The Witch Watch (39 page)

“How many lives have been lost to pointless wars of succession? Two bloodthirsty men fight, neither of which is bright enough or honest enough to lead the nation.
 
All the people can do is choose which fool they will follow to their ruin.
 
It’s no wonder it’s taken us thousands of years to come as far as we have. But what is to be done?”

Brooks halted and looked again at the audience.
Yes, what is to be done
? This was the question in their minds, because he had placed it there, and they were now hoping he had some sort of answer.
 
“What if... what if we had a king who could remain, ageless, in those years of energy and wisdom? A firm hand, a wise hand. A man not afraid of mortality.
 
A man not tempted by the sins of flesh. A man who would not need to occupy his time with securing a proper heir.”

Several people blinked.
 
They thought he was about to propose some sort of reform, but this new line of thought caught them by surprise.
 
Confused, they listened on in eager silence.

“I’m sure many of you remember Oswald Mordaunt? He was a dear friend who was lost in strange circumstances a few years ago.”

Many people nodded at this.

“I owed him a dear favor,” one man said suddenly and solemnly. “Never got a chance to pay him back before he passed.”

Another man raised his glass, “I had a similar debt. More than I can speak in public. He was a good man.”

“He was,” Brooks conceded, as if surprised by the response. “Many of us owe him such favors.
 
And let’s be honest. The man is passed so we no longer need to protect him from the consequences of his own mercy. He was a healer, was he not?”

People looked around nervously at this. None wanted to be the first to respond, but eventually slight nods gave way to greater nods, which led to emphatic agreement.

“I’m willing to wager that all of you have known someone, or heard rumors of someone who was made whole or spared great suffering by the work of Oswald’s hands. We do not speak of it because magics - even benign, beneficial magics - are outlawed.
 
Under pain of death. It was, in fact, this very work that led to Oswald’s demise.
 
For those of you who have not heard the tale: The Church discovered The Viscount’s work.
 
They came to his home, slew his personal guard, and murdered the man on his own doorstep. He died, because of what he did for all of you.”
 
Brooks suddenly picked a face out of the crowd, “David, your wife. Where would she be today if not for Lord Mordaunt?”

The man looked around the room, red-faced.
 
Finally he stammered, “Dead.”

Brooks pointed to another man, “Phillip? What about your daughter Anna?”

Phillip swallowed, “She... she would be bedridden. Her legs were lame.”

“He was a good man, would you agree? Despite the magics.
 
Yes, I said the word. Despite the merciful, kind, and entirely free
magic
he performed on behalf of our loved ones, he was a good man, was he not?”

The room agreed silently. Glasses were raised. Some heads bowed.

“He was a good man, killed by superstitious fools,” Brooks said, agreeing with their agreeing with him.
 
He watched their heads nodding. Brooks looked them in the eye and drew a deep breath, as if he was marshaling his courage. “I have good news. Shocking news, but good. As of three nights ago, Oswald is no longer dead.”

The room was stunned. A woman gasped.

“Yes. His powers are not only in healing, although I’m sure he would have preferred to remain a healer. He is no longer dead, and he is on his way to London. Barrington Oswald Mordaunt - Viscount of Ravenstead - will be king.”

This was outrageous. People took offense. The wine and speech had softened them, but not enough for them to embrace the idea of a new king. They did not run off and cry treason. They merely scowled and shook their heads.

Surprisingly, Brooks seemed to be smiling, like a card player about to reveal a winning hand, “Yes. He will be king. I have seen the man, and I can tell you he wields the power of a nation. An army of ten thousand could not overcome him. He will arrive in London the evening after next, and before morning he will rule this wayward nation.
 
I see many of you are offended. Do not for a moment imagine that I am asking you to pledge to his cause. Heavens no. I do not expect you to take my word for his abilities, or to swear fealty to his throne before it is even established.
 
While he is eager for your support, he fully expects to earn it.

“No, the only thing I ask is that you not throw your life away opposing him. He does not love bloodshed and bears no ill will towards any of you, which I hope he demonstrated when he helped you in the past.
 
He longs for the same things we do: A powerful, prosperous, and secure nation, under the leadership of a sensible king. He wants to make the realization of that dream as bloodless as possible. So please, for your own sake and for the sake of our nation, only stand aside and allow the contest to proceed.
 
His majesty will need talented and experienced advisers and ministers in his kingdom.
 
Yes! You will all keep your positions.
 
I invited you here tonight because you represent the finest this nation has to offer. You are all people of skill and dignity, and it would be disastrous for your posts to fall to lesser men. Indeed, his majesty hopes to increase your responsibilities, and so your loss would impoverish the kingdom.”

Against this they could say nothing.
 
The people blinked and looked at one another, wondering what had just happened. They had just been offered their own positions - or perhaps a promotion - and all they had to do was not oppose a tremendously powerful man who seemed, by all accounts, to be a reasonable fellow. If his bid for the throne failed, they would not be implicated. If it was a success, then it was to their advantage.

Heads had begun to nod again.
 
Some people shrugged their shoulders. Certainly this royal politicking was over their heads.
 
Surely it was better to sit and see how things turned out?

Brooks was looking quite pleased with himself.
 
He called for more wine.
 
Their glasses were refilled, and he opened his mouth to propose a toast. Then he stopped.
 
A woman had pushed through the crowd and now stood before him. Her white dress seemed all the brighter against the backdrop of dark suits.

“Miss White!” Brooks said with sudden recognition. “I’m sure I would have remembered inviting you to my home.”

“You didn’t,” she said coldly.

