A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

  “He can’t do that if we rescue Trevor and Miryam,” Les said.

  Hamlyn nodded. “We’ll need help.” He stared at the door to the room as if he expected that help to walk in unannounced. “I’ll get on it right away, but it will be some time before we can move against Tenney. You might as well get some sleep. I’ll take you to the guest room.”

  More delay. Les’s heart sank. “I don’t think it’s safe to wait,” he said.

  “It’s certainly not safe to jump into this thing unprepared,” Hamlyn answered. “I know far more about Tenney than you do. You came to me for help, and I’ve agreed to give it. You’ll have to trust my judgment. Besides, you look in no shape to go anywhere at present.”

  Les had to admit that he wasn’t. He let Hamlyn lead him to a nearby room, where an inviting bed conquered his resistance. Under a cloud-soft quilt the clean, smooth sheets smelled of lavender. He lay down, vowing to take only a short nap, and fell into a restless sleep full of troubling dreams: dreams of Trevor, of pain, of strangulation.

  An invisible band tightened around Trevor’s neck, choking him, cutting into his flesh. He gagged, fought for breath, clawed at his throat.

  “That’s a taste of your own medicine, Trevor, my boy. Don’t like it much, do you?” Dr. Tenney stood facing him, desk chair shoved aside.

  Trevor backed against the wall. He needed its support. The band dug into his neck, and his fingers couldn’t get hold of it to loosen it. Black spots danced before his eyes; he felt himself losing consciousness.

  Dr. Tenney regarded him calmly. “I’m disappointed in you, my boy. After all I’ve done for you, I can’t think why you would turn against me. Perhaps you thought you no longer needed me, now that you’re a member of the Community?”

  Trevor couldn’t answer. His knees buckled, he slid down the wall. Dr. Tenney grasped his arms, hauled him up, thrust him into the desk chair. The pressure on his throat diminished enough to keep him from passing out, not enough to relieve his pain and fear.

  “Foolish, foolish boy, to think you could harm an Adept. No one can sneak up on me. No one—not even another Adept.” He waved his hand at the jar on his desk. The moth had settled on the bottom of the jar, and only an occasional weak flutter of its wings assured Trevor that it lived.

  Dr. Tenney gazed down at Trevor with a sorrowful look. “Such betrayal, when I had wonderful plans for you. How could you have thrown away the opportunity I offered you?

  “Ah, you seem unable to answer. Struck dumb, no doubt, by the heinousness of your deed. Tch, such a pity.”

  Trevor yearned to leap up and wrap his hands around the doctor’s neck, or at least lunge forward and ram his fist into the fat belly that presented such a tempting target. But he couldn’t move. The Adept’s power held him both motionless and speechless.

  “I can’t bestow blessings on a traitor, can I?” He shook his head sadly. “No, I’m afraid you’ve forfeited the power and wealth that could have been yours. Carl, I think, will not be so foolish or so ungrateful.

  “I’ve been protecting you from him, you know. Allowing him to draw only the merest bit of your power. Enough to perform the parlor tricks required by the Community, enough to be sure the injured horse could get us home. Nothing that would cause you discomfort or shame.”

  He stopped and turned, opened the drawer of his desk, fumbled inside, drew out a pipe pouch, extracted a briar pipe, and gazed at it lovingly. His fingers stroked the carved bowl; he held the cherry stem up to the light. “My favorite pipe,” he said.

  He made a production out of filling and lighting it, puffed on it, and blew the smoke into Trevor’s face. Trevor’s eyes watered. The tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him cough; he could scarcely breathe.

  The doctor smiled, enjoying Trevor’s agony. “Carl is intelligent, you know. Devious, yes, he is that. But sensible enough to know how to realize his ambitions. He would not make the foolish mistake you’ve made.

  “I intend to remove the restrictions I have placed on him. He will follow my orders; he will have no choice about that. But so long as he acknowledges his dependence on me, he may do what he wishes with you. I will permit him to draw all the power he wants and to send you on whatever private errands may suit his fancy.” He paused to blow several smoke rings, then continued, “Do you feel an unpleasant tightness about your neck? Yes, I see that you do. I’m afraid, though, that you will have to endure it as a reminder of your folly. It will not prevent your drinking or eating a little soft food. It will not allow you to speak, and you will never again be free of pain.”

