The Royal Sorceress (34 page)

David frowned, thoughtfully. “Master Thomas will not be happy when he finds out that you didn’t tell him about this,” he said, slowly. “Withholding evidence is a criminal offence.”

“I know,” Gwen said, miserably. “I don’t know what to do.”

“The anarchists struck last night, according to the newspapers,” David said. “They blew up a building in the middle of London, just to irritate the government. Apparently, it was a very important building, even though no one seems to know why. Maybe one of those places where they hold secret talks with the French or the Russians…”

Gwen frowned. She’d seen a certain building in the middle of London last night…and Lord Blackburn had been injured. What if…?

“This building,” she said, carefully. “Did they say where it was?”

“I dare say they did,” David said. He stood up and rooted through a mass of papers on an otherwise clean table until he found a copy of
The Times
. “There wasn’t much point in keeping the details to themselves. An explosion in the heart of London wouldn’t be easy to miss.”

Gwen looked down at the paper…and muttered a very unladylike word under her breath. Unless she was much mistaken, the farm – the building where female magicians were impregnated by male magicians – had been destroyed. The newspaper story didn’t say how many people had been killed, or why, but Gwen suspected that there had been at least ten women kept there. And Jack – she had no doubt that it was his work – had killed them all, almost killing Lord Blackburn in the process.

“David,” she confessed, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know which side I’m on.”

David put a hand on her shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I saw…I saw the way people live,” Gwen said. The memories would stay with her for the rest of her life. “I saw men driven to drink because they could do nothing else with their lives. I saw women selling their bodies because it was the only way to make ends meet. I saw children wandering the streets, becoming pickpockets or worse, learning to survive in a harsh and utterly unforgiving environment. And I saw magicians taking women who had magical talents and breeding them…”

She broke off. “No wonder they call it the farm,” she said, bitterly. “They farm women and children.”

David considered it for a long moment. “But without magic,” he said, “what would have happened to the Empire?”

Gwen stared down at her hands. “I understood him,” she confessed, miserably. “I understood the rogue, despite what he did to you. He fights for people who can’t fight for themselves…he was once Master Thomas’s apprentice, just like me.”

“If what he told you is true,” David pointed out, “he might be Master Thomas’s son.”

Gwen flinched. Jack had made the same observation. “David…did you ever get taken to the farm?”

Her brother flushed, answering her question without speaking a word. Gwen could understand the logic behind the farm; David’s sister had powerful magic, therefore David might just be able to sire a magical child. And unlike any child he had with Laura, no one would know about one he’d sired on one of the captive magicians. The establishment could do what they liked with such a child. But they couldn’t be doing something right, or they would have more Masters and Master Thomas wouldn’t have needed Gwen.

“I thought…I was wrong,” David said, finally. “I…”

“I know,” Gwen said. She’d known that her brother had used whores, but she’d never imagined the farm. “I’m sorry.”

“I could have a child out there,” David said, distraught. “I could have a dozen children I don’t even know I have.”

“True,” Gwen agreed. She fought for control, fought to keep her mind steady against the helplessness threatening to drive her into depression. What could she do? What
should
she do? “I don’t know what to do…”

“I was in France a few years ago,” David said. Gwen nodded, remembering how she’d begged and pleaded with her mother to be allowed to travel with her brother. David hadn’t yet married Laura when he’d gone. “I met one of the men who’d organised the crushing of the Paris Commune, back in the 1790s.”

He shook his head, slowly. “The French rebels wanted revenge on the aristocracy,” he added. “So they killed the police and they took the city and they killed every aristocrat they could catch, burning their homes to the ground. And then they killed the merchants, the Jews, the money-lenders…and everyone else they didn’t like. And then…”

David looked up at her, grimly. “They ate themselves alive,” he said. “The rebels tore Paris apart long before the army arrived to restore order. Can you imagine what would have happened if they’d had a chance to take the entire country? They would have spread a bloody red terror over France, slaughtering everyone who knew how to make the country work…

“And now France is a despotic state, with fat King Louis on the Throne, mandatory Church services and no representation from the people at all,” he concluded. “And if your friend Jack happens to win, that’s what will happen to London.”

