by M. J. Putney
“Look!” a male voice said.
As Tory caught her breath, several people rose and came toward her. The nearest was a flaxen-haired girl.
“I wondered how long it would take for you to find us,” Elspeth said with a slow smile.
CHAPTER 12
“What is this place?” Tory asked, relieved to see a familiar face. “Did you expect me to come here?”
“We certainly did.” A grinning Jack Rainford loomed behind Elspeth. “I knew as soon as we met that you weren’t one of the sheep, Vicky.”
“It’s Tory,” she retorted. “What are you doing here?”
“Back to your class, Jack. There will be time to talk later.” The speaker was Mr. Stephens, the magic-control teacher from the boys’ school. With him was Miss Wheaton. Teachers were part of these mysterious goings-on!
Miss Wheaton made a shooing motion with her hand at Jack and Mr. Stephens. “Both of you go. Elspeth and I will explain the Labyrinth to Miss Mansfield.”
Smiling, both males returned to their groups while Tory studied her surroundings. “This place is called the Labyrinth? It’s well named.”
The hall was furnished like a spacious but shabby drawing room, with clusters of furniture and a lecturer’s dais facing a group of chairs. Magical lamps made the center of the room as bright as day. Even the most dazzling of candlelit ballrooms was dark compared to this glorified cave.
Miss Wheaton led Tory and Elspeth to a distant group of worn wing chairs. The teacher took a seat, gesturing for the girls to do the same. “Students who seem seriously interested in magic are provided with enough clues to come looking for the Labyrinth. It didn’t take you long at all.”
“Jack Rainford told me that mysterious things might be happening under the abbey.” Since this corner of the room was dark, Tory mentally told the ball of light she still held to brighten until she could see the faces of her companions.
Miss Wheaton asked, “Do your abilities seem stronger down here?”
Tory rubbed the sore spot on her head where she’d hit the ceiling. “They certainly are!” Wanting to free her other hand, she directed the light to hover above them. The globe floated up and stayed. “These lights are wonderful!”
“Mage lamps,” Elspeth said. “Not everyone can create them, so light globes are left at each of the entrances to the Labyrinth. You’re doing well with that lamp.”
“The tunnels are coded with color, aren’t they?” When Elspeth nodded, Tory asked, “How can magic work here when it doesn’t aboveground?”
“The official belief is that Lackland Abbey was built to suppress magic,” Miss Wheaton replied. “In fact, the exact opposite was true. Magic doesn’t work well on the surface because Lackland’s creators wished to concentrate the power belowground, where they trained novices. It’s said that Merlin himself built these tunnels.”
“Merlin?” Tory asked incredulously. “He’s just a legend.”
“Very likely,” the teacher agreed, “but one that fits us. Merlin and King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table were dedicated to defending Britain.”
“Because we aren’t here just to study magic.” Elspeth’s pale green eyes were grave. “We are preparing to defend Britain against Napoleon if there is an invasion.”
Tory’s jaw dropped. “Is invasion really coming, Miss Wheaton? You told me no one can predict the future reliably.”
“True, but every British foreteller agrees that the odds of Napoleon invading are very high.” The teacher’s expression was bleak. “I have nightmares about what might happen. Britain and France have been blood enemies for centuries, and now we are Napoleon’s fiercest foes. If the French come…” She shook her head.
“Napoleon might not invade, but if he tries—well, some of Britain’s best mages will be standing against his armies.” Elspeth’s eyes narrowed like a cat’s. “The army and militia are Britain’s regular troops, so we call ourselves the Irregulars. Merlin’s Irregulars.”
Tory considered what kind of magic could prevent an invasion. “Would you use weather magic? That might stop invaders like the hurricane that smashed the Spanish Armada in 1588.”
“British mages conjured that hurricane,” Miss Wheaton said with a smile. “The channel has always been our greatest defense. God willing, it will be again.”
“Is that why Jack Rainford is here?”
