The Royal Sorceress (13 page)

Gwen lost interest rapidly and found herself studying the policemen instead. They were glancing at her when they thought she wasn’t looking: glances that suggested that she made them nervous in some way. Scotland Yard didn’t employ women in any position; even their servants were all male. Perhaps they were unused to the idea of a woman being in a position of power, not when there hadn’t been a female Queen for decades. It had been centuries since Elizabeth had proved herself the equal of any man.

She frowned as she saw a strange man talking to Inspector Lestrade. He was tall and thin, wearing a deerstalker hat and a cloak that seemed to cover most of his body. Beside him, a shorter man with a moustache and a doctor’s bag was watching impatiently, clearly looking forward to examining the body. Lestrade’s voice grew louder as they argued, but Gwen couldn’t make it out clearly. He didn’t sound happy.

“None of them saw his face,” Master Thomas said, grimly. He nodded to the Inspector’s two friends, who nodded back. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here that can be used to trace him back to his lair. You may as well have the body removed and handed over to the clergy for cremation.”

“Of course, sir,” Inspector Lestrade said. No one was buried these days, not when a necromancer could give new life to the dead. Bodies were incinerated by law and anyone who failed to notify the authorities would face a stiff fine and six months in jail. “I’ll let the relatives know.”

“I’m sure they know already,” Master Thomas said. “It will be all over London by now.”

He said nothing until they were back in the carriage, heading back to Cavendish Hall. “I must speak with Lord Mycroft at once,” he said. “His brother is a private agent who sometimes takes on commissions for the government. Perhaps he can be of some service.”

Gwen looked up at him. “Master,” she said, slowly, “who
is
he?”

“That isn’t important at the moment,” Master Thomas said. “The Fairweathers are planning to host a ball in a week. I trust that you will be attending?”

Gwen was used to sudden changes in subject, but it still caught her by surprise. Master Thomas had never shown any interest in balls before, or the parties that socialites like her mother hosted on a regular basis. Or maybe she’d just missed the signs. It had only been a week since her life had turned upside down.

“I don’t think that anyone will take me,” Gwen admitted. The thought hurt more than she was prepared to admit. It wasn’t the done thing for a woman to go to a ball without a male companion. Most of the young girls she knew either moved from man to man, or formed a relationship with a single man that would inevitably lead to marriage. By then, the parents would have been consulted, negotiations would have taken place and the happy couple would have discovered that they no longer controlled their own lives. “And I wasn’t planning to go.”

“They’re powerful patrons of Cavendish Hall,” Master Thomas said, dryly. “It would be unwise to offend them. Do you wish anyone to invite you to the ball?”

Gwen flushed. The thought of Master Thomas ordering one of the other students to escort her was embarrassing. And yet…she doubted that any of them would work up the nerve to ask her to accompany them to the ball. They’d be reluctant to risk any shadow over their own reputation, even though they’d probably been visiting brothels or seducing the maids since they’d grown old enough to know that the stork didn’t bring babies to their parents at night.

“No, thank you,” she said, firmly. She would prefer to go on her own rather than have an unwilling companion. But then, maybe they wouldn’t be all that unwilling. The Fairweather family wasn’t
just
interested in magic. They were major backers of the East India Company and had interests and investments all over the globe. Their parties were
the
major event of the year. Her mother might not be able to secure an invitation.

“You will be coming,” Master Thomas said, firmly. “I suggest that you ask one of your fellow students, or a young man of your acquaintance. There will be a chance to meet many of the most powerful men and women in London at the ball. When you become the Royal Sorcerer, you will need contacts and allies in high places if you are to do your job properly.”

Gwen nodded, reluctantly. How did he manage to keep making her feel like a child?

“When we return home, I suggest that you apologise to Lord Blackburn,” Master Thomas added. “You cannot afford a political enemy in such a high place. Your position is going to be unstable anyway – you don’t need darker problems.”

