by John Booth
Empathy:
Can spot the liars in a group asked a question.
Grade 3
Spellbinding:
Binds can last for longer than a day.
Healing:
Can heal small wounds and conditions like trench foot.
Farseeing:
Can see events as they happen for up to 250 miles.
Precognition:
Can see important events up to three days into the future.
Empathy:
Can detect lying in an individual.
Grade 4
Spellbinding:
Binds can last for at least six hours up to a day.
Healing:
Can reduce swelling and pain.
Farseeing:
Can see important events that matter to them.
Precognition:
Can see important events that matter to them.
Empathy:
Can sense emotional states.
Grade 5
Talents are mostly useless at this level but are still detectable and may sometimes prove useful.
Class A A level roughly ten times as powerful as Grade 1.
- from A Short History of Military Magics by Sir Anthony Barrett
Tom was surprised when Antonia entered the dining room for High Tea that night. She looked pale and he saw a fleeting glimpse of agony when she sat at the table. She wore her Lieutenant’s uniform and saluted Dougal before she sat. He looked grim and said nothing.
For the first time Tom met the other guests in the mansion. These were the two engineers that Dougal mentioned when Tom first arrived.
“We should consider ourselves honored by their presence,” Dougal said wryly. “The man with the handlebar moustache is Franz Baum. He is the designer of the Hubris.”
Baum clicked his heels together and offered his hand. “Delighted to meet you Lieutenant Carter. Did you enjoy your flight today?”
Baum’s German accent was thick, but his command of English excellent. Tom nodded. “I am surprised you did not join us on the maiden voyage.”
“I am afraid I suffer from vertigo and have been known to become sea-sick in a rowing boat. However, I design most excellently, do I not?”
“Indeed you do, sir.” Tom took an instant liking to the man.
Dougal nodded to the other man. “And this is Jeremiah French, of the Gatling Company, who has installed the two revolving guns on the Hubris.”
French stuck out his hand and had a firm grip when they shook. “Wait till you see those guns in action. Ain’t nothing else like them on God’s Earth.”
Tom frowned as he remembered dead friends. “Sadly, I have already seen a Gatling gun in action.”
“That’s pretty much impossible,” French protested. “That’s gun’s number five and six on your ship right now.”
“Does the name Captain Brenton Wayne mean anything to you?”
French looked aghast. When he spoke it was in a near whisper. “We never did find out what he did with it. It was the second prototype.”
“He killed a lot of people with it, Mr. French. Most of them were my friends.”
Dougal coughed. “Let us move the discussion on to more cheerful topics if we may.”
Tom couldn’t help noticing how Antonia stared at him during the meal. She said little and deflected conversation whenever French and Baum tried to engage her in small talk. As they finished the main course, she pushed back her chair and stood up. Her discomfort in moving was obvious to those present.
“If my Lord does not require me; it has been a trying day and I will take my leave of you.”
Dougal turned to her, “Not staying for dessert, my dear?”
“I have had enough desserts today, my Lord.”
“Then you may leave.”
Antonia left the room, moving stiffly.
“Too much time in the saddle for Miss Wright, I think,” Baum said cheerfully. Neither Dougal nor Tom made any attempt to disillusion him.
After several cigars and brandy, Tom begged his leave of the other men and made his way back to his room. He was tempted to call on Antonia and heal her wounds but was scared it would not end with a simple healing. There was no doubt he was physically attracted to her and he had his relationship with Laura to consider.
He heard his door creak and was instantly awake. There was a light in the corridor that moved into the room. As he sat up in bed he saw it was Antonia holding a candle lamp. He pulled the covers up higher as he was bare-chested.
“I have not come for your body,” Antonia said haughtily. “In my present state, I would be unable to pleasure you. I have come to tell you that it is not over between us, your betrothed notwithstanding.”
She looked so brave standing there in pain that Tom’s heart went out to her.
“Let me heal you. It will require me to touch your bottom, I have to warn you.”
Tom was whisked back to the times he performed the same service for Laura and he wondered if there would ever be an age when punishing women would be forbidden.
Antonia gave him a look of gratitude and slipped her nightdress to the floor, which was not at all what Tom expected her to do.
“Oh, thank you Tom. You have no idea how much it hurts. Andrea keeps complaining about it.”
She moved towards him to stand with her legs touching the side of his bed. Being committed to this action, he reached around to touch her backside. She stifled a scream as his fingers reached their target.
Tom slipped into the strange space his healing always took him. It was as if Antonia’s body became his universe. He sensed her heart beat and oxygen enriching her blood as she breathed. The damage he had done to her was frightening. He must have hit her much harder than he intended or the ruler was a fearsome weapon indeed. Ruptured blood vessels, dead cells and signs of infection indicated he would have had to heal her sooner or later. Much better that it was now while the infection was limited.
