A/N: I apologize for not updating for the past couple weeks - I've been really busy, without internet, and without a flashdrive on any number of occasions... Thanks for all the lovely reviews I've recieved so far. I will be updating more regularly now that things have (sort of) settled down. Enjoy!
CHAPTER 7
The Beckett manor was still and dark when its master and mistress returned home. All the servants were fast asleep – excepting, of course, for Oscar, who was waiting at the door with an anxious expression on his face.
He opened the door wide for the pair with a whispered exclamation of, "You've got it! You've got it, haven't you? Oh, 'tis a delightfully nasty bit of work! Let old Oscar touch it, please?"
"No," Beckett said flatly, carefully balancing the velvet-wrapped book in the crook of his arm. "It is also a delightfully priceless bit of work, and therefore impossible to recover. Only Victoria and I are allowed to touch it."
Oscar frowned. "But there could be something in there – something to help me learn things about others!" he pointed out.
"All the more reason to keep the Book from you, since you already know everything about everyone, myself included," Beckett replied evenly. "For example: how, exactly, do you know of the Book, Oscar? I certainly never told you."
Oscar shrugged unapologetically. "I know everything," he said simply, tapping his head wisely.
Beckett sighed. "So you do," he said with a shake of his head. "No spell could improve your particular talents, Oscar – and if I find one that can, I'll cast it on you myself so that you'll never know the difference."
Oscar gave a delighted whistle and began to dance around the foyer, half-mumbling and half-singing in what seemed to be some deranged language. He was quite absorbed in the dance and didn't even seem to notice when Beckett grabbed Victoria's wrist and pulled her up the stairs to their chambers. He closed the door, locked it, and blocked off the keyhole so that the busybody below wouldn't be able to see what they were doing; then, thinking better of it, he opted to leave the keyhole blocked and go into the bedroom, so that even if Oscar had another way to look into the parlor, there wouldn't be anything to watch.
As soon as the bedroom door was closed and locked behind them, Victoria began to strip off her man's suit while Beckett dropped onto the bed and began flipping through the Book. "We'll have to start experimenting right away," he said briskly. "I want to be able to present you in public before you give birth to my son."
"Daughter," Victoria corrected automatically.
"Son," Beckett repeated, not looking up from his search through the Book.
"Daughter," Victoria said insistently, more to irritate him than for any other reason.
"I can make certain it's a son," Beckett informed her, holding up the Book. It was open to the spell they had discovered earlier – the spell to bring sons. "Perhaps I ought to cast this first."
"Don't you dare attempt to alter your child's sex!" Victoria cried, outraged. "And do you really want that to be your first spell – something that, if cast wrong, could potentially kill your child?"
The thought was obviously horrific to Beckett, because he very rapidly turned the page. "Hmmm… here's something," he said, peering closely at a spell further along in the Book. "This changes one object into another, apparently. It's short and rather simple, and we won't have to worry about killing anyone while doing it."
"Well, that's always an advantage," Victoria drawled, rolling her eyes slightly. "What should we change?"
Beckett glanced at her and saw the hat she had been wearing sitting on her vanity beside her. "Give me your hat," he ordered.
She did so with a slightly quizzical look on her face. "What are we going to change it into?" she asked.
"I don't know. What do you want it to be?" he asked.
Victoria smiled. "A crown," she said immediately. "A bright gold crown with hundreds of jewels of every possible color."
"That could be a bit difficult," Beckett said, a frown of concentration flickering over his face. "But I suppose it's not impossible…"
"You did a rather impressive job of turning vomit into gold coins," Victoria pointed out. "How did you do that, anyway? I meant to ask you on the way home, but you seemed absorbed."
Beckett smiled darkly. "The cane I possess – the one I walk with all the time – isn't just a fashionable accessory," he said. "It was carved from a staff that originally belonged to the wizard Merlin. Mercer retrieved it for me a few years ago – it was probably the most difficult mission I've ever sent him on, but he survived and brought it back."
Victoria shook her head. "The things that man will do for you," she said in amazement.
