The Royal Sorceress

by Christopher Nuttall

“You will all spend the afternoon cleaning up the mess,” Master Thomas decreed. His voice was flat, perfectly controlled. It was clear that any argument would only make the punishment worse. “You have disgraced yourselves in front of your tutors.”

  He stepped forward, the tip of his cane tapping against the stairwell. “Control and discipline are the keys to your magic,” he said. “I do not want to see any of you lose control, not again. Losing control could mean that someone – perhaps someone innocent – gets hurt. I will not tolerate that on my watch.”

  It took nearly four hours to clean up the mess. The table was beyond repair – the intersection of two different magical forces had shattered its structure – and had to be sent to the bonfires. Gwen found herself scrubbing the floor for the first time in her life, along with a handful of students who had probably never done a day’s real work in their lives. It was a bitter insight into how the servants had felt during her temper tantrums as a young child, with the added threat of malicious magic for those that worked at Cavendish Hall. Afterwards, she had to change again. The green dress had been totally ruined.

  She vowed, in the aftermath, that she wouldn’t lose control again. The results, she decided, were too dangerous. Magic was far from safe.

  Chapter Six

  Don’t look around too much,” Lucy said, as she ushered Jack into her living room. “I haven’t decided if I want to keep you here yet.”

  Jack smiled at her as he took one of the comfortable seats. Lucy had done well for herself over the years, but then owning a brothel was always a licence to print money. Her living room had been decorated to her tastes, with a number of comfortable chairs, a drinks cabinet and a double-sized sofa intended to allow her to share time with a lover – if she had a lover. It was luxury on a scale that made Jack think of the people outside, who would have killed for just one of the chairs in the room, but he refused to allow himself to feel guilt. He would do what he could for them by destroying the system that kept their lives hellish.

  “I’m sure you’re pleased to see me,” he said. Lucy shrugged as she poured them both a drink. Jack sniffed the aroma as she passed him one of the glasses and lifted an eyebrow. A bottle of good brandy cost more than the average inhabitant of the Rookery could hope to make in a year through honest labour. He took a sip and placed the glass aside. “It has been such a long time.”

  He studied Lucy with frank interest. She had once had long red hair and perfect skin. Now, her hair was still red, but her skin was marked by age and despair. She wore a dark dress that contrasted oddly with her hair colour, tight in all the right places, yet decent enough to pass unnoticed in most parts of London. The Bow Street Runners wouldn’t move her along if they saw her, although some of them might solicit her for free sessions in the brothel. It was always nice to know which of the Runners could be corrupted at will.

  “Too long,” Lucy said, as she sat down opposite him. “I had almost given up hope of seeing you again. The French might have wanted to keep you.”

  “They knew better than to try,” Jack assured her. “Whatever differences we might have with King Louis and his Court, anything that weakens the British Empire would be sure of their support.”

  “Until they discover that the movement is also targeted on the French monarchy,” Lucy pointed out. “Don’t they realise that the British are not the only people in bondage?”

  “Oh, I’m sure they know,” Jack said. He grinned at her, mischievously. “That’s what makes the game so exciting.”

  He took another sip of the brandy. “I spoke to the American – Franklin – while I was at Versailles,” he said. “He still has high hopes of a second revolution in the colonies and he may be right, but Arnold is still clamping down hard on any expression of dissent. And the savages didn’t make it any easier by rising up against the settlers three years ago. They’ll forget what the redcoats did for them in a few more years, but right now all Arnold really has to worry about is Shays. And Shays has only a small band behind him.

  “No, the only hope for freedom is here, in Britain,” he concluded. “Once I did my duty by the French, I set out to return to the land of my childhood.”

  “And I’m sure you positively hated doing your duty by the French,” Lucy said, sweetly. Jack flushed. It had been years since they’d been lovers, back when he’d first become involved in the underground movement, but she still had the power to embarrass him. Lucy had always been so delightfully crude, unsurprisingly. Living on the streets did nothing for one’s airs and graces. She was so much more alive than many of the aristocratic ladies he had once known. “Do you really trust them to support us when the crowd starts making threatening noises in Paris?”

