A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

  Her scowl made him think she’d read his thoughts and knew his suspicions. “Far more is at stake here than the money and letters you lost to Carl,” she continued. “The man is a leech. The only real talent he possesses is the ability to steal power from others. He’s got his suckers so firmly into his sister that the girl can’t break away. She has tremendous talent, and he’ll use it all even though it drains her. He can do that to you, too. He could do it to me if he catches me here, but he won’t be able to use Les that way. Les is the key to stopping him.

  “He wants to use Les to help him impersonate you and gain entry into the Community of the Gifted. He’s had little contact with other gifted. Getting into the Community will give him access to unlimited power—or so he thinks. In reality, it will let us trap him and put a stop to his power thievery. And—” She rubbed her hands together. A smug smile spread over her face. “It will provide an opportunity for the Community to function in the way it was intended.”

  So. She had her own agenda. He should have known. If he went along with her scheme, she’d use him and Les for her own purposes. Thinking more clearly now, he had to admit that much of what she said made sense. But he didn’t, couldn’t trust her. In his present condition he was in no shape to rescue himself or Les. That would change; he was sure of it. And when it did, he’d act on his own. Veronica, whatever her real purpose was, seemed to have no interest in helping him and Les recover their stolen money and letters. He’d use her help to protect Les, but he’d watch for a way to defeat Carl and get back what belonged to him, no matter what Veronica said or did.

  “They’re coming,” she whispered. “I have to leave. Be sensible for once. Do as I’ve told you.”

  She vanished. A moth flew up to the ceiling. When the door opened, it flitted from the room.

  Trevor found himself able to move. He raised himself on one elbow and watched as Carl escorted Les into the small room. Oh, yes, he thought. I’ll be sensible. I’m a lot smarter than you think, lady.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  COOPERATION

  Les was uneasy. He would have been even more so, had he not seen the moth fly from the room in which Carl had imprisoned Trevor. His relief at seeing it (he never doubted that it was the moth) had doubled when he assured himself that Trevor had no serious injuries, only bruises. The worst Carl had done was to drug him, and he’d promised not to repeat that so long as Trevor cooperated.

  Thankfully, Trevor had been disposed to cooperate, though Les knew him well enough to recognize signs of a coming explosion. Les could only hope that with Veronica’s help they’d get this mess cleared up before Trevor attempted some reckless act that endangered them all.

  That concern only added to his nervousness as he waited with Carl at the door of the imposing brick home that bore the address on Trevor’s first letter of introduction. To find the house, they had turned down an elm-shaded street not far beyond the Maritime Museum, with its distinctive ship’s-prow front. At the end of the street they passed through high gates of wrought iron and up a curving driveway to the largest private home Les had ever seen.

  The size and opulence of the house clearly delighted Carl. Looking disgustingly pleased with himself, he lifted and dropped the heavy bronze knocker.

  A maid in a neat black uniform with a starched white apron opened the door. “Sirs?” she inquired with the merest hint of deference.

  “Trevor Blake and Lesley Simonton with a letter of introduction for Mr. Doss Hamlyn,” Carl said, displaying the envelope, expertly resealed. Knowing that Carl had opened it and read the letter, Les could nevertheless see no clue that the seal had ever been broken.

  “One moment, sirs.” The maid retreated into the house, reappeared in seconds with a gold plate. “Please step inside and wait in the foyer,” she said. When they entered the spacious foyer, she extended the plate. “I will carry the letter to Mr. Hamlyn.”

  Carl placed the envelope on the plate, and the maid carried it off. “It seems ‘my’ Uncle Matt has important friends,” he said, grinning at Les. “This is getting better and better.”

  Les turned his back on Carl and gazed at the two oil paintings in heavy gold frames, the silken wallpaper, the highly polished parquet floor. Two antique chairs on opposite sides of the ample area looked too fragile for actual use, but the gleaming brass umbrella stand and beautifully carved coat rack were utilitarian as well as ornamental.

  Carl hummed annoyingly throughout Les’s survey, breaking off when the maid returned. “Mr. Hamlyn will see you,” she reported with a bob of her neatly coifed head.

