beats per minute (16 page)

Bree didn’t notice her companion’s soporific state. ‘You
simply must get your head around it, duckie.’ Rising off the bed elegantly, she
walked over to where her handbag was sitting on the chest of drawers and began
rooting about in it. ‘Okay, I’m sorry - you’re not well, so I suppose I’ll have
to humour you. While I tidy my nails I will remind you of one of your first
lessons. Yes, I will quote from the great man, Yali Nureyev, himself. Are you
sitting comfortably?’

Without waiting for a reply, she launched into it, sounding
as if she had swallowed Regent Textbook 101: ‘Your heart can do two things
simultaneously. In fact, for a Regent, it
is
two things. It is both a
muscle that fuels the Body and your clock. The Body’s organ, the Heart’s clock,
and the Brain
drives
both: that makes three.’ She finished
speaking with a flourish, frowning at the fourth cuticle on her left hand.
‘Well remembered,
n’est-ce pas?
But
you
have to learn to separate
it. That’s the whole point of the training, to allow you to command different
powers at the same time. That’s the only way to completely control your
traverse; to slow your heartbeat and slow the clock, but still be able to move
quickly through the altered time plane if you need to. The Brain oversees all.

‘Though of course, we’re likely to be stronger at one discipline
than another – that’s why I’m Tesserarius of Body alone.’ Raegan did not
respond, and so she continued to saw at the offending cuticle, suddenly
contemplative. ‘Max is so boringly evasive when anyone asks what he specialises
in.  I think he wants us to believe he’s a true Master, a commander of the
triumvirate. He wishes. Truth is most of us
wonder
why
Yali isn’t the Praetor. Max would be furious if he heard that little bit of
cadet chatter! But I very much doubt he could have done what Yali did for you.’

Satisfied with her nails, she put the little file away, and
turned back to her companion. The questioning forming on her lips fizzled as
she took in Raegan’s peaceful expression and tightly shut eyelids. The girl was
in such deep slumber, she even let out a little snortle. Tiptoeing over, Bree
pulled the blanket more snugly around the bed, which rose and fell steadily
with the movements of Raegan’s chest as it settled around her.

‘I’ll tell you my theory another time,’ she whispered.
‘Snooze on, little one.’  Raegan did not stir.

Satisfied that her friend would not wake
for at least a few hours, Bree headed for the door, grinning as she noticed the
position of the hands on the infirmary wall clock.
She waited until she
was outside to pull out her mobile phone. The call was answered almost
immediately.

‘I find myself unexpectedly available. Can you be at my room
in five minutes? I’ll make it worth your while...’

The sound of her quiet laughter followed her down the hall.
She was so engrossed that the young man felt confident enough to step out of
the shadows.

Bree did not notice.

Moving with swift immediacy when the passage was clear, he
resumed his post in front of the slitted window in the infirmary door. A statue
could not have been stiller. All senses were focused and unwavering: eyes
fixated on the object while the ears remained alert, keened for any sounds of
approach.

Raegan, oblivious to his watchful presence, slept on.

It was a crisp, bright Monday morning at Unit Prime – quite
cool for this time in April – and Max Savage was not feeling as perky as usual.
Usually, he liked Mondays. Unlike many others, he saw the new week ahead not as
a chasm, an obstacle to be navigated, but as an opportunity; it was a clean
slate, and offered seven days of new possibilities.
Seven
chances for good luck.

He was certainly in need of some luck. That disastrous
incident with Raegan O’Roarke had not gone down well with the Sentinel; he
winced slightly as he remembered standing before them, being reprimanded like a
naughty school boy. The Praetor of Unit Prime and Magister Militum, in charge
of all active Regents throughout the globe, dressed down like a child! What
more could he have done? It was hardly his fault that the girl had been injured
on the one day he had chosen to fly to Russia to check on the rest of the Unit.
On hearing the news, he had moved as quickly as possible. It was no small feat
to traverse not only yourself but also the vehicle you were travelling in. The
Sentinel was perfectly aware of this. And yet they continued to plague him,
repeatedly in contact; and for the first time since his appointment as Praetor
they were threatening to visit. To add insult to injury, they had personally
commended Yali Nureyev for his efforts in rescuing the girl. His
second-in-command, his Tribune, lauded while he was derided.

Sipping strong black coffee, thinking how much better it
would taste if he had stirred in the two sugars he had given up for Lent, he
scowled when the phone rang. He knew who it would be.

Pressing the loudspeaker button, his response was brusque.
‘What?’

His PA was used to his moods. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir.
His Lordship, the Censor, is on the line.’

Max’s scowl deepened. The Censor was probably his least
favourite of all the senior Sentinel members. Though in name the Censor was the
most superior authority over judicial matters in the Sentinel court, in reality
he spent the majority of his time golfing and hunting with his cronies, all the
while drinking vast quantities of port. He had once been a powerful Regent,
this was true, but had never been fond of active duty, preferring instead to be
cosseted in the Sentinel’s bureaucratic embrace.

He also had terrible halitosis, and so Max was very grateful
to be talking to him by the telephone rather than face to face.

