The Watchmage of Old New York (The Watchmage Chronicles Book 1)

by C. A. Sanders

  Hendricks stood over the downed Shadow. He mumbled something in a language that I didn’t understand and his cross glowed once again. His hands started to glow a deep blue. I heard him inhale as he raised his hands over his head. The deep blue of his hands spread into a blade between his palms. He looked like he was about to spear a wild hog.

  Shadow drove his boot into Hendricks’ crotch. The poor boy crumbled to the ground in a pile of moaning flesh. Shadow punched him in the ear and grabbed the cross pendant from his neck.

  “Oh Christ, that’s good,” Shadow said as the cross flared in his hand. He threw his head back and shivered. He waggled his fingers and touched Hendricks on the forehead. Hendricks’ eyes closed and his body relaxed. He stood up and pointed at me. “Sorry to have to croak ya. Enjoy the forever box.”

  Shadow loosed a beam of white light at me, but I was ready. He pointed with his right hand, and based on the angle, I knew which way to dodge. I rolled out of the way as the beam struck the floor where I once was, burning a deep gouge in the wood.

  My enchanted gun was under the cradle, but Shadow’s gun wasn’t far from me. I rolled to the pistol, cocked it, and fired at Shadow. He waved the bullet away and it slammed into the wall. I fired twice more. Each time he knocked it away.

  “Shhh,” he said. “You’ll wake the baby.”

  His body glowed red as he advanced on me. I got my feet underneath me right in time for a boot to the chin. I flew across the room and slammed into the brick wall. I was vaguely aware of colors and shapes, one shape getting bigger as it came closer. Where was the gun? It was in my hand a moment ago. Then I was in the air, a large man beneath me. I felt the air blasted from my body, my stomach turned, and then there was nothing.

  I awoke—surprised that I woke at all—to an empty room. The baby was gone, Shadow was gone, even Hendricks was gone. I looked out the window. Through my own aches, the coal smoke, and yellow haze of rendered lard, I saw the sun beginning to set. I had no idea what to do next.

  I saw my Patterson under the cradle and slipped it into my coat pocket. My first instinct was to run to Pop. He’d know what to do. He could find Shadow and Hendricks in moments and make Shadow wish he never came to Manhattan. But Pop looked terrible when I saw him, like he was suddenly very old. It worried me to see him in such a state. He’d always been this mighty force of nature, unbendable, unbeatable, and unfathomable, but now I wasn’t so sure.

  I stepped out the door and into the street. Pop put his trust in me and I wouldn’t disappoint him.

  Jonas…

  The voice came from the back of my mind, like the echo of a memory of a dream. “Hendricks?” I said aloud. None of the people bustling past me took any notice.

  We’re at the Bloody Knuckle…what’s left of it. I can’t keep this u—the voice trailed off.

  “Hendricks!” I shouted. No answer. No matter, I had a destination. It was time to finish the game.

  Nathaniel

  I awoke wishing that I had some of Rabbi Levitt’s soup. At least I had most of my strength back. I looked at my fingers, the joints were no longer knobs, the fingernails returned from their yellow tint. I ran a hand through my hair. It felt thick again, no more of the whisper-thin silver that came out in clumps.

  I bathed while Geebee set out fresh clothes for me and Seabreaze saw to breakfast. I hoped for something hearty, it felt like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. I wasn’t disappointed.

  “Have either of you heard from Jonas?” I asked them while we helped ourselves to sausage and applecakes alongside smoked kippers.

  Geebee shook her head. “It’s still early. Are you expecting him?”

  “No,” I answered. “You’re right, it’s early.”

  “You sound worried,” said Seabreaze. “Should we be worried? I’m not a very good worrier, but I can try.”

  “No need to concern yourselves. It’s a father’s prerogative to worry himself sick about his son.” It seemed to placate them, though it did little to calm my nerves. This Shadow McGuirk was a true rogue, a murderer and kidnapper—and a mageling as well. Yes, Hendricks was with him, but so much can go awry. I took a deep breath. Jonas was a grown man, and I had to trust in him.

