The Royal Sorceress (35 page)

“You’re mad,” Davy repeated. He leaned forward. “I pulled the underground back together after we had our butts soundly thrashed five years ago. I managed to build up a new force, one that would push for reform and force the high and mighty toffees to change. I built up...”

“You did nothing,” Jack said. He’d known that Davy resented him. Indeed, the only thing that kept him from suspecting Davy was the simple fact that Davy could have unravelled the whole plan with a few words in the right ear. “You kept your head to the ground and avoided attracting attention.”

“And you fled to France,” Davy thundered. “You lived in luxury while we had to cower underneath the whip! Where were you when the widows and children had to sell themselves into indenture merely to eat? Where were you when Francine Macomb was raped by the Dragoons because her husband had been caught on the barricades? Where were you when they transported thousands of people to some godforsaken island hellhole in the middle of the ocean, just for daring to aspire to something better than...”

“Shut up,” Jack said, controlling himself with an effort. Magic boiled behind his eyes, a mocking reminder of the day he’d come into his powers. “In all the years you were in sole control of the movement, what did you achieve? Nothing of any consequence at all. The best you did was arrange for teachers to enter the slums in the hopes that learning to read would help to mobilise the masses. They didn’t crack down on you because they didn’t
need
to crack down on you. You were nothing to them!”

“And you have gone and gotten Lucy arrested,” Davy snapped. “I heard you’d had something for her, back in the day. Where were you when she was taken away to the Tower?”

Jack swallowed, hard. “I was busy,” he said. “I was needed elsewhere.”

Davy glared at him. “Where?”

“That’s something I have to keep to myself,” Jack said. Davy was right; he
should
have been with Lucy. But there had been combat magicians – and perhaps Master Thomas himself – in the force that had arrested her and they would have overpowered him. Jack knew that he wouldn’t have died easily, but he would have died. “In the years since I left the country, has anything gotten better for the poor?”

Davy started to speak, but Jack spoke over him. “Nothing,” he said. “Back then, there were a number of liberal MPs in Parliament. We could hope for change, but they broke the movement when we merely asked for a say in how the country was governed. Now...there are few liberal MPs and Lord Liverpool can crack down on us however the hell he likes. And he feels that he can do it without needing to fear our response.”

“You didn’t grow up in a slum,” Davy snapped. “You never had to struggle for food. You never had to listen to your children crying because they couldn’t find anything to eat. You never had to explain to them that they couldn’t have fine clothes because you couldn’t earn enough to pay for them...”

“I know,” Jack said, as evenly as he could. “Davy...I know that we were never close, but you know as well as I do that we have to get Lucy out. The alternative is to abandon the plan and hide, leaving behind all the supplies we amassed for the uprising. And if they work out what we had in mind, it will be much harder to overthrow them in the next few decades. Perhaps there will be another revolution in America, or another rebellion in India, but I don’t think that we can count on it. The time is now.”

Davy sighed, all the fight slowly seeming to seep out of him. “But they’re in the Tower of London,” he said. “I have a few contacts with the Warders, but they won’t help us get them out...”

Jack nodded. “I have a plan,” he said. An idea was slowly forming inside his mind. “How many men could you get to the Tower without being noticed?”

Davy snorted. “I think the government would notice an army marching through London,” he said, dryly. “It is the kind of thing that tends to draw attention.”

“Maybe they’d be too shocked to react,” Jack commented. The last time London had been seriously threatened by an army had been during the Civil War. And that affair was very embarrassing, as no one was quite sure who had won. “But I have a better idea.”

“They’re going to keep them under guard,” Davy said. “You know how many men they’ll have watching the prisoners...”

“Just find out where they’re being kept,” Jack said. “And then I want ten men who are willing to risk their lives on a thoroughly crazy plan.”

Davy snorted. “I’m going to hate it, aren’t I?”

“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “You don’t have to come along. You’d better stay here and stay in contact with our army. We don’t want someone starting the uprising before we’re ready for it.”

