Alchemist's Kiss (17 page)

The Irish man's accent made it hard to understand his words, but Icarus got the gist. Rivensbrow followed him toward a table in the back of the crowded bar, and Icarus and Cora had no choice but to follow. Icarus ground his teeth as more than one man cast a lustful glance at the curvy figure Cora cut in her dark red gown. With her newly darkened hair and the contrast of her eyes she cut a dashing figure. He began to wish he'd made her unattractive.

“Who be these fine folks?” Patrick slugged back his pint with the fervor only and Irishman could have for his ale, and he burped long and loud as he slammed the tankard back to the table.

Rivensbrow waved for them to sit, and Icarus made sure Cora's back was to the corner, and he sat so close as to nearly be on top of her.

“This is my nephew, Nicholas, and his wife Lydia. Fresh off the boat from the Americas to see their old uncle.”

Icarus humphed as Sir Hugh's meaty paw slapped against his back. He glared at the merriment in Rivensbrow's dark eyes. The man really enjoyed this too much.

“What brings ye to the Inn?” Patrick's blue eyes were sharp, despite the four empty tankards that sat in front of him. He watched them carefully, looking for deception. His demeanor was relaxed, Icarus thought, only because he sensed no magic in any of them.

“There ain't nothin' holdin' us to Lincoln.” Icarus saw Cora's eye widen at his impeccable American accent. He hid his smile and folded his arms, “We've no use for magic, but the high wizard is sittin' in Lincoln's parlor this very minute.”

“No use for magic, then?” Patrick's eyes grew cooler, and he sat forward. “Then what means brought you across the ocean, Nick? Surely you dinna paddle your own boat?”

“Steamer.” Icarus nodded to Cora. “My wife gets sick 'round the stink of magic.”

“So ye've lost yer love for the local, then?” Patrick waved for another ale, and the barmaid came around with four large tankards. She grinned at Icarus with her wide red mouth, but scurried off at Cora's irritated growl.

“Uncle Hugh contends that times are changin' in London-town. He said there was a place here for non-magics.”

“Indeed there is, me boy. Indeed there is.” Patrick seemed to relax as he swallowed more of his ale. He leaned back and nodded in Hugh's direction. “Sir Hugh be a right ole loyal dog. A man who knows how hard we work, just to scrim for what be ours by right.”

Icarus could not resist a jibe at the man. “And by ours I'm thinkin' you don't mean English, seein' as how you're off the boat, too.”

“I mean non-magicals, boyo. I mean
the lacking.
” The man's lips curled as he said the words.

Cora sat forward, and Icarus feared another diatribe about the cultural cruelty of the term, but she surprised him yet again.

“Damn magic. Let steam do the work. Let science haul our goods and move us about.” She sipped her ale without taking her eyes off the Irishman.

Icarus tensed, expecting the man to rage about a woman's ideas in matters such as these, but he was surprised when the man threw back his head and guffawed aloud, drawing the eyes of several other customers to their table again.

“I like yer fire, gel. By jove, I do!” Patrick looked at them hard a moment, “And if Hugh trusts ye then so will I.” He lowered his voice, and Icarus strained to hear over the rumble of the crowd. “Be wary, though. The craic be sayin a dark wizard is about.”

“What's a dark wizard want in Whitechapel?” Rivensbrow appeared anxious, and Icarus began to realize just how good an actor the man really was.

“And what about the warden of London?” Icarus couldn't help to throw in, “I hear tell he's a devil to the black.”

'He's a hard neck, speak true. He'll kill the wizard, but he won't be doing it for us.”

Icarus nodded, but Cora's hand on his leg, squeezing, made him hold his tongue. These lack-witted fools had no idea how hard he worked to keep them all safe.

“I still don't know what a dark wizard would be doing in Whitechapel.” Cora raised an eyebrow at the barmaid as she swooped low, her bosoms nearly in Icarus' face as she scooped up the empty tankards. She shot the pretty waitress a scowl, and the woman scampered off with a lusty laugh.

“He's footherin fer Robert Croft, not about to doubt it.”