  She led them through rooms and corridors so quickly that Les had to be content with brief glances at damasked walls, plush carpets, and elegant furnishings. He had never seen anything like the wealth of paintings and sculptures that graced the walls and niches.

  The maid directed them into a paneled study. A mahogany desk stood in front of bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. The chair behind the desk was empty; their host rose from one of four thickly cushioned reception chairs. With the letter of introduction in his hand, he stepped forward to greet them, a broad smile on his mustached face.

  With dark, wavy hair and clear, blue eyes, he looked much too young to be a contemporary of Uncle Matt. “Welcome,” he said in a hearty voice. “What a delightful surprise. It’s been years since I’ve heard from Matthew. Please sit down. You must tell me all about Matthew and his charming wife.” He indicated two of the chairs.

  Carl sat in one, crossed his legs, brushed imaginary lint from his trousers. “It is good of you to see us, Mr. Hamlyn. My uncle has spoken so highly of you. He and Aunt Ellen are well and send you their warmest regards.”

  Les sank into his chair and watched Hamlyn’s face for some sign of incredulity, some evidence that he detected the deception. If Uncle Matt had told Trevor what the man’s talent was, Les had not heard it. Could he truth read? Was he testing Carl?

  Carl seemed fully at ease. He responded to Hamlyn’s request for details in his smooth way. “They have not prospered as you so clearly have, sir, but they are content. Their farm provides a comfortable income and they enjoy the respect of their town.”

  Les recalled how close the people of that town had come to burning down their home with them inside it. Trevor probably hadn’t told Carl about that.

  “Excellent!” Hamlyn enthused. “But their gifts, man. How do they make use of their gifts?”

  “They use them seldom,” Carl answered without hesitation. “In our rural county, people mistrust the gifted. They have had to conceal their talents. But they did help me to develop my power. As I believe my uncle mentioned in his letter, my parents opposed such training. I was allowed few visits with my uncle and aunt, but they took full advantage of those rare occasions to teach me as much as they could. With no children of their own, they looked on me as a son. Because they realized that my opportunities would always be limited in Amesley, they arranged for me to come here, and for my friend Les to accompany me.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Simonton.” Hamlyn turned to Les. “Matthew’s letter refers to your undiscovered talent. I would like a fuller explanation of that peculiar phenomenon, please.”

  Les felt sure he had not imagined the note of hostility that had crept into Hamlyn’s voice. It added to his nervousness as he described the process Uncle Matt and Aunt Ellen had used to determine his potential.

  “Interesting,” was Hamlyn’s comment when Les finished. “I’m familiar with that test. I wouldn’t call it foolproof. But it is significant that you can receive Trevor’s sendings. That suggests to me a passive rather than a latent talent. Not, I’m afraid, a basis for admission into our Community.”

  “You mean I’m not gifted?” Les experienced more relief than disappointment, having seen the trouble power could cause.

  “Being able to receive a mental sending is a gift, but one of little significance. I’m sure it has been a convenience for you and Trevor on many occasions, but it offers nothing of val
ue to the Community.”

  “I see.” Les nodded solemnly. The man’s attitude confirmed Veronica’s dismissal of the Community as arrogant and exclusive. No, he was definitely not disappointed. But he had to pretend to be.

  “The Blakes—Trevor’s aunt and uncle—were so sure of my power, sir. Couldn’t you at least arrange for another test?”

  “Yes,” Carl broke in. “Les has come so far. We had hoped not to be separated. Surely you won’t send him on the long trip back to Amesley without giving him a chance.”

  Clever. Carl’s speech conveyed regret, but it also made clear that he would enter the Community even if they rejected Les, that he would not pass up his own opportunity for Les’s sake.

  What would the real Trevor have done? The thought crept unbidden into Les’s mind. He dismissed as unworthy the suspicion that his friend might have done the same.

  “I have another letter from my uncle,” Carl continued before Hamlyn could answer. “I believe it specifically concerns the matter of developing Les’s gifts. It is intended for a Dr. Berne Tenney.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the second letter, but he did not hand it to Hamlyn.

