The Great Game (Royal Sorceress) (38 page)

“Lady Gwen,” he said, looking up from the chessboard. “You seem to have won some more friends and admirers.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said. As far as she could tell, Lord Mycroft was playing against himself. “Why...?”

“Ambassador Talleyrand plays Chess,” Lord Mycroft said, tapping the board. “He would have become a grandmaster if Chess had been his consuming passion. Instead, he plays with live pieces.”

“Such as his daughter,” Gwen said.

“Quite,” Lord Mycroft said. He didn’t take his eyes off the board. “I’ve studied the few games he has played publicly, ever since we started playing Chess as a competitive sport. Talleyrand is deeply conservative, reluctant to advance to the offensive, but equally unwilling to allow himself to surrender the initiative. As such, games against him tend to be slow and unwieldy; there are few moments of consuming drama where one player launches a daring attack on the other. Talleyrand prefers to build up his position and advance slowly, but surely, towards the end.”

Gwen frowned. “But if he refuses to take the initiative,” she said, slowly, “wouldn’t that mean that he was permanently on the defensive?”

“Until he turns an opponent’s daring stroke against him,” Lord Mycroft said. “The key to understanding Chess is to realise that it is how the pieces interact that is important, rather than their relative power; even a king can take a queen, if the other player makes a dangerous mistake. Talleyrand plays to weaken, then go for the kill. He has rarely been beaten publicly.”

He looked up and met her eyes. “Just like in real life,” he added. “Talleyrand is a survivor, never making a mistake that would see him lose everything.”

Gwen frowned. “And what about yourself?”

“We have a great deal in common,” Lord Mycroft admitted. “A game between us would be... interesting.”

“But you already play,” Gwen realised. “Don’t you?”

Lord Mycroft nodded, then changed the subject. “Unfortunately, the investigation into Sir Travis’s death seems to have run into a brick wall,” he said. “Those of us involved with the secret negotiations have been forced to conclude that Sir Travis might well have been paid by the Turks to ensure that they got a very favourable treaty. The Privy Council will be meeting in four days to discuss the matter, but I do not believe that they will recommend that the Airship Treaty be ratified.”

Gwen winced. “But that doesn’t explain Hiram Pasha’s death,” she said. “Why would he be murdered along with Sir Travis?”

“We may never know,” Lord Mycroft admitted. “The Airship Treaty was passed to Sir Travis’s superiors before his death. His paymasters may have believed that killing both of them would cut the links between the Treaty and Sir Travis. If the gambling debts remained hidden, there might have been no evidence to suggest that Sir Travis ever had any reason to be grateful to Istanbul.”

“Sir Charles insists that Sir Travis could not have been a traitor,” Gwen said. “And really – if he wanted to commit treason, he had ample time to do it before we entrusted him with negotiating with the Turks.”

“Treason is an odd little habit,” Lord Mycroft said. “The American – Arnold – was perhaps the most capable commander the American rebels had at their disposal. And yet they treated him badly, to the point where he saw his chance to return to us and took it. Had
he
been in command at New York, we might have lost the battle.”

“Or if Washington had escaped, Arnold might have thought better of treachery,” Gwen said, remembering the lessons successive tutors had tried to hammer into her head. “As it was, he only came over to our side when the war was effectively won.”

“Howe was always too forgiving,” Lord Mycroft agreed. It was an assessment, Gwen knew, that was shared by many others from that time. “Although, to be fair, the chance to bag the last organised rebel army before it could disperse was worth holding his nose and dealing with a traitor.”

He shook his head. “Arnold wasn’t the only traitor to jump off a sinking ship – and that is far from the only motive for treason,” he added. “Quite a few German princes made deals with the French that allowed them to keep their crowns and castles, even as they sold their population out to foreign overlords. Other traitors had good reasons to hate the society that had birthed them – or were just greedy and wanted money.”

“Or could be blackmailed,” Gwen said, quietly. “What would you do if someone in your employ came to you and said that he was being blackmailed?”

“His career would be at an end,” Lord Mycroft said. He held up a hand before Gwen could protest. “I wouldn’t have a choice. Someone who could be blackmailed could be subverted by someone else...”