  There was nothing I could do about the Vanderlay baby until Jonas and Hendricks returned, but I had other duties to tend to. Paul Pelham mentioned that there would be magelings from The Near East marching in today’s parade. They should have registered with me, but as I’ve learned, there’s no true fear of Wizard’s Law here.

  I would very much like to meet these foreign magelings. Perhaps they could enlighten me on The Coat of Many Colors, still in Mrs. Vanderlay’s possession.

  The parade was to begin at noon, mustering in Union Square and heading south on Broadway until it reached Barnum’s Museum at Broadway and Ann, across from City Park and Astor House. The diplomats were likely staying at that most famous hotel, a palace most worthy of their patronage.

  It was a few miles from Turtle House to City Park. The streets would be too packed with onlookers to take a carriage or omnibus. It wasn’t safe for me to apparate there and remain unseen. I could walk, but with the streets as crowded as I expected, I’d miss the parade. Instead, I looked to the skies.

  I bid adieu to my domestics and visualized a rune, gold upon the black slate of my mind. I rose in the air, a zephyr, an invisible feather on the wind. I passed my new pet flerrier, who didn’t note my passing. She chased a sparrow through the air, barking her high pitched yip, legs running despite having no ground beneath them. I told Tom that I needed the mother flerrier to do further research into undoing the chimeric magic that created her. In truth, I wanted one. I would have to find a good name for her.

  I floated high in the morning sky, taking in the crisp November air and basking in the eastern sun. Sunshine danced along the East River, blinding white, splitting into rainbows atop the waves. A ferry bound for Brooklyn cut into the dance.

  Smoke puffed from the factories in the lower wards, and I played with them. It felt good to be whole again, awash with the sense of who I was and what I possessed inside of me. I twisted the columns of smoke into gray animals and let them float to the heavens. All is well, I told myself. All is well.

  I hovered over Union Square as the clock struck noon and the parade began. Even I, after one hundred and fifty years of life, had never known such creatures beyond books. Elephants trumpeted through their long noses as they marched. Camels walked and spat on their handlers. Beautiful Arabian horses with their manes dyed purple pranced beneath their riders. Lions roared in cages pulled by giant, muscular horses. Fire dancers spun staves lit on both ends as they leapt and tumbled in air. It was a spectacle only P. T. Barnum could devise.

  I floated overhead as the procession moved down Broadway, passing wealthy and poor alike, although the police did their best to separate them. The police made informal boundaries along their supporters’ lines. The Munis boxed in the poor, while the Mets formed a shield of men to keep the wealthy safe.

  What seemed like every fire wagon in the city led and bordered the parade line, ringing their bells and hooting to the crowd. It was the first time in recent memory that I’ve seen them work together.

  In the center of the parade line was a half dozen elephants dressed in gold and silks. I saw the emissaries in large baskets on top of the beasts. The crowd backed away from the fearful sight and sounds on the monstrous animals. Five dozen Ottoman soldiers walked before and after the elephants. They were dressed in white linen, each with a red sash from shoulder to waist. They carried rifles that shone in the sun.

  I floated to Astor House and landed on the roof. From there, I waited for the parade to arrive. I already saw that there was some gathering in front of Barnum’s museum. He must’ve had something extraordinary in store.

  The police cleared out the paperboys and hot corn girls around the parade’s terminus. I saw the procession reach City Hall Park and found myself holding my breath in anticipation.

  A b
lare of trumpets sounded, lacquered ram’s horns like desert warriors of old. They rose and fell, long notes and violent, staccato beats. Drums joined the horns. From Barnum’s museum came a burst of fire. The fire reformed into a dozen man shapes. I recalled the Elemental I fought a few days ago, and summoned Chaos energy in case of catastrophe.

  I shouldn’t have worried. The men of fire danced onto Broadway and changed shape again, taking the form of man. Each one was of dusky skin and curly, ebony hair. They wore robes similar to the Ottoman soldiers, but embroidered with dazzling designs of orange and red. In their right hands were batons about a yard long, a bright flame at each end. They spun the batons until a dozen rings of fire rolled down Broadway. The men leapt and danced to the incessant drum beat and trumpets. The crowd gasped as the fires joined together in a great chariot of flame. But none of this was magic. It was Glamour.