***

Night was falling over London by the time Davy returned to the warehouse. Jack had spent the time sitting on the roof, turning the concept into a workable plan. If nothing else, he told himself firmly, it would have the benefit of being unthinkable. No one in their right mind would expect Jack to stake everything on one throw of the dice. But Master Thomas knew him...the Royal Sorcerer would have to be diverted, somehow. And only one person could do that...

He’d thought of contacting Gwen, but she wouldn’t have made up her mind which way to jump. Besides, if – when – she worked out that he’d blown up the farm with the girls inside, she wouldn’t be happy. Jack knew that there had been no way to get the girls out, even if they’d wanted to come, but Gwen wouldn’t see it that way.

Instead, he’d studied a copy of the latest Bradshaw railway and airship timetable, considering each step bit by bit. Breaking down a concept into multiple sections was something he’d learned from Master Thomas. Somehow, he doubted that his former tutor would approve of what he did with the lesson.

“They’re being held inside the Tower’s upper levels,” Davy reported. “The Warders are in a right royal sulk over the presence of so many combat magicians – and the Dragoons are irritating the hell out of them. It seems that some of the soldiers have been flirting with their wives and daughters...”

“If you can call it flirting,” Jack agreed. The soldiers of the British Empire were not known for delicate manners. They’d won an empire, defeating uppity local rulers and crushing rebels, but their behaviour off campaign left a great deal to be desired. It was one of the reasons why the government tried to keep the regiments overseas. They tended to cause colossal local resentment whenever they were billeted on any part of the country.

“...And some of them feel that the Prime Minister has overreached himself,” Davy continued. “But they probably wouldn’t agree to help us openly.”

“No,” Jack said. “We don’t need them anyway.”

He stood up. “We have to move as quickly as possible,” he said. “We’ll have everything in place within the next two days. And then we will rescue them...”

“Or die in the attempt,” Davy pointed out. “Are you sure that this is going to work?”

“Probably,” Jack said. “I want you to gather all of the magicians in the underground at...Clark’s Pub. They’re going to be needed for the diversion. And then I want one of the Welsh mining experts...”

Davy held up a hand. “You’re going to dig a tunnel into the Tower of London?”

Jack grinned at him. “Of course not,” he said. The Tower of London would have magical protections against someone trying to dig an escape route out of the castle. A number of very prominent people had been imprisoned there over the years and most of them had had allies on the outside. “My plan is far crazier than that. No one will see it coming.”

“I really hope you’re right,” Davy said. “And what happens if you should happen to die in the attempt?”

Jack allowed his smile to widen. “That really won’t be my problem, will it?”

Chapter Thirty

M
y name is Irene Adler,” the woman said. “Perhaps you have heard of me?”

Gwen frowned. Irene was tall, with a face that seemed too elegant to be beautiful. Long dark hair framed her pale face, falling down her back to her rear. She wore a simple dark dress, topped by a bonnet that called attention to her face. Lady Mary would have envied her poise, Gwen suspected, but there seemed to be something about Irene that didn’t quite make sense. And Master Thomas had introduced Gwen to her and then left the room.

Something clicked in Gwen’s mind. “You’re a magician, a woman magician,” she said. “I thought I was the only one.”

“The only openly practicing one,” Irene corrected. Her voice was soft, almost musical. “Can you identify my talent?”

Gwen, who disliked being tested, scowled. “You’re not a Master – unless you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel,” she said, tartly. “You have to have something special, or…”

She felt an odd tickling at the back of her mind and looked up, sharply. “You’re a Talker,” she said. “And you’re trying to read my mind.”

“Very little to read,” Irene said, but she was smiling as she said it. “I am one of the most powerful and capable Talkers in the world. I spent several years in Europe, moving from Austria to Prussia to France, reading minds and gathering intelligence for my superiors. If I hadn’t run afoul of a nobleman in Bohemia, I’d be in France still. No one suspects a girl whose only known talent is to sing like an angel and push her chest out at the right moments.”

Gwen had to smile. “And so you read their minds,” she said. “What have you found out?”

“That men lose the ability to think clearly when they’re trying to keep their eyes off your breasts,” Irene said, and winked. Gwen flushed. “Am I too crude for you? I’ve never regretted being what I am, not when Lord Mycroft pays me through the nose to gather intelligence for him. Would you like to know what the Crown Prince of France has in mind for his reign when his father finally shuffles off the mortal coil?”

