The Royal Sorceress (6 page)

The boy – no; he looked at the face and realised that he was holding a girl, dressed as a boy – stopped struggling and stared at him. Jack read hopelessness in her gaze, the awareness that her luck had run out. If he handed her over to the Bow Street Runners, she would be condemned to transportation as convict labour, if she were lucky. And there were people who had far darker ideas about what to do with a young girl. She couldn’t be older than eight, perhaps nine, but her eyes were already old. Jack knew she would be lucky to survive into her teens.

“You tried to steal from me,” he said, evenly.

“I didn’t mean to, master,” the girl pleaded. Her attempt at producing a masculine voice wasn’t perfect, but it would probably fool someone in the dark. It had been a long time since Jack had visited the places where the street children slept, but he knew that they could be a very nasty place for a young girl. No one could be trusted on the streets. “Let me go and I won’t steal from you again…I swear I won’t…”

“Be quiet,” Jack said, in the same even tone. “What is your name, young lady?”

The girl’s face, already pale, became almost bloodless as she realised he knew her sex. “Olivia, sir,” she said. “I didn’t know you were a spark or a toffee; I didn’t know…”

Jack smiled, inwardly. Spark was street-slang for magician; toffee was street-slang for upper-class personage, slumming in the poorer areas of the city for pleasures that were denied even to people of their lofty birth. If the girl had identified him as a magician, it suggested some magical talent of her own. It was almost a shame that the Royal Sorcerers Corps hadn’t found her. She would have been brainwashed into serving the order that kept the lower classes in their place, but at least she would have enough to eat.

“I’m looking for Mistress Lucy,” Jack said. It was a name from the past, but unless he was very much mistaken she would still be alive and thriving within the underworld. Any woman in a position of power had to be stronger, tougher and more ruthless than any of her male counterparts. The female of the species was far more deadly than the male. “Do you know where she stays?”

He allowed some Charm to slip into his voice. “You will take me to where she stays,” he said, as the girl nodded frantically. “Don’t try to run away, or I’ll turn you into a rat.”

The girl’s eyes went wide, in surprise and fear, and then she nodded. “Follow me, mister,” she said. “I won’t lead you wrong.”

Jack followed her, shaking his head inwardly at how the locals didn’t seem to take any notice of them. But life on the streets was hard; no one would risk their lives to save a street child who would steal from them the moment their backs were turned. Even the handful of preachers who came down into the maze of houses, bridges and slums would turn their backs on a street child. And once she couldn’t maintain her manly guise, she’d probably be corralled by a pimp or forced into the brothels. They’d use her up and then throw her out to die. There was no mercy for the poor in London.

The Rookery was more complex than he remembered. It had started life as a set of houses and apartments, but thousands of immigrants from the countryside had taken over and turned it into a mishmash of tiny streets and makeshift houses. The Bow Street Runners wouldn’t come into the Rookery without heavy numbers or military support, which meant in practice that the Rookery was controlled by a shifting network of criminal lords. He smiled to himself as he caught sight of a Chinese man striding past, the people moving out of his way to allow him to pass. The Tongs were known for brutally enforcing their will and their smuggling enterprises were legendary. Jack had used the Chinese community the last time he’d been in London, even though he disliked them on general principles. They always seemed to be laughing at him behind their inscrutable eyes.

They are human too
, he reminded himself firmly, as the girl stopped outside an unmarked house that seemed to be in remarkably good condition. The sound of laughter and male grunting from inside confirmed that it was a brothel, even before Olivia started to back away, making motions and gestures that seemed to imply that Mistress Lucy was inside. Jack caught her arm before she could start running and pulled her with him as he opened the door. Inside, a line of lovely young women waited for him, trying to look alluring. Jack wouldn’t have been tempted even if he’d had time. He knew just how badly they had been used, even if Mistress Lucy treated them as more than cattle.

“Here,” he said. He produced a gold coin from his pouch – not his wallet, which had nothing more than a few metal filings to imitate money – and gave it to the girl. Her eyes went wide; the chances were that it was more money than she’d had in her entire life. Given that he’d charmed her, it was a fair recompense. “Wait for me here. Once I have finished, I may have other tasks for you.”

