The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  My fellow Towson students, twelve present and accounted for at breakfast, cheered my arrival in the dining room. There was a flurry of conversation about my injury, how well it was healing, the Maths Tripos, Guilders and Hugo, and the handsome American who’d come to call repeatedly. That last bit of news was imparted with fluttering eyelashes and inquiring looks, which I did my best to ignore. I loaded up my plate with everything except kippers, snagged a cup of coffee and made my way to the table. I sat down next to Cora. Melisande, having finished her breakfast and now nursing a second cup of tea, read out the important news stories of the day from the London Times, though she usually started with the Society page and worked her way forward from there to the front page with its national and international news. She regaled her listeners with the most recent exploits of one of the princesses of the realm in the midst of the din of plates, silverware, and various separate conversations.

  I managed to answer the many queries that came my way between bites of a prodigious breakfast. I savored every morsel and closed my eyes in bliss at the bitter, lovely taste of the coffee on my tongue. Hugo stood on the floor between Cora and me, looking up hopefully for dropped food.

  Cora frowned. “Here, Hugo,” she cooed, taking it upon herself to see that Hugo ate by slipping him morsels of food under the table. Apparently, she had been the one who’d taken care of him while I was asleep.

  “I’ve got a perch, a cage and a few other things for Hugo, which I’ll deliver to your room later today,” she said. “I must say, having only had cats and dogs as pets at home, I can see the appeal of a raven. Hugo is charming. He seems to understand everything we say, and he’s got a prodigious memory. No wonder they keep them at the Tower.”

  Hugo nodded, then flapped his wings a little. Cora handed him a bit of toast with jam.

  “Your handsome Mr. Michaelson dropped them off,” she said.

  “He is not my handsome anything, Cora,” I said definitively. “I barely know him, remember, no matter how ‘heroic’ he was on the road.”

  The mysterious American had struck again. I sighed. The past few days had been filled with bizarre happenings. I hadn’t had time to contemplate everything, but Andrew Michaelson stood in the center of the mystery.

  Part of me trusted Andrew implicitly for no reason I could fathom, which frustrated me no end, while the rest of me worried over the golden tracery I’d seen embedded in his skin. He believed in the existence of ancient pagan gods. He’d helped to protect me from attackers and clamed to have saved me from serious injury, but he’d also mucked about in my head without my consent. It was disconcerting to know he could project and read thoughts mind-to-mind. I, at least, knew what he’d done to me. What did Lizzie know about what he’d done to her?

  I realized then that Hugo had probably led Andrew right to me in the garden yesterday. An icy tremor crawled down my spine. “What did he tell you about Hugo?” I asked, hoping my unease didn’t show.

  Cora handed Hugo a bit of ham, which he gobbled up eagerly. “He went on about how to care for the bird, which I wrote down for you.”

  So, is Hugo his spy, then? I didn’t know. “I appreciate that, Cora. Thank you. Andrew didn’t mention an intent to come by and visit again, did he?”

  Cora thought for a moment. “Not to speak of, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he did. He seems quite keen to get to know you better.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I muttered to myself.

  “I didn’t quite catch that, Ari,” Cora said. “What did you say?”

  “I said, have you any idea where Guilders hid my books?”

  Cora handed down another piece of ham. “Hugo found them. They’re in my room, but the doctor says no reading until he examines you again.”

  “Oh dear,” came Mellie’s clear soprano voice, “it seems some Enhanced fellows have caused trouble in London.” All eyes turned to her. Anything involving the Enhanced made most people uncomfortable.

  “Read us the article then,” Cora suggested. “Sounds serious, if a bit daft.”

