A Radical Act of Free Magic

by H. G. Parry

  “Not yet, but don’t worry. I’m returning to Downing Street immediately after this. I need to appoint a new Lord of the Admiralty.” He sat down on the seat Wilberforce offered. “Dundas has just been to see me. He told me to let him go from the administration and take his disgrace without any further fight.”

  “That was noble of him,” said Wilberforce, pleasantly surprised. “After all these years. I wonder if—”

  “Wilberforce? Please be quiet.” Pitt’s look more than the words—which certainly weren’t words he’d never heard before—caught his attention sharply. Beneath his outer composure, beneath the worry and weariness in his eyes, his friend was scared.

  “I’m sorry,” Wilberforce said quietly. “Please go on.”

  Pitt waited for a moment, as if to check he had his full attention, then nodded. “Dundas told me,” he said slowly, “that he’d started to realize he was behaving in ways he couldn’t account for. He said that things that seemed like his own thoughts—that were indeed his own thoughts—were pushing him down pathways he hadn’t intended, and that he was beginning to feel frightened by. He was starting to recognize an impulse inside his own head, guiding him toward certain ideas and away from others, and when he tried to resist it, he found he could not. He said that he was no longer a safe person to have in office.”

  Wilberforce now understood why Pitt was scared; a chill shot through him as well. “Toward certain ideas.”

  “Yes.”

  “Ideas like the ones Larrington may have been entertaining?”

  “I think so. Yes.”

  “He wasn’t a part of the House of Commoners by the time Fina went there to find the enemy’s influence,” he said slowly. “He had already been made Lord Melville and elevated to the House of Aristocrats.”

  “Exactly. I never considered it, which was more than foolish of me. Especially considering that when we first started to suspect the enemy could see our battle plans, when Napoléon was in Egypt and our fleet was stopped by the kraken—”

  “—Dundas was Secretary of State for War,” Wilberforce finished. “Good God. No wonder you feared the stranger was reading your own mind. Dundas knew almost everything you did. You confided in him utterly.”

  “Exactly,” Pitt conceded with a sigh. “I honestly don’t know how I’m going to manage without him, but never mind. That sort of thing usually works itself out. Listen to me, I didn’t primarily come here to warn you about Dundas. Whatever damage has been done through his inadvertent betrayal has been done now. I came because the fact the enemy had him at all has given me a theory—a suspicion, rather. I would appreciate your help in investigating whether I’m right.”

  “What suspicion?”

  “The men over whom the enemy gained influence are all ardent anti-abolitionists—we knew that. Dundas, though, isn’t generally regarded as such. In the early days, before the war, he was considered in favor of the cause. His greatest push against abolition was in 1789, when he proposed the slave trade be abolished gradually rather than all at once. And of course, as we know, ‘gradually’ never came, in part because, soon after, the French Revolution came first.”

  Wilberforce had always taken a less sympathetic view of Dundas’s actions than Pitt, but he was willing to follow the line of reasoning. “Do you think he was acting under the guidance of the enemy then?”

  “Possibly,” Pitt said, so cautiously that Wilberforce knew that wasn’t his meaning.

  The thought came to him only a moment later. “Or else… Immediately after that debate was when Thomas Clarkson went to France and met the enemy for the first time. Could it possibly have something to do with him again?”

  “I don’t know.” Pitt rubbed his brow. “Not for certain. But if you had asked Thomas Clarkson in July 1789 for the names of those in Parliament most opposed to abolition, I suspect he would without exception have given the names of those whom Fina identified in the House of Commoners—plus a few, like Dundas, who have either left Parliament or succeeded to the House of Aristocrats. And I do think we need to talk with him as soon as we can.”

  “How soon?”

  “I wish I could go now, but there isn’t time. Can you come to the Tower with me just before the House meets this afternoon? Perhaps three o’clock? I’d like Fina to come too, if she can.”

  “Clarkson will be delighted to see her again. Is she in town?”