He smiled as one of the young women finally approached. Her face suggested a mixture of English and Negro in her blood, part of the great melting pot of lower-class London. She would have been pretty if her eyes hadn’t been so tired, if she hadn’t known the truth about her existence before she’d grown old enough to try to make her own way in the world.

“Like what you see, sir?” She asked. Her voice was light and breathy. “We have others, far more exotic, if you are a real connoisseur…”

“I’m here to see Mistress Lucy,” Jack said, cutting her up. He allowed a little more Charm to slip into his voice. “I’m an old friend. Take me to her at once.”

“Well, well,” a new voice said. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Jack looked up and smiled. “Lucy,” he said. “It is simply
lovely
to see you again.”

“I’ll give you lovely,” Lucy said. She was older than he remembered. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to overthrow the government,” Jack said, cheerfully. “Isn’t
that
a lovely idea?”

Chapter Five

G
wen rose to her feet as Cannock stepped into the room. Master Thomas had told her that the next series of magical lessons would be coming from her fellow apprentices, who were more skilled with their individual powers than he was with each of them. It wasn’t something that entirely pleased her – and it was clear, looking at him, that Cannock bitterly resented having to teach anyone. He would graduate in June and start serving the British Empire in foreign parts. Teaching a young lady wasn’t among his ambitions.

He was a short young man with messy dark hair and darker eyes, barely old enough to go dancing on his own. Gwen guessed, from the way his eyes lingered on her chest for just a second or two longer than necessary, that he’d already discovered the pleasures of drinking and wenching, just like her brother. It was a double standard – men could enjoy themselves with whores, women had to be chaste – but it wasn’t one she intended to challenge. The thought of sharing her body with hundreds of men was horrifying. If she ever found a husband, someone she could love, perhaps she would feel differently about it.

“Thank you for coming,” Gwen said, as graciously as she could. She had already learned that the Royal College and Royal Sorcerers Corps judged by talent, rather than noble blood, but even they couldn’t avoid it entirely. Cannock was the younger son of the Duke of Essex and a bad word to his father could lead to unpleasant repercussions for the Royal College. At least he’d earned his awards through hard work and endless practice. She didn’t have to worry that he’d purchased his commission. “I am very pleased to meet you.”

Cannock gave her a half-bow, rather than kissing her hand. Gwen was rather pleased about that, although she knew that he had intended it as a subtle insult. Kissing a woman’s hand was a way to show respect; a bow suggested a certain reserve. The way his eyes kept dancing over her worried her, even though part of her mind found it amusing. Men never seemed to change. At least a magician from the Royal College wouldn’t find her powers intimidating…or perhaps they would. They had spent years practicing to rise in the ranks and Gwen had succeeded merely through an accident of birth.

“Moving is one of the simplest talents and yet it is the most complex,” Cannock said, at once. His voice was flat, almost dead. Someone had twisted his arm quite badly – Gwen hoped that that was metaphorical – to force him to teach Gwen his talent. “It basically consists of using your mind to move objects about without actually touching them physically. The more practiced you become at using the talent, the more you will be able to do with it. An experienced Mover can unpick a lock, or even fly through the air. A
really
capable Mover will be able to manipulate objects without maintaining eye contact.”

He shrugged, impatiently. “It obviously takes more energy to move heavier objects,” he said. “Movers deplete themselves quite rapidly; if you happen to be flying, get down on the ground the moment you feel yourself tiring. You will run out of energy quicker than you will believe possible and then you will fall. A number of Movers have died through hitting the ground at great speed.”

Gwen frowned, but nodded. A moment later, she felt an uncomfortable itching under her buttocks. The feeling spread rapidly until she found herself being picked up by an unseen force and lifted into the air. She could
feel
the magic tingling all around her, but it didn’t seem to be part of her. The whole feeling was vaguely uncomfortable, even unpleasant. Cannock didn’t seem to notice her distaste, but she knew it could be an act. She resolved not to show any signs of distress.

