Love Among the Gifted - A Pride & Prejudice Alternative

Chapter Thirty-Nine

"My ring! He took my ring!" LaFontaine screamed as Molly Gant tried to stem the flow of blood from his mutilated hand with a soiled scarf. He batted her away and the four people in the room watched in amazement as the vicious wound began to heal. First it sealed, then it started to expand. The flesh filled out the missing palm. Fingers sprouting back into place. After a few minutes the maimed hand was once again whole. The Frenchman cursed and grimaced the entire time, showing all how painful the rapid restoration was. Once his hand was fully healed LaFontaine continued his profane diatribe. Eventually Cranmer was forced to raise his voice to get the man's attention.

"Boss! They know about me. We need to leave as soon as we can."

"What?" LaFontaine turned and snarled at his lieutenant. "What do you mean?"

"Yesterday several men attacked my house. I got enough warning from my gift to get out before they arrive, but only by minutes. I don't know what gave me away, but I suspect it was related to the Bennets somehow." Cranmer said in a calmer voice. It was obvious to the experienced operative that the precognitive was attempting to reduce his leader's agitation by example. "I have no reason to assume they are aware of this house, but we are still in St. Albans which is far too close for my comfort. The only reason I stayed in this town is that this was the only location with which MacDill was familiar enough to create a portal.

"Then we need to move immediately." LaFontaine insisted. "Do you have a carriage?"

Cranmer indicated he had.

"Then we shall remove to Canonbury. MacDill, you'll drive. Molly, please find me a change of clothes. I cannot be seen in such a state." His hand swept his gory suit. "Cranmer, please send word to our friend in Meryton that he should meet with us in Canonbury tomorrow evening. We leave in thirty minutes."

The trip to Islington was blessedly uneventful. It allowed LaFontaine the time to reflect on the events of the past months. He considered the performance of his altered minions and the impact they had had on driving the British forces to redeploy to face an internal threat. After much consideration, he could only come to one conclusion. The plan was not working. And, without significant change, it was not going to work. There were simply too many English gifted and too few ExtraOrdinaries.

He reviewed the mathematics of inevitable failure. According to the best French intelligence estimates there were tens of thousands of gifted in the United Kingdom. They made up one and a half percent of the national population. That was on one side. On his side, he had found that only one in ten nulls had the potential to be successfully altered. For many his efforts had no effect. For three in ten, it meant a painful lingering death. And his alterations lasted, at most, a few weeks, and could only be repeated after a lengthy wait and only a few times before the altered individual's body broke down from the abuse. This meant that he could only produce a small number of ExtaOrdinaries, realistically no more than a dozen or two, at any one time. And that relied on him having sufficient people whom he could alter and that he could trust to follow his orders, often to the death. They would always be out-numbered, and in many cases overpowered as well.

He realized they could be terrifyingly destructive in small, out of the way, locations. But the remoteness of those locations made them less effective for creating a stir in the larger population. There was also the very real possibility of the local gentry of whatever location he attacked having sufficient power to defeat any force he could assemble. Altering animals into monsters was even less effective, as they were uncontrollable, and few could withstand the concentrated fire that even normal farmers and gamekeepers might bring to bear. They were more effective at causing chaos in a crowded urban environment. But not effective enough to justify the risk of his capture.