“Yes,” Ellen said. She never required lengthy explanations. She swung her feet, her bare toes peeking out from under the skirt. “This is a nice town.” She looked out at Jefferson Street, where the gas lamps were beginning to glow. The sound of children playing carried in the soft air. “I wish you weren’t going to England.”
“Yes, well.” Jack stared out at the street. Ellen was leaving for Wisconsin the next day, and probably wouldn’t be back in the fall. “You’re going away also, and I don’t even know if you’ll be back.”
“I know,” she said.
And then Becka was there. “Would you like something else to drink, Ellen?”
“No.” Ellen rose to her feet. “I’ve got to get going. I’ve still got some packing to do. Thanks for having me over, Ms. Downey. Dinner was great. I hope you have a wonderful summer.”
Jack walked her down the steps and into the shadows at the side of the porch.
Ellen took his hands in hers. “Good-bye, Jack. Be careful.”
She released him, but Jack grabbed her wrist and pulled her back toward him. Drawing her in close, he tilted her face up and kissed her. Their first real kiss, and he didn’t want it to be their last, so he kissed her again, taking his time, wondering why he’d waited so long.
When finally he broke away, Ellen stayed in place, eyes closed, face turned up. As if she wanted to prolong it, too.
Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “Bye, Ellen. I’ll e-mail you when I get there.”
She swallowed hard, then turned away. Jack watched as she moved across the lawn, her white sweater pale against the darkness until she turned the corner.
Chapter Twelve
A Visit with Dr. Longbranch
Linda had booked rooms for herself, Jack, and Becka in a small, elegant hotel on Thurloe Place, near the Victoria and Albert Museum and Kensington Gardens. Jack’s room was bright and airy, and opened out onto a garden. He threw open the garden doors and breathed deeply. Roses. He slid the bag with the sword in it under his bed, laid wards along the perimeter of the room, and collapsed, exhausted, on the bed.
From the time the plane had landed, he had been overwhelmed with a feeling of homecoming, although he’d never been to England before. From the street signs to the buses to the greenery to the architecture, everything was uncannily familiar. What was more disconcerting was the constant murmuring, a cacophony of voices of the Weirlind long dead. They were everywhere, calling from church graveyards and gardens and old buildings. “Welcome the warrior,” they whispered. He had begun to understand what Nick meant by noise. He hardly felt he’d slipped into town unnoticed.
Once they were unpacked, he and Becka had lunch in the hotel dining room. Linda had other business to take care of, she’d said. Although they had traveled all night, Becka was full of plans. “Harrods is just up the street, so we’ll have to go there. We can walk over to Kensington Palace, and you can see the gardens and the Serpentine, and walk along Rotten Row.” She waved her fork in the air. “Then, tomorrow we’ll go over to Buckingham Palace in the morning, and maybe see the Tower in the afternoon.” She grinned wickedly. “I think you’ll like that.”
“Sounds great, Mom.” After all that had happened, Jack was genuinely looking forward to being a tourist.
He and Becka toured Kensington and Knightsbridge that afternoon, and all three spent the next day seeing tourist London: Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, Trafalgar Square and the Tower.
Jack found Westminster Abbey exhausting, and not because of jet lag. They began their tour in the shrine of Edward the Confessor. A sour-looking cleric delivered a rather long, boring speech about the history of the church, while ghost warriors drifted above his head and shoulders, gesturing urgently to Jack. Their voices echoed against stone like a tuneless choir. They trailed him through the Lady Chapel, where were buried the three great female adversaries of Tudor times: Elizabeth I, Mary Tudor, and Mary, Queen of Scots. PARTNERS BOTH IN
THRONE AND GRAVE, HERE REST WE TWO SISTERS, ELIZABETH AND MARY, IN THE HOPE OF THE RESURRECTION.
Jack paused at the tombs of Henry the VII and Elizabeth of York. Their marriage had ended the War of the Roses. Officially, at least. Here the Weirlind became almost frantic. A gaunt ghost soldier seized Jack by the arm. His gray flesh was nearly translucent. A great gash beneath his chin stretched from ear to ear.
