A Distant Magic (27 page)

"That's all rubbish!" Jean exclaimed.

"Of course it is," Nikolai said. "But Falconer is right—such lies will be spoken in all seriousness. Countering the lies will require the efforts of many people. That is why a large-scale movement is needed. If you and I were the greatest mages in the world, we couldn't do enough to make a real difference." He glanced at the earl.
"I am not very familiar with Guardian powers. Is it even possible to change the
minds of large numbers of people through magic?"

Falconer shook his head. "Not in any lasting way. Minds must be changed slowly, though logic is often led by the emotions. Make people gasp in horror at slavery and they are well on their way to opposing it. There was a dreadful case several years ago when the incompetent captain of a slave vessel called the
Zong
tossed more than a hundred sickly slaves overboard. Then the captain claimed them as an insurance loss, saying he'd had to drown almost half his cargo because he was short of water. That certainly created abolitionist feeling in many of the people who heard of the case.

"In contrast, even the most powerful mage could do no more than
create a temporary revulsion if he cast a spell over a group. Magic would barely
touch the surface of people's minds, and the effect would not last long."

"So the trick is to bring the genuine horrors to people's attention," Nikolai observed.

"I thought there was a form of magic created by groups?" Jean asked.

"Yes, but that is different. The energy is generated by the people themselves," Falconer explained.
"Everyone has at least a touch of magic in his soul, and when beliefs are
strongly held, the group creates a kind of spirit that reflects the essence of
their beliefs. It is not a conscious energy, but it has power and its nature
tends to attack those that oppose it. The pro-slavery forces have created such a
spirit. To counter that, many people must believe intensely that slavery is
wrong and should be ended."

Nikolai frowned. "I don't understand."

"I'm not sure anyone does," Falconer said. "I was taught
this many years ago, and since then I have seen such energy in action when large
groups feel strongly about an issue. Sometimes that spirit is positive, as in a
church group. Other times it is negative and destructive. The struggle between
pro-and antislavery groups will take place on many levels. The most visible is
the political, for only a parliamentary law can stop the slave trade. But the
political will be echoed and energized by the opposing spirits. It is your job
to win hearts, minds, and souls to your cause."

Nikolai glanced at Jean. "Do you understand what he's talking
about?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "Perhaps the concept will make more
sense later."

Falconer looked amused. "If you come to understand the principles
of group energy, pray explain them to me. I have only the vaguest grasp of such
things."

Fuzzy as the idea was, Nikolai's intuition said it would be important in the future.
"Adia said that slavery would end when the mass of people reared up and cried
'Enough!' Perhaps that's what she meant."

The earl nodded thoughtfully. "Her explanation is better than
mine."

"You said that the Guardian Council won't help us. Will you help,
Simon?"

"Of course. There will be other Guardians who will wish to aid your cause, starting with Meg." He rose from his chair.
"I believe she is home. I will explain the situation and bring her to you."

After the earl left, Nikolai said, "We have acquired a formidable
ally."

"I knew Simon would be on our side, but I'm disappointed that he thinks the council will not help." Jean rose and began circling the room restlessly.
"I didn't really think they would, but I hoped I was wrong."

"Falconer is in a position to influence others. Perhaps engaging
his interest is part of our task. As he said, the groundwork must be laid today
for change in the future."

Jean looked thoughtful. "That's true—the notes that Adia wrote up
concern mostly public events, but behind-the-scenes encounters like this matter,
too."

The Countess of Falconer was another surprise. Nikolai expected a woman as intimidatingly aristocratic as the earl. Instead, Lady Falconer was dark-haired and petite, with an otherworldly quality that was balanced by the warmth of her gaze. She and Jean fell into each other's arms.
"Jean, you look so young! Simon says you've been having such adventures."

Jean laughed as they ended their hug. "You sound envious, Meg."

"Only a little." The countess turned to Nikolai. "You will take
care of Jean?"

