Sons of Liberty (21 page)

“
I’ll be working with you one on one,” she told him, shortly. She’d have to arrange a chaperone too ... she gritted her teeth in annoyance. Irene and Raechel had too much else to do, while Arielle Franklin-Rochester was too young. Gwen couldn't see her uncle agreeing to allow her to visit Sorcerers Hall. “Until then, keep practicing with the rocks ...”

She paused as a thought struck her. “When you get hungry,” she added, “tell the cooks you want something to eat. They’ll always have something ready for us.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” Fife said.

Gwen smiled at him, then walked back to where Harry and Vernon were sitting. Vernon seemed to have recovered, but there was an evil look in his teary eyes that boded ill for the future. Gwen met his gaze challengingly - she’d met enough obnoxious men to know that showing weakness was a mistake - and silently dared him to do something. Harry prodded Vernon in the chest before he could do anything stupid. Gwen was almost relieved. At least one of the brothers had some common sense.

“
On your feet,” she said. “You have some practicing to do.”

Her sense of dismay grew stronger over the next hour. The brothers were strong, but dangerously untrained. Their magic was surprisingly delicate at handling large objects, yet they were clumsy with small items and neither of them had ever thought to fly. It was odd - surely, they should have been capable of realising the potentials inherent in their powers - but they hadn't. Losing their grip on Earth seemed to scare them.

“
You’ll need to practice harder,” she said, after the fourth apple was ripped apart by Vernon, the debris dropping to the grass. “Using a lighter touch will make your life easier.”

“
It isn’t something you need down at the docks,” Vernon muttered. “Really.”

They stopped for lunch - thankfully, the cooks had produced an enormous meal - and then went back to work. Gwen left Wayne supervising the two Movers - and teaching them how to shield themselves against magic - while she checked on the Blazers. None of them had anything like the level of skill she’d come to expect at Cavendish Hall, although O’Rourke had come up with a trick of his own. Gwen had never realised it was possible to create a light source visible only to the magician who cast it, but O’Rourke had definitely made it work. She made a mental note to work on the trick herself - it might be very useful - then hurried back to the Movers. Neither Harry nor Vernon seemed to be capable of holding a shield in place for very long.

“
I would have thought you’d be able to protect yourselves,” she said. Were they holding back deliberately? “How did you fight on the docks?”

“
We didn't need a shield for more than a few seconds,” Harry explained. Beside him, Vernon merely grunted. “There was no need to hold it in place for long.”

“
You’ll have to learn,” Gwen said, unable to keep the tart note from her voice. She rubbed her forehead, cursing under her breath. Were there no other magicians, registered or not, in New York? Messengers had been sent to other cities, but she knew it would be a while before any other registered magicians could arrive. “The French will target you specifically.”

She watched them go back to practicing, then glanced at Wayne. He didn't look pleased.

“
This isn't going to work,” he said, very quietly. “They have too much to unlearn.”

Gwen winced, inwardly. She’d had things to unlearn too, although not as much as she might have feared. Her powers were far more versatile than any of her new recruits. But they had been using their powers - she heard another explosion from the direction of the blast wall and wondered if Fife was getting bored - without the training they needed. They weren't blank slates ...

“
There’s no choice,” she said. She had no idea how many magicians were on the French side of the border, massing near New Orleans, but she would bet her entire fortune that the French had sent a formidable force. If they couldn't take London, they’d try to take America. “We have to make it work.”

“
It won’t be easy,” Wayne said. “The brothers don’t like you and ...”

If only I’d been born a man, Gwen thought, savagely. Master Thomas could have cowed them both into submission with a raised eyebrow. She could flatten them every day and she’d still have to watch her back. Bastards!

She closed her eyes for a long moment, reaching out with her senses. There was no trace of Fife, somewhat to her surprise, but she had no trouble picking out the other magicians. The Movers were still practicing; the Blazers were slacking off and ...

Her eyes snapped open. There was another magician nearby. They were being watched!

