The Royal Sorceress (20 page)

The woman hit the ground, hard, as one of the policemen shoved her to her knees. Gwen was moving forward before she’d even realised what she was about to do. It only took a little magic to hurl both of the policemen away from their victim, sending them crashing back into the brick wall. Master Thomas said nothing as Gwen checked the helpless woman. Blood was streaming down her cheek from a cut where she’d been backhanded by one of the policemen.

“That is
enough
,” Gwen said. A little Charm slid into her voice, even though she knew it would be useless. Policemen were trained to resist Charm – and Master Thomas’s men would be immune to it, unless it was far subtler than Gwen could manage. “Let the children go.”

The policemen looked up at Master Thomas, who shrugged and nodded. As soon as they were released, the children ran to the editor – their father. Gwen helped their mother to her feet and escorted her over to her husband, looking around for something to shield her from the crowd’s stares. Eventually, she pulled her cape off her back and passed it to the young woman. She was ready to lash out at anyone who dared comment, but no one said anything.

“Search the building and remove all of the paperwork,” Master Thomas said. Gwen had expected an angry lecture on how to behave in front of the police, or the public, but he hadn’t even scowled at her. She couldn’t decide if he approved of what she’d done or planned to yell at her later, once they were back at Cavendish Hall. “I want it all presented in front of the judges this afternoon.”

“You’ll see what the judges say,” the editor said. With his wife and children clinging onto him, he seemed more confident in himself. “You’re trampling on the rights of Englishmen…”

“Your rights came to an end when you printed your seditious drivel,” Master Thomas informed him, flatly. The wolves came closer, their sharp teeth glinting nastily in their dark mouths. Gwen had to force herself not to shudder. They really did have disturbingly human eyes, eyes that eyed her knowingly. “The judges will take a full account of your printing when they decide your case. I have no doubt that you will find yourself heading to a far less hospitable country. You may not even be able to take your wife and children with you.”

Gwen winced inwardly, feeling an odd spark of sympathy, as the editor crumbled. What would happen to his family if he were transported to Australia or South Africa? They’d become nothing better than beggars, particularly if the editor’s funds were confiscated by the state. What would happen to them? She looked down at the woman’s pleading eyes and shivered. There were many things that could happen to poor people in London, few of them good. But her husband had encouraged plots against the peace of England. He’d printed broadsheets that had attacked the King and his Government.

A fourth carriage arrived and the policemen herded the prisoners up into its confining bars. It was a mobile jail, Gwen realised, one capable of holding all of the prisoners in some discomfort. The woman and her children were pushed in at the end, sharing what little time they had left with their husband and father. Gwen wondered what would happen to them, again. Perhaps Master Thomas would know…but his forbidding look forced her to hold her tongue. She didn’t want to be sent back to Cavendish Hall.

She glanced over at one of the wolves and almost jumped out of her skin. The wolf was standing up on its hind legs, almost like a human would stand. Slowly, the fur faded away and the pale flesh below was revealed. The doggy face receded and became human, a naked human male. Gwen saw his manhood, flushed brightly and looked away. When she glanced back, the werewolf was donning a coat thrown to him by one of his fellow officers. His hands, Gwen couldn’t help noticing, were incredibly hairy. It was one of the overt signs of his magic.

“I couldn’t pick up his scent, Master,” the werewolf said. His voice was disturbingly deep, almost as if he was struggling to remember how to talk. In his human form, his eyes looked remarkably wolfish. Gwen found herself wondering how he controlled his animal form. Far too many werewolves – and other hybrids – found it difficult to control their animal’s emotions. “If he was here, he was not here within the last few days. The scent they used for the printing was too strong.”

“They masked it,” Master Thomas said. He sounded thoughtful, rather than angry. “It doesn’t really matter. There are other places to look.”

The werewolf dropped to his arms and legs in front of him. A moment later, his spine arched and twisted, black fur sprouting out of his back as the coat was pulled away from his body. Gwen felt sick, even though she knew it was safe – but then, werewolves were never really safe. A few seconds of raw animal rage or fear, and blood would be scattered all over the vicinity. And then the Royal Sorcerers Corps would have to hunt down the werewolf before he killed and killed again. A werewolf without control combined human intelligence with wolfish desires. It was a lethal combination.

