A Perilous Power (Arucadi Series Book 5)

by E. Rose Sabin

  Les glanced at Leila. She smiled encouragingly but did not speak. Undoubtedly she understood what her father was doing, but neither bothered to explain. After all, to them he was nothing but a normal, a no-talent.

  The carriage stopped. Leila sat up. Her father opened his eyes. “It begins,” he murmured.

  The driver opened the door and helped them descend. When Les emerged from the carriage, the driver stuck out his hand. “I’m Peter Loftman,” he said. “I work for Mr. Hamlyn, but I’m also a member of the Community.”

  So at least one other gifted was present--no others. Would Hamlyn, Leila, and this Peter be enough? Les doubted they would be, but it was too late to offer that opinion now.

  Leila took the lead in marching toward the stairs. Her father fell into place behind her, Les followed, and Peter took his place at the rear of the procession. Les welcomed the man’s presence. Built like a prizefighter, he would be of help in whatever was to come. They proceeded single file up the clattertrap steps and across the porch to Dr. Tenney’s front door.

  Leila knocked on the door. As though we’ve come to pay a social call, Whatever Les had expected, it had not been this direct approach.

  The door swung open. Dr. Tenney’s cloaked metal servant stood in the doorway. Its missing arm had been replaced.

  “We wish to see your master,” Leila said quietly.

  The creature did not move. It continued to block the entranceway, though it made no threatening movement. Fearing for Leila, Les pushed past Hamlyn, stepped up beside her, and stretched an arm in front of her.

  “Stand back!” she hissed.

  At the same time, Hamlyn grabbed him from behind and pulled him back, away from Leila. “Wait!” He whispered the command in Les’s ear.

  The servant lurched forward, then swayed back and forth, pivoted, and trundled into the house.

  Hamlyn leaned close to Les and said in a low voice, “Be ready to act on my signal. While Leila and I distract Tenney, you and Peter,” he indicated the carriage driver, “get inside. You won’t have long to find your friends; you’ll have to run.”

  “What about Carl?” Les asked.

  “Peter will be able to handle him. No more talk—Tenney’s coming.”

  A cloud of odorous pipe smoke preceded the Adept. Leila stepped back and wedged herself between her father and Les. Peter stepped forward so that the four conspirators stood abreast, with Leila and Hamlyn in the center, Les and Peter at either end.

  Dr. Tenney appeared in the doorway. He surveyed his visitors, his face registering no surprise, only mild amusement. “Well, well. This is quite a delegation. I wonder to what I owe such an honor.” He peered through the haze of smoke, thickening it as he did so by rapid puffs on his pipe.

  “Ah, I see!” he crowed delightedly. “You’ve brought back young Mr. Simonton so that I can proceed with his testing. How kind of you.”

  Hamlyn said, “Mr. Simonton is concerned about his friend, Trevor Blake. He’s here to see him.”

  “But, Doss, you must have assured him that he has no cause for concern.” Dr. Tenney paused to blow out a fresh cloud of smoke. “Now that Mr. Blake has been inducted into the Community along with his friend, Mr. Holdt, they are under my tutelage. These two fine young men will be a credit to the Community, I might add. Last evening I kept them up quite late practicing honing the focus of their power. I was rather hard on them, so I encouraged the two lads to sleep in this morning. They are not yet ready to receive visitors.”

  Hamlyn responded with a courtly nod. “Then perhaps you would be so good as to deliver an invitation from me to Mr. Blake. In honor of my friendship with his uncle and to celebrate his entrance into the Community, I would like him to dine with my daughter and me tonight.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket, extracted an envelope sealed with green wax, and held it out to Dr. Tenney. “If you have no objection, we’ll wait here for Mr. Blake’s reply.”

  The Adept frowned but reached out and grasped the envelope. His thumb rested over the wax seal. Hamlyn did not release his hold; the two men stood linked, neither moving. Tenney seemed unable to break the link; a look of surprise flitted across his face.

  Explosive cracks sounded throughout the house. Shards of glass rained down onto the porch roof and fell to the ground as every window burst. The house quivered; splits appeared in the walls.

  “Go!” shouted Hamlyn.