Wayne frowned. “My Lady?”

Gwen ignored him, looking around even as she probed with her senses. Had the other magician realised he’d been seen? She looked up towards the nearest tenement block, hunting desperately for the watcher. And then she saw him, lying on the roof ... watching them. He could have been there for hours!

“
Get them into the hall,” she ordered. Hopefully, they’d listen to Wayne. He was a man, after all. “I’m going hunting.”

She wrapped her magic around her and threw herself into the air.

Chapter Seventeen

She ignored Wayne’s shout of surprise, behind her, as she hurled herself up towards the tenement block. The watcher was already scrambling to his feet, a dark-clad man wearing a cloak that reminded her of a monk’s garb. His face was hidden completely behind a mask, his hands wrapped in dark gloves. He ran backwards, out of sight, as Gwen reached the top of the building, casually dropping down a level on the other side of the block. Gwen dropped down to the rooftop and ran after him, wrapping her power around her ...

The rooftop edge disintegrated. Gwen jumped upwards, alarmed, as bricks and dust launched themselves at her. A Mover, part of her mind noted, as she threw herself upwards rather than try to fend off the pieces of debris. The enemy, whoever he was, had less power than the brothers, but rather more skill. His power threw the pieces of debris up after her as she drifted over the edge of the rooftop. Below her, the masked man crouched on a metal staircase.

“
Stop,” Gwen snapped. “Stop in the name of ...”

The pieces of debris slammed into her shield. She grunted, pushing them away from her with an effort, then swore as his magic caught hold of her and disrupted her hold on the air. Gwen dropped, sharply, grabbing hold of the metal as she passed to keep herself from falling to the ground. She snatched a fireball out of the air and threw it at him. It struck his shields and disintegrated, sending a wave of heat fanning through the air. She raised her hand to create a flash of light, but he looked away just in time.

He must have been watching from the start, she thought. And he saw what I did to Vernon.

Rage filled her. Frenchman or treasonous American, he had no right to watch her sorcerers slowly learning the ropes. She reached out and ripped at the staircase, pulling it away from the wall and sending him plummeting towards the ground. He caught himself in midair - Gwen cursed inwardly as she realised the newcomer could fly - then launched himself back upwards as she pelted him with debris and fireballs, his magic crumbling the remainder of the staircase. Gwen tossed herself back up into the air and landed on the remainder of the roof, feeling her magic curling around her. Her opponent landed on the nearest building and tossed her a jaunty salute, then jumped to the next building. And then the next.

He wasn't flying, Gwen realised as she gave chase, even though he shouldn't have any problem taking to the air. She warned herself to be careful - Jack had lured her into a trap through allowing her to think she was running him down - but it looked as though her opponent was merely toying with her, rather than trying to fight or run. She hesitated, considering her options. Some of the nastier tricks she could do would inflict a great deal of harm on the city …

“
Stop,” Gwen said, lacing her voice with Charm. “No more magic.”

His legs quivered, but otherwise he showed no reaction to the Charm. Instead, he lifted his hand and sent a wave of powerful magic at her, knocking her back and over the far side of the rooftop. Gwen caught herself and flew around the building, hoping to catch him by surprise, but when she popped up onto the rooftop he was nowhere to be seen. She landed carefully, looking around for his hiding place, yet she saw nothing. Another metal staircase was clearly visible on the far side of the rooftop, leading down into a dark alleyway. Gwen braced herself, then dived down and landed neatly on the pavement. But there was still no sign of her mystery opponent.

Clever, she thought, ruefully.

She sniffed the air and instantly regretted it - the alleyway smelt worse than a London alleyway - but kept looking around anyway. There was nothing to be seen, save for a handful of metal dustbins and a pile of rags on the ground. A clattering noise caught her attention, but when she spun around it turned out to be nothing more than a cat, clambering onto one of the dustbins. She eyed the cat suspiciously for a long moment, then told herself not to be silly. Werewolves were one thing, but no magician could turn into a cat!

