The Royal Sorceress (36 page)

“Breathe in…and out,” Irene said, gently. “Breathe in…and out. Let your body relax, bit by bit. Relax into the chair; let all the tension fade away from your muscles. Breathe in…and out; breathe in…and out. Breathe in…”

Gwen was suddenly very aware of the pounding of her heart. Slowly, it started to fade, dropping down to a slow, but steady beat. In the darkness, she could almost feel sleep prowling at the corner of her mind. Irene’s voice – urging her to breathe in and out – seemed to be coming from very far away. It would be so easy to fall into sleep.

“I want you to visualise your own body,” Irene said. Gwen concentrated, recalling what she’d seen in the mirror after dressing herself. “I want you to think of yourself floating in the midst of a vast ocean, all alone in the night. Focus on the image; concentrate until you can almost feel your presence. Allow your mind to drift, but hold the image in front of your mind’s eye. Breathe in…and out. Breathe in…and out.”

Gwen felt as if she were drifting, her mind slowly sinking into a vast ocean of thought. Now that she had grasped it, she was suddenly aware of whispers at the back of her mind. Automatically, she reached out towards them, only to find her mental tendrils falling apart in her mind. She heard what she was sure was a giggle, although she couldn’t place its origin. It didn’t feel like part of her mind. A second nexus of thought was right in front of her, glimmering in the darkness of her mind’s eye…

…And then there was contact.

Hello, Gwen
, Irene thought.
Can you hear me
?

Gwen started…and the contact broke. It left her feeling unsettled, as if something vitally important had been lost. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Irene looking back at her, a sparkle in her devilishly green eyes. The spy grinned at her as Gwen started to close her eyelids, reaching down inside her for the quiet place she’d found. Instead, she could sense tendrils of thought reaching out from Irene towards her. They were probing into her mind.

You can stop me
, Irene said. Her mental voice sounded vastly amused.
All you have to do is keep me out
.

But how do I do that?
Gwen thought. Her thoughts seemed to dance in the air between them; Irene was a presence within her mind. It was confusing, as if Irene was all around her and within her...almost a part of Gwen’s mind.
What do I do
?

She remembered, suddenly, visiting the madhouse with Master Thomas. He’d taught her how to build a barrier within her mind. Slowly, recalling the image of herself floating in a vast ocean, she built a mental barrier around her. The thoughts kept fragmenting, as if the barrier was built out of eggshells, but she learned rapidly. If the barrier’s strength depended upon what she chose to use to construct it – what mental representation she used within her mind – she would build it out of the strongest possible materials. Great bricks of cold iron materialised within her mind and started to form into a wall. Irene’s mind seemed to hop back, and then she was within Gwen again. And the wall was still in place.

This isn’t real
, Irene thought. She was definitely laughing now, Gwen realised. Cold anger flared through her mind.
This is the realm of the mind. Your wall may shield one angle of attack, but there are so many of them
…

As if Irene’s thought had showed it to her, Gwen realised that she was right. The wall she’d built might block anyone walking down a path, but Irene could climb over the wall or dig under it. Thinking rude thoughts, Gwen rebuilt the wall all around her mind, a solid sphere with no way in – or out. Irene – and the whispering at the back of her mind – snapped out of existence. Gwen blinked in astonishment and then realised that she’d been picking up on outside thoughts without being fully aware of what she was doing. If she’d been nothing but a Talker, she might well have gone mad before anyone realised what was wrong.

She opened her eyes and saw Irene smiling at her. “Not too shabby,” Irene said. “And now…let’s see if you can keep the wall in place.”

Gwen had no time to react before Irene’s power slammed into her mind. It was a metaphorical battle, fought – or thought – with concepts rather than real weaponry, but none the less real for all that. Her mental barrier – a solid sphere of iron – melted as Irene created a blazing stream of fire and started to burn her way through the wall. Gwen couldn’t believe it, and then realised that because she’d created her barrier out of iron, it could be melted. She hastily imagined the barrier as composed of water instead, and then switched back to Iron.

