The Royal Sorceress (38 page)

“They’re coming up the stairs,” Owen reported. The burly Welshman had been one of Lucy’s hired toughs long before he’d joined the underground. “I think they’re only two floors below us.”

“Head up to the roof,” Jack said. “Once you get up there, climb up the ladders to safety.”

He reached out with his mind and sensed two presences making their way up the stairs. The Tower of London had been designed as a fortress, the stairs carefully designed to prevent attackers from using their sword arms or advancing up in numbers. Jack took up position at the top of the stairs and readied his magic. The moment he saw an advancing skullcap, he threw a bolt of magic down towards the oncoming soldier. It dissipated in a bright shimmer of light and he swore aloud. A moment later, a twisting beam of magic missed him by seconds. Two combat magicians then, he told himself; one Blazer to attack and one Mover to cover him. It wasn’t a bad tactic at all. He infused some magic into a stone, kicked it down the stairs and ran for cover. The explosion might not harm the combat magicians – the Mover was clearly covering the Blazer – but it would force them to keep their heads down. There should be just enough time for him to get himself and the captives back to the airship.

He paused, long enough to infuse more magic into stones and even parts of the floor, and then ran for the stairs. Behind him, he was grimly aware of the oncoming magicians. He’d forced them to be cautious, but they’d have to know that time was running out. He picked up one of the bodies with his magic and hurled it backwards, throwing it down the stairs. It should give the magicians something else to worry about, hopefully winning Jack a few more seconds. He felt the pressure in his mind that indicated the presence of a Talker, probably screaming to Cavendish Hall for help. Master Thomas should still be hours away, assuming that part of the plan had worked, but he did have an apprentice. He hoped – prayed – that Gwen wouldn’t become involved. Jack didn’t want to have to fight her before she decided which side she was on.

Lucy stopped as she reached the roof, catching sight of the airship for the first time. The Tower of London was surrounded by fires blazing upwards from where Jack’s magic-infused bombs had struck the ground. Down below, the guards still looked confused and helpless, even though someone had clearly taken command. Luckily, they still appeared to be reluctant to fire on the airship. A single shot in the right place – or a burst of magic – would bring the entire plan crashing down in flames.

“My God,” Lucy said. “What have you done…?”

“Stolen an airship,” Jack said, casually. His team on the massive ship were already lowering rope ladders. They’d been intended for emergency evacuations, just in case the airship threatened to fall out of the sky, but Jack and his men intended to put them to much better use. “Get up the ladders, quickly. I’ll cover you.”

An explosion from below announced the detonation of one of his booby-traps. There was a scream, hastily cut off, suggesting that one of the magicians had been injured. Jack allowed himself a tight smile as Lucy staggered up the rope ladder, her body swaying as the wind blew across the roof. The others followed her, scrambling up into the airship’s belly. None of them would ever have ridden on an airship before and Jack hoped that the prospect wouldn’t terrify them into immobility. He’d once read that every airship flight had at least one person who became overwhelmed with terror when they realised that they were going up into the sky, high above the ground. It would be precisely the wrong timing if one of the rebels became frozen on the airship.

He fired a burst of magic at a magician who had appeared in the sky, flying towards the airship. The magician ducked down as the blast flashed over his head, firing back towards Jack with the pistols clutched in his hands. Jack knew that the latest pistols were renowned for being inaccurate except at close range, but he had to admire the tactic. The bastard forced him to shield himself when he had to get into the air. Behind him, the combat magicians were making their way up the stairs. They would soon be on the rooftop – and then Jack would have to fight them or lose everything.

“Get up there,” he yelled, as the sound of the airship’s engines grew louder. The wind was threatening to push it away from the Tower and over the Thames. “Move it!”

He didn’t wait for the others to finish scrambling into the airship before he levitated himself up into the air and floated up to the hatch. A magician on the ground tried to disrupt his magic, but failed. Jack silently counted his blessings as he reached the hatch and swung himself into the airship. The remaining prisoners were helped on board the craft as the noise of the engines grew even louder. They couldn’t remain hovering much longer. Norton had continued to create grenades and hurl them down towards the roof, one exploding with shocking force and seriously damaging the castle’s battlements. The entire city would be able to see evidence of the raid whenever they looked at the Tower of London. There was no way that the authorities would be able to prevent word of his deeds from spreading across the world, giving new hope to those who laboured in bondage.

