“Make sure you eat at least one piece of fruit a day,” Jackson muttered, claiming the seat next to her. “You’ll need it to stay healthy.”
Gwen nodded, then looked at the Captain. He was carving a large piece of beef personally, while another officer in military uniform labelled out potatoes, vegetables and gravy. Gwen wondered, absently, just how it had been cooked so quickly. Magic? It was possible, she supposed, although she doubted a Blazer would waste his time cooking when there were far more important tasks to be done. Pushing the thought aside, she made a mental note to eat as much as she could. Later meals were unlikely to be anything like as good.
“Please, start eating,” Captain Bligh said, once everyone had been served. “I’m afraid the others will not be joining us for dinner.”
“Seasickness,” Jackson muttered.
“Quite,” Captain Bligh agreed. He raised his voice, slightly, as his passengers began to tuck in. “We will be rounding Dover this evening and hopefully linking up with the remainder of the convoy off the Lizard tomorrow morning, then setting sail for New York. As you are no doubt aware, that will be the last certain chance to mail a letter back to Britain. We may - I say again, we may - meet up with a mail packet during the voyage, but that is not guaranteed.”
Gwen nodded. The Royal Navy wanted to put Talkers on all of its ships, but there simply weren’t enough to go round. She was surprised, through, that this convoy had no Talker ... unless they expected her to play that role. But Lord Mycroft knew she couldn't push a message very far. Nor could Irene, for that matter. Her talents led themselves to mind-reading, not sending messages.
“If you want to send a message, please give it to the purser before we meet the remainder of the convoy,” Captain Bligh added. He paused. “There are also some other matters we need to discuss.”
And he wants us to eat and listen, Gwen thought. His own food is growing cold.
“The sailors have jobs to do,” Captain Bligh warned. “Please do not interrupt them while they are working, or enter their quarters without permission. I will not hesitate to put anyone - and I mean anyone - caught bothering the sailors in irons until we arrive in New York.”
Gwen wondered, inwardly, if he was bluffing. The passengers included aristocrats and senior military officers. Captain Bligh might have boundless authority during the voyage, but there would be consequences if he mistreated any of his passengers. Who knew which way the Admiralty would jump?
Particularly with Lord Nelson so keen to curry favour, she thought, grimly. It might have been better for him if he’d died as a young man, rather than remain in his post until he had become a national embarrassment. He might overrule Bligh even though he understands the importance of discipline at sea.
“We will get you to New York safely,” Bligh concluded. “Until then, please enjoy your dinner.”
Chapter Eight
Raechel sat on the deck, in the cabin she shared with Irene, meditating.
It was hard, very hard, to keep her thoughts from wandering. She was not a naturally contemplative person - she wanted to be doing something - and focusing her mind didn’t come easily to her. And the harder she tried, the harder it became to keep her thoughts under strict control. Forming a mental shield was one thing, but holding it in place was quite another.
Gwen had an unfair advantage, she thought, feeling a flicker of envy. She had to learn to keep her magic under control from a very early age.
She felt a tingle at the back of her mind and hardened her shield, holding it firmly in place as Irene probed her thoughts. Constant experience had made it easier for her to sense when her thoughts were being read, but it was still hard to keep her out. Her emotions leaked from behind the shield, bringing memories with them. Irene, in a reflective mood, had compared mind-reading to looking up items in an encyclopaedia. One thought led rapidly to another, which led to a whole string of memories. And false memories, she’d insisted, rarely had the taste of real memories.
“You’re doing better,” Irene said. “What were you doing with Captain Parker?”
Raechel clamped down on her thoughts, hard. The question had unleashed a flurry of memories - the airship captain kissing her, his hands stroking her breasts, Gwen bursting in on them - all of which would be read by Irene if she didn't keep them under control. She felt the tingle grow stronger, but somehow managed to keep her thoughts behind the shield. A second later, the tingle receded.
“That’s a dirty trick,” she muttered.
“It's amazing what an innocent question can do,” Irene pointed out, tartly. “And this is the perfect opportunity to work on your shields.”
Raechel nodded, reluctantly. After the brief excitement of rounding the Lizard and meeting up with the rest of the convoy, the days had started to blur together as soon as dry land was over the horizon. It was easy to believe that the convoy was all that remained of the world, that there was nothing beyond the horizon. How had Columbus managed it, she asked herself, as he’d cruised further and further into the unknown? There had been no way to know there was a great continent on the other side of the ocean.
“They knew the world was round,” Irene said. “They just thought they’d run into India if they kept going west.”
Raechel flushed. “Do you have to keep reading my thoughts?”
“You need to keep a shield in place at all times,” Irene told her. “There’s no way you can learn to master lying with your thoughts until you can keep an intruder out of your mind.”
“I know,” Raechel said. She rubbed her temple, wondering why she felt so tired. It wasn't as if she’d done much, apart from a daily walk around the deck. “But it doesn't seem to work for long.”
