Dark Mirror

by M. J. Putney

  Tory wanted to think that Sarah was right about her bewitching eyes, but more likely Jack Rainford was an incorrigible flirt. It was interesting to talk to someone who was a mage and proud of it, though.

  Jack focused his gaze on the rain clouds he’d pointed out. Tory felt a kind of … tension in the air. She guessed that it was the feel of strong magic being exercised.

  After several minutes of silence, he muttered, “This storm is a stubborn one. It’s giving me a headache.”

  “Or perhaps you aren’t really a weather mage,” she said, disappointed.

  “I am so!” He scowled at the storm—and a chunk of dark clouds split away from the main storm and headed in their direction, moving unnaturally fast.

  She caught her breath. “You really did that?”

  “If you don’t believe me, I’ll let it rain right on your head!”

  Tory could see raindrops pelting down from the approaching clouds. “That’s not necessary,” she said hastily. “I’m convinced, and I don’t want to get wet.”

  “I’ll release the clouds since I don’t want to get wet, either.” He gazed intently at the cloud. It stopped moving toward them in that unnatural way and began drifting east across the channel on a track parallel to the main storm. “Let it rain on the Frenchies,” Jack said in a hard voice. “Keep their powder wet so they can’t invade.”

  Elspeth had also talked of possible invasion, and her words had stuck in Tory’s mind. “Do you think they’ll try to?”

  “If they can, they will,” he said brusquely. “The French and the English have been at each other’s throats forever. You know any history? The last successful invasion of England was William the Conqueror, and he was Norman French.”

  “1066.” The date was engraved in the mind of every English schoolchild. “But the channel has kept us safe ever since.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that always being true.” Jack frowned at the French shore.

  Tory looked across the water and imagined massing armies intent on conquest. “We must put our faith in the Royal Navy.”

  “That and magic.” Jack was no longer smiling. “Mages can help keep England safe. That’s why it’s so stupid that people like you throw it away.”

  “It’s not my choice to be at Lackland!”

  “But you’ll go along with it like a good little sheep,” he said, not bothering to keep contempt from his voice. “A pity. All that power, wasted!”

  “Even if I kept my magic, girls can’t be soldiers or sailors.” Angry, she donned her bonnet again. “Not to mention that being a mage would cost me much of my family.”

  “You’d be useless in the infantry, but your magic could still be of value. Female mages can be as powerful as men.” He turned his full attention to Tory. “When the French come, you could fight to protect your country just like me. But you won’t. You’ll be shivering in your fancy school and hoping the Frenchies won’t hurt you.”

  “If I weren’t a lady, I’d push you off the pier,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “I should like to see you try!” Good humor restored, he said, “I shouldn’t tease you. All you poor, talented aristocrats are raised to hate yourselves. Only a few have the courage and wit to break out and learn how to be real mages.”

  Tory had a sudden mental image of Elspeth on the headlands facing France, her arms raised into the wind as she used her power to stave off invasion. “Some of Lackland’s students will be standing beside you if invasion comes. But most of us just want to go home. Is that so wrong?”

  “You can’t go home again, not really, and you know it. Poor fools, like I said before.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “But you’re right, not all the students at Lackland are sheep. You’d be surprised what goes on out there at the abbey.”

  “I only just arrived, so everything about the place surprises me,” she said wryly.

  He glanced at the white cliffs that rose above the village. “These chalk cliffs are fairly soft. Did you know they’re digging tunnels in the chalk under Dover Castle as quarters for soldiers to defend against invasion?” His gaze flicked toward her. “They say there are secret tunnels under Lackland Abbey, too. Old ones that go back to when it really was an abbey.”

  “I haven’t heard anyone mention them,” she said, intrigued.

  “Those who know wouldn’t want to talk about them, would they? The tunnels being secret and all,” he said with elaborate patience.

