by M. J. Putney
“That sounds like a very good skill for a pilot,” Tory said encouragingly.
“I surely hope so,” Mrs. Rainford said softly.
Tory tried to drink in everything. So much had changed. “What are the ugly poles with wires running between them?”
“They carry electricity and telephone lines,” Nick said.
“Telephones?”
“A telephone is … is rather like a wireless, but it carries voices over a wire instead of through the air,” Nick explained. “If you want to talk to a friend right away, you ring them up and speak even if they’re on the other side of town.”
Tory considered that. “What is the rush to talk to someone right now? Not many things are that urgent.”
Mrs. Rainford laughed. “Some things are urgent. Others are just convenient. Suppose I was ill tomorrow morning. I could call the headmistress at my school and let her know so she could find someone else to take my classes.”
That did sound useful. Tory nodded at one of the hulking road beasts, which sat at the edge of the street. Horace was sniffing at one of its wheels. “These ugly, smelly motorcars of yours. Do they also run on electricity?”
“They have petrol engines,” Nick replied. “The burned fuel causes the smell.”
“What is petrol?”
“It’s made from oil and processed into a form that will run engines.”
“Oil?” Tory said, baffled. Every question she asked begat more questions.
“A bit like the whale oil that once was used in lamps.” This time it was Polly who answered. “But the oil that is made into fuel is from the ground, not a whale.”
Tory’s gaze went to an airplane that was flying north over the channel. “Do your flying machines also burn petrol?”
“More or less,” Polly said. “I think the oil is processed a little differently for aircraft, but it’s from the same basic material.”
“That is going to be a problem when the war intensifies.” Mrs. Rainford was looking not at the airplane but toward France. “Our little island has many people. We import the majority of our food, all of our oil, most of our other supplies. The Germans have underwater boats called submarines that hunt supply ships coming to Britain. In the Great War—that was from 1914 to 1918, Tory—the Germans sank so many ships that by the end of the war, we had only a month or two of food left.”
Tory sucked in her breath. “You think that will happen again?”
“I’m afraid so. Rationing already started here in January. Only bacon and butter and sugar so far, but if the war intensifies, many other things will also be rationed.”
“As long as they don’t ration fish and chips!” Nick exclaimed.
“Fish come from the sea and potatoes grow well in Britain, so they’re less likely to be rationed than most foods,” his mother said. “But tea comes all the way from Asia. I’d better stock up on that.”
Polly looked horrified. “We might not have tea?”
“Mum made me dig a huge garden this spring. I had blisters on my blisters,” Nick added. “We’ll be drowning in vegetables. I expect a chicken coop next.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Mrs. Rainford said thoughtfully. “I have a feeling that soon we’ll be grateful to have our own eggs and chickens.” She chuckled when her children groaned. “And maybe a rabbit hutch.”
“No,” Polly said firmly. “I’m not going to eat a bunny that I’ve raised. It would be like eating Horace!”
“Very well, no bunnies.” Her mother smiled. “I don’t think I could eat our own rabbits or chickens, either, but I do like my morning egg.”
The Rainfords were so much more relaxed with each other than Tory’s family! She couldn’t imagine teasing Lord Fairmount about anything. But the Rainfords were having this easy conversation that was fun while also discussing more serious questions. “You might also want to buy fabric to make up clothing. Just in case. And soap.”
“I hadn’t thought of fabric, much less soap,” Mrs. Rainford said slowly, “but as soon as you spoke, I knew you were right. What else do you feel?”
“I’m no foreteller.” Still, like most mages, Tory had some ability to sense what might come to pass. She opened her inner senses … and gasped.
“Did you see something dreadful?” Polly asked worriedly.
“Not a particular event.” Tory shook her head, trying to clear it. “But when I listened, I was hit with a tidal wave of fear and anxiety. Though people might not be talking about the war, they’re thinking about it all the time.”
“I can feel that, too,” Nick said. “It’s like a smothering blanket.”