“You haven't mastered the art of keeping the shield in place,” Irene said. “It’s a matter of schooling your thoughts to keep moving in the same direction. Right now, even a minor Talker would be able to tell if you were lying, even if he couldn't read your thoughts.”
Raechel sighed. “How do we even know there will be a Talker watching me?”
Irene pointed a long finger at her. “Imagine yourself a government minister - or an underground mastermind,” she said. “Would you pass on the opportunity to watch your people for disloyalty?”
“But people will be nervous if they know their minds are going to be read,” Raechel pointed out. “Wouldn’t that skew the results?”
“Not really,” Irene said. “A person might be nervous about having his thoughts read, but it wouldn't read out as disloyalty.”
Raechel shuddered. She didn't think she wanted to work anywhere there was a prospect of having her thoughts read, but she had a feeling it was already too late. Did her uncle have his thoughts read regularly? Or were mental probes reserved for the lower-ranking officials in his department? Irene had told her, time and time again, that the best secret agents weren't the ones who strolled around as though they owned the place, but the ones who passed unnoticed. But Raechel had already learned that lesson from Gwen. Who would have imagined that the Royal Sorceress would pretend to be a maid?
The thought cheered her up, slightly. Practicing mediation was boring, but dressing up was fun, once she’d gotten over her first reaction. The trick, Irene had said, was never to lose sight of who you were pretending to be. It was hard, particularly when she posed as a lower-class woman, but she thought she was getting the hang of it. Passing as a man was far harder.
“Back to work,” Irene said, briskly. “We’ve got another three hours before dinner, so we may as well make the most of them.”
Raechel groaned. “You don’t have more to tell me?”
“I have plenty to tell you,” Irene said. She smirked. “Consider it incentive to learn how to hold a shield in place.”
The next two hours passed slowly, too slowly. Irene’s probes grew stronger as Raechel learned how to make a tougher shield, her questions becoming more intrusive in the hopes of provoking an emotional reaction. Raechel coul
dn't help wondering just what Irene had done, in the service of the British Crown, that had inspired some of the nastier questions. Raechel knew full well that she was hardly the ideal aristocratic daughter, let alone ward, but there were some lines she had never even considered crossing.
“You’re doing better,” Irene said. This time, Raechel kept the shield in place until she felt the questing probe. “It’s a pity you didn't start earlier, but your family has no history of magic.”
Raechel nodded, curtly. Aristocratic women - with a single exception - were expected to suppress their magic. As far as the outside world was concerned, Gwen was the sole female aristocrat with magic. In truth, Irene had pointed out, quite a few families quietly encouraged their daughters to develop their talents, intending to use them to enhance the family’s position. It was always an interesting guessing game, Raechel had learned from her aunt, to try and deduce which particular daughter might have a hint of magic.
Irene cleared her throat. “We may as well get ready for dinner,” she added. Raechel knew, perfectly well, that she didn't mean getting dressed. “What do you make of young Fredrick?”
“He’s a nice young man,” Raechel protested, careful to keep her mental shields firmly in place. Fredrick Hauser, the First Mate, had sat next to her at dinner every night for the last ten days. His conversation wasn't that interesting, she had to admit, but he was easy on the eye. “What about him?”
“He’s interested in you,” Irene said.
Raechel snorted. She’d known that with needing to read his mind. She just wasn't sure what to make of it. Fredrick was too young, really, to understand the thrill of a quick affair, unlike Captain Parker. Her cheeks heated at the memory. Captain Parker would have understood that the affair would have to come to an end, almost as soon as it had begun. Fredrick might not grasp that until it was too late to avoid a scandal.
“He is of aristocratic blood,” she said, dryly. The Hauser Family wasn't anything like as powerful as the Slater or Standish Families, but they were very definitely blue bloods with ties to the House of Hanover. “Aren't you supposed to be chaperoning me?”
“This squadron has secret orders,” Irene said, ignoring the question. “Orders that were not revealed to me, during my briefing. I want you to convince him to tell you what those orders are.”
Raechel gave her a sharp look. “Should we be trying to find out?”
“Anything someone feels like keeping a secret is worth knowing,” Irene said. She smiled, rather sardonically. “And besides, it’s a good test of your talents.”
“Oh,” Raechel said. “Is that all?”
Irene shrugged. “Anything we do here, onboard ship, can be contained, if something goes badly wrong,” she said. “Lady Gwen will help, if necessary. Her orders would supersede Bligh’s if magic was involved. Later, when we are in New York, it will be much harder to prevent disaster. Your cover might be blown completely.”
“I don’t have a cover,” Raechel protested.
