Sons of Liberty (37 page)

Lucy could abort the child, she thought, but ...

She stared down at her flat chest, cursing herself for a fool. Ending an unborn child’s life was a sin, in and of itself. She'd sinned, but that didn't give her the right to commit another sin just to cover the first one up. And who knew what the child of two such powerful magicians would be like? It was her duty to find new magicians. She couldn't abort the child without breaking her oath.

I might have to marry him, she thought. She flushed. Part of her body liked that idea, liked it very much. But she didn't know him that well; hell, his father didn't know him that well. It was possible, she supposed, that she could find another prospective husband, but that would be awkward. There would be no way to hide the suspicious timing. By the time I know I’m pregnant, it will be too late to pretend it happened on the wedding night.

Gwen climbed out of the bath and stumbled into the bedroom. She looked at the bed wistfully, then hastily dressed and hurried back down the stairs to Jackson’s office. He was standing in front of the map, looking grim. Someone - one of the scouts, Gwen assumed - had updated the map, warning of French troops approaching the city. It wouldn't be long before they were in a position to storm the defences.

“
Lady Gwen,” Jackson said. He turned to face her, his face pale. “What happened?”

“
The French laid a trap for me,” Gwen said. She sat down, rather quickly. “Their raiding party was completely composed of magicians. The others were killed ... and I was only saved by the rogue.”

Jackson stared. “The rogue saved you?”

Gwen nodded. She hated to admit that she’d needed help - it was always seen as a sign of feminine weakness, as if men didn't need help themselves - but there was no choice.

“
We spoke afterwards,” she said. There was no way she could tell Jackson everything they’d done. “He ... he has been having doubts about the French.”

“
Smart man,” Jackson said. “Who is he?”

“
I don’t know,” Gwen lied. “He said he would talk to the other Sons and then get back to us.”

“
He may have to move quickly,” Jackson said. He nodded to the map. “The French will be on us in two days, perhaps sooner.”

“
They may have hoped to catch me first,” Gwen said. She would have been surprised if there wasn't a spy or two in Amherst. “They came very close to killing me outright.”

“That may mean they don’t have any other magicians with them,” Jackson mused.

Gwen shrugged. It was tempting to believe he was right, but she knew better than to take it for granted. Certainly, if she had to kill a Master Magician, she would have used overwhelming numbers ... if she’d had them. But the French might think differently. Their team had worked together to catch Gwen, then almost won. They would have won if Bruce hadn't shown up.

And he never told me why he was out there, she thought. In hindsight, it was the one question she should have asked. Was he shadowing us from the start?

“
I need to borrow your Talker,” she said, instead. “And then I really need to rest.”

“
He’s in the next room,” Jackson said. He nodded towards the door. “Good luck.”

“
Stop the search for the Sons,” Gwen said, rising. “Right now, we might as well try to make a gesture of good will.”

She tested her mental shields carefully before stepping into the next room, even though a Communications Talker was unlikely to be able to read her mind. The young man sitting at a chair, his eyes unfocused, would have had a better job if he’d been a mind-reader, but there was no point in taking chances. Blackmail was a very real threat to a young woman in her position. She remembered Augustus Howell all too well.

“
Lady Gwen,” the Talker said. He sounded vague, as if half his mind was permanently occupied with some greater matter. There was no sense that he was trying to invade her thoughts. “Who would you like to contact?”

“
Viceroy Rochester,” Gwen said, sitting down. “Tell his Talker that it’s urgent - and secret.”

She forced herself to wait as the Talker began to mumble to himself. It might take some time before Rochester and his Talker were together, in private. He might be holding another ball, hoping to convince New York that matters were under control, or he might be coping with yet another crisis. Irene would be there to help him, at least, Gwen thought. And Raechel ...

She won’t come to any harm, she thought. As embarrassing as the whole affair was, Raechel shouldn't be harmed. It would definitely serve as a learning experience for her, unless it turned nasty. Bruce said she’d be safe ...

