The Great Game (Royal Sorceress) (16 page)

Gwen leaned forward. “What
was
the plan?”

“You need to talk to your brother,” Lord Mycroft said. “He can tell you everything – I’ll give you a note to that effect. And you can confirm his innocence.”

“They might not trust my opinion,” Gwen said. A young lady was always expected to support her family, right or wrong. “And...”

“This isn’t going to go public,” Lord Mycroft said, sharply. “I trust your opinion.”

He reached for a notebook and scribbled a note, then pulled a cord that would summon a steward to collect it. “This could be important for you too,” he added. “You know how many people there are out there who think that you’re nothing more than a weak and feeble woman – no, a little girl dressing up as a man – who had the good fortune to assume Master Thomas’s legacy. This is your chance to prove them wrong.”

Gwen gave him an icy look. “That hardly seems fair,” she pointed out.

“The world isn’t fair,” Lord Mycroft reminded her. “And besides – you can hardly rail against your fellow women, the ones who expect the men to take care of everything, and then blame men for not taking women seriously. This is your chance to show that you can carry out an investigation on your own.

“Yes, your brother is a suspect,” he added. “And yes, that will reflect badly on you. If my brother were to be accused of something – anything – do you think that my position would not be questioned?”

“True,” Gwen conceded, flushing.

“And if you bow out now, you know how many people will claim that you gave in to womanish sentimentality. Or that you
knew
that your brother was guilty and chose not to have to convict him. After all, women cannot be legally forced to testify against their relatives.”

He was right, Gwen realised. Legally, a wife could refuse to testify against her husband – or a sister against her brother – and nothing would be said, officially. But everyone would wonder, none too quietly, what she’d had to hide. Surely, they’d say, someone who had nothing to fear would stand up, swear to tell the whole truth... and then tell the truth.

But what
, a quiet nagging voice asked,
if he really is guilty?

The steward entered the room and took Lord Mycroft’s note. “I have asked your brother to meet you in the Viewing Room,” Lord Mycroft said. “Once you have finished speaking with him, you might as well go back to Cavendish Hall and get some sleep. You will need your mind to be in perfect form when you question Talleyrand.”

He rubbed his fleshy chin. “And I will send you the file on him,” he added. “Talleyrand is the ultimate survivor. Do
not
underestimate him.”

Chapter Thirteen

U
nder other circumstances, Gwen would have rather liked the Viewing Room. It was on the sixth floor, high enough to allow her to stare out over London without having to fly under her own power. Down below, she saw an endless stream of horse-drawn carriages, making their way to and from Whitehall, while street-sellers peddled their wares to pedestrians taking the air. It was easy to believe that the Swing had never taken place, if only because the damaged buildings had been rapidly repaired.

She turned away from the window as the door opened, revealing David Crichton. As always, he looked rather stuffy in his suit, which had been carefully tailored to make him look at least a decade or two older than he actually was. Gwen had puzzled over that until she’d discovered that the older generation of civil servants and government ministers tended to dislike the idea of youth at the helm. David was young enough to be the son of most of the people he had to work with, just as Gwen could have been their daughter. But it was always easier for a man.

“David,” she said. David was too old to enjoy being hugged, even by his sister, at least in public. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And you,” David said, primly. “Mother was complaining to Laura about how you never came to see her.”

Gwen winced inwardly. Trust David to mention
that
! But Laura, his wife, would probably have reminded him to tell Gwen when he next saw her. Being a daughter-in-law, even one with her own establishment, Laura couldn’t escape the dominating presence of Lady Mary. If nothing else, it was unlikely that Gwen would have to put up with her own mother-in-law.

David hadn’t been a bad brother, not really. But once upon a time, he’d become a stuffy old man and never really looked back. And yet... he’d given Gwen advice when she’d needed it – and he might have been promoted because of his connection to the Royal Sorceress. Gwen had never dared ask if that was the case. Men, she’d learned by now, resented it when a woman arranged their promotion.