  Peter darted forward, through the doorway. Les followed on his heels. They raced through the hallway and up the quaking stairs. The house seemed to be tumbling down around them. Hoping Hamlyn would be able to keep the doctor immobilized, Les threw open the first door they reached on the second floor. The room was empty; he ran on, as Peter emerged from checking a room on the opposite side.

  When they reached the door to Dr. Tenney’s laboratory, the metal servant blocked their way. Les stopped, but Peter lunged at the thing, shoved it backward, toppled it to the ground, and jumped on top of it. His heavy boots crumpled the metal skeleton. He jumped off, and the thing tried to rise. Peter stood back and clapped his hands. A globe of green fire sprang up from his palms. He hurled it at the servant. Like lightning it danced over the twisted frame. The servant fell, twitched, and lay still.

  Les made a quick circuit of the room, though he was sure it was empty except for the servant. Peter gestured, and the green fire swept up from the metal creature, gathered itself into a sphere the size of a handball, and returned to him. He hurled it toward the nearest table with its assemblage of wire and metal. It flared around the object, reduced it to slag, and sped to the item on the next table.

  “Come on,” Peter called, heading out the door. “Not much more time.”

  Les tore his gaze from the destroying fire and ran to help Peter search the remaining rooms. Most were bedrooms, all were empty, and in every room the mirrors had shattered and sprinkled shards of glass across the floor.

  The last room they entered was the doctor’s study. It was empty like the rest, but on the desk sat the jar with the captive moth inside it.

  Les grabbed up the jar. The moth slid along the bottom as though dead. He grappled with the lid. The building shook.

  “We have to get downstairs,” Peter said. “No one’s up here.”

  Les abandoned his attempt to open the jar and carried it with him as he raced after Peter. They descended the stairs, clutching the banister and testing each step as the wood crumbled beneath their feet. With a shout Peter jumped as the last few steps collapsed. Hugging the jar to his chest, Les leaped beside him.

  They split up to search the downstairs rooms. Bits of ceiling were falling; walls gaped open where doors were locked. The rooms were empty.

  Les heard Peter give a loud cry. He plunged toward the sound. In the kitchen Peter held a struggling Carl in a chokehold.

  “The others?” Les asked.

  “He’s all I found,” Peter said.

  “Where are they? Trevor and Miryam?”

  Carl spat. Peter tightened his grip.

  “Don’t strangle him. Let him speak,” Les barked.

  The house tipped and sent them skidding across the floorboards. It slammed them into the wall by the cast-iron stove. Then slowly the house righted itself and the sounds of disintegration ceased. They pushed away from the wall. Peter had kept his grip on Carl, and Les clutched the jar.

  The cracked walls began to heal themselves. Rents in the floor closed; gaps in the ceiling melded together.

  “Tenney’s free,” Peter said.

  Carl grinned.

  Had he not recognized the approaching footsteps, the reek of pipe smoke would have told Les who was coming. He could think of only one thing to do. He smashed the jar against the iron stove.

  The white moth drifted to the floor amid the broken glass. Slowly, very slowly, it flexed its wings.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  TRAPS

  Trevor’s body was suspended in nothingness. Thick smoke filled his nostrils, reducing his breathing to short, des
perate gasps.

  The Adept had said only that company was coming, and as part of his cleaning to prepare for the guests he was placing Trevor and Miryam where they could not be seen. Dr. Tenney had blown pipe smoke through an odd device from his laboratory. Vibrating wires and rotating metal points had woven the smoke into a kind of cocoon into which Trevor had been drawn. He seemed to be suspended outside normal time and space, yet dimly as through a thick haze he could see persons and objects in the doctor’s house.

  He could also see the similar smoke shroud in which Miryam floated, though her figure was no more than a dark shadow within a gray cloud. He could do nothing to help her—he could not even help himself—so he let her slip from his mind.

  Wherever he was, he had one constant point of reference: the red glow from Dr. Tenney’s pipe. That point was not stationary; it moved about, and he seemed to float along with it wherever it went. It seemed that he hovered somewhere above it so that it glared up at him like a baleful red eye. Occasionally a small flame flared from it, the smoke thickened, and Trevor fell into a kind of stupor.

