Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) (33 page)

“If one undead bites a living person,” she concluded, “there will be two undead. If they then bite two more living people, there will be
four
undead. And then sixteen, two hundred and fifty-six, and then ...”

She shook her head, wishing she had time to sleep. “The figure of undead within the city will rise rather sharply,” she said instead, standing up and allowing the water to drip from her body. Raechel was seeing more of her than anyone ever had, her tired mind noted, apart from her maid. Even Sir Charles had never seen her naked. “We will be in deep trouble by the time the undead come for us.”

Raechel frowned. “Then why did the Tsar bring us here?”

Gwen shrugged. “Perhaps he intends to issue demands,” she said, although it sounded unlikely. Simone was the only Talker in the building and Gwen suspected she didn’t have the range to contact the other Talkers in Paris, not if she’d been reading minds. The Tsar could make whatever demands he liked of Lord Standish or Talleyrand, but they would have no way to communicate them to their respective governments. “Or perhaps he just wanted to make sure we didn’t go talking to his aristocrats until the plan was unstoppable.”

She used a towel to dry herself, then walked back into the bedroom and glanced at Olivia. “I need you to keep an eye on her,” she said, as she poked through the wardrobe for something suitable to wear. She eventually settled on a riding outfit that looked rather odd, but at least was less constraining than a dress. “When she wakes up, offer her food and then a bath. But don’t try to undress her.”

Raechel looked surprised. “Why would I try to undress her?”

“One of the maids tried,” Gwen said, recalling Olivia’s first days in Cavendish Hall. “Olivia panicked and kicked her in the throat. I don’t think she liked the thought of being undressed by someone else.”

She kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. There were things she had never dared ask her adopted daughter, mainly for fear of the answers. A young girl on the streets would certainly be angry if someone tried to undress her, but Olivia had reacted very badly and almost killed an innocent maid. Was there some further trauma buried in her mind or was she simply unused to the army of servants in noble households?

“I won’t, then,” Raechel said. She paused. “Should I look for a weapon?”

“I’ll bring you something,” Gwen said, with the private thought that Lady Standish would have a heart attack if she knew Raechel was planning to fight. Lady Mary hadn’t reacted much better to Gwen’s career. But the undead wouldn’t discriminate between male and female victims when the time came to start infecting the living. “Just remember – cut off their heads or make sure they can’t move. They’re very resilient to other forms of damage.”

She took one last look at Olivia, then stepped out of the door and walked back down to the ballroom. Sir Sidney had taken command and put everyone to work, including a number of soldiers from outside the palace. The Russian noblemen had talked them into helping, Gwen guessed, perhaps encouraged by the screams echoing out over the city. So far, the undead hadn’t entered the centre of Moscow, but that breathing space surely wouldn’t last long. The Tsar seemed to be concentrating on building up his army before turning and dealing with the foreigners.

“Lady Gwen,” Sir Sidney said. Beside him, Romulus seemed to be serving as an aide. “How is she?”

“Asleep,” Gwen said. She looked from one to the other, a thought striking her as she met Romulus’s dark eyes. “You’re working for Lord Mycroft too, aren’t you?”

The Butler smiled and bowed. “Being underestimated comes in handy,” he said. “But I never actually had to do anything ...
special
until now.”

“Be grateful,” Gwen said, dryly. She looked back at Sir Sidney. “What’s the situation?”

Sir Sidney, at least, didn’t seem to have any qualms about reporting to a girl. “We have fifty-seven able-bodied men and thirty-one women,” he reported. He pulled himself up to attention as he spoke. “Some of our ... allies ... believe that others will come in from the city as the undead plague spreads, but I’m not hopeful. Right now, we’re setting up barricades and doing our best to secure the building. Fortunately, we have an ample supply of swords and other such weapons.”

He paused. “I’ve put spotters out to watch for any signs of the undead, but so far we’ve seen nothing approaching the building,” he continued. “The Russians want to extend our defensive line until we can protect the entire complex, but I have my doubts. There just aren’t enough of us to hold the line.”

