The Spellbinder (Tom & Laura Series) (13 page)

“Perhaps the Class A Spellbinder could make us a light?” he asked. Laura thumped him before scribbling on a piece of parchment. The parchment began to glow with a bright cold white light. Using it as a torch they continued deeper into the cellar.

In the light of the parchment they saw stacks of barrels, not massive beer barrels, but smaller ones, the sort you might put gunpowder in, or flour. Many were new, but there were some that looked as though they might have been down in the cellar for a very long time.

There were scuffmarks on the floor that showed that the barrels had been moved recently. At the back of the cellar, they saw a trail of water on the floor, which appeared to originate from behind a stack of crates. Deeper in the cellar they found a set of narrow steps leading upwards. They were considering going up the steps when they felt a firm hand grip each of them on the back of their neck.

“And what are yer doing ‘ere?” Laura recognized the voice as that of Mick, their driver from the station.

“Hello, Mick, isn’t it? We were looking around the school. Nobody said we should not come down here,” Laura said, trying to sound apologetic.

“Coming down here using your Spellbinder tricks… But can’t help with something as simple as a twisted back, can you?”

Tom deduced this was not a random question.

“I can, Mick. I’m a Healer. Let us go and I’ll help you, I promise.” The hands withdrew from their necks and Tom and Laura reached back to rub the ache out of them.

Tom turned and saw Mick without his clock and muffler for the first time. He was a surprisingly young man, unshaven and wearing the working clothes of someone who lived by the sea, big boots and waterproofs as well as a large knitted pullover that had seen better days.

Having released them, Mick appeared uncomfortable with the situation as Tom approached him, hand outstretched.

“It’s nothin’ really,” he said as Tom reached to run his hand over the man’s back.

As soon as Tom touched Mick, he knew the problem was far from nothing. Tom was still unused to the new power that flowed through him whenever he touched somebody’s skin. It was as if he could see inside them and their injuries shone out a bright and unnerving red. Mick had a severe back problem, some of the bones of the spine had slid sideways and he must be in acute pain.

Tom drew hard on his power and Mick grunted as his bones shifted back into place. Cartilage grew and damaged bone was replaced by new at a speed that would have stunned the greatest Healers in the world. The red faded in Tom’s mind and he knew that Mick was whole again.

Mick straightened his back, and then flexed it. He gave Tom a strange look before he spoke.

“I thank yer.”

“It was a fair exchange, though perhaps neither of us should say anything to anyone?” Tom did not want the levels of his skills exposed. He suspected that Mick knew he had done something extraordinary. Most everybody knew the limits of Healers.

“Eye, I’ll not say a word, yer have me word on that. Yer shouldn’t be down ‘ere though.”

In a strange way, a level of trust had been established between them. All of them felt it, though Mick was not used to being beholden to people. “I’ve got a pot of tea on, if yer’d like to share.”

“That would be most kind of you,” Laura said. “We would love to.”

The three moved through the cellar together, new, but certain friends.

Chapter 15
   
Snood Get Taken for a Ride

Dominican Snood was a suspicious man who always checked out things that might threaten him and always assumed the worst of people. He was far too arrogant to be paranoid, but had a well developed instinct for survival. In particular, he was a man who knew that death walked on sunny afternoons with the birds singing. It was when you least expected it that the runaway coach and horses would plough into you.

The platform at Paddington Station was empty of other passengers, as were the coaches of the train. Unlike Tom and Laura, Snood knew that the train he was about to board was unscheduled and that the railway staff would stop anyone but him from getting onto the platform.

Money had changed hands in dark corners of taverns and he knew that every change of train he made would be at stations whose signs were changed by Spellbinders as he arrived.
 
Trelawney had Spellbinders do this at all the stations across the whole country from time to time, all to hide the location of Hobsgate from the enemy.

Snood didn’t care where Hobsgate was, though several people had offered to sell him that information at an exorbitant cost. What he cared about was his personal safety and he had concluded that the risk of being attacked while travelling to Hobsgate was low.

