy. This is your chance to prove them wrong.”
Gwen gave him an icy look. “That hardly seems fair,” she pointed out.
“The world isn’t fair,” Lord Mycroft reminded her. “And besides – you can hardly rail against your fellow women, the ones who expect the men to take care of everything, and then blame men for not taking women seriously. This is your chance to show that you can carry out an investigation on your own.
“Yes, your brother is a suspect,” he added. “And yes, that will reflect badly on you. If my brother were to be accused of something – anything – do you think that my position would not be questioned?”
“True,” Gwen conceded, flushing.
“And if you bow out now, you know how many people will claim that you gave in to womanish sentimentality. Or that you knew that your brother was guilty and chose not to have to convict him. After all, women cannot be legally forced to testify against their relatives.”
He was right, Gwen realised. Legally, a wife could refuse to testify against her husband – or a sister against her brother – and nothing would be said, officially. But everyone would wonder, none too quietly, what she’d had to hide. Surely, they’d say, someone who had nothing to fear would stand up, swear to tell the whole truth... and then tell the truth.
But what, a quiet nagging voice asked, if he really is guilty?
The steward entered the room and took Lord Mycroft’s note. “I have asked your brother to meet you in the Viewing Room,” Lord Mycroft said. “Once you have finished speaking with him, you might as well go back to Cavendish Hall and get some sleep. You will need your mind to be in perfect form when you question Talleyrand.”
He rubbed his fleshy chin. “And I will send you the file on him,” he added. “Talleyrand is the ultimate survivor. Do not underestimate him.”
Chapter Thirteen
Under other circumstances, Gwen would have rather liked the Viewing Room. It was on the sixth floor, high enough to allow her to stare out over London without having to fly under her own power. Down below, she saw an endless stream of horse-drawn carriages, making their way to and from Whitehall, while street-sellers peddled their wares to pedestrians taking the air. It was easy to believe that the Swing had never taken place, if only because the damaged buildings had been rapidly repaired.
She turned away from the window as the door opened, revealing David Crichton. As always, he looked rather stuffy in his suit, which had been carefully tailored to make him look at least a decade or two older than he actually was. Gwen had puzzled over that until she’d discovered that the older generation of civil servants and government ministers tended to dislike the idea of youth at the helm. David was young enough to be the son of most of the people he had to work with, just as Gwen could have been their daughter. But it was always easier for a man.
“David,” she said. David was too old to enjoy being hugged, even by his sister, at least in public. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you,” David said, primly. “Mother was complaining to Laura about how you never came to see her.”
Gwen winced inwardly. Trust David to mention that! But Laura, his wife, would probably have reminded him to tell Gwen when he next saw her. Being a daughter-in-law, even one with her own establishment, Laura couldn’t escape the dominating presence of Lady Mary. If nothing else, it was unlikely that Gwen would have to put up with her own mother-in-law.
David hadn’t been a bad brother, not really. But once upon a time, he’d become a stuffy old man and never really looked back. And yet... he’d given Gwen advice when she’d needed it – and he might have been promoted because of his connection to the Royal Sorceress. Gwen had never dared ask if that was the case. Men, she’d learned by now, resented it when a woman arranged their promotion.
“You’ve put on some weight,” she observed. “Did Laura get a new cook?”
“The new one does a wonderful stewed beef,” David admitted. “Laura has been making her practice meals for the child, when he’s finally born. Pregnancy seems to have concentrated her mind on preparing a nest.”
Gwen had to smile. Maybe her nephew – or niece – would distract Lady Mary from hounding Gwen about marriage, once Laura gave birth. She was certainly nearing her time.
She braced herself. “Did Lord Mycroft tell you why he ordered us to meet?”
David shook his head. “He just said that we had to talk – and that I was excused the rest of the day, if I needed to go home,” he said. “Gwen... what is going on?”
“I...”
Gwen hesitated – none of her mother’s lessons had ever covered this – and plunged forward. “Sir Travis Mortimer was murdered last night. You would have been one of the people who saw him just before he died.”
David’s eyes opened wide. “Travis is dead?”
“Yes,” Gwen said. Thankfully, David wasn’t the kind of brother who was over-protective of his sister. Besides, he knew she’d seen more horror in the last year than most people saw in their entire lives. “He was murdered. I have been charged with investigating his death.”
It took a moment for David to realise the implications. “And you think that I am a suspect,” he snapped. It wasn’t a question. “What sort
of monster do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you did it,” Gwen assured him, cursing herself. That had clearly been the wrong approach. But then, David guarded his good name as carefully as upper-class women guarded their honour. Any accusation, from anyone, would sting. “But I do need to know what happened that night.”
David turned, found a chair and sat down heavily. “Lord Mycroft said I could talk to you about anything,” he said. “I never thought that it would be... Gwen, what do you know about the Airship Treaty?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Gwen said, honestly.
“Good,” David said, with sudden force. “Because the whole thing is a state secret. No one was supposed to know about it, outside a very small group. If the secret comes out before it is too late...”
Gwen frowned. “What – precisely – is the Airship Treaty?”
David laughed, rather wildly. “It may never get off the ground,” he said. “And if the French know about it...”
“Calm down,” Gwen ordered. She walked over to the drinks cabinet, poured a glass of brandy and passed it to him. He sipped it carefully, looking into the liquid as if he expected to find answers there. “David...”
She briefly considered using Charm, but David would be aware of the possibility – and if he was working for Mycroft, he would have been trained to resist Charm, no matter how subtle. And it would destroy their relationship completely if she tried, particularly after the day she’d first used her powers. Gwen barely remembered that day – she’d been six years old - but no one else could forget it. She’d terrified the entire house.
“Turkey is isolated,” David said, putting the glass down on the table. “The Russians are threatening them from the north; the French are threatening them from the west. And they have the Persians to the east, who may become a later threat. Their new Sultan has been reorganising their government and military, but they don’t have the resources to stand off both Russia and France. We believe that the two powers have already come to an agreement to divide up the Ottoman Empire between them.”
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