“No,” Gwen said, flatly. “You didn’t see how he was treating that girl. He deserves far worse than a slap.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Master Thomas said, “but if you don’t learn anything else from me, learn this. Those with power have to be humoured or they will work against you. And then, if you’re lucky, you won’t be able to get anything done.”

Chapter Eleven

T
he Government had banned the Working Men’s clubs after the long period of social unrest in Britain that had followed the aborted revolutions in America, France and even Russia. People being people, their decree had done nothing more than drive the clubs underground, where working men of the lower classes could drown their sorrows in drink before staggering home to their wives. Jack knew that it was a more subtle means of social control than using Dragoons to clear the streets. The working men spent their day working and drinking and rarely had time to consider the true nature of their place in society. Besides, when the local temperance legion had managed to ban alcohol, there had been riots in the streets. That law had been hastily rescinded.

He smiled to himself as he slipped through the door and into the club. It was a massive room, lit by dim oil lanterns that shrouded the whole chamber in an atmosphere of gloom. A fire burned brightly in one corner, providing heat and flickering illumination for the crowd of heavy drinkers. It was, by common consent, an English-only club. The Irishmen, Welshmen and Scotsmen had their own clubs, where they drank their sorrows away. And, on weekends, the drinkers would often end up brawling with other drinkers, their hatreds blinding them to the fact that they shared a common cause. Jack slapped a copper crown onto the table, accepted a tankard of beer and tasted it carefully. It was weaker than he remembered, but then there was nothing stopping the barman from watering his booze. No one in their right mind would try any of the bar snacks.

The racket grew louder as more and more men crammed into the club. Jack watched as the barmaid, almost certainly the owner’s daughter, moved from table to table, replenishing glasses and taking coins from the bar’s patrons. The bartender was one of the few totally honest men – if one didn’t count the watered-down beer – in the Rookery. Everyone liked and trusted him, which made his participation in the movement essential. Jack took another swig of his beer, winced at the taste, and then stood up. Night was falling, the serious drinking was just beginning and before too long, the camaraderie at the bar would be replaced by violence and drunken fighting. No one would break it up if two drunkards started fighting each other. They’d be more likely to start betting on the outcome.

Jack scowled inwardly as he pushed his way through the crowd of sweaty men, drinking as quickly as they could. He had no illusions about their nature, not like the upper-class women who formed the temperance legions. The poor were shaped by their environment, lying, cheating and stealing to survive, knowing that their lives might be ended at any moment. Life was cheap in the Rookery. Jack was mildly surprised that the recruiting sergeants didn’t have more recruits for the army. But then, the army was used to repress urban rioting. The weak-chinned aristocrats who commanded the army wouldn’t want soldiers who refused to charge their fellows.

He opened an unmarked door and slipped into the rear room. A smaller number of men were gathered around a fence, watching with interest as two wild dogs fought each other for their amusement. One of the dogs had lost a leg, but it managed to stay on its feet and savage the other with sharp teeth. The sound of bets being exchanged could be heard over their growls; by the time the night was done, a few people would be richer at the expense of their fellows. The game wasn’t precisely rigged, but a smart planner could ensure that the odds were tipped in his favour. A cheer went up when the smaller dog managed to sink its teeth into the larger dog’s throat and ripped, hard. Blood went everywhere as the larger dog sank to the ground and died. A number of gamblers were sulking. They’d bet heavily on the loser.

Jack shook his head and walked through the third door. Inside, a man carrying a club inspected him before waving him through. Davy had taken care of security, with trusted men posted at all points. If the Bow Street Runners had a spy inside the movement, they might know about the meeting, but they’d never get to the club before the occupants already been warned. Besides, after the death of Lord Burley, the Runners were more likely to be running around looking for his murderer than watching the underground. But then, Master Thomas would have seen his message. He could hardly have failed to understand what it meant.