He bowed. "If she will allow me to, ma'am."

"Jean is not the most biddable of allies." Lady Falconer subsided on a sofa by the fireplace, gesturing for the others to be seated.
"I have always believed slavery was wrong but never thought anything could be
done about it. What do you want from us?"

Her husband sat next to her, and Nikolai was startled to see the way the energy flared between them. The bond was palpable. So this was what a true marriage of mages looked like. The energy between him and Jean was strong, but nothing like this.

Answering the countess, Jean said, "Two things. First, to speak against slavery when the subject arises. Say it is wrong and cruel and un-Christian. If you speak up for abolition, others will develop the courage to do the same. Second, we may need to use your household for aid and sanctuary as we travel through time." Her mouth twisted.
"Though we haven't the vaguest notion of how far the magic will take us."

"Simon and I shall be here for a good few years to come." Lady Falconer sounded quite certain of that, and since she was a mage, she might actually know.

The earl said, "We shall need some kind of password that you can
offer to the household staff if Meg and I are not here. We shall also speak of
this to our children so they will know to offer aid if you appear. Do you need
money for your expenses?"

"Not now, but we may in the future," Jean said.

"You have only to ask when you need it," he said gravely.

"I'm so glad you're on our side!" She smiled at Simon, grateful that he was as generous and honorable now as when they'd been children together.
"For a password, shall we use 'liberty'?"

They agreed on that, then Nikolai and Jean prepared to leave. Falconer said,
"It is probably best not to come here again unless necessary. You might run into
someone you shouldn't meet, Jean."

She nodded. After hugging both Falconers, she took Nikolai's arm and they left. As they stepped into the street, Nikolai tried to analyze the meeting to find hints of whether he and Jean—or Jean, at least—would survive and return to 1753. Falconer hadn't seemed very surprised to see Jean, which could mean that she had returned to her starting place and told him about the time travel. But he wasn't the kind of man who showed surprise easily, so there was no evidence there. Even if he was genuinely surprised to see her, it might have been because Jean decided not to tell Falconer about her journey through time, even if she did manage to return to her own time.

The countess had seemed overjoyed to see Jean, which could indicate that she thought her friend had died after disappearing from Marseilles. But clearly the women were close friends. Maybe Lady Falconer had seen Jean in normal time the week before, and was merely happy to see her again.

A man could go mad trying to deduce what would happen. Time travel was definitely a source of headaches. He wanted to think that Jean would survive and return home because that mattered more to her than to him—yet he couldn't just ask Falconer, because he agreed with Adia that the less said about this mission, the better. It was simpler to stay with things they knew.
"You're happy to have seen friends, I think."

She nodded. "It was a shock to see them aged a dozen years, for it brought the reality of time travel home as nothing else has. Yet I'd been afraid I would never see anyone I loved again. Now I can imagine that my brother and his wife will be joining Simon and Meg for dinner and I just missed them." Her smile was shining.
"I feel less alone."

She had never complained or shown her fears when he'd kidnapped her. He felt a wave of guilt for what he had put her through. Like him, like Adia, like countless thousands of Africans, she had been taken from the world she knew by violence. But if he had not done so, he would not have her for a friend and ally now.
"I am only now fully realizing that I gave you the experience that makes it
possible for you to sympathize so deeply with slaves. But it was a harsh gift."

"Very." She gave him a wicked glance. "I forgive you the
kidnapping. But I will not let you forget it."

Jean dropped Nikolai's hands with frustration. "We will
have to ask Kofi for help in activating the next bead spell. We can't do it with
just the two of us."

"We came close." Nikolai's face showed the same strain she felt.
"I sensed the whirlwind trying to form, but there wasn't quite enough energy to
bring the magic alive."

Jean had felt the same. She studied the bead, which had become warm but was stubbornly intact.
"We must learn how to work this magic without help. We can't be sure that we'll
always land in London, or even England."