None of this was betrayed in the warmth of Max’s greeting. ‘
Your
Lordship, what a pleasant surprise. How’s the weather
in Derbyshire?’

‘Good morning, Savage,’ came his reedy, wavering tones.
‘Oh splendid, splendid, not a cloud in the sky.
Now, haven’t
got long, m’boy,’ Max resented the fondness the Brits displayed for this
patronising term of address. ‘So I’ll have to crack on. Got to dash to an
important, ah, meeting. You know how it is, dreadful bore, take up the whole
morning.’

A meeting with your drinks trolley, more like, Max thought
acidly.

‘I see,’ he replied smoothly. ‘In that case please do fire
away.’

‘We’ve received the reports you sent regarding the girl and
all that ghastly business – she looks to have done rather well.’ There was a
pause while the Censor rustled several sheafs of paper and muttered to himself.
Max looked at his watch. ‘Ah, here it is. The last healer’s report notes that
the girl was rather confused when her temperature was up, and kept referring to
old injuries.
Marks and bruises that were no longer there,
that sort of thing.’

‘Yes.’ Max knew what he was going to say, but didn’t know
why he felt the need to bring this up – they had all been aware of this all
along. The healers had gleaned nothing that would shock the Sentinel.

‘Well. Rather good, isn’t it?
Might
finally have Tracers within our midst again.
This is how it starts,
y’know.
Nearly always a human wound that gives the game
away.’

‘Yes. The Sentinel’s early suspicions seem more and more
probable.’

‘It’s been centuries, Savage.’ The Censor was perturbed by
his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Don’t you know what this means? Tracers are invaluable
to the Cause.’

‘I’m well aware of that. Is there anything else you need to
discuss?’

‘Now see here, Savage.’
Annoyed, now.
‘It might be difficult for you to grasp, but we’re fighting a war here. We’ve
been waging it for millennia but the threat is getting stronger. What about the
recent attacks in Ireland, eh? The enemy are closing in. You distance yourself
from it all, up there playing toy soldiers, but we have to look at the bigger
picture.’

Max gritted his teeth. ‘I understand. How can I be of
service?’

The Censor was spluttering with indignation.
‘How?
How? Don’t be daft, man! The Trace! How are you going
to monitor it? Progress can’t be impeded while the three disciplines are being
mastered – no sense this information getting out. The Trace is very delicate,
y’know. It must be allowed to bloom, unhindered.’

‘I see no need to make any changes to the routine, or to
make this suspicion public. If the Sentinel permits me, what I’d like to do if
ask one of my most trusted cadets – a Tesserarius – to keep an eye on this
potential, and report back to me regularly.’

‘Information that you’ll pass onto us,
post-haste.’

‘Without question.’

‘Hmm.’ The Censor made a satisfied grunt, apparently
appeased. ‘See that you do. Don’t want to have to give you a talking to again.
Keep thinking of that big picture, Savage. You’ll get there in the end.’

Max bit back the sour reply that was forming on his tongue,
instead managing,
‘Thank
you for setting me straight.
I will let you get to your meeting now.  Take care.’

He hung up and loosened his tie, which felt like it was choking
him. Bloody English stiffs with giant sticks shoved firmly where the sun didn’t
shine! The Sentinel was dominated by repressed upper-class jerks like the
Censor. How obviously they looked down their noses at him, no matter what he
achieved. He was surprised that, as an American, he’d even been promoted to the
board.

‘Bigger picture, my ass,’ he grumbled, tipping a slug of
whisky from his hip flask into the black, now lukewarm, coffee.
To hell with it all.
Why did the English think they were so
damned special? Just because they had set up the Sentinel didn’t mean they
owned the Regency. The Regents were descended from the Irish, anyway. Though he
supposed the Brits had tried to make out they owned them, too, in the past.

Feeling in the mood for an argument, he decided to buzz in
his visitors all at once. They had already been waiting for half an hour. Two
healers, dressed in long, dark robes, walked out of the elevator. Their curious
eyes, which appeared unseeing and nearly fully closed, were incongruous with
their deft, purposeful movements. Bree Clifton, dragging her feet, followed.

The charming, in-control Praetor once more, Max flashed his
Hollywood smile at them. ‘Good morning, ladies. Bree, you can take a seat while
I chat to our learned friends.’

Rolling her eyes, she complied, but chose a chair on the
other side of the room, facing away from him towards the window. He was always
both impressed and irritated at how deliberately she flouted his authority on
every possible occasion. But this was not the time to dwell on such a thing.

He knew that the healers would prefer to remain standing and
so he did not extend the offer to them. Instead, he took a seat behind his
large desk and looked up at them genially. Sometimes he got a kick out of
taking the inferior position.

‘I understand Raegan O’Roarke had her final session last
night,’ Max began.

‘Yes, Praetor.’
The older, more
senior healer bowed her head respectfully.  ‘She has been out of the
hospital for two weeks and has recommenced her training. Optio Oaksey has
recently moved her back onto weapons-practice. We have increased the intensity
of our sessions as a result.’

‘You feel she is ready for this to end, though?’

