Page 39 of Her Majesty's Necromancer
He went very still. Not even his chest moved with his breathing. "Do not presume that it tells you anything about me."
"I don't. Chiefly because I believe there must be a reason why you did what you did. Lady Harcourt didn't know what that reason was, however. She only told me that he was your tutor."
He searched my face. What did he hope to see in it? Whatever it was, he must have been disappointed, because he turned his back to me. "You should have come to me," he said in that quiet, calm voice that meant he'd reined in his temper, but only just. It was still simmering below the surface, ready to explode at any moment.
"Would you have told me? Will you tell me now?"
His broad shoulders rose and fell. "I…can't." He strode out of the parlor.
I sagged against the armchair, feeling battered and bruised by the encounter. While I felt sick for being found out, I only regretted trusting Lady Harcourt, not searching for answers. There had to be a good reason for Lincoln to have killed that man, Gurry. But if so, why wouldn't he tell me?
Or was I wrong, and the only explanation was that the tutor had brought out the violent monster inside Lincoln; the one he managed to keep well-hidden most of the time.
CHAPTER 7
I didn't see Lincoln again for the remainder of the afternoon. I dusted the entire house until Gus fetched me to train with him. Apparently Lincoln had given him instructions to do so. Seth was still out. The gloomy day promised rain so I suggested we use the ballroom again.
The exercise helped clear my head and distract me from the conversation with Lincoln. By the time we'd completed moves that were designed to strengthen me, I had completely set it aside. I rarely trained with anyone other than Lincoln, so it was good to go up against Gus. He was a scrappier fighter, his footwork not as polished as either Lincoln or Seth's, and that made him somewhat less effective. I was able to extricate myself from his headlock and send him crashing to the floor by the end of the session.
Cook applauded from where he sat on the covered table. "You made a bored man very happy, Charlie." He grinned at me. "I been wantin' to set him on his arse since I met him."
Gus got to his feet and dusted off his hands. "She would do it to you in half the time, you oversized slab of lard."
That only had Cook grinning wider. He hopped off the table. "Want to learn how to throw a knife so it always hit its target?"
I'd seen how accurate his knife throwing was. He'd planted a meat cleaver into Anselm Holloway's shoulder when my adoptive father had attacked me in the courtyard. It would be a useful skill. "Yes, please."
"We should run it by Death first," Gus warned.
"He ain't here," Cook said, signaling for me to follow him out the door.
"Why wouldn't he want me to learn to throw knives?" I asked.
Gus fell into step alongside me as we trotted down the stairs. "He will, when he feels you're ready."
"Why aren't I ready now?"
He sighed. "I don't know. All I know is, he hasn't given permission."
"Stop worrying, Gus. It's not like you."
We headed out to the courtyard at the back of the house. It was an area set aside for receiving deliveries and for the servants to use as a recreational space during their spare time. Although I'd sat on the bench seat and read often during the early weeks of my arrival, the colder weather had driven me indoors lately.
"There be any wooden barrels in the stables?" Cook asked Gus.
"Aye, but you can't use those. They'll be no good to anyone if you put holes in 'em. There's some spare planks in the carriage house."
He disappeared into the building adjoining the stables, while Cook returned to the kitchen. They both emerged a few minutes later, wooden planks and knives in hand.
Gus set three planks up on their ends and leaned them against the wall of the storehouse at one side of the courtyard. Next he drew a smiling face on the middle one with chalk. "A point if you hit the face. Extra if you get an eye."
He joined us and Cook handed me a knife. "The heavy end be thrown first," Cook said. "A knife with a heavier blade than handle should be held by the handle. One with a heavier handle, hold it by the blade. What's yours? Blade or handle heavy?"
I tested its weight by balancing it on my palm. "Neither."
"Good. It be a balanced knife. Best for beginners. Mine be blade heavy." He gripped his by the handle and I did the same, taking careful note of where he placed his fingers and thumb. "Don't hold it too tight or too loose. Now put your left foot forward, but keep your weight on the right. Bend your arm. Not so close or you'll cut your ear." He adjusted my arm for me. "Move your weight onto your front leg, unbend your arm, and release the knife when it be fully stretched out. Watch me."
He did everything he'd just instructed me but in rapid motion. The knife lodged in the eye Gus had drawn.