  He set his pipe down beside the jar on his desk. “Come, I have work to do. I’ll turn you over to Carl. He’s probably asleep, but he’ll forgive my waking him when he understands the gift I’m giving him.”

  Carrying a lighted candle, the Adept forced Trevor to follow him meekly to Carl’s bedroom. Trevor’s muscles were no longer under his own command; he was helpless to do anything other than what the doctor willed.

  He stood in utter misery while Dr. Tenney shook Carl awake, explained that Trevor had tried to kill him, and that as punishment he was henceforth wholly under Carl’s control. “Do what you want with him,” the doctor said. “He’s your toy.”

  Carl stared stupidly as though he thought he might be dreaming. But the Adept’s words gradually penetrated. He broke into a broad grin.

  “Enjoy yourself,” Dr. Tenney said and left the room.

  “I will,” Carl called after him, laughing. He beckoned Trevor nearer. “Oh, yes, I will,” he said, his gleaming eyes reflecting the flame of the candle Dr. Tenney had left in the candlestick on his nightstand.

  Trevor raged against his helplessness. His attempts to use his power were futile. He raised his hand to his throat and tried to loosen the band, but there was nothing to touch or pull, and rubbing only made the pain worse. He wished the band would tighten and end his misery. That wouldn’t happen either. Dr. Tenney’s power kept the tightness at just the level needed to cause great pain without preventing shallow breathing.

  He became aware of Carl’s gaze fixed on him, gloating. His hands fell to his sides; he tried to conceal his discomfort. Carl’s amusement told him how badly he failed.

  “Take off your shirt,” Carl ordered abruptly.

  Trevor tried to utter a refusal, forgetting he could not speak. Carl laughed at his soundless mouthings and repeated the command.

  Trevor tried to cross his arms in front of him, found himself unbuttoning his shirt instead. His hands moved independently of his will. In a moment his shirt lay on the floor, and he stood bare to the waist.

  “Come here, country boy,” Carl said, beckoning. “Dr. Tenney said you’re to be my toy. So. We’re going to play some games. Lucky for me you won’t be able to cry out when they get a little rough. Take off your belt.”

  Again Trevor had no choice but to comply. His shaking hands fumbled with the belt buckle, got it open, and pulled the belt off. He felt himself wrapping one end around his hand and letting the other end, the end with the metal buckle, dangle.

  “Now, let’s see how hard you can strike with that.” Carl spun him around as he gave the order.

  Trevor was forced to lift his arm and fling the buckle hard against his own bare back. Hard, but not hard enough to please his tormentor. “You’ll have to do better than that,” Carl said. “Try again.”

  He did. And again. And again, on and on, until his back was raw and bleeding and his arm was aching from the exertion. When at last Carl allowed him to let his arm drop to his side, he thought it was over, but after only a few seconds’ respite, Carl had him raise the belt again, this time to strike his chest.

  The night lasted forever. It left his body bruised, bleeding, turned into an alien thing, a false friend that surrendered itself to the bizarre whims of another. The horrors in his mind crowded it to the verge of insanity. When the physical pain and the mental anguish of having his own power turned against him sickened him so that the power band arou
nd his neck could not prevent his stomach from spewing out its contents, Carl beat him and made him clean up the vomit while tears streamed down his face.

  Finally he was allowed to collapse onto the cold floor and lie there while Carl stretched out on his warm bed and mused aloud of new torments he intended to employ.

  “The more broken you are, the more unimpeded the flow of power,” he said cheerfully. “I learned that with Miryam, you know. The power sluices through you, and I absorb it all. There’s nothing left in you to stop it.”

  Trevor heard but didn’t care. Power. What good was it? It hadn’t protected him. He felt torn into tiny fragments and scattered past all reclaiming. He remembered the outrage he’d felt when Carl had stolen his money and documents. Now Carl had shredded not only his flesh but also the pride that let him feel anger. He was numb, incapable of feeling anything except a wish for death.

