Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica)

by Raven Bond

  “It is not that,” Owen said to the gang leader. “You are correct in your surmise, I am hiding. The ones who are seeking me are a Western Sorcerer like myself, and a rather tall brute of a man who is accompanying him. Have you heard of anyone like that?” Mike frowned in thought.

  “No, I can’t say that I have,” he answered slowly. “What does that have to do with your magic cane?” The heavy front doors were held open by a couple of small children. Owen stepped through quickly to find he was in a small alleyway. He followed the stream of young women while still talking to Mike, who walked behind him.

  “Only that you are correct, in that it can be a powerful weapon in my hands,” Owen confessed. “Should we meet these assassins while about your business, I cannot protect you unless I can bring all my powers to bear.” Mary frowned at this, while Mike laughed.

  “Oh, I don’t think that you will trick me that easily,” he said. “I think that your precious cane will remain here.” He flicked his fingers towards the doors. “Now go.” Owen went.

  Going outside turned into a walking excursion that resulted in them emerging onto Main Street with the constantly- moving sea of humanity. The vanguard of young street urchins melted into the throngs and were soon lost.

  “The young’uns are honing their pickpocket skills,” Mike explained cheerfully. “Mei is the leader of them. We’ll meet her at noon and see how the take is doing.” He nodded as the older western-dressed young women clustered around them. “Meanwhile, we’ll go shopping. Come along.”

  Owen held his tongue as the group of gaily dressed young women sashayed down the street. They turned onto a narrow alleyway that Owen knew held shops that catered to the city’s upper class. At some unspoken signal from Mike the women turned as one and entered a store, suddenly laughing and giggling as any group of modern young Hannish women were wont to do. The doorman held open the door for the group and bowed as they passed. He came upright and blocked Owen’s entrance with an upheld hand. Owen placed the man’s accent as having come from within the sound of Bow Bells in London, which marked him as an immigrant.

  “Here now mate,” the man said to Owen in his thick voice. “This fine establishment is too rich for the likes of you.” Before Owen could speak, Mike turned back, addressing the doorman.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the cockney. “This man is with me. Is there a problem?”

  “Oh well, if he’s with you,” the man pulled back his arm and bowed towards Mike. “Sorry sir, it’s just that he’s not dressed proper, you see. But if you vouch for him I’m sure it must be alright. Mind you, watch him as you’re responsible.” Mike gave Owen a look that was at once smug and condescending as he addressed the doorman.

  “Oh, I shall see to it that he stays out of trouble,” he said to the man. Owen smile wanly back at them both while gritting his teeth.

  Once inside Owen was taken by the décor of the establishment. It was as if London’s Mayfair District had been transported to Hong Kong. The walls were of polychrome flecked gold against a royal purple back round, the lighting of very expensive mage light spilling from gilded sconces. A tasteful montage of portraits showing the royal family of Britain took pride of place on the wall. Everywhere was the glitter of gaudy bejeweled creations, ranging from tiny diamond covered bracelets to amethyst encrusted goblets. A florid Englishman in the same livery as the doorkeeper was trying in vain to keep track of the fluttering flock of well-dressed women that had descended on his glittering realm, chattering and picking up this or that glittery bauble.

  Owen suddenly figured out why the gang had come to this establishment when he saw Mary quickly palm a necklace of emeralds and hide the string under her shawl. Apparently she wasn’t quick enough as the store clerk must also have seen her. His head snapped to fix Mary with an unwavering gaze as he closed the distance separating them.

  “See here Miss,” the silver-haired man’s horned moustaches bobbed as he addressed her in a low voice. “I must ask you to open your shawl please.” Owen could see the dismay warring with indecision on Mary’s face. Caught, should she pull the gun that she held to keep control of Owen? Sliding easily between the dismayed woman and the clerk, Owen faced those formidable moustaches, carefully placing one of the royal portraits behind him.

  “Is there a problem here?” He asked carefully. Grateful for the intervention Mary gasped in feigned outrage.