“Yes, he’s our strongest weather mage. Several other talented local mages are also Irregulars.” Elspeth’s gesture encompassed the room. “Most of us are from Lackland Abbey, but no matter what our rank in society, we share the same determination to develop our magic and use it to defend our homeland. We call each other by our given names to remind ourselves that we’re equals in our study of magic.”
The cause was vital, yet being a patriot and embracing magic would mean complete estrangement from normal society. Tory bit her lip. Though she wanted to be a warrior for England, she also wanted to go home. “Does every student who finds her way down here join the Irregulars?”
Miss Wheaton shook her head. “Though students may be drawn to magic, choosing to become an Irregular is a path into the unknown.”
“What happens to those who decline? Surely they tell others what they found here.”
“Mr. Stephens or I bespell them so that they wake up the next morning thinking they were dreaming,” Miss Wheaton said. “The dream fades, and they have no inclination to talk about it.”
Tory asked, “Are only weather mages useful?”
“Everyone with magic can help, no matter what their special gifts,” Miss Wheaton said. “Besides general training, we also teach the Irregulars how to share magic with each other. If a dozen mages are lending power to Jack, he can pull weather from greater distances and build stronger storms than he can on his own.”
“It’s the same with healing,” Elspeth said. “When several of us work together, we can do more than even the best individual healer.”
Tempted by the idea of learning more magic, Tory said hesitantly, “My abilities aren’t very useful, but I could probably help others. Do you meet here every night?”
“Only three nights a week. We mustn’t deprive you of too much sleep!” Miss Wheaton replied in a very schoolmistressy voice.
“Are the governors of the school bespelled so they won’t find out about the tunnels?” Tory asked.
Elspeth smiled wryly. “The governors of the school do know about the Labyrinth, though probably not exactly what we do. Every now and then they raid the tunnels to try to catch us. They aren’t very successful. It’s too easy to get lost down here if you can’t see the magical color codes.”
“Why don’t they just block the entrances?”
“They try, but the blocks never last,” Miss Wheaton said. “Labyrinth magic is so powerful that entrances always reopen. The authorities are frustrated, but they’ve been unable to stop our work. They’ve decided to ignore us as long as we don’t cause any trouble aboveground.”
“Do they know you and Mr. Stephens teach magic down here?”
Miss Wheaton shook her head. “They can ignore the students, whose families are paying high fees, but we teachers would be dismissed immediately.”
“The Labyrinth is due for a raid,” Elspeth said thoughtfully. “There hasn’t been one in at least a year.”
“I should like to think the governors have given up, but I expect we won’t be that lucky,” the teacher said with a sigh.
Tory had imagined herself as a patriotic warrior for her country, as courageous as any man. Bur now that she had the chance, she didn’t know if she was up to the challenge. “Must I decide now?”
“Not quite yet, but before you leave tonight. Think about it. Talk to Elspeth. If you decide to stay, I’d like to talk to you again.” Miss Wheaton touched Tory’s shoulder lightly before returning to the classes at the far end of the room.
Elspeth asked, “Do you have any other questions?”
“I don’t know what to ask.” Tory
shook her head. “It’s a noble cause, but I don’t know if I’m brave and noble enough.”
“From what I’ve heard, no one knows how brave she is until face-to-face with danger.” Elspeth toyed with a strand of her pale hair. “I hope I’ll be equal to whatever comes, but I simply don’t know. When I was little, I was always terrified when other children attacked me because of my magic.”
Tory winced. “You came into your power young?”
“Too young. I managed to conceal what I was from my parents for some time, but other children sensed I was different even before my magic began to manifest.” Her eyes were shadowed by bad memories.
“Yet now you face down students who despise you for accepting your magic.”
Elspeth’s smile was knife-edged. “Learning how to use my power has given me confidence. I may still be afraid in the future—but perhaps not so much.”
