by H. G. Parry
And there, at the very edges, a shadow lurking.
Her eyes flew open against her will.
“Did you find him?” Wilberforce asked. He was watching her closely. For some reason, though she usually hated to be watched when she was out of her body and vulnerable, it was reassuring.
Fina shook her head, frustrated. “He’s there. But he’s so far away. His attention isn’t on us.” She glanced at Pitt, hesitated, then steeled herself. “You might be able to help.”
“How?”
“The stranger. He notices you; he still, even after everything, overlooks me. I think if you use your mesmerism on Mr. Clarkson, however lightly…”
“He’ll notice me, and come forward,” Pitt finished, understanding. “And you’ll be able to see him.”
“Yes.” She didn’t like it. If Hester had been there, Fina might have asked her instead, and hoped that the stranger would recognize her mesmerism as a threat in the same way. But then, asking Hester would have put her in danger, which Fina was reluctant to do. “I think it will work.”
“I didn’t realize you were a mesmer,” Clarkson said. His voice was mild, but his eyes had narrowed.
“I use it very rarely,” Pitt said. “Would you mind if I used it on you? I wouldn’t give you any command. Wilberforce would stop me if I went too far.”
“I’m not certain I shouldn’t stop you now,” Wilberforce said frankly. “Never mind the danger to all of you from the stranger: Is it safe for you to use magic? Could the elixir even support it? Forester said—”
“It wouldn’t take much magic. If Fina’s correct, the stranger only needs to feel my presence and be curious enough to look.” He turned to Clarkson. “Do I have your permission?”
“You have it.” Clarkson hesitated. “I felt him that time. I had no idea he was still there, after all these years.”
“He’s there,” Fina said.
They were both there this time. She had barely entered Clarkson’s mind before she felt the cool, subtle flicker of mesmeric magic. Most would probably not have been able to detect it—Clarkson did not, though he was waiting for it—but Fina knew it well. Bolstered by spellbinding, it had been part of her life every day for decades. She had never felt it inside another’s mind before. The instinct to flinch back overwhelmed her; she fought to stay present as the magic sank into the corners and asserted its will.
In a rush, the stranger joined them. It was like a head suddenly whipping to look in their direction, or a shift in focus; at once, something that had been in the background rushed to the foreground. Fina felt his burning intellect, probing, curious, even alarmed. She reached for it.
Come on, she whispered, in her own mind, where nobody could hear. Where are you?
It was no use. He was already retreating. She snatched at him, and it was like trying to snatch smoke from air.
Then, to her surprise, Pitt’s voice came out in the darkness, where usually there was no sound at all.
Where are you?
The stranger’s presence hesitated, then strengthened. All at once, it was as though he was standing next to them. I’m on my way to you, he said. Please try not to die before I get there.
Fina saw it. The sails of a ship, set against a clear blue sky. She felt a rush of warmth on skin and the gentle sway of deck underfoot. It lasted only a splinter of a second, and then her eyes were open, and she was back awake and gasping in the cell in the middle of London.
She met Wilberforce’s questioning gaze, and nodded quickly.
Wilberforce sighed, relieved, then glanced at Pitt. His eyes were still fixed on Clarkson. Now that Fina had been in Clarkson’s head, she could recognize the magic burning across his face. Mesmerism radiated from him, wild and blazing and hungry.
“Pitt,” Wilberforce said. His voice was perhaps a little firmer than it needed to be. “It’s over.”
Pitt held Clarkson’s gaze for just a second longer. Then, with a convulsive shiver, he looked away. The light died in his eyes; his grip tightened on the edge of the table before he raised his head.
“Forgive me,” he said to Clarkson.
“Barely felt it,” Clarkson said dismissively. His eyes were bright with interest. “I was only rather drowsy all of a sudden… and then I heard a voice. Was that you or him?”
“Both,” Fina said. “They spoke to each other. I didn’t know that could happen.”
“I hope I didn’t go too far,” Pitt said. “I thought he was leaving.”
“He was,” Fina said. “You did right.” She looked at him closely. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He drew a deep, unconvincing breath. His face was ashen, and he was trembling. “Yes, thank you. Did we find him?”
“He was on a ship. I couldn’t tell where—someplace warm. But he’s coming. He’s coming here.”
“Thank you. That was my impression too.”
“The invasion fleet,” Wilberforce said. “He’s on board.”
“What invasion fleet?” Clarkson asked.
“Napoléon’s. It’s amassing in the Mediterranean somewhere. Nelson’s been looking for it. But why would he come here?”
“There’s only one reason,” Pitt said. “Bonaparte’s been made emperor; the stranger has as complete control over France now as he ever will through him. Now he thinks the war is about to end.”
“The war with Britain?” Clarkson asked.
“No. Although, yes, that war too.”
Clarkson nodded, as though that confirmed everything he had wanted to know. “You aren’t only a mesmer,” he said. “Are you?”
“No, he isn’t,” Wilberforce said, before Pitt could reply. “Please keep quiet about that, won’t you?”
“I don’t see why I should,” Clarkson said, but without real rancor. “He didn’t keep quiet about me.”