They had been in London for a month, long enough for Nikolai to get a sense of the city and its people. Now they were both impatient to move on. She reminded herself that another day in this time period would not matter to their mission. But they did need to learn how to manage their own time magic. It would be hard to find other African priests outside of London, and there was a good chance that Guardian magic wouldn't be as effective.

"I don't know what we would do without the information Adia collected for us," Nikolai observed.
"It will be interesting if and when we move beyond her period into terra
incognita."

"'Interesting.' There's that that alarming word again." Jean looked around the room, double-checking that nothing had been left behind.
"Onward to Kofi and our next adventure!"

Chapter
TWENTY-NINE

O
nce more the vortex dragged them through time, flaying and dissecting body and soul before painful reassembly. Jean blacked out, hands still locked with Nikolai's to keep them together in the time tunnel.

Her head cleared with a fresh breeze. She opened her eyes and found herself beside a road that ran between country fields. The day was pleasant, probably late spring or early summer. She was leaning against Nikolai, who looked as dazed as she. A pony cart stood beside them, the pony placidly nibbling at the lush grass growing on the verge.

Nikolai wrapped an arm around her shoulders, though she wasn't sure who was supporting whom.
"Jean, have your wits returned?"

She exhaled roughly. "That wasn't quite as bad as the first time."

"Practice improves."

She looked at the bracelet and saw that the second bead had been consumed.
"Do you know where we are?"

He closed his eyes as he tried to locate them on his mental map.
"I believe we're in England somewhere northeast of London."

She studied their surroundings. "I think I traveled along this road once some years ago. It runs between London and Cambridge." She turned to the pony cart.
WELSH'S LIVERY, HIGH STREET, WARE
was painted on the side in faded letters.
"One wouldn't rent a small cart like this for a trip of any length, so we must
be in Hertfordshire. But what the devil are we doing here with a cart? Would the
ancestors be able to provide us with transportation?"

"If they can move us through time, a hired cart can't present much challenge." He grinned.
"I would have been more impressed with a coach and four."

"This is easier to handle. I suppose that since a cart is waiting, we should drive somewhere." A thought struck her.
"Can you drive or ride?"

He shrugged. "Not particularly well. I spent time on the salt
caravans, so I'm rather good with camels, but there are few horses at sea."

"I'm afraid your camel skills will be of little use here." She gathered her skirts with one hand and climbed into the cart. A covered basket was set behind the seat. She looked inside with interest.
"The ancestors are even feeding us. Can you tell which way we should go?"

He closed his eyes a moment. "To the right." Opening his eyes, he swung into the cart beside her.
"Luckily, the odds are even no matter what I say."

She smiled as she stowed her bag under the seat, then signaled the pony to start moving. It stopped grazing with reluctance and began ambling along the road in the direction she ordered.
"Let us hope that our mission reveals itself."

They drove along the road peaceably, seeing a few grazing cows but no humans. After about ten minutes, they crested a long hill and started down the other side. Halfway down, they saw a man sitting on the left under a tree, his horse's reins in his fist as he frowned into the distance.

"Do you think he might be our mission?" Nikolai asked quietly.
"Jonathan Strong was the first person we saw after our last jump."

Jean caught her breath as she saw the young man's red hair and lanky height. Remembering Adia's notes, she said,
"I think this might be Thomas Clarkson! Adia said that he is perhaps the single most important abolitionist. He won a contest at Cambridge for a Latin essay on the subject of the morality of slavery. It's a huge honor—for the rest of his life, people will say that he won the Cambridge Latin essay contest.

"But after winning the prize, he couldn't stop thinking about the subject. It is said that on his ride from Cambridge to London, he committed himself to working for the abolition of slavery. Perhaps he is pondering what to do now. If so, we're in"—she thought for a moment—"1785,
I think."

"Twenty years further into the future? We're getting close to the time where the movement will start to grow," Nikolai said thoughtfully.
"Perhaps the magic brought us here because he needs some persuasion. Stop the
cart beside him."