“Come on,” Master Thomas said. He noticed her expression and smiled. “I won’t be asking you to do that, I’m afraid. We should have that power, but only one Master was able to develop it properly. And that one is quite definitely dead.”

Chapter Seventeen

N
ow who is that, I wonder?”

Jack watched from a rooftop as Master Thomas led the raid on the printer’s shop. In truth, Jack was mildly surprised that it had taken that long for the police to begin their raids, even though only a few hours had passed since he’d fled the burning mansion and vanished into the darkness. It suggested that someone with forethought and patience was directing the forces of reaction and repression – someone rather like Master Thomas. He would know better than to allow his enemy to push him into a mistake.

Most of the horde of policemen and sorcerers were mundane, he saw. He knew a couple of the older sorcerers from when he’d been studying under Master Thomas, but the other three were new. Jack wondered absently how capable they were with their powers, before dismissing the thought. Master Thomas wouldn’t have brought along untrained sorcerers if he believed that there was a chance of facing Jack or magicians from the underground. The sorcerers would be trained to the highest possible standard and experienced in working as a team. They would only have one of the talents, but by combining their skills they could be almost as deadly as a Master.

But one of them was clearly not a typical magician. Jack leaned forward, half-convinced that he was seeing things, as if he’d been spending time in Chinatown’s opium dens. The magician was female, wearing sorcerer’s black; her short blonde hair, cut in a very unladylike fashion, shining against the sun. Jack frowned, remembering why so many Movers liked to shave their heads; long hair provided something for an enemy Mover to grab and pull hard with their magic. But the magician was definitely female, even if long hair was the fashion. He found his gaze following the curve of her body and the shape of her breasts, before looking away sharply. The female magician shouldn’t be there at all. Logically, Master Thomas would never have brought a female magician into Cavendish Hall. The only female magicians used by the Royal Collage were Seers and Sensors and neither talent was noted for being reliable.

He frowned, studying the girl as the policemen hauled out the editor’s family. It was a shame to know that they would probably be pushed in front of a judge, and then shipped down to Southampton or Liverpool to board a transport ship heading away from the green hills of England. They’d be lucky if they survived the trip, let alone hard years of backbreaking labour paying off the debts they would incur by being transported away from their homeland. Jack wanted to run down and free the prisoners, confronting Master Thomas for the second time – but it would be the final time. The only reason that Master Thomas had showed himself so clearly was obvious. He wanted to lure Jack into a second encounter – an encounter where he would be backed up by five, possibly six, trained sorcerers. There could only ever be one outcome of such a mismatched fight.

Gritting his teeth, he was just about to head away from the scene when he saw the girl confronting the policemen who were pushing the editor’s wife around. Jack couldn’t hear what she said, or even if she said anything, but Master Thomas didn’t seem inclined to object. It was a rare gesture of mercy from someone who rarely showed mercy to his enemies – and that meant that the girl’s opinion was important to him. Jack stroked his chin, puzzled. Who the hell was she? And what was she doing in the midst of a group of policemen and sorcerers?

She has magic
, Jack thought. But that wasn’t uncommon. There were plenty of women with magical talents – and not all of them were scooped up by the Royal College before they hit puberty. Lucy’s own talent had remained undiscovered until she’d stumbled across it herself, and Jack was certain that Master Thomas knew nothing about her. If he’d known, he would have spared no effort to capture her, if only because Doctor Norwell would have pushed him into hunting Lucy down. The old researcher had been a dedicated student of magic since before Jack had been born and old age wouldn’t have mellowed him.

It struck him almost like a physical blow. The girl didn’t just have one talent – she had
all
of them. There had only ever been four Masters when Jack had been studying under Master Thomas – and two of them were dead. And Master Thomas was hardly a young man. He would be slowing down now as old age took its toll on him. If he hadn’t been able to find a male Master to take his place, he wouldn’t have any choice, but to forget any concerns he might have had about pushing a girl forward and into Cavendish Hall. It made perfect sense – and it would be easy to check. One of the things that he’d been careful to keep from Master Thomas the last time they’d skirmished was the extent of the underground’s spying network.

