The Spellbinder (Tom & Laura Series), page 6
“Let Laura be, George,” her mother said, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “She always has her reasons.”
“It was an attack, an enemy attack aimed at me.”
Laura’s father grew red in the face, angry at Laura’s impertinence. Laura wondered why he still became so angry. She thought he should be used to it by now.
“One hundred and thirty seven people dead, just to try and kill you?”
“I am a Class A, Father. Sir Ernest told me himself.”
The room fell silent for a few moments and then George Young closed the morning room door to address his daughter and wife in private. He had a worried look on his face.
“I have feared that for some time. You should not have announced it where the servants might hear.” He took his daughter by the shoulders and pulled her towards him, squeezing her tight. “I had hoped to keep you for another year.”
“I am sorry, Father. It wasn’t my idea.”
“We must sort your clothing,” her Mother said, turning away so her daughter should not see her tears. “We must do it quickly, as they will be coming for you in the morning. I shall get Cunningham to get your father’s travelling case down from the loft. There is so much to do.”
Laura managed to extricate herself from her Father’s grasp and went to cuddle her Mother. “I’m so sorry, Mother. I shall do my best to stay alive.”
“You had better, young lady,” her Father said gruffly behind her. “Or I shall give you such a whipping when you get home.”
Daughter and mother smiled through tears at the magnificent illogic of his statement.
Tom returned to find his school a dark and lonely place. The death of Carmichael cast a shadow over its pupils and the staff, and in some strange way the other students seemed to blame him for it. They shunned him when he tried to talk to them.
Just before he retired to his bed, there was a knock at the door and his tutor Mr. McCain entered the room and shook his hand. Mr. McCain told him that he had assessed Tom as a worthy student and was sure he would do well wherever he went.
As Tom shook his tutor’s hand, he detected that Mr. McCain had a tumor growing near the heart. Tom had never been able to do such a thing before. Without a moment’s hesitation or a sign to Mr. McCain he destroyed the tumor as they talked. It left him weak and a little giddy, but he managed to avoid his tutor noticing.
Tom sat alone in the dorm room for a long time before gathering up his meager possessions, most still in the large travelling case that he had brought them in. By the time he went to bed, he had convinced himself he had imagined the healing magic he’d used, as it seemed so unlikely.
Tom stayed awake for most of the night. In the morning he found a cab waiting for him, transport Trelawney had arranged to take him to the railway station.
Snood fretted as he waited in the King’s Tavern in Soho for his controller. Why did the blasted man want to see him now? He was pretty sure he had not being followed, but to meet so soon after the attack on the Spellbinder and Carter seemed unnecessarily stupid.
He nursed a glass of warm beer close to his chest. He could smell the living yeast in it. It formed a thick frothy edge against the mottled pint glass. Someone played a concertina on the other side of the room and he suspected a floozy must be giving some kind of performance from the clapping, yells and other appreciative noises. Public display of the female body was illegal, but such behavior was ignored by the constabulary in this part of London.
He was so lost in thought that he failed to notice the man sidle onto the bench across the table from him. It was his controller, hat pulled down and collar up so that little could be seen of his face. Snood wanted to laugh. He knew exactly who this man was and whom he worked for. But he found it safest to humor the idiot and pretend he didn’t have a clue.
“Wolves run in this inclement weather.”
‘God. The man is going through the password sequence as if I don’t recognize him,’ Snood thought. It was going to be difficult to keep the contempt from his voice. “But only in the North of England, I think.”
His controller smacked the table with the flat of his hand. “Good man. Despite your failure to deal with Carter we are quite pleased with the overall result. It was a shame to lose Carmichael, but you cannot make an omelet and so on. The operation of the bind proved most excellent. A field test in London with the authorities on alert and they still lost almost two hundred people at the last count. You have massively increased its value on the black market.”
“But how did they escape, the Spellbinder and Carter? You told me the bind was infallible!” There was real anger in Snood’s voice. He still wanted that Spellbinder, whoever he was. He wanted him dead.
“The Spellbinder is a Class A. Do you realize how rare they are, oh, of course you would. You are merely a Grade 2, aren’t you?”
“Grade 3,” Snood snarled. “The test was rigged and the man who did it didn’t care for my background.”
His controller dismissed Snood’s anger with a wave of his hand.
“Yes, well, I don’t think we care much, one way or the other. The point is, she is a Class A.” the man paused for emphasis, “And you are going to be her teacher.”
“What?”
“Yes, apparently you impressed Trelawney in your interview and he wants you down at Hobsgate. He has played right into our hands. He has asked the Education Ministry and MM1 to release you and transfer you to MM3 to teach the girl. We are most pleased by this development.” The little man was grinning. “You get to turn the little Class A, Spellbinder to our cause. She will end up working for us.”
“I want to turn her head a full circle, just after I stick a knife in her elly and rip out her womb before her eyes!”