  I rolled back through my memories and what Master Sol taught me about Arabian and African Dwellers. These creatures must be Eshu and Xi, tribesmen that wander the deserts on both sides of the Veil. They’re known for their tall tales, complex riddles, and magnificent skill at trade and bartering.

  A terrible thought crossed my mind. No one from an upstanding family like the Vanderlays would deal in such goods. The Vanderlays appear upstanding to those that don’t know them, but I know their hearts, and their hearts tell the tale.

  I needed to follow those Dwellers. If my intuition served me well, time was precious and a life was at stake.

  After an agonizing amount of time and speeches by Barnum, Mayor Wood, and former Representative William Tweed, who they call “Boss” in the Lower Wards, the parade disbursed. The diplomats, soldiers and Eshu all retired to Astor House, and I followed.

  I stayed invisible and floated through the front door. I’ve been to Astor House many times. It’s where any gentleman goes to be seen, and I have a gentlemanly reputation to uphold. Every time I enter, I’m stunned that man could create such a marvel. Never has luxury been in the grasp of so many. Over six stories and three hundred rooms, with those new gaslights and indoor running water on every level. Beautiful Doric columns marked the entrance. The entire building’s motif was a tribute to Athens, the birthplace of democracy. A place like this will stand forever.

  There was once a spacious courtyard, but that has since been replaced with a dome of iron and glass. The iron made it difficult for Dwellers to abide the place. Eshu don’t appear to have the same weaknesses that European Dwellers do, or they have high tolerance for pain like Redcaps.

  Ignoring the many familiar faces, I floated through the hotel until I reached the top floor. I saw two of the Eshu open a door and walk inside. I continued down the hall and through the door, but was promptly knocked back. Something unwove my spell and dropped me on my rump. I rubbed my sore bottom and examined the types of energy around the door. Thick ropes of Glamour twisted about it like a giant spider web. It was a complex weave. Given enough time, I could take it apart, but I had none.

  I took three steps to the left and faced the wall next to the door. I felt the Chaos Seed bloom inside of me, balled one hand into a fist, and threw a punch. The wall shattered inward, leaving a jagged hole large enough for an Ogre to walk through. I shrugged and walked inside.

  I wasn’t sure where I was, but I knew it wasn’t Astor House. I stood in a large tent, or series of tents, as long as a city block. The tent beyond this one was over-bright, as if Apollo stabled his chariot at the far end. The walls of the tent were silk and colored crimson, azure, and gold. Instead of lush carpeting under my feet, I stepped through silk and sand. Magic and Glamour were everywhere, of a scent and taste unlike any I’ve had before.

  It must’ve been an entrance hall of some sort. From a connected tent to the left, I heard the laughter of women. In front of me were the Eshu performers from the parade.

  One of the guards walked up to me. He was a handsome gentleman, with long, curly black hair that fell to his shoulders. I didn’t see him at the parade. At his hip was a scimitar sword that shimmered with unknown magicks. I smelled myrrh and salt and tasted sand.

  “There was no need to tear the tent, mage. Do you not have the key?” His accent was thick, and it took me a moment to decipher his words.

  “I…lost it. There were difficulties.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “Where is the child?”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked me over. “You are not the mage.”

  Three Xi, armed with spears and with short swords on their belts, spread to my flanks. One spoke. “What is this, Beshir, my captain? What is this that enters our home uninvited, destroys our walls, and lays deception upon us?”

  “It is a corpse, Haroun.” Beshir drew his sword. “It is a corpse.”

  The three spearmen advanced and thrust with their spears. I raised my cane in time to deflect one strike, but the other two pierced my side, or would have if not for my magic shields. The spears turned away with a thump, but I felt wisps of energy go with them.

  I triggered one of the powers of the Watchmage’s cane, and it morphed into a sleek saber that radiated violent magic. Like all gentlemen, I studied the fencing arts, and one hundred and fifty years of practice and competition made me a dangerous opponent. This was not a fair fight. They had no chance.

  I focused my magic and whispered an ancient word. My muscles filled with the strength of an ox and the speed of a falcon. I leapt the next spear strike from my right and slashed through the Xi’s rib cage. He looked at me in disbelief as he fell, fading away before he even hit the sand.

