Read The Royal Sorceress for Free Online Page B

poorer areas, just like any other city in Europe. The Bainbridge Hotel was right on the verge of the middle-class area, rich enough to be respectable, but too poor to be taken entirely seriously. Jack had made the booking through the services of the telegraph, trusting that the Bainbridge Hotel wouldn’t ask too many questions. They thought he was a poor nobleman, with a name, a title and little else. There were hundreds of second sons who had the right to be called noblemen, but stood to inherit little or nothing from their fathers. And there were plenty of little accidents who had been given a proper education by their fathers, even if they were never acknowledged as noble-born children.
    Jack slipped out of the cab, tipped the cabbie just enough to be sure that the man wouldn’t remember him, and strode into the hotel as if he owned the place. As he had expected, the manager was more than happy to take his money without asking too many questions; the Bainbridge had a reputation for discretion that would have done credit to a nun. Jack suspected that some of the wealthier segments of London society used it as a base for activities that would draw the disapproval of their wives and the Church. The last thing they would want would be a scandal that would call their discretion into question. In the unlikely event of the Bow Street Runners coming around to ask questions, the manager would have seen nothing and heard less.
    The room was as he had expected; a simple bed, a small washbasin and a tiny mirror hanging on one wall. He glanced out of the window and smiled to himself; the manager had given him the room that stared towards one of the poorest sections of the city. The haze of smog that hung over London seemed to be heavier over the East End. It was probably an optical illusion, Jack told himself firmly. Even the worst of the industrialists wouldn’t deliberately set out to poison the poor and helpless. It was merely a by-product of their industries.
    Shaking his head, he lay back on the bed and concentrated. A capable magician could detect when a Seer was looking at him, even though the Seer might be on the other side of the world. Jack had a profound respect for the Seers in the Royal Sorcerers Corps and knew that if they believed him to be still alive they would have been monitoring him almost constantly. There was no tingle suggesting an invisible presence, no sense that he wasn’t quite alone. Out of habit, he checked the room for knotholes and other ways he could be watched, before he placed his case on the bed and opened it with great care. If anyone else had tried to open it without his permission it would have been the last thing they ever did. There were items in his case that would have aroused suspicions in even the stupidest Bow Street Runner.
    The two fine suits of clothes would have passed without comment. Under them, Jack had hidden a far less reputable outfit, one that would only be worn by someone who had no money to buy something better. He donned it quickly and glanced in the mirror, smiling at his appearance. Anyone who looked at him on the streets would see a common labourer, perhaps one of the Irishmen who had fled to England to escape the famine and seek daily work as builders and carriers. The Irish were often hated by the poorer Englishmen, who believed that the Irish took their jobs and money. They had a point, Jack knew; the only thing that motivated the rich was cheap labour.
    Outside, the night was slowly falling over London. Jack donned a walking cape that would hide his outfit and then stepped outside into the corridor. As he had expected, it ended with yet another window, staring down into the courtyard behind the hotel. Jack opened the window, pulled his magic around him, and jumped down to the cobblestones. Anyone watching would have seen him fall several meters without being hurt. It was astonishing what magic could do.
    He walked into an alleyway a gentleman, wearing his cloak, and