by M. J. Putney
Cynthia decided to overlook his tone of voice since his nerves would be on edge until he got Tory back. “Not a hostage exchange. If I know the commandant’s appearance, I can make you look like him. If we move quickly, before they’re sorted out, you could probably go into the headquarters and order them to release Jack to your custody. You speak German, don’t you?”
“Yes, though there’s more to an impersonation than appearance and basic language ability.” Allarde’s voice had turned thoughtful. “Your illusion magic. Is it strictly on the surface, or is part of it working on the mind of the viewer to make them believe in what they’re seeing?”
“I … I don’t know. I’ve only recently recognized what I’m doing.” She frowned, thinking. “Mostly it’s on the surface, but there might be an element of mental persuasion as well. Let’s try an experiment.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on changing her appearance to that of Tory. Opening them, she said, “How do I look?”
He blinked. “That’s remarkable. I’ve heard of high-price courtesans in London who can change their looks completely, but I’ve never seen it.”
“A courtesan? Wonderful,” she said caustically. “Still another way for me to support myself that would make my father insane.”
Allarde grinned. “Weather working is a better career in the long run. Besides, a courtesan needs to be compliant. I doubt that’s your strong point.”
He had that right. “I’m going to try something more with this.” She sank deeper into her magic, then projected that she didn’t just look like her roommate, she was her.
Allarde gasped. “Good God, even though I know what you’re doing, I can almost believe you’re Tory! If I didn’t know about illusion magic, I would never guess that you aren’t her.” After a moment, he added, “At least, until you opened your mouth and said something sharp.”
She laughed, refusing to be insulted. “I think we’ve just increased the chances of persuading the soldiers in the camp headquarters that you’re their commander. Shall we go take a look at him?”
* * *
As Tory and her passengers glided across the cliff face toward a landing spot well beyond the camp, she felt Rebecca shaking, but the other girl didn’t make a sound. Aaron hummed with what seemed like enjoyment.
Though Tory had worried about carrying this much weight, she found that the increase in power that had occurred at Dunkirk made it possible. Her magic was strained to the limit and she couldn’t have managed if she were carrying larger people, but at least she didn’t have to pull power from her friends when they might need it themselves.
Before jumping, she’d scanned the area below the cliff and decided that traveling to the left would take them to safety most quickly. She felt horribly conspicuous in the air, but the continuing rain, not to mention the chaos in the camp below, must be keeping German eyes on the ground.
She sighed with relief once they were beyond the boundaries of the compound. “We’re almost down if you want to open your eyes now, Rebecca.”
“I’ll wait till we’re on the ground,” Rebecca said, her eyes still firmly shut. “I’m terrified of heights. I have nightmares of falling from a high place.”
Her words jolted Tory, reminding her that she’d had similar dreams. Tonight she’d lived it, but with a better outcome. Clear proof that she had no foreteller talent. She was glad of that. Allarde’s ability in that area had made her realize how disturbing it could be to know some of the future.
When they drifted close to a hedge that was a safe distance from the camp, Tory said, “We’re about to land, and you’re less likely to stumble and pull us all down if you open your eyes.”
Rebecca swallowed hard. “Very well.”
When the other girl’s eyes opened, Tory set them down as gently as she could manage. Her hovering was much better than it had been, but even so, it was good Rebecca was watching, or they might have fallen over.
When they were firmly on solid ground, Rebecca exhaled with relief. “Thank God! You are amazing, Tory, and I hope I never have to do anything like that again!”
“I shouldn’t think you will,” Tory said with a laugh as she set to work on the knotted sleeves of her coat. It came free, releasing them from their involuntary embrace.
Tory was going to put the coat on again when she realized that Rebecca was shivering still. The autumn night was chilly, and by now Rebecca was as soaked by the rain as Tory. She didn’t have the hearth-witch magic to help warm herself, either.
Holding out the coat, Tory said, “Put this on. It will help a bit. Do you want me to carry Aaron for a while?”