Lucy was staring down through the hatch as bullets started cracking through the air, alarmingly close to the gasbags. “What happens if they see us landing?” She called. It was hard to hear her over the engines. “Won’t they see where we land?”

“Of course,” Jack yelled back. “I’m counting on it.”

He motioned for the former prisoners to leave the hatches open and hang on to the railings as he made his way back through the airship. The hostages were clearly panicking even though they didn’t have any way to know what was going on outside; he could hear them screaming and banging at the sealed doors, demanding to be freed. Jack ignored them. They’d be safe enough unless someone on the ground decided to order the airship shot down and to hell with the lives of the important hostages on the craft. Instead, he reached the bridge, waved cheerfully at the fuming Captain, and spoke to the pilot. The terrified man obeyed without question.

“Take us up the Thames, as low as you can without hitting any of the bridges,” Jack ordered. He’d seriously considered crashing the airship into the ground – or perhaps one of the bridges – before dismissing the thought. There was too much chance of bringing it down in one of the poorer parts of London, scoring an own goal. Besides, the authorities wouldn’t hesitate to brand him and his followers as anarchists and nihilists, men and women whose only goal was chaos. “Don’t worry about the magicians trying to follow us; just keep us in the air and on course.”

Down below, he saw the docks as the airship slowly staggered up the Thames. The wind was growing stronger, so much so that Jack wondered absently if Master Thomas or the Royal College had discovered a weather-control talent. Or perhaps it was plain bad luck; the winds often did blow down the Thames and send a chill over London. It hardly mattered, anyway. In a few minutes it would be time to abandon ship.

Returning to the hold, he looked down at the churning water far below. He could hear horns as boats reacted to the airship’s presence, only a few yards above their heads. A large ferry bringing in workers from upriver hooted as the airship continued to slip lower, its passengers cheering and waving at the ship. They had no idea what was going on, but they loved staring at the airships. Jack had seen hundreds of small boys watching airships and recording their numbers in tiny notebooks, a craze he might have shared if his life had been different.

“Grab the lifejackets,” he ordered. The airship carried a number of cork jackets intended to help people remain afloat if the airship had to come down in the ocean. Jack suspected that they were there more for peace of mind than any actual benefit to the passengers, but they’d come in handy now. “We’re going to slide down the ropes and jump into the water.”

Lucy and the others stared at him. Only a madman would
want
to swim in the Thames, but Jack hadn’t been able to think of any other way to get out without making their landing point far too obvious. He could sense unseen eyes watching them, hostile magicians following their progress and no doubt reporting to their superiors. Coming down in the water, where a boat was waiting to pick them up and deposit them on the shore was the only way of escaping their invisible scrutiny. Once they were in the docklands, with their endless warrens of warehouses and alleyways, they would be able to slip away before the Bow Street Runners took up position on the ground. There was no other way to escape.

“Hurry,” he snapped. The airship’s labouring was growing even louder. Jack had the feeling that soon they would be blown back down the river and out over the ocean. “Get the lifejackets on and get down there.”

Lucy tore at her clothes, revealing her legs as she pulled her skirt off, and then grabbed at one of the rope ladders. She barely managed to scramble down a yard before she lost her grip and fell down towards the water below, hitting the surface with an almighty splash. It honestly hadn’t occurred to Jack to ask if all of the former captives could swim, but it was far too late to worry about that now. The other captives followed suit, two jumping off the hatch rather than trying to scramble down the rope; the remainder trying to get down as far as possible before they fell and landed in the drink. Jack nodded to his team to follow and then returned to the bridge. One of his men, who had remained on guard with a pistol pointed at the pilot’s head, was dismissed and ordered to jump himself. Jack said goodbye to the pilot, wished him luck in saving the ship, and ran back to the hatch. Tired through he was, he didn’t bother with a lifejacket. He merely threw himself over the side and used his magic to slow his fall. The Thames came up and hit him, drenching him as he fell under the surface and found himself choking on foul-tasting water. He reached the surface a moment later, swimming towards the nearest boat. A magician, hovering overhead, was an easy target. Jack disrupted his magic and sent him falling towards the water, directing his fall so that he came down on top of a barge. The resulting crash would almost certainly have killed his victim.

