The Great Game (Royal Sorceress) (20 page)

“When a pretty girl is involved, business is always pleasure,” Talleyrand assured her. He switched to English. “And we may converse in your language, if you wish. I would not like to discomfit you.”

“I need to practice my French,” Gwen said, which was true enough. It would also force her to think about what she said before she said it. Talleyrand might be flirting with her – the file had stated that he had a remarkable reputation for womanising – but he would also be measuring her for his report to the King of France. She
was
the Royal Sorceress... and if war came, Gwen would be charged with leading Britain’s magicians into war.

“I am happy to allow you to practice on me,” Talleyrand said. “I must confess to some curiosity, my dear. Why have you sought out my company?”

Gwen looked at the other girl, then lifted an eyebrow.

“My daughter Simone has my full confidence,” Talleyrand added. “She has served as my secretary for the last two years. And she was quite interested when I told her about you.”

Someone must have told him that I was coming
, Gwen thought, coldly.

“I’m glad to meet you,” she said, giving Simone a smile. “Maybe we can chat later about other matters.”

The girl looked very shy; indeed, it was hard to see any resemblance between her and Talleyrand at all. Her skin was so pale that it was almost translucent, leaving her dark eyes standing out in her face. The yellow dress she wore attracted the eye
away
from her beauty. It was quite possible, judging by what had been written in the file, that Talleyrand merely
thought
that she was his daughter. But there was no way to know for sure.

She looked back at Talleyrand. “As you may have read in the papers” – and someone at the Foreign Office had probably told him, she added inwardly – “Sir Travis Mortimer was murdered two days ago. You were one of the people who saw him before he died.”

“I heard,” Talleyrand said. “The papers were full of speculation. I particularly enjoyed the suggestion that his family had killed him after he refused to sell them Mortimer House.”

Gwen scowled. “I need to ask you some questions,” she said. “What did you and Sir Travis have to talk about?”

Talleyrand studied her for a long moment, as if he were trying to peer into her soul. “I would prefer not to discuss confidential matters with you, my dear,” he said, in a surprisingly light tone. “However, under the circumstances, there may be little choice.”

He sighed. “I was aware that Sir Travis had served the British Government as a secret diplomat,” he added. “It was my hope that he could help me to negotiate directly with the Prime Minister and the King.”

Gwen frowned. There seemed little point in denying it. “How did you know that he was a secret diplomat?”

“There were French agents in India during his time as an emissary,” Talleyrand said. “One of them identified Sir Travis and reported it to Paris.”

Sir Charles had talked about a mission to Bukhara where they’d discovered that the Russians already had influence over the Emir. Could the French have been involved too? Or, perhaps, the Russians traded the information to the French in exchange for something they wanted? But then, it was no secret that the French had agents in India; they’d never quite given up on the subcontinent, even after they’d been evicted from the mainland in 1800. Talleyrand might well be telling the truth.

“So you thought he could help you,” Gwen said, thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you make a more open approach?”

Talleyrand gave her a sharp look. “You are aware that your countrymen seem to believe that we unleashed undead monsters on London?”

Gwen flushed, uncomfortably. That made sense; if the Airship Treaty had to be kept secret, if only because the terms might upset someone, any discussions with the French would have to be even more secret. The Prime Minister could not allow a hint of weakness to slip out or he would be challenged in the Houses of Parliament. And that might weaken his position to the point where the opposition could force a vote of no confidence through the house.

“So you approached Sir Travis,” Gwen said. “What happened then?”

“He was reluctant to talk about his time in India,” Talleyrand said. “But after I had convinced him that we had honoured the unspoken convention of not revealing such information, he was willing to approach his superiors for us. I had believed that he would keep his word – I never anticipated that he would be murdered that same night.”

Gwen suspected that he was probably telling the truth. Logically, the French gained nothing from murdering Sir Travis, particularly if they needed him to do something for them. And besides, if Talleyrand were to be blamed for Sir Travis’s death it would almost certainly start a war, particularly after the Battle of London.

“The timing must have been very poor,” she mused. “Do you know if you were the last person to visit that night?”

“My appointment was for just before midnight,” Talleyrand informed her. “And Sir Travis looked tired. I might well have been the last.”