Energy flowed through his fingers directing her body to heal itself. Cells flowed from inside her bones to replace the ones destroyed. In seconds, a week’s worth of natural healing took place and the infection was routed. Antonia sighed and her body shivered as if in rapture. She collapsed over the bed and across his thighs.
Quivering and scissoring her legs in an exciting fashion, Antonia remained on his lap moaning in what sounded suspiciously like pleasure. Fearing an unfortunate emission on his part, Tom slapped at her bottom to get her off him.
“More, seize my hair, slap harder.” Antonia moaned. “Oh Andrea, stop doing it. I cannot take any more.”
Tom held her by the shoulders and managed to force her from the bed. Antonia had trouble standing straight at first. Her face was flushed, her lips full and her eyes wide.
“Thank you so much, kind sir,” she said, attempting a curtsey. Her hands went to her groin as she doubled over. “Please stop it, Andrea,” she begged. After a moment more of twisting she came to herself.
“This is not finished between us,” she said quietly to Tom before fleeing the room. She picked up her nightshirt, leaving the candle lamp.
“Women are strange,” Tom told the room. He blew out the candle and went to sleep. His night was troubled by disturbing, but strangely pleasurable, dreams.
Cam watched her travel box carried to the small cab and strapped to the luggage rack at the rear. She had heard too many stories of stolen goods not to take care, though the claim in Austria was that Vienna was a civilized city.
It was six o’clock in the morning and she had only an hour to get to the railway station to catch her train. She was heading for Amsterdam and with a little luck she would arrive there early the next day. From Amsterdam she would find passage to England.
Many small boats made the journey on a regular basis, delivering Dutch goods to British markets and returning with whiskey and other highly prized goods. Most of the trade was illegal, dodging the taxes the Revenue would impose and this was the perfect way to enter the
country unobserved, certainly safer than the French routes which were closely watched by the intelligence services of many countries.
She reached the train in plenty of time and sat back in her seat, idly watching the people on the platform. Cam was sure Annelise had been trying to get her to break her cover the previous night. The question about knives showed they suspected her of killing her tail; the fact she was not being interrogated in a dank cellar suggested they were far from sure.
People moved about their business on the platform when Cam felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She was a Grade 4 Empath and that meant that at best she could only detect the emotions of someone talking to her, but something important was going on outside that concerned her. The trouble was that she had no idea what.
The train set off almost immediately after her feelings started and they would not go away. Every time someone went past her compartment she flinched.
“Get a hold of yourself, Ingrid,” she whispered. Cam chose to stay in character at all times. Even when she met Burton, she was more Ingrid Brown than Camilla Burns.
The woman she portrayed really existed and left home when she was thirteen, heading for the bright lights of London. Like Camilla, Ingrid spoke fluent German, both having been taught by their mothers. Unlike Cam, Ingrid ended up as a prostitute plying the streets for trade. Paid a small stipend by MM3, Ingrid used her street name and never her real one, and so disappeared from sight.
The purely fictional Ingrid became embittered with the English and travelled to Austria to join the fight against the British Empire. Cam played her as feisty and a little bit whiney.
As the hour approached noon, Cam stepped though the carriages towards the buffet car. She affected a slow walk, as if bothered by the motion of the train, and took time to look into every compartment. Despite a sense of being watched she saw nothing suspicious. Nor did she see anybody as she ate her meal. If she was being followed, it was done discretely.
She complained about the wine to the waiter, even though it was totally acceptable. Even then, nobody showed undue interest. After waiting until the carriage was almost empty and only an aged nun remained at her seat, Cam returned to her compartment.
“Someone is following me, but they must be good,” she whispered in a disgruntled manner as she tried to doze. It was going to be a long journey.
The waiter moved up the train and gave the special knock at the door. He was let in by Annelise, who locked the door behind him.
“Well?” she asked impatiently.
“As you expected she made a lot of fuss about the wine, which was more than adequate. Then she waited in the carriage until everybody but a nun had left.”
“Staying in character and being cautious; that is good. But I wonder if it is her real character or the one she has adopted.”
She handed the waiter a large denomination coin. “Report back to me the next time she eats.” She unlocked the door and let the man out.
“So ‘e tell me where to find this lady and I’m following ’er ’ome tonight.”
Alice did not look pleased.
“She’s blonde an’ pretty? I ’ates ’er already.”
Edith Trenchard frowned at Alice’s diction. She didn’t know why the girl seemed incapable of speaking the Queen’s English.
“Trelawney is right about Mercury House. There are men everywhere doing nothing but watching everyone who passes by. You must be inconspicuous while you wait, Tricky. Stay well back when you go and look for shadows to hide in.”
“You can see it, even though you never bin there?” Tricky asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
“You went to look at it this morning, and as it so happens, Alice asked me to keep an eye on you.”
Tricky turned on Alice. “Got your spies watching mi?”
