The Royal Sorceress (54 page)

“Good,” Lucy said. “And I want to make a point clear of my own. I intend to use my powers to help people who need it, rich and poor alike. I’m going to donate at least half of my time to healing the poor. I want you to make certain that any other Healers we discover do the same. You have that power now, according to Bruno. Will you do it?”

Master Thomas would probably have hesitated, Gwen knew, or tried to strike a bargain. Doctor Norwell would certainly have asked Lucy to have children in the hopes of producing more Healers. But Gwen didn’t hesitate. It was the right thing to do – and it might teach the magicians that the poor were still human.

“I will see to it,” Gwen promised. The clock on her desk chimed and she scowled at it. She didn’t want to go to her next appointment, but it had to be done. “Take care of yourself, all right? We need you.”

***

By law, any family proceedings involving the nobility had to be conducted with the presence of a registry officer. Births, deaths, weddings...they all had to be recorded, scribbled down in the blue ink that denoted nobility. Gwen had seen it all as a waste of time before she’d become a magician; now, with the gaze of hindsight, she realised that it allowed the government a chance to track bloodlines that had produced magical children. And, just to give the program some cover, to ensure that lines of succession and inheritance were firmly delineated before the wrong person died. It was always useful to know who was going to inherit.

She stepped down from the carriage – no magic here, not in front of her parents – and helped Olivia down after her. Lady Mary frowned as soon as she saw the child, although she had the sense to keep her comments to herself. Adoption was rare among the nobility, where the family bloodlines had to be kept in the open, but it did happen. It had even been known to happen retroactively. But for someone of Gwen’s age to adopt a child...

Gwen’s lips twitched, imagining what High Society’s grand dames would have to say when they heard the news. No one in living memory had ever adopted a child from the streets, certainly not a girl who had spent most of her life dressed as a boy, pick-pocketing just to remain alive. But Gwen was the Royal Sorceress, a position that came with a title, and the heir of Master Thomas, who had had a title and fortune of his own. They would never be able to shun Gwen’s adopted daughter, at least not publicly. What they said in private would never have to come to Olivia’s ears.

But she hadn’t adopted Olivia just to upset High Society. The public had been told that a French-born male necromancer had raised the dead in London, intent on destroying the trust that made Britain function. Enough people, however, knew the truth to make Olivia’s position a little unsure. Some of them might decide that the risks of having a living necromancer outweighed the benefits. But they would never be able to execute Gwen’s adopted daughter without bringing down the wrath of High Society on their heads. No one would stand for such an act. It was the best protection Gwen could give the young necromancer, and what – she was sure – Jack would have wanted.

“Olivia,” she said, quietly. The girl looked up at her, shyly. “This is your grandmother and grandfather. And” –she nodded towards a carriage, where David was helping Laura to clamber out – “that is your uncle and aunt. Welcome to the family.”

After the ceremony, Lady Mary managed to draw her aside, just for a moment.

“Gwen,” she said, sharply. “What
were
you thinking? What about the family name?”

Gwen smiled. “What about it?” She asked. “You don’t think that my daughter is worthy to bear our name?”

Lady Mary snorted and stalked off, doubtless to inflict her presence on some unsuspecting footman or housemaid. Gwen watched her go, shaking her head sadly. Lady Mary would hate having a grandchild from such a disreputable background, yet she would never be able to say anything, not in public. And she would have to suffer the snide comments and glances from her fellow society butterflies. Her entire life was based on her position in society, and Gwen had weakened it...

And yet, she was the mother of the Royal Sorceress. No one would be able to shun her, or to refuse to invite her to parties. They would all have to be polite to her – Gwen too, if she saw fit to accept their invitations...

She smiled and winked at David. Her brother had understood, of course. His sister could lead her own life now, without having to worry about her mother’s wants and desires. And she could be happy.

The future seemed bright and full of promise.

Epilogue

T
he streets of Cairo were stained with blood.