  Jack shook his head. “I think they’ll be sending for the troops again,” he said. The period following the aborted American Revolution had been followed by popular unrest in France, Prussia, Austria and even Russia. It had been a heady time, with hope burning brightly in the population, but the established order had been able to clamp down and reassume control. The streets of Paris had run red with blood as troops had fired on the crowds, dismantling the barricades and restoring King Louis to his throne. “But until then, we can count on their support.”

  The French had fought countless wars with the British over the last two centuries – and they’d lost every one of them. France, with its open borders, simply couldn’t concentrate its might upon building a navy to match its island rival, rendering it supreme in Europe, but weak at sea. The British Empire had expanded rapidly under Pitt to the point where it ruled nearly a quarter of the known world. There were British missions in China and even Japan, ones that might lead to conquest and settlement. King George and Lord Liverpool were firm believers in expansion. It kept the masses quiet and provided dumping grounds for criminals who could then be worked to death.

  Jack didn’t blame the French for feeling more than a little frustrated, even though most of their problems stemmed from their own government as well as geography. The French nobility had rallied behind the King in the years of unrest, but they remained determined to cling to their ancient rights, as did the Church. No King had the power to force them to reform, which meant that nothing would ever be fixed. The French could only draw money from a small segment of its society, the poor and powerless. France would suffer a revolution when they finally realised that they were damned to poverty no matter how hard they worked. The threats of ruthless suppression would no longer seem intimidating.

  “Right,” Lucy said. She took a sip of her brandy. “Most of our networks got crushed by Liverpool and his Dragoons. There aren’t that many of the old guard left.”

  Jack had expected that, but it was still a shock. There had been heady days in the past, when the movement had been gaining ground and sucking in people who could support the demand for peaceful change. And then all hell had broken loose and he’d had to flee for his life. Magic, as his old master had told him more than once, didn’t make a person invincible. It often made a person overconfident instead.

  “Priestly was transported to Australia,” Lucy said. “His wife and family were transported along with him. Jacob and Rowley died in the riots, either gunned down by the Dragoons or lost in the crush. Old Rupert died – pleasantly, if not peacefully – in someone else’s bed. Davy is still alive and active, but he’s downhearted.”

  She smiled. “And old Ebenezer is dead,” she added. “He died in a stone-cold bed.”

  “Old Scrooge himself,” Jack said. He shook his head. Ebenezer had been a loan shark, lending out money at ruinous interest rates to the poor and desperate. Anyone who failed to pay back the loan in time was visited by his hired thugs and beaten up, or killed if the first beating failed to produce the money. Jack had never known why Ebenezer had helped to fund the movement, but the old bastard had provided more than anyone would have expected. “Who took over the business?”

  “Henry Ebenezer, his son,” Lucy said. “He’s twice the bastard his father was, I’m afra
id. Ebenezer had some limits, even though he was utterly ruthless; Henry has none. Most of the sparkers in this part of London are working for him now, along with the pimps, thugs and gutter-trash. He’s the uncrowned King of the Rookery.”

  Jack nodded, sourly. There had always been a magical underground, composed of magicians who were too poor or too weak to attract the interest of the Royal Sorcerers. He was, technically speaking, a member himself, but the underground had never been very united. Most criminals would know better than to lean on a magician – at least one with useful talents – but Henry sounded as if he’d figured out how to control his pet magic-users. Jack could think of a handful of ways, starting with Charm. Henry had never shown any sign of magic, as far as he knew, but it was hard to judge what someone was actually capable of without seeing them in action.

  Or Henry could simply be using carrots and sticks. The old ways had worked perfectly for his father. Why should his son be any different?

  “We may have to deal with him,” Jack said. “Does he get along with Davy?”

  “No,” Lucy said. “In fact, I believe that Davy is in debt to Henry.”