Rebecca didn’t argue about taking the coat. Setting Aaron on his feet, she said, “He’ll walk for now. You saw how fast he could run.” She stroked the boy’s head. “We’re away from the bad men, mon petit chou. Soon we’ll be safe.”
“Auntie?” he asked.
“Yes, we’ll be with your aunt and cousins, and God willing, your uncle as well.”
Aaron’s face brightened and he took firm hold of Rebecca’s hand.
“We have something of a hike ahead of us,” Tory explained as she set off along the hedge away from the camp. “We’re heading to a cave that’s on the far side of the military camp, so we’ll need to circle around the long way.”
“Then we’d better get moving. My parents and Aaron’s aunt and uncle will be worried about him.” Rebecca’s voice faltered. “Do you think they got away safely?”
“I’m sure of it.” Tory didn’t have to pretend conviction. “With Nick and Elspeth as guides and that nice, secret tunnel the Germans knew nothing about, they would have been clear of the compound before the electricity was restored. They’re probably halfway to the cave by now.”
“Grandmother Stein has arthritis and doesn’t walk well,” Rebecca said worriedly. “And the baby, Shoshanna, is very ill. Pneumonia, my mother said. We were terrified that she wouldn’t last another day.”
“Elspeth is a gifted healer.” They reached a gap in the hedge that opened to a lane. Tory checked that it was clear, then turned into it. “She came to the castle because she felt her ability would be needed, so she would have cured the baby, then reduced the pain of Grandmother Stein.”
“She can do that?” Rebecca asked incredulously. “Why do we need doctors?”
“Because healers like Elspeth are very rare, and magical power is limited,” Tory explained. “Saving a baby from lung fever and easing arthritis will use up much of her power for several days. She’ll keep some in reserve if she can, but you can see how physicians are still required.”
“God willing she was able to fix Shoshanna at least!” Rebecca exclaimed. “After we reach your cave, then what? Will a British plane come for us? My father’s work is important, but I wouldn’t have thought the British would send agents and an airplane.”
“They didn’t.” Tory smiled wryly as they walked away from Castle Bouchard. “We came because Nick had a powerful feeling that your father must be rescued and persuaded the rest of us it was necessary.”
Tory felt the alertness in Rebecca when she asked, “Nick is the blond boy who was with you?”
“Yes, he’s the savior of you and your family.” Tory wasn’t averse to matchmaking. She’d seen how Nick looked at Rebecca, and apparently interest was mutual. “Do you want to hear the whole long, unbelievable tale of magic and magelings and how we came to Castle Bouchard?”
“Indeed I do.” Rebecca looked back at the looming cliff that still dominated the landscape. “Tonight has taught me that Shakespeare was right, and there are more things under heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophies.”
“Then prepare yourself to learn of wonders,” Tory said. “A good thing we have a long walk ahead of us!”
CHAPTER 33
“You have good aim,” Cynthia murmured as they approached the crushed Mercedes. “You hit dead center.”
“Mostly luck.” Allarde made a shushing gesture when Cynthia
opened her mouth again.
A low moan sounded from the front seat, so at least the driver had survived. Though the front door was jammed, Allarde managed to yank it open.
The driver was slumped in his seat and bleeding from a gash in his forehead. He didn’t react when the door opened, and Cynthia guessed that he’d be unconscious for a while. She created a mage light and used it to study his features and uniform.
Then it was time to look for Colonel Heinrich, the commandant. Allarde had to use major magic to wrench the back door open, and the commandant had received the brunt of the impact from the massive tree limb. “From the way he’s breathing, a broken rib might have punctured a lung,” Allarde murmured. “He might not pull through.”
“Given what Nick has said of the SS, he’s administered his share of death,” Cynthia said callously. “Can you pull him out so I can see his uniform clearly?”
Allarde took hold of the colonel’s shoulders and managed to pull him free, then lay him out on the muddy road. “He’s about your height and build,” Cynthia said. “Maybe you should put on his uniform. That would be really convincing.”