  The one named Haroun stepped in. I slashed through his spear and punched him hard in the face. He fell to the ground as his mouth dripped sparkling blood.

  The last spearman fell back. He drew a ram’s horn and blew three staccato notes. I quickstepped to stop him, but Beshir slid into my path, as fluid as running water.

  “You will go no further,” he said. “You have violated Pasha Abdrahim realm. Justice must be done.”

  “I want that baby.”

  “As do I, but first I want your head.”

  He slashed with dazzling speed, but I was faster and leapt back. His scimitar concerned me. It began to glow a fiery red, and waves of distorted air surrounded each swipe. I felt the power and backed away.

  I channeled Air and Chaos and fired a lightning strike at Beshir. His scimitar wailed like a dying horse and drew the lightning into it. He attacked again, and when I parried with my saber, flames exploded at impact. The sword flew from my grip and once again became a cane.

  From the other room came six Eshu warriors. Beshir looked at me and nodded, indicating for them to advance.

  I loosed another lightning bolt at a guard. It caught him full in the chest and knocked him to the sand. Smoke rose from his convulsing body.

  Beshir came in hard, twisting and twirling his curved sword from angles I could never defend. I leapt out of the way and summoned my cane to hand. I drew a rune and flew near the tent’s roof. From there I could attack and defend at my leisure.

  I was wrong. Two of the Eshu changed their shape. They grew wings and a hard, black shell, becoming giant, flying beetles. The beetles took to flight and chased me, drool coating their massive mandibles. I dodged and weaved, and then spun a small whirlwind that caught them and drove them hard into the ground.

  Another dove at me from above, but I was ready. He couldn’t stop when I vanished, and his body made a deep trench in the sand where he crashed. I waved my hand and the ground beneath him turned to wet concrete, trapping him as it hardened.

  One of the beetles took flight again. I met him head on, sword to jaws. It took three passes, but I found the soft spot between his mandibles. He fell to earth, crossing the Veil in agony.

  My mistake was that I flew too low. Beshir swung upwards and connected with my leg. It was but a glancing blow, but the magic of his scimitar cancelled my own. My flight spell unraveled, along with my strength, speed, and even my shields. I hi
t the sand and tumbled like a broken wagon wheel.

  Scrambling to my feet and looking around, I saw dire straits. The remaining Eshu all morphed into giant scorpions and advanced from the sides. I turned to one and raised a cage of sandstone to trap him. Beshir took advantage of the distraction. He grabbed my right hand with his left and punched me in the eye with his pommel. I dropped my cane, and he kicked it away.

  Beshir came on again. “If you surrender, I will grant you a clean death.” His sword twirled faster than my bloodied eyes could follow.

  My spells gone, my eyes blinded with blood, my flanks harried by scorpions, I did what any rational man would do.

  I dove back through the portal.

  Jonas

  Shadow had the baby and he had Hendricks. I had no idea what he was planning to do, but I knew that he earned a serious anointing from me.

  I stopped a carriage and showed my badge. “I need to reach The Bloody Knuckle in Corlear’s Hook.”

  The driver made a face. “I’m not goin’ down there. I gotta livin’ to make, and dyin’s no way to do it. I got five kids to feed.”

  I reached into my pocket a pulled a quarter eagle, far more than the trip was worth. “Here’s your living. You want it, you’ll take me there.”

  He let the coin fall into his hands, and bit it. “Chatham Square, no further. I don’t care if you’re a Leatherhead, I don’t care if yer Mayor Wood. I ain’t gonna risk my neck for ya.”

  To his credit, he drove fast enough and didn’t run over any newsboys. I reloaded my barker while he drove and plotted my attack.

  He let me off at the south end of the square and snapped the reins on his horse as soon as I stepped out. I walked the rest of the way through the darkness, lit by the occasional gas lights and lamps coming from the salons and brothels.

  The Bloody Knuckle was half standing and even that half was blackened and smoke-stained. The warehouse where the fights took place burned to ashes. The front of the tavern proper was smashed in and smoldering, and much of the second story had fallen into the first. Only the storeroom remained.