“Only this morning, when you were late,” Alice said in a hurt voice.
Edith was an aberrant Farseer. She saw things far away clearly and could focus in on things that mattered to her or onto her friends. Her talent had come a long way in the months since they had been prisoners together in Glen Russell.
Tricky turned to Edith, “Can you see where they ain’t watching?”
Edith shook her head. “They make notes of anybody interesting. You got in four of their little books when you stood staring at the building.”
“That does it. I’m coming too,” Alice said firmly.
“’ows that gonner ’elp, you daft cow?”
“If they see’s us canoodlin’ they ain’t gonner pay us no never no mind.”
Tricky could see the logic in that. Seeing a couple of kids together in a dark corner cuddling would not raise suspicion, and they could stay like that for ages.
“The things I gotta do to ’elp a friend,” he said and sighed heavily.
Baxter called Harris into his inner sanctum and closed the door behind him. Harris noted the seriousness of his boss’s manner and said nothing. The safe was open and the painting covering it was propped up against the wall.
“The Scenario Blue folder has been taken from the safe.”
“But only you and I have the combination. Surely you are not suggesting...?”
“No, but I wanted to check that you hadn’t taken it for some other purpose.”
“It’s not incriminating. It is our job to investigate such matters.”
“But why was it taken?” Baxter shook his fist as though trying to use it to crack the problem. “And nothing else.”
“Perhaps you misplaced it, or I did?”
Baxter looked sharply at Harris. “Did you?”
“Not that I can remember. We need it to give credibility for our actions, to serve as a justification. Is there a copy?”
Baxter nodded. “In the archives, but I can’t get a copy made, at least not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too close to the event and I would have to explain what happened to the original. The Director of MM3 is not God. The security people would become involved.”
“Do we call it off?”
Baxter shook his head. “The Brotherhood would kill us for suggesting it. After the mess in Scotland, they need this to restore their credibility with the membership. And in any case, our contribution is only a small part of it.”
“Who do you suspect?”
“Trelawney, it’s always the incorruptible Trelawney, even when he’s not here.”
“I’m so excited,” Laura confessed. “I haven’t shopped for clothes since before I met Tom.”
Daisy smiled, she felt the same excitement as her friend. It was always good to go shopping, and in this case, there was a vital extra element. If she failed today, the whole elaborate future she had planned would fall apart. She was also relying on Tom and Dougal, but all they had to do was follow their respective natures. She hoped Tom wasn’t going too far, but on the other hand, a man should have some experience before marriage.
The carriage bumped along the Oxford Road to stop outside a store with an impressive sign. This was the coming thing, a department store as they were known. It was the only one in Reading and already it was attracting attention to the county town.
“It feels so good to be out of those barracks and back among ordinary people,” Laura said, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “Do you think they will have the latest fashions?”
“There is only one way to find out,” Daisy replied.
The correct way for a lady to enter a store is slowly, waiting for a gentleman to open a door for them, but Daisy and Laura ran inside as if they were naughty children.
It took a long time to find an appropriate dress for Laura. As a Class A her status in society was close to nobility. Nobody would officially know who she was, and yet everyone in the church would know. Her dress had to match her status and her personality and those two things were hardly complementary.
Daisy found a dress without effort. She possessed a natural beauty and was no longer as gaunt as she’d been when
Laura first met her. Almost anything would hang well on her.
Laura’s dress required alteration. While she was engaged with the seamstress, Daisy slipped away to another part of the store selling writing materials for the discerning gentleman. A little old man, stooped with age, ushered her into the storeroom as soon as she arrived. He checked to see that no one had seen them enter before he closed the door.
“Mr. Timothy, it is good to see you again.”
“Do you have the money?” he asked eagerly.
“And you the goods I desire?”
“Better than that, I have a new invention. A fountain pen that can take the special inks Spellbinders use. For the first time they will be able to write as the common folk do.” He offered Daisy a pen.
“Unscrew the end. It uses a new seal which prevents the ink from drying on the nib.”
Daisy did as she was told. The nib was gold, something she had never seen before. Mr. Timothy grabbed a sheet of paper and put it on the table in front of her.
“Write, write.”
As she wrote, copper ink flowed onto the paper without blotting. This was certainly an extraordinary pen.
“I have provided a small phial of ink. That plus what is in the pen should meet your needs.”
“And paper?”
He opened a brown envelope and slid out a sheet of paper. When Daisy touched it she was amazed at how it felt, thin and yet very strong. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t think what.
“Pure linen, much stronger than cotton or paper-based products,” Mr. Timothy explained. “More like banknotes.”
“But will it last?” Daisy asked.
“Military Magic is moving over to it. Short of writing on copper you can’t get much stronger. They would have moved earlier except it is highly expensive.”
“How much do I owe you?” Daisy asked.
“Twenty pounds.”