Inside the inner room, nine men waited for him. Jack exchanged handshakes with the ones he didn’t know, hoping – praying – that Davy was still a good judge of character. The last time he’d been in London, he’d trusted the wrong person and ended up having to run for his life. And if he hadn’t had something to bargain with, the French might well have killed him rather than trying to turn him into a tool. Four other men, all from the underground, came in several minutes later. Davy himself, who was a silent partner in the club, brought up the rear.

His gaze passed over Jack in silent consideration. Davy was a short man with a cloth over one eye. Years ago, a werewolf in government service had taken his right eye during a brutal struggle and had almost ended his life. Davy had been bitter and resentful long before losing his eye, but he’d grown darker and more determined to succeed, whatever the cost. Jack knew that Davy didn’t trust him, but they didn’t have time for a conflict within the movement.

“Well,” Davy said, finally. “We’re here. Shall we begin?”

Jack stood up and walked to the front of the room. It was easy to use a little magic to illuminate his form, even though he knew better than to try; at least two of the underground’s leaders had magic of their own and they wouldn’t be impressed by his tricks – as well as sensing it if he tried to Charm them. . It wasn’t worth the risk. He studied them, as dispassionately as he could. Two of them were union organisers – unions were banned, by law – and three more were former professors turned revolutionaries. One was an exile from the Tsar’s Russia, another was a miner who’d lost his job when the mining company had brought in Irish labour and undercut English wages. Years ago, there had been a proper underground movement, but that underground had been shattered. A repeat of that disaster would prove fatal to the movement.

“You all know why we’re here,” he said, without preamble. He spoke quietly, but with passion – and with enough force to make sure they all heard the conviction in his voice. Charm wasn’t necessary to convince people. “We have struggled for reform the legal way – and we have gotten nothing for our pains. The toffees like us in the dirt, grubbing around their feet for the scraps they throw to us, uncaring about our suffering. We lose children because we have to live in the slums. We lose money through taxes and the high cost of food. We lose our sons to workhouses and our daughters to brothels. We are hectored by churchmen and bossed around by lords and ladies who think that their birth makes them better than us.

“In this world, one thing counts,” he continued. “You must have large amounts of money in the bank. But how many people have enough money to have a vote? How many people own enough property to have a vote? The laws are carefully drawn to disenfranchise the poor, the hopeless…the ones like us. And why should we look to our lords and masters for change? They’re happy with things the way they are. Why should they change for us?”

He allowed his gaze to move from face to face. They knew this, of course; they would hardly be underground leaders if they hadn’t
felt
the pain of poverty. Some of them had seen children die because they hadn’t been able to buy food for their families, or watched helplessly as their womenfolk were ravished by petty officials with a little power. They had all felt the endless oppression that pushed down on them, crushing their souls and turning them into slaves. An Englishman was not free in England. The British Empire ruled a quarter of the world, yet it cared nothing for nine-tenths of its population.

And they were all beaten down by the government. There had been brief periods of violent unrest, but some had ended after feelings cooled and others had been savagely repressed by the government’s troops. It had bred helplessness into the poor, a sense that they were doomed no matter what they did – and even a sense that their lords and masters had a
right
to be their lords and masters. Their submission – their inability to break their psychological bonds – was the key to their physical bondage. Jack had set himself the task of giving them the confidence to throw off their chains and break free.

“But why should it be that way?” He demanded. “Why should we not live in vast palaces? Why should we not be allowed to hunt and fish as we please, or avoid paying taxes, or even claiming some of the
benefits
of those taxes? We are told that we belong to a vast and powerful empire, but what do we see of its greatness? We see nothing, save the lights of rich London and the red-coated soldiers who crush us whenever we raise our heads high. We cannot go on like this!

“Last night, I killed Lord Burley,” Jack said. “Three nights ago, I…convinced Henry to forgive his debts. I am here to bring down the government and start a new age, an age where people will rise to the positions they deserve and no one will be ground in the dirt, simply for having been born poor. This time, the government will learn to listen, or we will destroy it. We have the power to bring it down.”