A porter took his trunks when he arrived at the station and he spotted them being loaded on an otherwise empty baggage car. He carried a carpet bag that held whisky and his Spellbinder kit among other things. Very few Spellbinders went anywhere without the tools of the trade close to hand and Snood was no exception. He walked the length of the train to select a suitable first class compartment. As soon as he boarded the train a whistle blew and the train pulled out of the station.

He took a window seat and put his feet up on the opposite seat, wiping the grime of the city from his shoes onto its material. Placing his bag, hat and umbrella on the seat beside him he unfurled his newspaper and began to read a report on the war in the
Crimea
.
 
The natives were proving unusually resistant to the British annexation of their country. Unfortunately, he found it impossible to concentrate.

“Damn the Brotherhood,” he said, putting the paper down. His mind kept going over the mission at hand.

“And damn Laura Young.” He would still be living in the capital tutoring naïve Spellbinders like
Carmichael
if it wasn’t for her.
 
There would be no taverns, music halls or theatres in the vicinity of Hobsgate. No girls walking the streets to show him a good time for a few pence. His life had taken a distinct turn for the worse.

‘
And how do they expect me to turn her? She’s a Class A. Even teaching her carries risks.’
The Brotherhood of Knights would not excuse failure. They had paid him well over the years, but they expected results for the money they spent.

Snood knew a lot about magic, but the powers of Class A’s were things of legends and myths. It was rumored that they no longer needed paper, but could place a bind by thought alone. If he pushed this girl too hard she might change him into a cockroach and put him in a matchbox. Nor would the ministry prosecute her if they found out; a Class A was far too valuable to be bound by normal rules.

He consoled himself with the thought that at least he had got a promotion out of the move. He held a deep burning resentment over the way he had been treated at his grading test many years before. He was sure he had performed at Grade 2 level at times, but the examiner had declared him to be a Grade 3.

A Grade 2 could name his own price when he left military service. They could pick their career from a thousand job offers in all the major industries, jobs with status in society. Grade 2’s attended court and were feted by the nobility.

Snood indulged in a daydream of a Grade 2 life where he created new alloys, found new metals by extracting them from rocks. Or he could have worked in the chemical industry creating new compounds. Much of the Empires technology started life as something created by a Grade 2. Once industrialists knew a thing was possible they would find production techniques that didn’t involve magic.

Snood sighed, even though the line that separated a Grade 3 from a Grade 2 could be as thin as tissue paper, once you were graded you were stuck with the result for life. Grade 3’s got lesser jobs that paid an order of magnitude less than their Grade 2 counterparts and the status was significantly less.

He knew he had been lucky to avoid direct military service by taking up teaching for the ministry, but it paid peanuts. That was why he started working for the Brotherhood. They were always looking for people willing to do dirty jobs for a price, and they had paid him well.

Snood got out of his carriage when the train stopped. According to the instruction he carried, he was to walk across the platform and board the train on the other side. However, he wanted to stretch his legs. Porters were moving his trunks and he stood and watched them for a moment. He knew the train wouldn’t leave until he got onboard so he took his time. Let them wait for him.

Barriers had been put up to block access to the platforms from the bridge above the platforms. A couple of people stood on the bridge and watched him from the barrier. He grinned at the thought that they might think he was royalty. Who else got the exclusive use of two platforms at a major station?

A guard with a whistle frowned at him as he made his way leisurely along the platform and onto the new train. It felt good to have such power. The train started to move, but failed to accelerate and travelled alongside the platform at walking pace. At the last moment the compartment door flew open and a man clambered in, slamming the door behind him. He sat facing him with his head down.

Snood was instantly on his guard. The only destination for people on this train was Hobsgate and his enquires had determined he was the only person scheduled to be travelling this day.

The man was of similar build to Snood. He wore a large overcoat with a hat and muffler that served to cover his face.

“Good afternoon,” Snood said, trying to start a conversation.

The man grunted and nodded his head before taking a copy of The Times from his coat and opening it so he was hidden behind it.

Snood opened his own newspaper and reached across for his carpet bag, trying to be as quiet as he could and hoping that his newspaper would cover his actions.
 