Gwen closed her eyes, wishing – for the first time – that she’d never been born with magic.

“So,” she said, finally. David was right. She knew that he was right. “What do we do about it?”

“I don’t know,” David admitted. “I just don’t know.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

N
o one had ever escaped from the Tower of London.

Or at least that was the official story. Historically, the Tower of London had served first as a Royal Residence, and then as an arsenal, a garrison and a prison for certain select prisoners. Elizabeth the Great, in the years before she’d succeeded Bloody Mary as Queen, had spent many days in the Tower, as had Sir Walter Raleigh and John Wilkes. Jack wasn’t surprised to discover that Lucy and the other prisoners had been sent to the Tower. It had always held political prisoners. Besides, unlike any of the other prisons in London, it was effectively impregnable. Maybe a few had escaped, over the years, but the Tower’s reputation remained intact.

Disguised as a beggar, Jack slowly made his way around the outer wall. The Tower of London had been renovated in 1801 after the first wave of unrest had begun lapping at the foundations of British society. It was now the main garrison for British troops in the City of London, with enough supplies and men to hold against anything up to a full-scale assault. Jack could see ways in which airships could be used to outflank the tower’s defences, but capturing an airship would be difficult.

There were enough troops manning the defences to deter any offensive from the civilian population. Jack had gone up against worse odds in the past, but the presence of at least a dozen combat magicians gave him pause. The Tower of London was also the only prison in Britain to hold magicians, the result of years of careful construction work by the Royal College. There was enough magic infused into its structure to hold any magician, even a Master. Jack knew that most rogue magicians were simply executed after capture, but some were kept alive for years. And if they knew what they had, the establishment would be sure to keep Lucy alive. Healing was a very useful talent, but it wouldn’t help her to escape captivity. They could cross-breed her with their magicians and see if her children were Healers.

He scowled as a pair of Bow Street Runners passed him, threatening to kick him into the Thames if he didn’t go beg somewhere else. Mimicking the stoop of a wounded war veteran from North Africa or India, he hobbled along back around the tower and out onto the streets. Beggars were not welcome in London, but the establishment generally tolerated their presence. There were even a handful of charities set up to try to help the poor and destitute. They would be more popular if they weren’t run by people more interested in preaching to the helpless than helping them learn a trade or recover from their injuries. The thought ground at him as he caught sight of Traitor’s Gate, the Tower’s private dock. Its prisoners were brought up the river and into the tower without ever having a chance to escape. Only a madman – or someone desperate to escape – would risk swimming in the Thames after the factories established upstream had started to flood the river with their wastes.

Cursing under his breath, Jack kept inching away from the tower, stopping every passer-by to beg for alms. A handful of people gave him coins, but most of them shuffled away as soon as they saw him. Jack rolled his eyes inwardly as he made his way down the street and away from the Tower of London. Behind him, he knew, Lucy and a handful of his friends were rotting in captivity. The Tower was famous for its array of torture equipment – and everyone broke, eventually. And if they made Lucy talk...the consequences could be disastrous.

It took him nearly an hour to make his way out of the richer part of the city and into a cramped alleyway. A passing policeman took a few moments to harass him, clearly intent on shaking him down for whatever money the helpless beggar had collected. Jack wanted to kill him – it would have been so easy – but he had to settle for using Charm to convince the policeman that he had nothing worth taking. He promised himself that he would remember the policeman’s face. There would be a reckoning some day in the future.

A loud roar announced the presence of a bear, chained to the wall. Jack blinked in surprise, and then remembered that London had recently developed a passion for bear-baiting. The bear would be poked and prodded until it was enraged, whereupon it would amuse the crowd as it tried to get at them with its teeth and claws. Jack remembered, bitterly, the days he’d spent fox-hunting, back before he’d learned the truth about his birth. It shamed him to remember that he’d once enjoyed tormenting a helpless creature. Where the poor had lost limbs for daring to poach in the vast estates owned by aristocrats, the noblemen had thought nothing of cutting vast swathes through the animal population. Jack had even heard rumours that they’d hunted men – convicts – through their hands, although he’d never participated. It was astonishing how much evil a person could inflict on another if they thought of that person as less than human.

