The Great Game (Royal Sorceress) (46 page)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I
must say,” Talleyrand said, “that your treatment of my daughter was abominable.”

Gwen tried to conceal her amusement, although she was fairly sure that an experienced diplomat like Talleyrand would have seen it on her face.

“Your
daughter
was involved in a murder, as were you,” Gwen said. “I do not believe that she will be welcome in this country any longer.”

Talleyrand lifted a single eyebrow. “I do beg your pardon?”

“You went to see Sir Travis on the night of his murder,” Gwen accused. “I think you went to see if you could convince him to abandon the Airship Treaty. When he refused, you gave the signal to Sir Charles and his ally and they murdered him, then went to murder Hiram Pasha and leave the evidence in his desk drawer for us to find. You effectively murdered him with your own hands.”

“Murder is never diplomatic,” Talleyrand said.

“Of course not,” Gwen agreed. “But you went and did it anyway.”

Talleyrand smiled. “You are aware, of course, that such a course of action might lead to war?”

“But the murder had been committed by an Englishman,” Gwen countered. “You might avoid the war altogether. If you were lucky.”

She leaned forward. “I used Charm on Simone, I confess,” she added. “I didn’t ask her any questions, despite the temptation. Tell me – how did you manage to convince him to join you without
knowing
that he was already disloyal.”

Talleyrand surprised her by laughing, although there was no humour in the sound.

“You magicians,” he said, shaking his head. “There have been betrayers and betrayals ever since the human race was thrown out of the Garden of Eden. We didn’t
need
magic to find someone discontented and work on him until he cracked.”

He smiled. “But do have fun trying to prove it.”

Gwen scowled at him. She could prove Sir Charles’s involvement, but it would be much harder to prove that the French had been behind it. The general public already wanted war; the Privy Council would demand considerably more proof before starting one. And now Simone was back in the French Embassy, it would be difficult to
get
that proof.

“We shall see,” she said, although she knew that he was probably right. “Until then...”

She stood up. “I dare say that you will be sent back to France,” she said, as she walked towards the door. “And, no matter how many admirers she has, so will Simone.”

Talleyrand watched her until she stepped out of his office, but said nothing.

The sun was shining brightly as Gwen stepped out of the gatehouse and started to walk towards Whitehall. A moment later, she looked up in surprise as a carriage pulled up beside her and Sir James stuck his head out of the window.

“Lord Mycroft sent me,” he said. “Come ride back to Cavendish Hall?”

Gwen hesitated, then climbed into the carriage and sat facing him.

“He said that you might appreciate some company,” Sir James said, as the carriage rattled back to life. “Are you all right?”

Gwen honestly didn’t know how to answer. Lord Mycroft might have meant well by sending Sir James to her, but she couldn’t help feeling that she was being tortured. Seeing him was a reminder that she had compromised herself – and that she might be pushed into resigning as Royal Sorceress. At least Sir James was reasonably competent, she told herself, as she looked up at his handsome face. He wouldn’t bungle the job, even if he didn’t have the full set of powers.

“I will get better,” she said, finally. “Do you feel ready to become the Royal Sorcerer?”

Sir James stared at her. “I can’t be,” he said, astonished. “I’m just a Mover...”

“Someone may have to take my place,” Gwen said. “I made mistakes in the investigation, bad ones. The Privy Council may decide to sack me.”

Sir James leaned forward. “Do you really think that Master Thomas never made a mistake?”

“Master Thomas had considerably more latitude than I do,” Gwen said, tartly. He’d been Royal Sorcerer for so long that he’d known where all the bodies were buried. “My mistakes could have been disastrous.”

“So could his,” Sir James reminded her. “And mine, for that matter. There has never been any endeavour where no mistakes were made, no matter how much effort you put into pre-planning the entire operation. You are far from the only person to have made a mistake and then recovered from it.”

“Maybe,” Gwen said. But a man could make no end of mistakes and survive. A woman needed only a hint of a mistake to ruin her reputation beyond repair. “But they won’t see it that way.”

