Opening gambit, p.5
Opening Gambit, page 5
“I assume a carriage will be provided to take her there, Your Majesty? Or will she be required to walk?” Kitty asked.
The king huffed and narrowed his gaze. Their entertainment value was wearing thin on his patience and nerves. But he nodded to the secretary before waving a hand and rising to his feet.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Sera curtseyed as the king stalked from the room. She offered a silent thanks that the king had retained his lucidity long enough to sort matters. Now, she didn’t care if her new home turned out to be a barrel on the docks. It would be hers, and Branvale could control her no longer.
The two women followed the secretary out into the hall. A gaggle of lower-level secretaries clustered to one side, all clutching different-sized pieces of paper. One even carried a tray bearing a quill and ink pot with which the others could make notations on the move. Another swung a set of keys from his fingers like some gaoler.
The shortest man among them cleared his throat and thrust a folded sheet at Sera. “This is the right of residence for the property. In return for the accommodation, you agree to serve English interests for so long as you live. Sign, if you agree.”
“She doesn’t sign until we have examined the contract.” Kitty snatched the page and unfolded it, scanning the contents. She huffed, snorted, and sighed as she read.
“Pen.” She held out her hand.
One secretary looked to another, who shrugged. Then he dipped the pen in the ink, scraped it on the side of the pot, and placed it in Kitty’s hand. The secretary held the tray out on his outstretched arms.
Kitty laid the paper on the impromptu desk and paused for a moment before wielding the pen. Words were struck through and new ones substituted. After some minutes, she set down the pen and spoke to the first secretary. “Now, Lady Winyard will sign it.”
His eyes widened as he stared from the contract to Kitty to Sera. “You cannot change a royal contract like that.”
“We can when you try to impose different clauses than those offered to male mages. Lady Winyard’s contract is now exactly the same as the one signed by every other mage who joins the council. Do you want her to sign, or shall I send for the American ambassador? I hear he is here somewhere. Lady Winyard would be delighted to talk to him.” Kitty went up on her toes to glance about over the tops of their heads.
Sera held her silence, but her heart swelled with gratitude for her friend and her father.
“Yes, well, umm…the contracts must have been mixed up. Thank you for pointing out the oversight.” The secretary stared at his associates and was met by shakes of the head. One fixated on his shoes and refused to make eye contact.
With the matter resolved, Sera took up the pen and signed her name to the contract. “I’ll take my copy, thank you.”
A secretary stepped forward with a slender wooden box. He opened the lid to reveal a sheet of paper. The ensorcelled paper was the exact duplicate of the one she had just signed, complete with all the amendments Kitty had made. Sera took the papers and rolled them up, muttering under her breath as she did so to remove the spell over the pages. Now, they could not be altered again. Then she handed one back to the secretary.
They were shown through St James’s Palace to the cobbled courtyard. The Napier family carriage was gone, but was hopefully not too far away. Another vehicle was waved over, and Sera smiled at the attending secretary. “Thank you for your assistance.”
He passed her a brass key with a length of green silk cord tied to it. “The house is number twenty-three, Lady Winyard. It has been my pleasure to be of service.”
When the door shut and the carriage moved off, she let go of a long, pent-up breath and embraced her friend. “I could not have done this without you. Thank you.”
“Friends stick together. Lady Abigail has to stay behind and attend the queen with the other ladies, but I can pass on one piece of intelligence. The man who stopped you from electrocuting Lord Branvale was Hugh Miles. Apparently he is a surgeon of some note and is mentored by the king’s physician, Lord Viner.”
“A surgeon? Is he an aftermage, that he is attending at court?” Sera rubbed her wrist. The healing wound itched and served as a reminder of what Branvale had done to her.
“No. Which apparently makes his skill even more remarkable. Given the size of him, I can’t see him stitching anyone up. He has the arms of a publican used to throwing kegs or men, likely both at the same time.” Kitty pulled aside the curtain to stare out the window.
“Indeed,” Sera murmured. The footmen Branvale kept were lean. Only the tradesmen who came to the kitchen courtyard came close to a similarly broad physique.
After some time rattling along the roads of London, the carriage came to a halt, and they were handed down. While they stood on the cobbles, the driver cracked the whip and the horses trotted away, almost as though the man had been told not to remain.
Kitty glanced at Sera, then around them. Her eyebrows shot up. “I see either the king or the Mage Council are sticking to the letter of the contract, rather than the spirit.”
The newest mage to serve England took possession of a terrace house wedged in the middle of a row, in an area that clung to the label respectable by its fingernails. Her neighbours were probably either tradesmen on the rise, or nobles sliding backward into ruin on the outskirts of Soho.
“It’s a home, and I am free of Branvale’s control. I would rather be far away from him, even if it pains my heart not to be close to you.” Sera steeled her spine and marched to the front door. She turned the key in the lock and flung the door open.
Both women coughed as a blast of cold, musty air rushed past them in its haste to escape.
“Smells like the last mage died in here and is still mouldering where he fell,” Kitty quipped as they stepped inside and pulled the door shut.