“You’ve put on some weight,” she observed. “Did Laura get a new cook?”

“The new one does a wonderful stewed beef,” David admitted. “Laura has been making her practice meals for the child, when he’s finally born. Pregnancy seems to have concentrated her mind on preparing a nest.”

Gwen had to smile. Maybe her nephew – or niece – would distract Lady Mary from hounding Gwen about marriage, once Laura gave birth. She was certainly nearing her time.

She braced herself. “Did Lord Mycroft tell you why he ordered us to meet?”

David shook his head. “He just said that we had to talk – and that I was excused the rest of the day, if I needed to go home,” he said. “Gwen... what is going on?”

“I...”

Gwen hesitated – none of her mother’s lessons had ever covered
this
– and plunged forward. “Sir Travis Mortimer was murdered last night. You would have been one of the people who saw him just before he died.”

David’s eyes opened wide. “Travis is
dead
?”

“Yes,” Gwen said. Thankfully, David wasn’t the kind of brother who was over-protective of his sister. Besides, he knew she’d seen more horror in the last year than most people saw in their entire lives. “He was murdered. I have been charged with investigating his death.”

It took a moment for David to realise the implications. “And you think that I am a suspect,” he snapped. It wasn’t a question. “What sort of monster do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you did it,” Gwen assured him, cursing herself. That had clearly been the wrong approach. But then, David guarded his good name as carefully as upper-class women guarded their honour. Any accusation, from
anyone
, would sting. “But I do need to know what happened that night.”

David turned, found a chair and sat down heavily. “Lord Mycroft said I could talk to you about anything,” he said. “I never thought that it would be... Gwen, what do you know about the Airship Treaty?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Gwen said, honestly.

“Good,” David said, with sudden force. “Because the whole thing is a state secret. No one was supposed to know about it, outside a very small group. If the secret comes out before it is too late...”

Gwen frowned. “What – precisely – is the Airship Treaty?”

David laughed, rather wildly. “It may never get off the ground,” he said. “And if the French know about it...”

“Calm down,” Gwen ordered. She walked over to the drinks cabinet, poured a glass of brandy and passed it to him. He sipped it carefully, looking into the liquid as if he expected to find answers there. “David...”

She briefly considered using Charm, but David would be aware of the possibility – and if he was working for Mycroft, he would have been trained to resist Charm, no matter how subtle. And it would destroy their relationship completely if she tried, particularly after the day she’d first used her powers. Gwen barely remembered that day – she’d been six years old - but no one else could forget it. She’d terrified the entire house.

“Turkey is isolated,” David said, putting the glass down on the table. “The Russians are threatening them from the north; the French are threatening them from the west. And they have the Persians to the east, who may become a later threat. Their new Sultan has been reorganising their government and military, but they don’t have the resources to stand off both Russia and France. We believe that the two powers have already come to an agreement to divide up the Ottoman Empire between them.”

Gwen had a feeling she knew where this was going, but she kept her thoughts to herself and let him talk. He’d never liked being interrupted.

“We cannot risk having the French in control of Turkey,” David continued, “or the Russians in control of Persia. Either one would expose India to land invasion, an invasion that would be much easier than coming through Afghanistan. We have a strong interest in supporting the Turks. The Airship Treaty was intended to be the first step in building a formal alliance with Turkey.”

That
, Gwen decided, made sense. “Why is it called the Airship Treaty?”

“Because one of the provisions is for a series of airship bases in the Ottoman Empire,” David said. “Getting airships to India isn’t easy; the French often refuse to allow us to overfly their territory, which forces them to take the long way around Spain. We used to fly over Egypt until the Sultan took it back into the fold. Now, the treaty would make it much easier to get airships to India. Anyone who heard that much wouldn’t think that there might be more to it.

