The Royal Sorceress (49 page)

Jack smiled. “Any rational assessment of the odds would say that our revolution was doomed to failure,” he said. “Jokes are the one thing that keeps us going.”

He stopped pacing before Gwen could give in to the temptation to slap him, hard. “I have to talk to my allies,” he said. “I’d like you to wait here for us.”

Gwen turned, angrily. “And how many people will die while you debate what to do?”

“Too many,” Jack said, gravely. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

***

The antechamber had been designed to allow a number of people to listen to conversations within the chamber without revealing their presence. Ruddy and Davy had taken two of the listening holes, at Jack’s suggestion; Lucy had taken the third. They met him outside as soon as he closed the door behind him, their faces twisted with horror. There was no nightmare more feared than the revenants, not after the outbreaks that had been quelled with so many dead – and then reanimated by a necromancer’s will. Jack had studied what little material there was on the undead back at Cavendish Hall, but most of it had been speculation.

Necromancy didn’t seem to obey the normal laws of magic – but then, there were plenty of question marks over just what the normal laws of magic actually
were
. The commonly accepted theory was that the undead somehow consumed life energy from their victims, using it to keep their dead bodies animated by their living will. As their brains were effectively ruined by death, the undead were unable to manifest anything that reassembled human intelligence, or anything much more than a desire to feed and survive. Perhaps their damaged brains also allowed them a form of telepathy, for they
were
more dangerous in large numbers. And when a necromancer was directing them with his will...

The story was unbelievable, but Jack was inclined to believe it for that reason alone. He
knew
Master Thomas – and he knew many of the personalities who ran the British Empire. Some would recoil in horror, but Lord Liverpool, who had used military force to crush a dozen riots and uprisings, wouldn’t hesitate for a second if it meant securing London without any further fighting. Indeed, the whole plan had a sort of horrific logic; London’s crowded slums would be burned to the ground, allowing long-held plans to rebuild the heart of the British Empire into a new Rome to be turned into reality. As long as they didn’t lose control of the undead, it was almost perfect...

...But what if they
did
lose control of the undead?

The largest outbreak of the necromantic plague had been on Cuba, a dependency of the British Empire since it had been taken from the Spanish in 1801. Thousands of negro slaves had been infected, slowly dying and rising from the dead. They’d been a nightmarish foe for British Redcoats and North American Rangers, but they’d eventually been defeated – even though parts of Cuba were no longer fit for human habitation. London – even after the fighting – had around three to four million humans living within its boundaries. How intelligent would the undead be if they had that many within their ranks? It was quite possible that the madness Master Thomas had unleashed would spread out of control.

“That can’t be true,” Lucy said, sharply. “The bitch is lying through her teeth.”

Jack frowned. “If she was lying,” he said, “I think she would have chosen a more credible lie.”

Davy snorted. “The toffees have always seen us as stupid, grubbing in the dirt,” he said. “They might have sent her here and told her to lie.”

Jack shook his head. “It has the ring of truth,” he said. It would be nice to have a lie-detecting talent, but – apart from mind-reading Talkers – no such talent had ever been proven to exist. Or...maybe it
could
work, between two Masters. He could ask Gwen to Talk to him and see if it felt truthful or not. “Master Thomas would do
anything
to maintain the status quo. I think she’s telling the truth.”

“But they have laws against necromancy,” Ruddy pointed out. “They hung a young girl four years ago on the mere
suspicion
of necromancy.”

“There are laws against rebellion and revolution too,” Jack countered. “I didn’t notice an angel manifesting outside the Old Bailey to force us to go back to slaving in the fields for our lords and masters.”

Lucy’s scowl deepened. “Joke all you want,” she snapped, tartly, “but I don’t believe it. They probably want her to distract us long enough to ram a whole army up our behinds and sodomise us...”

“There happen to be laws against that too,” Jack commented. Davy laughed, earning himself a furious glare from Lucy. Ruddy merely looked aloof from the debate. “If there really is a horde of undead revenants coming to kill us, it will soon become obvious.”

