Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  The hell of it, Gwen realised, was that Lady Standish had a point. If Gwen had been a real maid, pulled into a relationship with a man from the upper classes, it might well have ended badly. No, it would have ended badly. In her own way, Lady Standish was actually trying to help. But it wasn’t really any help at all.

  “You are not to be alone with him ever again,” Lady Standish hissed. “I expect you to spend all of your time, after today, with my niece. If I catch you without her or near him, you will be dismissed on the spot.”

  She pushed the door open without bothering to knock. Romulus was bending over an ironing board, carefully ironing his butler’s jacket. Gwen flushed as she realised the butler was topless, wearing nothing above the waist, but Lady Standish showed no reaction. He was, after all, of a very different social class to herself.

  “Gwen requires discipline,” Lady Standish said, as Romulus turned and bowed. “You will handle it, then send her to my niece.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” Romulus said. He nodded to Gwen, then pointed to a chair. “Wait there. I will see to you shortly.”

  Lady Standish threw one last disgusted look at Gwen, then strode out of the door, slamming it shut behind her. Gwen looked over at Romulus, wondering just what Lady Standish had had in mind when she’d ordered him to discipline her. She couldn’t mean she wanted Gwen beaten, did she? But Gwen knew, all too well, that servants were often beaten. And she’d have to lie there and take it ...

  Romulus finished ironing his jacket, then pulled on his white shirt and carefully buttoned it up. Gwen couldn’t help admiring the sheer precision of his movements – they reminded her of the sergeants who supervised the male trainees at Cavendish Hall – as he turned and inspected himself in the mirror, then pulled his jacket on over his shirt. He might be in Russia, where his duties were really nothing more than a manservant’s, but he saw no reason to allow standards to slip. Gwen felt her heart sinking as he turned to face her, wondering if she dared try to Charm him. But he was self-aware enough to make that a very dangerous prospect.

  “I’m surprised to see you,” he said, his dark eyes meeting hers. “What happened?”

  “Lady Standish caught me kissing Sir Sidney,” Gwen said, bitterly. Her mission had just become much more complicated ... in hindsight, they could probably have sneaked back to his room to chat, rather than staying in the open. “She was ... not happy.”

  “She wouldn’t have been,” Romulus said. He frowned, thoughtfully. “Her Ladyship likes to be in control and yet she knows she isn’t really in control of anything.”

  Gwen nodded. Lady Standish might come from impeccable breeding, a bloodline that dated all the way back to the Norman Conquest, but she was as helpless as any other wife in the face of her husband. She had no money, no land and no rights of her own, save what her husband chose to give her. No wonder she was so obsessed with making everything perfect; it gave her a sense of power, of control, her life denied her. Not for the first time, Gwen wondered what would have happened to the Grande Dames of High Society if they’d been allowed to shape their own lives.

  But none of them had the chance, she thought. Only the very lucky women get to choose their own paths through life.

  Romulus leaned forward. “That was careless of you,” he added, warningly. “Her Ladyship will be watching you like a hawk from now on.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gwen said. It was true. Lady Standish would be looking for other signs of wanton behaviour. Even if she was with Raechel, Lady Standish would be watching. “I know.”

  “You could have lost your position,” Romulus warned. “Stand up.”

  Gwen obeyed, then braced herself as he swung her around and delivered a sharp slap to her bottom. It stung, but the pain faded quickly. She couldn’t help thinking that Lady Standish had meant something worse when she’d ordered Romulus to provide discipline. But she wasn’t about to complain.

  “I suggest you wait here for a while, then I will escort you to Lady Raechel,” Romulus said, coldly. His face was curiously impassive. “You should make an attempt at looking miserable.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gwen said.

  “And try not to sit down anywhere,” Romulus added. “Lady Standish will be watching.”

  Gwen nodded. “Do you have an onion?”

  Romulus surprised her by laughing. “I think you need more than just an onion,” he said. “But you can do whatever else you need to do here before I take you to Lady Raechel.”

