Green Earth Shaking: A Fantasy Adventure Series (Gunpowder & Alchemy Book 3)

by Dan Davis

  ‘Colonel, maybe,’ Gore said, admiring the huge pistol, which was made from a shining dark wood with swirling gold inlay around the hilt. ‘And you let him get away.’

  Weaver clenched her fists. It was so unfair she didn’t know what to do.

  ‘At least these will fetch a pretty penny,’ Gore said.

  ‘Those are mine,’ Weaver blurted out. ‘I captured him.’

  ‘It’s your fault he escaped,’ Sergeant Gore snarled. ‘We’d have had him if it weren’t for you getting in the way. These are my weapons.’

  ‘You didn’t capture him either,’ Weaver wailed. She was furious to realise there were tears in her eyes. Do not cry, you idiot, she screamed to herself. ‘Why should you get them?’

  ‘Because I’m a grown man and a soldier and your sergeant and you’re just a little girl playing games and I do not need to explain myself to you.’

  Weaver felt like she’d been slapped.

  ‘All right, Sergeant,’ Captain Smith said in a soothing tone. ‘That’s enough of that. Weaver, do not worry about this. We all make mistakes, especially when we’re inexperienced.’

  ‘But I didn’t make a mistake,’ she said, her driving her foot down onto the earth. ‘It was him who—’

  ‘Enough,’ Captain Smith snapped. ‘This is not a schoolhouse and I am not someone to be reasoned with. I am your commanding officer. The weapons belong to Sergeant Gore. That is the end of it. Now, we are falling back to the army and if I hear one more word from you on this matter Weaver then you can forget about being a part of this company.’

  Gore glared at her triumphantly, shoved the beautiful sword and ornate pistol in his belt and rode away, laughing with some of the men.

  When she got back to camp that night, Winstanley and Susan asked her how her day had been.

  ‘Fine,’ she said and curled up in her bedroll. She was angry but she knew now that to get on in the army you had to be hard and cruel and she promised herself that was how she would be.

  Writer’s Training

  At the edge of the fallow field outside Coventry, Cedd shouted instructions and insults at the six battlemages. Bede was standing next to him engrossed in his Wicungboc paying no attention to anyone.

  The King’s Army was camped mostly on the other side of the city but there were plenty of soldiers and city folk watching from afar. They had the good sense to stay well back.

  Writer sat on a tiny stool some way behind Cedd, with the ancient Lord High Alchemist Bacon snoring on his chair next to her, his head on his chest.

  She had expected to be learning the secrets of spell casting. She had hoped that Cedd and Bede would have taught her powerful spells, how to enhance her natural elemental abilities. She wanted to master transmutation and protection and perhaps even destruction and conjuration magic.

  Instead, she spent day after day sitting on a stool, watching. When it rained, she wrapped a cloak around her. On the dry days, she sometimes sat upon the weedy clumps of grass. Otherwise, she did nothing. She learned very little of magic but she was aware of the growing realisation that Cedd had done nothing but lie to and manipulate her from the start.

  ‘You must work together, you useless, birdbrained, flat-headed cretins,’ Cedd shouted at the mages. ‘How can we be expected to beat the New Model Army’s landships if you can barely string two spells together?’

  The men scowled and glowered but none spoke back to Cedd any longer. They had been at it for over a week and one by one, they had given in to Cedd’s angry authority.

  All that week they had been practising a single method, of Cedd’s devising, for defeating the landships. Working together, the battlemages would use magic to throw barrels filled with gunpowder clear across the battlefield. These bombs would smash through the landship iron armour or release deadly vapours through the gun ports and air vents to kill the men inside. The barrels were to be filled with iron balls, iron spikes and flammable and poisonous chemicals.

  But Cedd was not happy.

  The method required impeccable timing at each stage of the process and a delay or mistake by any of the battlemages could ruin an attack.

  ‘Ashmole,’ Cedd shouted at one of the most accomplished and dangerous battlemages. The man had a big nose and high forehead and his hands and face were covered burn scars and speckled with ash and charcoal. ‘You were supposed to be a powerful destructor immolator. Yet you can’t even set fire to a bundle of kindling.’