  Hamlyn frowned. “Dr. Tenney, eh? That’s odd.” His mouth clamped shut. If he had intended to say more, he apparently thought better of it.

  Trevor must not have told Carl what Veronica had said about Tenney.

  “My uncle did not have Dr. Tenney’s address,” Carl continued. “He said you could direct me to him.”

  Hamlyn’s carefully manicured fingers tapped the arm of his chair. He gazed distastefully at the letter in Carl’s hand.

  Clearly alarmed by Hamlyn’s change in demeanor, Carl shoved the letter hastily back into his pocket and leaned forward. “I believe my uncle was not personally acquainted with Dr. Tenney but knew him only by reputation. If he has made a mistake …”

  The smile that returned to Hamlyn’s lips was tight and lacking in sincerity. “Quite so,” he said. “Your uncle is not aware of the politics of our Community.” He ran a thumbnail caressingly over his mustache. “I think … I’m not sure it would be wise for you to see Dr. Tenney.” His smile acquired a sardonic twist as he met Les’s gaze. “Yes, I think you should not deliver that letter.”

  “Sir, I shall gladly defer to your judgment,” Carl said. Les wanted to laugh at the trickster’s struggle to repair the damage.

  “I wonder,” Hamlyn said slowly, “I wonder whether your uncle made a mistake in sending you here. The Community has changed since he was a part of it. It is not as welcoming as it once was. We do little training of new talent these days.”

  Carl leaned forward, his hands open in a plea. “But, Mr. Hamlyn, we’ve come so far. My uncle was certain that we would at least be given the chance to prove ourselves.”

  “Hmm. Yes.” He gave Carl a long, appraising look. “Perhaps you should see Dr. Tenney.”

  Good! Hamlyn had grown suspicious, though Les had no idea what had aroused his suspicion.

  Hamlyn rose and walked to his desk. He slipped into his desk chair and took pen and paper from a drawer. “I’ll write instructions for finding Dr. Tenney’s residence. After you’ve seen him, return here if you are still interested in entering the Community, and we will then discuss your admittance, though I advise you not to count on a favorable reception.”

  “But, sir, I don’t understand this at all.”

  Ignoring Carl’s protest, Hamlyn scrawled lines on the paper, folded it in half, and left his desk to hand the paper to Carl and pull a bell rope hanging by the door. The maid appeared promptly, ushered them from the office, and escorted them to the front door.

  Carl fumed all the way home, railing at Les as if he were personally to blame for Doss Hamlyn’s change of mood. Les let him rant, resolved not to speak of Veronica and her assessment of the Community in general and of Tenney in particular. He did ask Carl why he didn’t go directly to the address on the paper Hamlyn had given him.

  “I want a talk with Trevor first,” he explained in a surly tone. “I’ll bet he knows more about this than he’s told me.”

  Les feared for Trevor. He had little doubt what methods Carl might use to extract information. He could possibly spare Trevor that by passing on what Veronica had said about Tenney, but he decided to leave it up to Trevor to share that information, if he chose.

  Trevor paced the narrow confines of the room. He had attempted several times to use his power to open the locked door, but the lock resisted his talent. Carl must have warded it in some way.

  He already regretted his decision to cooperate with Carl. He had no reason to do so except to keep Les safe, and no reason to trust Carl to do that. He was sorely tempted to send to Veronica, demanding that she free them both. But she was right; he couldn’t direct his mental power, and if Carl received the sending, he would almost certainly harm Les.

  If Hamlyn discovered Carl’s trickery, that discovery could have an adverse effect on his chance of being received into the Community of the Gifted. And he was certain that the plot would be discovered before long. Without Miryam, Carl’s gifts were limited. He would never be able to convince the Community.

  Would he be able to convince Doss Hamlyn? The suspense was maddening. He could not endure this waiting. If Miryam would come to the room, he’d try again to persuade her to help him. Persuade her or force her. Despite her power, she was frail and easily frightened. He was certain he could bend her to his will if he could get to her.

  With his talent, he ought to be able to focus enough to transmit a single message. Miryam was somewhere in the house, so he didn’t have to reach far. He could do a controlled sending if he tried.