Five minutes later, he had changed his clothes and looked more like a poor manual labourer. The bear roared again and Jack had an idea. Pushing the beast back with his magic, he pressed his hand against the chain and Changed its composition, carefully weakening it. When the bear started to pull against its chain, it would break, giving its tormentors a nasty surprise. He was still grinning when he walked out of the alleyway, abandoning the beggar’s stoop, and headed down towards the docks. Davy and his subordinates should be waiting for him there.

And one of them was a traitor, he thought, bitterly. The stench of the docks – the mixture of raw fish, labourers and exotic goods from all over the empire – reached him and made him cough, even as he mulled the problem over and over in his mind. One of them had betrayed the cause – or had he? Magic could have made someone talk, or perhaps one of the Seers had picked up a hint of the coming struggle. And yet...the information hadn’t been very precise, or they would have known about Lucy’s talent. Maybe Master Thomas and the reactionaries had simply gotten lucky.

He checked around the warehouse first, watching for unpleasant surprises. There was a pair of urchins stationed around the building, standing guard where they would alert the inhabitants if the police or the army arrived in force. Jack was privately very pleased with that part of his plan – no one would think anything of seeing a few dozen street urchins scattered around the docks, where thousands of them tried to scavenge a living – and it was almost a relief when he saw that two of them were paying close attention to him. He looked just like a police spy to them.

The warehouse door opened when he tapped on it, revealing two burly men carrying staffs and pikes. No one would be surprised to see manual weapons, while firearms would draw immediate attention. Jack pulled off his cap, revealing his face, and smiled as they waved him through into the office. The business was real, thankfully; no one would see anything suspicious as long as they didn’t go into the warehouse itself. And even the Bow Street Runners would hesitate before forcing their way into the building. A successful businessman could make real trouble for them.

“Jack,” Davy said. The underground’s nominal leader scowled at him. “I heard they got Lucy.”

“They did,” Jack confirmed. “They have her and the others in the Tower.”

Davy nodded, reaching for a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. Jack was of the opinion that the wine would be better off poured back into the horse, but he took a glass anyway. The underground fighters would respect a hard-drinking man.

“Someone talked,” Davy said. “Who talked?”

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. He’d turned the thought over and over in his mind. If any of the inner circle had turned – or broken under torture – they would have betrayed far more than just Lucy’s brothel. And yet...who had known about the brothel, but not about anything else? It didn’t make sense. “Someone talked to someone; maybe they didn’t pick up a complete picture.”

“Perhaps,” Davy agreed. “This ruins our plans. If they make Lucy talk...”

“They will want her to do a great deal more for them than talk,” Jack said, flatly. If they knew what they had...a thought struck him and he shivered. Perhaps Lucy and the handful of others were nothing more than bait in a trap. And
he
was the only logical target for a trap. “We have to get her out of there.”

Davy stared at him. “It’s the time for pulling in our horns,” he said, sharply. “We have to evacuate, now!”

“No,” Jack said, equally sharply. “We have got to push ahead, before the whole plan comes undone.”

“You’re mad,” Davy said. “You
do
know how heavily defended the Tower of London happens to be?” Jack nodded, but Davy went on regardless. “They have at least six hundred Dragoons in the barracks, twenty Sparkers and probably others held nearby, in reserve. And you want to knock it over as if it were a coach on an isolated highway?”

“I have been a highwayman,” Jack said, truthfully. He
had
raided coaches on his way out of England, back when his life had disintegrated around him. “It wasn’t that hard, as long as you watched your back. Plenty of highwaymen felt it was safer to rob other highwaymen than gentry on the roads.”