  Jack frowned. “We definitely have to deal with him,” he said. “Does he ever come here?”

  “He knows better than to interfere with me,” Lucy said, bluntly. “I still have my talent.”

  “That’s no surprise,” Jack said. “You’ve always been very talented.”

  Lucy made a rude gesture with her right hand. “But Henry will definitely pose a problem,” she warned. “If he hears that you’re back, he’ll go running to the Runners. The Rookery can’t afford to have them pounding the beat through here. A man won’t be able to earn a dishonest living.”

  “And if he happens to live here, he won’t be able to earn a honest living,” Jack said. The people of the Rookery survived, somehow. It was a dog-eat-dog world. The strong survived and prospered. The weak perished. It was no way for a human being to live. “I think I’ll go and have a few words with young Henry. Perhaps I can bring him over to my way of thinking.”

  “Watch your back,” Lucy said. “Are you going to be staying here?”

  “I’ll find somewhere to stay,” Jack assured her. He trusted Lucy as far as he trusted anyone, but this was the Rookery and trust was in short supply. Who knew who could turn into a betrayer, given the promise of enough money to move into a more upmarket part of London? “And I want you to find young Olivia a position here.”

  Lucy narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t become one of…them, have you?”

  “No,” Jack said. “And I’m sure that you’re not servicing them, even here.”

  “No,” Lucy said. “And what are you going to do with her?”

  “She knows the streets,” Jack said. “She may come in handy.”

  He smiled. “I’ll do something to show that we can strike back at the oppressors,” he said. “You start spreading the word; I want to talk to Davy and start preparing for the revolution. Our time has finally come.”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said. “I heard that from you before, Mister Spark, and it ended badly for all concerned.”

  “This time will be different,” Jack promised. He tipped his hat to her as he stood up. “And call me Captain Swing.”

  Outside, he took a moment to introduce Olivia to Lucy and offer the young girl a chance to work at reasonably good wages. The child was nervous, unsurprisingly, but Lucy had a way with children; after all, she acted as mother to over thirty whores. Lucy took care of them, ensured that rough clients were shown the door before they could inflict permanent harm on the young ladies, and paid them reasonably well. It had once troubled Jack’s conscience to know that his lover was marketing girls of dubious virtue, but he had long since overcome his doubts. None of the girls were forced into the brothel. They had had the choice between selling themselves or starving to death. Besides, Lucy’s brothel was relatively safe. The gang wars that threatened to tear the Rookery apart never touched its walls.

  The sun was setting in the sky as he strode through the streets, heading for Ebenezer’s house. It was surprisingly well-built for the Rookery, but Ebenezer – although he’d been a miser and a ruthless bastard – had loved his comforts. He’d ensured that his home was always heated against the cold night air of London. A pair of thugs stood on guard outside, holding clubs and thoroughly-illicit pistols, daring anyone to challenge their might. Their master ruled most of the Rookery with an iron hand. Few would dare to see him unless they were desperate or already in his grip.

  Smiling, Jack strode up to the lead thug and slapped him with a blast of powerful magic. The thug staggered backwards, blood pouring from his nose and lips, and collapsed to the ground. Jack laughed as the second thug drew his pistol, took aim with a shaky hand and fired. The bullet was caught in the magic and deflected back at the thug, who gasped as it slammed into his chest. Jack had added a little extra speed with his magic. Leaving the two thugs moaning on the ground, Jack headed inside, wincing at the heat. Henry had few scruples about showing off his wealth and power, even in the middle of the Rookery. It was a testament to the fear his father had inspired.

  Jack lashed out with his magic and the inner door shattered into dust. He strode onwards and was unsurprised to see Henry running for his life, no doubt convinced that King George IV had sent all the forces of law and order in his Kingdom to deal with him. Jack caught him effortlessly and held him in the air with magic, while pushing the half-naked girl out of the office and slamming the door behind her. She’d probably run and alert someone, but who could she fetch? Henry’s tame magicians wouldn’t be able to do more than delay him.