“Of course! I’m sure Moxley gave you his invitation. The old fox. He should have come himself, but perhaps he feared for his safety. He's been exceedingly cautious as of late. Nevertheless, the offer is open to him as well.”

“Offer?” she said warily.

Brooks had been slightly shaken when she appeared, and for a moment his mask of charm had slipped and given way to irritation. But he had recovered now, and gave every indication that he was simply
delighted
to have her as a guest in his home. He took a friendly step towards her and smiled, “The same offer I gave to everyone else in this room. If he will direct his ministry to stand aside, then he will retain his position in the new regime.” Brooks looked sideways at the other ministers. This was the bargain he'd offered, although perhaps it sounded unseemly when stated explicitly.

“So you're buying supporters by offering them the jobs they already have? Perhaps you could entice me to join your cause by offering to give me the dress I'm already wearing?”

“My dear, you have both your father's intellect and idealism. And like your father, they seem to always be at odds with each other.”

“Do not pretend to know my father!” she scoffed.

“Miss White, I tell you with all sincerity that he was a dear friend. Closer than I count most of the men in this room. We exchanged many letters over the years. Ask these people if I was not one of the most vocal supporters of Ethereal Affairs.”

Alice looked around, and the faces seemed to assent to this position. “Then how do you reconcile your support for Mordaunt with your support for Ethereal Affairs?” she asked accusingly.

“Reconcile them? They are both parts of a greater whole – a plan to bring about a reinvigorated Great Britain. Do not imagine that the King plans to allow all forms of magic. Practitioners of magic will be limited to the art of healing, just as His Majesty was. There will still be a place for witch-hunters like yourself in the coming days. If you like, you can continue to do your work and protect our nation from supernatural threats.”

“Provided I turn a blind eye to the fact that an abomination sits on the throne?”

There was murmuring at this, and guests exchanged surprised glances. Brooks faltered for the slightest moment. Alice had intended to simply confront Brooks, but now she realized that the two of them were now contending for the hearts of the audience.

“You neglected to mention that, didn't you?” she pressed. “If you have your way, Britain will have an undead king.”

“Miss White, you stand among the finest and most intelligent men in Britain. I'm sure everyone understood what I meant when I said that Oswald was no longer dead. How else do you propose we attain an ageless, incorruptible king?” The crowd was soothed by his flattery, but it was obvious that Brooks was wrong. Most of them hadn't grasped what their new king would be until Alice had explained it. While Alice had not won them over, she had shaken his grip on their hearts.

“Tell them about the Academy!” Simon shouted as he pushed himself to the front. “Tell them about the boys who die there!”

“Mouse?” Brooks asked with surprise. “Simon,” he corrected himself a moment later. “I take it you are accompanying Miss White? It's to her credit that she's looking after you, although this isn't a good place for one so young.”

“I've been in worse under your care,” Simon said, his voice trembling.

“So what charges do you make against the home that nurtured you? That food was scarce? That it was cold? That the work was hard? That the keepers were cruel?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Simon replied. He was caught off guard by the apparent confession, and didn't know how to respond.

“Well, Lord Mordaunt is guilty, I suppose,” Brooks said with a sad shrug. “Guilty, of attempting to help more children than his means and facilities could accommodate. I'm sure you imagine that you were somehow persecuted, but if you visit any of the orphanages in the city you'll see they fare no better. Some of them are no doubt worse. There are more hungry children than the nation can house, clothe, feed, and educate. Oswald financed the Academy himself. He was trying to lead by example. Yes, some died. But some were saved, and that was worth the sacrifice in his mind. I'm sorry you disagree.”

Simon suddenly became aware of the eyes on him, and his face turned red. He had neither the skill nor nerve to face a man like Brooks in front of so many people. He bowed his head and fell silent, wishing very much that he had held his tongue.

Alice took up the cause again. “What of the sinking of the Callisto less than a month ago? That was carried out by one of your own agents.”

“I had heard of the tragedy, but I was not aware that the blame should fall to us. I know nothing of the matter beyond what is publicly known. However, I can say that the idea sounds ludicrous to me. His Majesty plans to unite our nation and bring about greater prosperity. Sinking passenger ships runs very much counter to that goal. I see no reason why the man would harm his own kingdom so.”

Alice took another step forward. Her voice became quiet and deadly serious, “Earlier you spoke well of my father. Do you dispute that he was an honest and worthwhile man who labored to protect Britain?”

“I do not pretend I loved the man as a daughter might love her own father, but yes. I would tend to agree with your assessment.”

“Then why did your supposedly wise and altruistic master have him killed?” she demanded.

“He didn't, “Brooks said calmly and firmly.

“He did!” she spat. She brought out her father's watch. “This was given to Simon by His Lordship. It was my father's. This watch was last seen in the possession of my father, right before he vanished.”

“True,” Brooks agreed. “I was present when the gift was bestowed. But then-Lord Mordaunt neither killed your father nor took his watch.”

“Then how-”

“I did.”

Alice looked back in stunned silence for several seconds. She blinked slowly, as if in a dream. Finally she spoke so quietly that the people had to strain to hear, “You said he was a dear friend.”

“He was. And so was Oswald. Your father was investigating Oswald under suspicion of witchcraft. His actions threatened to expose this effort to establish a new king, which would have undone a project that all of us have worked on for most of our adult lives. Moreover, it may have exposed all of these people to scandal,” Brooks gestured around the room. “It was a bitter deed to kill a man I so admired, but the lives of others were on the other side of the scale, and your father could not be dissuaded. It was an ugly deed, and I accept the consequences of it, but I do not-”