A Distant Magic (34 page)

"I am not English, and I am not a slave." Nikolai focused his power and slashed at the rope of energy that connected Kondo to the Demon. If he could quickly sever the man from the evil spirit…

It was like hitting steel. His energy bounced back at him with agonizing force. Kondo laughed.
"You cannot hurt me. I protect the dark spirit, and it protects me."

As Nikolai struggled to collect himself, he asked, "How can you
work against your own people? You have the power to achieve wealth and freedom
without serving a swine of a white man like Trent."

Kondo looked bored. "African slaves are not my people. Why should I exhaust myself trying to help useless beasts of burden?" His eyes glinted.
"I live better than any African king, and I have found that Englishwomen are
very curious about African lovers. I have exactly the life I wish."

"So you are still a slave?"

Scarlet energy flared around the African. "I am not! I have my
freedom papers. I serve Trent because I choose to, and he pays very, very well."

From Kondo's reaction, he might feel rather less free than he wished. But that was the African's problem.
"Very well, you do not wish to exert yourself on behalf of slaves. But why work
for the pro-slavery forces? There is no need to do that. As a mage, you could
support yourself well by other means."

"Because I have power, and I enjoy using it." Kondo rose to his feet, his posture threatening. Though he must be over fifty, he had the fitness and aura of danger, of a warrior, and the demonic energy swirling around him emphasized the darkness of his soul.
"More power than you have, and now I shall prove it!"

He raised his arms and hurled an annihilating blast of Demon energy at Nikolai, who reeled back into the door. He was paralyzed, sliding to the floor—yet as he fell, a net of diamond white brilliance flared around him, pushing back the darkness.

Kondo staggered and had to grab the edge of the desk for support.
"Damn you!" he gasped.

As his numbness began to fade, Nikolai realized that the shield net had defended him just as the Demon had protected Kondo.
"Stalemate," he managed to gasp. "I cannot kill you, and you cannot kill me."

"Not by magic, perhaps. But there are more primitive methods." Kondo whipped a dagger out from under his elegantly cut coat and stabbed down at Nikolai's heart. Nikolai tried to dodge, but he was still too weak to move quickly.

The blade struck with bruising force and slashed his shirt and waistcoat, but it skittered away without penetrating Nikolai's chest. Kondo swore with vicious fluency.
"You and your bitch built your shield well! But I can still rattle your brains."

As the Demon expanded and grew more powerful, Kondo reversed the dagger and slammed the hilt on Nikolai's head. Nikolai fell into darkness—and to his horror, around him spun splintering fragments of the shield net.

Chapter
THIRTY-SIX

D
uring quiet parts of the debate, Jean skimmed the hearing summary notes. The stories were shocking and sometimes stomach turning. She was beginning to wonder what had happened to Nikolai, when the door to her box opened. She glanced up, expecting to see him, but a young woman wearing the sober garb of an Evangelical peered inside.
"May I join you? I arrived late, and there are no seats left in the
gallery."

"Of course. They are nearing the vote, I believe." Jean guessed that Nikolai hadn't masked the door when he left. She made a mental note to show him the trick of it. He was an interesting mixture of great power and odd gaps in his knowledge. In the meantime, she wouldn't mind having a companion.

"Pray God Mr. Wilberforce's legislation passes!" The newcomer sat down with an empty seat between her and Jean. Though she looked no more than twenty or so, she wore a wedding ring.
"My name is Elizabeth Heyrick. I traveled down from Leicester to hear the
debates and watch the voting."

"I am Jean Gregory. I've only just arrived back in England, but
like you, I am praying that the law passes."

"I have scarcely been able to sleep since I saw the
Brookes
diagram," Elizabeth confided as she set her drawstring bag on the floor and removed her dark shawl.
"It is still hard to believe that men can treat other men with such cruelty."

"The
Brookes
diagram? I don't know what that is."

"You haven't seen it?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "But of course, you have been out of the country. Here, let me show you. I always carry my copy to remind myself." She opened her bag and pulled out a stained, folded piece of paper. Handing it to Jean, she said,
"It's a diagram of a real slave ship named the
Brookes,
and it
shows how the slaves are packed into the space for the Atlantic passage."

Jean unfolded the large sheet and caught her breath. Despite all she'd learned about the trade, the actual image of slaves jammed together like salted herring was horrifying.
"This is appalling! No wonder so many die during the passage."

"This diagram shows four hundred eighty-two slaves," Elizabeth said bitterly.
"I counted to be sure. On some voyages, the
Brookes
carried half again as
many slaves."

"No one who sees this could be unmoved," Jean whispered.

"The slave captains and plantation owners manage that," the other woman said.
"When a very mild law was passed saying that slaves must be allowed more space,
the slavers claimed that it would cause the deaths of all the whites in Jamaica.
And then they failed to provide even that mild improvement."