  Writer knew that was not true. She had seen Ashmole cast spells to ignite a cask of gunpowder a mile away down the field in an explosion big enough to echo from the walls of the city. Ashmole knew it was not true but he simply glowered and crossed his arms.

  ‘Backhouse! Backhouse, you have to be able to toss these barrels further than an old woman can spit or else Ashmole will just blow apart our infantry, won’t he.’ Backhouse was a projector and his job was to fling bombs and gunpowder barrels across the battlefield at the landships. Backhouse was an old man with a faraway look in his eye and he did not seem to care about the constant stream of abuse he received from Cedd every day.

  ‘And you, Fluctibus, why can you never get your timing correct? You must grow the bombs immediately after Charnock summons the demon but before Ashmole detonates them.’ Fluctibus had the swollen red nose of a drunkard and, along with his receding hair and droopy eyes, was an extremely unpleasant-looking man.

  But Fluctibus was always smiling a genuine smile, even when Cedd was berating him. He was a transmutator, which meant he could change the shape of physical objects. Bede had told her once that his real name was Fludd but that he insisted on Fluctibus because he thought Fludd sounds like a peasant name. Bede assured her that he was quite correct, in that at least.

  ‘And what are you chuckling at, young Vaughan? I have never in my life seen a more useless divinator. Even for a Welshman, your incompetence is staggering.’ Vaughan was short and soft and looked friendly enough. ‘You must be our eyes and ears and our timepiece on the battlefield. You must tell us when to launch a new projectile and when to strengthen the barriers. Your timing is the key to it all.’ Vaughn stopped laughing and nodded, meekly. He seemed like a weakling who put up with whatever was thrown at him.

  Writer knew that she was herself putting up no resistance but at least she had a reason for doing so. She was playing along so that she could learn as much of alchemy and spell casting as she could before making her escape.

  Vaughn looked as though he had tears in his eyes before he turned away, cuffing at his cheeks.

  ‘And you, Charnock, are a talented conjurer but you have no stamina at all, you poor fellow.’ The thin, pale man wore a floppy black hat and he was dirty and unkempt from head to toe. His eyes were twitchy and he seemed anxious. ‘You must draw the demons again and again. Just a tiny demon is all we need. It should not tax you so.’

  Talbot chuckled. ‘That’s right, Charnock. I can conjure demons all day long without fail. And I am very much more than a simple conjurer. Conjuration is merely a means to an end. I am also the greatest divinator and scryer and chemist, metallurgist and—’

  ‘Yes, yes, thank you, Talbot, how very fascinating,’ Cedd said. ‘We know that you are the most famous and powerful of your colleagues here. Please, why do you not explain once more how great a friend you were to the previous Lord High Alchemist Dee?’

  ‘How dare you,’ Talbot spluttered. ‘You are not even a Guild member. You, a rogue, instructing me? I shall not have it.’

  Writer sighed. The argument seemed to occur every day and she, and everyone else, had become weary of it. Including, she suspected, Talbot himself.

  Bede stirred from his Wicungboc. ‘Do you want to decide this by a duel, Talbot?’

  Talbot glared at Bede but simply ground his teeth and muttered to himself.

  ‘I thought as much,’ Bede said and returned to his codex.

  ‘Is this truly the cream of the remaining alchemists?’ Cedd turned and asked Bacon for the hundredth ti
me. Bacon, who was still dozing behind him. ‘These useless idiots are all the battlemages that the King can draw on?’

  The Lord High Alchemist Bacon stirred on his chair but did not wake. He was a tired and broken old man, wheezing and bent and scrawny with rheumy eyes and gnarled hands that shook constantly, except when he slept. He slept often.

  ‘Bacon,’ Cedd shouted. ‘Wake up, you old fool. King Edward has returned and he’s come for your head.’

  ‘What, what?’ the old man jerked his head up.

  ‘Nothing.’ Cedd scoffed. ‘Go back to sleep, Bacon.’

  ‘I was not asleep,’ the Alchemist Bacon said. ‘I was listening to every word.’

  Bede sneered at the decrepit man. ‘Why do you even bother to sit out here with us every day when you cannot so much as remain awake?’

  ‘I am the Lord High Alchemist. These battlemages are the last of the Guild. It is my duty.’

  ‘Dee was the true High Alchemist,’ Bede said, sneering. ‘You’re just the oldest of those who were left over.’