“My cousin lives in London,” his mother said softly. “She wrote me about the night the blackout went into effect. She stood in her top floor window and everywhere she looked, lights were blinking out, as if the city was dying.”
Polly shivered. “When you read us her letter, I remembered what that British foreign secretary said at the beginning of the Great War. ‘The lamps are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.’”
Their words made it all too easy for Tory to visualize the lights going out, and to feel the grief of that. “But he was wrong,” she said firmly. “Though the world is changed by war, your lamps did come on again. They will this time, too.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Mrs. Rainford smiled wryly. “There was just as much to fear in your time, yet Britain survived.”
Reminded, Tory asked, “What happened to Napoleon? Did the French invade England? I asked Nick, but he said he isn’t very good at history.”
“Very true,” Polly said, “but history is my best subject. Napoleon—”
Her mother held up a hand. “Don’t say more. I have a strong feeling that it’s better if Tory doesn’t know what is going to happen in her time. Too much knowledge might cause problems. Is it enough to know that despite wars and many other changes, Britain today is a powerful, independent nation?”
Tory wanted to protest, but she thought better of it. Knowing the future would inevitably change Tory’s behavior if she made it home, and that could be bad.
As they headed for the harbor, people occasionally called greetings, but the Rainfords just waved back, walking briskly so they didn’t stop to talk. Tory was grateful for that. She might be dressed for 1940, but she could easily say the wrong thing.
They reached the harbor and followed the shoreline around to the right. Nick pointed to a boat moored at the last pier. “That’s our boat. Annie’s Dream.”
It was a neat vessel, with a deckhouse and room to sleep the whole family, though quarters belowdecks must be tight. “Who is Annie?”
“My name is Anne. Tom likes to call me Annie,” Mrs. Rainford said fondly. “He promised me a boat when he asked me to marry him. How could I say no? He bought the boat from his fisherman great-uncle and we fixed it up together.”
“On my last birthday, Papa took my whole class sailing,” Polly said wistfully.
Tory thought that for a boat that wasn’t large, Annie’s Dream carried a lot of memories. “How big a crew does she need?”
“In a pinch, Polly and I can sail her,” Nick said. “But a larger crew is better.”
“I’m thinking of having the boat taken out of the water for … for the duration,” Mrs. Rainford said. “She won’t be getting much use, and the channel could be dangerous with a war going on just a few miles away.”
“Not when the weather is just getting warm!” Polly protested.
“I want to go sailing this weekend.” Nick glanced at Tory. “Do you sail? It’s wonderful. You could stay and learn to crew.”
She shook her head. “Tempting, but I’ll be gone by then.”
“Very well, I’ll delay taking the boat up,” Mrs. Rainford said. “We’ll see how thing go. But for now—fish and chips!”
As they headed to the chip shop, Tory asked, “What does money look like now?”
Nick produced some coins and dropped them in h
er palm. “Twelve pennies to a shilling, twenty shillings to a pound, and coins for the penny, ha’penny, thruppence, sixpence, and so forth. This one is a half crown, which is two and a half shillings.”
Tory poked through the coins. “Not that different from what I’m used to.”
“In other words, British money has always been illogical,” Polly said with a grin.
“Logical money would be boring.” When Tory tried to return the money to Nick, he waved it off.
“Keep that for souvenirs,” he said gruffly. “So you won’t forget us.”
As if she could forget this journey to another time! Tory put the coins away, glad she’d have something tangible to take away.
The chippy had a walk-up order window, a sign over the top that said THE CODFATHER, and half a dozen hopeful cats lounging about in front. Mrs. Rainford ordered four portions, which were served almost immediately. The fried cod and potatoes were wrapped in cones of newsprint, and tangy malt vinegar was sprinkled over them.
“Do you have fish and chips where you live?” Polly passed a cone to Tory.
“No. This smells lovely, though.” Tory bit into a piece of the crispy, deep-fried fish. “Wonderful!” She tried one of the golden wedges of potato and sighed blissfully. No wonder Nick hoped fish and chips wouldn’t be rationed.
