“Ah, Master Spencer,” Shen Li said, in warm tones. “It is very pleasant to meet with you in normal circumstances.” Spencer was astonished. If it had not been for the long braid of white hair he wore, Spencer would have taken him for anyone he might meet in a good club or at the Stock Exchange. “Please, have a seat. Would you care for a cigar? No? A brandy? Certainly. I think you will approve.” He gestured to the assistant, who poured two brandies and handed one to Spencer as soon as he was seated in the overstuffed leather armchair he’d chosen. Shen Li took a similar chair at right angles to his.
He sipped cautiously, and then with more enthusiasm. Shen Li was correct. He did approve. This might be the best brandy he’d ever tasted.
“Now, Master Spencer, since you have made it clear that you would like to conduct further and potentially more complicated business with me in the future, allow me to acquaint you with my real name. I am Vladimir Volkov.” He smiled. Spencer smiled back. “And as I told you, I am Russian.”
“I appreciate that you have trusted me with your real name, Master Volkov,” he replied.
Volkov smiled more broadly. “Now, let us sit here in each others’ company and enjoy this fine brandy for a moment or two, before we get down to business.”
Spencer was not at all averse to doing just that. It had been a very long time since he had been in the company of a man he considered to be his equal—and there was no doubt in his mind that Shen Li—or Volkov—was his equal in every way but as a magician.
So he savored the brandy, and they spoke of politics for a little while. Volkov was quite versed in the topics of the day, particularly international politics. “Your country is making a mistake,” he said finally. “They are counting on the fact that your Queen has so many family ties to Germany. But the Germans do not give a farthing for family ties when their own Imperial interests are on the line. If they elect to annex the Lorraine, they will conveniently forget those ties, mark my words.”
“But surely the Russians—” he began.
“The Russian Imperial Family will not move to help France,” Volkov pronounced. “Now, if the Kaiser were to also move eastward, that would be a different story.” Spencer listened with great interest as Volkov expounded on things he himself knew little of, filing it all away to relate to the Professor. Moriarty’s projects were many, varied, and international. This would almost certainly be of great interest to him.
Come to think of it . . . it was of great interest to Spencer. When there was war, there was money to be made.
As if he was reading Spencer’s mind, Volkov added, “I have investment in munitions manufacturers all over the world. When war comes, and it will, I shall do very well.” He finished his brandy and gestured to the servant to pour them each another. “But, my friend, we are not here to discuss that sort of investment, nor the politics of nations. You possess something I know very little about. Magic.” His eyes gleamed. “I am self-taught. I should like to know more.”
“Surely the Chinese—”
“Do not discuss these things outside of select circles, of which I am not a part,” Volkov replied, and bent over his knees. “So. Enlighten me, if you will. The more I know, the better I can deliver what you may need.”
“Well . . . to begin with, unless you have both a very disciplined will and a powerful imagination, you have to be born with the ability to manipulate magic power,” Spencer told him. “And if you aren’t gifted at birth with that ability, you’ll spend half your life learning how to wield magic, because only those with the gift can see it to manipulate it easily. Those who do so by will and imagination alone will always be handicapped in that regard.”
Volkov nodded. “Like a blind man learning to navigate by whistling. I knew a man who could do that, once.” He waved his hand. “Not worth my time. What is worth my time is getting to know a magician able to put a death curse on Mary Watson.”
Spencer tried not to start, but Volkov saw it anyway, and chuckled. “I do my research, my friend. I assume that you can make bargains of your own, irrespective of your duties to Professor Moriarty?”
“How did—”
“I buy and sell information, my friend. And I do not believe that the Professor is . . . shall we say, entirely gone? His Organization is still functional, albeit diminished. Would I be mistaken in inferring that your current task is to bring him back, so to speak?”
Spencer managed to keep his mouth shut, but Volkov laughed knowingly.
“Very well, then, I assume you can take independent work?”
“I can,” Spencer replied.
“Good. Now, we have established that this sort of magic exists. Tell me about what other kinds there are.”
Spencer spent a good hour explaining all five types of Elemental Magic, as Volkov listened intently. “The last is the Spirit Master, who can control human spirits. Ones not still in a body, of course,” he said. “Now, as I have explained with the others, the Elemental Masters who shortsightedly choose the path of cooperation instead of coercion are weaker than those who don’t. But with the Spirit Master, that is even more apparent. Worse than that, most of them spend much of their time sending ghosts on to whatever their ultimate destination might be, rather than actually making use of them.” He snorted, and Volkov chuckled. “But the Spirit Master that chooses domination may be one of the most powerful Masters there is. And that is demonstrated by what he’s called.”
“And what would that be?” asked Volkov.
It was Spencer’s turn to grin wolfishly. “The necromancer. The one magician whose name alone strikes terror into the hearts of those who recognize it.”
Volkov sat back in his chair, his expression one of very keen interest. “Now this . . . this is the sort of thing I want to hear about. Do tell me more, Master Spencer.”
They talked long into the night. Some of that was negotiation—what Spencer might want for various services. By the end of that time . . . Spencer was seriously considering the option of leaving Moriarty’s Organization once Moriarty was firmly in charge again.
