The Great Game (Royal Sorceress)

ALSO BY CHRISTOPHER NUTTALL

Royal Sorceress series

The Royal Sorceress

Bookworm series

Bookworm

Dizzy Spells series

A Life Less Ordinary

I
NVERSE
S
HADOWS UNIVERSE

S
UFFICIENTLY
A
DVANCED
T
ECHNOLOGY

It’s 1831, and Lady Gwendolyn Crichton has been appointed Royal Sorceress following the tragic events known as the Swing. Although unleashed by the rebel master magician Jack in battle with Gwen’s mentor Master Thomas, the popular press firmly laid the blame at the feet of the French. Now alone at the head of the Royal College of Sorcerers, Gwen must overcome prejudice against her gender and age if she is to exercise her authority and fulfil her responsibilities. Soon an unexpected responsibility is made manifest when Sir Travis Mortimer, a senior magician recently returned from India, is found murdered in a locked room. Gwen is required to investigate, but before long her inquiries lead her into a web of intrigue that combines international politics, widespread aristocratic blackmail, gambling dens, and personal vendettas. Should she believe apparent evidence that Mortimer betrayed his country, or is she being manipulated to keep her away from the truth? Who can she really trust? Is a title or popular acclaim a valid basis for trust? Soon, some of the more unsavoury aspects of the case get dangerously close to home, which means Gwen must make hard decisions and ask difficult questions of her own nearest and dearest.

Continuing on from the end of
The Royal Sorceress
,
The Great Game
follows Gwen’s unfolding story as she assumes the role vacated by Master Thomas. A satisfying blend of whodunit and magical fantasy, it is set against a backdrop of international political unrest in a believable yet simultaneously fantastic alternate history.

The Great Game

Book II
of the Royal Sorceress series

Christopher Nuttall

Elsewhen Press

The Great Game

First published in Great Britain by Elsewhen Press, 2013

An imprint of Alnpete Limited

Copyright © Christopher Nuttall, 2013. All rights reserved

The right of Christopher Nuttall to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, telepathic, magical, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

The use of the typeface Goudy Initialen was
graciously permitted by the designer, Dieter Steffmann.

Elsewhen Press, PO Box 757, Dartford, Kent DA2 7TQ

www.elsewhen.co.uk

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978-1-908168-27-6 Print edition

ISBN 978-1-908168-37-5 eBook edition

Condition of Sale

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

Elsewhen Press & Planet-Clock Design are trademarks of Alnpete Limited

Converted to eBook format by Elsewhen Press

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, colleges, and events are either a product of the author’s fertile imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organisations, places or people (living, dead or undead) is purely coincidental.

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Afterword

To Pauline, Catherine and Kate

Prologue

THE TIMES, LONDON

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES

Sir,–As a retired military officer and sorcerer in the Royal Sorcerers Corps, I am writing to express my grave concern – nay, dismay – over the decision of HIS MAJESTY’S PRIME MINISTER, THE DUKE OF INDIA to appoint LADY GWENDOLYN CRICHTON as Royal Sorceress. The Duke’s record of service to our Empire is, of course, beyond any question. Nonetheless, I believe his decision here is not fortunate. It is not one, I feel, that is in the best interests of the British Empire.

No one can deny that LADY GWENDOLYN has shown the pluck and determination expected of an Englishwoman in a sticky situation. Her heroism contributed significantly to ending the Rebellion, a rebellion whose end was in my opinion not marked by an adequate number of hangings of the traitors who launched it, before there was further loss of life.

However, the fact remains that LADY GWENDOLYN is profoundly unsuited to any position of authority. Like any girl, she is far too delicate for this burden to be placed upon her. The sheltered upbringing of a lady of her station does not cover the areas that any sorcerer would need to know. For example, it will occasionally be needful for the sorcerer to command a party including other ranks. The exigencies of battle occasionally require the officer leading the engagement to motivate other ranks with stiff words, words with which a lady of her station would assuredly be unaware, let alone be prepared to use.

Furthermore, although there are no detailed reports, there are disturbing rumours from her childhood that suggest unpleasant thoughts about her conduct. I shall say no more about those!