  A light tap on the door raised not the slightest flicker of interest or fear on his part. He lay unmoving while Carl stepped over him to pad to the door.

  Dr. Tenney’s voice drifted through the fog. “Sorry to arouse you so early. I expect you had a busy night. But I thought you’d want to see who’s come back into the fold. No, no. I said see. She’s not yours anymore. I’ve given you a new toy to take her place. Her arrival is most timely; I have plans for her. I merely felt I should extend you the courtesy of informing you that your sister is no longer among the missing.”

  Carl’s sister. Miryam. Trevor turned his back to the door and curled into a fetal position. Maybe Miryam hadn’t seen him. He didn’t want to be seen like this. Perhaps, after all, a scrap of pride remained.

  He heard Miryam’s voice but made no attempt to distinguish the words. Carl’s mocking tones erased everything else.

  “Let me at least heal his wounds.” That was Miryam.

  Heal his wounds. Whose wounds? His? So she had seen him and witnessed his disgrace.

  Heal his wounds. Some wounds were too deep for any healing. Miryam of all people must know that.

  Carl laughed again, and the rest of the conversation was lost in his laughter.

  Go away, Trevor thought. Go away and leave me alone.

  The door closed. Someone had heeded his mental plea.

  Not Carl. Carl stepped over him and sat on the bed. He nudged Trevor with his foot. “Get up, my pretty toy. Not so pretty anymore, but that can’t be helped, can it? Get up. We have time for a few more games.”

  Trevor’s traitorous body staggered to its feet and picked up the discarded belt, while his mind fled away and hid in a dusty corner.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SHATTERED GLASS

  Les awoke to the mouth-watering aroma of fried fish and fresh fruit. A cheery voice sang out, “I’ve brought breakfast. Father said you’d be famished.”

  He got his eyes open and his mind functioning enough to recall the previous night. Breakfast! No time. He had to find Miryam, had to rescue Trevor. He sat up and glared at the woman who stood beside the bed holding a tray.

  The glare faded in the light of her friendly smile. He let her place the tray on his lap. Slivers of white fish fried in a thin batter were arranged like a fan in the center of the plate, slices of several kinds of fruit spread around them in a colorful wreath. Milk in a tall, frosted glass completed the meal.

  “I can’t … Need to get moving. Too much time’s gone by already.” He heard the lack of conviction in his voice.

  “Father isn’t quite ready. You have time to eat, and you’ll need your strength. I’m Leila Hamlyn, by the way.” Her smile put dimples into her cheeks. Her short dark hair framed a heart-shaped face.

  Hamlyn’s daughter. Rich. Probably spoiled. She had a pretty face, but she wouldn’t have the character Miryam had.

  Miryam! He had to get to her. He put down the fork he had picked up without realizing it. He couldn’t eat. He had to find her.

  Leila placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know, it’s hard to wait, and you feel guilty about sitting here eating a big breakfast. But really, you can do nothing right now. If you go rushing out and get a cab to Dr. Tenney’s, what are you going to do when you arrive? What do you think you can accomplish by yourself against a powerful Adept?”

  He scowled. “You read my mind, didn’t you?”

  A rush of color only added to her beauty. “I’m good at reading people. Your expression, your posture, your motions all reveal what’s in your mind.”

  He yielded grudgingly. “All right, I’ll eat, but if your father isn’t ready after that, I will go on my own.”

  “And add one more to the number to be rescued,” she said with a touch of anger. “I’ll try to hurry Dad. But he does have a lot of preparations to make, if we’re to have any hope of success.” She turned and left the room.

  He did feel guilty about eating; she’d been right about that. She’d also been right in saying that he needed his strength. He took a bite of the succulent fish. Snared by the moist, rich flavor, he didn’t rest his fork until the plate was empty.

  After draining the glass of milk, he set the tray of empty dishes on the floor, got up, and stretched. He regarded himself in the mirror. He needed a shave, his hair was a tangled mess, his clothes were sweat-stained and wrinkled.