“Yes, you do,” Irene said. She pointed a long finger at Raechel’s face. “You are the daughter of Lord Slater and the ward of Lord Standish, a pretty young heiress with nothing but wool between her ears. You have no experience of the ways of the world, no awareness of life outside your home and no understanding of men. That is what they expect you to be, Raechel, and that is the impression you are going to cultivate. People always talk much more openly when they think they can't be understood.”
Raechel scowled. “Is there no way I can be like Lady Gwen?”
“If you want to dominate the social scene by sheer force of personality, backed up by money, I suppose you could,” Irene snapped. “But if you want to get something useful done, it’s better to be underestimated. A naive young ingénue is so much more attractive to a man than a foul-mouthed woman who shows off her intelligence to all and sundry.”
“Fine,” Raechel said. “I’ll do what I can.”
She was almost relieved, an hour later, when the dinner bell rang and they made their way up to the officer’s mess. Gwen was already there, chatting to a young military officer about Russia and the Mad Tsar; she nodded politely to Raechel and Irene, then returned to her conversion. Raechel couldn't help wondering if Colonel Jackson was flirting with Gwen, even though she was the Royal Sorceress. They had certainly spent a great deal of time playing chess in the passenger’s lounge.
“Lady Raechel,” Fredrick said. He rose to pull a chair out for her. “I trust the day has gone well?”
“I have been sewing,” Raechel lied. Her mother - and then her aunt - had tried to insist that she learned how to sew, on the grounds it was a ladylike skill, but she hadn't had the patience to master it. “My chaperone has been feeling a little under the weather.”
She didn't miss the flicker of interest in Fredrick’s eyes, although she’d been careful to look for it. He was really too young to mask his emotions well, even though he had been a serving naval officer since he’d turned thirteen. The Royal Navy might allow aristocrats to purchase commissions, but even the scions of the richest and most powerful families had to start out as midshipmen. Lord Nelson had insisted on it, when he’d become First Lord of the Admiralty, and no one had the power to overrule him. The young men had to learn the basics before climbing to higher ranks.
And Fredrick wants a ship of his own, Raechel thought. He was young, but a good recommendation from his commander - and aristocratic backers - would put him in an excellent position to win command of one of the new ironclads. Or even a sailing ship, even though she wouldn't last five minutes against an ironclad. Maybe that’s why he’s interested in me.
Dinner was a quiet affair, as she’d expected; Captain Bligh led prayers, then chatted quietly to one of the military officers while eating. The food had grown progressively duller over the last few days, although Irene had insisted that she had to eat properly just so she could do her exercises in her cabin. Raechel doubted she would ever be a strong woman - Irene had told her that there were farmwives who were stronger than artillerymen - but she would have a surprise or two for anyone who tried to grab her. Concealing a knife in a dress was easier than it seemed.
“I need to go back to the cabin,” Irene said, when the main course was finished. “Take care to hurry back as soon as you can.”
Or don’t, Raechel thought. Technically, Irene was meant to be with her every time she set foot out of the cabin. There was no hope of a private conversation with Fredrick as long as Irene was nearby. But now ... Irene had left, just as she’d promised. I’m on my own.
She chatted to Fredrick, feeling her heart starting to pound in her chest. It had been easy enough to signal interest to Captain Parker, but Fredrick? She had no idea what he would make of any signals she sent, particularly while they were in the dining compartment. And he might want to go too far ... it was funny, part of her mind reflected, just how easy it had been to allow Parker to seduce her, back when there had been nothing at stake. Or she’d thought there was nothing. Gwen had snapped her out of it in more ways than one.
“I need to take a walk,” she said, as the dinner came to an end. “Would you care to accompany me?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Fredrick said. He held out a hand and Raechel took it, feeling oddly guilty. “Shall we walk the deck?”
Darkness was falling over the convoy as they walked onto the deck, broken only by lights mounted at each end of the vessel. Overhead, the stars were starting to come out, twinkling merrily in the dark sky. Fredrick had told her that sailors could navigate by the stars, but Raechel found it hard to believe. She’d never been encouraged to study astronomy when she’d been a little girl.
She looked at Fredrick, standing next to her, and felt another pang of guilt. But she knew what she had to do. “I’m not looking forward to New York,” she said, as a conversational opener. “It’s nothing like London, is it?”
“It’s very different in many ways,” Fredrick said. He hadn't let g
o of her hand. “What do you want to do when you’re there?”
“I’ll probably be kept in the house,” Raechel said. “Lady Irene took me as a favour to my family, but she doesn't have any obligations beyond escorting me to New York. I don’t know anyone there.”
“You know me,” Fredrick said. “I should be around.”
Raechel looked at him. “I thought the convoy was going back to Britain,” she said. “Isn't it?”
“The freighters will be, once the next set of escorts is assembled,” Fredrick said. They reached the railing and stared into the darkness. Faint lights bobbled in the distance, marking the position of the other ships. “I’m not so sure about the warships, or the troopships. We were told to assume that we would be spending a year on station.”
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