  Mellie cleared her throat. “Yesterday, in Seven Dials, a group of thirty Enhanced men looted several stores and pubs. They broke windows, stole items from stores, destroyed furniture and injured several people, two of them fatally. The police employed Gauge guns to stop the mayhem, but even after several of the Enhanced men were disabled, they managed to continue their spree of violence. The police eventually employed deadly force after the ruffians set three buildings afire, thereby endangering the whole neighborhood. Firefighters managed to extinguish the flames before the fire spread to other buildings. Unfortunately, none of the Enhanced men involved in the incident could be identified. Any information the public could provide would be most welcomed, and persons wishing to help should make their reports at Scotland Yard.”

  Mellie took a bite of toast. “Sounds like it was a bit of a mess,” she said around the morsel. “Since when have the Enhanced caused trouble like this?”

  Cora whistled. “Gauge guns? I didn’t know the police had those.”

  “What are Gauge guns?” I asked. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore and I put down my fork. The news story in the Times worried me, and I tried to divine why. I knew Seven Dials was a crime-ridden, very poor area of London. Father had called it a slum, in fact. The newspaper wrote about brawls and other difficulties there frequently. What made this story different than the other stories? Certainly this was the first time I’d heard about a specific incident with Enhanced people involved, but considering the neighborhood, was it really that surprising?

  “I’m told they work on the same principle as the Gauge mechanisms that test people for Enhancements,” Cora said. “Only the Gauge guns use some sort of magnetic whatsit to disable the Enhanced. Depending on how, well... modified a person is, it could just make them unable to walk or use an arm... or, if the Enhancement runs deeper, it could kill them.”

  “But the article says they didn’t work,” Mellie said. “It didn’t stop the blighters. So were they not very Enhanced, or not Enhanced at all?” She handed the paper over to Cora, jabbing a finger at the illustration that accompanied the article. Cora took the paper and placed it between herself and me. I looked at the picture and swallowed hard.

  Staring up at us was the face of an angry man with pupil-less, metallic sphere eyes. It was what Sophie had described had happened to her Enhanced friends after the ‘butcher’ had worked on them. Sophie had spoken of the increased strength and odd detatchment of those who’d been altered in that way. I remembered her saying she’d rather die than become like them.

  I shivered. Are these ruffians victims of the same evil doctors as Sophie’s friends had been? Then another thought occurred to me. Is a new, dangerous form of Enhancement being created? If so, to what end?

  “And what’s this business about not being able to identify the blokes?” Margaret asked in her heavy Scottish brogue. She was the one studying mythology or anthropology or something, I remembered though I didn’t know her very well. “Were the Peelers not able to catch any of them? It makes no sense.”

  “Whatever’s going on, it’s a trend that can’t bode well for anyone,” Cora pointed out. “If this escalates it could get very, very bad.”

  Mrs. Guildersleeve stormed into the dining room then, letter in hand. My fellow housemates stopped talking, and the room fell into a hushed silence. Guilders snorted, then came over to where I sat and dropped the letter beside my plate. “This came for you this morning,” she told me, her tone sharp. She turned, waving her hand to indicate we should get back to our usual business, and vanished into the kitchen.

  I looked down at the letter, recognizing my mother’s distinctive handwriting on the envelope. My mouth went dry.

  “Oh bother,” I muttered. “This can’t be good news.” I reached for the missive, then turned away from my plate so I could open it. Suddenly Hugo was there directly beside me and deftly snatched the envelope from my hand. He jostled it a bit to get it mo
re firmly in his beak and hopped back, making a run for the hallway. He disappeared behind the wall, obviously off to hide the letter. I looked at Cora.

  “Did Mr. Michaelson mention the mail-stealing tendencies of ravens?” I asked dryly.

  “No reading until the doctor examines you again. That means letters, too.” Cora smiled. “I think it’s sweet that Hugo cares so much about your health.”

  I pushed my chair away from the table. “Yes,” I said, annoyed. “Sweet.” Blast, I thought. How am I to know what Mother wants if I can’t actually have the letter, or read it? I didn’t want to telephone her, particuarly if she intended to bring me home as she’d indicated when we’d spoken a few days before.