  Gwen sat back and tried to think about what she’d learned, both about the Tsar’s plans and the offer he’d made Lord Standish. On the face of it, she had to admit, the offer seemed tempting. Britain had no alliance with Persia, no reason to go to war on the state’s behalf ... except, of course, for the fact that whoever controlled Persia could attack the Ottoman Empire or British India. Or Russia, of course. It had been why all three powers had seemed content to leave Persia as a buffer like Afghanistan, carefully coordinating their political influence to ensure that the state remained neutral. But the Russians had clearly decided to change their minds ...

  But what did they really want?

  Perhaps the Tsar wanted to avoid joining the French in war against Britain. Judging from the problems beyond the Palace’s walls, the Russian population was restive and the Russian military might be needed at home. She doubted that the Russians actually wanted the war, they just feared being abandoned by the French or left to fight the Ottomans on their own. If they came to a deal with Lord Standish, they could abandon the French at will and leave them to fight alone.

  And yet ... the plans she’d seen had called for the use of vast numbers of undead. She was sure of it, even though she knew Sir Sidney had had a point; it was possible that the plans had been drawn up by ignorant idiots more interested in impressing the Tsar than actually doing genuine staff work. But her instincts – and Olivia’s kidnapping – told her otherwise. The Russians wouldn’t have kidnapped a Necromancer if they hadn’t had some use in mind for her.

  She looked over at Romulus, who was carefully sorting out the contents of his suitcase. Why had he spared her? And she was sure that he had spared her. Lady Standish, if Janet was to be believed, was another firm believer that sparing the rod spoiled the servants. If she was prepared to beat Raechel, she was certainly prepared to beat her maids. But Romulus had spared her ...

  Bracing herself, she opened her mouth. “Why didn’t you thrash me?”

  “Her Ladyship can go too far,” Romulus said. He gave her an odd little smile. “I would suggest, however, that you stay well away from Sir Sidney. It will only end in tears.”

  He turned. “Wash your face,” he added, “and then I will walk you back to Lady Raechel.”

  There was no one in the corridor between Romulus’ room and Raechel’s suite, much to Gwen’s relief. Inside, Raechel looked up as soon as they entered, her face pale and worried. Gwen wondered, suddenly, just what Lady Standish had said to her niece, perhaps a stern warning against contaminating the maids or even just an order to keep Gwen with her in future. At least Raechel didn’t look to have been beaten herself. She just looked worried.

  “Your Aunt wasn’t happy with me,” she said, as soon as she’d checked that they were unobserved. “And I have to stay with you, for the moment.”

  “Then we will have to wander the palace together,” Raechel said. She paused, looking down at Gwen. “Are you alright?”

  “Magic makes it easier to recover,” Gwen said. It was true enough – and she had a feeling she didn’t want to call Romulus’ mercy to anyone’s attention. “What about you?”

  “She just told me off for not keeping an eye on you,” Raechel said. She stood and looked at Gwen. “What do you want to do now?”

  “I have to teach you some techniques that might help you keep your thoughts under control,” Gwen said. Someone without magic couldn’t hope to shield their thoughts completely, but they could detect an intrusion and force the spy out. “You never know who might be listening to
your thoughts.”

  Raechel paled. “I always thought my Aunt knew what I was thinking.”

  “I doubt it,” Gwen said. If Raechel’s thoughts were no cleaner than her actions, her Aunt would probably have sent her to a convent by now. There had been one case of a mother reading her children’s minds, one that had ended very badly. “But there are others here who might take a peek into your mind.”

  “No,” Raechel said. She paused. “Can you do that?”

  “Not very well,” Gwen admitted. “I can read emotions, but not thoughts.”

  Raechel eyed her, nervously. “You could be lying,” she said. “Or trying to reassure me.”

  “I’m not lying,” Gwen said, defensively. She understood precisely how the girl felt, but it was annoying to be accused of something she considered immoral. “Besides, Talkers often have problems coping with more than one or two people close to them at any one time.”