Impressive, she thought. She’d been bested - and that didn’t happen very often, certainly not by a single Mover. But he had to be very well trained, perhaps even trained to face her personally. His resistance to Charm had been strikingly powerful. Very impressive indeed.

She walked to the end of the alleyway, straining her senses for even the tiniest flicker of her enemy’s presence and scowled as she peered out onto the street. It was crammed; horses and carriages making their way up and down the street, pedestrians walking, newsboys shouting out something about an exclusive. Hardly any of them paid attention to Gwen ... and there was no sign of her enemy. He’d slipped into the crowds and vanished. She looked up, just to make sure he wasn't clinging to the nearest building, but saw nothing.

“Damn,” she said.

She turned and walked back into the alleyway, trying to make her way back to the Sorcerers Hall. New York was oppressive at ground level, the buildings looming over her and making her feel small. London had plenty of tenement blocks too, but they were a little more spread out, even in places where the landlords worked hard to extract every last penny from their tenants. The shadows rose and fell around her, her imagination filling in too many possibilities for what could be lurking in the darkness. She caught sight of a man lying on the ground, his hand clutching a bottle and braced herself, before realising that it was just a drunk sleeping it off. Shaking her head, she walked onwards. Had she really gone that far from Sorcerers Hall? Or had she taken a wrong turning ...?

The building came into view, just as she was considering taking to the air again. A gilded carriage was parked outside, guarded by a pair of men in army uniforms. They’d forsaken ceremonial garb, Gwen noted, as if they expected to go into battle at any time. That was not a reassuring sign. They eyed her doubtfully as she approached - God alone knew what they made of her - and then relaxed, slightly, as they recognised her.

“
Lady Gwen,” one said. “His Excellency is inside, waiting for you.”

Gwen blinked. The Viceroy had come to Sorcerers Hall? As informal as the Americas were, she rather doubted it. Normally, a politician would send a request to visit - which, of course, would not be denied. Just walking into her territory without permission was an insult and Viceroy Rochester hadn't struck her as the kind of man who would offer insult, not without due cause. He had too many problems keeping the snake pit of politics in line without insulting his allies from England.

“
Thank you,” she said, tartly. Now the thrill of the chase had worn off, she wanted a bath, a cup of tea and a quiet sit down. She had the nasty feeling she wasn’t going to get any of them. “I’ll see him inside, shall I?”

The mystery resolved itself as she stepped into the waiting room. Bruce Rochester, the Viceroy’s son, sat in the chamber, reading a newspaper and drinking a cup of tea. Gwen wondered why she hadn't considered the possibility, then remembered that she rarely dealt with the sons of powerful men. Lord Mycroft had no children, as far as she knew, and neither had Master Thomas. Although, admittedly, she’d often wondered if Jack had been Master Thomas’s son. He was definitely in the right age bracket.

“
Your Excellency,” Gwen said. As the Viceroy’s son, Bruce was entitled to the honorific as long as his father held the title. “What brings you to Sorcerers Hall?”

Bruce rose to his feet and bowed, formally. “My father requests your immediate presence, Lady Gwen,” he said. “I have a carriage waiting outside.”

Gwen thought fast. Rochester wouldn't have sent his son, of all people, to deliver a message unless it was so sensitive it couldn't be shared outside the family. But if all he wanted was for Gwen to attend upon him ... she shook her head. She was too tired to make sense of American politics, not now. Maybe she didn't have time for a bath - the message was clearly urgent - but at least she could splash some water on her face and have a quick word with Wayne.

“
I’ll be along in a moment,” she said. “I just have to use the facilities.”

The mischievous devil in her wanted to see his reaction, but Bruce showed no hint of any response to her words. He’d grown up at the centre of politics, she reminded herself as she headed for the door. Learning to conceal his emotions and verbally dissemble would have been hammered into him from the moment he could walk. She walked up the stairs, washed her face hastily and glanced into the mirror. Her face still looked tired, but at least she looked more composed.