“This is walking food,” Nick explained as they headed back to the high street, which ran up the hill. He tossed several flakes of fish to the cats. His mother, sister, and Tory all followed suit. No wonder the cats looked so sleek and well fed.
She would miss this time and these people, Tory realized. But this wasn’t her home. The Rainfords would defend England in their time, and she would do her best in hers.
She prayed that all of them would be successful.
CHAPTER 23
Lackland, the long road home
“Is this the place?” Nick asked, eyeing the chalk walls dubiously. “All these tunnels look the same.”
“I think so.” Tory had used intuition to guide her to the dead-end tunnel under the ruins of Lackland Abbey. Though she’d made a number of wrong turns, now that she’d reached this spot, she could feel powerful magic pulsing just out of sight.
It was Tuesday evening, and the Rainfords had escorted her to the abbey to say good-bye. Teaching magic required a lowering of shields on both sides, and in three days a powerful bond had been forged between Tory and her students.
They had worked so hard. She was proud of how they’d transformed their raw, untrained powers and were becoming competent mages. They would continue to improve now that Tory had laid a foundation of knowledge and mage discipline.
Tory wore her own clothing again, her shawl wrapped close to protect her from the bitter chill of her passage through time. Her stomach knotted as she contemplated what she was about to do. On her first passage, she hadn’t known what would happen. Now she did—and she was not looking forward to it.
Polly asked bluntly, “What if you end up in a different time than your own?”
“After I recover from that trip, I’ll try again. Since I’ll be even more desperate, the second passage will succeed.” Tory tried to keep her voice light, but she wasn’t entirely convincing. It was dangerous to use magic she didn’t understand, but she had no other choice. Mrs. Rainford had gone though all her old texts and found no hint of any other magical devices or spells that could move a person through time.
Tory turned to her friends. “I made gifts for you.” She pulled three coins from her pocket. “I charged each of these with a particular kind of magic. Polly, here’s a ha’penny. I like the image of Britannia that’s engraved on the back. Can you tell me what kind of magic it holds?”
Penny clasped the copper coin, which was about an inch across. After several moments of frowning study, she exclaimed, “It’s for focus! Thank you! I need this.” She grinned. “Which is why you gave it to me, of course.”
“Nick, for you, a three-penny piece.” She handed him the twelve-sided coppery coin. “Can you feel what magic is in it?”
He closed his eyes. “Discernment? To help me cut to the heart of a matter?”
“Exactly. It should be useful sooner or later.” She turned to Mrs. Rainford. “For you, a shiny silver sixpence, except it’s not really for you.”
“A sixpence is considered lucky.” Mrs. Rainford closed her fingers around the coin. “Protection,” she breathed. “It’s for protection, and you made it for Joe.”
“I can’t guarantee that it will perform miracles,” Tory said shyly. “But I think the coin will help keep him safe. Give it to him when he finishes his pilot training.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Rainford’s voice was choked as she hugged Tory. “Travel safely, my dear, and if you can’t return to your time, you’ll always be welcome here.”
“You could really help us with the Nazis,” Nick said. “And I’d take you sailing.”
“With two brothers, I’ve wanted a sister.” Polly shrugged as if her words didn’t matter. “If you change your mind and want to come back…”
“You’re making it hard to leave.” Tory tried to smile. She turned to the end of the corridor. “This is going to be a huge letdown if I can’t summon the mirror.”
She gazed at the chalk and let her emotions well up. She wanted, needed, her friends and family and home. Images of her life saturated her mind, along with her desperate desire to return. She stretched her hand out, palm up. Home …
Power blazed with a soundless roar. As the Rainfords gasped, a tall, shining silver rectangle appeared in front of Tory. She saw herself reflected in its bright, flawless surface. She was small and dark-haired as always, yet her image was … commanding.