The little man looked shocked. “You will not. This is an order from the very top. The girl will be turned to work for us. If she cannot be turned, we will kidnap her and sell her to the highest bidder. Alive, Snood, alive! Even as a slave, just as a breeder with her hands amputated so she can’t bind, a Class A is worth a fortune in the world market. China and Russia would pay us amounts beyond your imagination.”
“She should be dead,” Snood stated flatly.
“And we don’t know why she isn’t. Trelawney knows, but his secretary put the note in the wrong pile and it was burnt as waste. He yelled at her for half an hour over that. You should have heard him. ‘Belinda you are a halfwit’ he said and that was his mildest statement.” The little man giggled at the memory. Then he became serious.
“You must not attack her or Carter. He will be at the school too. This is the first time we have been able to get an agent into Hobsgate in a senior position and we must make it count. The Headmaster is a Spellbinder and is getting on in years. You could be his natural heir, if you act well.”
“So I can’t even punish her?”
“Oh, you can whip her to your heart’s content, especially if it makes her more malleable. Nevertheless, you must have a reason, Snood. Something you can tell the Headmaster to explain your actions. I’m sure you will think of appropriate reasons. However, do not damage her hands. She will need them if we turn her. And do not do anything that might kill her.”
Snood smiled as he considered the new situation. He was getting a promotion, well deserved, of course, and a chance to practice long-term torture on the Spellbinder. She was a girl too, maybe even pretty. This was going to be fun. He looked at Saunders and saw his ridiculous moustache poking through his pulled up collar and nodded. How could he imagine that Snood had not seen through his pathetic disguise at the outset? The man was a fool, but he did have his uses.
Chapter 9 The Journey
Of all the wars that have been fought using Spellbinders, none has been so dramatic or overwhelmingly effective as the war of 1850 between the Empire and the United States of America.
Some do not even regard it as a war as it was fought and lost in a single battle. The Battle of New York was a hopeless mismatch. 50,000 USA troops engaged with 5,000 British troops and one Class A Spellbinder. The USA were defeated, over 42,000 of their men killed with not a single casualties on the British side. All down to the efforts of one Class A Spellbinder, Albert Jones.
- from A Short History of Military Magics by Sir Anthony Barrett
Laura said goodbye to each of the servants in turn, shaking the hands of the men and boys while kissing each of the women and girls on the cheek. The servants had moved with them from the country to the city and she’d grown up with them all. She turned to her Mother and Father who stood stiffly beside the trunk she’d spend all the previous evening packing. It wasn’t done to show too much emotion in the New Victorian age and she took her Father’s hand and curtseyed before him.
“I will try to be as good as I usually am,” she said demurely.
“Then God help MM3,” her Father said vehemently. He then pulled her tight to him, trapping her in a bear hug.
“Not in the street,” his wife admonished quietly and he let Laura go, but not before giving her an extra hard squeeze.
“Don’t ever change,” he whispered as he put her down.
Laura heard the sound of hooves on cobbles and saw a hansom cab approach. The driver pulled up in front of her and two of the servants lugged her trunk onto the luggage rack at its rear. The driver of the cab looked remarkably well dressed for a London cabby. He caught her intent stair and made a small bow.
“Trelawney sends only the best to look after his special charges, Miss. Charles Drake at your service.”
Laura looked at the dark interior of the cab and made a decision. “May I sit up alongside you, sir? If this is to be my last sight of London I would like to make the most of it.”
“Laura…,” her mother said in an outraged tone before Drake could answer. Her Father laughed.
Drake considered her request for a few seconds.
“I don’t see why not. You’ll be no more vulnerable out here than in there. If you can climb up here in that skirt you are more than welcome to do so.”
Laura embraced her mother. “Got to go. I’m not sure they will let me write, but if they do, I will. Goodbye Mother.”
Before her Mother could react, she climbed up to sit behind the driver and shook the reins the driver was holding loosely. His horse obediently trotted down the road.
“I don’t remember inviting you to drive,” Drake murmured.
“Would you rather we stayed and listed to my Mother’s blubbing?”
“Taking your point, Miss,” Drake said and he urged his horse to go a little faster as a loud wail started up behind them.
Laura found to her surprise that the streets looked different from her higher vantage point, somehow brighter and cleaner. She began to relax, enjoying the sights and sounds of early morning London.
“I’m taking you to Paddington Station, Miss. I understand the young man you’re travelling with has been given your tickets and travel instructions. We will meet him there.”
“Please call me Laura, Mister Drake. Are you an agent too?”
Drake laughed. “I’m a bit too old for that sort of thing, but in my prime I spied on the USA. Got out shortly after 1850. A lot of them couldn’t forgive us for what we did to them.”
“Something happened in 1850?” History was not one of Laura’s best subjects and she had been only six that year.
Drake snorted. “You could say that. They went to war to try and take the northern territories from us, places like New York and Boston that they’d lost in 1812. We had Albert Jones on our side and he destroyed them.”
“Jones was a Class A,” Laura said quietly. It wasn’t the man’s real name, she knew, but his classification reminded her of her fate.
“Something you’d know all about,” Drake said equally quietly.