  “It will be difficult for him to see her if she isn’t,” Pitt reminded him, with a welcome smile. “She and Hester arrived last night. Which means that Hester’s probably rearranged all of Downing Street by now, charmed or offended the entire cabinet in the process, and has already chosen a new First Lord of the Admiralty.”

  “Poor Dundas,” Wilberforce said, his fear about his own actions turning now to sympathy. “It must be a terrible thing to realize. And a terrible thing to have to admit to you, who he loves so much.”

  “Yes.” It was Pitt’s turn to hesitate. “I know you and Dundas aren’t exactly close—”

  “I have every respect for Dundas,” Wilberforce said firmly. “However much I may object to his stance on abolition, his recent conduct, and his tendency to call me his dear little fellow.”

  “I don’t see what about that description is inaccurate,” Pitt said.

  “Accuracy is not the point. I’m sure he doesn’t call you his dear fellow who is built like a lamppost, does he?”

  “Point taken. And ouch.” He glanced at the clock and sighed reluctantly. “I need to be getting back; I’ve probably amassed about sixty dispatches while I’ve been sitting here.”

  “You should have stayed standing.”

  “That’s more true than you know. I didn’t realize I was so tired until I sat down.”

  “Think of me. I didn’t realize I was so awake until I sat down.”

  “I don’t suppose we could change places?”

  “I do a very good impression of you. If I went to the meeting and came in talking, they might not notice.”

  “I’ve seen your impression of me. They’d notice. I’m never quite so much like myself as that.”

  Wilberforce laughed, despite everything, and Pitt smiled for a moment before he stood.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out,” he added as Wilberforce started to rise to follow him. “Please reassure your wife that I haven’t hurt you, only frightened you to death for your own good.”

  “Please reassure Lady Hester that I haven’t hurt you, only voted against you for the country’s own good,” he countered. “I think she’ll be less willing to forgive me than you are.”

  “That’s very likely,” Pitt said. “She takes politics very personally. Don’t be surprised to find some form of arsenic in your food next time you dine with her.”

  “I haven’t hurt you, have I?” Wilberforce asked, before Pitt could reach the door.

  “Of course you have,” Pitt replied matter-of-factly, stopping and turning. “But it’s not a deathblow, and it’s not your fault. I’m rather too easy to hurt at the moment. Three o’clock, then?”

  Wilberforce could only nod.

  London

  May 1805

  Fina had met Clarkson once before, the first time she had come to town. She wanted to be introduced to the man who had fought for them for so long with so little reward, and Wilberforce had been happy to do so. She had found him a large, opinionated man on the surface; behind his eyes, though, he was kind, even gentle. He had listened to her without speaking as she told him about what she had seen of the rebellion—the terrible aftermath of that first night, Toussaint’s rise out of the chaos, the years of war and struggle and their slow fight toward freedom. She hadn’t told him about the threat to Jamaica—that was being kept a secret while the reach of the enemy was still uncertain—but she had told him of Toussaint’s dealings with the stranger, from the memory of that first storm on the beach to the last touch of Toussaint’s mind as he gave his life for her.

  “So it was worth it, then, in th
e end?” Clarkson said, when she had finally run out of words. It might not have been a question. “What I did—it did help the rebellion? And the rebellion did succeed, even at a terrible cost?”

  “Yes,” she said. She had lived through slavery and revolution and civil war, and she knew which she preferred. “It was right.”

  He had only nodded, but even from outside his head she could feel his relief and was glad. Clarkson made sense to her, in a way that Wilberforce still didn’t. Wilberforce’s passion came in some way from joy; his anger at injustice flared quickly, then hardened into resolve. Clarkson’s stemmed from grief and rage, and whatever he did, they never truly quieted.

  It was cold in the Tower that afternoon despite the fresh April sunlight outside. When the Templar let the three of them in, frowning disapprovingly at her, the rush of air from the corridor made her shiver. She wished Hester had been able to join them. It wasn’t that Hester added any particular safety—the Templars wouldn’t dare touch Fina in the company of William Wilberforce and the prime minister of Great Britain—but she always brought a certain fire that was at once warm and dangerous. Perhaps it was simply that she never doubted her right to be anywhere.