“Beware, Warrior!” he intoned, reminiscent of Caesar’s ghost. “Beware the Ghyll!”
Jack allowed Becka and Linda to get a little ahead of him, then spun around and hissed, “Will you leave me in peace?”
“Beware, Warrior!” the ghost repeated. “They’ll pin a rose on your breast, the White of York or the Red of Lancaster, and send ye out to the butcher’s field!”
“Look, I have no intention of fighting anybody,” Jack retorted, then clamped his mouth shut. An overweight couple in matching Bermuda shorts and tank tops was staring at him. One of them raised a digital camera and snapped his picture.
“Jack, will you come on?” Becka stood framed in the entrance of the Lady Chapel, tapping her foot impatiently. “You’ve been totally distracted today!”
“Sorry.” Jack followed her toward the front of the sanctuary. “After lunch, do you think we could go someplace where there aren’t so many ghosts?”
“Beware!” the ghost called after him. If he’d had a chain, he would have rattled it.
For the next several days, they immersed themselves in London. They went to the theater, ate in pubs and Indian restaurants, and took the train to Kew Gardens. There was a full-day tour to Bath and Salisbury Cathedral and Stonehenge. Stonehenge turned out to be another spot that spoke to Jack.
Jack shopped for a gift for Ellen, a British football club jersey. Manchester United or Chelsea? He bought both. He labored over a postcard for an hour. Wrote “Hope you’re having fun!” and scratched it out. Finally sketched out a brief list of sights they’d seen and ended with, “Miss you. Wish you were here.” He posted it to her Trinity address, hoping her parents would forward it. He e-mailed her from an Internet cafe, but got no response.
Becka had scheduled an appointment for Jack with Jessamine Longbranch on their last day in London. Both Linda and Jack were trying not to think about it, but it came quickly nonetheless. The night before the appointment, they had dinner at a Thai restaurant in Knights-bridge. Lost in worry, Linda and Jack had little to say. Finally, over dessert, Linda convinced Becka to take a tour to the William Morris Gallery while Linda took Jack to his appointment. It was sorcery, plain and simple. But they both felt better with Becka out of danger.
The next morning Jack and Linda took the underground to St. James Park. Longbranch’s offices were in Westminster, near Parliament Square. All the way there, Linda second-guessed their decision to keep the appointment, even after they’d exited the train and left the stale air of the underground station behind. Linda was sure Dr. Longbranch would contact Becka to reschedule if they didn’t show. The next time it might be Becka and Jack alone.
The building was ancient, and the elevator was only a little less so, but Dr. Longbranch’s offices were elegantly appointed, with expensive fabrics and antique furniture. The receptionist offered them tea, which they declined. They were the only ones in the waiting room. Soon, a nurse led them to an exam room. It was really more of an office, without the cold medical feel Jack was used to in American clinics. The nurse weighed him in his sock feet, then directed Jack to take off his shirt and sit up on the exam table. Jack removed both shirt and vest and set them next to him on the table.
He glanced down at himself. The star-shaped surgical scar gleamed faintly over his breastbone. He realized he must look pretty pale. His chest had not seen the sun all summer. Linda seemed even more unsettled, seeing the changes in him, the muscles that stood out along his arms and across his chest. She paced nervously.
Finally, Jessamine Longbranch swept into the room. She was dressed in silk trousers and an elegant sweater, a pristine white
lab coat over top, that unusual stethoscope draped around her neck. She was carrying a folder, his file, he assumed. It struck Jack that she didn’t look any older, but then he remembered that wizards don’t show their age like other people.
She stopped just in front of Jack and looked him up and down, holding the folder close to her chest. “Well, Jackson,” she said, drawing out his name. “I do believe you’ve grown.” Something in the way she said it made him feel even more self-conscious than before. She glanced at Linda. “Becka couldn’t come? That’s too bad.”
She kept talking as she examined him, her fingers full of power, sending off tiny electrical shocks as they touched his skin. He flinched and gritted his teeth. “Now, don’t tense up, Jack. That’s better. I understand this is your first trip to London? I hope your mother and aunt have been showing you around?”