Laura looked at him in surprise. “I think that’s supposed to be a secret.”
“Which is why everyone knows. You’ll be safe at Hobsgate. As safe as anywhere else, that is.”
“Hobsgate is the name of the training school we are going to?”
Drake laughed. “Typical of Trelawney not to tell you its name. I have no doubt the man collects his piss in bottles. Pardon my language, Miss…err, Laura.”
“Where is Hobsgate, do you know?”
“Nobody knows. At least nobody is supposed to know. Maybe you’ll find out when get there.”
There were electric trams on the street when they entered the city proper. They had replaced similar horse drawn vehicles a few years earlier. Laura felt a sense of urgency about the city as people rushed to make their way to work. Street sellers called out their wares and the first edition of the morning paper was being sold by shouting boys.
Whatever the boys were shouting was incomprehensible to Laura. She looked down as a motor car tried to pass them. Cars were ugly dirty devices and she hoped they would never catch on, but in her heart, she knew it was already too late and soon they would be a common sight. Judging by the words Drake shouted as his horse shied, she was not the only one who had a low opinion of them.
When they reached Paddington, Laura was bustled out of the cab and into the station. Her trunk was loaded onto a trolley and Drake took her to a train where Tom stood waiting for her. He waved as soon as she came into sight.
Paddington station was the height of modernity having been built by the world famous engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel only a few years before. There was even an underground railroad just outside to take people into the center of the city.
Laura was fascinated by the energy in the station, only a couple of years ago the steam and smoke from the engines would have been unbearable. However, Prince Albert had decided that something should be done to stop London’s black smog’s. In a move that was unpopular with businesses he had encouraged Parliament to pass laws to decrease pollution and the effects had been dramatic. The opposition was pledged to repeal the laws on claims they made the country uncompetitive, but Laura found herself siding with the Prince.
Tom had been given a large envelope containing their travel warrants, which gave the holders the right to travel anywhere by rail at any time in any class of seat they chose. There was also a letter signed by Trelawney setting out where they must change trains. There were to be four changes in all.
The journey was wonderful at the start. The train they were in used wide gauge rails, Brunel’s personnel choice of seven feet, which was twice as wide as the trains run by his competitor, George Stephenson. This meant that the carriages were impressively wide. Monster steam engines pulled them and the extra width gave Tom the impression he was travelling in a house rather than a carriage.
Parliament had recently ruled against this gauge of track and eventually these trains would become a legend, but for now they were the kings of the railroad.
Tom and Laura had a glorious breakfast as the country rushed by them, but it was not long before they had to change trains, and with the change went the space and the luxury.
On their second change and very much later in the day, they found themselves in the company of another. The dirty little compartment they occupied had benches stretched across its width with doors on each side of the carriage. Laura began to wish she had used the toilet earlier as it looked as though the method here involved lowering a door window and hanging her posterior out of it. It was as undignified as it was dangerous and not something she wanted to do, let alone in the presence of the man they shared the carriage with. She crossed her legs and prayed that the journey would end soon.
Their companion was a handsome man in his early twenties who introduced himself to them as Bruno Schubert. Rather against the fashions of the time, he was clean-shaven. He put on a pair of elegant ‘pins nez’ to read his copy of ‘The London Times’ as soon as the train left the station.
It was getting dark outside and Bruno switched on the compartment lights. The lighting changed in intensity as the train speeded up and slowed down, which made Tom feel uncomfortable. He wondered again what was wrong with gas and oil.
Tom could not help but notice that Bruno had no middle or third fingers on his right hand. He sat next the man while facing Laura. Tom and Bruno occasionally bumped together as the train moved and he felt a strong urge to re-grow the man’s fingers, which was a ridiculous thought as no Healer could do such a thing.
Bruno put his paper on his lap and looked at Laura. Laura felt uncomfortable as his gaze lingered a little too long on the region of her breasts before returning to her face.
“So, young lady, how does it feel to be travelling alone?” Bruno asked.
“I am not travelling alone. Tom is with me.”
“So, you are a girl travelling with a male child, whatever are you British thinking of?”
“You are not British, sir?” Laura asked. The man’s accent was flawless. She would have thought him to be from one of the better families of London or Oxford. He sneered in his reply, “No I am not British. I am your enemy.”
Time seemed to stand still. It was such a ridiculous thing for someone to say while travelling through the peaceful backwaters of rural England.
Bruno put his hand into his jacket and took out a revolving pistol, which he pointed at Laura. He stood up, putting his back against the compartment door, a sneer despoiling his handsome face.
Laura had never seen such a pistol before. The cold-blued steel of the barrel caught her eyes in its mesmeric movements, the dark hole in its center seemed to pull at her and she could almost feel the concussion of the bullet that would end her life. She knew she had to think, but the gun sucked the thoughts out of her brain before she could think them
Tom got to his feet at the same time as Bruno and stood in the space between the seats, waiting for a suitable moment to jump at the man. He knew he would have to prevent Bruno shooting Laura even if the cost was to be his own life. He had no idea what to say.