The battle seemed to spin out of control. Irene would lunge forward, threatening to crack the barrier, and then alter the angle of her attack, forcing Gwen to think rapidly to keep up with her. Maintaining the barrier in the face of a determined onslaught was mortifyingly difficult, even when she realised that there was nothing stopping her from deeming the barrier unbreakable. But then she had to hold it firmly in place, or her confidence would weaken and the barrier would be destroyed. She quite lost track of time and was surprised when Irene called a halt. They’d been skirmishing for over two hours, and yet it had felt like nothing.

“You have the home ground in your mind,” Irene said, as one of the maids brought them tea and cakes. Irene poured Gwen a cup and she sipped gratefully. “You determine the mental terrain, something that gives you a powerful advantage. But it only works if you train yourself to recognise when someone is trying to peek into your thoughts – they have to enter your mind – and to keep a barrier in place at all times.”

Her smile widened. “But you also have to avoid concentrating too hard on the barrier,” she added. “Can you guess why?”

Gwen hesitated, unsure. She’d had to hold the barrier firmly in her mind when Irene had been reaching into her, or it would have shattered. If she’d had to keep the barrier in place while chasing Jack across the rooftops…she realised what Irene meant and swore aloud. No one, not even Master Thomas, would be able to maintain a formidable barrier in the heat of a battle. Her thoughts could be raided while she fought her opponents in the physical world.

“Not too far wrong,” Irene said, once Gwen had finally put it into words. “But there’s another point.”

She reached forward and tapped Gwen lightly on the forehead. “You were concentrating on stopping my mental assault so hard that you couldn’t have stopped me if I’d punched you in the throat,” she said. Gwen flushed with embarrassment. Irene was right. “Something I’ve noticed about magicians is that they tend to become dependent upon their magic to protect them, thinking that it makes them invincible. But a bullet will kill a Blazer as surely as a burst of magic; a Mover cannot concentrate on more than a few items at once…and a Charmer’s powers are useless, if his opponent happens to be deaf.”

Irene smiled. “If you happen to want to kill a Charmer, block up your ears,” she added. “And a Talker can be distracted by too many people surrounding him…”

Gwen nodded, impatiently.

“I think you need to learn to fight hand-to-hand,” Irene said. “I’ll speak to Master Thomas about finding you a trainer. It isn’t particularly lady-like, but being able to fight with your bare hands may save your life one day.”

“I know how to fire a pistol,” Gwen said, flatly. Master Thomas had insisted that she learn, pointing out that pistols could be reloaded, while using magic could lead to exhaustion. “And I know how to use a dagger.”

“And you’ll know how to use everything else once we get you a proper trainer,” Irene said, remorselessly. “Now…it’s time to start focusing on sending a mental message.”

She looked directly at Gwen.
Hello Gwen,
she thought.
You can hear me
.

Gwen nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“I pushed my own thought at you,” Irene said. “It’s the basic Talker talent; only a handful of Talkers can do any more than send messages to other Talkers. When I was trying to read your mind, I opened a link between us; if you can’t open that link for yourself, you won’t be able to read minds.”

“I see,” Gwen said. “Can Master Thomas read minds?”

“If he can, he’s kept it to himself,” Irene said. “You’d be surprised to know that a number of aristocrats have empathic talents. They keep them to themselves, using them for their own advantage. I…never really wanted a life of fancy gowns and vapid chattering about the weather. My parents disowned me ten years ago.”

Gwen had to smile, sensing that she’d found a kindred soul. She’d never really had a proper friend, not when she’d been kept at home ever since her magic had flared into life. Who among High Society could have understood her?

“I used to sing in the opera before going to Austria,” Irene added. “My parents never got over the shock.

“But enough of such thoughts,” she concluded. “Try to send a message to me.”

Gwen concentrated.
Irene
, she thought.
Can you hear me
?

“You muttered the message aloud,” Irene said. “That’s a very bad habit, so try to lose it at once. This time…think the message aloud, without speaking.”

Irene
, Gwen thought. It was harder than it seemed, but she felt part of her mind unlocking as soon as she shaped the thought. She had to speak without speaking…it took a moment to work out how to do it.
Can you hear me
?