As Jean pulled the cart to a halt, Nikolai called to the young man,
"Sir, has your horse lamed? If you need assistance..."

The young man looked up, startled. "No, though I thank you for
your kindness, sir. My horse is well. 'Tis I who am troubled."

Nikolai swung from the cart. "Would the ears of strangers help?
I've found that sometimes discussing a problem can help me find the solution."

Jean added, "Food can help, also. We were looking for a place to
rest the pony while we dine. There is plenty to share, if you don't mind our
joining you."

The fellow scrambled to his feet and bowed to Jean, a smile brightening his long face. Jean had learned early that all young males were hungry all the time, so food would be welcome.

"Why, thank you, ma'am, you're very kind." Clarkson sketched a bow. He was impressively tall, and he wore the black garments of a cleric.
"My name is Thomas Clarkson. Late of Cambridge University and now on my way to
London."

"I am Nicholas Gregory and this is my wife, Jean." Nikolai pulled the heavy basket from the cart and set it under the tree. He whistled softly when he lifted the lid.
"My dear, you have outdone yourself. We and Mr. Clarkson shall dine well." He pulled out a lap robe and spread it on the ground to protect them from grass stains.

Jean opened her eyes wide as she swung down from the cart. "Are
you the young Deacon Clarkson who won the Latin essay prize at Cambridge?"

"Indeed, I am," the young man said, blushing with embarrassed pride.
"I have been most honored."

"'Tis honor earned, sir," she said firmly. "Will you tell
us of your most recent essay? I heard that it was about whether slavery was
lawful and moral."

Clarkson lost some of his animation. "That is the source of my
disquiet. I did much study on the subject of slavery. Though I began merely
hoping to win literary honor, my studies filled me with horror. The more I
learned, the less I could sleep."

"Did you speak to those who have seen slavery firsthand?" Nikolai asked.

Clarkson nodded, expression deeply troubled. "My own brother is a
naval officer who has served in the Indies, and he sent me letters describing
unspeakable acts. Now my essay has been acclaimed and I am on my way to London
to seek a post in the church. Yet...yet what I have learned troubles my sleep. I
feel that someone should do something about these horrors, but who?"

"Why not you, Mr. Clarkson?" Jean asked, her expression earnest and admiring.

"I should not know where to begin," he said frankly. "What can one
plain ordinary man do alone in the face of such vast evil?"

"You are not alone," Nikolai said. "There are others who share
your concerns, and if you look, surely you will find them."

Jean nodded agreement and called on more of Adia's notes.
"The Quakers have been doing their best to make the evils of slavery known for
some years, but they are considered eccentric and not listened to. They could
use a man like you, who has youth and intelligence and passion—and is ordained
in the Church of England."

"Men will listen to you, where they might dismiss a Quaker," Nikolai observed.

"That is true," Clarkson said slowly. "Being a man of the cloth
would grant me a hearing in some circles."

"You should translate your essay into English and get it published," Jean said.
"There are many people who would like to read it but haven't the Latin."

"That's a splendid idea! I could also add material from my studies to show the current state of slavery." He hesitated, in need of reassurance.
"Do you really think anyone would want to publish it?"

"There is a Quaker printer and publisher in London who has produced other works that speak against slavery," Jean said.
"I believe his name is James Phillips. I should think he would be very
interested in your essay."

Clarkson fell silent as he attacked another sandwich of ham and cheese, but the energy around him flared yellow, the sign of intense mental activity. After swallowing the last of his sandwich, he said,
"You are both well informed about slavery. Have you lived in the Indies and seen
it firsthand?"

Nikolai's mouth twisted. "I have indeed seen slavery, but
not in the Indies. I was captured by corsair pirates as a boy and I spent years
as a slave. I was beaten in the galleys, whipped on caravans crossing deadly
deserts, and gained my freedom by leading a slave revolt on a galley."

Clarkson stared at him. "You have experienced this great evil
yourself?"