  I stood up too quickly, felt a little woozy, and grabbed the table. “Damn,” I muttered and waited a moment for my equilibrium to return. “I’ll head up to my room –“

  There came a booming knock at the front door. Millie, the upstairs maid, exited the kitchen and moved quickly to the door, smoothing her dark hair and its cap with one hand and her apron with the other. Her black skirt and petticoats swished as she moved. I altered my course from my room to the front hall. I knew that knock.

  Millie opened the door. Max filled the door frame, his beaming face a balm to my sore mind. He was Millie’s beau and made a point of visiting her every morning he could. Dressed in his canvas work clothes rather than his more flashy aeronaut togs, he was as boisterous as usual.

  “Millie, m’ darlin’!” he exclaimed, stepping in the house and enveloping her in a bear hug. She was only a little taller than I was and was nearly lost in his huge embrace. “I’m sorry I neglected you yesterday, but I’ve been busy working on the Bosch. How lovely it is t’ see ya! Are you off this Friday night? Can I take you dancing?”

  “Max!” she whispered, giggling. She poked him in the ribs and he put her down, chuckling. He saw me and waved. I leaned against the wall and waved back. His comment about the Bosch intrigued me no end. I hoped he’d have time to stay and fill me in on what I’d missed.

  “If Mrs. Guildersleeve saw you—“ Millie hissed.

  “She’d wish I’d take her dancing.” He winked. “Haven’t you heard? I’m quite the catch! So, what do you say?”

  Millie reached up and ruffled Max’s blonde hair. “Yes, Max, of course! Now keep your voice down!” She turned to me. “Is Mrs. – ?”

  I laughed. “Coast is clear. Off with you before Guilders comes out here. You don’t want her to make you work Friday night just to be spiteful.”

  Millie nodded. “Right you are, Miss. Thank you Miss!” and with that she was off back to the kitchen, skirt and petticoats swirling in her wake.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Max shut the door behind him and regarded me, hands on hips. “I got regular updates from my best girl about you, you know,” he told me, indicating the retreating Millie with an inclination of his head. “You don’t look like you broke your skull, thankfully. A bit pale, and the eye’s a gruesome sight, all green and puke-colored, but not so much death warmed up. I’d say that’s a good thing.”

  I moved away from the wall and indicated the seating in the front parlor. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended by those remarks,” I told him. “I’m glad you’re not a doctor – with that sort of bedside manner, you’d lose all your patients.”

  The front parlor was the traditional place to meet male guests. Open on two sides to the rest of the house and close to the front door, it contained two large blue velvet covered couches, two or three matching chairs depending on the number of guests, and a table for tea or other libations, depending on the gentleman and his business. Blue wallpaper in a pattern twenty years out of date covered the walls, which supported the framed pictures of previous Towson classes. Because of its open plan, nothing discussed in the room was private, and Mrs. Guildersleeve made frequent passes through it to help ‘maintain the virtue of the Towson ladies’. Those ladies who sought more privacy with male callers had to look elsewhere for a place to rendezvous.

  Max and I, of course, had no romantic intent so it would serve us quite well as an appropriate meeting space, just as it had in the past. Max sat on one of the couches, and I put myself in the chair opposite. “Andrew said you’d be better after rest and some food. I’m glad to see he was right,” Max said.

  I just nodded. “How are things with the Bosch? Are Lizzie and the rest doing well?”

  “Yes, of course, though this accident of yours worried us some.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve not been around to help with any of the improvements.”

  “That’s part of why I came to see you today, Ari my dear,” he said. “We’ve got us a job – permanent-like – for the Bosch. Hauling cargo around the world, if you can believe it. The consortium, or whatever its called, will cover all costs of updating the ship as well as fuel costs, repair costs and salaries for the crew. We’ve quit our day jobs, and we’re going to make a real go of it. We’re professional aeronauts!”

  I clasped my hands together in surprise and happiness. “Max, that’s wonderful! When did this happen? How soon do we start?”