Yes
, Irene sent back.
Can you hear me?

Gwen nodded. “I want you to listen to the next thought,” Irene said, “and tell me what you make of it.”

Gwen
, Irene thought.
You have dark hair
.

Gwen recoiled. The thought was…unclean. No, it was a lie; her blonde hair wasn’t dark. And that meant…?

“It’s very hard to deliberately lie mind-to-mind,” Irene explained. “The sender knows that he is telling a lie and something of that will leak through to the receiver. But…”

“If the sender doesn’t know he’s lying, it won’t feel like a lie,” Gwen said. Irene nodded in agreement. “It will feel like the unvarnished truth.”

“It’s something to watch,” Irene said. “When things have gone wrong, it normally happens because the sender genuinely thought he was telling the truth.”

She clapped her hands together and settled back into her chair. “And now…it’s time to see if you can reach someone else,” she added. “Why not give Master Thomas a call?”

Gwen looked at her. “If I sent a mental message to someone,” she said, “could someone else intercept it?”

“Only if your mind leaked,” Irene said. “We’ll cover that in a later session. Now…give Master Thomas a call. He’s been waiting to hear from you.”

Chapter Thirty-One

I
mpressive, isn’t she?”

“That she is,” Jack agreed, gravely. The airfield boy was keen, determined to impress his charges with the sheer majesty of the
Britannia Clipper
. Jack remembered being just as fascinated when the first airships had been launched into the air, great ugly bags of hydrogen gas that promised a global revolution. “I have never seen a more exciting airship.”

Despite himself, he
was
impressed. Two hundred and fifty yards long, the airship was a giant among a flock of minnows. She’d been built to make the long journey over France, across the Mediterranean, through Egypt and finally to India, a record-breaking journey that linked the different sections of the British Empire together into a seamless whole. A second airship of her class was reputed to be intended to go from London to New York, but so far she hadn’t entered service. The passengers tended to balk at the idea of spending so long above the ocean.

She was a massive cigar, painted with the colours of the British Empire and a hugely idealised set of images of its subjects. George, the King-Emperor, was followed by a Red Indian, a Sikh and a yellow-skinned Chinaman, all looking up worshipfully towards the British lion. Jack happened to know that all three of the followers had not only been beaten, but crushed by British military force. Given time, China would no doubt follow India into the British Empire. The airship wasn’t just a flying monument to British aeronautical engineering, but a triumphant acclamation of the deeds that had built the empire. It was nothing more than a distraction, Jack suspected, to keep the poor from realising that the British Empire served no one, but its aristocratic masters.

He smiled as the long line of passengers slowly advanced into the airship. The tickets were enormously expensive even for the aristocracy and the
Britannia Clipper
was always undersubscribed. It had been easy to purchase ten seats on the airship, even without papers that proclaimed Jack and his men to be aristocrats. Besides, successful businessmen could hope to be ennobled and conscripted into the ruling class. The airship staff wouldn’t show them any disrespect, at least not in public. A businessman would have the money and the contacts to make their lives very unpleasant.

Darkness fell over him as he walked into the airship’s massive shadow and up the steps into the gondola. The sound of its engines warming up slowly made him smile, even as he glanced up at the mighty blades thrashing through the air. The
Britannia Clipper
was supposed to be able to make the trip from London to Cairo without refuelling, although the flight plan stated that there would be a brief delay in France to allow the richer customers a chance to visit Paris. Jack and his men were the only ones who knew that the
Britannia Clipper
would never leave England. In the end, as they filed on board the airship, Jack was almost disappointed by how easy it had been to get into the ship. No one had even insisted on checking their papers.

Inside, the entire aircraft was luxurious. Wood panelling covered the bulkheads, while comfortable seats were strategically positioned next to portholes. The richer passengers could, for a small gratuity, even walk out onto the balcony and feel the wind blowing against their faces. Jack had a feeling that any aristocrat who couldn’t use magic to save himself would probably refrain from going outside. The wind might blow them off the airship and down towards the ground far below.