  She pulled Raechel over to the carpeted floor, then sat down and crossed her legs. “The key to detecting someone trying to intrude upon your thoughts,” she explained as Raechel sat down, “is to monitor your own thoughts carefully. One must be completely aware of one’s self to detect thoughts and feelings that are not yours. You must become aware of your own mind.”

  “I think, therefore I am,” Raechel said. “Or is that the wrong way to go about it.”

  Gwen took Raechel’s hands in hers, then smiled. “Close your eyes,” she ordered, “and start breathing regularly, in and out, in and out.”

  Raechel giggled. “This feels silly,” she said. “And how will I know if it works?”

  “It takes practice,” Gwen agreed. “And it takes more practice to monitor your shields in the midst of a distraction. If someone is talking to you, your mind will be on them, rather than on yourself.”

  She paused. “Breathe in ... and breathe out. Breathe in ... and breathe out.”

  Irene had told her, back when she’d started more advanced lessons, that there were people who never truly mastered any form of mental discipline. The extroverts like Raechel – and Gwen herself, to some degree – had too many problems maintaining their thoughts in order when they were constantly responding and reacting to the world around them. But Raechel seemed to be managing just fine. Maybe all she needed was a little encouragement.

  Gwen squeezed her hand lightly, then opened her mouth. “I’m going to try to touch your mind very lightly,” she warned. “When you feel me, I want you to squeeze my hand. Don’t open your eyes and don’t try to speak. Just concentrate on monitoring your own thoughts.”

  She frowned as she saw Raechel stiffen. It wasn’t a surprise – few people liked the thought of having their mind read – but it ensured that Raechel would have to start meditating again from the beginning. Gwen sighed, then carefully talked her back into the semi-trance and then reached out with her mind. Raechel was a glowing ball of emotions and thoughts, all seemingly jumbled together. It would take time and practice for her to school her mind long enough to detect an intrusion.

  Gwen let out a gasp as she sensed a sudden wave of emotions, followed by garbled thoughts that refused to resolve in her mind. Raechel’s grip tightened suddenly – Gwen winced in pain – then relaxed; there was a sudden flood of triumph in her mind. Gwen managed to refrain from pointing out that a skilled Talker would already have been monitoring her thoughts for information before she noticed his presence. Irene would probably have learned whatever she wanted to learn and then withdrawn without being detected.

  “Not bad, for a first try,” she said, instead. “But we are going to have to do this again and again until you have mastered it completely.”

  Raechel leaned forward. “Who’s the mind-reader?”

  Gwen lifted her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You wouldn’t be doing this if there wasn’t some reason to worry,” Raechel said. Her voice hardened with anger and a kind of bitter helplessness. “Who might be poking into my thoughts?”

  “You remember those dark-clad men around the Tsar?” Gwen asked. She didn’t want to mentioned Simone, not now. “At least two of them were magicians. I suspect they were doing more than just broadcasting mental static to ensure that no one read the Tsar’s mind.”

  She shuddered at the memory of watching the monks praying to the picture of the Tsar, wondering just what that portended. Talkers made everyone uncomfortable, even British Ministers. The strongest laws on the books were intended to deal with Talkers as well as Necromancers, although Talkers were far more useful. Did the Tsar make the monks so faithful to him in the hopes of ensuring they didn’t abuse their positions?

  “I asked Adam about them,” Raechel said. She looked oddly embarrassed. “You know what he told me?”

  Gwen shook her head, impatiently.

  “He said they castrated themselves,” Raechel said. She flushed, then giggled. “Can you imagine? They cut off their own manhoods just to serve the Tsar!”

  “I’ve seen stupider things,” Gwen said. She frowned. “And Adam?”

  “I thought I should try to see what he could tell me,” Raechel said. “And I didn’t give him anything more than a smile.”

  “Good thinking,” Gwen said, hoping that no one tried to read Raechel’s mind. She knew far too much. “And ...”

  There was a sharp tap at the door. Gwen hesitated, then hurried over to her bed and lay down on it, face down. Raechel frowned after her, then opened the door. Her Aunt stood outside, glaring around the palace as if she owned it. For a dreadful moment, Gwen was convinced she wanted to see the scars. But instead she just looked at Raechel.

