Page 40 of Her Majesty's Necromancer
Gus whooped and clapped.
"Where did you learn to do that?" I asked Cook.
"My pa taught me. He were a knife thrower with a travelin' troupe of carnival folk. They performed at country fairs and the like."
"You didn't follow in his footsteps?"
"For a bit, aye, but the travelin' life weren't for me."
"How did you come to be here at Lichfield?"
"I were assistant cook for Lord Gillingham."
I pulled a face. Gillingham was one of the committee members and he'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't like me. What wasn't clear was whether he didn't like me because I was a necromancer, had lived on the streets, or both. "He stole you from Gillingham?"
"Gillingham dismissed me, the little turd."
"Why?"
"Thought I'd been drinkin' the wine from his cellar on the sly, but it weren't me. Were his cook, but the cook blamed me. The cook were jealous because I cooked a meal for his lordship's guests one night when he were sick, and they all thought it were the best they ever had."
"Did you defend yourself and tell Lord Gillingham you didn't drink the wine?"
"Course, but then the cook found out I been to jail for theivin' a few years back, and there were no hope I could stay after that. Ain't no one who wants a thief in their house."
"Except Mr. Fitzroy," I said wryly. I'd also been a thief and had only escaped jail by raising a dead man's spirit and frightening the guards. "Did Fitzroy feel sorry for you and decide to employ you here?"
Both Cook and Gus snorted. "He don't feel sorry for nobody," Cook said. "He employ me because I the best cook in London."
Gus rolled his eyes.
"Go on, Charlie," Cook said. "Your turn."
I set my feet apart like he'd shown me and held the knife near my head, arm bent. I released it in a smooth motion. It missed all the planks and bounced off the brick wall. "What did I do wrong?" I asked, going to retrieve it.
"Your aim be off."
"I gathered that. Anything else?"
"Maybe stand closer. You be weaker than me."
I came in another foot from my previous position and set myself up again. I was just about to release it when Lincoln rode into the courtyard on his horse.
"What is this?" he growled, dismounting.
Gus rushed over to gather the reins.
"Target practice." I held up the knife and indicated the planks. "Cook is teaching me how to throw them to wound someone."
"I didn't give permission."
"It was only a little practice. Why do we need your permission?"
"Because I am your employer." He stalked into the house, flinging his cloak from his shoulders.
I handed the knife to Cook, rolled my eyes, and went after Lincoln. "That is not a reason."
"You need to learn to obey my orders, Charlie. You all do. If you want to help with ministry business then you need to learn to do as I tell you. I can't have you all going off in different directions on a sudden whim. It's imperative you do as I say, or plans will fall apart."