Down on the ground, the werewolves had returned to their human forms and were making their reports to Master Thomas. Jack smiled to himself, knowing that the reports would be negative. There was nothing particularly ingenious about using a powerful scent to drown out a more subtle human scent – and besides, he’d used his magic to fly away from the building once he’d left. The werewolves would be the most disciplined and focused in England – Scotland Yard wouldn’t trust them unless they displayed formidable discipline – but they wouldn’t be able to track a flying man. Or, for that matter, one who took a swim in the River Thames to break his trail.

As Jack watched, the policemen returned to their carriages and headed off back towards the richer areas of London. They’d be shadowed, at a distance, by a bunch of street children Olivia had rounded up and promised good food and better pay. Jack smiled at the thought of ensuring that some of the children received better food than they’d ever been able to dream of eating, even though he was using them for his cause. The chances were good that some of them wouldn’t live to see the next year, not if they were caught by the Bow Street Runners. They’d probably be transported without the bother of a trial.

The crowd was slowly dispersing, muttering angrily. Jack nodded, without surprise. It had only been five years since the Unrest, when the Dragoons had put an end to a series of uprisings that had threatened to burn London down to ashes. Jack had escaped by the skin of his teeth, but many others hadn’t been so lucky. And if he hadn’t been able to escape to France, perhaps he would have joined so many others dangling from nooses at Tyburn.

Jack turned and started to run along the rooftops. Once, as a young man, he had been amazed by the hidden walkways that allowed an entire society composed of younger children and even some adults to thrive here, above the streets. Now, as a man with a cause, they served him as a way of getting around London without attracting attention. There was no need to fly in broad daylight, not when someone would see him and perhaps report it to the authorities. Besides, the childish part of his mind revelled in running along the rooftops. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that it was exciting.

He smiled as one of the watchers stepped out of the shadows, gun in hand. “It’s me,” Jack said, before the man could say a word. “I’m back.”

“Good to see you,” the man grunted. Like seven others, he was watching for any sign of a move towards Lucy’s brothel. The underground’s nerve centre was protected by the positions in Society of some of its customers, but Jack knew better than to rely on that. If Master Thomas had any vices at all, besides tobacco, Jack’s spies had never picked up on them. He would have no compunction about raiding the place. “The young lads have returned to report to you.”

Jack opened a hatch a few yards from the guard and slipped down into the darkness. He closed it behind him and generated a small light, filling the room with an eerie, glimmering illumination. The door yawned open at his approach, revealing another guard holding a crossbow. It would actually be more accurate than some of the firearms the underground had obtained over the years – and there was no law against commoners possessing bows and arrows. The legacy of Agincourt had yet to fade from Britain’s collective mind.

“Welcome back,” Lucy said, flatly. She didn’t sound happy. “You’ll be pleased to know that they raided five of Davy’s hideouts. Seventy people have been taken to the dungeons. Nineteen more have been taken to the graveyard.”

“And forty have been taken prisoner from the printer’s shop,” Jack said. It was a blow – but he’d expected as much. No one, not even Master Thomas, could shut down all of the printing shops in the city. The underground’s broadsheets would still go out to upset the great and the good. It was a pity that more of their intended readership couldn’t read, but the authorities tended to frown upon efforts to combat illiteracy. An illiterate working class was one that couldn’t understand just how badly the game was rigged against them. “Did we lose anyone important?”

Lucy glared at him. It did interesting things to her chest, reminding him of times when they’d shared pleasure while plotting the downfall of the British Government and the creation of a new world for the poor and downtrodden. But Master Thomas had won that round and the dreams had been crushed by the Duke of India and his Dragoons. It was a shame that Jack couldn’t assassinate the Duke, but he was well guarded. There were thirty sorcerers assigned to protect him from underground assassins.