The Royal Sorceress (12 page)

“He was mentally
raping
her,” Gwen snapped. Her mother would have fainted if she’d known that Gwen had even
heard
that word, still less knew what it meant. Somehow, Gwen found it hard to care what her mother thought. “He was enjoying forcing her to be his slave...”

“Lord Blackburn is a Darwinist,” Master Thomas admitted. He didn’t seem perturbed by Gwen’s use of the word
rape
. “I’m afraid that such people have been growing in power lately. And if you hadn’t existed, one of them might have been put into the position of Royal Sorcerer.”

Gwen blinked. “I thought that the Royal Sorcerer had to be a Master,” she said.

“Yes,” Master Thomas agreed, “but what if we had
no
Master?”

He shook his head. “Charles Darwin is a young man with a magical talent; he’s actually a fairly powerful Blazer. Darwin believes in the survival of the fittest – and that the fittest is the one who will survive. Magicians have an advantage over mundane humans – and aristocratic magicians are more powerful than common-born magicians. The Darwinist Creed says that magicians are superior to mundane humans and should be ruling the world.”

Gwen snorted. “I doubt the King enjoys hearing such talk,” she said. “Why hasn’t Blackburn been arrested for treason?”

“The man has a powerful family,” Master Thomas said. “He also has considerable support among younger magicians who would not normally inherit any titles from their parents. The King...feels that such people had better be ignored until they cross the line into outright treason. No one wants a repeat of the Jacobite Rebellion – the Pretender had a great many friends in high places back in ‘45. If they’d risen against the King’s grandfather, the results could have been unfortunate.”

He shrugged, slowly. “I don’t know if the Darwinists will become a major problem on my watch, but they will certainly become one on yours,” he added. “I’d suggest learning as much as you can from Lord Blackburn. And don’t ever forget that he is a very capable magician. I’ve seen him do far worse than convince a serving maid to take off her dress for him.”

“And you allow him to work here,” Gwen said, sharply.

“My dear girl,” Master Thomas said. “Whatever made you think I got to choose the magicians I have to work with?”

He stood up and picked up his hat and cane. “But we have other matters to turn our attention to,” he said. “I received a note from Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Someone has murdered Lord Burley – and a magician was definitely involved. And that means that we have to investigate.”

Gwen frowned. “And you want me to come with you?”

“You may as well see what happens when a magical crime is committed,” Master Thomas said. “You’ll be investigating them yourself soon enough.”

Chapter Ten

G
wen could barely remember Lord Burley.

They’d met briefly, if she recalled correctly, during a dinner party held at her home. Lord Burley had nodded gravely to Gwen – who had been barely seven years old at the time – and then proceeded to talk to her parents about boring adult matters. He hadn’t brought any children with him, so Gwen had been taken back to her room by her nurse once she’d been presented to the guests. She couldn’t remember why her mother had held the dinner party in the first place. Her mother rarely needed an excuse to hold a party.

She frowned as the carriage turned the corner and she saw the policemen outside the building. The death of a noted Lord, no matter how disliked by High Society, would definitely attract attention from the police, who would be put under immense pressure to find someone they could convict of the crime. Master Thomas leaned forward and issued instructions to the coachman, who pulled up alongside the pavement and reined in the horses. Gwen followed Master Thomas out into the cold morning air, silently grateful that she’d brought her thicker dress rather than something decorative. Master Thomas strode off towards the policemen and Gwen had to move swiftly to keep up with him. He didn’t seem inclined to wait for her at all.

The servants had been gathered by the police and asked to remain on the lawn, inside the walls. Outside the barriers, the broadsheet writers had already gathered, shouting questions to all and sundry. Gwen’s mother had often complained that the broadsheet writers either didn’t write what they were told or repeated what had been said with embarrassing accuracy, something that hadn’t stopped her reading the society papers thoroughly every morning. Gwen herself had enjoyed reading the serialised stories, until her mother had put a stop to it on the grounds that it was unladylike. Part of her still resented her mother’s decision, but it no longer mattered. She could read to her heart’s content in the library at Cavendish Hall.