He looked over at Ruddy. “Is there any sign that the Duke of India intends to mount a counterattack?”

“Nothing so far,” Ruddy said. “I’d say that it would take the Duke at least a week to get organised, even without the forces from Ireland, but he’s a past master at turning his forces around and launching a counterattack on the enemy. His career in India suggests that he won’t leave us alone any longer than he has to...”

He scowled. “And most of our scouts are very new to the job,” he added. “The Hustlers might manage to get past them and into the barricades without any of the scouts realising that they were there. And the Duke would know precisely how to take advantage of it.”

Jack held up one hand. “We’re going to assume that the threat is real,” he said. “I want you to send messengers to the reserve forces; I want barricades set up around Soho, now. Anyone within the area is to be forced to strip down so they can be checked for bites...no, have dogs sniff them instead. The dogs won’t be able to stand anyone who has been bitten and it’ll save them freezing off their dongles in the cold night air.”

“Yes, sir,” Ruddy said. “And what should we do if we sight the undead?”

Jack scowled. The undead weren’t tough, in a conventional sense, but they were fiendishly difficult to kill. Beheading one wouldn’t kill it; the body would just thrash around on the ground, flailing out at anyone unlucky enough to be caught in its arms. The only sure way was fire...and that could only be applied over a limited area.

“Cut them down
thoroughly
,” he said, finally. “Tell the men to make sure that they hack each undead down and make damn sure they can’t get up again. I want their legs and arms severed from their bodies; behead them too if you can. Distribute swords and axes to the reserves; they’ll work better than guns against the undead.”

He hesitated. “And remember to warn them to do the same to anyone who has been bitten,” he added. “There’s no cure for the necromantic plague.”

“You’re taking a hell of a chance,” Davy observed, finally. “What if she’s lying and she just wants us to look in the wrong direction?”

“Then the men on the barricades hold the Duke of India long enough for us to get reserves up to push him back.” Jack said, tightly. The rebellion had around forty thousand men now, mainly new recruits. It sounded like a large number, larger than the armies that had conquered India for the British Empire, but it was tiny compared to the scale of the problem. London was a vast city and holding a set of barricades around the entire edge of the metropolis would spread his men thin. “I don’t think we can afford to assume that she’s lying.”

Lucy made a face, but said nothing. Jack didn’t know why she was acting oddly; she’d
healed
Lady Gwen, back when Jack had first tried to convince her that he was doing the right thing. The world had turned upside down since then – they’d won a city, but now they were on the verge of defeat. Jack rubbed the side of his head, cursing his tiredness. He needed rest, yet he had to go out with his men. They would need a magician or two to cover them if they did run into the undead...

He strode back into the antechamber and found Gwen waiting for him. She looked tired, almost vulnerable, yet there was a determination in her eye that rivalled that of many an older and wiser man. Gwen wouldn’t give up, Jack realised; she would be true to herself even if the man she’d trusted as a tutor had betrayed his own ideals.

“We’re going down to Soho,” he said. He held out a hand; Gwen, after a moment’s hesitation, took it. “If you’re right about what our old tutor is doing, we’ll meet him there.”

Gwen looked...nervous. “He’s crafty,” she warned. “He knows more about our powers than we do.”

“That’s fine,” Jack assured her, affecting a confidence he didn’t feel. Master Thomas was a formidable foe – and he had an entire army of the undead to support him. If nothing else, perhaps they could delay him long enough to evacuate the area. “I know a few tricks myself. Some of them will be new to our old friend.”

Chapter Forty-Two

T
here was something in the air.

Gwen could feel it, right on the edge of her awareness. Ahead of her, dawn was slowly glimmering into existence, casting an eerie light over London. Few would see London from a hundred yards in the air, even from an airship. A handful of smoke plumes rose into the sky, but London seemed almost to be dead. It wasn’t a thought that brought her much cheer.