  Cedd smiled. ‘And you were left over because Cromwell did not think you dangerous enough to kill or important enough to lock up.’

  ‘That is as may be,’ Bacon said, his eyes glinting. ‘I never wanted to hold this position again. But the King himself appointed me. The King, I say. And I mean to do my duty.’

  ‘Well you can do you duty perfectly well from back in your quarters,’ Cedd said. ‘I can’t concentrate on training this rabble with you snoring and drooling behind me all day.’

  ‘Do not blame me for your own failings,’ Bacon said, climbing unsteadily to his feet. ‘You thought you could swoop in here and solve the problem of the landships. But now you are realising you have no more an answer than any of the others who have faced them. Faced them and died.’ Bacon pointed a gnarled finger at Cedd. ‘You are afraid.’

  Cedd glared at Bacon. Bede lowered his spell book and seemed ready to act. The battlemages seemed to collectively hold their breath.

  ‘Maerwynn,’ Cedd said without looking at her. ‘Please escort the Lord High Alchemist back to his quarters in the city. He seems to have been taken ill.’

  ‘I most certainly have not,’ Bacon said, his voice quivering.

  Cedd lowered his voice but Writer heard what he said. ‘You will be if you do not leave my presence immediately.’

  Bacon seemed to sag, then, and he turned and shuffled away toward the city.

  ‘Ensure he leaves,’ Cedd came over and whispered to her. ‘Keep him away for the rest of the day. Shouldn’t be too hard. Take him to his quarters, give him a cup of wine and he will fall asleep. Then come back here soon as you can.’

  ‘Fine,’ Writer said. It was clear that for all Cedd and Bede talked up her great powers, they still saw her as a little girl and treated her like a servant. ‘Come, Lord High Alchemist,’ she said while taking his arm. ‘Tell me about your trip to Ireland back in your quarters in the city. It will be much warmer and drier there.’

  ‘Yes, yes, what a dear girl you are. And, perhaps, would I be allowed a cup of wine?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. This pathetic old creature was the Lord High Alchemist? Writer thought. In so many ways, he was like a child.

  The King’s soldiers escorted her and Bacon. Escorted and guarded, of course. She was aware that they were keeping an eye on her.

  Bacon had a series of chambers on the ground floor of the Alchemist’s Guild building in Coventry.

  ‘Traditionally, you know,’ Bacon said to her as they entered. ‘The higher your position in the Guild the higher your position in the building. But I find it difficult to climb so many steps, these days.’

  The soldiers closed the door behind her, shutting her in with the shuffling old alchemist.

  Inside, the room was rather huge and covered in books, scrolls, objects, and bits of devices. There were also dirty clothes and unwashed cups, plates, empty bottles and mice.

  ‘Be a good girl and fetch this old man a cup of wine, would you?’ Bacon said as he settled himself into a large chair by the cold, empty fireplace.

  Writer was becoming rather fed up with being treated as a servant. But she got him a cup of wine anyway, because what else was she supposed to do?

  Bacon snatched it from her and slurped at the wine, spilling some down his chin. He burped, wiped his chin with the back of hand and sat back with a sigh.

  ‘Oh, help yourself to a cup too, of course,’ Bacon said, gesturing.

  ‘Thank you, I shall,’ Writer said but every cup was filthy and she had no intention of doing so. She wanted to leave him now but she supposed she should wait until he fell asleep, as Cedd had instructed. Besides, what was there for her back at the field? She perched upon the arm of a large chair opposite his and waited.

  Bacon chuckled. ‘Your duty is done. You may return to your master.’

  ‘Cedd is not my master,’ Writer said.

  ‘Truly?’ Bacon seemed confused. ‘So why do you follow his every command?’

  ‘I am his prisoner.’

  Bacon took another slurp. ‘A willing one, I suspect.’

  ‘Willing? Why should I wish to be a prisoner?’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Bacon said. ‘No person would wish to have their liberty taken away. Unless, of course, they gained something from it. Such as wealth. Or knowledge. Or power.’

  ‘I gain none of those things.’

  ‘And yet you hold out hope.’

  Writer was surprised that her motives were so transparent.