The Talker cleared his throat. “This is Rochester,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“
I was able to talk to one of the Sons,” Gwen said. She outlined the official version of what had happened, careful to leave Bruce’s name out of it. He could explain his double life to his father. “It’s time to put the parliamentary contingency plan into effect.”

There was a long pause. “There will be opposition in the House of Lords,” Rochester said, finally. The Talker captured his inflections perfectly. “Not everyone will go along with it.”

“
The Sons are far better organised than we dared fear,” Gwen said. She took a breath, then pressed on. “We have to compromise now or risk losing everything. The French will not hesitate to take advantage of a prolonged period of civil war in the colonies.”

She sighed. “And there are other problems we need to solve,” she added. “The industrial restrictions only make it harder for us to supply the colonies, when the colonies are cut off from the motherland. We might need to expand our industrial base.”

“
I understand,” Rochester said. “I’ll consult with London, then make a formal announcement.”

And hope to hell no one tries to walk the promise back later, Gwen thought. Lord Mycroft and the Duke of India understood the value of keeping one’s promises - and being seen to keep one’s promises - but Lord Liverpool was a reactionary. The Sons will not tolerate us betraying them ... and if the war is won, they won’t have to worry about the French.

“
Thank you, Your Excellency,” Gwen said. Word would get out quickly in New York, regardless of what Bruce said. The handful of aristocrats she’d met would have a chance to adjust before their world turned upside down. “If you don’t mind, I’ll speak to you later. I desperately need to sleep.”

“
I understand,” Rochester said. “Goodnight, Lady Gwen.”

The Talker closed his eyes for a long moment, breaking the connection. Gwen nodded her thanks, then hurried back up the stairs to her room. She heard Bruce’s voice, echoing down from his suite, but resisted the urge to go to him and ask just what had happened. Had anyone realised he’d left City Hall? She certainly hadn’t paid much attention to his comings and goings ...

I’ll need to spend more time with him, whatever happens, she told herself. Another Master Magician ... she needed him on her side. And who knows? Maybe the horse will learn to sing.

Shaking her head, she stepped into her quarters, locked and bolted the door, then walked over to the bed and lay down, without bothering to undress. Sleep claimed her seconds later, sending her plunging down into darkness. Her last thought was that everything else could wait.

Chapter Thirty

It was hard to be sure, but Raechel was starting to have the feeling that Adam hadn't selected her because of her clerical skills. Maybe she could read and write, yet she was fairly sure the Sons of Liberty would have no difficulty finding men or women of unquestionable loyalty who might be just as capable as her. And yet, all of her darker suspicions had proven fruitless too. Adam didn't even seem inclined to stare at her, when they were alone together, let alone send his hands wandering into forbidden territory. There was something about his actions that didn't quite make sense.

She scowled down at the ledger, running her eyes down the numbers with practiced ease. It had never occurred to her that an underground group must have a budget, but the Sons of Liberty disposed of quite startling amounts of cash. Raechel had to admit that it made a certain amount of sense, yet the ledgers were surprisingly vague about where the money actually came from. She doubted most of the recruits could contribute much to the cause, even if they were still paid wages in New York. Maybe the Sons were stealing money to finance their operations.

Her eyes narrowed as she reached an odd entry in the ledger, then glanced back to check that she was right. The entry insisted that the Sons had purchased several hundred rifles - it didn't saw from whom - but earlier entries suggested that it should have been cheaper. It wasn't as if there weren't thousands of rifles washing around the colonies, from pre-revolutionary weapons to militia equipment that had gone walkabout. Someone seemed to have taken the money for his own use.

She looked up at Adam, bent over his own book. He wasn't much, she had to admit, and yet he controlled the purse strings. All of a sudden, she understood why her uncle had played such a long game, trying to gain a high position in the Treasury. The man who controlled the cash flow was in a position to dispense patronage and steer policy without ever being clearly visible. Just how much control did Adam have over the Sons? Was she looking at the true leader, the man in the shadows?