  “I am so glad you are here,” she said. “He asked me to open my shawl!” Owen raised an eyebrow at this. The man’s face turned a bright purple.

  “Is this true?” Owen said to the clerk. The man took in Owen’s peasant garb and sputtered.

  “Who the devils are you?” he said. Owen smiled and inclined his head towards the portrait behind him.

  “Who am I?” he repeated, gesturing again with his head. “Why I am no one.” The store clerk turned a puzzled look up to the portrait of the royal prince Erick. His eyes widened in surprise and snapped back to Owen’s face.

  “You—your Highness” he whispered. Owen quickly held up a finger to his own mouth to quiet the man.

  “I am incognito,” Owen explained in his own whisper. “Do play along alright?” The man nodded dumbly. “Now what do you mean by asking my” here Owen paused significantly while taking Mary’s free hand, “companion here about her shawl?” The man looked at Mary in a new light and shook his head violently.

  “Oh, nothing,” The man said hurriedly. “Nothing at all, My…” Owen held his finger again to his lips silencing the man.

  “Remember, what I asked,” Owen whispered. The older man’s head bobbed up and down in agreement.

  “Of course, uh, sir,” The man smiled sickly at Owen and Mary. Owen gave him a broad smile back.

  “That’s the spirit,” Owen said encouragingly. Turning his face towards Mary he said, “I believe that you should call the others dear. It is time we were heading back.” Mary nodded, playing along.

  “Of course, um, dear.” She raised her voice and called out across the shop, “Time to go! Now!” She repeated this in Mandarin. Like a well-oiled machine the other women quickly and silently trooped out the front door. The others doubtlessly had been cleaning out the store while the lone clerk was preoccupied, Owen reflected wryly. Still he thought, that was no business of his. The clerk watched helplessly as the others melted out the doors, then he cleared his throat.

  “Are they all…” He began ask as Owen cut him off verbally again.

  “My companions?” Owen finished for him with a smile. “Yes, yes they are,” The old clerk looked scandalized. It would be well, Owen had decided, to keep the clerk off balance until they were all away. He gave a slow dip of his eyelid at the man.

  “Incognito, remember,” he exhorted the old man in a good natured manner. “Not a word to anyone, eh?” The store clerk brought himself up stiffly and bowed the deep bow of an inferior to a superior.

  “Of course, sir!” Owen nodded his approval at this. The man beamed the first smile that he had seen from him. Owen turned to face Mary.

  “Come Mary,” he said with a languid drawl, “let us take our leave of this fine establishment.” With a shaky assent from Mary, the pair sashayed out the doors and down the alleyway to where Mike and the others waited, Mikes face a mask of concern. He frowned when both Owen and Mary burst out laughing.

  “What is so funny?” he asked. “It looked like he was going to nick you both!” Mary shook her head at this, leaning into Owens shoulder, still laughing.

  “This man is amazing,” she said. “I thought that fat clerk had me nailed to rights. Somehow, Owen here made him bark like a dog and be all ‘yes sir, no sir’” She looked at Owen “How did you do that?” Owen shrugged

  . “I simply played on a chance resemblance I have to the royal prince Erick,” he said. “A little suggestion and the clerk did the rest on his own.” Mary looked at him quizzically.

  “How close are you to the royal family?” she breathed.

  “Oh, not close at a
ll. Erick is my second cousin twice removed or something like that.” He said carelessly. At the exclamations from the women around him he protested defensively. “Well, it really isn’t close. I am something like sixtieth in line for the throne. My brother’s son has a better claim than I do.”

  “Still,” Mike said, with eyes like black pebbles, “You do have a claim.” Owen raise an eyebrow at the gang leader.

  “And does it matter to you if I do?” he asked. “It is not as if anyone is going to come looking for me, I assure you.” Mike turned from him and looked around at the gathered gang members.

  “Who made a nice nick at that last place?” he demanded of them. “Raise your hand.” Everyone’s hand came up. Mike nodded.