Five days ago, the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire had crossed into Egypt, intending to make the first state visit of an Ottoman Sultan to his vassal state in centuries. The Mamelukes, the hierarchy of military families that effectively ruled Egypt, had set out to challenge the Sultan as his army headed towards Cairo. They had no fear of Ottoman Power, not after they had contemptuously repulsed every half-hearted Janissary advance directed from Istanbul. The Sultan would be repulsed, perhaps even taken prisoner. And then who knew where their ambitions would lead them?

They had led them to death. Four days ago, the two armies had met – and the Mamelukes had been smashed. Barely one in a thousand survived, and only then because the Sultan wanted them to escape to spread the word. The green-coated army that he had created was invincible and the Mamelukes, who hadn’t changed their tactics or organisation in decades, were powerless to stop the Sultan from entering his city. A handful of powerful families fled in the night, others found themselves evicted from their palaces when the Sultan’s men claimed them to billet their troops. No one argued twice. The grim-faced men holding rifles and long sharp swords were a silent promise of the Sultan’s willingness to enforce his laws by force.

Three days ago, the Sultan had proclaimed his new order. The laws that had reformed the Ottoman Empire would be propagated in Egypt. Those who heard the pronouncements were shocked. The old ruling class was effectively disbanded and slavery was abolished, while the taxes that had crushed Egypt’s merchants were lifted – and the repression of the Jews and Christians was at an end. Henceforth, they would enjoy the same civil rights as their Muslim brothers. A number of street thugs – well used to beating Jews and molesting their womenfolk, for everyone knew that Jewish women were whores – had tried that very evening to sport with the Jews. The green-clad soldiers had beaten them, killed several, and marched their prisoners off to the vast pens that were already being erected outside the city.

The word spread rapidly. In the mosques, the sheikhs and imams worked to raise the anger of the crowd. The day after the beatings saw vast mobs rising up in Cairo, intent on tearing the Sultan and his army limb from limb. Even the Mamelukes had feared the wrath of the crowd; now, with their holy men in the lead, the crowds advanced towards the soldiers. And a special detachment of men – half carrying clubs and shields, the other half carrying whips – advanced to meet them. They had trained hard to deal with rioters. The riot came to a bloody end only a few minutes after the crowd had slammed into the soldiers and had been stopped cold. Hundreds died in the crush; others tried to flee, only to discover that the soldiers were blocking most of the escape routes. The crowd’s dominance of the city was brought to an end in blood and pain.

Those that survived were marched out to the holding pens, where their first task was to dig a mass grave for their comrades who hadn’t survived the riot. The Sultan had abolished slavery, but there were still vast projects to be undertaken in the empire and he had plans for the rioters. Five years spent helping to dig a canal between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea would teach them their true place in the Ottoman Empire. Egypt’s long period of
de facto
independence had come to an end.

Henry Blackburn, still a Lord in the privacy of his own mind, smiled darkly as he saw the crosses outside the Viceroy’s palace. The religious leaders of Cairo, the ones who had directed the crowd to its bloody meeting with the Sultan’s men, had been crucified, a clear symbol of the Sultan’s determination to prove that he was in charge. They would be replaced, his guide had assured him, by religious leaders trained in Istanbul itself, ones trusted to ensure that the Sultan’s laws were respected. That, he told himself firmly, was the way to deal with the rabble. None of the coddling that had forced him to flee London; nothing, but brutal punishment. He had little time for Turks and less still for Islam, but perhaps there was something England could learn from their customs.

The new Sultan frowned on the ornate rituals favoured by his predecessors. After a quick search – his pistol and sword were confiscated – Henry found himself being lead into the Viceroy’s former throne room. The Ottoman Empire’s Viceroy had been powerless; the Mamelukes had kept all the power concentrated in their own hands, even as they swore loyalty to Istanbul. Now...the man standing in the centre of the chamber, surrounded by his green-clad soldiers, was the absolute master of Egypt. Resistance would be crushed mercilessly.