Beckett raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem particularly discomfited by the notion that my cane once belonged to a wizard known to be part of an ancient legend," he said.
She cast him an incredulous glance. "Cutler," she said, "You wield Excalibur. You've told me that you also possess the belt of the Green Knight; you had faeries guarding me at our wedding, and still have them watching me even though you'd like me to think that you don't; and, moreover, we have just finished purchasing Morgan le Fay's book of magic, which you used to choke our seller with the gold coins he so desperately wanted. Did you really expect your cane's origin to surprise me?"
Beckett looked a little disappointed. "Well, I had honestly hoped for a slightly more shocked reaction than this," he said, "But I suppose that was a bit much to ask for."
"I can pretend to be astonished if you like," Victoria offered.
"No, that's all right; the moment's passed," Beckett said, waving a hand to reject her suggestion. "We might as well try to make your crown."
"Ooh! Hooray!" Victoria giggled excitedly, jumping onto the bed next to him and bouncing like a little girl.
Beckett cast her a disdainful look. "When you're settled," he said coolly.
She frowned, thwarted, but calmed down at once. "Settled," she told him brightly.
He rolled his eyes, but quickly turned back to the Book. "I suppose this shouldn't be too difficult," he murmured to himself, stripping off his frock coat and then rolling up the sleeves of his undershirt. He lifted his cane from where it sat by the bed and carefully placed its tip to the hat. "Abedecian héafobéag," he whispered.
Instantly, the hat lifted itself from its place on the bed and began to twist itself to another form in the air. Victoria watched in amazement as the fabric writhed and turned until it had become a brown leather crown.
"Hmmm," Beckett said, displeased with the results. "I suppose I have to specify what it's made out of."
"I suppose you do," Victoria agreed. "But I quite like the idea of a leather crown. Seems like it could start an interesting new fashion amongst the royalty of Europe."
Beckett snorted. "You tell that to King George," he said to her, "And you'll see how well he likes that idea."
Victoria sighed. "Well, I think it would be amusing," she said.
"You can wear it if you like," Beckett said, eyes flickering rapidly over the page. "I wish I knew the word for 'gold…'"
"What word did you use for the spell on the merchant?" Victoria questioned.
"Not 'gold,'" Beckett said crossly.
"Well that at least was apparent," Victoria huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Still, she leaned curiously inward to see what Beckett was about. "Maybe the Book will tell you," she suggested.
"Oh, I doubt that," Beckett said. "It'd never be so simple."
"You wished for it to be in English, and then it became English," Victoria pointed out. "Why should it be different with this word?"
"The word's not on the page, for one," Beckett said. "And for another -!"
"Book, what's the word for 'gold'?" Victoria inquired in her politest tone, ignoring Beckett entirely.
The pages flipped, seemingly of their own volition, to the back page, which was blank. Bright gold ink used from the page and formed itself into an odd-looking word: gylden.
Victoria looked up at Beckett and smirked. "Ha!" she said triumphantly.
"Be quiet, doxie," Beckett growled. "Back to that spell we were using, please." The Book obeyed with a quiet rustle of pages. "Amazing," Beckett said to himself. "It almost seems to have a mind of its own."
"Probably Morgan's," Victoria said, her voice hushed with awe. "No wonder this book's so dangerous."
"Oh, don't," Beckett said disgustedly, peering at the page again. "All right, let's try one more time." He sucked in a deep breath, then ordered more forcefully, "Abedecian gyldenbéag."
Quite suddenly, the hat was no longer made of leather; in the blink of an eye, and in so smooth a gesture that it had been almost impossible to see, the leather had turned to solid gold.
"Dear God," Victoria breathed. "That's incredible."
Beckett still did not look satisfied. "It doesn't have the jewels you asked for," he sighed. "I suppose I'll have to specify for those, too."
"Seems an awfully complicated way to work magic," Victoria noted. "No wonder wizards and the like had to study so hard to reach mastery of their subject."