Gwen nodded in agreement. They had
her
, true, but she knew there were limits to her magic, even without the Russian magicians becoming involved. They were fanatical enough to keep serving the Tsar, even though he was an undead monster. Or perhaps they were already bitten, but the same technique had allowed them to keep their minds. There was no way to know. Gwen made a face at the thought. Just how far had the Russians carried their experiments and what was the planned end result?

A world of the dead
, she thought, sourly.
Is that what they have in mind
?

She looked over at Romulus. “And Lady Standish?”

“Locked in her room,” Romulus said. “I dare say Her Ladyship will insist I be fired when we get home.”

Gwen snorted. “You and Janet can come and work for me,” she said. Romulus clearly had hidden depths – and besides, she’d started collecting people no one else wanted. “How is Janet, by the way?”

“Scared, but helping with the medical supplies,” Romulus said. He paused, looking from Gwen to Sir Standish and then back again. “
Can
we get out of here?”

Gwen hesitated. If it had been just her, she would have made a run for the edge of the city by now, flying over the heads of the undead. But with over a hundred dependents she couldn’t see how they could make it to the edge of the city without being overwhelmed ... and even if they did, it was roughly four hundred miles to St Petersburg and the Baltic Sea. They’d never make it before the undead caught up with them. And then they’d die.

“I don’t know,” she said. Maybe she should take Olivia and run. But she couldn’t leave everyone else in the lurch. “The Tsar didn’t strike me as being willing to negotiate.”

“I’ll speak to the aristocrats,” Sir Standish said. He didn’t sound optimistic. “Perhaps they can suggest a plan.”

“Good,” Gwen said. She staggered, slightly. It had been over a day since she’d slept and her body was telling her that she urgently needed rest. “Maybe there’s somewhere closer we can go than St Petersburg.”

Sir Sidney nodded and walked away from her, followed by Romulus. Gwen watched them go, then settled down on a chair, trying to focus her mind. The next thing she felt was someone
touching
her mind. She jerked awake and saw Simone kneeling in front of her.

“It
is
you,” the French girl said. She sounded impressed. “I never even sensed your presence.”

“I hid,” Gwen said, darkly. She hated to admit it, but looking at Simone made her feel uncomfortably dowdy. The French girl was staggeringly beautiful, with a winsome air that called boys to her like moths to a flame. Whatever the truth of her origins, she looked far more aristocratic than many who had been born to the purple. “What do you want?”

“Just to say thank you,” Simone said. Her voice was soft and sweet, suggesting someone in desperate need of protection. It was no doubt very appealing to young aristocratic men who liked to think of themselves as protectors. “The undead could have killed us all if you hadn’t come to warn us.”

“You’re welcome,” Gwen muttered. She yawned. The temptation to just push the girl away was becoming overwhelming. Magic seemed to shimmer through her mind, responding to her desire. But she was too tired to focus. “Just do whatever you can to help the defenders.”

“I will,” Simone promised. She paused, then pasted a concerned expression on her face. “Would you like a hand getting back upstairs?”

Gwen glared at her. Her mental shields were starting to crack because she was completely exhausted. Having help to get back upstairs was tempting, but it would allow Simone too much opportunity to poke around in Gwen’s mind. Instead, she pulled herself to her feet, shook her head and walked towards the door. Somehow, she managed to stay awake until she reached Raechel’s room and sank down on the small bed the Russians had provided for her.

“You didn’t bring a weapon,” Raechel observed, from where she was sitting next to Olivia and pretending to read a book. “I ...”

“Keep an eye on Olivia,” Gwen ordered, and closed her eyes. She was too tired to snap at Raechel, even though Gwen
had
forgotten to bring her a weapon. “She’s the most important person in the room.”

But she wasn’t sure she knew what to do with her adopted daughter, she realised. The Tsar had done something that isolated his undead, largely severing their connections to other Necromancers and Gwen herself. Maybe, if the Tsar died, Olivia could take control of the undead, if they hadn’t developed an intelligence of their own. There were so many potential undead in Moscow that it was easy to imagine them crossing the threshold and developing intelligence if their Lord and Master died. Olivia wouldn’t be able to issue orders if they could think for themselves.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Goodnight.”

Sleep overcame her and she knew no more.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

O
livia snapped awake.