  “Your Uncle and his staff have been invited to Moscow,” she said. “We will be leaving tomorrow morning. You will be woken early in the morning and you will be ready to leave on time. I will not have you embarrassing me any further.”

  “Yes, Auntie,” Raechel said.

  “And Gwen can get back to work,” Lady Standish added. “She’s had long enough to recover.”

  “Yes, Auntie,” Raechel said. “Bye, Auntie.”

  She closed the door in her Aunt’s face and turned around. “I hate her, sometimes,” she said, to Gwen. “She’s such a ... a bore!”

  “It could be worse,” Gwen said, as she sat upright. If Lord Standish was going to Moscow, it suggested he hadn’t rejected the Russian proposal out of hand. “Believe me, it could be a great deal worse.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We have something quite special for you today,” Gregory said, as Ivan led Olivia down into the experimental chambers. “I want you to watch and be ready to assist us, if necessary.”

  Olivia scowled at him, bitterly. She’d spent the last few days trying to convince Ivan that the experiments would end in disaster, but the Russian had been reluctant to abandon his loyalty to the Tsar, even if he did think the Skoptzi monks were making a dreadful mistake. He’d taken care of her, played chess and cards with her, yet he hadn’t listened to her. It was utterly frustrating and the growing whispering in her head only made matters worse.

  “And what,” she asked finally, “are you trying to do?”

  The Russian smiled at her, the gleam of madness clearly visible in his eyes. She’d seen enough of his experiments through the eyes of the undead to understand just how far he was prepared to go, but the ultimate objective of his research defeated her. He’d injected undead tissue into living subjects, attempted to torture one of the undead, which had been a pointless waste of time, and hundreds of other experiments. And, throughout them all, he’d kept smiling. He genuinely believed they were moving closer and closer to a breakthrough.

  “The undead will have a new member today,” Gregory said, finally. “We will see if they can use a magician’s powers, if that magician becomes one of the undead.”

  Ivan saw her flinch and looked at her, oddly. “Do you already know the answer?”

  Olivia shook her head. As far as she knew, the undead in London hadn’t bitten or consumed any magicians, a
lthough it was quite likely that they had. But there had been no evidence of the undead using any powers, apart from their natural aggression and growing levels of intelligence. They didn’t seem to have access to the powers their victims had once possessed ... or so she thought. It was quite possible that they’d never worked out how to use the powers.

  “Then we shall see,” Gregory said. He turned and opened a door that led down to the cells, then plucked an oil lamp from the walls and walked down the stairs. Olivia followed him, picking her way down the stone stairs carefully. She’d already slipped once and the Russians had laughed at her. “Let us see what we have here.”

  He’d stopped outside one of the cells. Olivia followed his gaze and saw a young girl with dirty-blonde hair, lying on the bed with a drugged expression on her face. Merely looking at the girl made her feel queasy, as if she was staring at something fundamentally wrong. There was a gasp behind her, followed by one of the guards turning and running back up the stairs, fleeing for his life. The girl turned her head to look at Olivia and smiled, very slowly. There was something about the smile that made Olivia want to run too.

  “She’s quite a curious specimen,” Gregory said. “We found her on the streets, running her own gang of youths. They were all terrified of her, not without reason. It took fifty men to exterminate them and take her alive.”

  He barked a command in Russian. The cell door was opened and the girl dragged out by two of the guards. She made no attempt at resistance. All she did was smile at them, as if her mind was gone. The guards still seemed nervous even to touch her, as if they were handling a poisonous snake or something that might explode at any second. Up close, she smelt of blood and shit and piss, just like someone from the streets of London. Olivia shuddered, remembering that she too had smelt like that, once upon a time.

  “Her powers are odd,” Gregory continued. “When we had her here, she actually started to influence the guards. Some of them were made to commit embarrassing acts for her amusement, others were forced to wound themselves or even attack their fellows. Even drugged, she has an influence on the world around her. We don’t understand why.”