He turned and saw the bridge looming in front of the
Britannia Clipper
. The pilot was desperately fighting to control his ship, but it couldn’t rise fast enough to avoid the bridge, even though the wind was trying to push it downstream. Jack found himself praying for the first time in years – he hadn’t actually
wanted
to kill his hostages, let alone the airship’s crew – but God wasn’t listening to him. The underside of the airship scraped against one of the bridge’s spires, the cloth ripping under the impact. It might just survive…

…A spark ignited the gas and the airship blossomed into fire. Jack ducked under the water as the fireball billowed out in all directions, sending the bridge tumbling into the water far below. A towering inferno rapidly consumed the remains of the airship, forcing him to remain underwater as he swam towards the shore. Debris was striking the water with terrific force, sending deadly shockwaves racing towards him. He lifted his magic to shield himself as the fireball started to contract, even as fires started to spread out of control on both sides of the river. No one, he knew, would have survived on the
Britannia Clipper
. The entire airship, a symbol of British power and industrial sophistication – and of how magic could aid the development of science – had been destroyed.

He pulled himself ashore on the docks, spitting out water as he slapped at his clothes. A crowd was already gathering to stare, even though the fire posed a danger to the entire city. The fire brigades, at least, would have no problem using the Thames as a source of water. If they were lucky, they might even manage to quell the blaze before it consumed half of the city. London had nearly burned to the ground once before and no one would want to repeat the experience.

A group of magicians flew overhead, right towards the blaze. Some of them held their comrades in the air; others used their magic to pick up great waves of water and drive them right into the fire. It was a crude, but effective trick, Jack noted; the flames were already being driven back and quelled by the water. The magicians moved closer, some of them pulling entire streams of water out of the Thames and directing it towards the strongest parts of the fire. Parts of riverside London would be drenched by the time they were finished, but it would be enough to save the remainder of the city. Jack caught sight, briefly, of the airship’s tail before it vanished below the waves. There was little left of the once-proud craft.

It was a shame, but his plan had worked. Grinning to himself, he started to walk back towards the den. Somewhere along the way, he knew, he would have to get a change of clothes. The Bow Street Runners would be looking for people who looked like drowned rats and Jack, now that he was calming down from the excitement, knew that he was exhausted. He might not be able to use his magic to defend himself if they caught up with him.

He took one final look at the plumes of smoke rising up from the fire and then kept walking. As he had hoped, a street thug stepped out of a doorway and demanded a toll before allowing Jack to pass. It was a typical protection racket, the sort of operation that thrived where there was no effective law and order. Jack reached into his reserves and used his magic, striking directly at the thug’s brain. His victim screamed aloud and collapsed to the ground, hands clutching at his head. Jack had heard of a number of men in Europe who had died without any trace of illness or violence. A Mover with only a small talent, barely enough to lift a matchbox, could still tear a person’s mind apart, assassinating their victim without any obvious signs of what had happened. Master Thomas wouldn’t have hesitated to allow his subordinates to work as assassins. After everything else he’d done, merely to maintain the status quo, assassination wouldn’t even cause him to hesitate for a moment.

Jack stripped the groaning thug, tore off his own clothes and pulled on the thug’s overall and cap. They stank – his would-be mugger clearly didn’t know how to bathe – but they were dry, enough to allow him to avoid notice. He kept a sharp eye out for Bow Street Runners as he headed down the street, watching as a handful of broadsheet sellers started shouting the news. It would be hours before the new editions were printed and on the streets, but that had never stopped them from advertising before and it wouldn’t stop them now.