"There must be an easier way to do this," Beckett grumbled. "Merlin can't have stood there trying to spit out mouthfuls like these when his enemies were charging towards him."
"You never know," Victoria said. "He may have been very talented with words."
"But one little slip, and the whole spell would go wrong," Beckett said in frustration. "Morgan certainly wouldn't have taken such risks unless she was desperate, and I can't imagine Merlin would have either."
"Maybe a different way will reveal itself in time," Victoria said soothingly. "We're just learning to do this, after all."
Beckett did not look appeased. "Perhaps," he said absently, tracing the words on the page with his finger. "Let's try it again…"
They spent the rest of the night changing the hat into various objects – a vase, a bowl, a pot of tea, a pot of tea and a set of cups, a pot of tea and a set of cups with saucers, and the latter all on a tray. The last three were particularly difficult and took up most of their efforts due to the multiple items in the set. It was difficult enough to make a pot of tea; making the pot wasn't particularly difficult, but making the tea appear inside the pot required a good deal of concentration. Then making the cups took yet more concentration. Beckett discovered that if he held a detailed picture in his mind of each item, he could create almost exactly what he wanted – but he never created what he desired the first time he did it. He usually stumbled over some of the words, and there weren't really Old English translations for "tea" and the like. Still, by the time the sun had dawned, there was a lovely tea set on the bedside table, and the pot was filled with piping hot tea – which left Eleanor quite astonished when she appeared with their usual morning tea tray.
Victoria slept the rest of the day while Beckett worked at the Company's headquarters. She was awake and dressed by the time Beckett returned home, and after a hurried supper they disappeared into their room to start their work again. Beckett took a several hour nap while Victoria worked on changing a set of her shoes into a pair of kittens. This was beyond difficult; the first time she successfully created what she wanted to, they were dead kittens. Frantically she sought a spell to endow them with life, but the spell was far too complex for her, and so she had to change them back to shoes – only the shoes were still made of the kittens' soft fur. Once she'd restored them to their original forms, she attempted to make them into a pair of black lace fans.
When Beckett awoke, he set to the problem of the kittens, but he found that the spell to give life was too complex for him as well. Instead, he worked at changing the black lace fans into one long strand of pearls, then changing the pearls individually into pairs of shoes. By morning, Victoria had more shoes than she could ever need, and Beckett more boots than he had ever wished for.
The experimenting continued in much this way for the next three months. Beckett moved on to much more complex spells, having already experimented both with Excalibur and Merlin's staff; Victoria, too moved on, but not nearly with such speed as Beckett, having had no experience before. He soon discovered that words did not necessarily have to be spoken for the spell to work – with a small gesture of the hand or the cane and a strong visual in his mind, he could create anything he wanted to. They made elaborate swords; summoned black faeries who had previously managed to avoid the call of Excalibur; discovered spells for summoning and ruling dragons and for exterminating entire groups of people; and even learned how to take over their servants' minds and control their actions. At the end of the three months, Beckett finally managed to cast the life spell, bringing a soft kitten to life in Victoria's arms. She named the kitten Lancelot.
And it was then, confident in his abilities, that Beckett told her one night, "I think it's time we fixed your face… don't you?"
Cat Whitlock made two important discoveries about herself as her company's journey progressed: one, that she disliked dressing as a man; and two, that she really disliked ships.
Weeks had passed in steady monotony onboard the Siren. The journey towards Bombay was not a short one, though apparently not the longest Mercer had ever been on from what he'd told her, and by the time three months had drudged past the entire crew was thoroughly ready to see land. Cat in particular was ready to dock; she had never been outside of England in her life, and at first travel had thrilled her, but the sight of the endless blue ocean had finally grown tedious.
"Two months ago I couldn't imagine despising this view as much as I do right now," she said miserably to Mercer as they stared out at the horizon.
Savage, who was leaning against the rail on her left, spat into the water below. "Welcome to the seafaring life, love," he growled. He had been in a foul mood the past few weeks, and had been more crass and rude than usual – particularly to Cat. Since he knew she was a woman – and had made as much apparent to her – he liked to pick at her above all the rest.