"Do you doubt me?" Smoldering with emotion, Nikolai rose and peeled off his coat and waistcoat, then turned and yanked his shirt free of his breeches to reveal an ugly, crisscrossed mass of gnarled scars on his back.
"The proof is written on my body."

Jean and Clarkson gasped. Wanting to weep, she leaned forward and traced the deepest of the scars. Nothing Nikolai had said about his slavery was as wrenching as the sight of these scars. Now she better understood why he had been so determined to revenge himself on the Macraes.

He jerked away from her touch, and she guessed that the scars spoke to him of humiliation and helplessness. He restored his garments and sat down, controlled again.
"If you work against this great evil, Mr. Clarkson, I guarantee that there are
many like me who will join you. I am foreign-born and could never lead such a
crusade, but I believe that you might become such a leader."

"Do you truly think so?" Clarkson asked quietly.

"I know so." Jean caught his gaze, mustering all her sincerity. He must be persuaded by truth, not by magic.
"I'm a Scot, and I have a touch of the Sight. I believe that you can truly make a difference in fighting the slave trade. Perhaps it is divine will that led my husband and me along this road today." Divine will, or the ancestors. She wasn't sure there was a difference.

"Perhaps…perhaps I shall do as you suggest." Clarkson's energy flared again, this time with resolve.
"I shall pray on it."

As Jean remembered what Adia had written about Clarkson, she knew that today they had done another good day's work.

After their picnic had ended and Jean had sent Clarkson off to London with another sandwich wrapped in cheesecloth so that he wouldn't starve along the way, Nikolai packed the basket into the pony cart.
"I suppose we should return the cart to the livery in Ware. Then London, I
think?"

Jean nodded. "Twenty years have passed since our last visit. We
need to see what people are thinking, not to mention get newer clothing."

"I'd like to drive the cart. I need the practice."

"Feel free," Jean said as she swung up on the passenger side.
"This placid old pony is a good choice for a sailor."

He was glad to drive, and not only because he had so little experience. Learning to use the reins properly was a convenient distraction. For years he had concealed his scarred body, hating the idea that anyone would see how he'd been used. Now that Clarkson was gone, he expected Jean to say something about the scars, but mercifully, she said nothing. A man could fall in love with a woman who knew when to stay silent.

Fall in love? Where had that thought come from? Yet when he studied Jean's delicate profile from the corner of his eye, he admitted to himself that he was at least half in love with her. Their partnership and mutual dedication to this mission was bringing them closer together than many wedded couples.

He was tempted to pull the cart over, pull the lap robe from the basket, and take her to some private place where they could become closer yet. Just thinking about that made his pulse quicken. But his damnable intuition insisted that it was not yet the right time. They were both still developing as mages, and he suspected that they would need their full abilities before their quest was completed.

He must hope that he didn't expire of frustration first.

London was twenty years busier, noisier, and smellier. Perhaps it was a coincidence of the route, but Jean saw more blacks than on any past visit. Many were obviously poor, looking to gain a few coins by holding horses or sweeping the streets clean for more prosperous citizens. She wondered if she was seeing refugees from American slavery who had fled after the war, like Adia and her family. Adia had said that London had thousands of black residents in her time.

She and Nikolai found a clean, modest inn not far from where they had stayed before. They deliberately chose a different inn this time since it was not impossible that they might be recognized even twenty years later. But they chose to go to the same coffeehouse and bookseller as before, since the establishments were convenient and the likelihood of being recognized almost nonexistent.

Smythe's, the bookshop, was quiet when Jean entered. She looked around with pleasure, enjoying the scents of paper and fresh ink and the brimming bookshelves. On tables at the front, new titles were stacked enticingly.

A middle-aged man approached her. She vaguely remembered him as a Smythe, the son of the old proprietor. Probably he now ran the business.
"Good day, madam," he said. "Are you looking for a particular title, or do you
prefer to browse?"