Henry stopped and bowed, using the moment to study the Sultan. He was shorter than Henry had expected from the tales that had been told of his deeds, with bright, almost hypnotic eyes. Rumour attributed all kinds of powers to this man, but even if he didn’t have magic, he was clearly a man to be reckoned with. He’d risen from a humble Corsican Janissary to absolute control of the Ottoman Empire. Who else could claim such a climb to power?

“Your Excellency,” he said. For once, he found himself tongue-tied. Charm wouldn’t work on the Sultan – and would almost certainly lead to his death. England would probably be quietly relieved if the Sultan ever informed them that he’d had one of their people executed. It certainly wouldn’t lead to war. “Thank you for granting me this audience.”

The Sultan smiled – and in his smile, Henry saw boundless ambition. Who knew how far he could go? The Barbary States, still reeling from the thrashing Lord Nelson had handed out to them, would be easy prey. Or there would be the advance northwards against Austria, or Russia...or Persia. And if the Ottomans crushed the Persians, they’d have a gateway to British India.

“You are welcome,” the Sultan said, quietly. His English was perfect, without even a trace of an accent. “And why do you wish to seek asylum with us?”

Henry bowed his head. He hated being a supplicant – let alone having his life depend on someone else – but there was no choice. Remaining in exile would be nothing, apart from a slow death.

“That is a long story, Your Excellency,” he said, finally. They could help each other, one to build the greatest empire the world had ever known, the other to return home and extract revenge for his humiliation. “It will take some time to explain.”

The Sultan’s smile widened. “We have all the time in the world,” he said. “Why don’t you begin?”

The End

The Royal Sorceress Will Return In:

The Great Game

Elsewhen Press

a small independent publisher specialising in Speculative Fiction

Visit the Elsewhen Press website at elsewhen.co.uk for the latest information on all of our titles, authors and events; to read our blog; to find out where to buy our books and ebooks; or to place an order.

Elsewhen Press

LiGa™

Sanem Ozdural

Have YOU had your invitation yet?

Literary science fiction, LiGa™ tells of a game in which the players are, literally, gambling with their lives. Sanem Ozdural’s debut novel is set in a near-future where a secretive organisation has developed technology to transfer the regenerative power of a body’s cells from one person to another, conferring extended or even indefinite life expectancy. Access is limited to those invited to play.

At once fantastic, yet credible,  the familiarity of the contemporary setting gives a definite slipstream feel to Sanem’s debut novel, providing a fascinating insight into the motivation of those characters who win the possibility of virtual immortality and of those who will lose some of their life expectancy.

epub, kindle, paperback (400pp)

visit http://bit.ly/LiGaBook

Elsewhen Press

The Lost Men,
an allegory

David Colón

A world where the human population has been decimated. For the few remaining people, the only human contact is their counsel, a mentor who guides them to find ‘the one’, their life mate as decreed by Fate. The only threats to this stable, if sparse, existence are the ‘lost men’ - mindless murderers, living outside the confines of counsel and Fate.

Is Fate a real force, or is it totally imagined, an arbitrary convention, a product of mankind’s self-destructive tendency? In this allegorical tale, David Colón uses an alternate near-future to explore the boundaries of the human condition and the extent to which we are prepared to surrender our capacity for decisions and self-determination in the face of a very personally directed and apparently benevolent, authoritarianism. Is it our responsibility to rebuke inherited ‘wisdom’ for the sake of envisioning and manifesting our own will?

epub, kindle, paperback (192pp)

visit lost-men.com

Elsewhen Press

Entanglement

Douglas Thompson

Best described as philosophical science fiction, Entanglement explores our assumptions about such constants as death, birth, sex and conflict, as the characters in the story explore distant worlds and the intelligent life that lives there.

Entanglement is simultaneously a novel and a series of short stories: 24 worlds, 24 chapters, 24 stories; each one another step on mankind’s journey outwards to the stars and inwards to man’s own psyche. Yet the whole is much greater than the sum of the parts; the synergy of the episodes results in an overarching story arc that tells us more about ourselves than about the rest of the universe.