“So if I refuse to join the Irregulars tonight, I’ll be sent home and made to forget about the Labyrinth,” Tory said. “What if I decide to learn more about magic, then change my mind later? Will I be punished?”
“No, you’ll just be placed under the forgetting spell.”
“So I can say yes now, and back out later?” When Elspeth nodded, Tory asked, “Would that be considered dishonorable?”
“No, but it’s uncommon. Most Lackland students find they enjoy learning how to master their magic.” Elspeth shook her head. “Using one’s power is exhausting, sometimes frightening, but also intoxicating. Haven’t you experienced that?”
Tory remembered the fear and exhilaration of flying. “I have. It seems wrong to enjoy something so much.”
“How is it wrong if we do no harm? The church doesn’t condemn magic. Only the aristocracy thinks that it’s a disgrace to our elevated breeding.”
“I’ve been thinking about that ever since my magic appeared,” Tory agreed. “But the people who despise magic are our friends and families.”
Elspeth looked wistful. “I’ve often thought that I would have been better off born a commoner.” She rose gracefully. “I have a selfish hope that you’ll join the Irregulars. But it’s a decision you must make for yourself.”
As the other girl moved away, Tory twisted the fringe of her shawl nervously. She was fortunate that her brother and sister still accepted her. She could easily have lost Sarah if Lord Roger had broken the betrothal.
Her father was already lost to her. So were Louisa and horrible Edmund Harford. Even if she returned home tomorrow, the damage was done. In the eyes of those who despised mages, she was hopelessly tainted.
Yet even though she knew she could never regain her old life, embracing magic went against everything she’d been taught for the first sixteen years of her life. Emotions in turmoil, she stood and moved closer to the other students.
Several of the girls were Elspeth’s dining companions, but two she didn’t recognize. From their dress, she guessed they were from the village. One looked like she might be Jack Rainford’s sister. She recognized several Lackland boys from watching them play games through the fence that divided the schools.
Males and females, ages from perhaps thirteen to twenty. They were sitting and working together as equals. That seemed to be true of the two teachers as well.
That equality fascinated Tory. She might not be allowed to attend Oxford or Cambridge, but in this place, what mattered was talent and hard work.
Drawing a deep breath, she accepted that Lady Victoria was no more. The death of her old self hurt, but now Tory was free to become whatever she wished to be. The thought was as exciting as it was alarming.
A ripple of laughter moved through one of the circles of students. A dark-haired fellow glanced up—and her gaze locked with Allarde, heir to the Duke of Westover. She drew a shocked breath. Surely he had more to lose than anyone else here!
Energy thrummed between them like a plucked harp string. His gray eyes were smoke and magic.
He turned away, and she knew beyond doubt that he’d felt that snap of energy, too. And he didn’t like it one bit.
She made her decision. If the Marquis of Allarde could risk a great title and fortune on behalf of his country, so could she.
At least, she could try.
CHAPTER 13
Decision made, Tory took a seat at the edge of Miss Wheaton’s group. The teacher smiled when she saw Tory join the circle. “I believe we have a new Irregular?”
Everyone in both groups turned to study Tory. She colored. “Yes, Miss Wheaton. I want to do what I can to help, even though it’s only irregular.”
The teacher’s smile widened. “Let us all welcome Victoria Mansfield.”
As swift applause echoed off the hard walls, Jack Rainford called, “Tea time! We shall celebrate our new member.”
“Not yet,” Miss Wheaton said firmly. “Practice your lifting exercises while I speak with Victoria.” Leaving the group, she joined Tory and led them back to the corner where they’d spoken before.
“In your Lackland classes, I focus on how to control magic so it can be locked down. Now it’s time to talk a bit about the theory of magic,” the teacher said. “You know the exercises I teach about visualizing your power being bound with silver cords?”
Tory nodded. “It seems too easy. I thought there would be spells or potions.”
“Magic comes from the mind, whether you wish to suppress it or develop it. Some mages use spells and rituals because it helps them focus their power and their will, but the English magical traditions teach visualization. Imagine the outcome you want, then channel power into that image.”