“If you can create the illusion without me wearing his clothing, I’d really rather not put that uniform on,” Allarde said with distaste. “Except for this.” He knelt and unfastened the commandant’s belt, which carried a holstered pistol.
As he buckled on the belt, Cynthia said, “Do you know how to use that?”
Allarde pulled the pistol from the holster and examined it carefully, testing the feel of the wooden grip in his palm, turning it over, examining the metal bits, and always keeping it aimed away from her. “I believe so,” he said at length. “I’ve used firearms in our time and Captain Rainford showed me his service revolver, the one Nick is carrying. I think I can manage this if necessary. I hope it won’t be.”
So did she. She rose and conjured an image of the commandant over Allarde. Biting her lip, she circled him, making some adjustments in his appearance. The quality of her illusion magic could mean the difference between life and death.
When she finished her circuit, she gave a nod. “You look very commanding. Now it’s my turn. I’ll see if I can make myself look like the driver.” She closed her eyes and visualized the man, pulling the image around her. “How do I look?”
Allarde whistled softly. “Incredible. We might actually bring this off.”
She studied the harsh features of the unconscious colonel. “Just remember to act suitably arrogant.”
Allarde gave a smile that showed his teeth. “I am heir to a duke. I have no trouble being arrogant.”
They headed into the village, which was eerily quiet. “Where is everyone?” she asked softly. Power had been restored, but most of the houses that had been turned into barracks were dark. They saw no one else on the streets, though a lean cat crossed their path with a wary glance.
“They’ve sent out search parties for the escaped prisoners,” Allarde said. “Both foot and motor patrols. It wouldn’t surprise me if they enlisted the French police as well.”
“Would Frenchmen obey the Nazis to capture their own countrymen?” Cynthia asked, appalled.
“Some would.” His brows furrowed. “Will you have trouble maintaining two such complex spells while we’re in the headquarters? It would be easier if you only had to keep the spell on me.”
“And here I thought you weren’t going to give your usual ‘let the girl stay safely outside’ speech again,” she said dryly. “No, I will not stay outside. I need to be there to help deal with the unexpected.”
Allarde smiled humorlessly. “You can’t blame me for trying.”
Under other circumstances she might, but she guessed that now his worry about Tory strengthened his need to protect any other girl around. Changing the subject, she said, “As we walked, I’ve added a persuasion element to your illusion to increase the likelihood that anyone seeing you will think you’re the colonel. For me, I’ve added some ‘don’t see’ magic so they’ll be inclined to overlook me.”
He nodded approval. “We should be in and out quickly.”
“Either that or captured.”
“Or captured,” he agreed. “Try to walk like a soldier. Rigid. I’m sure you’ve admired handsome young officers in scarlet coats. Imitate them.”
“So I should strut. I can do that.” The trousers helped her get into the role. Shoulders back and head high, Cynthia marched two steps behind Allarde.
They reached the town hall and he swaggered toward the door and its guard as if he owned the world. The guard had been sagging in the rain, but seeing his commandant, he straightened and saluted. “Guten Abend, Herr Oberst!”
Allarde snapped several menacing words. Cynthia didn’t understand the brief exchange that followed, but it resulted in the soldier opening the headquarters’ door. He also escorted them into the empty vestibule and down a passage toward the back.
The building was sparsely inhabited. Not only was it absurdly late at night, but as Allarde said, search parties must have sent most of the troops after the escaped prisoners.
The soldier opened another door. Inside a bleeding figure was tied to a chair, his head slumped and pain in every line of his body. Jack.
Cynthia choked back a cry at the sight. The two Germans in the room had been “interrogating” him even though her illusion magic made him look like a schoolboy. This close, his pain was so acute she couldn’t block it completely. Her left eye ached in sympathy with his eye, which was badly damaged and swollen shut.
His left shoulder must be excruciating if the pain in her shoulder reflected that. There were other aches and wounds, but the shoulder was the worst. Biting her lip, she concentrated on maintaining her illusions, including an expressionless face for herself.