Inspector Lestrade was a short, rat-faced fellow, wearing a heavy overcoat from which dangled a truncheon, a whistle and a small oil lamp. Gwen’s mother had often said that policemen – the Bow Street Runners, in popular parlance – were not the social equals of noblemen, but merely hired servants to protect the property of the rich. They didn’t have a good reputation, although Master Thomas had assured her that Lestrade was the best of a bad lot. Gwen had to smile at how he took one glance at her, registered her sex, and then fixed his eyes on Master Thomas. Perhaps he had mistaken her for a daughter or even a relative of the deceased. A murder scene was definitely not a place for a young lady.

“Master Thomas,” Lestrade said. His voice was clipped and precise, oddly accented in a manner Gwen didn’t recognise. Scotland Yard recruited from all over the country. “I’m afraid that Lord Burley is definitely dead.”

“So I was given to understand,” Master Thomas said, calmly. Too calmly; for whatever reason, Gwen realised, he was more worried than he let on. Something about the murder had drawn his attention and the mere fact that a magician might have been involved couldn’t have accounted for it. There were far too many criminally-minded magicians on the streets. “Myself and my apprentice will inspect the scene of the crime. You will keep your men outside until I am satisfied.”

“Yes, sir,” Lestrade said, promptly. Gwen realised that he was glad of the chance to pass the responsibility to someone else. “Should I hold the relatives when they come for the body?”

Master Thomas nodded. “They can have the body once we have finished our inspection,” he said. “Make sure you find out where they were last night and get it corroborated if possible. Who knows who might have benefited from the crime?”

Gwen followed Master Thomas up the driveway and through the big open doors at the front of the house. It was cold inside, suggesting that all the windows had been opened by the staff during the night. The hallway was a wreck, with shattered walls and debris lying everywhere. She caught a whiff of smoke in the air and glanced over at one of the walls. It had been scorched by incredible heat. It reminded her of the scene after they’d had the disastrous food fight, only with more malice and different types of magic. Master Thomas bent to inspect one of the bodies and Gwen followed his gaze. She felt sick the moment she saw the body, breathing in the stench of burned flesh.

“Breathe through your mouth,” Master Thomas advised, without looking away from the body. Gwen swallowed hard and looked back. The body’s throat was completely burned to blackened ruin, a wound that would certainly have been fatal. She tried to remember what she could of anatomy – not a fitting subject for a young lady, according to her mother – and then realised she didn’t need any specialised knowledge to understand what had happened. Only magic – a Blazer – could have inflicted such a wound.

“Certainly,” Master Thomas agreed, when she said it out loud. He looked up at her suddenly. “Do you notice anything odd about the second body?”

Gwen walked over and peered down at it. The body looked…crushed, even though it seemed to be intact. She had to fight down another tidal wave of vomit as she realised that most of the body’s bones had been broken; something or someone had thrown him into the wall with terrific force. Again, magic – a Mover – had to have been involved. She couldn’t imagine anything non-magical that could inflict that kind of damage.

“There was a Mover involved as well,” Gwen said, carefully. She looked over at him, suddenly. “How many criminals were involved?”

“Good question,” Master Thomas said. “The message from Lestrade said that the staff claimed that only one magician was involved. They might have been wrong.”

He stood up and headed over towards the stairs. “Or they might have been lying,” he added, absently. “They failed their master – or they might have been bribed into betraying their master. Lord Burley was not popular in town.”

Gwen followed him, her mind spinning. She had always been taught that servants were reliable, even the ones who were afraid of her and her powers. Even though servants were trusted family retainers, her mother wouldn’t have hesitated to fire a servant who displeased her. There were entire families of servants who had served a particular aristocratic family throughout the years. If Lord Burley had been so unpopular…would his own servants have turned on him? But if they had, why had some of them been killed by magic in the struggle?

“Master,” she said, slowly, “was Lord Burley a magician?”

“Not as far as I know,” Master Thomas said. “All magicians are supposed to be registered with the Crown, but an aristocrat might keep his powers to himself, just in hopes of using them for unfair advantage. Still” – he shrugged – “Lord Burley’s career was that of a very honourable soldier. He would surely have used any powers he had in the service of the Crown.”