“Which puts you at the top of the list of suspects,” Gwen pointed out.

Talleyrand smiled at her. “How – exactly – do I benefit from murdering Sir Travis?

“At the very least, I would be returned to France in disgrace and my career would be over,” he said. “My enemies in Paris would see to that, even if they didn’t manage to convince the King to hand me over to your country. And I have been working hard to prevent a war between Britain and France. That war might well
start
if a French diplomat murdered a British citizen. Your people fought a war over one man losing an ear. What will you do if an Ambassador murders a diplomat?”

Gwen scowled. He was right.

“I have to ask,” she said. Carefully, she infused a little Charm into her voice. “Did you murder Sir Travis?”

Simone coughed.

“There are gentlemen’s agreements that Charm is not to be used as part of negotiations,” Talleyrand said, reproachfully. “But you are no gentleman.”

“No,” Gwen agreed, irked. He’d detected the Charm... or had
Simone
detected the Charm? Might there be more than one reason he kept her around? “I’m afraid that no one has ever accused me of being a gentleman.”

Talleyrand didn’t sound offended. “I didn’t murder Sir Travis,” he said. It was impossible to tell if the Charm had affected him or not. “Like I have told you, I gain nothing and lose much from the act.”

He stood up and bowed. “And I am afraid that I have given you too much of my time,” he added. “I would be interested in meeting you again, Lady Gwen, but in less stressful circumstances. It is quite possible that we could come to a proper understanding.”

Gwen rose, recognising the dismissal. “Thank you for your time,” she said, sincerely. “And I have enjoyed meeting your daughter too.”

She held a hand out towards Simone, who hesitated and then took it. Her touch was feather-light, but there was no mistaking the faint tingle that suggested the presence of magic, recognisable to any other magician. She looked up into the girl’s eyes and saw the recognition on her face, followed by a faint touch on Gwen’s mind. A Talker, then... no wonder she’d sensed the Charm.

“The guards will escort you out,” Talleyrand said. How much of the byplay had he sensed? “And I hope you do find the killer, Lady Gwen. Sir Travis did not deserve to die.”

Gwen kept her mind tightly shielded until she was out of the embassy and standing on the street. Irene Adler, the most capable Talker in the British Empire, had taught her how to shield her mind, but Gwen lacked the skill of an experienced Talker. How capable was Simone? It was quite possible that
Jack
had taught her how to use her powers...

And if she hadn’t coughed, Gwen would never have noticed.

She walked over to the coachman and scribbled out a short note for Lord Mycroft. He would have to be informed, if only to ensure that Simone didn’t have another chance to read information from an unwitting mind. Given her exotic looks, it was quite probable that she could pull information from besotted officers while they were trying to court her. Irene did precisely the same thing.

“Take this to Lord Mycroft,” she said, once the note was finished. “Then you can take the rest of the day off.”

The coachman blinked in surprise. “You won’t want me later, Milady?”

“It’s a good day,” Gwen said. “I’ll walk.”

She contemplated the situation as she headed into the centre of London, barely distracted by a mob of children watching an airship as it made its way towards the Thames. Airship service over London had been badly disrupted by Jack hijacking one and using it to raid the Tower of London – making the magicians on guard look like fools in the process. Master Thomas had intended to use the debacle as an excuse to get rid of some dead wood before he’d died. Now, the airships were slowly returning to London town.

Glisters was a two-story building on the outskirts of Whitehall, managed – Gwen had heard – by an Italian family that had escaped the French invasion that had secured control of Italy. It was a very exclusive restaurant; anyone who wanted to eat there had to book in advance and the staff turned away anyone who hadn’t reserved a table. Gwen suspected that the Royal Sorceress – and certain other very high-ranking people – could demand a table anyway, but it didn’t matter. Sir Charles had already booked for them both.

“I took the liberty of ordering iced tea, rather than wine,” he said, as she sat down facing him. The booth would provide a limited amount of privacy, as long as they kept their voices low although Gwen was sure that
someone
would recognise both of them. “I understand that magicians don’t touch wine.”

“We prefer to avoid it,” Gwen said, touched. No one else had shown her that sort of consideration, even David. “Alcohol can cause magicians to do something stupid.”