Allarde barked a question at the interrogators, wisely keeping his speech to a minimum to reduce the chance of mistakes. After the officer replied, Allarde gave an order, disgust in his voice.
The officer started to protest only to have Allarde repeat his order with throbbing menace. Angry but obedient, the interrogator unfastened Jack’s bonds and hauled him to his feet.
Jack cried out and almost fell when the officer yanked on his left arm. Cynthia could see red agony flare in his shoulder.
As Jack stood swaying, Allarde said in German-accented English, “Come, spy. I will deal with you as you deserve.”
Jack’s head came up, but if he recognized Allarde, his bruised face concealed that. “Not a bloody spy,” he growled. “Came here to find my French girlfriend.”
Allarde snarled an oath in German, pulled out his pistol, and waved Jack toward the door. His glance and terse command to Cynthia made it clear she was to help the prisoner so he wouldn’t fall over.
She moved to Jack’s right side, the undamaged one, and took his arm. Jack’s muscles spasmed under her grip. He knew who she was, but again he made no sign of recognition. Leaning hard on Cynthia, he stumbled from the room.
Allarde followed, his pistol ready. As they walked, Cynthia used what small amount of magic she could spare to dull Jack’s pain. She hoped it helped.
The corridor seemed ten times longer going back, the vestibule much wider. The guard who had greeted them waited there, and he opened the door.
Down the front steps, Jack almost pitched to the ground. Allarde couldn’t help because he was pretending to be Colonel Heinrich and commandants didn’t help battered spies. The guard saluted again and took up his position outside the door.
Ignoring him, Allarde snapped an order at Cynthia, probably telling her to take the prisoner to his car. The medieval village streets were narrow and twisty, so within a few steps of leaving the small town square, they were out of sight of the headquarters.
Cynthia wanted to whoop with relief. They had done it! By Jove, they’d done it!
As soon as they were out of sight of the town hall, Jack lurched over to a wall and leaned against it, sweat on his brow. “Are you two crazy? You should both be dea
d or in chains by now!”
“But we’re not,” Cynthia pointed out.
“Thank God,” he said with a crooked smile. “What the devil are you doing here, Cynthia? You’re a lady, not a Nazi soldier!”
“I got you captured, so I had to help rescue you,” she said tartly. “If anyone is going to murder you, it’s going to be me!”
He laughed and wrapped his good arm around her, burying his face in her wet hair. “That’s my Cinders,” he said in a voice whose warmth ran deeper than even the best hearth magic. She clung to him, fighting back tears of relief as she hid her face in the curve between his neck and shoulder.
Jack crushed her close with his good arm, but kept his voice flippant. “Allarde, you are far too convincing as a Nazi colonel. It must be the ducal upbringing.”
“I’m glad your sense of humor has survived,” Allarde said. “We need to get you inside so I can see how bad your injuries are. I’ll help you since you’ve almost dragged Cynthia down.”
Reluctantly Cynthia stepped back so Allarde could assist Jack. Sentimentality could wait. Now they needed to complete this rescue. She scanned the nearby street. The rain had started to let up and visibility was now slightly better than midnight in a coal mine. “There’s a garden shed down that alley.”
Allarde helped Jack along the narrow passage that ran between two houses. The shed was small but sturdily built. Cynthia unlatched the door and moved inside, creating a dim mage light. When the boys were inside, she brightened it since the two small windows had blackout curtains.
A potting bench stretched across the end of the shed with two battered stools in front of it. Shelves of clay pots and well-used tools lined the walls. Cynthia could feel that the gardener had spent many happy hours here.
She pulled off her hat, relieved to be out of the rain. Though Jack’s vicious early storm had passed, steady rain had pounded down on them for all this endless night.
As Allarde eased Jack down on a stool, Cynthia used hearth witchery to fill the small shed with warmth. Jack in particular was shivering, perhaps in shock. “My shoulder is dislocated,” he said through gritted teeth. “Hurts so much I can’t be sure what else is wrong.”