“Not particularly,” Gwen said. The tickling at the back of her mind was still there. “Why are you reading my mind?”

“Force of habit,” Irene said. Her smile widened. “That…and Master Thomas has asked me to help you develop mental shields. You’re going to need them when you become the Royal Sorcerer.”

She waved Gwen to a seat – as grandly as any queen – and took the seat facing her. “One thing about acting is true of mental powers as well,” she said. “It isn’t enough to say something; you have to deliver the lines with conviction – you actually have to
become
the person you’re playing. Have you ever seen a play?”

Gwen shook her head. Going to the theatre – even the renowned Globe Theatre in London – was not ladylike behaviour. And besides, she’d never been particularly interested in acting, or even dressing up, as a child. Lady Mary had been quite concerned about that, although the older Gwen suspected that her mother’s performance at balls and parties was at least partly an act. Few people were that confident naturally.

“You should go see a few,” Irene said. “Would people admire a Romeo who declared his love for Juliet in flat, unconvincing tones? You have to put yourself in the character’s shoes and play the role to perfection – and if you can’t, you’re in the wrong career.”

“Women rarely take to the stage,” Gwen pointed out. Even she knew that, although she also knew that at least one of the bawdy actresses had become one of the King’s mistresses. “And I don’t know how to act.”

“Wear one dress; become a noblewoman,” Irene said. “Wear rags; become a sewing woman sitting in a room, weaving dresses for pennies. It’s all about presentation, really.”

Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “And what were you doing last night, young lady?” She demanded, in stern tones. “Were you properly escorted when William walked you home?”

Gwen had to laugh. Irene had changed, becoming the very picture of a stern mother of aristocratic linage. The Talker laughed and relaxed back into her confident poise, although Gwen had to remind herself that that might just be another act. Just who was the real Irene?

“It hardly matters,” Irene said. Gwen flushed, feeling…violated. Irene could invade her thoughts. “You don’t have to worry about that, I’m afraid. All you have to do is worry about keeping nosy parkers like myself out of your mind.”

She reached out and took Gwen’s hand in hers. “Talking requires discipline, right from the start,” she said. “Those who cannot build mental shields in their minds often go mad, unable to separate their thoughts from the thoughts of everyone else within range. Even when you do learn to control the ability, it can be hard to lower your shields and listen to another person’s thoughts. A person with very strong thoughts might overwhelm you and you might find yourself lost in their mind.”

Gwen frowned. “Like a Charmer can slip a thought into your mind,” she said, slowly. “You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between one of your thoughts and one of theirs.”

“Basically,” Irene agreed. “Most Talkers can only really link their minds to other Talkers. The ones who can actually read mundane minds…well, they’re rare. I don’t think that you will ever develop that ability for yourself, but you will be able to send messages around the world. I believe that that would come in handy, wouldn’t it?”

She winked. “I heard about your rooftop chase,” she added. “Wouldn’t it be useful to be able to send a message to someone when you’re attacked by rebels?”

“Yes,” Gwen said. Irene’s words reminded her of things she had to keep secret – and why Parliament was so concerned about Talkers. “Can you teach me to do that?”

“Of course,” Irene said. She sat upright and winked at Gwen. “I want you to close your eyes and slowly relax every part of your body.”

Gwen frowned, puzzled. “Why…?”

“Because the body is the house of the mind and must be relaxed so that the mind can follow likewise,” Irene said. “Now…please close your eyes and relax.”

Gwen did so, as best as she could. Thoughts kept surfacing in her mind, reminding her of things she had to keep secret – either because they were dangerous, or embarrassing. The day she’d started her womanly cycles had been one of surprise and horror, when she’d believed that something was dreadfully wrong with her. Her mother hadn’t told her anything about being female and the textbooks she’d read had only mentioned monthly cycles in the most elusive language. And then there was her brief meeting with Jack…everything she wanted to keep to herself bubbled up into her mind, there for Irene to read. Cold determination flowed through her as she concentrated on her breathing. She
would
learn to master this talent, if only for her own safety.