Even if she was physically and mentally capable of holding her own in thaumaturgic combat, she is only sixteen years old [ED – LADY GWENDOLYN is seventeen as of writing]. There is no way that she can command the respect and admiration that MASTER THOMAS commanded from the sorcerers who served under him. If there is a conflict of wills within the Corps, a woman, nay a girl of sixteen, can hardly be expected to stand firmly behind her position and compel men three or even four times her age to carry out the decisions that she will of necessity have been supplied
sotto voce
.

It runs against the grain for any man to take orders from a woman, let alone a girl whose past experience with life will have been playing with dolls, learning the arts of the feminine home economy, and casting the most demure downcast glances toward future suitors. The sorcerers of the RSC will have no doubt that LADY GWENDOLYN is far less knowledgeable – let alone experienced or competent – than themselves. That is the nature of the world; that men lead, and women do as they are told while being grateful that they are not asked to perform unnatural acts involving leadership, courage, or rational thought. At best, LADY GWENDOLYN will be repeatedly embarrassed by her elders; at worst, she will have to dress up as a man and lead the RSC onto the battlefield, no fit place for a woman! I submit to you that forcing a young girl to undergo this humiliation is cruel and unnecessary.

Nor is there any reason to allow an accident of birth to dictate the holder of the post of Royal Sorcerer. MASTER THOMAS’S true genius lay in his organisation skills; he, more than anyone else, shaped both the Corps and the Royal College. There is no true requirement for a Master Magician to hold the post; the old belief that the holder should be the most powerful and capable magician in service has been discredited. Do we really expect a General to be physically stronger than a Sergeant?

In this era of instability, with the very strong possibility of yet another war with France, the last thing we need is uncertainty in the ranks of the Royal Sorcerers Corps. I therefore call upon the government to reconsider its position and find a more suitable person to serve as Royal Sorcerer. Certainly, there are any number of men within the Corps who, by virtue of their male birth, are intrinsically more competent than is this girl, LADY GWENDOLYN.

I am, Sir, your most obedient servant

COL. SEBASTIAN, Blazer (Ret. 1830)

2
^nd
Warwickshire Yeomanry Regiment May 1, 1831

––––––––––

Chapter One

I
t’s a shame you can’t hide your chin,” Olivia said, as Gwen studied her own reflection in the mirror. “Without it, you’d fool even a sharp-eye.”

Gwen snorted. Her adopted daughter had grown up on the streets. Physically, she was somewhere around ten years old – it was impossible to be sure – but mentally she was well over forty. Children grew up quickly on the streets and those unlucky enough to be born female tended to suffer more than most. Gwen had railed against her own upbringing, but she’d been lucky – very lucky – compared to Olivia. A few more years and she would no longer have been able to pass for a boy.

“Use an illusion,” Olivia added. “You could pass for a man without the outfit.”

“True,” Gwen agreed. Creating illusions was easy. “But I might not be able to fool a Sensitive.”

She studied herself thoughtfully. The black jacket and white shirt she wore – the very latest in male fashion – had been carefully designed to hide the swell of her breasts, while the top hat disguised her short blonde hair. She’d had to cut it short while she’d been training under Master Thomas, but she’d kept it short even after she’d succeeded him as Royal Sorceress. It was short enough to pass for a slightly-effeminate male hairstyle, or so she hoped. Elaborate wigs, which would have hidden everything, were currently out of fashion. Even her mother, who would have fainted if she’d realised that Gwen was dressing up as a man, hadn’t been able to see when wearing wigs would be fashionable once again.

Most importantly of all, she looked nothing like Lady Gwendolyn Crichton, Royal Sorceress.

“You’ll certainly fool those toffs you’re going to see,” Olivia assured her, with the certainty of one who knew. “That lot never look very closely at someone wearing the right clothes. I know conmen who profited simply by dressing the part.”

Gwen took one final look in the mirror and then turned, picking up the cane that had been passed down to her from Master Thomas. The elderly magician had left her almost everything he’d owned, including money, property and a set of notebooks that were written in a scrawled hand that was almost impossible to decipher. Looking down at it, Gwen felt herself feeling the same ambivalence she always felt towards the memory of her mentor. Master Thomas had plucked her from her boring life and trained her as a sorceress – and she would always be grateful – but he’d also been responsible for unleashing a nightmare on London to defeat the Swing. Gwen was one of the very few people who knew the truth, even though it was something she would have preferred to forget.

There was a knock at the door. “Begging your pardon, My Lady, but Inspector Jude is downstairs,” the maid said. “He awaits your pleasure.”