“A skilled Mover can talk as well as holding something in the air,” Cannock said. Gwen felt the magic shifting and she found herself gliding over towards the rear of the room. It struck her suddenly that all he had to do was alter her poise a little and he would be able to see right up her skirt. She blushed furiously and then giggled, despite herself. Cannock gave her a puzzled look and started to lower her to the floor. “The more complex the manipulation, the more concentration it requires to actually carry it out without losing control.”

Gwen felt the hard stone floor under her legs. The force holding her upright vanished abruptly and she had to catch hold of one of the tables to prevent her from falling over backwards. She saw a trace of amusement in Cannock’s eyes and silently vowed revenge at the earliest possible moment. He’d probably enjoyed watching her float under his control. She walked back to the table she’d been seated at and sat down, daring him to try to pick her up again.

“Movers, once they have mastered basic manipulation, practice in the hall by playing Mover Ball,” Cannock continued. He was definitely smirking now. “Mover Ball is not unlike the games played by children on the streets, but the balls are thrown though the air by magic, rather than a person’s hands. To be hit by a ball, or to be caught touching it with one’s bare hands, is grounds for instant banishment from the game.”

Gwen smiled. “And the objective is to be the last person on the field?”

“Quite,” Cannock said. “People without the right talent can still play by hurling balls at the talented. They are forced to catch them or deflect them with their magic, or risk losing and being mocked by their peers.”

He reached out one hand and held it over the bowl of water. There was a shimmer of magic and a ball of water floated out of the bowl and hovered in the air. “And there is another trick we play all the time,” Cannock added. “We throw water at each other.”

Before Gwen could react, the ball of water flew right at her face. She held up her hands like lightning and the ball of water seemed to explode, drops of water flying everywhere. Enough touched her face and clothes to convince her that it was freezing cold – and that she would have to get some more practical clothes. Cannock looked surprised that she’d even managed to block it – he’d wanted to drench her, she realised – but recovered quickly. Absently, she wondered how long he’d taken to master his single talent.

“Not too bad,” Cannock said. “Do you know what you did?”

Gwen shook her head. “You hit my ball with a blast of pure motion,” he said. “You weren’t particularly subtle – later, you will learn to catch the water and throw it back at me – but you prevented me from hitting you with the water. Well done.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said, tartly. Her mother would not have approved. “And why do we use water?”

Cannock grinned, unpleasantly. “Because when we throw stones or something material, someone gets hurt,” he said. “The worst that can happen here is that we both end up drenched. Let’s see, shall we?”

He pulled a second ball of water out of the bowl and launched it at Gwen. She tried to block it, but this time the ball resisted her efforts. For a moment, the ball of water seemed to flatten into a sheet of water hanging in the air, and then it flew right towards her and smashed into her face. Gwen gasped in shock as the water slid down her front and soaked her dress. Powered by anger, she reached out towards the bowl herself and
yanked
at the water. An entire stream of water rose out of the bowl and came down on Cannock, who held up his hand to deflect it. It seemed to hang in the air for a long moment, and then Cannock pushed it away. The water shattered into droplets that went everywhere, drenching the walls. He laughed and picked up the bowl. It was empty.

“I think we need to work on control,” he said, as he turned one of the taps and refilled the bowl. “You are very blunt with your power, very crude. A more experienced Mover could have drenched me while I was holding off your stream of water.”

Gwen flushed, feeling cold water trickling down her bodice. She hadn’t felt so cold since she’d taken an unplanned dip in the waters down near their country home. Cannock’s eyes seemed to light on her for a second and she flushed as she realised that her dress was clinging to her skin. He’d done that purposefully, or her name wasn’t Gwen. She ground her teeth as he placed the bowl back on the table behind him and – without any gestures – pulled three balls of water into the air. Gwen was impressed as they spun around his head, and then flew at her. This time, she was ready; one of the balls shattered, while the other two flew back at Cannock. He caught one and tossed it back at Gwen, but the other smashed into his shirt. Gwen had to smile at his expression, just before the final ball of water drenched her hair. The thought of what her mother would have said, if she’d seen her, made her giggle. Lady Mary would
not
have been amused.