“But he wouldn’t want to lose everything,” Gwen objected. It didn’t seem fair that someone’s life could be destroyed by what they’d done in the past. “He’d lose both his career and his reputation.”

“Life is far from fair,” Lord Mycroft reminded her.

“Howell’s notes asked what happened to your sister,” Gwen said, wondering how he would respond. She hadn’t even
known
that Lord Mycroft had had a sister. “What happened to her?”

Mycroft didn’t look surprised at the question. “She... chose to make her own way in the world,” he said, flatly. There was something in his tone that warned her not to press any further. “I rarely see her; few people do, even when she is right in front of them.”

Gwen nodded, slowly. “What are we going to do about Sir Travis?”

Lord Mycroft looked down at his hands. “I’m going to have everything transferred to Cavendish Hall,” he said, after a long moment of thought. “You are going to start working your way through everything, from the text of the treaty to the papers that were recovered from Hiram Pasha. Read his journal, study the letters he sent back home... find something,
anything
, that we can use to salvage the treaty.”

Gwen frowned. “You believe that the treaty is that important?”

“France has gobbled up Spain, to all intents and purposes, and is in a loose alliance with Russia,” Lord Mycroft reminded her. “We have a window of opportunity to forge an alliance with the Turks that we can use to counterbalance the two European powers. That window must not be wasted, but it is closing. If we have to renegotiate the treaty, the Turks may assume that we weren’t serious and make whatever deal they can with the French and Russians. The Ottoman Empire could easily serve as a land bridge to India, if they allowed the French free passage.”

He looked over at the map on the wall. “The Turks have an agreement not to allow hostile warships to pass through the Dardanelles,” he added. “If the Russians manage to force them to break that agreement, we might discover that between them and France our position in the Mediterranean would be seriously compromised. The Turkish navy is badly outmatched without our help, but the Royal Navy would have too many other demands on its fleet if war did break out. More to the point, the Russians could build up a fleet in the Black Sea and then surge forward through the Dardanelles just before the outbreak of war.”

“Giving them a significant advantage,” Gwen said.

“More than you might think,” Lord Mycroft said. “The Sultan recently recovered Egypt from the Mamelukes. Most of the unhappy survivors and anyone else who dared object to his new laws have found themselves digging a canal. Once dug, the canal will allow ships in the Mediterranean to transit through into the Red Sea, which will give them access to the Indian Ocean. In short, the French and Russians will be able to shift their forces around quicker than the Royal Navy, giving them an advantage at the main point of contact.”

Gwen considered it. “Do you trust the Sultan?”

“I expect him to do what he considers to be in Turkey’s best interests,” Lord Mycroft said. “We can hardly expect him to stand up to the French or Russians for us if we don’t make it worth his while. Or give him a decent chance, for that matter.”

“So we need a reason to avoid renegotiating the treaty,” Gwen said, slowly. “And if we prove that Sir Travis was innocent...”

“That would help,” Lord Mycroft said, dryly. “I suggest that you take his maid with you, back to Cavendish Hall. She might be able to help.”

“Of course,” Gwen said, dryly. “What about Howell?”

Lord Mycroft gave her a surprised look that didn’t fool her for a moment. “What
about
him?”

Gwen waited, saying nothing.

“We knew he was a blackmailer and yet he was untouchable,” Lord Mycroft said. “And now we know that he was a rogue magician – and had other rogue magicians working for him – very few people will complain about how you dealt with him. The fact you destroyed his papers will make you very popular. I don’t think that you have to worry about someone demanding that you stand trial for his death.”

“Good,” Gwen said. Was it really wrong of her to be relieved that he was dead? “What will happen to his servants?”

“I believe that is your decision,” Lord Mycroft said. He gave her a crooked smile. “If you wish, you may deport them to Australia or America – there is no shortage of demand for indentured labourers to open up the new territories to the West. They may even buy themselves out of indenture and set up a homestead of their own. It would be better for them than staying in London.”

“Because someone might kill them because their master employed them,” Gwen said.

“Indeed,” Lord Mycroft confirmed. “You should interrogate them first, just to make sure how much they actually know. Some of them may have been willing allies.”

Gwen nodded and stood up.

“One more thing,” Lord Mycroft added. “I understand that you are going to the ball this evening with Sir Charles.”

Gwen nodded, unable to conceal her shock. How had he known?