Reflected behind her were the Rainfords, their arms around one another. “Good-bye…” Tory’s voice wavered as she moved close enough to the mirror to touch the surface. Cool silver that burned with magic …
The mirror turned dark. Power sucked her into the abyss, ripping and repairing as she fell endlessly in a place where she could not scream.
Then she was wrenched back to normal space, falling hard to the ground of a lightless tunnel. As darkness descended, she heard a man shout. Damnation, she must have returned to exactly where she began!
* * *
“Tory, wake up! Please, wake up!”
The worried male voice was familiar. But surely it couldn’t be …
Tory’s eyes flickered open. Dear heaven, it really was Allarde bending over her! She had made it back to her own time. Hazily, she realized that he was kneeling on the tunnel floor and she lay across his lap as his arms supported her. His usual controlled expression had been replaced by vivid concern, and he seemed to have an angelic halo.
Not a halo—a mage light floating above him. Half-convinced she was dreaming, she whispered, “Allarde?”
“Thank God!” he exclaimed. “Are you all right?”
Though she was trembling and exhausted, Allarde’s arms were driving off the chill of the abyss. “I’m not hurt. Just … shaken. When is it?”
“Three days ago you vanished when the Labyrinth was raided. At first no one realized you’d gone missing.” Allarde glanced at the chalk walls surrounding them. “Did you manage to hide here in a tunnel? You seemed to come out of nowhere.”
Rather than answer, she asked, “How did you find me?”
“Tonight was the first session of the Irregulars since the raid. I’d been worried about you, so when the session ended, I decided to look around before going back to the school.” His brow furrowed. “I was drawn to this location without knowing why. Then you tumbled out of thin air. Did you develop some new invisibility spell?”
“Much more complicated than that.” The mere thought of explaining her adventures made Tory’s head ache. “I was traveling through time.”
“Pardon?” His gray eyes looked doubtful.
“As I said, it’s complicated. I’ll save my explanations for when the teachers are present so I won’t have to rep
eat myself.” A thought struck her. “Miss Wheaton and Mr. Stephens weren’t caught and discharged, were they?”
“No, everyone escaped the raid. Elspeth said you led the raiders away from her group. That must have been just before you vanished.” He smiled. “You’re a heroine.”
That sounded nice, though Tory hadn’t felt very heroic at the time. She sighed. Lovely though her current position was, she couldn’t stay here. She tried to get to her feet but almost fell from dizziness.
Allarde caught her. “You’re in no condition to walk.” He scooped her up in his arms and headed back along the tunnel, his mage light gliding in front them.
After an initial squeak of surprise, Tory relaxed with her head against his shoulder. His scent, his warmth, his energy—being held by him felt like coming home.
An alarming and alluring home. The austere beauty of his profile entranced her, and his right arm under her thighs gave her shivers in places she’d never thought about. A good thing she wasn’t wearing that indecently short skirt of Polly’s!
But she was puzzled. “I’m grateful for your care. It … it goes beyond what one expects from one comrade to another.”
“You are more than just a comrade to me, Tory,” he said softly.
“Then what am I?” she asked, her voice equally soft.
“I’m … not sure,” he said, not looking at her.
They were approaching the main hall, and she had only moments left for this unexpected intimacy. She didn’t want it to end, but she didn’t know how to prolong it. “You had best put me down. Carrying me in might give people the wrong impression.”
Gently he set her on her feet, keeping an arm around her while she got her bearings. “The impression wouldn’t be wrong.” He cupped a hand around her face, his touch so light that it was absurd for her heart to accelerate. “Merely … impossible.”
“Why impossible?” she whispered.
“In other times and places, I could behave differently.” He dropped his hand, his eyes deeply sad. “Not now. Not here.”
He seemed to be saying that he admired her but felt he could not act on that. She wanted to protest, to make him say more, but something her sister once said echoed in her mind. “When seeking a mate, you may meet men who could be right under different circumstances, but they won’t do now for any number of good reasons. It is best to smile a gracious farewell and tuck that brief memory in your heart.”