“She’s quite a curious specimen,” Gregory said. “We found her on the streets, running her own gang of youths. They were all terrified of her, not without reason. It took fifty men to exterminate them and take her alive.”
He barked a command in Russian. The cell door was opened and the girl dragged out by two of the guards. She made no attempt at resistance. All she did was smile at them, as if her mind was gone. The guards still seemed nervous even to touch her, as if they were handling a poisonous snake or something that might explode at any second. Up close, she smelt of blood and shit and piss, just like someone from the streets of London. Olivia shuddered, remembering that she too had smelt like that, once upon a time.
“Her powers are odd,” Gregory continued. “When we had her here, she actually started to influence the guards. Some of them were made to commit embarrassing acts for her amusement, others were forced to wound themselves or even attack their fellows. Even drugged, she has an influence on the world around her. We don’t understand why.”
Olivia shivered, remembering one of the few times she’d seen Gwen genuinely angry. Two of the boys from Cavendish Hall had been caught in one of the local opium dens, drugged to the eyeballs and their powers spinning out of control. Doctor Norwell had speculated, afterwards, that perhaps they could unlock deeper magic through using drugs to decouple a person’s mind from reality, but Gwen had forbidden all such experiments. Perhaps, she wondered as the girl was hustled down the corridor, she was seeing the result of something similar.
The whispering at the back of her head suddenly grew louder as they stepped into a room holding one of the undead, locked in a cage. Olivia’s vision seemed to blur for a long moment, giving her the odd sense that she was looking at herself through the eyes of one of the undead; she staggered and almost hit the floor. Ivan caught her, then looked over at Gregory and the guards. The girl was being pushed into the cage.
Olivia saw her chance and reached out with her mind, trying to trigger the undead into action. It lunged forward with terrifying speed, ignoring the girl in its desperate haste to get at the guards. Two of them were ripped apart within seconds, but the remaining guards ran forward and used prods to shove the undead back into the cage. Olivia moaned in pain as the beast howled in rage, then fell on the girl. There was a long moment when the girl seemed to be trying to hold it back, before the undead lunged at her. The girl’s neck was rapidly bitten and she sank to the floor, dying.
“Take control of her,” Gregory ordered. He knew that she could control the undead, at least to some extent. “Take control of her and use her powers.”
Olivia hesitated, then forced her mind into the girl’s body. The dark power that lay behind Necromancy was already spreading through her, an infection that drew on her remaining life force and used it to convert her into one of the undead. There was a sudden surge of thoughts and feelings – the girl had flown once, Olivia realised – and then there was nothing, but the darkness of death ... and the feelings of the undead. The girl pulled herself to her feet and stared at her captors, now on the other side of the bars. Olivia saw herself looking at her and felt her head swimming.
“Use her powers,” Gregory ordered. “Make her do something.”
Olivia tried, but she honestly wasn’t sure what she was doing. And what was the girl, anyway? Influencing people suggested a Charmer – there were Charmers in many criminal gangs, pulling the strings from behind the scenes – but the way she’d used her powers was nothing like Ivan or any of the other Charmers she had met. And if she’d flown ... it suggested multiple powers. And multiple powers meant a Master Magician.
She couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh.
“And what,” Gregory demanded, “is so funny?”
He pulled at her, yanking her around to face him. “Why are you laughing?”
“It tickles when I try to use her powers,” Olivia lied. She was tempted to throw their own failure in their face – if they’d had a female Master Magician, they could have kept her drugged while they impregnated her and took the children away to be indoctrinated – but she suspected it would merely result in another beating. “I can’t handle them properly.”
“Try again,” Gregory said. There was a desperate note in his voice that surprised her as he looked over at Ivan, “Make her try again.”
Ivan stepped forward, his face reluctant. “Try again,” he ordered. Charm ran through his voice, but it wasn’t as strong as Olivia had feared. He could have made her do anything, yet he seemed curiously reluctant to push her as hard as he could. “Please. Try again.”
Olivia tried to resist, but she was tired, so tired. She closed her eyes and peered through the girl’s eyes, distressed at just how easy it had become to possess one of the undead and even influence it. The younger the corpse, part of her noted, the easier it was to take control. But, no matter how she tried, it seemed impossible to use the girl’s magic. And yet there was an odd hint it should be possible.
“It won’t work,” she said, as she opened the eyes. She could feel the remains of the compulsion pulsing around her. “I can’t use her powers.”
“There are other ways,” Gregory said. He looked over at her, then nodded to the guards. Two of them came forward and grabbed Ivan by the arms, while a third clamped a hand over his mouth. “And this unbeliever will help us find them.”
Olivia backed away, hastily, as two more guards reached for her. But there was no room to dodge them, no way to escape and run. She brought her knee up, trying to hit the first guard in the groin, only to discover that he was wearing protection. The guard grabbed her, wrestled her hands behind her back, then held her there. His companion held a knife to her throat. Olivia froze, wondering if she had finally reached the limits of her usefulness. They didn’t need her to create more of the undead.
But they need me to control them, her thoughts howled through her mind. Without me, the undead will go for anyone living, no matter which side they’re on.