Gwen stopped dead as they reached the landing. A stuffed tiger was glaring back at her, its face twisted in savage excitement. Lord Burley, she realised, had been a keen hunter, taking advantage of his years in India to bag hundreds of tigers. He’d probably been a terror while fox-hunting or grouse shooting back home in England. She’d known young scions of the aristocracy who spent their entire lives shooting harmless birds and deer. It had never seemed a good pastime for her, but while she had been allowed to ride, she had never been allowed to hunt. Perhaps she would have felt differently if she’d been born a man.

“The fellow was an excellent shot,” Master Thomas observed, studying the tiger. There was no sign of where the bullet had entered its body. “I couldn’t have done it better with magic.”

He led the way into the master bedroom and frowned. Gwen followed him in and saw Lord Burley – an older and fatter man than she remembered – lying on the ground. A length of rope was tied around his neck, clearly having been used to strangle him to death. She glanced up at the wall and blinked in surprise. The words CAPTAIN SWING had been painted on the walls in red paint. No, not paint, she realised in shock. The murderer had signed his crime in his victim’s blood. This time, she couldn’t swallow fast enough to stop bile rising into her mouth and she retched loudly. A metal bucket floated across the room and hovered just in front of her, ready to catch it if she threw up. Somehow, she managed to keep it down.

“Interesting,” Master Thomas observed. “What would you say was the cause of death?”

Gwen stared at him. “He was hanged,” she said, flatly. He’d clearly died when the rope had been pulled tight around his neck. “His murderer hung him from the ceiling…”

“Look up,” Master Thomas suggested. “There’s no hook, no rafters…nothing that could be used to hang a man. And yet he was very definitely hanged. What does that suggest to you?”

Gwen stared down at the body, wincing. “Magic,” she said. Once she’d made the connection, it was obvious. “They held his body in the air using magic and then let go, holding onto the rope. A Mover was involved.”

“Yes,” Master Thomas agreed. He prodded the body thoughtfully, but if he pulled any flashes of insight off the body he kept them to himself. “And a Blazer, who killed one of the guarding magicians – and they said that there was only one magician.”

He led Gwen back outside and looked up at the skylight. “He got in through the skylight,” he said. Gwen frowned, and then understood. A Mover could have opened the skylight from the outside and then jumped down into the building, relying on his magic to land safely. But if there had been only one magician…?

“Captain Swing,” she repeated. “Who is Captain Swing?”

Master Thomas didn’t answer. He walked back inside the master bedroom and studied the wall thoughtfully. Gwen didn’t understand – and then it all made horrifying sense. One magician had been involved, one magician with multiple powers. And that meant a Master.

“It’s a message,” Master Thomas said, finally. “A message aimed at one specific person.”

Gwen looked over at him. He sounded grim – and worried. “Aimed at whom?”

“Aimed at me,” Master Thomas said. He stepped closer, studying the word CAPTAIN. “This wasn’t a random murder, young lady. This was an act of war – a
declaration
of war – aimed at me. Lord Burley was a known supporter of the Whigs; he was one of their biggest backers. And he controlled several votes in the House. His murder is going to upset several different political factions.”

He turned and marched out of the room, not looking back. “There are only a handful of people in the world who could have slipped into this house and murdered its owner,” he said. “And one of them was someone we thought long dead.”

Gwen blinked. “Who was it?” She asked. “Shouldn’t we be chasing him?”

“Not at the moment,” Master Thomas said. “You’re going to have to learn faster, I’m afraid. Try not to slap any more tutors. They make a frightful fuss.”

His tone was light, but Gwen could sense the worry under it. Master Thomas was the most accomplished magician in the world. He shared all of the powers and knew how to use them in combination, making him far more dangerous than any other magician. And yet, whoever had killed Lord Burley worried him. If there had been only one intruder, he had to have been a Master – a Master who knew how to use his powers in combination.

Master Thomas led the way down the stairs and out into the garden. For the next thirty minutes, he interrogated each of the servants and surviving guards one by one. One of them, a girl shivering under a blanket, was apparently under arrest for loose morals. Master Thomas rebuked the policeman who’d arrested her, arranged for her to be taken to a place where she could live and perhaps find a honest vocation, and then interrogated her carefully. She’d been in the room when the murderer had arrived, but she’d seen almost nothing. The murderer’s face had been cloaked in illusion. He would have been almost impossible to see in the dark.