Sir James shook his head. “If they offer me the job, I will refuse it,” he said. “Quite apart from the paperwork” – he smiled at her expression – “you have done a better job than I think they realise. No one, even a fully-trained man, could have filled Master Thomas’s shoes without some problems. And you almost beat all six of us while we were skirmishing. I think you would have beaten us if you hadn’t had to hold back.”

Gwen nodded, remembering how easy it had been to use her weaker talents against Howell’s magicians.

“And then Polite Society owes you a huge debt,” Sir James added. “You killed the man who haunted their nightmares for years
and you
destroyed all the evidence he used to blackmail them. I think you have more friends than you realise.”

“You probably shouldn’t be here,” Gwen said, stiffly. She waved her hand around to indicate the carriage’s interior. “Your reputation might be damaged.”

“I was in India,” Sir James said. “My reputation was already damaged.”

Gwen remembered Sir Charles and shivered. The general public would probably still see him as a hero, unless the truth came out. And when it did... would they lose faith in all heroes? He
had
been knighted, even though he’d deserved more; the public might start questioning the aristocracy’s position, just as Sir Charles had hoped. Who knew where
that
would end?

“It can always get worse,” she said, bitterly. How could she have
guessed
the secret her mother had concealed all those years? “You shouldn’t...”

“I’m too stubborn to care what other people think,” Sir James said. “If they ask me to take your place, I will tell them exactly what I think of it. And there’s no better candidate than myself.”

Gwen looked up at him, then shook her head. He
was
handsome and he cared about her and... and so had Sir Charles, or so she’d thought. She didn’t dare allow herself to be attracted to anyone else, let alone act on it. The rest of her life was going to be very lonely.

Her lips twitched. “Maybe I should go to India myself,” she said. “I could get away from Polite Society.”

“An understandable impulse,” Sir James assured her. “But I don’t think that will be necessary.”

He shrugged. “Besides, India is hot and teeming with insects,” he added. “Plenty of people find it uncomfortable.”

Gwen shrugged. “We shall see,” she said, darkly. The carriage rattled to a halt. “Do you want to come inside with me or slip in later?”

Sir James gave her an odd look. “I came to pick you up,” he said, dryly. “I think everyone knows that.”

He winked at her. “Besides, if anyone gives you trouble, I will thrash them to within an inch of their lives,” he added. “It will be my pleasure.”

Gwen had to laugh. “I have a list of names,” she said, deadpan. “Come on.”

She gathered herself as best as she could, then climbed out of the carriage with her head held high. Sir James dismissed the coachman and then walked beside her as they passed through the gatehouse and headed into Cavendish Hall. Gwen had half-expected everyone in the building to be waiting in the entrance hall to meet them, but there was no one there apart from a couple of student magicians who were awaiting punishment from the Sergeant. Gwen winced at their expressions, then walked up the stairs towards her office. Sir James stayed with her all the way.

“Lady Gwen,” Martha said.
She
would have no trouble realising that Gwen was upset. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Gwen said, relieved. Her maid wouldn’t pry, thankfully. “Can you bring tea for Sir James and Doctor Norwell too? He’ll be along in a moment.”

Doctor Norwell bustled around the corner. “I thought that there was no such thing as precognition,” Sir James muttered in her ear. “How did you...?”

“Lord Mycroft will have told him to talk to me,” Gwen said, ruefully. “And you might as well hear it too.”

She raised her voice. “Come into my office,” she added, as she opened the door. “We can talk inside.”

Martha returned moments later with cups of hot sweet tea. Gwen sipped hers gratefully, silently relieved that the two men were allowing her a chance to gather herself and get her thoughts in order after her ordeal. She didn’t want to have to tell them anything, but there was no choice. Doctor Norwell, at least, had to know about the existence of magic-draining magicians. There had to be others out there, perhaps among the farm children who had been believed to be without magic. The normal tests, she suspected, wouldn’t work on a null.

Perhaps we should call them leeches
, she said, remembering the medical leeches a doctor had offered David, when an illness had left him bedridden for a week. The other magicians would probably call them worse. Necromancers were executed upon discovery –Gwen had adopted Olivia to save her from certain death – and she suspected that there would be demands that leeches be killed too.