  Pushing the irritating chap off the pier really would be satisfying, but he was too large. Unless she caught him off balance …

  Suppressing the impulse, she asked, “Do some students use the tunnels to get away from the abbey at night?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they go courting, since tunnels must run under both sides of the abbey. I wouldn’t know, me not being a gentleman or a Lackland student.” He chuckled. “And since I’m no gentleman, I’m going to ask your name even though we haven’t been properly introduced.”

  A young lady wouldn’t give her name to a stranger—but as a student at Lackland, she was no longer a young lady. “I’m Victoria Mansfield.”

  “Lady Victoria, I’m sure. Or maybe the Honorable Victoria Mansfield?”

  She made a face. “I used to be Lady Victoria, but not at Lackland.”

  “Miss Vicky. It suits you.”

  “That’s Miss Mansfield to you, Mr. Rainford,” she said frostily. “No one ever calls me Vicky!”

  “Then I’ll call you Tory. Victoria is just too stiff.” His smile was engaging. “You can call me Jack.”

  Did he use intuition to guess she was Tory, or was it just a lucky guess since Tory was another nickname for Victoria? Before she could decide, a movement from land caught her eye. She turned to see Miss Wheaton stepping onto the pier. “Saved by the teacher,” Jack said cheerfully. “I was just thinking it’s a good thing I can swim.”

  She stared at him. “Can you read minds?”

  “No.” He gave that infuriating grin again. “But you looked like you were ready to forget being a lady.”

  Deciding she’d better get away from him before she lost all claims to good behavior, she pivoted and stalked toward Miss Wheaton. When they met, the teacher said dryly, “I see you’ve met Mr. Rainford. He likes trying to corrupt my students.”

  “They need corrupting, Miss Wheaton,” Jack said earnestly.

  “I’ll have none of your nonsense,” the teacher said, but there was amusement in her eyes. “You’ve been showing off for Miss Mansfield, and it’s given you a headache.” She pressed her palm to his forehead.

  Subtle lines of strain in his face eased. “Thank you for fixing my headache. A pleasure meeting you, Lady Vicky.” He walked away with a grin.

  Tory said through gritted teeth, “Has anyone ever pushed him into the water?”

  “Not that I know of, but not everyone is lucky enough to meet him on a pier where it would be possible.” Miss Wheaton’s voice was indulgent. “Mr. Rainford is quite a gifted young mage, so he’s always interested in meeting new Lackland students.”

  “To corrupt us?”

  “It’s not a bad thing to meet mages who are comfortable with their abilities.” Miss Wheaton led the way back to shore. By the time they reached land, Jack Rainford had disappeared down a cross street.

  Tory said, “He talked of French invasion and how England needs its mages for defense. Are the French really going to invade?”

  “I don’t know.” Miss Wheaton looked troubled. “It’s certainly possible.”

  “Are there no mages who can tell us what will happen?”

  “Seeing the future is called foretelling. Knowing in advance. Though some mages have ability in that area, the future isn’t fixed. Since it can change, even the best foretellers only see possibilities.”

  “The future changes?”

  “Think of following a map through the countryside,” Miss Wheaton explained. “When you come to a fork in the path, you must decide whether to go right or left. If you g
o left, the path will take you to a different place than if you choose the right fork. Each path leads you to more forks, more choices, and different futures.”

  “I see. It’s free will in action,” Tory said thoughtfully.

  The teacher nodded. “Sometimes a particular event will be so close or so inevitable that it can’t be avoided, but usually we can’t be sure of the future, and that’s just as well. How dismal it would be to believe our futures are carved in stone!”

  Dismal indeed. Tory needed to believe in change. Miss Wheaton was right. It was better not to know what lay ahead.

  As they headed back to the abbey, her thoughts turned to Jack Rainford’s claim that female mages could fight for England. Tory’s ancestors had been warriors—that’s why her family had wealth and status now. The blood of those warriors ran in her veins.

  Tory loved England as much as any man. The thought of invasion, of rape and burning and slaughter, horrified her. Could she learn how to help defend her country without losing her family?

