The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

“I am just a poor Natural,” Jemison said. “But would that not be to grasp too much power, Miss Blomgren? You have read your Milton, I assume. God will punish you if you claim too much knowledge. . . .”

“He’s right, Alva,” Nick said peevishly. “And what you’re describing sounds quite a lot like fascism. Or corporate personhood.”

Alva snorted. “Says Mr. Aristo. What is your title but a kind of immortality?”

Nick pointed at her. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“And yet you wear it so well.”

Nick stared at her. If the horses didn’t arrive in the next minute . . .

But then the sound of hooves rang in the street. They all rushed to the window.

It was the servants, with their mounts.

“Thank God!” Nick tossed his own note to Arkady on Alva’s pile of letters on his way out of the door. He had told the Russian that Julia remained unfound but that he was following leads. Hopefully that would keep Arkady at bay, but Nick and Alva were sure that Arkady would come immediately to check if Alva had gone with Nick. It was therefore vital that she remain at home in Soho Square to try to put him off. But she was sending several Ofan after Nick and Jemison, so that they would have some backup in Devon.

* * *

“I wish I had had time to teach you more,” Alva said as she stood beside the two men and their horses a few minutes later. “I can’t believe I’m sending you off like this, and with no one but a Natural for protection.”

“Thanks a lot.” Nick checked and tightened Boatswain’s girth.

“Yes,” Jemison said. “Thank you for the kind words of support.”

“I’m being realistic,” Alva said.

“Look.” Nick turned to her. “The fact is, I’m finally doing something I know how to do, and I am with a companion in whom I am completely confident.” He swung up and into the saddle, Boatswain shifting under him. “Tracking down Julia and thrashing Eamon is, in fact, an easy proposition for two Peninsular soldiers. So although we thank you for your concern, we are quite capable.”

“Yes, I see. I’m sorry.” Alva looked up at him, her hand on his knee. Nick was sure they made a touching picture—a beautiful woman bidding her menfolk farewell. But what she said next hardly matched the tableau. “The Guild and Mr. Mibbs—they want Julia because they think she is the Talisman,” she said. “I wonder if there is a way to convince them that she is not? When you find her and free her from Eamon, work out how much she knows and how well she is trained. Surely Ignatz at least taught her how to use her talent, even if he didn’t tell her of her own importance.”

Nick shrugged. “Arkady thinks she is untrained, and when I pressed her for information about her grandfather, she almost wept with confusion.”

Alva shook her head over this. “Ignatz! I’d kill him now if he weren’t already dead. You have the ring, yes? Give it to Julia and tell her as much as you can. Hopefully a few Ofan will reach you soon, and together you can come up with a plan that will protect Julia for the long term.” In the flickering light Alva looked like the angel from whom the Ofan took their name. The face she tipped up toward Nick was radiant with purpose, the two iron flambeaux holders rising behind her like a brace of wings. “Make it seem as if she is entirely innocent of what’s going on. That way, we can save her for the Ofan.”

“I’m guessing she will make her own choice about the Ofan and the Guild,” Nick said. “I’m hoping to save her for herself.”

“That is disgustingly romantic,” Alva said, and stepped away from the horses. “Now go!”

Nick tipped his beaver hat and let Boatswain dance in a circle. Then he and Jemison galloped away over the cobblestones, heading for Oxford Street.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

It felt as if her skull were broken and as if her body were being shaken to pieces. Her ears were filled with a crashing, rattling sound. Julia lifted a hand to touch her head. Just that movement alone set her retching.

An arm lifted her, and there was a sharp rapping sound. Then the rattling slowly subsided, and the terrible swaying and bumping ceased. Julia opened her eyes to almost complete darkness, but even that was enough to sting. She closed her eyes. Something smelled rank and close and mildewy. She retched again.

A door was opened and she was lifted outside. Chilly air made her head hurt sharply for a moment, then soothed it. She took a breath of the clean air, tried to open her eyes again, then leaned forward and threw up. Her face was wiped roughly, and then a flask was held to her lips.

“Drink.”

Eamon. That was Eamon’s voice. Julia struggled to remember, even as she drank the nasty warm brandy that was being forced on her. Why was she with Eamon? She had been walking somewhere, running from someone . . . who was it? Eamon? She didn’t think so . . . someone was chasing her, someone scary . . . Her head was spinning now, and she was swirling down into a whirlpool of darkness . . . swirling . . . but at the center of the whirlpool there was a little pointy-nosed face, surrounded by quills . . . a hedgehog. It opened its mouth and it said, in Grandfather’s voice: “Pretend.”

* * *

Boatswain was not a young horse, and Nick was not as fit as he had been in Spain, the last time life’s rich pageant had called for him to ride for hours across open countryside. As for Jemison, his piebald horse could not be kept to the gallop for more than a few minutes at a time. So here they were, three hours later, posting decorously along instead of galloping ventre à terre to the rescue. But Eamon was driving a blown team—Monsieur LeCrue had said that they were already covered in sweat when