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.Giving that much power to someone else, when she had too many enemies, struck her as dangerous.Most of the letters, thankfully, were simple enough.A handful were rather more complex, touching on legal matters; one of them addressed the pros and cons of using Talkers to interrogate suspects in prison.Gwen read it with some interest, noted the conclusion and then signed it with a flourish.It might be more convenient to have Talkers do the interrogations, but she couldn’t think of anything more likely to cause a massive backlash against magicians in general.No one liked the idea of having their thoughts read.We need to find more Sensitives, she thought, once she’d put the letter in the box for delivery.They’d be better with interrogations, without intruding on someone’s privacy.She contemplated it for a long moment, before putting the thought aside and turning to the next set of letters.They were reassuring missives written to the parents of young magicians, assuring them that their children would be perfectly safe at the Royal College.Two of them had been written specifically for a pair of mothers Gwen knew by reputation, who’d written to demand that their sons were not to have anything to do with low-born magicians.They were going to be disappointed, Gwen knew; there were no social barriers in the classroom.Besides, she happened to know that at least one of the sons went out drinking and wenching every night.The next box contained letters sent to her personally.Several of them came from charities, including two that she’d already politely declined to publicly support; she put them aside for later consideration, when she had time to deal with them.A number questioned her competence as Royal Sorceress; she picked them up with her magic and tossed them into the fire.Two claimed to have found new forms of magic and she read them carefully, before putting them in the box to go to Doctor Norwell.The letters could be hoaxes – they’d certainly had hoaxes before – but they would have to be investigated.Everyone had thought that Healers were a myth until Jack had found one.She gritted her teeth in irritation as she opened the penultimate letter.It was from another regular correspondent, who never seemed to notice that Gwen didn’t write back to her.The elderly woman found the thought of her granddaughter wearing trousers – and working in the hospital – to be horrifying and insisted that Gwen do something about it.How, the letter demanded, could the young girl expect to find a proper husband if she had a reputation for walking around without a chaperone?“Idiot,” Gwen muttered.Even if she’d been inclined to help, she didn’t run the hospitals and she didn’t have any legal authority over non-magicians.Besides, it was the place of the girl’s father to object and he didn’t seem to have any concerns – although, with a mother-in-law like that, he might just be allowing his daughter to go to the hospital to annoy her grandmother.The final letter was from her mother, inviting her to attend yet another fancy dress ball and hinting that a number of eligible young men would also be attending.She’d never quite given up on the thought that Gwen would marry, one day; she didn’t seem to realise that it was unlikely that anyone would want her.What sort of man wanted a woman who was more powerful than himself? Gwen was, as far as she knew, unique.There were no other Master Magicians known to exist.She sighed and pushed the letter towards the fire.Lady Mary would just have to do without a second wedding, at least for a decade or two; she could wait until her grandchildren were old enough to marry.There was a knock on the door.Gwen reached out with her magic and opened it.“Begging your pardon, milady,” Sergeant Brandish said, “but there are two miscreants here to see you.”Gwen pursed her lips together in annoyance.She’d forgotten that she had to deal with students who had become a bit too unruly.At least Sergeant Brandish – who’d been recommended by the Duke of India – could keep them under control while she found the notes she’d been sent by their tutors.They were buried somewhere under the hundreds of other notes she was expected to read.I probably should get a clerk, she thought, sourly.One of the miscreants was in big trouble – or should be in big trouble.The other wasn’t a student at all [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]