Page 27 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
Thurlow pressed a hand to his heart. “You wound me, Miss Ashe. I thought you and I could come to some sort of arrangement where I will let you go, and you will become my…particular friend.” His smile turned as oily as his hair, slicked back with brilliantine.
Bertie sat heavily on the third chair, and finally lifted his head to look at me. He was a pathetic, forlorn figure. Although he and Ivy were similar in appearance, her bearing was imperial whereas the same features somehow made him look weak. No more so than now, with tears pooling in his eyes. “We’ve gone too far to come clean. It’s not just the charges we would face for kidnap; we’d be charged with treason or criminal negligence. The newspapers would relish the story. Even if I was found not guilty, our business would be ruined. Now that Father is dead, I’m supposed to be the magician who infuses the leather in our boots with magic, but once everyone discovers I’m artless, no one will buy them. Customers will go to our competitors.”
That’swhy the family refused to admit they’d made a mistake on a batch of boots in the war. They were protecting the futureof Hobson and Son. A family business built on the promise of magic was in danger of becoming worthless if all living family members were artless.
“You could change your structure, and do as other artless businesses do,” I said. “Sell lower quality goods than magicians, at a cheaper price.”
“Our profits would fall dramatically.”
“Not to mention no one would buy from a traitor,” Thurlow added with a twist of his lips.
“Mother would hate existing on a more meager budget. Ivy, too. It would devastate them. It’s hopeless.”
“It’s a matter of greed,” Thurlow added.
“The Hobsons aren’t the only greedy ones in this scenario,” I snapped. “You’re kidnapping Gabe to force him to use his so-called time-travel magic for your own ends. Do you hope he can wind back time so you can place illegal bets on horses that you know won? Or change the odds you offer at the tote?”
“Very good, Miss Ashe. You’ve guessed correctly.” He got to his feet. “Come, Hobson. We’ll let Miss Ashe rest until your mother and sister arrive.”
Both Bertie and I looked around. There was a hard floor, hard chairs and hard barrels. I wouldn’t be getting any rest. Bertie gave me an apologetic shrug then followed Thurlow up the stairs. Thurlow’s man brought up the rear.
I saw a chance and took it.
When Thurlow opened the door, I raced up the stairs on my toes to be as quiet as possible. But my footsteps still echoed in the cavernous cellar. The thug heard my approach and blocked the exit with his barrel-sized body. I kept my distance. I didn’t want to be pushed down the stairs. The last thing I needed was an injury.
He sneered as he left, closing the door behind him.
I returned to the chair, only to get up again. I checked the walls and floor for secret passages, scrabbling at the bricks until my fingers bled. Panic set in when I found none. My chest tightened, and my breathing became labored. Weak-kneed, I sat on the chair and bent over in an attempt to catch my breath.
At that angle, the chair legs came into view. If I could snap one off, I could use it as a weapon. If I were a wood magician, I might be able to wield it without touching it. But I wasn’t.
I was a paper magician.
With a renewed sense of calm, I sat up straight and waited.
It wasn’t toolong before Ivy, Mrs. Hobson and Bertie returned. Thurlow wasn’t with them, but his guard took up a position at the base of the stairs again. He’d dispensed with his jacket, revealing thick arms straining the seams of his shirt and a throat like a frog’s, bulging above his neckerchief. The scars on his hands and cheek looked to have been inflicted by a knife. I was no match for him, physically.
I rose as the Hobsons approached, but I was still much shorter than all three. Mrs. Hobson made a point of looking down her nose at me. She and her daughter were alike, with their sleek dark hair and statuesque figures that suited the latest fashions so well, not to mention the sharpness with which they regarded me. Poor Bertie was an insipid imitation beside them.
“I believe you are responsible for my predicament,” I said to Mrs. Hobson. “Your plan won’t work. Gabe isn’t a magician.”
“We’ll see.” Her gaze swept my length, twice, before some of the tightness around her eyes and mouth relaxed. Had she been worried I was injured? “You’ll be exchanged for Gabriel when he arrives. Mr. Thurlow gave me his word.”
“His word is worthless.”
Bertie nibbled his lower lip. “I think she’s right. Mother?—”
“Quiet!” Mrs. Hobson snapped.
Bertie seemed to shrink into himself. He once again gnawed his lower lip.
I indicated the thug. “You and I both know Thurlow won’t simply let me walk out of here. You can’t trust him.”
Ivy glanced at her mother but didn’t say a word. Mrs. Hobson looked in no mood to put up with another dissenting voice.
She folded her arms. “I suggest you leave London the moment you are released, Miss Ashe. For your own good, and Gabriel’s.”
I barked a harsh laugh. “Forgive me if I refuse to take the advice of someone responsible for my abduction.”