“We are aware that not everyone venerates the Father Tsar like we do,” Gregory said, addressing Ivan. “It is of no consequence to us if they believe in him or not, provided that they obey. But this one was not planning to obey.”
He looked over at Olivia. “This one was planning to steal you away from us and take you to his faction,” he added. “A plan years in the making, a plan to save the Father Tsar from the failings of his slaves, would have broken because of this one’s failure to have faith in the Father Tsar. And Holy Mother Russia would have been lost before the invaders from the West and the South and the East. His failing demands the harshest of punishment.”
Olivia stared at him. Ivan had planned to save her? But he hadn’t said anything to her ... and he’d acted as though he had no intention of doing anything to help her escape or even save his country from the doom waiting in the cage. She jerked her head over towards the two undead and shivered. The girl was waiting patiently, as if she knew, sooner or later, there would be a mistake and she would be free. She had all the time in the world.
Gregory walked over until he was standing right in front of Olivia. “You belong to us now,” he hissed. “And you will serve your purpose in the assigned plan.”
Olivia shuddered at his touch as his hand stroked her chin. His hand felt disgusting; up close, the stench was appalling, worse than the dead girl. But no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t get away. The guards held her tightly.
“It never occurred to this one that the true faithful read minds,” Gregory continued, as he turned and walked back towards Ivan. “We have no secrets from one another; we stand naked in front of one another, as we stand naked when a newcomer joins our sacred band of believers. Those who do not believe are weeded out before they are permitted to learn the mysteries of our order. And those who work with us have their thoughts scrutinised for signs of disbelief and treachery.”
Olivia shuddered. Charmers were feared and hated, but Talkers were not far behind. What privacy was there
if a person’s thoughts could be read, memories extracted from their minds for careful scrutiny. Even the most liberal Englishman, the men who opposed torture and slavery, had qualms about allowing Talkers to roam free. It hadn’t even been settled if Talkers could be used to give evidence in court.
“We found this one preparing to commit a daring act of treachery,” Gregory said. His voice was soft, but there was infinite malice behind it. “His plans would have impeded the arrival of the Father Tsar and destroyed everything we had worked to build.”
“This is madness,” Olivia said. The guard holding the knife moved it away and clamped his hand over her mouth instead. Olivia bit it, forcing him to yank it back from her face. “You have to understand you can’t control these creatures ...”
“But we know, now, how to control them,” Gregory said. “And why are you arguing in his defence?”
His voice became silky. “Do you believe him to be right? Or has he Charmed you into caring about him, even loving him? And would you know if your feelings are true or not?”
He turned back to Ivan and muttered a command in Russian. The guard removed the hand over Ivan’s mouth, then forced his mouth open by pinching his noise hard. Olivia tried to look away as Gregory removed a knife from his belt, but the guard holding her held her head firmly in place, forcing her to watch. Gregory reached into Ivan’s mouth, caught hold of his tongue and yanked hard. Moments later, the knife flashed once and the tongue fell to the ground, trailing blood behind it.
He’s taken Ivan’s magic, Olivia thought, too shocked to move or try to speak. He can’t Charm if he can’t speak.
“You will be taken back to your quarters,” Gregory said. “You will be prepared for transport. If you fail to obey in any way, you will be chained and dragged to your destination. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Olivia said, staring at Ivan. He was choking. Blood was pouring out of his mouth and pooling on the ground. “Sir ...”
“So you do care about him,” Gregory said. “But are your feelings real?”
He pushed his fingers into Ivan’s mouth, using his powers to staunch the bleeding. But he made no attempt to replace the tongue. Ivan lunged forward, but the two guards caught him and held him effortlessly in place. Olivia stared at him, then felt herself shoved forward as the guards pushed her out of the cell. Behind her, she heard the undead starting to moan ... had Gregory thrown Ivan to them? But she had no time to concentrate on reaching their minds as the guards half-carried her back to her room. Inside, Esther and two other girls were waiting for her, their faces pale and wan. Olivia couldn’t help wondering if their minds were read regularly too, just for signs of disloyalty.
How horrible it must be to know that a random thought could get you killed, she thought, as the guards pushed her inside and closed the door behind her. And they couldn’t even hope to escape.
She gritted her teeth as Esther came forward and started to pull Olivia’s clothes off, leaving them on the floor, until she was stark naked. Olivia tried to pull away, but the other two girls caught her arms and frogmarched her into the bathroom, where they picked her up and dropped her in the bathtub. Olivia shouted in pain and kicked out as the hot water scalded her body, but the girls ignored her. Instead, one of them washed Olivia’s hair thoroughly while the other two scrubbed down her body until she felt cleaner than she’d ever been in her entire life. As soon as the soap was rinsed out of her hair, she was hauled back into the bedroom, where Esther was waiting for her.
“I’m not wearing that,” she said, as Esther held up the dress. It looked ridiculous, as if it was designed for a girl five or six years old, not someone who had started her cycles. Whoever had designed it had thought more highly of frilly ruffs than anyone else since the time of Queen Elizabeth. “It looks absurd.”