She turned her head and saw Jack looking at her. He looked just as concerned as her, yet…there was something else there. A hint of respect, even admiration, coming from a man who had turned the world upside down. Gwen had never been admired for herself before; she’d been admired for her beauty and for her family linage, but no one had ever admired Gwen for herself. She blushed, despite herself, feeling emotions she’d thought that she would never feel. Girls whispered about love when their parents weren’t listening, talking about feelings they had for men – men whom they would never be allowed to marry. Even Gwen had heard such talk among the maids…but she’d never thought that it would happen to her.

Jack winked at her…and dipped suddenly, flying down between the buildings. Gwen followed him instinctively, realising that he was daring her to catch him. His prowess was remarkable, almost as if he had spent years flying under his own power, forcing Gwen to learn quickly to keep up with him. He
had
planned to speak to her alone, the last time she’d chased him; he could have outrun her with ease. The thought was not a pleasant one, but she told herself that she should be grateful. How would she have known who to contact when Master Thomas unleashed his secret weapon without that earlier meeting?

The buildings spun past her with terrifying speed. Down below, men, women and children stared up at the two magicians, even as they scrambled to put some distance between themselves and the oncoming revenants. Gwen could sense them almost as soon as she remembered their existence, a lurking presence ahead of them, polluting the aether with their vile stench. Her head swam and she nearly dived into the street, before catching herself. It took all of her discipline to keep their whispers out of her mind.

Jack landed on a rooftop and peered towards Soho, his face grim and bitter. He could sense them too, Gwen realised; if he’d doubted her, he no longer believed – or hoped – that she had been lying. She landed next to him and caught her breath. Flying was truly the greatest of all the talents – and Jack had pushed her into developing it far further than she had believed possible. She was suddenly very aware of his presence as he caught her arm and pulled her back from the rooftop edge. His touch felt wonderful against her skin and she blushed, again. There was no time to explore her new feelings, or worry about introducing him to Lady Mary…

She laughed, despite herself. The odds of surviving the dawn – let alone the rest of the day – were not high. And she was worrying about introducing Jack to her mother? He might not share her feelings, or he might not want to spend time with her afterwards, or…there were too many possibilities. She tried to lock her feelings away inside her mind and concentrate on the growing presence. They weren’t far from the growing horde.

“I can feel them,” Jack said. His face was twisted in disgust. “I never…I have never sensed anything like them before, not ever.”

“I know,” Gwen said. There was nothing else to say. She would have given anything to have been wrong, even though Jack and Lucy and the rest of his band would have denounced her as a lying aristocrat. There were shouts and screams in the distance, growing louder. Soho might be largely isolated from the rest of London and left to rot, but there were hundreds of ramshackle buildings surrounding the area. The revenants would make quick work of the sleepers before they awoke, she suspected. Even if the alarm was raised, few would know how to fight the undead. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Jack admitted. He reached out for her and pulled her into an embrace. Somehow – and Gwen was never sure how – their lips met. The kiss seemed to last for hours. “I wish…”

Jack let go of her and stepped back towards the edge. “Come with me or stay here,” he said, slowly. “I have to speak to my men.”

He jumped into the air and lowered himself towards the ground. A barricade was being built at the end of the street, composed of wooden furniture, blocks of stone and everything else that could be rounded up on short notice. The rebels looked disorganised, but their commanders seemed to know what they were doing and there was no disagreement. They could all smell the growing stench from Soho. It was utterly
wrong
, the stench of the grave yet animated by a hideous power. The law was right, Gwen decided; necromancy was utterly beyond redemption.

Jack turned to her as the rebels picked up their weapons and prepared for their stand. “I’m going to start burning them as soon as they come into view,” he said. “I suggest you do the same. That should force Master Thomas to show himself – or let us burn his army to ashes before they can grow out of control.”

Gwen nodded, tightly. The last time she had faced Master Thomas, she had barely escaped with her life – and she suspected that she’d been
allowed
to escape. Master Thomas had had plans for his successor, plans that required her to be alive. But this time…whatever else happened, the government would want no witnesses alive who could swear to the origin of the necromantic plague.