  “Good,” he declared. “You can all go back to the factory. We won’t need to be going out again if I am any judge of the take.” The young women let out a collective groan at this. Mike made a motion with both his arms as if shooing them all along.

  “Go! Go!” he growled. “And go straight back mind you! No trying any schemes or lollygagging!” Mike turned to Mary and Owen. “Not you two, I want you with me. It’s time we met up with Mei and see how the young ones have done.”

  Chapter 7

  Owen looked at Mary across the room. They were in the room where Owen had woken up captive. Mike, Owen still had a difficult time thinking of that as his name, had added two rough wood-hewn chairs to the factory room, otherwise it was the same. Filled with crates and the ticking on the floor for a bed. Owen knew better than to complain. He’d seen the cramped conditions that the girls slept in and figured that his status as teacher gave him the luxury of a private room, however humble the furnishings.

  He had spent the earlier part of the evening under the watchful eyes of Mike and Mei who had taken back her large pistol. He was constructing wards around the room with his Focus cane. The wards, those semi-intelligent guardians of the physical plane would, he hoped, contain any energies that Mary or he might generated and not endanger others.

  “Well Mary,” he said, sitting in one of the chairs. He motioned for Mary to sit in the other, “Now that you’ve had your fun out and about are you ready to get to serious work?” Mary sat in carefully in the other chair frowning at his words.

  “Stealing is bloody hard work,” she protested.

  “Oh I know,” Owen replied seriously. “I have stolen a fair bit in my day. Usually for far less honest reasons than what you took today. Tell me though,” he cocked his head at her sideways, “why do you do it?”

  “Why?” Mary looked at him agog. “Why?” She repeated with raising heat in her voice. “Because there isn’t anyone will give the likes of us a crust off their table, and I like to eat. Because it’s the only way to make sure that the youngers get to eat as well. If you’ve ever been around youngers then you know that they make an awful sound when they’re hungry. Because the Good People,” the scorn in her voice was unmistakable now, “decided that me and the rest of us was trash to be thrown out and so they did. Being too cowardly to just cleanly kill us as they is Good People. Why did you steal?” She asked him savagely.

  “Oh, because people I trusted told me that it was the only way to save the lives of my fellow Britons.” Owen shrugged. “I stole for Queen and country, for honor, and to be honest, because I could do so cleverly.” He grinned broadly at her. “That last I must confess I only came to realize when I saw how dishonest the other reasons where. And yes, I have also stolen when I was hungry, believe it or not.” He gave her a look that seemed to pierce her soul.

  “But the reason I call this serious work is because from this moment onwards you need never steal again, unless you wish to do so. You have the power to make a different decision. That is what we truly shall do in this room. We shall work for you to find your power.”

  “Do you think that we can do that?” Mary asked in a whisper.

  “The wise of many nations call those of us with a manifesting talent for Magia the blessed. Do you know why?”

  “I can’t see anything so blessed about worrying if I’m going to go up like a charcoal briquette like you say,” Mary replied sourly.

  Owen cupped his hands before him and a pillar of fire suddenly appeared in them. He looked at Mary through the flames.

  “The flames cannot harm you if you decide that they cannot,” he said calmly. “Do you want the flames to hurt you?” Mary instinctively shrank back from the flames. Owens face had been transformed by the flames into something from her childhood nightmares. She shook her head weakly in terror.

  “No,” she gasped out. The demon mask that had become Owens face snarled at her.

  “I do not believe you,” the mask rasped. “Do you want the flames to hurt you?”

  “No!” she screamed, thrusting out her hands. Streamers of fire shot from them, engulfing Owens pillar with an explosion of fiery sparks. Owen went over backwards tumbling from his chair. He rolled to a standing position, quickly patting out the flames that licked at his tunic sleeves and pants. He was astonished at her raw power.