“Sir Charles bought you both tickets,” Lord Mycroft said. “Lady Fairweather – you will recall her, of course – sold tickets to raise money for orphaned children; Ambassador Talleyrand served as the major draw, of course. Hopefully, it will be less exciting than the last time you attended one of their balls.”

Gwen snorted. The last time she had visited Fairweather Hall, Jack had announced his presence by tossing a dead man’s head at the dancers. His brief skirmish with Master Thomas had marked the start of the war to shape Britain’s future. Since then, Gwen had largely tried to avoid balls, particularly ones hosted by her mother. If Sir Charles hadn’t invited her, she wouldn’t have gone to the ball, even if the hostess had sent her a personal invitation.

“Sir Charles seems to have taken the accusations against his friend personally,” Lord Mycroft warned her. “I would appreciate it if you could convince him not to do anything rash. Matters are in a very delicate state right now and we don’t need a rogue element confusing everyone further.”

“Rash,” Gwen repeated. The word sound ominous. “Like...?”

“I believe he was talking about challenging Inspector Lestrade to a duel,” Lord Mycroft said, diffidently. “Such a duel would not be remotely legal, of course, but the Inspector would be hard-pressed to refuse the challenge without losing too much face. Being a policeman requires physical courage far more than intelligence, as Lestrade has proven on numerous occasions.”

Gwen scowled. When had she become Sir Charles’s keeper?

Because you like him – and because he listens to you
, her thoughts answered.

“It would be very bad if one of them did kill the other,” Lord Mycroft said. His voice darkened. “Please try to keep them apart.”

It was an understatement, Gwen knew. Lestrade was a police inspector, technically exempt from the
code duello
; Sir Charles could be charged with murder, no matter how willingly Lestrade had entered the duelling ground. And Sir Charles was a public hero. Lestrade’s career would be destroyed if he killed Sir Charles, even if he’d been the challenged rather than the challenger.

“I’ll do my best,” Gwen said, wondering if she could separate the two without losing Sir Charles’s respect for her. And Lestrade probably wouldn’t be happy either.
Men
! Pride got them killed far more often than anything else. There were times when she was glad that she had been born female. “And thank you for your time.”

“Bring us an answer, Lady Gwen,” Mycroft said, looking back at the chessboard. “And keep an eye on Talleyrand. You can never trust a Frenchman too far.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

S
ir James met her as soon as she returned to Cavendish Hall.

“I have four Talkers attached to Merlin for this evening,” he said, once Gwen had ordered Sir Travis’s papers moved to her study. “If that French girl tries anything, we’ll stop her.”

Gwen nodded. The Royal Sorcerers Corps had been trying to work out how many important people Simone might have met before Gwen had realised that she was a Talker, but it seemed unlikely that they had identified them all. God alone knew how much information the girl had pulled out of their minds and passed on to her father. If Howell could intimidate Polite Society, what could someone like Ambassador Talleyrand do with a mind-reader at his command?

“Make sure they stay close to her,” she ordered. “What about the rest of the security?”

“Merlin will remain on guard, along with a number of private guards,” Sir James said. “I don’t think that anyone will try anything.”

“That’s what they thought last time,” Gwen said. Sir James had been in India when Jack had crashed the Fairweather Ball. “We will take every possible precaution.”

Sir James nodded. “You’ll be there too,” he added. He hesitated, then grinned at her. “Is it so wrong of me to prefer fighting to going to balls?”

“It’s a different kind of warfare,” Gwen said, remembering some of her mother’s stories. The aristocratic balls often served as cover for secret negotiations between different families, or even political factions. People who would never speak to each other outside a ball could do so naturally while dancing, if they saw fit. Or simply borrow a room in the host’s house and have a private conference. “But I prefer fighting too.”

She ensured that Polly would have a room and a chance to rest in Cavendish Hall, then walked upstairs to where Martha and Lady Elizabeth were waiting for her. Martha had been excited to discover that Gwen was going to a ball, her first in sixth months, and had gone looking for a dress for Gwen while Gwen had been in Whitehall. Gwen didn’t see why her maid was so excited – normally, she would have been happy to let Martha go in her place – but decided to tolerate it. Besides, she wanted to look her best for Sir Charles.