  A bathroom opened off the guest room. In it he found shaving materials, hairbrushes, combs. He decided to give Doss Hamlyn as much more time as it took him to wash and shave. He could make himself somewhat more presentable, though he could do little about his clothes.

  He emerged from the guest room feeling refreshed and ready for action. He glanced about to get his bearings, locate Doss Hamlyn’s room. A door opened and Leila emerged into the hallway.

  “Father’s driver is bringing the carriage to the front door. We’ll be leaving in about ten minutes.”

  “We?” Les frowned. “You aren’t going.”

  “I insisted on it,” she said, dimpling. “My gifts may be helpful.”

  “It’s not safe,” he said. “You could get killed.”

  “The decision’s made. Come on.” With a toss of her head she brushed past him and led him through the corridors and downstairs to the front entrance. A carriage trimmed in gold and ebony waited, drawn by a pair of spirited black horses, impeccably groomed, a liveried driver in the seat behind them.

  What was Doss Hamlyn thinking of? Hadn’t Hamlyn realized what they were getting into? He couldn’t be taking this rescue attempt seriously if he allowed his daughter to go with them. This was worse than the delay. Les wished he had left last night when it was clear that Hamlyn was not going to take immediate action. He’d been lulled into sleeping late and eating a luxurious breakfast, and now here they were, taking a woman and setting off in a showy carriage as though embarking on a pleasure jaunt.

  “Go on. Get into the carriage. Dad will be along any minute.” Leila prodded him lightly, her hand on his upper arm.

  He moved toward the carriage as if plodding against a stiff wind. This expedition was all wrong. He needed to stop it, to find another way to reach Dr. Tenney’s house and rescue Trevor and Miryam. But he could think of no way to undo the harm he’d done, no way to avoid the disaster he’d set in motion.

  The driver, a tall man with broad shoulders and muscles that strained the seams of his braid-trimmed jacket, had leaped to the ground and opened the carriage door. With Leila behind him, Les could not bolt and run. He could only climb into the carriage, sink down onto the plush seat, and think about the doom that lay ahead for them all.

  Leila climbed in and gathered up her full blue silk skirt to make room beside him. “You’re worried.” It was a matter-of-fact statement. “You think we’re going about this in the wrong way.”

  He couldn’t deny it, couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound surly and ill-tempered.

  “I understand your anxiety for your friends. But really, Father knows what he’s doing. I can’t promise that his plan will work; Dr. Tenney is clever and strong. But I can promise t
hat if anything can defeat Tenney, it will be Father’s plan.”

  “You are reading me again.”

  “I sense what you’re feeling—your emotions.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to insult you or your father. But, yes, I think it’s a great mistake to drive up to Dr. Tenney’s front door in this rig. I think it’s a mistake for you to go with us.” He threw his arms wide. “I think this whole thing is a mistake.”

  She nodded. “I can’t convince you that it isn’t. You’ll have to wait and see. Oh, here comes Father.”

  Doss Hamlyn strode toward the carriage, attired in striped morning coat, silk top hat, white satin necktie, and perfectly fitted black trousers. He carried a walking stick of highly polished wood with a gold handle and tip. The man was dressed for a formal dinner or an appointment with some dignitary, not for bursting into Dr. Tenney’s house of horrors and confronting the Adept.

  Les’s spirits sank lower. He could only mumble a dismal, “Hello,” in response to Hamlyn’s hearty greeting.

  The driver shut the carriage door when Hamlyn was seated, and moments later the carriage rolled smoothly over the brick roads.

  They rode in silence. Les wanted to ask Hamlyn his plan, but couldn’t speak without revealing his deep distress. Hamlyn volunteered no information, and Leila sat in confident ease, apparently feeling that no more needed to be said.

  Hamlyn had promised to call on other members of the Community to assist in the rescue, and Les wondered where these others were. He refrained from asking. Perhaps they were planning to meet at Dr. Tenney’s house.

  Hamlyn sat erect, his walking stick upright between his legs, his hands resting on its handle, his eyes closed. The hairs on Les’s arms prickled as though with static electricity. Hamlyn was doing something, working some spell.