Revenge of the Brotherhood (Book 3 in the Tom & Laura Series)

by John Booth

  His musings were cut short by a polite knock at the door. Arnold entered looking slightly embarrassed.

  “I was summoned to MM3 by the Director this morning?”

  “Did you tell him what we have been up to?” Belinda asked.

  “But we haven’t been up to anything,” Trelawney countered.

  “Exactly, my love. Something that Arnold can tell him safely.”

  It could be difficult to get a word in edgeways when they were in this kind of mood. Arnold persevered. “I was asked about Alice?”

  “Alice Short?” Trelawney asked sharply.

  Arnold nodded. “There was an incident at the Communications Building involving her. I don’t know what it was.”

  “You told them nothing of David’s visit?” Belinda asked.

  Arnold sighed. They seemed to think he was an idiot. “No, I told them nothing.”

  Trelawney considered and took another sip of brandy.

  “This may be what Daisy planned. But since she has not confided in us there is no way of knowing what we should do. In which case, we had best do nothing.”

  “But Tricky can’t get to that girl now. MM1 have her locked away in the building.”

  Trelawney was not an unkind man and what he said next he would never normally say. It was as if something drove him to be needlessly cruel.

  “Arnold, there is nothing you can do. Even if you were competent that would still be my order. Leave it be before you make it worse.”

  Arnold left the room without a word and Belinda gave her husband-to-be a very hard look.

  Daisy felt the futures move again and when they stopped spinning she grinned. There was a chance again. Slim though it was, it was real.

  8. Diversions

  Tom strolled over to the construction shed and was surprised to find it filled with people, including many natives running around in strange clothes. This was the first time Tom had seen an American native in the flesh and was somewhat disappointed to find their skin color not that much different to his own.

  The newspapers claimed they had red skins, but though they looked tanned from the sun, he could not see that much of a difference. He had caught the sun the previous day and, if anything, his skin was redder than theirs.

  However, their clothes and demeanor were significantly different from what might be seen on a typical British street. The men carried knives or axes tied to their belts and much of what they wore came from the hide of a buffalo. He had certainly seen a lot of that particular animal on his journey here. Sometimes they were the only thing he could see from the carriage window, covering the grasslands as far as the eye could see.

  Many of the Indians were walking on the outer skin of the Hubris, using ropes to go down its slopes and long brushes to outline in white the shape they were going to paint. Tom saw Dougal standing by the wall with a native by his side. He walked over to them while trying to act casual. He certainly didn’t want to look like a gawping tourist.

  “Good morning, Tom,” Dougal said cheerfully. “As you can see, the natives are keen to paint the Hubris and I was thinking what a good idea that was. It should raise a few eyebrows when we fly her over the Thames to Buckingham Palace.”

  “London is a long way away. How would you ever get the Hubris on a sailing ship?”

  Dougal laughed with delight. “The Hubris is also a ship. Tom. I plan to fly her there.”

  “Across the Atlantic?”

  “Of course, she could do it in less than three days given the winds were right. We have enough water to keep the engines going for four, and if it rains on the journey we can replenish our tanks from that.”

  “I suppose running out of water is less of a problem at sea.” Tom knew that the dantium engines used significant water, even though they used the best recycling system James Watt could devise.

  “Salt water would damage the pumps and the engine, but we have a capture system so that water hitting the hull drains into the tanks. That’s why I’ve insisted these native chaps use oil based paints. I don’t want their art to clog our tanks.”

  “When are you planning to take her to London?”

  “Not until September. They have tornadoes here in the summer, Tom. We’re lucky the weather has held off so far this year.”

  Tom had heard about tornadoes. America seemed to be a highly inhospitable continent with extremes of weather and dangerous wild animals.

  Dougal made no attempt to introduce him to the native who stood next to him. It looked like he was going to have to ask.

  “Could you introduce me to your companion?”

  Dougal blinked and it took him several moments to realize that Tom meant the native.

  “Oh, you mean Nocana? We don’t bother with formal introductions to the natives. He’s our translator.”

  Tom thought this sounded rude. This native must be highly skilled to have mastered English and deserved some recognition. To Dougal’s considerable amusement, Tom bowed to the man and offered his hand.

  “Lieutenant Thomas Carter at your service, sir. I am a Healer seconded from Military Magic to the Army.”

  Nocana looked surprised before he took the proffered hand and squeezed hard.

  “Nocana of the Comanche Nation. You appease the spirits to make the sick well?”

  That seemed to Tom to be as good an explanation of what he did as any. He nodded his head.

  “Why is painting the Hubris so important to your people?”

  “The spirits rule the Sky and the Earth. Your ship of the sky might offend the Sky Spirits and bring destruction on my people for allowing it. It is not something you sought their permission to do.”

  “And painting it will appease the spirits?”

  “Perhaps. Painting on an eagle would have made it a gift to the Sky Spirits. The coyote is… I do not have the words. It is a powerful medicine.”

  Nocana’s accent was strange, but Tom found it restful to listen to. He sounded a little like distant thunder.