“Croft?” Rivensbrow leaned back and crossed a leg. “Isn't he the one who runs around like a madman, shouting about the end of magic?”

“Speak true, Sir Hugh.” Patrick gestured them to lean in as he spoke low. “Croft were the one come up with those orbs we been carrying around. They nullify magic, or some scientific guff. Alls we know is that a wizard has no power when one of them is on.”

“And this dark wizard wants the orb?” Icarus hoped he sounded properly impressed, when inside he was disgusted with the whole charade. He longed to stand up and reveal himself and explain to all these simpering idiots exactly what it was he was trying to save them from. A life of payment for electricity and travel was the least of their worries.

“Nah.” The brawny Irishman grinned, “Croft made something bigger. Something he swore would erase magic. It be a long lane that has no turnin' now, me boyo.”

Icarus felt sick at the idea of losing the connection to magic, and all it was capable of accomplishing.

“We'd all be equal then, see,” the man continued, “then it be the skiprats and scuzzbutts that drag the coal and haul the corn.”

“Some kind of machine?” Cora's hand on Icarus' leg grew tight with excitement. He silently urged her to relax, pushing the man for more information that he was ready to share would make him suspicious.

He needn't have worried, because the big man laughed again and tweaked one of Cora's dark waves. “Indeed, pretty bird. A feckin' machine.”

Rivensbrow pulled Patrick's attention from Cora. “So the wizard is after Croft then? Sounds dangerous to let him hang about Whitechapel.”

“He's safe. We've locked him down with a few guards, and we've got enough of those orbs to keep the wizards away.” Patrick grinned wide and bumped Rivensbrow's shoulder. “Won't no dark wizards be getting to Croft or his machine. In a day or two it'll all be over.”

“There now, see!” Rivensbrow winked at Icarus. “We've nothing to worry about. In a day or two magic will be gone and we can get on with our lives.”

“You sure seem to know how this thing will fare. Who's to say the richies won't take over, just like the magics?” Icarus hid his wince as Cora's fingers bit into his leg. He couldn't leave without trying to understand the reason these people hated magic.

“Nothing, boyo.” Patrick tipped his tankard and dumped the last of the ale down his throat, “Nothing a'tall.”

“Then why does it matter who controls it? Wizards or non-magicals, it's still going to work out the same for us in the end, isn't it?”

“The world has ever been about haves and have-nots, me boy,” Patrick rolled his shoulders and stood, nodding his head to Cora, “and the way it be we've not a pot to piss in, do we? With the magic gone, who's to say where the hammer falls. Just move outta the way afore it falls on you.” He shook Rivensbrow's hand and then Icarus' before stumbling off toward the outhouse door.

When the man was out of earshot Rivensbrow leaned toward Icarus with a curious grin. “Does that pickle your cucumber, Grand Adept? He's right, you know. As it stands, only the haves can have, and the have-nots must take what's left.”

“Are you defending the idea that magic should be destroyed?” Icarus stared hard at the man, trying to see his game.

“Not a'tall.” Rivensbrow stood, rolling Sir Hugh's stooped shoulders. “I've spent plenty of time down here, and I can see why they're tired.” He waved around at the people clustered in groups at the tables or standing in twos and threes along the wall. Most were covered in coal dust and wore dirty, bedraggled clothes. Many were too thin, and hadn't seen a decent meal in quite some time, if ever. “They toil and work from sun up to sundown and what they make goes to pay the Grand Houses for barely enough food to live. Orrin knows the reasons things have to change, but I'm not sure he'll be able to change it fast enough to stop what's coming.”

“You think I'm oblivious to the plight of these people?”

“Nah.” Rivensbrow's grin was sly, “I think you're seeing it through rose colored glasses. You think you're helping these people by destroying dark wizards and hunting demons, and you are, but who can worry about a demon when their child is starving to death? Wake up, Grand Adept.” Rivensbrow waved toward the door. “You wear fine clothes and live in a spacious home with fine things. You've never been hungry a day in your life. And because you can use magic, you never will be.”