They explored the small town house. On the street level were a drawing room, a modest dining room, and a study facing the desolate rear yard. Upstairs were two bedrooms of identical size and a third, smaller room that could serve as a dressing room or a maid’s room. Below the street hunkered the kitchen, storeroom, and a chilly room for washing and laundry. A few furnishings remained, draped in sheets, but the floors were stripped bare of any rugs, the walls devoid of any paintings, and nothing ornamental provided a flash of beauty in the gloom.
“You cannot stay here alone. It would be akin to leaving you in a crypt. You must come back to Mayfair with me,” Kitty said when they finished their tour and returned to the small entranceway.
Sera shook her head. “I am a mage. I will be fine. After you leave, I will cast a spell so no one may enter.” There was one piece of useful information she’d learned from Branvale—a mage could stop any unwanted intruders from entering their home but must never seek to make it airtight. A mage had once suffocated his entire household when he removed the air from the rooms.
“It’s your birthday. You should celebrate with us tonight.” Kitty pursed her lips.
“Tomorrow night, I promise. Tonight, I need to be alone.” Sera took her friend’s hands to ward off any argument. “Besides, we have much to arrange—from furnishings, to my wardrobe, to finding a few staff I can trust. We can discuss all that over supper tomorrow.”
Kitty arched one eyebrow. “And what do you intend to do about your supper tonight? You cannot wander the streets in a court gown.”
There were spells to change clothing from one form to another. A temporary illusion would give her fancy gown the appearance of something more practical, so as not to attract too much attention. “I can alter my gown, but you cannot walk home. I shall come with you to find a hired carriage, and purchase something to stop me from starving in the interim.”
A sigh escaped from Kitty. “Very well. But you cannot stop me from worrying about you.”
Sera hugged Kitty, and tears welled up in her eyes. “I would not be standing here, if not for you and your father. Thank you for all you have done. You would make a formidable solicitor.”
Kitty laughed. “Father thought they would try something like that, so we spent many hours finding and analysing mage contracts.”
Before they left the house, Sera cast a small enchantment to mask their gowns and clothe them in simpler robes. Not far from the row of terraces, they found bustling streets, shops, and vendors pushing carts laden with goods for sale. Sera purchased a loaf of bread, a small wheel of cheese, and two apples. Then she saw Kitty into a carriage.
“Until tomorrow. We will set your new home to rights,” Kitty promised.
Sera waved to her friend and then walked back to her new accommodation. She stared up at the house, crammed between its neighbours. Noise rolled from the street, children played, women shouted from windows, and men yelled at one another. She embraced all of it. If the Mage Council thought to break her, they would find her made of much sterner stuff. Placing her in the little town house didn’t crush her spirit. Rather, it grew taller and expanded. Finally, she had the room to inhabit her own form and become who she was meant to be.
“Might as well make a start.” Sera marched to the modest dining room and pulled the sheet from the table. The surface bore the wounds of many a dinner, as though the residents dined without plates and cut directly into the timber. She patted the wood, and thought how it reminded her of herself—scarred, but enduring.
Room by room, she removed sheets and examined what her service to England earned her. Very little, apparently. But then, she had yet to prove herself. As her reputation grew, her coffers would fill and she could afford better furniture or even another house if she so wished.
Upstairs, she pulled the dusty covering from the bed, the mattress bereft of any bedding.
“No, not tonight,” she said to the solemn room.
Heading back downstairs, she fetched the basket containing her supper. Her explorations revealed an airing cupboard containing a few woollen blankets. Sera draped one around her shoulders and returned to the hallway.
“Where are you?” she muttered. She released a small spell that resulted in a piece of trim emitting a squeak. Pulling on it revealed steep and narrow stairs that led to the attic.
Tucked under the roof, she discovered two tiny rooms with single cots. She picked the one with a rounded window that peered out over the street below. Then she cast a warm glow to make up for the lack of a fire. With care, she stripped off the silk gown and removed her stays. Clad only in her chemise and stockings, Sera curled up on the cot and tucked the blanket around her. Leaning against the chill wall, she ate her small supper.
“Happy birthday to me,” she murmured before biting into an apple.
Night fell outside the window. Sera rose and stood on her toes to look out over London. Lights winked off and on in the distance. Whispering under her breath, she wrought a spell that would keep out any intruders and ensure the doors and windows remained locked.
Only then did she lie down and pull the blanket over her. Exhaustion swept her into welcoming arms and carried her away to the land of Morpheus.
A tapping at the window awoke her early the next morning, as pale pink ribbons of sunrise danced over the clouds. Clutching the blanket around her, Sera rose from the cot to find a curious crow on the windowsill, rapping on the glass. Morning light rippled on its black features, giving the bird the appearance of being cast from metal.
Sera kept hold of the blanket to ward off the chill and reached out to lift the latch. “Good morning,” she said to the creature as she opened the window.
The bird croaked around something in its mouth, silver glinting on an object trailing from both sides of its beak.
“What do you have there?” She stretched out her hand, and the crow draped a length of silver ribbon across her palm. “Thank you, my friend. You are the first of my neighbours to welcome me. I’m sorry I have nothing to offer you in return.”