“That’s how I do my floating!” Tory exclaimed. “I think about rising, and I do. I hadn’t realized that I was doing it right.”
“You have good instincts,” Miss Wheaton replied. “We like to say that power follows thought. The clearer and stronger your thoughts, the quicker and more effective the outcome.”
“I found that out the first time I bumped my head into the ceiling!”
“A bump on the head is worth an hour of lecturing on theory,” the teacher said with a smile. “No two mages in this room have identical abilities. With training, you will learn which are your abilities. Most mages are very good in one or two areas, and have more modest abilities in several others. As I told you before, most mages can do at least a little healing, but few have the healing talent that Elspeth and I do.”
“Is it the same with weather working and Jack Rainford?”
“Exactly. Any mage can learn how to move a cloud or raise a breeze, but few can build or shift a large storm. Jack is our best, and we are developing techniques to feed him more power as he needs it.”
“At least I can do that.” Tory frowned. “Miss Wheaton, I have a question. Why do the well-bred despise magic so much when the lower orders embrace it?”
“It is claimed that magic is evil or dishonest or manipulative.” The teacher frowned at her linked hands. “But I think the real reason is that to become a mage, one must be born with talent and then work hard to develop it. Money can’t buy talent. Men who are rich and powerful in worldly terms deeply resent that this is a kind of power they can’t have themselves. Since they can’t buy talent, only hire it, they condemn magic.”
“So if wellborn parents tell their children magic is wrong, the children will grow up despising magic and pass that condemnation on to their own children,” Tory said. “People of the middling sort who wish they were better born copy the attitudes of aristocrats to make themselves feel superior, so they sneer at magic, too.”
“There are always independent thinkers who will come to different conclusions, but they are rare.” Miss Wheaton gestured to encompass those in the room. “Most people accept what they have been told without thinking much about it. Going against the wind isn’t easy. But sometimes it’s necessary.”
“What if the French don’t try to invade?”
“The Irregulars will still have the skills they learned here. No one needs to use magic
if she chooses not to—but it’s good to have the choice.” Miss Wheaton rose. “Time for the last exercise of the night, our joining circle. We all hold hands and share our power. It’s a way of harmonizing and learning to work together. Usually we use the energy to start heating our tea water.” She clapped her hands. “Circle time!”
With a shuffling of chairs, the students stood and arranged themselves in a circle in the open part of the room. As Tory tentatively moved into place, Elspeth arrived and took her left hand. “It will feel rather strange, as if all the notes of a chamber quartet are singing through you. In time, you’ll be able to recognize everyone in the circle by the flavor of their energy.”
Jack Rainford appeared and took Tory’s right hand in a warm, strong grip. “After this, we have tea along with shortbread made by the mother of one of the village students. Some Irregulars claim they come here just because of her baking.”
Trying not to show that she was flustered by Jack’s touch, she asked, “No one will be able to read my mind, will they?”
Elspeth laughed. “No, you’ll just be one more note in the symphony of the Irregulars. It would be noticeable if someone was very upset, but there are no mind readers here. Just close your eyes and breathe in and out slowly. You’ll feel Jack and me most strongly since we’re touching.”
Once everyone was linked, including the teachers, Mr. Stephens said, “And so we beginnnnn…” The last word was drawn out into a hum.
Tory closed her eyes obediently and took a slow, deep breath. Then she exhaled sharply as power flowed through her. Though it wasn’t really like music, she couldn’t think of a better comparison. Surely Elspeth was that strong, pure note like crystal bells.
Jack’s energy was deeper. Wilder. He held the power of storms.
She couldn’t separate out the other energy threads, though she guessed that Miss Wheaton might be a low, true power that contributed stability and comfort. Tory had no idea what she herself brought to the group. It would take time to learn who was who, but the rush of power that flowed through her was exhilarating.