  ‘They promised to teach me the secrets of alchemy,’ she admitted. ‘And yet they teach me nothing.’

  Bacon nodded. ‘They are afraid of you.’

  ‘I do not think so,’ Writer said. ‘There’s nothing I can do to harm them.’

  ‘Oh?’ Bacon asked, as if he was amused. ‘They seem rather frightened of your power to me.’

  ‘If they’re afraid of me why do they keep me near to them at all times?’

  ‘Who knows what plans those two have.’ Bacon drank down his wine and held out his cup for more. She refilled it and sat back down. ‘But if you want to know spells then demand to be taught.’

  ‘Demand?’ Writer laughed at the idea. ‘I thought I was powerful, once. But then Cedd controlled my very movements.’

  ‘A binding spell?’ Bacon said. ‘I heard he was very good at those. A dangerous man. Perhaps you are correct. It is best to simply be a slave than to risk death.’

  Writer was surprised at how wise and clear he seemed now. ‘Do you merely pretend to be so old and confused all the time?’ she asked.

  Bacon laughed. His laugh turned into a cough and he drank down more wine to soothe this throat. ‘I was already old when I took the Elixir of Life. And perhaps it was an imperfectly made batch. But no. I am truly old and confused all the time, these days. A used up, broken old fool who should be long in his grave. For some reason I am still around and while I am I intend to do what I can for the kingdom.’

  Writer chewed her lip. ‘Could you teach me?’ she asked.

  ‘Teach you?’ Bacon seemed horrified. ‘Alchemy?’

  ‘Spells. Magic.’

  ‘Ah,’ Bacon said. ‘The young are always so obsessed with magic. Alas, I am no mage. Never was. I worked hard on conjuration, back in my day. Before the incident with Dee. But I was never truly of the magi. No, I cannot help you there.’

  He drained his drink but the first bottle of wine she had poured from was empty. She wandered around the filthy room looking for more, shaking bottles. She pulled the cork from one and sniffed it but it was full of urine.

  By the window, something glinted. A small, perfectly spherical glass ball sat on a black cloth on the table reflecting the light. It was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It was the most perfect thing she had ever seen.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked Bacon, holding it up.

  ‘My old show stone,’ he said, his voice slurring. ‘Used to show the future or the present
from far away. Useless without a demon to power it, of course. It’s just a pretty bauble now. Please, keep it. It’s yours.’

  ‘A demon?’ She wanted to ask more but there was a rapping on the door and a gruff soldier was there.

  ‘Alchemist Cedd commands your presence on the field, Lady Maerwynn.’

  ‘I shall be there in a moment, I need to speak to...’ she turned back to Lord High Alchemist Bacon who was snoring in his chair with his chin on his chest. Drool ran down his chin. ‘I am coming now,’ she said to the soldier, slipping the show stone into a pocket.

  All the way back to the field, she wondered at the fact that she had been summoned. Perhaps while she was away, Cedd had finally decided to train her. Perhaps he was fed up with the battlemages and needed her help.

  The battlemages were sitting or lying on the ground, exhausted and taking a rest and refreshment. Cedd and Bede were deep in conversation and drinking wine.

  ‘You sent for me?’ Writer asked Cedd as she strode up to him.

  ‘You are back, good. You were so long I was worried something had happened to you. That old fool can blather on when he’s not asleep.’ Cedd spoke without even looking at her. ‘Now, take a seat and observe.’ Cedd gestured to her stool with his wine cup.

  Writer turned and kicked the stool over and turned back to him.

  Cedd looked at her sideways. ‘Why are you angry?’

  ‘You summoned me back here,’ she said. ‘You sent a soldier to hurry me back here so you could tell me to sit down on a stool?’ Perhaps Bacon had been correct. Perhaps Cedd was afraid that she had run away. Perhaps Cedd was afraid that Bacon had been telling her the truth about things.’

  ‘Why should that upset you, girl?’ Cedd asked.

  She was thrilled to see that he did indeed look wary so she let her anger out a little more.

  ‘Are you truly as dense as that?’ Writer asked Cedd. ‘You manipulated the King by telling him I was the most powerful mage you’d ever seen. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? I have power. Bede created me to have power. But I don’t know how to fight. I can’t cast any spells. And the battle will not take place on the sea.’