  He sat on the edge of the narrow bed and built a picture of Miryam in his mind. Not pretty. Taller than a girl should be. Carl was tall, but not overly so for a man. Strange that his sister would have such height, but she was only a half sister, he recalled. Nothing remarkable about the pale skin, the shadowed brown eyes. With her long brunette braids and her simple, unstylish clothes, she could have been a farm girl, except she wouldn’t have the physical strength.

  When he’d last seen her she was wearing a dark skirt, brown, he thought, like her eyes, with the tips of plain black shoes showing beneath it. Her white blouse with its long sleeves and high neck was also plain, with only a bit of lace around the collar and cuffs. He wondered whether she wore such austere dress by her own choice or whether Carl forced her to do so.

  Not important. He had the image built in his mind. Concentrating on it, he attempted a mere whisper of a sending. Nothing more than Miryam, come here.

  He waited impatiently. Several minutes passed. He tried again, re-creating the image, injecting more force into the sending. Miryam, come here. I must talk to you.

  Maybe she didn’t know the sending came from him. It’s Trevor, he sent again. Please come.

  A sharp blast beat into his brain: Danger! Terror. Grief. Quiet. Can’t come. Outrage. Menace.

  A mingling of pain and fury twisted his mind. He doubled over, head between his knees, the heels of his hands pressing his temples, trying to drive out the storm. It stopped abruptly. Dazed, he lifted his head. The door burst open and Carl strode into the room. He caught Trevor by the shirt, hauled him to his feet, and slammed a fist into his jaw.

  Trevor sprawled back onto the bed. Carl loomed over him, fists clenched. “Keep out of my sister’s mind!” he shouted. “Don’t ever try that again!”

  Trevor didn’t move, resisting the urge to rub his aching jaw. He hadn’t expected Carl to return so soon. He didn’t dare ask what had happened. He kept his gaze fixed on Carl’s angry eyes.

  Gradually the mad rage subsided. In a calmer voice, Carl said, “I want to know more both about Doss Hamlyn and about this Dr. Tenney. Especially Dr. Tenney. I want you to tell me everything your uncle and aunt said about him.”

  The demand confirmed Trevor’s suspicion: Something had gone wrong. He wasn’t sorry. In fact, he was delighted, though he was careful
to keep his face expressionless. He waited a moment before answering, needing to be sure he could also control his voice.

  “I’ve already told you everything,” he said. “My uncle talked mostly about Mr. Hamlyn, said they’d been friends as young men. Uncle Matt and he both worked as stevedores. Hamlyn stayed on after Uncle Matt left and worked his way up in the shipping company. For several years Uncle Matt and Doss Hamlyn corresponded, but—”

  “You told me all this before,” Carl broke in. “What did Hamlyn say in his letters to your uncle? About the Community, that sort of thing? And what about Dr. Tenney?”

  “He didn’t tell me much,” Trevor said. “Nothing that I haven’t already told you. He only said about Dr. Tenney that he knew him only by reputation, and that if anyone could uncover Les’s gifts, he could. He didn’t tell me anything more about the Community except that it had been established long ago, and Hamlyn and some others were a part of it and felt it provided protection from hostile normals.”

  “He didn’t tell you how rich Hamlyn is? That he’s a high company official now? That he lives in a mansion? That he doesn’t like Dr. Tenney?”

  “No, no, and no!” Trevor said.

  “You must know more.” The madness flashed back into Carl’s eyes. “Guess I’ll have to refresh your memory.”

  He yanked Trevor up and hit him again. This time Trevor tried to fight back. He got in a single hard punch to Carl’s chest, gasped, and fought for breath as he felt his throat close. Carl’s power made invisible fingers tighten around his neck, choking off his breath.

  Les and Carl had entered Carl’s apartment through the back door. Carl had ordered Les to wait in the kitchen and had stalked off to confront Trevor. Les would have followed him despite the order, but loud sobs called him instead to Miryam’s side.

  He found her huddled on the floor of the small living room, clutching her head. Her breath came in ragged sobs. He knelt beside her and gathered her into his arms.