There was a strange girl in the room, sitting on the bed reading a book. Olivia stared at her, then looked around the room. It wasn’t another prison cell or her rooms at Cavendish Hall, although there was no shortage of gilt and paintings of dead men on the walls. It looked almost welcoming. The strange girl tapped her lips, then pointed to a bed in the corner of the room. Olivia saw Gwen lying on the bed, snoring loudly.

“You can tell her she snores,” the stranger said. “She didn’t believe me.”

Olivia studied the girl for a long moment. She was tall, stronger than she looked at a guess, with long red hair and an angular face that made her look sharp, rather than conventionally beautiful. The dress she wore looked odd on her, as if she would have preferred a set of trousers or even a simpler dress. Olivia’s instincts told her that the stranger was a good person, but that didn’t mean much. She’d met far too many well-meaning aristocrats who’d caused more trouble through good intentions than through outright malice.

“I will,” she said, darkly. “Who
are
you?”

“Raechel,” the girl said. “Welcome to ... some unpronounceable Russian palace.”

Olivia rubbed her head as her memories surged back into her mind. The Tsar had injected himself with her blood, then killed himself, somehow maintaining his conscious mind while becoming one of the undead. Gregory’s Healing had probably helped with that, she decided, although she had no idea how the Russians had even decided it was possible in the first place. Maybe they’d just kept pushing the limits of magic until they’d decided there were
no
limits.

“Thank you,” she said, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her legs felt wobbly, but nowhere near as bad as she’d feared. “Is there a place to wash?”

“In there,” Raechel said, pointing towards a door. “Do you require assistance?”

Olivia shook her head, hastily. She’d never been comfortable with the idea of being naked in front of anyone, but the Russian girls hadn’t given her a choice. Now, she entered the bathroom, closed the door firmly behind her and undressed hastily. The absurd Russian dress was so pitifully thin that it had been practically falling apart even before she tore it off and dropped it on the floor. Once she was naked, she looked at herself in the mirror and froze. Her body was badly bruised, her eyes were haunted ... and she looked so thin that she could see her bones through her skin. Clearly, the Russians hadn’t fed her anything like enough to power her magic.

Somehow, she managed to wash herself in the warm water, then pull a bathrobe over her body before she walked outside. Raechel was sorting out a plate of food; Olivia felt her stomach rumble as soon as she saw it. She took the proffered plate and tore into it, forgetting six months’ worth of etiquette training in her desperate need to fill her stomach. There was a faint cough from where Gwen was lying and Olivia looked up, just in time to see her adopted mother sitting upright. The sight sent an odd burst of warmth through her body.

“You came,” she said, wonderingly. No one had ever given a damn about her before, not even Jack. “I ...”

Gwen smiled at her. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Olivia lowered her eyes. A life on the streets had convinced her that no one, absolutely no one, put themselves out for someone else unless there was something in it for them. If she’d been adopted by an older man, she would have expected to be forced into his bed or made to serve him in some other way. And there were even women who liked women ... but Gwen hadn’t asked for anything from her. She’d even come all the way to Russia to save her life.

She didn’t want to cry. It had been years since she’d let herself admit to any form of weakness. But she found herself crying now.

“It’s all right,” Gwen said, as she stood up and walked over to Olivia. “You’re safe now.”

“But only for a given value of safe,” Raechel said. “Have you looked out of the window?”

Olivia stood up and walked to the window, then pulled the heavy curtains aside. Outside, a line of undead stood on the streets, staring up at the building with unblinking eyes. She sucked her breath in sharply, wondering why she couldn’t hear any whispering. Their presence had been completely unsuspected until she’d actually laid eyes on them. She cast her eyes down the line of undead, noticing that some were wearing uniforms, some were wearing rags and some were completely naked. But they were all united under the Father Tsar.

Gwen walked up behind her, then swore. Olivia giggled, remembering Tanya’s threat to wash her mistress’s mouth out with soap, then looked back at the undead. There were more of the bastards beyond the watching line, some crawling over buildings and hunting for living victims, others performing ritualistic marches, as if they were toy soldiers. Was the Tsar testing the limits of his control, Olivia wondered, or was he up to something else? There was no way to know.