“He kept perfectly quiet about what you were, for years. He just couldn’t keep quiet about what you did. Pitt hasn’t done anything.”
“Yet.” He raised his hands before Wilberforce could go on. “You know I’d never report an unregistered magician, whatever the temptation. I never even reported the enemy.”
“Thank you,” Pitt said. He was still shaking, despite his efforts to appear otherwise. “And for the very little it may be worth, I am sorry for not keeping quiet about what you did. I was trying to prevent a war, which was in retrospect always inevitable, and I was trying to preserve the Concord, which in the end I broke myself.”
“What’s done is done,” Clarkson said. His tone was gentler than his words. “I have enough to be ashamed of myself. We have all of us compromised, in different ways.” He hesitated. “If I were to die… would that break the enemy’s hold on England? If his control on them is working through me…?”
“No,” Wilberforce said firmly. “No, it would make no difference.”
Fina wasn’t sure that was true; neither, she suspected, was Pitt. But neither of them contradicted him. She knew without a shadow of doubt what Clarkson would do if they answered otherwise. And there had been too many sacrifices for too many uncertain outcomes.
“We need to end this,” she said.
Hester was supposed to meet them outside—they had sent a note for her at Downing Street when she had failed to return from her ride in time to join them. She wasn’t there when they emerged, blinking, into the fragile afternoon light.
Pitt was inwardly glad of the excuse not to step inside a carriage immediately. He was still shivering and sick from the last traces of mesmerism; the air outside was London’s usual fog of hearth smoke and human waste, but there was a faint breeze from the Thames, and at least he wasn’t being rattled over cobbles. He leaned against the stone wall that looked out over the river, closed his mind against the bloodlines singing from the left bank, and waited for the swell of nausea to subside.
After a moment, Wilberforce joined him. “At least we know,” he said tentatively.
“Yes,” Pitt said, when it became obvious that he needed to
respond. He turned to his friend. “Thank you.”
“I did nothing at all,” Wilberforce said. He knew, of course, what he was being thanked for. “You released Clarkson only seconds behind Fina, if that.”
It was probably true. But they had been a dangerous few seconds.
“I probably shouldn’t speak to Clarkson again, just as a precaution,” he said, as normally as he could. Clarkson’s bloodlines sang out from his cell. “The enemy is still with him. It could be dangerous for him.”
“Of course.” Wilberforce looked at him. “Are you sure you’re—?”
“Perfectly, thank you,” Pitt said, which was true dependent on the question he was answering. Magic pounded in his temples and sank hot claws into his stomach; the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears was making him dizzy. The bank of the Thames was a mess of others’ bloodlines. But he was holding it. It was behind an iron door; he had forced it closed, and he felt confident that however hard it raged, he could keep it there. For now. He wasn’t perfectly well, but he was perfectly safe. “And after all, it’s no worse than we thought. Perhaps a little better. We know who the enemy has now, and how. I’d prefer it if that list didn’t include almost every member of the cabinet, but…”
“Don’t be angry with Clarkson.”
He smiled, despite everything. “You were the one who was angry with Clarkson, from where I was sitting.”
“I still am, I suppose. But I shouldn’t be. He just wanted to—well…”
“I know perfectly well what he just wanted. Has it occurred to you that a good deal of this is my fault? Clarkson did what he did because he despaired of ever getting the trade abolished by legal means. After all these years, he has yet to be proved wrong.”
“I don’t see how that could be your fault.”
“For twenty of those years, I’ve been at the forefront of the country’s government. I believe that means everything that happens is my fault.” He regretted the trace of sarcasm that seeped into that sentence. He meant it.
Wilberforce took it seriously. “That’s ridiculous. You’ve done everything you possibly could. The virtue and frustration of our government is that no one person can control everything that happens in the House of Commoners.”
“I may have done everything I possibly could once. I’m not sure your friends would agree I’ve done so lately. I’m not even sure you would.”
Wilberforce was quiet, which was all the answer Pitt needed. “You’re busy,” he said, with the barest of hesitations. “And I understand that you need to be careful about angering those with interests in the slave trade if you want to stay in power.”
“Twenty years ago I would have thought that anyone who would compromise a principle because they wanted to stay in power ought to step down at once.”
“You don’t think so now?”
“I do. But I also know that sometimes it isn’t a question of want. It’s a question of duty.”
“The danger then is in mistaking a want for a duty.”
“It is. Do you think that’s what I’ve done in coming back?”
“No. I wish it were. Then I could in good conscience tell you to step down and let things take their course. Pitt?”
“Mm?”
“Am I truly a difficult person to confide in?”
He couldn’t help but laugh at that, even though it hurt.
“I don’t know,” he said, mock-seriously. “You’re certainly one of the few I trust enough to confide in, but then I’m told I have a bad habit of seeking out difficulties.”
“I certainly never told you that,” Wilberforce said, his eyes twinkling. “I told you your bad habits were procrastination, late hours, too much drinking, and never answering letters.”