Most of his fun was ruined by Mercer's presence, since Mercer was the only person above him in rank and Mercer never let the lieutenant bother her too long. He was fiercely protective of the young girl, dragging her everywhere he went aboard the ship and even once shooting a man who dared insult her. Despite the obviousness of Mercer's affection, most of the dimwitted crew hadn't yet realized that Cat was a woman, and those who had kept silent for fear of being shot. Only Savage dared even bring up the matter in front of Mercer, and even then it was only when he was fairly certain the clerk was unarmed.
Savage was feeling particularly disgruntled at that moment, primarily due to a nasty little crack he'd made at Cat that had earned him a punch in the stomach from Mercer. He looked murderous, even leaning casually as he was against the ship's rail staring out at the ocean blue. "Bloody ocean," he spat, glaring at the water as though it had caused all his troubles. "Bloody ships. Bloody stupid Company missions."
"If you don't like it, I'm sure Beckett can find someone to take your place," Mercer suggested threateningly.
Savage's frown deepened. "I'll keep the job for now, thanks," he grumbled.
Mercer snorted. "Thought so."
They stood in silence awhile longer; then Cat asked, "How much longer until we reach land?"
"Can't really say," Savage told her, stretching widely and 'accidentally' brushing her breast on the way up. She gasped and cast him a dirty glance, which earned him a wrathful, hellfire-threatening glare from Mercer. "Soon, I hope," Savage continued as though nothing had happened. "I'm in need of a good go with a doxie." He eyed Cat speculatively. "'Course - " he started.
"One more word out of you, buck-fitch, and you'll not have the parts to have that go," Mercer snarled.
"Touched a nerve, eh?" Savage said heedlessly. "Not surprising. 'Course, you wouldn't be suffering from going without, because you, lucky little sod that you are, haven't had to. Can I bring my screw next time we travel?"
"As if you could ever keep a woman interested in you," Cat laughed brightly, before Mercer could react more violently.
Savage narrowed his eyes at her. "I'll have you know that there are plenty of woman quite interested in me in London," he snapped.
"The harlots on the East Side don't count," Cat said scornfully. "They only want your money, not you."
"I wasn't referring to them, actually, although they're rather fond of me as well," Savage said tartly.
Cat raised an eyebrow. "Not from what I've heard," she said.
"How have you been hearing from the East Side harlots?" Mercer demanded, frowning disapprovingly at her.
She giggled at his expression. "Calm yourself, Mr. Mercer," she teased. "I haven't been there myself, but Victoria knows a lot of the riffraff there. She still hears from some of them occasionally – the ones who aren't pirates, anyway. And she's told me that you've been banned from at least ten brothels near the wharfs, not counting all the others you doubtless can't visit anymore. Really, Savage. What have you been doing to those poor ladies?"
Savage was livid. "And how, I wonder, does Lady Beckett happen to know all this riffraff?" he demanded. "She shouldn't be spending time with such people."
"An unfortunate connection through an old friend of hers who turned pirate, which she maintains only so that Beckett can know the movements of the lower class," Mercer said, casting Cat a warning glance when she frowned. Realization dawned, and she fell silent, looking back out towards the ocean.
Her frown deepened suddenly, and she leaned forward, squinting. "The horizon looks dark," she said in surprise. "Is that – is that land?"
Mercer and Savage were both leaning close to her quite suddenly, staring out at the ocean view. "It is land!" Savage exclaimed, and gave a loud whoop.
Soon the rest of the crew was at the rail, watching as the ship turned about and headed for the land. It steadily began to grow larger, a thick strip of dark earth against the sky. The crew was yelling and leaping about with joy, suddenly rushing about the ship, hurrying to finish up tasks left undone and to prepare the ship for port.
Cat breathed a sigh of relief. "I never thought we'd make it," she said happily, surreptitiously reaching over and taking Mercer's hand. "But the journey's finally over…"
Mercer shook his head grimly. "Cat," he said warningly, "It's only just begun…"