Adam looked up. “Yes?”

“
There's an entry here,” Raechel stuttered. How the hell had he caught her staring at him? “I think someone’s been stealing money?”

“
Let me see,” Adam said, rising. He paced over to her and took the ledger, scanning it with practiced ease. “Yes, this could be a problem. Well spotted.”

Raechel frowned. “What are you going to do about it?”

Adam patted her on the back, awkwardly. “Check carefully to make sure it isn't an error,” he said, putting the ledger on the desk. “The cost of weapons has gone up, recently. I ...”

There was a sharp tap on the door. “It’s unlocked,” Adam called, stepping away from Raechel’s desk. “Come in!”

The door opened. General Roosevelt - the soldier she’d met when she’d first entered the camp - entered, looking ... odd. He held a piece of paper in his hand, which he passed to Adam. Raechel wanted to see it for herself, but Adam didn't show it to her. Instead, he dropped it in his pocket.

“It has to be a lie,” he said, flatly.

“
It came directly from Amherst,” Roosevelt snapped. Raechel’s eyes widened. Gwen had gone to Amherst. “And there are rumours in New York that confirm it!”

“That proves nothing,” Adam insisted.

“
He can hardly make a promise and then go back on it,” Roosevelt insisted. “Really ...”

“
He’s an aristocrat from a long line of aristocrats,” Adam said. “I assure you that his forefathers could lie, cheat and steal with the best of them. Whatever promises he makes, even in front of the House of Lords, will be so watered down that they might as well not have been made. You know as well as I do just how many wealthy and powerful men have an interest in ensuring that things stay the same!”

“
Except we would be taking a big risk if we struck, even if we won the first battles,” Roosevelt reminded him. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life under the French!”

“
Nor do I,” Adam said. “But do you want to spend the rest of your life under the British?”

“
The issue needs to be debated,” Roosevelt said. “Here - and everywhere else.”

Adam took a long breath, clearly controlling his temper. “And if this is a lie?”

“
You are at liberty to speak out against the proposal, if you wish,” Roosevelt said. “I think everyone has a right to be heard, do they not?”

“
Fine,” Adam snapped. “Assemble everyone, if you wish. We’ll hold a full meeting after lunch. Let’s see how it goes.”

Roosevelt nodded, then turned and stalked out of the office, closing the door behind him with a loud thud. Raechel watched, nervously, as Adam paced the floor, muttering under his breath. She wanted to know what the paper said, but she didn't dare try to reach for it. Adam was one of the most placid men she’d ever met. If it was enough to make him angry, she didn't want to know what he would do if she tried to take the paper.

“
Finish the job,” he growled at her, finally. “And when you go for lunch, lock the door and remain in the hall afterwards.”

“Yes, sir,” Raechel said.

Adam gave her a sharp look, then stuffed the paper into his pocket and strode out of the office. Raechel hesitated, then rose to her feet and hurried towards his desk. She was so rarely left alone that she knew she couldn't miss the opportunity, despite the risk. The papers on his desk were nothing more than intelligence reports - troop locations around New York, she saw - and, when she opened the drawers, she found a bag of unmarked gold coins. They weren't legal tender, technically, but they were gold. A person with the right connections would have no trouble turning them into money.

She closed the drawers hastily, then hurried back to her desk and pretended to continue with the ledger, thinking all the time. What had been on that piece of paper? And why had Adam reacted so badly, when Roosevelt had been hopeful? What - if anything - had happened in Amherst?

The dinner bell rang twenty minutes later. Adam hadn't returned, so Raechel locked the office door and headed for dinner. Everyone seemed to be crammed into the dining hall - it was standing room only - including a number of men and women she hadn't seen before, all of whom were carrying weapons. She caught sight of John, on the other side of the room, but the crowd was too large for her to get to him. Instead, she took a bowl of stew and ate quickly, wondering just what was going on. If only she had Irene’s talents ...