  Shapes, vague and indefinite, moved beyond the blanket of smoke. Muted bits of color and distant murmurs of sound came to him like echoes of a dream but failed to arouse his interest.

  Something jolted his cocoon, left it rocking like a rowboat in rapids. The smoke thinned, but only for a few seconds. He had a momentary vision of Doss Hamlyn and his daughter, Leila, standing face to face with Dr. Tenney. The Adept, pipe in mouth, glared at Hamlyn. Leila glanced upward, and her blue eyes seemed to linger on his face. He thought she saw him, but the smoke thickened, choking him, the vision faded, and he doubted that he’d seen anything but a hallucination.

  In the hallucination someone ran. On the periphery of his vision he saw, or thought he saw, a figure dash away from Leila and Hamlyn, and he thought the runner was Les.

  Les. Good old Les. If I’d only listened to you, I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have … Les mustn’t know what happened with Carl, how he can control me. No, can’t think about that. Can’t think …

  The image of Les refused to be banished. In his semiconscious state, Les’s face floated with him in the void. He thought he heard Les calling his name. He tried to summon strength to answer, until he remembered he had no voice.

  Another jolt followed, and, as before, a violent rocking made Trevor strain to see through the smoke. He made out the glow of Dr. Tenney’s pipe; nothing else.

  Not quite nothing. A vague blur swam into his line of vision. The cocoon of smoke that held Miryam! Inside it her shadow moved, twisting as though she was trying to escape. The blur shifted nearer.

  What would happen if the two smoke prisons came together? Miryam was a healer. If he could touch her, she might be able to relieve the pain that still afflicted his throat.

  He wriggled about, finding motion difficult, like trying to swim in gelatin. Still he persisted, and the blur filled his view. The shape within it became more clearly defined. It moved with slow, erratic waves of arms or legs.

  He duplicated those motions, and the blur melded with his cocoon. He thrust his arm out, pushing against the resisting smoke, and touched something—an arm. He found the wrist, tightened his fingers around it, and pulled the body toward him.

  Miryam’s face became visible. Her brown hair swirled as if she were submerged in water. Her eyes were wide, frightened.

  Her other hand clutched his shoulder. “Les,” she whispered. “He’s here. In danger. Got to help him.”

  She put Trevor to shame: Her first thought was for Les, not for herself. He’d been about to say—or try to say, Heal me. Instead he forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile, focused carefully, and attempted a sending. If we get out of this binding, grab Les. Take him to that other place—the woods—that only you can get to.

  She nodded, seemed to calm. Her grip on his shoulder relaxed into a more normal hold. She’d heard!

  But he might have also increased their danger. Unless the smoke blocked the outward flow of power, Carl would have received the sending.

  Trevor was considering what to do about that when, before he was prepared for it, the cocoon of smoke dissipated and he and Miryam tumbled to the floor. His arm braced to try to break the fall; his hand jammed down onto a piece of glass. The hard landing and the pain lancing his hand distracted him. He saw where he was, but several moments passed before he could react. Miryam recovered more quickly. She jumped to her feet.

  They were in the kitchen. They had fallen beside Dr. Tenney, who stood facing Les and Carl. The big man who had stood behind Doss Hamlyn and his daughter at the Community gathering now had Carl in a choke hold. Miryam ran toward Les. He halted her at arm’s length and pointed to the floor between them, at something Trevor could not see.

  Carl’s struggles ceased and Trevor’s throat tightened; the pain encircled his neck with greater force. He couldn’t rise, couldn’t breathe. Carl had transferred his pain to him.

  He could manage no more than a feeble wave to Miryam to urge her to hurry, to escape with Les. He saw her crouch instead and scoop something off the floor.

  “I’ll thank you for that insect,” Dr. Tenney said, stepping past Trevor and holding an open palm toward Miryam. “It’s part of my collection.”

  Choking, unable to breathe, Trevor couldn’t understand, couldn’t see what was happening. His head swam, his lungs labored for breath. The sudden drain of power brought extreme dizziness but a removal of the added pressure on his throat. He sucked in air and willed the room to stop spinning.

  Carl was free. The man who had held him lay on his back, his head against the iron stove. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth. Trevor couldn’t tell whether the man was alive or dead.