‘Yes. The bones reacted very well to our ministrations and
have knitted rapidly.’ The healer smiled mysteriously. ‘She has magick within
her, we think. It responds to our call. It helped her wounds heal so quickly.
It provided us with a gateway.’

Max leaned forward. ‘That’s interesting. Her family has a
varied history – her great-great grandfather was a shaman, I believe. Her
grandfather is a shifter.’

‘All of this flows through her veins.’

‘Good.’

‘All is within our scroll.’ The older healer gestured to the
younger,
who
moved forward silently and proffered the
parchment. Max took this, placing it within a red folder without reading. He
sat back in his chair.

‘Talk to me about Declan Kane and Samuel Becker.’

The older healer furrowed her brow slightly. Her face was
usually so expressionless that this seemed a huge signifier of discomfort. ‘We
do not usually deal in such... human matters.’

‘It’s ok. I don’t need to know any details – what they were
fighting about, motivation, anything like that. Just tell me what happened,
from your point of view.’

‘We were in the ward with Miss O’Roarke. It was in the
middle of our healing motion, and we were very deep in concentration. Our hands
were laid on her.’ The healer’s voice was quiet and monotonous. Max saw Bree
stifle a yawn. ‘We heard commotion from outside. The rhythm was broken. Miss
O’Roarke began to awake. We called for help while we soothed her once more.
Soldiers came, and brought in the two.
Mr Kane with a broken
hand, Mr Becker with a bleeding nose.
We did not ask how these injuries
were garnered. We healed them immediately, while keeping Miss O’Roarke within
the trance. This is all we know.’

‘I see,’ Max murmured. He switched on the mega-wattage smile
once more. ‘That was very informative, thank you. See you next week.’

The two bowed simultaneously while solemnly intoning, ‘Thank
you, Praetor.’ Noiselessly, they glided toward the elevator, which opened
immediately and then pinged behind them.

Bree grimaced in their direction before turning back to the
window. As if she wasn’t even there, with studied nonchalance, Max began to
tidy his papers. After a moment, he lounged back in his
chair,
his well-shod foot crossed against opposite muscular thigh, and flipped open
the folder containing the healers’ latest report. With a sigh of contentment,
he began to read.

She tired of this quickly. Once she had made up her mind to
move, it was only a matter of seconds before she was in front of his desk, arms
crossed. ‘Well?’

He did not even look up. ‘Do I have to remind you that you
can be fined for inappropriate use of your powers? Don’t show off, Lady Clifton.’

‘Don’t call me that.
Sir.’

His brown eyes were amused when at last he looked up from
the paper. ‘At ease, soldier. And is that not your proper title?’

‘I don’t like the way it sounds coming from you.’

Max shrugged, before getting to his feet. He sauntered over
to the drinks trolley. ‘I don’t think your dear papa would approve if I called
you anything else.
Drink?’

‘No, thank you. It’s a little early.’

He raised an eyebrow as he turned back to her, porcelain cup
replenished. ‘I was offering tea or coffee.
Good grief, how
your mind works.’

‘Whatever.’ She looked away from him obstinately. ‘I’m meant
to be helping Optio Shadrach with drills at 11.’

‘He can manage without you.’ Slowly Max made his way back.
‘Won’t you take a seat?’

‘I’m fine standing.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Max leaned against the desk, facing her.
‘So, how are things?’

‘Fine.’

‘And the new cadets?’

‘Fine.’

‘I lose patience quickly, Bree.’

‘Well, what do you want me to say?’ Bree burst out,
frustrated. ‘You summoned me, so I came. You kept me waiting for nearly an
hour. Now we’re playing cat and mouse. I’ve been more than patient, so let’s
cut to the chase. What is this about?’

He put his cup down. ‘Okay, point taken. I apologise for
keeping you waiting. You are correct: we do have some business to attend to.’

Bree nodded, the suspicious expression on her face relaxing
a little. ‘Go ahead.’

Max was a handsome man, but now that she looked at him
properly she could see the deep shadows and stress lines etched under his eyes
and at the corners of his mouth. Also most uncharacteristic was the half-inch
of stubble on his jaw. Clearly, he had been under a lot of pressure. He looked
exhausted.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and
fore-finger, as if to confirm her thought. ‘You’ve heard about Declan and Sam,
right?’

‘Yes. Dinner was full of chatter about a fight outside the
hospital, which the healers have now confirmed.’

‘You
were
listening, then. Good. What else did you
hear?’

‘Only bits and pieces.
Declan
wouldn’t talk about it, and Sam has been kept very busy by Yali as a result.
The Skips told me that when they came to break it up, the first blow had just
been landed – before then the boys were only grandstanding. Apparently Sam
pushed Declan then turned away, more fool him. So Declan shoved Sam into a
wall. Sam collided with it face-on; that explains the bloody nose. Declan then
threw a punch, Sam ducked, Declan hit said wall. That explains the broken hand.
The Skippers intervened before it could go any further.’

Max exhaled sharply. ‘I thought we’d acted swiftly enough to
avoid this sort of nonsense. Bree, you’re a level 5 and a Tesserarius. You’ve
known Sam a long time, and I trust your judgement. Do you think putting him
back on active duty was a mistake?’