Esther looked up, meeting Olivia’s eyes for the first time. “We have orders to dress you,” she said, flatly. Her voice was cold and dead. “If you do not help us to dress you, we will hold you down and dress you by force. We have been offered no choice.”
Olivia sighed, then allowed the girls to help her pull on sheer undergarments, followed by the dress itself. When she looked in the mirror, she almost laughed at herself, but the girls showed no reaction. They were too badly scared, she realised grimly. Whatever had been said to them, while she’d watched Ivan’s tongue being removed, had clearly pushed any thoughts of disobedience right out of their heads.
“Now,” she said, wondering if she could talk them into actually telling her something useful. “What happens now?”
There was a tap on the door. Two guards stepped inside, their dark eyes glancing everywhere before alighting on the girls. They shrank back as the guards stepped forward, pulled Olivia’s hands behind her back and cuffed them firmly together. Olivia glowered at them, but they ignored her. Instead, they pulled her out of the bedroom and down towards a large open room, where a carriage and a set of horses waited. Ivan was standing next to the carriage, his hands and feet in chains. His face was set in utter misery.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said, as she was helped into the carriage and chained to the seat. The guards carefully wrapped blankets around her, then pushed Ivan in after her. “I’m sorry.”
Ivan made a face at her, then opened his mouth. There was a stub at the back of his mouth where his tongue should have been. Revolted, Olivia looked away.
Moments later, the carriage rattled into life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They really hate us, don’t they?”
Gwen looked over at Raechel and tried not to roll her eyes. The girl had attended another evening dance – this time, Gwen had stayed on the balcony under Romulus’s watchful eye – and then gone to bed late. But the Russians had insisted on waking Raechel up early in the morning, even though she normally slept until at least ten in the morning. Gwen found it rather hard to be sympathetic. After all, the Russians had brought breakfast too.
“It’s a long journey from St Petersburg to Moscow,” Gwen commented, as she walked into the bathroom and started to run a hot bath. “They’re probably determined to ensure we leave early.”
Raechel glowered at her as she followed Gwen into the bathroom, dropping her nightclothes in a basket for the maids to pick up and wash. Gwen smirked, then helped Raechel into the bath and scrubbed her thoroughly, before helping her out again and drying her with a towel. She took the opportunity to wash and dry herself, then pulled on one of the heavier outfits the Russians had sent for her. It was clear that the Russians expected the trip to be bitterly cold.
“You’d think they’d install railways,” Raechel grumbled, as she struggled with her woollen trousers. “Or something warm.”
“They’re backwards,” Gwen said, recalling Lord Mycroft’s notes. “And railways can be threats as well as opportunities.”
She sighed. The Russians were notably behind even the Ottomans when it came to constructing railways binding their territories together. She was surprised they hadn’t made use of French expertise in producing railways. The French had surpassed the British when it came to laying down rails within their territory. But, in England at least, the railways had made it easier for people to move from place to place, making the country smaller. The last thing the Tsar and his aristocracy would want was something that allowed peasants and serfs to flee to the cities or ally themselves with urban revolutionary groups.
Raechel looked over at her. “Do they have good reason to feel threatened?”
Gwen nodded, recalling the feel of St Petersburg ... and the looming spectre of violence in the Winter Palace itself. Tsar Nicolas wasn’t that old, but he’d looked as though he could die at any moment ... and then there would be an almighty struggle over the succession. His heirs were minor children and whoever got into position to control them would be in place to set Russia’s course for years to come. Their enemies wouldn’t leave them in peace, knowing they would only be killed as the power-brokers consolidated their power ...
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And a civil war would risk breaking the Russian Empire into dozens of fragmented states.
She shivered at the thought. If Russia collapsed into anarchy, the French and Ottomans ... perhaps even the Chinese ... would seek to make gains at Russia’s expense. The balance of power that so suited the British Empire would be shattered beyond repair. Hell, somehow she doubted that British statesmen would leave Alaska alone when they could take the territory from a weakened Russia and add it to the British Empire. There was no shortage of voices in British North America crying out to annex Alaska.
Raechel coughed. “Are you all right?”
“Just thinking,” Gwen said. She smiled, rather wanly. “A terrible habit.”
“That’s what my Aunt used to say,” Raechel said. “She always tried to discourage me from actually thinking for myself.”
Gwen wasn’t surprised. Lady Standish would want a niece who did as she was told, not one who risked dragging her into scandal after scandal. But at least she hadn’t locked Raechel away in her room, forbidding her to do anything apart from read the bible and pray. There were mothers and aunts in London who’d done just that to their charges. Gwen sometimes wondered why her own mother hadn’t abandoned her, years ago.
She was my mother, she thought, shaking her head. She wouldn’t let go of me, no matter what I was.
There was a knock on the door. Gwen checked that Raechel was decent, glanced down at her own clothes, then strode over and opened the door, revealing a handsome young Russian officer. The Tsar seemed intent on introducing Raechel to as many of his younger courtiers as possible, although Gwen wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the young officers themselves had asked for the honour. Raechel had to look quite exotic to their eyes.
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