Jack nodded, then gasped as she ran her hot hands over the muscles in his back. “Ah ...we’ve seen a lot in a short time,” he managed to say. “I’m really enjoying it.” He didn’t remember his previous sessions with Longbranch as being quite so physical.
“As you should,” said the doctor. “Land of your ancestors, I believe? Have you been to the Tower? Thrilling, really. All those stories of torture and murder.” Dr. Longbranch kept up a constant stream of conversation, asking questions about their stay in London as she checked Jack’s blood pressure and pressed her strange stethoscope against his chest. She had him jump down from the table and walk across the room and back, watching him, arms folded, as he did so. The exam took longer than usual, but he told himself that perhaps it was because he had come such a long way to see the her. She’d never shown nearly so much interest in him before. Finally, the doctor stepped back and looked him up and down approvingly. “You’re in great shape, Jack. Tell me, when did you stop taking your medicine?”
She snapped out the question, and it took Jack by surprise, like a quick blade under the ribs, as Nick would say.
It took him a moment to respond. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.
Linda spoke up. “Jack and Becka have always been very good about following instructions, Jessamine.” Her face had lost its color.
“Is that so, Linda? I was thinking Jack here looks like someone who likes to break the rules. Have you ever heard of the White Rose?” Another quick blade, but this time Jack was better prepared for it. He considered a moment, then said, “Wasn’t that a battle emblem in the War of the Roses? York carried the white rose, Lancaster the red.”
“Very good!” She moved to the side of the examination table and ran her fingertips lightly across his shoulder. He tensed as the current went through him. She didn’t seem to be making any attempt to blunt its effects. “You’ve been studying your history. There’s a great deal of history in this part of the world. Much more than most people realize. And your family has been in the thick of it, did you know that?” Now she was stroking him, petting him like a dog. “I think it’s time you became better acquainted with it. I know some people who can teach you.” The change in her voice warned him, and he was prepared for the charm when it came. She spoke it quickly, tightening her fingers on the back of his neck, a simple immobilization charm. He spoke the counter charm under his breath before she could complete it. Then he stilled himself, looking as immobile as he could. He didn’t have to pretend to be frightened.
“Jessamine, what the hell are you doing?” Linda’s voice was sharp.
“I must tell you, this is a wonderful surprise,” Jessamine said. “I thought it would take months to get him into fighting condition, and now I find you’ve done it for me.”
“Listen to me,” Linda said urgently, persuasively. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but he’s just a boy. The only reason he’s alive today is because he’s been hidden. As soon as the Red Rose finds out about him, he’ll be a target.”
Jessamine laughed. “He doesn’t look like a boy to me. He has gained six inches in height and forty-five pounds since my last exam, and it’s all muscle. He’s breathtaking.” Her voice hardened. “You do remember our bargain, don’t you? It’s time to give him up, Linda. We need to begin his training. We really haven’t any choice. I would have come after him in Trinity had you not arranged to bring him to me here. The Red Rose has called a tournament for Midsummer’s Day.” She paused. “It appears they will put forward a champion.”
“That’s impossible!” Linda exclaimed. “How could they have managed that? You would have known about it before now.”
“We are working on locating and eliminating their player,” Dr. Longbranch said coldly. “But we cannot exclude the possibility that we will fail. If we cannot answer the challenge, we will forfeit. And that will not happen.” She smiled. “If we succeed in taking their player, the Red Rose will forfeit. And even if the tournament goes forward, perhaps Jack will win. I must admit, I’m optimistic now that I’ve seen him in the flesh.”
“He can’t possibly be prepared for a tournament by Midsummer’s Day,” Linda persisted. “He doesn’t know anything about fighting.”
The doctor tapped her long nails against his shoulder. “He was born to this, Linda. He’ll figure it out. My trainers can bring out the killer in anyone. I just hope they don’t damage this beautiful body too much.” She must have seen some reaction to that in Jack’s face, because she cupped her hand under his chin and turned his face to look at her. “Don’t be frightened, my mongrel. I know you’ll catch on fast.” She eyed him speculatively. “They say a mixed breed is often stronger than its parents. I wonder if he’ll pass down the warrior stone to his offspring. An interesting question.”