“Just like the rest of us,” Sir Charles pointed out, as the waiter brought them two glasses of iced tea. “There’s a buffet of cold meat, vegetables and bread, if you like that sort of thing, or there’s venison stew... that, I am informed, tastes very good.”

“It would,” Gwen said. Most people in England could afford pork or chicken, but beef and venison tended to be reserved for the wealthy – venison in particular. Lady Mary had once served venison and then complained that she could have served four whole cows and it would have been cheaper. “The stew would be lovely, I think.”

Sir Charles ordered, then turned to face her. “How was your meeting with the Frenchman?”

“Interesting,” Gwen said, neutrally. “Have you ever met Ambassador Talleyrand?”

“I believe that I saw him once, across a crowded hall,” Sir Charles said, mischievously. “He didn’t pay any attention to me. And why should he? I was just a gentleman adventurer, hardly worthy of his attention.”

He scowled, suddenly. “Do you think he could have killed Sir Travis?”

“I think he would have to be insane to try,” Gwen admitted. France would just lose too much if Talleyrand were blamed for the murder – and the only constant in the Ambassador’s career was that he worked for France, always. “Did you know that he’d approached Sir Travis?”

“I didn’t,” Sir Charles admitted. “But I hadn’t seen Sir Travis before his death, so... I don’t know if he’d spoken to Talleyrand. I can’t see why, though.”

“The Ambassador claimed that he hoped to enlist Sir Travis in opening up a secret channel to the British Government,” Gwen said. “Does that sound plausible?”

“If they knew that Sir Travis had... contacts in the government, it might be reasonably plausible,” Sir Charles said. “Otherwise... he was just another nobleman.”

He thought about it as the waiter returned with two plates of stew. “If they found out, I’d bet good money that it was from someone in the Viceroy’s Palace in India,” he added. “Those idiots never know when to keep their mouths shut. Even the Viceroy had been known to drop a hint or two of secret dealings in the wrong ears from time to time. Did you ever hear of McMurdo?”

Gwen shook her head.

“Officially, he was an accountant,” Sir Charles said. “Unofficially, he worked for the Viceroy. There was a Rajah who was having... dealings with the French and McMurdo was charged with discovering enough evidence to allow the Viceroy to act. But someone leaked and the Rajah realised what was happening. McMurdo was brutally murdered and his corpse... was desecrated. The Rajah tried to blame it on the Thugs, but everyone knew the truth.”

He changed the subject, noticeably. “What are you doing after lunch?”

“I need to visit Mr. Howell,” Gwen said. “And...”

Sir Charles stared at her. “I think I’d better come with you,” he said, after a moment. “I can -”

Gwen scowled at him. “Just who
is
Howell that everyone is scared of him?”

Sir Charles hesitated. “I think you should make up your own mind,” he said. “But you really shouldn’t go alone.”

“Then you can ride with me,” Gwen said. She was
sick
of the mystery. After she got back to Cavendish Hall, she was going to force an explanation out of someone. “But you’ll have to remain outside the house.”

“Fine,” Sir Charles said. “But shout if you need me, understand?”

Gwen allowed magic to flare over her hand, just for a second. “I’m the Royal Sorceress,” she reminded him, as his face was illuminated in a brilliant glow. “What do I have to fear?”

Chapter Seventeen

T
he occupants of Hampstead had been lucky, Gwen decided, as the carriage rattled to a halt in front of Howell’s house. They might have been forced to flee as the Swing ravaged Central London, but they’d escaped having their houses looted for the most part, although a handful of servants had taken the opportunity to rob their masters and vanish into the chaos. Howell’s house was clearly one of the more expensive houses in the district, complete with its own garden and gatehouse. And, she couldn’t help noticing, a handful of private guards.

“Wait here,” she ordered, as she clambered out of the carriage. “I’ll shout if I need you.”

She marched over towards the gatehouse before Sir Charles could protest. It was nice to have someone caring for her, but it was also irritating; she’d taken care of herself in much worse circumstances. The guards looked up at her as she approached and frowned, clearly trying to place her. Gwen smiled at them as she reached into her purse and produced her calling card.