  It had taken considerable energy and drawing on the powers of the wards to manifest the piddling flame he had. Mary had not only manifested a stronger flame, she had with no training projected it to overcome his own force. Owen judged that only the damping effects of the wards had prevented him from being seriously burned. Horned One, he thought in admiration, what a sorceress she might become!

  Mary had leapt up as she looked at her fingers. The flames continued to run up and down them as if they had become living torches, refusing to go out no matter how hard she shook them.

  “Well,” Owen said to her dryly, “it appears that you have made your decision.”

  “Can you make them stop?” she pleaded franticly still shaking her hands desperately.

  “No,” Owen replied evenly. “But you can. First of all stop that silly hand waving. The flame isn’t really hurting you is it?” Mary stopped waving her hands and held them before her. She watched the flames in a sort of horror as they wicked up her fingers.

  “No,” she said amazedly, “they aren’t hurting me at all.”

  “Good,” Owen nodded at this as if this was completely normal. The fact was that he had never even heard tell of a talent as strong as hers. He judged that once it was fully realized, she would be able to call such fire that it could immolate them both, wards or no. He saw no need to tell her that however.

  “Now,” he continued, “I want you to focus on your belly as I had you do last night, and breathe from there.”

  “Do I need to close my eyes?” Mary asked.

  “No,” Owen said. “Please leave them open. I want you to realize that there is no difference between what you do inside your mind and outside it. Now, are you right handed or left handed?”

  “Ah, I use both of my hands for different stuff,” she said forlornly. “Do you mean which do I use for the most things? I guess that would be my right hand.” The flames on the fingers of her left hand suddenly went out.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed as she continued to look at her hands.

  “Yes,” Owen said. “That is very good. Now I want you to breathe from that point in your belly again, and feel yourself centered there. Your breath is the means to fuel your will, your will is the means by which the elements like fire manifest in the world though you. Do you understand?”

  “Ah, not really,” Mary confessed. Owen suppressed a sigh. Well theory would have to come later, he decided.

  “That is all right,” he said instead. “Just breathe from your center.”

  His Magia trained senses perceived the pooling of energies within the center of her aura. Damnation, he thought, auras were another thing he would have to educate her on. He could not assume that she knew anything. Perhaps he should ask her what she did know. Was that the right thing to do? He had not a clue, he was no teacher! Still, he did know Magia and sorcery in particular. When the energies had pooled enough in her center to be effective, he spoke to her again.


  “Very good Mary,” he said to her. “Now let the energy from your center reach up and move the flames from your little finger to your index finger.”

  “Which one is that?” she asked in confusion.

  “Your pointing finger,” he said exasperatedly.

  The flame on her index finger grew higher. Mary let out a little sound of wonder. Under Owens careful guidance gradually all the flame went out save the one on her first finger that now towered above her head.

  “That is very good Mary,” Owen repeated. “Now, look at me,” he ordered. Mary did. “Now do you master the flame or does the flame master you?”

  “I master the flame!” She shouted in exultation.

  Owen bowed to her. “Very well. If you would, please dismiss it.”

  The flame went out abruptly, leaving Mary swaying triumphantly. She smiled at him even as Owen was afraid that she might collapse. He pointed behind her.

  “Please sit down,” he ordered. Mary fell into the rough wood chair, looking up at him perplexedly.

  “Why do I feel as if I’ve just run the length of the city?” She asked.

  “Because your body has used as much energy as if you had,” Owen explained. “Manifesting any elemental energy is a tiring business. Still, did you feel the fire respond to your will?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes! It was as if suddenly I knew it and it knew what I wanted.” She bit her lower lip. “Does that sound daft?” Owen smiled

  “Not at all. You have just taken your first step into a much broader world.” He sat down again across from her. “Running is not a bad example,” he continued. “Now that you know how to run, it is simply a matter of the hard work of flexing the muscles, so to speak, until it becomes second nature.”

  “How do I do that?” she asked, eagerly leaning forward in her chair. Owen’s smile tightened at this.