Jean shook her head as she returned the diagram. She was becoming used to the hysterical political rhetoric of the slavers.
"Perhaps that will change after today's vote."

As they turned their attention to the chamber below, Jean was swamped by a paralyzing flood of Demon energy that took dark, bloody-minded joy in greed, control, and cruelty. The influx was so intense she could barely breathe. Horrified, she realized that the shield net was starting to rip apart, overwhelmed by the power of the spirit it had been created to control.

Fight back.
She threw her awareness and power into the shield, drawing strength from the collected energy of her friends and allies. She could feel shock and disorientation as the net's demand for power overwhelmed the two wardens on duty and began drawing from everyone connected to it. She became one with the net, feeling its rifts as if they were agonizing wounds in her own body.

She shuddered as several panicky wardens cut the connection, but more wardens began pouring their energy into the shield. In the background were more diffuse energies from regular abolitionists. Gradually the jagged tears in the net began to heal.

As the rifts disappeared, Jean's pain faded away. The shield net would survive, but it did not have the strength to prevent the Demon from influencing the present voting.

When the last links of the shield net had been repaired, Jean drew a deep, dizzy breath and withdrew back into her own body. She felt as if she should bear scars from the energy wounds she'd suffered in the net, but she looked normal enough even though she'd probably collapse if she tried to stand. Luckily Elizabeth Heyrick was so intent on the voting that she hadn't noticed anything wrong with Jean. From the young woman's taut expression, the vote was going against them.

Weary to the bone, Jean watched the final votes being tallied. By the end, two-thirds of the MPs present voted against abolishing the trade. The chamber erupted as the pro-slavery supporters whooped with joy. Abolitionist MPs sat stunned by the magnitude of their defeat. After Buckland's warning about the uncertain outcome, Jean was not really surprised, but she was profoundly disappointed.

Elizabeth began sobbing uncontrollably, her body shaking with despair.
"Everyone I know in Leicester opposes slavery," she gasped. "Where are these
slave lovers hiding? How can any decent man vote in favor of the trade?"

"Money and power are intertwined like serpents. Slavery is the source of great wealth, and that gives men power. Enough power to buy as many politicians as they need." Jean gestured toward the floor of the house, where men were churning back and forth, slapping one another's backs and congratulating themselves on their victory.

"It is
wrong
that a minority of men can allow wickedness that is despised by the majority." Elizabeth's tears were drying as anger began to replace grief.
"Yet what can common people like me do to fight such evil?"

"Hit the slave industry in its pocketbook," Jean said slowly as an idea began to form. Pamphlets she'd bought in 1788 had described the sugar trade in pounds and pence.
"Huge amounts of sugar are sold in Britain every year. If enough of us stop
buying it, the plantation owners will see their profits fall. If one in ten
Britons refuses to buy sugar, the planters will notice. If one in five stops, it
will change the industry forever."

Elizabeth caught her breath as she considered Jean's suggestion.
"I wonder if such a thing is possible. There are many of us who would agree to
stop buying sugar, but there are many more who would not wish to give up their
sweetening, not even to save lives. My own mother is a staunch abolitionist, yet
she would give blood from her veins before she would drink her tea without
sugar."

"I've read that sugar from India is not produced by slaves." Jean smiled wryly.
"The conditions of the Indians who produce it might not be much better than
those of Caribbean slaves, but at least they are free. Indian sugar costs more,
but wouldn't that be a small price to pay for a clear conscience?"

Elizabeth's face lit up. "That would work! We could also
refuse to buy from bakers who use slave sugar, or from grocers who carry it. If
enough people join the campaign, the merchants will have to use Indian sugar or
lose much of their custom."

"Such a campaign would take time," Jean warned. "At first it would
not be taken seriously, I suspect."

"But refusing to eat sugar is something that anyone, even a child, can do. There will be many who will join us, that I know. Especially if they can buy Indian sugar." The prospect of action put determination in Elizabeth's eyes.
"When I return to Leicestershire, I shall begin with our local antislavery
group, and we shall write to other groups across the nation. I vow that a year
from now, we will be taken seriously!"

Jean was not a seer, but she had a very powerful sense that this young woman would make a difference in the abolition movement.
"I shall watch for reports of people refusing to buy sugar, and I will spread
the word myself."

Elizabeth stood, already looking beyond this defeat to the next battle.
"The forces of commerce may have carried today, but there will be other, better
days."

She lifted her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. As she did, Jean noticed that the other woman's muslin kerchief was pinned by a brooch that showed a kneeling African in chains. There was lettering engraved around the edge, but Jean couldn't make out the words.
"Excuse me, but what does your medallion say?"