He opened the bag, fumbling with the catch and reached into the special pocket where he kept parchment, pen and ink.

Ever the cautious man, Snood had prepared a bind that needed only one more word to complete it. But to write that word he had to open the bottle of ink and dip the nib of his pen in it. Not an easy thing to do while simultaneously holding a newspaper in front of his body to cover his actions.

The man stood up and stumbled forward as Snood completed the bind. The bind was something that Snood was particularly proud of. He had invented it and perfected it without any outside help. For a minute or more his clothing would become impenetrable to blade or bullet. This was fortunate because as the man stumbled into him he thrust a knife that should have penetrated Snood’s ribs and gone deep into his heart.

Snood screamed in pain as the knife slid across his jacket. It was thrust hard enough to bruise his flesh despite the protection the bind gave. He dropped the bind and pen and grabbed at the man.

It was surprise that saved Snood in those first few seconds, his attacker was just too surprised at the knife not penetrating to respond quickly enough. Snood lunged for the man’s throat and squeezed it as if his life depended on it, which, as a strict matter of fact, it did. However, the man was strong and still had the knife in his hand. Once the initial surprise vanished he tried to cut at Snood’s unprotected hands and neck.

Snood used his elbows to deflect the man’s arms, but the man was considerably stronger than Snood and was about to break free. He pushed Snood back onto his seat, trying to gain the leverage to free Snood’s hands from his throat.

Then he broke free, with the knife still in his hand and Snood got up his back against the carriage door. The man tried to take in a deep breath, but nothing happened. Snood had crushed his windpipe. The hand not holding the knife groped at his neck and Snood realized that the man was going to die.

The man also realized he had only seconds left to kill his target. He lunged at Snood with the knife. There were going to be two bodies in the carriage if he had anything to do with it.

Snood knew he had no choice but to trust that his bind was still in operation. He turned his back and hunched his body as the man struck.

His attacker stabbed again and again as Snood hunkered down. The man kicked and punched at Snood between stabs, feeling his strength begin to fade. Snood gasped as the kicks and punches inflicted deep bruises. It had become a race between the attacker and the bind. Whichever lasted longest would win the day.

Snood wasn’t sure he could take any more. His body felt mangled and he wondered whether it would be better to die than endure anymore pain. Then the blows stopped. He remained curled up and cowering for many minutes as the train ploughed uncaringly on.

When Snood finally stood up, groaning at the pain of doing it, he found the man on the floor behind him. He kicked the body as hard as he could, once, twice, three times. Placing his foot on the man’s wrist, he kicked the knife from his hand. Clutching the recovered knife he turned the body over, ready to jab and slice at the first sign of movement.

The man’s face was puffed out and blue, his tongue was swollen and poked out between his teeth, so in death he looked almost inhuman. However, Snood had no problem recognizing him. It was the face he shaved in the mirror every morning and had seen every day of his life. It was his own face staring back at him.

A first he thought ‘bind’, but a bind cannot be sustained during a change from living to death and this man was certainly dead. Someone had found an exact double of him. In some ways that was more unnerving than the man’s attack and attempt to kill him. Snood searched the man’s pockets and found his own favorite things staring back at him. His favorite boiled sweets, this man had a bag of them, just as he did in his pocket. Someone had researched his habits in great detail.

The man had brought a carpet bag with him, not the same as Snood’s, but similar. Snood looked inside. It contained letters and papers that matched Snood’s own. There was better parchment and ink than Snood carried and he would have moved it to his own bag, when he was struck with a sudden thought,
‘Why Not?’

He removed anything that might identify the body as Dominican Snood. He took his time and checked twice to make absolutely sure he had removed everything. Then he dragged the body to the carriage door and opened it. Looking out he saw they were about to cross a river. When the train was on the bridge, Snood flung the body out watching it plunge into the river below. He closed the door, opened the man’s bag of sweets and popped one in his mouth.

He winced from the pain of his bruises, but he had a satisfied smile on his face. He had survived and now he could be both himself and the man sent to replace him. There could be considerable profit in this if he handled it correctly, and he had always had a lot of confidence in the abilities of Dominican Snood.