He wouldn’t tell Moriarty that of course. That would be suicidal. He’d merely tell the Professor that he needed time for his experiments. And he might even do small tasks for the Professor, now and again, but his main interest would be working with Volkov.
For one thing, Volkov hadn’t attracted the attention of Sherlock Holmes, and Moriarty had. Even if Moriarty finally defeated and killed the consulting detective, doing so would take up an inordinate amount of time that could be used more profitably.
For another, he would never be quite sure if Moriarty had come back slightly damaged. That was a risk in these situations. And a damaged Moriarty could make mistakes that would bring everything tumbling down.
Volkov sent him home at around four in the morning in a small, discreet carriage. By the time he arrived, of course, Kelly was well asleep, and he found he was ravenous. He made a quick meal of cold sliced beef, bread, butter and pickles, and went to bed with his head buzzing with plans.
* * *
The girls and the Hartons met once again in Sahib’s study, once the sun was down. Sarah wore Caro’s locket, which she had never taken off since Watson had given it back to her. This time, though, the study was crowded with Agansing, Selim, and Karamjit there as well. Sarah didn’t even have to do more than touch the locket, and Caro shimmered into being in the center of the room. Still in her male clothing, now she had taken on some of the mannerisms of a young man too, pushing her cap back on her head and slouching a little. Her infectious smile made it clear that she was enjoying herself and being in this guise.
“I’ve been listening in, and I hope you don’t mind that,” she said immediately. “I shan’t stand on ceremony. You must be the Hartons,” she continued, nodding at Memsa’b and Sahib. “But I don’t know who these three fine gentlemen are—”
“These are our colleagues in the occult, Agansing, Selim, and Karamjit,” Sahib replied. “They are also quite skilled in thei
r own fields of combat.”
Caro bowed to the three with a little flourish. “Call me Caro,” she said. “Now, actually, when I’ve not been listening, I’ve been thinking. And if I’m right about what Sarah can do, I think I know how we can find this necromancer. You said she can likely tell where there are no spirits, because he’s bound them. That’s where I come in. She can find likely areas, but I can investigate those areas. If it’s just a matter of happenstance that there are no ghosts there, I can find that out very quickly. And if it’s something more than that, I can find that out, too. Then, when we find the place where the necromancer is, all three of us—Nan and Sarah and I and any little Air Elementals Mrs. Watson wants to send—can investigate further. We’ll just need a place where Nan and Sarah can safely leave their bodies.”
Memsa’b, Sahib, and their three companions stared at the ghost. Sahib’s mouth had actually fallen open a little. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Sarah would have giggled. She’d never actually seen them dumbfounded before.
As for her, for the first time, her heart rose with hope.
Finally it was Agansing who spoke. “That will be very dangerous for you, my friend,” he said gravely. “The necromancer might well imprison you. A spirit such as you, intelligent, strong, would be a great prize to him.”
“He’ll have to catch me first,” Caro replied. “I can retreat to the locket, and if I’m not mistaken, if I do that, he won’t be able to detect me anymore. And I am positive that without having the locket in his possession, he won’t be able to extract me from it, either.”
Agansing looked at the others. Karamjit shrugged. Selim made a gesture that Sarah interpreted as “I don’t know.” Memsa’b and Sahib looked at each other. “We don’t know,” Sahib admitted. “This is all new ground to us.”
“I’m willing to take my chances,” Caro replied firmly. “You risk your lives all the time. I can certainly risk my un-life. This man is a monster, and we need to stop him.” Then she smiled. “Besides, this is more excitement than I ever had while I was alive.”
“But do you truly understand the danger?” Agansing persisted. “Forgive me for continuing to ask this, but there are things that can destroy souls.”
Caro sobered again. “I do. Really. I do. And I will be very, very careful, I promise.”
“You can’t very well forbid her, you know,” Sarah put in. “How exactly would you stop her? But Caro, words cannot express how grateful I am to you.”
“Then I suppose we must surrender gracefully,” Sahib admitted. “And I must admit, this is a good plan. The only flaw in it that I can see is that we must find some place for Nan and Sarah to rest securely.”
Now Nan spoke up. “That’s what the Irregulars would be good for.”
Watson blinked. “By Jove—you’re right. The young scamps know every inch of the East End. They’ll know exactly where not to go, and where we could rent a room safely for the space of a few hours.” He actually rubbed his hands together in glee. “I’ve always wanted to unleash those lads the way Sherlock does.”
Caro took a seat in midair, listening carefully and adding her own ideas while they put together a plan. Selim got a map of the East End from one of Sahib’s many filing cabinets, and they plotted out the most efficient way to cover all of it that was serviced by the same sewer network. Knowing that this was going to go long into the night, and that the birds needed plenty of sleep, they’d left Neville and Grey upstairs in their rooms—but every now and then, Sarah felt a sleepy nudge in her mind, and she quickly told Grey if there had been anything new in the plan—then Grey would go back to sleep again.