  She intended to find out.

  CHAPTER 11

  … bong, bong, bong. Tory counted as the chapel clock struck the hour. Midnight, and Cynthia Stanton slept with slow, regular breaths that weren’t quite snores.

  Cautiously, Tory slipped from her bed, fully dressed except for her shoes. After arranging the blankets in a long roll under the coverlet, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, picked up her shoes, and tiptoed from the room.

  In the week since her evaluation, life had settled into a regular routine of chapel, meals, classes, and studying. She was now an accepted member of Nell Bracken’s group, and her relationship with Lady Cynthia was easier, largely because Cynthia refused to speak to her. Tory had found that giving her roommate a cheerful smile infuriated the other girl, and it was wickedly satisfying.

  Though most of her attention was given to school and her new friends, she couldn’t stop thinking of what Jack Rainford had said. Tunnels beneath the abbey. Surprising things might be happening down there.

  Tory’s casual questions about possible medieval tunnels had received only blank stares from the other girls. Maybe interesting things happened only on the boys’ side, with no access for the girls. But that didn’t mean Tory couldn’t look.

  Elspeth Campbell was the most likely to know about abbey mysteries, but the other girl was maddeningly elusive. Tory saw her between classes or across the refectory, but Elspeth always slipped away before Tory could intercept her.

  So Tory had started quietly exploring on her own. She guessed that the entrance to any tunnels would be from the cellar of an abbey building. Most of those cellars were locked away from students, so Tory couldn’t investigate them.

  She’d explored those cellars that she could enter. Under the refectory were sacks and bins of food, including far too many turnips stored for winter, but nothing that looked like an entrance to a tunnel.

  There was also a dank, unpleasant cellar below the classroom building. She found trash and spiderwebs, but there were no signs of regular traffic except by small creatures she preferred not to think about.

  Her searching was easier because Miss Wheaton hadn’t reinstated Tory’s suppression spell when they returned to the abbey after the evaluation. Tory wasn’t sure if that was by accident or design, but she was grateful not to feel as smothered as she had her first day at the school.

  She practiced her intuition whenever she had the chance. Though it hadn’t led her to any hidden tunnels yet, she did have clearer feelings about what was likely or not. Now her intuition was suggesting that a tunnel entrance might be concealed in one of the crumbling old abbey outbuildings.

  There was no one stirring as she made her way along the dark corridor and down the stairs. The day had been gray and rainy. Though the skies had cleared and a waxing moon illuminated the abbey grounds, the grass was wet and the air bitingly cold. Tory pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Winter wasn’t far away.

  She made her way to the edge of the gardens that led toward the sea. The pastureland contained scattered outbuildings and crumbled ruins that might have been chicken coops or granaries in the old days.

  She let her mind drift. Which one…?

  There. That rocky ruin just beyond the kitchen garden. Her shoes were saturated by the time she reached it. The original building had been no larger than a bedroom, and loose stones had fallen into piles at the base of the irregular walls. The site didn’t seem very promising, but her intuition said to look closer.

  She squinted at the ruins, glad for the moonlight. Hmm. Grass was flattened into an almost invisible path that led to the highest surviving wall. She shoved at the stones with her foot. Nothing. Then she pushed at the wall. This ruin was more solid than it looked. She pulled and pulled every way she could think of without getting a response. Yet that faint trail in the grass remained.

  She closed her eyes and calmed her mind. How…?

  Tory bent over and twisted the nearest stone toward herself. The whole rocky pile moved smoothly to one side, revealing a hole with steps leading downward. Good heavens, there really was a hidden tunnel!

  Now that she’d found a secret passage, she realized she hadn’t thought about what might happen next. Without a torch or lantern, she couldn’t go far in the darkness. But the moonlight made the first few steps visible.

  Cautiously, she stepped inside. Another step. The pale chalky walls reflected every bit of available light, so it wasn’t as dark as she’d expected.