  “Are there any people in your tribe who would benefit from my skills?”

  “Our medicine men are enough for us. It is kind of you to offer.”

  The conversation appeared to be over. Dougal contained his mirth and watched the Indian outlining the drawing. As far as Tom could tell, this particular Indian was in charge of the work and had a remarkable artistic eye. Despite being able to see only a small part of what he drew, he was marking out the outline of a running fox. Well, that was how it looked to Tom. The Indian stood suspended at the outermost part of the cylinder of the hull drawing the lines while using a rope to hold himself in place. He was a good forty feet off the ground and yet seemed unworried by the possibility of falling.

  There was a snapping sound and the rope broke. The Indian had nothing to hold onto and curled up to roll when he hit the ground. When he came to a stop he lay still, not making a sound.

  Tom started running towards him as soon as the rope snapped. There was nobody close to him when he turned the Indian over and saw a broken bone sticking out of the lower part of his arm. Blurt spurted up into the air from a severed artery.

  Using his thumb as a tool to stop the bleeding, Tom pressed as hard as he could. He was vaguely aware of a dozen native faces staring down at him, but ignored them. Tom knew the theoretical way for a Healer to repair an artery. Unfortunately, ever since Laura had enhanced his powers, most of what he had been taught was useless.

  He reduced the pressure on his thumb by diverting most of the Indian’s blood to other arteries in his body. Pushing the bone back into place was gory, but surprisingly easy. Tom ordered cells to reconnect the bone while sending cells from the man’s marrow to heal the tears with new flesh. Repairing the artery required him to hold the two ends against each other for over a minute. Then and only then was he able to repair the torn flesh above it.

  The injured Indian was watching him. Any European would have succumbed to shock and be unconscious, but this man watched him as he worked with dark somber eye
s. He made no attempt to pull his arm away as Tom completed the healing.

  Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Tom wiped away excess blood on the man’s arm, revealing it to have healed without a scar. His own hands were dripping with the Indian’s blood and Tom wiped them.

  The Indian said something in a language Tom had never heard before.

  “Muguara thanks you for your healing and promises you a quick death in battle, should you ever face him.” Nocana stood over him with another dozen Indian men.

  Tom couldn’t suppress a smile. He was getting a feel for these people and found he liked them.

  “Tell him, I thank him for his mercy. However, please point out that I am very hard to kill.”

  More words flowed in the foreign tongue and Muguara barked a laugh. He hugged Tom hard and Tom hugged him back.

  Suddenly all the natives were making strange whooping sounds and dancing.

  Dougal’s voice cut through the sounds of the Indians around him.

  “If you two love birds are quite finished I would like the Hubris painted today. We have already lost a day of testing.”

  Muguara got to his feet and helped Tom to his. He was climbing a rope up the side of the ship before Tom could say another word.

  “Glad you saved that one, but don’t waste your time on the others,” Dougal told him.

  “Dougal, they are all human beings.”

  “You have not seen the aftermath of one of their raids. Get yourself cleaned up, you are covered in blood,” Dougal said tonelessly and walked away.

  Looking down at his clothes, Tom realized Dougal was right. He headed back to the mansion to get his uniform in soak before the blood became impossible to get out.

  Harris was surprised to find Baxter in his office when he got into work just before eight. It was unusual to find his boss in the office before nine, especially on a Saturday.

  “Harris, come in.”

  “Is there a problem?” Baxter looked a little harassed in Harris’s opinion, but not excessively so.

  “Yes and no. I threw a coin earlier this morning and Miss Young lost. Jones has been raising hell about security. It’s a pity I could not make you Director of MM1, but Palmerston wouldn’t hear of it. As it is, we have a man opposed to the Brotherhood and quite convinced we exist in a position of some power. He always listened too much to Trelawney and now he is panicking. After the scare at Mercury House, he’s advocating we get the Class A’s well away from London.”

  “They all are,” Harris observed dryly.

  “Not Miss Young. Reading is only 30 miles away. I’ve decided to send her to Brittany along with the troops guarding her. She owes us a favor for letting her go to the wedding and its time she proved her worth. She can rout the rebellion over the next week or so and be back in time for the wedding.”

  “And if she refuses?”

  “The Minister for War has decided to use her for breeding purposes if she will not perform her duties. He has some half-baked theory that if a dozen war heroes take turns to get her pregnant we will eventually end up with a loyal Class A child. Good for the morale of the heroes as well, he says.”

  Harris murmured. “Heroes are one thing, but how about a loyal MM3 secretary? She is a very attractive young woman.”

  Baxter barked a laugh. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t get a turn. I’ll see what I can do if it comes to it.”

  Harris turned to leave, but Baxter called him back.

  “The Elders have moved the plan forward. Part one will take place immediately after Trelawney’s wedding. They have informed me that Trelawney and his bride are not expected to survive the happy event and the chaos that will produce should make it easier.”

  “Not to mention that we will have the perfect alibi by being at the wedding.”

  “That will help,” Baxter agreed.