Elizabeth touched the embossed metal. "It says, 'Am I not a man
and a brother?' The design was done by Mr. Wedgwood, the pottery manufacturer,
to remind us of the common humanity of African and European."

Like the ship diagram, it was a potent image. "I must get one for
myself."

"Here." Elizabeth unfastened the clasp and offered the medallion.
"It is yours."

"Oh, no, really," Jean protested, a little startled. "I can buy my
own."

"Take it, please." Elizabeth smiled. "A brooch is a small return
for hope."

Jean offered her hand, and the other woman took it. Once more, intuition spoke.
"You will make a difference, Mrs. Heyrick. Indeed you will. Go with God."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gregory." The younger woman hugged Jean, then left the box, head high.

Now that she was alone, Jean was free to give in to her worry about Nikolai. He had been gone far too long. She settled into a chair and sought him mentally. She had just decided that he was alive but injured, when the door to the box opened and he entered. Jean gasped when she saw his slashed garments.
"Good heavens, what happened to you?" She went into his arms, careful not to hug too hard.

"I found Kondo, and he bested me," Nikolai said ruefully. His embrace was not careful at all—he held her with rib-bruising force.
"The shield net protected me from his energy blasts and his attempt to stab me
to death, but he managed to knock me out of my wits. I thought then that the
shield was being overwhelmed, but it feels sound enough now. What did I miss?"

Before she could reply, Lord Buckland entered the box, looking drained.
"That was the first time that the shield net demanded such power from us. The
shield barely survived. We need to find more qualified wardens."

"We must learn to draw on a broader range of abolitionists. Perhaps we can reach beyond the London area." Jean briefly explained what happened to Nikolai before adding,
"I don't think that we arrived here to bring success. I think the ancestors sent
us here to prevent total disaster. We came close to losing the shield net—even
one less warden might have been the difference between saving it and complete
destruction. The consequences might have been dire. Also, a young lady joined me
here, and when she recovered from her disappointment, she left determined to
persuade every abolitionist in Britain to stop using slave-grown sugar."

Buckland's brows rose. "Hit them in their profits! What a
fine idea. I will do my best to spread the word."

"Sympathizers will be glad to have something solid to do," Nikolai predicted.

"The movement is alive. Even if the political tides are against us, we will persevere." Buckland gave a tired smile.
"But it would have been altogether more pleasant to have won."

His comment was a masterpiece of gentlemanly understatement. Jean leaned against Nikolai, wanting to sleep the clock around.
"Is there a nice inn where you could leave us on your way home?"

Buckland nodded. "Will you be staying here for long?"

Jean glanced up at Nikolai. By this time, they didn't need words to arrive at such decisions.
"For a few weeks. We should visit our African friends, then learn how to draw
general abolition energy into the shield net."

"I think I know how to do that." Nikolai smiled tiredly. "There is
nothing like being mauled by negative energy to understand it better. Let me
think about it for a few days. Then we can have another meeting of wardens."

Looking a little more cheerful, Buckland said, "I'll look forward
to it. As for tonight, or rather this morning, I know just the inn. It's very
quiet and comfortable."

They followed him through the palace to the street and saw that dawn was just beginning to show in the east. Parliament sessions usually began in midafternoon and ran into the night, and debates could last until the sun rose. Jean tucked her hand into the crook of Nikolai's elbow.
"A new day dawning. I like the symbolism."

"We knew this would take time." He gave her a half smile. "And we
have more time than most."

At first Adia didn't understand the tremendous pull on her mind and power. She staggered to her bed and fell back dizzily. What…?

Gradually she realized that her power was being pulled into the web that she suspected had been constructed by Jean and the captain to battle slaver energies. A great struggle was taking place, and the web was reaching through time to Adia. She felt Jean very vividly, the captain rather less.

Gradually the drain on her energy faded and she knew that the web had survived its test. A pity she would never know what happened.

But at least she was able to help, even buried here in the past.

The inn was all that Buckland promised, and a clerk was willing to check strangers in at dawn. When they reached their room, Nikolai was tempted to fall onto the bed without even undressing, but he'd feel better later if he stripped. With a sigh, Jean did the same.
"It's been a long day. Three years long."

"But we survived. For a few moments there, I thought I might not." As Kondo's knife descended, Nikolai had been struck with two thoughts: He didn't want to die before their mission was done. And he didn't want to leave Jean.

As she released her hair and loosely braided it, he found that he was not too tired to admire her. If she hadn't had the strength to hold the shield together when it began to unravel, men like Clarkson and Wilberforce would be vulnerable again. Though antislavery sentiment had grown strong, leaders were still needed, and it would take time for new ones to appear if the present ones were struck down.

He came up behind Jean and put his arms around her waist, bending to kiss the side of her neck. She melted back in his arms, eyes closed.
"You can do that again if you like," she murmured.