  “Pretty much the day after you were hurt on the way home. Soon as I found out I called a general muster of the Icarus Squadron,” he said. “We’ve had volunteers working around the clock on the Bosch to speed up the re-fit. Lizzie, Needle, and Griff have been hard at work too, with help from me and Andrew, of course. Just a couple more parts coming in on today’s train and we should be ready to go on our first run by the weekend.”

  “Congratulations!” I said, genuinely happy for them, even as I knew I’d not be going with them on their first few runs. It also meant no more trips to pubs so I could win dart games, but that was all right. I still had my exams to pass, a parentally-approved marriage to avoid, and a shop to start. If I took great care with my allowance between now and June I thought I’d be able to make a go of it. I certainly intended to try.

  “Andrew’s the one who found us the position, and we’re meeting tomorrow to discuss the particulars and sign the contract.”

  That brought me up a bit short. Andrew yet again. Why was he everywhere, acting as an enigmatic savior one moment and securing jobs for the Bosch crew the next? What was he really up to? Was this job actually as lucrative as Max seemed to think it was? How far could Andrew be trusted? I wondered.

  Max noticed my pause and rubbed under his nose a moment, thinking. He cleared his throat. “What’s wrong, Ari?”

  “How did Andrew find this consortium?” I asked, my tone wary. “He’s an American, and new to Cambridge. Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you that he should find this opportunity for the Bosch when he’s supposed to be looking into a graduate program in Physics?”

  Max stared at me for a long moment. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he admitted, “and those are certainly reasonable questions. Because you’ve been recuperating, there are a lot of bits of news you’ve missed.”

  “I’d be eager to hear all of it,” I said, leaning back in the chair in an effort to relax.

  “First off, Andrew managed to convince your Dr. Maitland to take him on as a graduate student, allowing for his absences due to working on the Bosch, once we get up and running.” Max frowned and added: “He’ll be working with Devil Oberlin as well, but only for a few classes once the monster returns to his duties.”

  That made me pause. Dr. Maitland was my main tutor, and Andrew would be working with him? Clearly he did intend to pursue a graduate degree, which only added to the mystery surrounding the man. “Oberlin’s not teaching?” I asked.

  “Took a leave of absence for a couple weeks,” Max explained. “Claimed to be overworked.”

  “Hmmm...” I said, thinking quickly. Is it overwork or something else that prompted his absence? I mused. I wondered how the American would deal with the detestible Oberlin post attack, annoyed that gender always trumped intelligence and hard work in the thick-headed professor’s mind. I felt anger rising within
me, so I took a moment to compose myself before I spoke.

  “I wish him joy of his new tutors, and success in his seeking the degree,” I said, my voice prim and my countenance unruffled.

  Max snorted, not buying my act for a second. “I bet you do,” he said, a wicked smile crossing his face. “We both know Oberlin’s Satan Incarnate. Andrew will have his work cut out for him.”

  I decided it was better not to respond to that, and forged ahead. “I take it, based upon what you’ve said, he’s now part of the crew?”

  Max nodded. “All it takes is a majority vote to add a crewmember, as I’m sure you remember. He approached the consortium about hiring us. They needed cargo and people hauled, we wanted to make the Bosch a commercial venture and Andrew brought the two of us together.” He leaned forward. “Since he’s done so much to be helpful to us and to you, it seemed natural to vote him aboard. Do you have an objection to him we need to be aware of?”

  I thought for a long moment. Did I have anything concrete I could tell Max that didn’t sound completely ludicrous? What was I to say—Andrew had tampered with my mind, and Lizzie’s, possibly more than once? He claimed to possess magical abilities and seemed to think I did, too? Even though I knew that was true, it sounded completely daft, even to me.

  I sighed. “There’s something funny going on with him,” I said. “I know you think he’s a good fit for the Bosch, and he’s been terribly helpful to all of us. I don’t have an objection to his being part of the crew... or at least I don’t think I do... but Max, please. You must insist on full disclosure. I’m worried...”