“The secret provisions in the treaty are a military alliance, predominately naval and economic, against France and Russia,” he continued. “In effect, we will prop up the Turks and use their territory as a buffer to protect our own. British investments will help the Turks to develop their own industrial base, strengthening Istanbul’s hold on its empire. Between us, we can even keep Persia neutral, further safeguarding India, and prevent the French from menacing North Africa. The French will be caught in a vice.”

Gwen hesitated, taking a moment to digest the implications. Lord Mycroft had been doubtful about winning a war, if one had to be fought, but he’d certainly been working hard to ensure that Britain was in the best possible position to
win
if it came down to a fight. If Turkey happened to be strong enough to hold the line against both France and Russia – and they’d held their own against the Russians in the last few bouts – the French would be in a very difficult position. They might well swallow their pride and refuse to fight.

But that gave Talleyrand a very strong reason to try to destroy the treaty before it could be signed.

She put that to one side and concentrated on her brother. “What was Sir Travis’s role in all this?”

“Sir Travis was the prime negotiator,” David said. He seemed to be calmer, now that he had the chance to lecture her. “You see, there are some diplomats who are visible – their mere presence raises suspicions of secret talks between two powers. Sir Travis was nothing more than an adventurer, on the face of it; he was certainly nothing like as prominent as Ambassador Talleyrand. No one would notice him in Istanbul, holding meetings with the Sultan’s own confidential diplomats. He was the one who drew up the first draft of the treaty, then hand-delivered it back to Britain. We were working on the final version when he died.”

Gwen gave him a considering look. “And the government saw fit to keep it a secret?”

David gave her an odd look. “Gwen, the French would certainly react if they heard about the treaty before it was actually signed,” he said. “And even some of our own people would not be too happy about it. One persistent worry was that we might be giving the Turks too much in exchange for too little.”

“Too much for too little?” Gwen asked. “Why...?”

“The Turks want more than just a promise of naval support,” David explained. “They want help building up their technological base, their own airships... and some assistance in building their own version of the Royal Sorcerers Corps. And we have to refrain from interfering in the Arabian peninsula as they regain control, which is worrying for two separate reasons. We have treaties with a handful of minor states along the coastline and our Islamic subjects in India require access to Mecca. As the Sultan claims to be the rightful overlord of all Muslims, this could cause problems for us in India.”

Gwen saw the logic. “We might build the Turks up to the point where they become a threat in their own right,” she said.

David nodded in agreement. “That’s the way of the world,” he said. “The solution to one set of problems becomes another set of problems in its own right.”

“Very profound,” Gwen said, recalling the world map she had in her office at Cavendish Hall. “Why don’t we build up the Persians as well?”

“The Sultan insisted that the treaty formally exclude that possibility,” David said. “He wants Persia to remain as a buffer state between us, the Turks and the Russians – he doesn’t want the Persians to become a power in their own right. In fact, we’d be committed to going to war with Russia if
they
tried to build Persia up into a genuine threat.”

“Which would bring in the French,” Gwen said. She had a sudden vision of treaties activating, one after the other, until the entire world was on fire. “David... is this really a good idea?”

“If we let Turkey go under, we risk our own holdings in the Middle East and India,” David said. “If Turkey can be built up, there should be an uneasy stalemate, rather than an outright war.”

“I don’t like that
should
,” Gwen admitted. “The French didn’t make particularly rational calculations in 1800 either. Nor did the American rebels.”

“We can, but try,” David said.

Gwen nodded, ruefully. “What happens to the treaty now?”

“I’m not sure,” David said. “Sir Travis did the legwork; at the very least, we would have to build up a new relationship between another confidential diplomat and the diplomat the Sultan trusted enough to handle their side of the talks. Someone who wasn’t a Sensitive might not get so far in the talks.”

“But you have a final draft,” Gwen said. “Can’t you just have that signed?”

“Not without Parliament mulling over it,” David said. “The Prime Minister intended to present it to Parliament in a month, once we had a version that both sides could accept. But it might not happen without Sir Travis. He might have been needed to defend it, you see.”