  “I’ve been hearing some bad things about you, my boy,” Jack said. Upside down, Henry looked as if he was going to be sick. His flabby chest suggested that he ate a lot better than the average inhabitant of the Rookery. “You’ve been squeezing the last drop of blood from people’s lives. You’re nothing more than a parasite on society.”

  Henry gasped for breath. “They…they came to me,” he managed to say, finally. “They wanted money from me.”

  “And you press them into taking ruinous interest rates,” Jack said. He was enjoying himself far too much. Some people had no choice, but to turn to crime if they wanted to eat. Henry had had a choice and had chosen to prey on his fellow men. “How many sons have you sold into service with the Crown? How many daughters have you sent to brothels when their parents couldn’t pay their debts? How many families are destitute because you forced them to repay the original loan many times over? How many lives have you ruined?”

  He compressed the magic around Henry’s neck, choking him slightly. “There’s a new man in town now,” he added. “If you want to live, you work for me – understand?”

  The door burst open and four men hurled themselves through with guns. Jack lifted one hand and sent a pulse of glowing magic right into the leader’s head. The others stumbled, just for a second, and Jack hit them with a wave of magic. They fell over backwards, crying out in shock. None of them had expected to face a real magician, let alone one who possessed all of the talents. But then, few of them knew much about magic. They probably believed that the bracelets sold by wise women possessed actual healing powers.

  He made a show of clicking his fingers and the second thug burst into flame. The remaining two turned and fled, leaving Jack behind with his helpless victim. He watched the thug burning for a long second, and then fired a burst of magic directly into his head, putting him out of his misery. When he turned back to Henry, whom he’d left spinning in the air, he discovered that the former ruler of the Rookery had soiled himself. The stench was starkly unpleasant against the vaguely perfumed air.

  “You work for me or I will take your organisation anyway,” Jack said. As fun as it was to torment Henry, there was too much else to do – and besides, he didn’t want to develop a taste for tormenting people. “What do you say?”

  Henry was still staring at him, wild-eyed. “I’ll do it,” he sa
id, desperately. Jack wasn’t too surprised. Criminals were rarely brave when confronted by magic. Hopefully, Henry would never have time to realise that magic didn’t make one invincible. “I’ll work for you.”

  Jack dropped him onto the ground, slowing his fall just enough to prevent him from cracking his skull. “You’re going to forgive all your loans,” Jack said. He ignored the brief sputter of protest. “You’re going to start thinking about all your upper-class clients, all the nobly-born who use your services – and you’re going to start telling me all about them.” He drew a little on his magic, enough to make his eyes glow with fire. “And if you defy me, I’ll make sure you burn in fire forever.”

  Henry stumbled backwards, slipping over his own urine. Jack almost smiled at the expression on his face. “I’ll do as you say,” Henry protested. He was badly shocked; Jack allowed himself to believe that Henry would be too terrified to act against him, at least at first. And the Rookery would know who to thank. “I will…”

  “And when they ask why, tell them that Captain Swing sent you,” Jack said. “And trust me on this – you do not want to defy me.”

  Shaking his head, he strode out of the building, leaving the broken man behind. He’d find lodgings in the Rookery, have a good night’s sleep, and then start preparing for his first act of resistance. The oppressors of mankind were about to discover that nowhere was safe from Captain Swing.

  And then they would discover the meaning of fear.

  Chapter Seven

  I can’t say that I am very impressed.”

  “No,” Gwen said. They were riding together in a carriage, the day following the disastrous food fight. She had been expecting Master Thomas to have a private word with her and hadn’t been surprised when it had finally materialised. Cannock and two of his friends had looked uncomfortable during the evening meal and seemed to be having problems sitting down. “I’m sorry about it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Master Thomas said, flatly. “I expected a degree of maturity from you – and from young Cannock. His commission to go to India and serve as a sorcerer with the army may have to be delayed.”