  Arnold took breakfast with Trelawney before excusing himself and making his way to the tiny room where the boot boy shined the shoes. Trelawney had given the boy the day off and the lad would be anywhere but in the room.

  Arnold was finding it difficult to keep his anger in check and Trelawney’s words the night before had been the last straw. He had to do something and since Trelawney had told him he couldn’t get Tricky in to see the Telepath girl, he most certainly planned to. A number of extremely clever and completely unfeasible plans slipped through his mind. Eventually, he decided that his best course of action would be to talk to Tricky and discuss the options with him.

  Unfortunately, it was a Saturday, which meant the earliest he could start would be Monday, when Tricky would be back at school. Though he had a vague idea where the lad lived, he could not remember the address for the life of him. Arnold kicked a shoe across the room, but it didn’t ease his frustration in the slightest.

  Captain Trentwood burst into Laura’s room and for a second Laura thought he had come to rape her. His face was filled with an unholy passion and shone red with delight.

  “Your time has come, at last.”

  Daisy stumbled into the room, her face pale and a hand on her head.

  “I will tell her, Captain. We will be ready to depart within the hour.”

  The Captain stepped closer to Laura and she winced as his hot breath hit her face. “Brittany, we are going to Brittany and you are going to war.”

  “Get out, Captain,” Daisy shouted.

  He turned towards the door. “If she’s not ready within the hour I shall give her a whipping for insubordination.”

  Daisy staggered towards the bed and sat with her head in her hands.

  “What did he mean? Daisy, are you unwell?”

  Daisy tried to shake her head then spent a minute retching. “I have a bad headache. It will pass. The future has been changing so fast I cannot cope.”

  Laura’s face took on a stubborn look. “I will not kill people for the army. I’d rather die.”

  Daisy laughed. “Then you must be very inventive, and I know how clever you can be when you set your mind to it. We are going to Brittany. There are rebels who want self determination, or at least to join with France. I didn’t expect this. Until this morning this trip was not going to happen.”

  “I will refuse to go.”

  Daisy took Laura’s shoulders and shook her. It was not clear who suffered the most from her actions. “You will do as you are told and go. This is the only path to safety and Tom.”

  “Give me some decent ink and I could get us out of here in minutes.”

  Daisy had those very items in her clothes, but she knew the consequences. “They would hunt you down within two days and then you would be a traitor to the crown.”

  “Bertie would not let me die. I saved his life.”

  Daisy shuddered. “There are fates worse than death. They would lock you away and breed you like a prize cow.”

  Laura’s eyes widened. “They would not dare.”

  Daisy sighed and let her go before slumping back onto the bed. “You are such a fool.”

  A few moments later, Laura sat beside her. “Very well, we shall go to Brittany. But I am telling you now I am making a list, and I will punish all of those on that list in ways only a Class A Spellbinder can.”

  “I will make sure you have the very best inks and paper for it,” Daisy said as she patted her hand.

  It occurred to Daisy as they sat there that if the army truly understood what Laura could do they would not dare treat her so brusquely. She could kill everybody in this town and possibly the whole county with a finger smeared in her own blood and an available wall to write on. That they had never pushed her hard enough to find out was the only reason they were still alive, that and Laura’s strong sense of right and wrong.

  Cam stood out on the foredeck as the ship left the canal and began to sail towards England. This trip had cost her a great deal of money and she intended to enjoy it. Seagulls screamed overhead and she breathed in the cold salty air. Life was good.

  The Captain of the vessel came out to join
her. Dutch was sufficiently close to German for them to communicate, but he addressed her in English.

  “You are English, though your German is good.”

  “What of it?” Cam answered in English.

  “I like the English. I have less time for the Germans and the Austrians.”

  Cam nodded. It was not unusual to hear such sentiments from the Dutch.

  “There is an Austrian woman following you. She came on this ship and has paid me much money not to tell you. My men could end her journey halfway across if you wanted it?”

  It was tempting, but then her mission would be a failure, though it was becoming that anyway.

  “She would kill your men, then you and me.”

  The Dutchman laughed.

  “She has many names. The Vienna Witch is one of them.”

  The Captain almost choked on his laughter. “That one? On my ship?”

  “Following me. I will deal with her if I have to.”

  The Captain considered this. “You will not tell her I told you?”

  “I already knew.”

  He walked back to the bridge without another word. Cam thought he looked older going than when he came.

  Antonia was pacing the corridors of the mansion when Tom arrived. There wasn’t much for a Telepath to do when they didn’t have messages to pass. She shrieked at the sight of the blood on his uniform.

  “It is not my blood and the patient survived. You don’t know where the housekeeper is, do you?”

  Antonia looked at the nearest clock. “She won’t be back for hours. All the servants have other duties at the fort during the day. You should soak those before the blood dries in or they’ll be ruined.”

  “I would never have guessed.”

  Antonia came closer to hit him, but backed away at the certainty she would end up with a bloody hand.

  “Come with me.”

  She led Tom to the kitchen. “Take them all off now.”

  Tom hesitated.

  “May I remind you that I have seen all of your person and that clothes dry very quickly in this heat.”