  When her head was below ground level, the hatch over the tunnel rolled shut above her. Her heart jumped again. She stretched up and pressed her palms against the hatch. To her relief, it moved easily. She wasn’t trapped in a chalky tomb.

  More surprising, the tunnel wasn’t dark. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that several steps lower there was a landing several feet square. On the left side, several dimly glowing spheres about the size of an apple rested against the wall.

  She knelt to examine the pile of glowing lights. They weren’t candles or lanterns but pure light. Warily, she touched the sphere on the top of the pile, using her left hand in case it was dangerous. The light tingled, but she didn’t get burned and her fingers didn’t fall off. The light continued to glow gently.

  So. A magical light. A girl who could float in midair shouldn’t find this surprising, though she wondered how such powerful magic could work within the Lackland precincts. But she wasn’t exactly in Lackland; she was below it. That seemed to make a difference.

  Was it possible to hold one of the lights? She slid her hand under the one closest to her. It settled neatly in the middle of her palm, tingling slightly. She now had enough light to continue down the stairs.

  She counted the steps as she descended. After thirty-two, she reached the bottom. A tunnel stretched ahead. The passageway was roughly rectangular, with tool marks showing on walls, ceiling, and floor. Though she had headroom to spare, a tall man might risk banging his head.

  The center of the shaft was shiny and hollowed out from centuries of wear. Tory could feel ancient energy in the cool, damp air. An image flickered through her mind of nuns gliding along this passageway on light, silent feet. She started down the tunnel cautiously, wishing she had more light.

  The ball brightened.

  Had the light responded to her thought? How bright could it get?

  The ball blazed so fiercely it hurt her eyes, and the tingle increased so dramatically that she dropped the ball. That was too much light! She wanted it dim again.

  By the time the ball drifted to the floor of the tunnel, it had dimmed to its original intensity. So, magic did work here below the abbey. What about her floating ability?

  An instant later, her head cracked the ceiling. Muttering an oath, she floated down, making sure to do it slowly.

  She was positively buzzing with energy. She scooped up the ball and wished it just a little bit brighter. The light obeyed her very nicely, so she proceeded down the passage.


  Tory almost jumped from her skin when she saw a flicker of movement ahead of her. She exhaled with relief when she realized that it was a sleek gray tabby cat. She hoped it was keeping the tunnel vermin-free.

  The tunnel swung to the right and intersected another tunnel that looked exactly the same. She halted. It would be very easy to get lost in these featureless passageways.

  Or were the walls featureless? As she scanned the walls and corners, she spotted a faint blue glow near the ceiling on her right. She reached up to touch the glow. The color brightened for a few moments before fading again. When she moved forward a few steps and turned, she saw a matching blue spot visible to someone coming the other way.

  Curious, she checked the cross tunnel and found golden glows in the same relative locations. She touched them to brief life. Guessing that the colors marked the way, she continued down the blue-coded passage.

  The next cross passage was marked with pale green. Would people without magic be able to see the patches of color? She suspected not. They would get lost, which was probably why the tunnels had been excavated in such a confusing way. Tory had always had a good sense of direction, and she thought she was under the boys’ school. But she could easily be wrong. How far did these blasted tunnels go?

  She heard a faint noise ahead. As she continued along, it became a murmur of voices. The soft, whispery sounds made the hair on her neck prickle.

  She bit her lip, suddenly nervous. Though she’d assumed anyone down here would be from the school, what if smugglers had found the tunnels? They often used sea caves to hide brandy and silk and other goods brought illegally from France. They would love nice tunnels like these, and they didn’t treat strangers kindly.

  She closed her eyes and used magical perception to explore those murmuring sounds. A great roar of magic rolled over her. Magelings ahead, not smugglers.

  Taking off her shoes, she moved ahead soundlessly. After a last turn, the passage ended abruptly in a large room with higher ceilings. About two dozen young people sat in two irregular circles, with more boys than girls.