  At least there was a fire in Clarkson’s cell, and the blankets on his bed looked thick and new. He looked relatively well and contented, though his hair had become entirely gray since the last time she had visited.

  “I’ll come straight to the point,” Wilberforce said as they sat down around the worn table. “We’ve come to talk to you about the stranger.”

  “I gathered that much,” Clarkson said. “It was the only reason I could imagine that all three of you would be here. What’s happened?”

  His face didn’t change as he heard about Dundas, although perhaps his shoulders stiffened.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said at last. “But I don’t know what you want from me. I told you what passed between the stranger and myself.”

  He was lying, Fina suspected, but for some very good reason. Curious, she slipped behind his eyes, even though she usually refrained now from doing so with people she knew. In English society using magic on another without permission was impolite at best. But she wasn’t English, and this was no time to be polite.

  His body was cold; his lower back ached. More important, she felt a distinct flicker of guilt and unease as Wilberforce spoke again, though she couldn’t hear what he said. Disconcertingly, Clarkson’s eyes flickered toward her; she saw herself through them, her own face blank and withdrawn because she was no longer behind it. She blinked and came back to herself. A suspicion had dawned on her.

  She made a decision.

  “Are you absolutely certain?” Wilberforce was saying. “Because—”

  “Mr. Clarkson,” Fina interrupted. She leaned her elbows on the table, carefully. “I know the stranger helped you break the alchemy on Saint-Domingue, and I know you have no regrets about that. Nor do I. But if you’re not telling us something because you think he might still cause another rebellion, or anything of that kind, then please tell us. Saint-Domingue won’t happen again.”

  She had Clarkson’s full attention now. “Why not?”

  “Saint-Domingue was a French colony,” she said. “He thought he could control events there even when its slaves had achieved their own freedom. He won’t make that mistake again. He may spark another riot, but he won’t do it until the slaves on the island are entirely under his control, and he will not release them from that control afterward. If he’s told you otherwise, he lied.”

  “He couldn’t lie,” Clarkson reminded her. “Not while nightwalking. He told me that he would free the British slaves.”

  “Did he say who he would free them from?”

  “He said he would free them from their British masters,” Clarkson said, almost overlapping. The same thought had occurred to him. His face was pale. “But you say that he means to do so only to enslave them himself?”

  She nodded. “Through the spellbinding.”

  “Dear God.”

  “We think he has a vested interest in keeping spellbinding in place, not to mention slavery itself,” Wilberforce said, when the silence had stretched out past the point of comfort. “Which means that if he has any degree of influence with those who opposed abolition years ago, he can use it to watch through them, and to help them in their opposition. So if—”

  “Yes,” Clarkson said simply.

  “Yes, in what way?”

  “Yes. He has that influence. And I gave it to him.” He stood in a restless burst of energy, and paced to the small window. Fina didn’t need to be inside his head this time. She could see the tension in his shoulders, even turned half-away from them as he was.

  Wilberforce opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. All four of them were silent, waiting.

  “I seem to have done something terrible,” Clarkson said at last. He turned back to face them, his face once more composed. “Fina’s quite right: I don’t regret what I did in Saint-Domingue. They would have achieved their freedom on their own; it was an honor to help bring it about. I don’t regret allowing the vampire entry to my own mind and abilities—both were mine to do with as I pleased. But even with what was at stake, I did regret… that. That other thing I did. And if you are indeed right—”

  “You gave the enemy access to certain members of the British Parliament,” Pitt said.

  Clarkson nodded. A spark of defiance flickered behind his eyes. “They deserved it,” he said. “I don’t mean it wasn’t wrong; it was. But they deserved it.”

  “They were all men who voted against us,” Wilberforce said.

