Revenge of the Brotherhood (Book 3 in the Tom & Laura Series) (6 page)

“How did you get on board?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I hid in the Gatling gun room, but it was a bit frightening as you can see straight down so I came up here.”

“You disobeyed a direct order and put your talent at risk.”

Antonia grinned, “Not much you can do about it now, is there?”

Dougal could barely control his anger. He turned to one of the tool boxes on the wall, opened it and pulled out a 36 inch wooden ruler. Antonia’s face blanched as he waved it towards her.

“You cannot.”

“Treat you as a child. I most certainly can, young lady. I have no intention of letting you enjoy your ill won journey.”

Tom found Dougal’s rage strangely reminiscent of his father’s. Antonia deserved to be punished for breaking military discipline, but not from a man so angry.

“Dougal, not while you are angry,” he said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Dougal pulled himself together. “You are quite right, Thomas. I am far too furious to do this to her now.”

Antonia sighed with relief and Tom felt his tensions dissipate. Dougal handed Tom the ruler.

“You do it, Tom. Twenty strokes on her bare bottom and do not spare her or I shall have them done twice over by one of my men on our return. Let me know when you have finished and I shall come and inspect the results.”

Dougal opened the door to the bridge and stepped onto the bridge, closing the door behind him.

The door knocker sounded as Arnold made his way downstairs. He waited at the bottom of the stair hoping that one of the other servants would come and answer it. According to his watch it was seven in the evening and Sir Ernest had not told him he was expecting a guest.

Arnold sighed when it became clear he was going to have to answer the door himself. Drawing the bolts, he pulled open the door to find a scruff of a boy looking up at him.

“What’cha Arnold.”

It took Arnold a few seconds to identify the boy. He had grown unexpectedly fast since their last meeting.

“Tricky? What are you doing here?” the words ‘visiting a respectable house’ Arnold censored from his speech, though he certainly thought them.

“Come t’ see ‘is nibs. If that’s all right with you.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Don’t need one. Me an’ ’is nibs go way back. Go an’ ask ’im.”

Arnold didn’t bother. It dawned on him that he really did know nothing of Trelawney’s affairs as he invited Tricky into the house.

“David, is something wrong?” Trelawney asked as soon they entered the sitting room. Belinda put down her knitting. She rarely left the house for her own apartment before midnight, if she left at all.

“Ebb’s dying. ’e needs Tom.”

Trelawney sighed. “Tom is in America with Lord McBride.” “Dougal McBride,” he added as he saw the look of horror on Tricky’s face. “He is at least five thousand miles away and cannot possible get back in time to save your friend.”

“Daisy said ’e could, if we uses a telepath,” Tricky said defiantly.

Trelawney looked thoughtful. After a few moments contemplation he turned to Arnold. “I know it’s a damned nuisance, but could you go and get me an ounce of tobacco? The tobacconist off Oxford Circus will be open.”

Arnold knew Trelawney had plenty of tobacco. He turned to leave and then turned back again.

“You can trust me, Sir. I would never tell them anything important.”

Belinda came to his rescue. “Perhaps the time to include him in our circle has arrived, Sir Ernest.”

Trelawney agreed, though he didn’t look happy about it. “Stay then, but everything said from now on must not get back to Sir Anthony. Is that understood?”

Arnold nodded.

Trelawney turned to Tricky and spoke clearly and slowly.

“There is a woman called Andrea Wright. She is in her twenties, pretty, very slim with straight blonde hair and blue eyes. You would not fail to spot her in a crowd and you will not fail to find her when she leaves work at six each evening. She works at a building called Mercury House, not far from here. I will tell you exactly where in a moment. Do not attempt to talk to her there, it would not be safe and you would be seen. Follow her to her home and persuade her to pass on your message to her sister.”

“Did you follow all that?” Belinda asked.

Tricky nodded.

“I have told you enough to get me hung for treason,” Trelawney said dryly. “Let us hope that Daisy Drew knows what she is doing.”

“Come on, Ingrid. Surely six schnapps is not your limit? I drank more as a little girl,” Annelise goaded. She appeared very drunk, but Cam was far from fooled. In fact, neither woman had done more than drink the first glass. Cam hoped her sleights of hand were better than Annelise’s or she was in deep trouble.

If Annelise was aware that a patch of wet sawdust on the floor concealed a growing pool of alcohol, she certainly didn’t show it.

“Enough, I surrender,” Cam said, slurring her words and acting unsteady on her feet. “I confess I am a Hungarian spy,” she giggled, “but only to you, Annelise. Only to you.”

The tavern was crowded, but there was a clear area around the two women. Annelise was sometimes known as the Vienna Witch and it wasn’t because she could cast spells. Her delight in butchery was well known in intelligence circles. Despite all efforts at secrecy, the drinkers in the tavern were well aware that there were certain individuals you only approached at your peril.

Annelise smiled, showing gleaming white teeth. “You should carry a knife. Then if a British spy follows you, you can slit his throat.” She made an appropriate motion and grinned wickedly.

Cam made clumsy patting motions down her dress. “Must have forgotten to bring mine. It has been an age since I carried one.”

“Another drink?” Annelise asked. A barman had already refilled their glasses.

“Must pack. Long journey tomorrow,” Cam giggled inanely. “Couple of things I have to take care of in London.”

“Then be on your way.”

Cam made her way unsteadily through the room to the door. There she braced herself and standing a little straighter stepped out into the warm summer night.

Annelise took her drink and sipped at it. A man in a dark suit came to stand beside her.

“Did she kill him?”

Annelise shook her head. “I cannot tell. I cannot even tell you if she was drunk. She is a consummate actress, that one.”

“You will still entrust her with this mission? The Brotherhood will be unhappy if we fail.”

Annelise emptied her glass and put it back on the bar. “I will follow her to London and go to the wedding. If she is a double agent, there will be three deaths. I will slit her throat after I have dealt with the happy couple.”

“The Brotherhood will not be able to get you an invitation at such short notice.”

“Get them to give me the names and addresses of single women attending the wedding. I will handle the rest.”

6.
  
Incidents

Grades of Magical Power

Magic skills are broken down by the Empire into five grades. The skills users have are complex and the guide below gives only a flavor of the capabilities involved. The rare skills of Telepathy and Reading are not categorized into grades.

Grade 1

Grade 2

Grade 3

Grade 4

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.