“What should we do, then?” They spoke quietly as they left the Inn and moved through the dark toward the car. “Give up all we have, and take a vow of poverty, and allow the demons and dark wizards to maim and kill as they will?”

“No.” Rivensbrow opened the driver's door and climbed inside, turning back to them before he sat, “I think you should realize that these people are desperate. They don't want to destroy magic because magic is bad. They want to live and be equal to wizards, but that will never happen unless they make themselves heard. The fear of change is a mighty tool.”

Icarus scooped Cora into his arms and carried her over the mud. He helped her into the seat and climbed in, shutting the door behind him.

“Rivensbrow is a wizard, but he is also a spokesman for the non-magicals.” Orrin's familiar hopped up to Rivensbrow's shoulder.

“He's saying that non-magicals will revolt because they can never use magic. What are we to do to stop it, short of allowing them to erase magic all together?” Cora moved closer to Icarus, laying her head on his shoulder.

The Grand Master looked hard at them from the eyes of the bird. “Once you told me that a compromise must exist between us, Ms. Jenkins.”

“I did. I thought they would realize that science and magic together can do extraordinary things.”

“Science is the only thing that can equal magic.” Orrin looked hard at Icarus. “It is only by accepting this, and relinquishing some of our control to science, that we will ever come to peace with this.”

“How has it lasted this long, then?” Icarus pulled Cora against him as the magical car started and moved smoothly away from Whitechapel. “How has magic overpowered science?”

“Wizards were cruel. They killed those who opposed them, and magic was the most powerful weapon. Science has evolved to the point where it can rival magic now and their numbers far outweigh our own. Now we must learn to live together or we will all die in the war that will come.”

Icarus looked at Rivensbrow. “We must find Croft's lab before my father does. He will destroy us all trying to contact bare aether. A war will matter naught if the world burns.”

“In that I must agree.” Rivensbrow looked over his shoulder at them, “And it's a good thing I can find him quickly.”

“You have an idea where Croft's lab is?” Cora's cheeks grew red with excitement, and Icarus admired the blush on her darkened skin.

“Patrick said that they have Croft under guard, and they're armed with the orbs that Croft created to keep the wizards powerless. If I'm right, the orbs we're looking for can be traced by the energy they use.”

“A wizard and a scientist, then?” Icarus shook his head, “I should have known.”

Rivensbrow grinned from Sir Hugh's face. “To the lab!”

Rivensbrow's “lab” was a dusty corner store somewhere between Whitechapel and Hell. Icarus climbed out of the motorcar and assisted Cora to the ground, wishing he could have left his hands on the dimples of her waist for a few moments longer.

The spell that had changed their appearance was fading, and strands of vibrant red peeked through the dark of her disguise. She tapped his shin with her parasol and tweaked his nose.

“You're slowly becoming yourself again.”

It was more than his appearance she was referring to. His months of dark depression after the war in America had hollowed him out. It wasn't until she'd opened his eyes to the truth of his past, and to the possibilities of their future, that his heart had really begun to beat again.

“Indeed.”

They looked up when Rivensbrow approached with a large ring of iron keys in his hand. Icarus raised a brow at the man's archaic method of safekeeping.

“Come along Grand Adept. Ms Jenkins.” Rivensbrow waved them toward a rusty door set far back in the crumbling wall of the block of shops. The air was lighter here than in the depths of Whitechapel, but the fog still hung low against them.

“What sort of place is this, Rivensbrow?” Cora tucked her hand into the crook of Icarus' elbow and he could feel her palpable excitement.

Icarus had to bite back a smile at her love of life. The vibrant way she came to every turn of their journey, as if it was a grand adventure from which they might all escape unscathed, made him at once proud of her fearlessness and terrified for her safety.

Machiavelli sat jauntily upon Rivensbrow's shoulder, the Grand Master watching the proceedings from America. Icarus had a moment to wonder if he did, indeed, sit in Lincoln's parlor at that very moment.

“My ma owned this shop, and she passed it to me.” Rivensbrow winced at the scream of the hinges on the door as he pushed it open. A plume of dust rose from the opening, and he waved it away. “I've been out and about from time to time with a need for the items she liked to collect.”