  “He said it would help keep Parliament on the right track. He wouldn’t do very much. Just a nudge in the right direction every now and again. I thought he meant our direction.”

  Wilberforce shook his head. “How could you trust him? For God’s sake, Clarkson. He was a vampire.”

  “He gave me the power to help free Saint-Domingue,” Clarkson said, with a flash of his old defiance. “After that, why wouldn’t I trust him? I thought he would give me the power to end slavery here as well. But nothing came of it. Saint-Domingue, yes, but not the votes in Parliament. I thought the climate was too strong. Perhaps that was indeed the case.”

  “Or perhaps he did exactly what he meant to do,” Pitt said. “And made sure things kept going in the right direction. The right direction, in this case, being the one that ensured spellbinding would never be broken and a steady supply of human souls would continue to be shipped across the Atlantic for as long as he needed them. He could look through the eyes of those on the other side of the debates; he could help them, if he needed to. And meanwhile, he had all the information he could want from the minds of some of the most powerful men in the country in the midst of wartime.”

  Clarkson made no reply to that.

  “He told me it worked by the power of names and earth,” he said at last. “He needed the name, and he needed the owner of the name to be on French soil. I gave him the names. The soil I brought back in my traveling case. Then I left a handful of it at each of their country houses, right on the border. It took a few visits to reach everyone, but I traveled a fair bit in those days, as you remember. It was purely symbolic, of course, but magic often is. He said that as long as my intent in doing so was clear, it would be enough.”

  “Can you remember exactly which names you gave him?” Pitt asked.

  Clarkson laughed shortly and ran a hand over his face. “Oh yes. I remember. I didn’t give him all of them, just the important ones. Larrington. Dundas.”

  “Addington?”

  He nodded, somber. “Yes. Addington. He wasn’t prime minister then, of course. None of us ever thought he would be.”

  “I wish you’d told me years ago,” Wilberforce said.

  Clarkson laughed softly. “Perhaps I should have. But you’re a difficult person to confide in, you know.”

  Wilberforce blinked. “Am I? I’ve never heard that before.”<
br />
  “Perhaps I should say that you’re a difficult person to disappoint. But if I’ve harmed our cause in any way…”

  “There’s a way you can help,” Fina heard herself say. She wasn’t at all sure of what she was saying and was even less so when the others turned to her in surprise. But she raised her head and kept going. “It might not work, and it might be dangerous if it does. But if you agree—”

  “Of course,” Clarkson said at once. “Anything. But what can I do, in here?”

  “I thought the stranger was finished with you, once he withdrew his support of your magic. He seemed to be. But if you gave him permission to enter those other minds, then he’s still using you. His connection to them is dependent on you.”

  “Do you think I could deny him permission?”

  “No. Not once it’s been given. But—if you let me enter your head, I might be able to find him through you.”

  “Camille Desmoulins found the stranger through Robespierre’s mind,” Wilberforce said. “When his shadow passed through him. That’s how we knew he was in Saint-Domingue.”

  Fina nodded, although she didn’t know who Camille Desmoulins was. “I can try, at least.”

  “Desmoulins was killed very soon afterward,” Pitt said. “There’s every possibility the stranger noticed him, and that he might notice you. Fina’s quite right: it could be dangerous for you both.”

  “I hope he does notice me,” Clarkson said. “The bastard. But I’d hate to place Fina at risk.”

  “We already know each other,” Fina said. “I’m not afraid.”

  It wasn’t true. It had been a long time since she had faced the stranger in her mind, and as happened often with things that had not been done in a long time, it was beginning to seem impossible that she had ever done it. But she had. She could do it again.

  She let herself drift deeper into Clarkson’s mind this time, past the surface emotions, away from the physical sensations. She felt him trying to open his thoughts and let her in, and though the surrender wasn’t as effortless as Wilberforce’s mind or as controlled as Toussaint’s, it gave her an opening. His memories swirled around her, cool and strange, shot through with warmth and hope like sunlight glimpsed from the bottom of the sea.