She went on, as if thinking aloud, “Perhaps if he survives the tournament, we’ll breed him. Would you like that, Jack?” she asked, as if she were offering him a treat for rolling over. Jack was mortified. He felt the blood rush to his face, and then she said, “Look, he’s blushing.” As if he were a cute puppy.
Jack looked at his aunt, sending her a desperate message. Let’s get out of here.
“That’s enough, Jessamine,” Linda warned. She nodded slightly to Jack, and he slid his hips to the edge of the table.
Dr. Longbranch was speaking rapidly now, all business, focusing on Linda. “Here is the story. Unfortunately, Jack either slipped or jumped into the Thames from Westminster Bridge shortly after his appointment with me. You saw him fall. There will be several other witnesses. I recollect that he seemed preoccupied, depressed when I examined him. The body will never be found. You will convince your sister of this. Do you understand me?”
It was clear that Jessamine had little interest in whether the story stuck or not. “Actually, I had rather hoped Becka might come to the appointment with Jack. We’ve found that the presence of family members can be very motivating during training. Well, no matter. I have some people here who will take him north and work with him intensively until the tournament. Then there’s the matter of locating a suitable blade.”
Linda nodded at Jack over Dr. Longbranch’s shoulder, an almost imperceptible movement. Jack pressed his fingers against the surgeon’s collarbone and released power into her, knocking her to the floor.
Jack shoved his feet into his shoes and yanked his vest on over his head. He jumped from the table, and the two of them raced back down the hallway toward the reception area. They burst into the elegant waiting room to find the receptionist gone and two bulky-looking men leafing through magazines. Jack’s escorts, apparently. Wizards, certainly. The two men looked up as if surprised, and Jack said, “I left my sword outside,” and he and Linda walked swiftly past them and out the door into the corridor. Jack hoped the wizards would go back to see what had happened to the doctor, which might buy them some time.
But when they opened the accordion doors to the elevator, the car wasn’t there. They could hear it toiling somewhere far below. He knew his simple charm wouldn’t keep Dr. Longbranch down for long.
“The stairs!” Jack exclaimed. Jessamine’s o
ffice was on the ninth floor. They took the stairs, two at a time, careening across the narrow landings, flinging themselves around corners. Jack was acutely conscious of the sound of the elevator laboring in the shaft next to the stairwell.
They reached the ground floor just in time to see Dr. Longbranch and the wizards of the White Rose exiting the elevator. Jack and Linda charged for the front door, which burst into flames in front of them. Throwing their arms over their faces, they plunged into the flames and through them, and out into the fresh air.
They were on Victoria Street, just off Parliament Square. “Head for the river!” Linda hissed. The sidewalk was packed with tourists and government workers out for their lunch hour. When Jack looked back, the doorway was still in flames, but none of the Anaweir seemed to notice. Some looked curiously at Jack, who was pulling his sweatshirt on over his vest. They melted into the crowds taking photographs of Big Ben and the Westminster Bridge. Westminster Bridge! The site of the accident Dr. Longbranch had planned for him.
They kept moving with the crowds toward the water. Should they cross the river? Hide in a building? Only, Jack didn’t know the area and was afraid of being trapped. He was leaning in to ask Linda what she thought when something hit him hard in the chest, sending him flying to the pavement. He sat up in time to see the two wizards from the waiting room running toward them. They had aimed at Linda, and Jack had stepped into the way at the last minute. Once again, his vest had turned the blow.
Linda helped Jack to his feet and they ran a zigzag across the square, keeping close together. The wizards fired only when they thought they had a clear shot at Linda. It seemed they meant to take Jack alive. The two groups caused a kind of ripple as they moved through the crowd. There were no weapons in evidence, so there was no panic, but people had to scramble to get out of the way of the pursued and pursuers. Someone shouted at them as they passed, “Watch where you’re going, you bloody idiots!”
The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III Page 21