The bird pecked at her hand, not hard, more like an admonishment for not reciprocating the gift.
“I still have some bread left, if that would be acceptable?”
The bird tilted its head to regard her with one serious eye, then it emitted a caw.
She took that as agreement. Retrieving the loaf, she broke off a chunk and held it out.
The crow grabbed the piece of bread, croaked again, then took flight.
Sera leaned out the window and stared at the street stirring into life below her. A rumble from her stomach reminded her of all she had to do—the first of which was to procure clothing. She had only the court dress; her rough linen frock had been left in Kitty’s bedroom.
She chewed a piece of bread and made a mental note of her priorities for the day—clothes, food, and bedding.
A heavy knock on the door made her look down, but the angle of the roof obscured her view.
“Coming!” she called out. Then, clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she raced down the narrow stairs.
A man stood on the front doorstep, dressed in plain trousers and a brown woollen coat. A large trunk sat at his feet and a crate balanced atop that. Out in the street, a placid horse snoozed before a cart. The man slid the cap from his head as she opened the door and twisted it in his hands. “Pardon me for banging on the front door, Lady Winyard. Miss Napier sent me and said no one would hear if I hammered on the kitchen door.”
“That’s all right, and Miss Napier is correct. There are no staff in the house as yet.”
Relief flashed across his ruddy features. “Shall I take the trunk below stairs?”
“No, bring it in here, please.” Sera silently thanked her practical friend for whatever she had dispatched.
The man placed the crate inside the door, and then the larger trunk. A delicious aroma wafted from the crate, and when Sera peeled away the covering cloth, two crumpets with a polished glaze of melted butter sat on top. Her stomach rumbled.
At that point, she realised the man was waiting for her to tip him. She had no coin, Kitty having purchased her supper the day before. “I’m afraid I don’t have any coin. Could I offer a spell instead as a thank-you?”
The man screwed up his face. “I don’t have much need for magic, milady.”
Her gaze snagged on the hole in his boot. “Perhaps I could fix that for you?”
He nodded. “That would be handy, milady. I do hate wet socks when I stomp through a puddle.”
She knelt, placed one hand over his boot, and murmured to the leather, encouraging it to stretch, grow, and cover the hole. When she lifted her hand, the boot was restored to near new condition.
The tradesman wriggled his toes. “Thank you very much, milady. I won’t have to worry about the rain now.”
Once he had gone, Sera rummaged through the trunk. It contained undergarments, two practical gowns, and a pair of boots. The accessories included two shawls, two jackets, and a large hat decorated with feathers. Beneath the crumpets, the crate held fresh bread, cheese, salted meat, tea, and a jar of relish.
Sera decided on the soft green countrified gown, so called because of its simple lines. Then she selected the darker green redingote jacket, modelled after a man’s riding coat. She changed in the parlour—rather than dragging everything up and down the stairs—and used her magic to tighten the laces on her stays and fasten the hooks on her gown.
Once dressed, she carried her box of supplies down to the kitchen. She needed to find someone to take charge of the house, and she knew exactly whom to poach for that task. A thumping at the door echoed through the house as she contemplated lighting the fire in the hearth.
The noise became more insistent as she hurried along the hall, wondering what it could be this time. She pulled the door open to find Kitty on the step, wringing her hands.
“Lord Branvale is dead!” she exclaimed. “They are saying it is murder.”
Six
Sera drew her friend into the house and shut the door. “Dead? Are you sure? We saw him only yesterday and apart from ruffled feathers, he appeared healthy.”
Kitty paced the short length of hall before the stairs, one hand pressed to her forehead. “We heard the shriek this morning when the young maid, Vicky, found him. Honestly, I thought she was being murdered, from the fuss she made. Father went to investigate and found Lord Branvale dead in his bed. Father said that from the look on his face, he died in great agony. The Bow Street Runners and the magistrate have been sent for to investigate, and I came straight here.”
Sera’s first concern was for the servants—there was little point in being worried about Branvale now. “Vicky has always been nervous, and screams murder if a mouse runs across her foot. While I appreciate being informed, Lord Branvale’s death is of no consequence to me. I did not harbour any great affection for him.” Although objectively, it meant his powers were now reborn in another form somewhere in England. Boy or girl?
Kitty stood before Sera and took her hands. “You don’t understand, Sera. You had an altercation with him in front of the entire court only yesterday, and the morning newspaper is full of reports about it. Today he is dead. What if some suspect you of murdering him?”
She snorted. “I would say they don’t know me at all, if they think I would kill someone in their bed.” Then another idea occurred to her, and she fetched her hat from the parlour. “I shall return to Mayfair with you. I need to find Rosie.”
Kitty narrowed her gaze and appeared to be on the verge of saying something. Then, given the determined set of Sera’s shoulders, her friend changed her mind. Instead, she held out a slip of paper. “Lady Abigail sent you a message at our house. She wishes to call.”
Sera placed her hat on her head and then took the sheet. She read the brief message and then sent it flying to a table in the parlour. “Marvellous. I need Abigail’s counsel. I shall send your man to tell her to come here this afternoon.”
Kitty opened the door. “After you, Lady Winyard.”