“Sir Charles Bellingham killed Sir Travis,” she said. Neither of them showed any surprise, confirming her suspicion that Lord Mycroft had shared the contents of her note with them. “And he had a very unusual talent.”

She ran through the whole story, sparing nothing, not even herself. Sir James looked impassive as she confessed to being attracted to Sir Charles, even though she’d missed something that – in hindsight – should have alerted her to the truth. But who would have suspected a known hero of being a murderer? She scowled as she realised that she owed Lestrade an apology as well. The Inspector had seemed concerned about Sir Charles from the start.

Or maybe he was just jealous
, she thought, grimly.
Sir Charles’s jabs must have rankled
.

“A null,” Doctor Norwell mused, when she had finished. “I don’t think that our tests would have found someone with a power to absorb magic. They might well escape detection.”

Gwen nodded, impatiently. She’d already concluded as much.

“The talent might not be an easy one to fine-tune,” she said, tiredly. There were a handful of people who registered as magicians, but had no discernible talent. Sometimes, it took years for their talent to emerge, if it ever did. Master Thomas’s notes had included details of several magicians who had never identified their talents. He’d wondered if their talents were completely unknown – or simply useless. “He didn’t seem aware of it until he encountered Sir Travis.”

“At least we’re not looking at another Isabella Thompson,” Sir James said. “Hell, we could
use
a null in dealing with such a person.”

Gwen winced. Isabella Thompson had been the wife of a British officer in America; utterly unremarkable until she’d fallen and hit her head. She hadn’t known that she was an undiscovered Talker; the fall had jarred something loose in her brain and she’d started broadcasting her feelings at everyone within range. The mental broadcasts had caused absolute panic in New York, forcing the magicians on the spot to shoot her from a distance. There had been no other choice, they’d said at the time. They might well have been right.

“True,” Gwen agreed. “But we should still take every precaution.”

“We will,” Doctor Norwell said. Pedantic he might be, and given to repeating himself, but he knew the dangers. “Besides, such a talent will come in handy.”

“Let us hope so,” Gwen said. She looked down at the papers on her desk, then back up at them. “I have to face the Privy Council tomorrow. They’ll want to know everything that happened since the investigation began.”

“Ouch,” Sir James said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“There’ll be enough blame to go around if you do,” Gwen said, sardonically. She shook her head, although she was grateful for the offer. “You don’t want any of it on you.”

She waited until they’d both gone, then stood up and walked out of the office, heading up towards Olivia’s rooms. The girl was somewhat isolated from the rest of the students, but there was no choice. If they’d learned what kind of magic she had, they would have been revolted – or tried to kill her. Olivia had played her own role in saving London, but it wouldn’t have mattered if Gwen hadn’t adopted her. Necromancers were considered too dangerous to keep around.

Olivia looked up gratefully as Gwen entered, dismissing the girl’s tutor. There was nothing wrong with the girl’s mind, but she’d had no formal education on the streets and found studying with the tutor to be wearisome, even though Gwen and Lucy had tried to impress the value of formal education on the girl. At least she was no longer squirreling away food from the kitchen, hiding it in her rooms.
That
had resulted in an awkward discussion between Gwen and the Head Housekeeper, who had naturally objected.

“These lessons are boring,” Olivia protested, as Gwen sat down in the seat the tutor had vacated. “Do they actually
do
anything?”

Gwen glanced at the papers. “Maths can be very helpful,” she said. There were hundreds of girls in Polite Society who never had the chance to learn, simply because their parents didn’t believe in educating women. “Once you master it and reading, you can jump ahead of your tutor if you want.”

She shrugged. “Do you like living here?”

Olivia gave her a sharp glance – and Gwen winced. Her adopted daughter had learned to trust her, but she didn’t trust anyone else, with the possible exception of Lucy. But then, she’d grown up on the streets, disguising herself as a boy to avoid unwanted attention; Gwen had been sickened the day Olivia had told her, quite calmly, what happened to girl-children on the streets. It could even happen to boys. Olivia had made a joke of the time a man had tried to lure her into his apartment, convinced that she was a boy, but Gwen hadn’t found it funny at all.