  Carl lunged forward, shoved Les aside, and seized Miryam. She threw up her hands, and a white moth flew toward the ceiling. Dr. Tenney grabbed for it, missed, grabbed again.

  Miryam struggled in Carl’s grasp. Les fought to free her. Dr. Tenney fashioned a net of smoke and cast it at the moth. No one was watching Trevor.

  He spotted the large shard of glass that had cut his palm. He sat up and, with his good hand, grasped the glass. He stood slowly, unsteadily.

  Dr. Tenney, his back to Trevor, flung the smoke net over the fluttering moth and with a cry of triumph reeled it in.

  Trevor lunged for Dr. Tenney and drove the shard deep into the Adept’s back, feeling the glass cut into his own palm. Tenney dropped the net and fell forward. He lay sprawled on the floor. A red stain spread out from the tip of glass poking through his shirt. Trevor wiped his bloody palm on his trousers and leaped at Carl, who had grabbed Miryam’s wrist.

  Les kicked Carl’s groin. Carl yelled and doubled over, releasing Miryam.

  Run, both of you! Trevor sent desperately. But again Miryam bent and found the moth, flapping feebly in the dissolving remnants of the smoke net. She placed her hand in front of it and with the other hand waved it onto her palm.

  A blast of pain struck Trevor. He collapsed, groaning. Carl had again transferred his hurt. As Trevor watched helplessly, unable to move, Carl straightened and kicked Miryam’s hand so that she dropped the moth. It drifted to the floor. Carl headed for it, but Les tackled him, shoved him away. Trevor felt again the drain of power, and Les collapsed into a heap on the floor.

  With Carl’s power concentrated on Les, Trevor could move again. He crawled toward the moth. As he reached for it, a mouse scampered in front of him, distracting him for a fatal instant. A booted foot stomped down on the moth and ground the delicate creature into the floor. Miryam screamed.

  Trevor looked up into the face of the man who had fallen against the stove. The blood on his face had dried; his face was pale, slack. Only the eyes looked alive. They glittered with a terrible triumph.

  Carl stared into that face as though hypnotized. “Dr. Tenney?” he whispered.

  Trevor staggered to his feet and hauled Les up. “We’ve got to get away,” he rasped.

  Mi
ryam caught hold of Les’s hand and tugged him toward the door. Trevor followed. He was right behind Les as Miryam led them into the next room. But the muscles in his legs locked, halting him. The pressure on his throat tightened so that he couldn’t call out. He could only watch helplessly as Les and Miryam ran down the corridor toward the front door.

  When Les and Miryam raced through the front door, Les no longer heard Trevor’s steps behind them. He turned. Trevor stood at the far end of the hall, hands tearing at his throat. Les started back, but Miryam’s outcry stopped him. He stepped out onto the porch.

  Doss Hamlyn lay stretched out, unconscious. Leila knelt beside him, weeping and stroking his hand. Miryam dropped down beside her, felt for a pulse in the man’s neck. “He’s alive,” she said. “I can help him. I’m a healer.” She pushed Leila out of the way and bent over Hamlyn.

  Les helped Leila to her feet. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Her blue eyes gazed at him with a vacant, childish stare.

  “Miryam, something’s wrong with Leila, too,” Les said. “We’ve got to get her and her father out of here. If we can make it to the carriage …”

  The carriage stood at the curb, the horses waiting patiently, flicking flies with their tails.

  Hamlyn groaned and sat up.

  Miryam slipped her arm beneath Hamlyn’s shoulders and helped him to his feet. “He needs more healing,” she said. “I don’t have the time or the strength right now.”

  Les guided Leila and did what he could to help Miryam with Hamlyn. They reached the carriage, got the door open, pushed Leila inside, and lifted Hamlyn in after her.

  “I’ll drive. I can manage horses,” Les said.

  Miryam got into the carriage, and Les clambered up onto the driver’s seat and took the reins. He urged the horses into motion.

  They pranced ahead a few steps, whinnied, tossed their heads, and stopped. Les looked toward the house. The big man stood on the porch, Carl beside him, supporting Trevor, who appeared unconscious.