“Well, I can’t imagine why anyone would hesitate to confide in you given that degree of tact. No, you aren’t difficult to confide in. Even Clarkson corrected himself on that. He said you were difficult to disappoint.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” He didn’t even need to think about it. “In the sense that you expect the best of people, and usually they give it to you. It makes it difficult to give you anything else.”
“I’m sorry for that.”
“You shouldn’t be. I know I’d be far more disappointing if that weren’t the case.”
He felt Hester’s bloodlines at the same time as he heard the clatter of hooves on cobbles—they were too similar to his to mistake. They turned to see her rein in her horse and dismount in a flurry of green velvet skirts.
“What happened?” she demanded. “I came home and found a note telling me you’d taken Fina to see Clarkson.”
“You were supposed to bring a carriage to take her back,” Pitt reminded her.
“There wasn’t one to be found at short notice. She’s welcome to ride on the back of this horse—he can take a good deal of weight. What happened?”
“It’s time.” Fina had been standing away from them, looking across the Thames. Now she spoke for the first time. Her face was grave and self-possessed as ever. It was only her voice that betrayed a hint of fierce excitement. “We have him.”
Hester’s eyebrows shot up. “The enemy?”
Fina nodded. “He’s with the fleet. The French fleet preparing to cross the Channel.”
“We don’t have him yet,” Wilberforce pointed out. “Admiral Nelson has been searching for that fleet for some months. And it needs to be defeated once it’s found.”
“But when it is found,” Fina said, undeterred, “we’ll have him.”
“In that case,” Hester said, “whatever else happens with that fleet, we need to make sure that the stranger is killed.”
Wilberforce hesitated. “Or captured, certainly.”
“I sometimes think you don’t understand how dangerous this man is,” Fina said, with a sigh. “Perhaps you can’t.”
“I do,” Pitt said. “And I agree. This is no time to take prisoners. Bringing him to English territory in chains is only very slightly less dangerous than letting him invade. We need to find him, and we need to make sure he doesn’t leave that fleet alive.”
Wilberforce shook his head but didn’t argue for now. “The stranger doesn’t need to be on the ships for the invasion of England,” he said instead. “If France conquers any part of Britain, then it becomes his territory even if he’s thousands of miles away. There’s only one thing for which he needs to be here in person.”
“I know,” Pitt said. “He’s coming to challenge me.”
“To kill you.”
“Yes. That’s always the last move of a vampire war. What I don’t understand is why he thinks this is the end. Why is he so certain the invasion of Britain will succeed?”
“They still have the kraken,” Wilberforce said, but without conviction.
“It isn’t enough. They’ve had the kraken for years, and while it’s cost us a good deal of lives and ships, it hasn’t enticed them to even attempt an invasion, much less be confident of its success. Nothing we know of—not the kraken, not the army of the dead, not every magician France is known to possess—is enough to warrant that degree of confidence.”
“Does it matter?” Hester asked. “Our move is the same.”
“It matters because the last time I sent a fleet to take the enemy directly, a good many men died to no purpose.”
“I know,” Fina said, not without pride. “I was there. But your men won’t have to contend with Toussaint Louverture this time.”
“True. But there is the slight matter of Napoléon Bonaparte.”
“I don’t see an alternative,” Wilberforce said. He was watching Pitt closely.
“There’s one. We both know there is. I can challenge him first, before the invasion fleet reaches England.”
“He wouldn’t accept, surely? Not until he has England in his grasp.”
“He might. He’s far stronger than I am, and he knows it.”
“Well, there’s certainly no point in challenging him if you aren’t
going to win.” Wilberforce shook his head. “We can’t. I understand the allure of it, believe me. I would love this to be over without further bloodshed. But it’s far too great a risk. It isn’t just that you might not be strong enough. As long as we play by the rules of a vampire war, we will always be at a disadvantage. It’s what he wants. He wants to draw us further and further back into the old traditions, because it’s where he belongs.”
“But if we fail every other way, we might not have a choice.”
“We won’t fail. You’re usually the first to say that.” He hesitated. “Still…”
“What is it?”
“Oh, nothing you’d like. Just a feeling. But if it does come to the final challenge between the two of you, then promise me you’ll send for me. I want to stand against it as well.”
“I was hoping you would,” Pitt said. “And I promise.”
Fina cut through the hypotheticals impatiently, as she was wont to do. “I want to stand against him sooner than that,” she said. “I want to be with your fleet when it finds him.”
Pitt had been expecting it, but Wilberforce obviously hadn’t. “Are you certain?”
“I’m the only one who knows what the stranger looks like,” she said. “Of course I need to be there. How else will you find him?”
“I agree,” Pitt said. “I’ll have words with Nelson when he next comes to England.” That had its own set of problems, but never mind. He would deal with those as they came.
“I want to go as well,” Hester said.
Knowing Hester, this shouldn’t have been any more unexpected than Fina’s request, but it was his turn to be taken by surprise. His reply came on reflex. “Certainly not.”
“I’m a magician. I’m an excellent magician, if I say so myself, and I do, but so have others. There are many women serving as battle-mages these days.”
“You’re a mesmer. The navy has little need of mesmers.”