It was nearly three in the morning when they all considered that they had thought of everything they could. Alderscroft would have to be told first, of course, and that meant getting him to come out here. No one wanted to take the chance of communications being intercepted.
“That’s the main problem, really,” Watson fretted. “We only have rumors of what necromancers can do. We don’t actually know the extent of their powers.”
“It won’t be the first time all of you have faced that problem,” Caro reminded them. “Sarah told me about that horrible creature you faced in that other . . . world? Reality? Well, none of you knew anything about that.”
“We had a great deal of help,” John objected. “Including from Sherlock.”
“And Sherlock has faith in you,” Caro said. “So have some faith in yourselves.”
18
Nan woke to discover Neville sitting on the foot of her bed and staring intently at her, as if he had been trying to wake her by sheer force of will. When he saw she was awake, he quorked and projected a very familiar image into her mind—the image of Lord Alderscroft, sitting on the veranda of his country bungalow on this very estate, sipping his morning tea.
“You mean he’s here?” she blurted. Neville bobbed his head and quorked again.
Well, so much for getting any more sleep. She dragged herself out of bed, yawning fit to split her face in half, pulled on whatever clothing came to hand, and stumbled out the door of her bedroom, to find Sarah doing the same thing. “Grey told me,” Sarah said, and yawned again. “Should we—”
Nan held up a hand. “Wait, let’s see if the others are awake first. I don’t want to do anything unless Memsa’b and Sahib give us their blessing first.” she consulted her pendant watch, which she had somehow managed to put on. “If they are following their normal schedule despite being up half the night with us, they should be in the dining room, having breakfast.”
With the birds clinging to their shoulders, they trotted downstairs to the dining room, once the site of many elegant dinners, now laid out in the manner of a school dining hall, with two rows of tables placed end to end running the length of the room, and the table for the adults bridging the two at one end. Most of the children (including Suki) had already had their breakfast and were at their first lessons, but Memsa’b and Sahib were just finishing theirs—and looking as sleepy as Sarah and Nan felt.
“Neville and Grey flew over to Alderscroft’s bungalow this morning, and he’s there,” Nan said, without preamble.
“Excellent! That saves us a journey. And we can use Neville as our messenger and invite him here for tea without any worries.” Sahib didn’t have to elaborate on “worries”—any time a telegram was sent, there was always the chance someone could intercept it before it got to its intended recipient. Alderscroft might not have watchers on him . . . but chances were, he did. No point in drawing attention to the school at this point in the game.
Sarah ran for pen and ink and paper while the Hartons finished their breakfasts, and Sahib wrote out a note giving a brief explanation and an invitation to turn up at teatime. He folded it and handed it to Neville, who took it with grave dignity, and Nan walked him over to the window and let him go.
“You and Sarah look like a pair of unmade beds,” Sahib said kindly, as she turned back to the room. “Why don’t you both go back to sleep. I’ll wait for Neville to bring back the answer.”
Nan had been considering a lot of strong tea, but sleep sounded much better. “We’ll see you at luncheon then,” she said gratefully, and the two of them went back to their rooms and resumed their interrupted slumbers.
* * *
Nan and Sarah had been spending as much time as they could with Suki since they had arrived—it was Summer Term, so academic lessons were minimal, giving the children plenty of time to play outdoors, learning things like riding and archery. But Suki had picked up on their anxiety, which was not exactly surprising, given that she, like Nan, was a reader of minds. Nan was expecting questions from their little ward, so she was not at all surprised when Suki finally asked those questions after luncheon as she was reviewing the map of the East End.
She was also not surprised when Suki chose her to answer them. They were both children of London’s darker streets, and no matter how much Sarah loved the little girl, when Suki wanted straight answers, she
came first to Nan.
“Somethin’ bad is going on,” Suki stated.
Nan nodded. “It’s a very wicked magician. He’s killed a lot of girls, and he nearly killed John and Mary. We have to find him, and we have to stop him.”
Suki considered this and sat down next to Nan on the sofa. “Is it as dangerous as the monster was?”
“I have to say that I don’t know,” Nan admitted. “Robin told us that he can’t help us, so we’re more or less on our own—but he is only a man, and not a monster. And really, before we can do anything about him, we have to find him. That’s what we’ll be doing tonight, and probably for several more nights.”
“And I can’t help.” Suki sighed. “This is hard!” she exclaimed mournfully.
Nan hugged her shoulders. “I know. Having to be the one who sits and waits is the hardest thing there is. And I’m sorry. But I promise you that when you can help, we’ll ask you. And soon you’ll be old enough to help all the time. Sarah and I weren’t much older than you when Memsa’b started asking us to help.” She didn’t tell Suki some pretty lie about how they needed her here at the school to keep everyone safe. And she didn’t make false promises that everything was going to be all right. “The problem is this man already tried to kill Mary and John, and came very close to doing it too. If it hadn’t been for Grey and Neville, he might have done it. We don’t know everything he can do, and we’re not sure that what we can do is going to work on him.”
Suki gazed earnestly into her face, and finally nodded. “I love you,” she said, her big brown eyes growing bright with tears. “Please come back.”
The Bartered Brides (Elemental Masters) Page 29
