The Witch Watch (48 page)

Another bolt of lightning struck the body in his hand, after which he decided there was not enough of it left to continue using it as a shield. He dashed behind a small tent that had been set up, which was instantly set aflame. From there he ran to a wooden gazebo, which was promptly obliterated in an explosion of fire. The officials had chosen these places to hide when the fighting began, and so this sowed a great deal of chaos into what was already an incomprehensible mess. Gilbert would dash behind some cover, which would prompt all of the officials hiding there to flee, after which the structure would explode.

Gilbert had no plan, although he felt strongly that he should try to form one. He didn’t want to simply perish (or whatever one calls it when an abomination is destroyed) but to accomplish something memorable before that happened.

There were more gunshots, and Mordaunt waved his arms as if tormented by stinging flies. Apparently some portion of tumultuous gunfire was directed at him. He hurled another handful of fire at his attackers. There were screams and bodies flew into the air. More gunshots came, and Mordaunt gave out a cry of pure frustration and rage.

“I have held out my hand to you, Britain, and you have spat in my face,” his voice rolled over the crowd like thunder.

The shooting slowed, as did the activity of the crowd.

“I have offered you the chance to become the greatest nation in the history of this world. An everlasting, glorious, indestructible empire. But you have struck my face in payment.”

He rose higher in the air, and shouted, “I WILL rule you. If you will not be a nation of generals and noblemen, then you will be an island of slaves.” At this he summoned a great storm of fire, large enough to engulf a sailing ship. He hurled this into the air, and it burst like a great firework. The ground shook as if by an earthquake. A great column of smoke and burning embers swirled about them, and it began to rain fire.

Alice stepped back from the burning stage. The heat was so intense she was afraid her hair might catch fire. She blinked quickly as she pulled her eyes away from the blaze and tried to focus on the dark crowd around her.

Steel glinted in the firelight. She held up an arm reflexively, and it was slashed open. Some men were closing in around her. She had drawn attention to herself when she extinguished the burning woman, and was now exposed.

She tossed a handful of fire at her attacker and fought to regain her sight. A closed fist struck her face, and someone grabbed her from behind. “Witch!” someone screamed. She was surrounded by Red Sashes.

“Be reasonable!” she screamed. “Let’s focus on Mordaunt before trying to kill each other!”

The men were singed, bruised, frustrated, and had just seen a number of their friends die at the hands of an apparently indomitable foe. Alice could see that they were not thinking strategy, or indeed thinking at all. They were angry, and she was to bear the brunt of it.

“Fools!” she said in frustration, and lit one of them on fire as he drew close enough to stab her. Already tired, this exertion stole more of her strength than she’d planned, and she swooned.

There was a gunshot, and one of the Red Sashes fell. More gunshots came in steady rhythm, each one striking the head or heart of a Red Sash. At the fourth shot, the remaining men finally understood and turned to face their attacker. Private Archer was twenty paces away. In the space of a single breath he worked the lever, inserted a round, took aim, and killed a man.

It was clear that if the remaining three men all rushed him at once, he wouldn’t be able to kill more than two of them. However, one of the men concluded that this meant they should run, and the other two that they should attack. Archer killed the brave ones, and then shot the fleeing one.

The only remaining man was the one holding Alice from behind, and he was now using her as a shield against the gunman. Alice reached up, grabbed the man by the hair, and lit it on fire. He released her, and she pulled away from him. A final gunshot silenced his terrified screaming.

“I feel rather sorry for shooting that one in the back,” Archer said as he helped her up.

“Don’t,” she said firmly. She wobbled slightly. The magic had robbed her of her strength.

“Stay low,” he instructed. “Supporters of the Queen and Mordaunt Loyalists are shooting at each other to the south, heedless of the crowd.”

Alice began to ask a question, but was cut short when Mordaunt began addressing the masses. Instead she gestured for Archer to follow her.

It was easier to move about now that the crowd had stopped to listen. The two of them stayed low and moved around to the other side of the burning stage.

They had moved away from the crowd just as it began to rain burning ash from the sky. They crawled on their bellies to stay below the heat and gunfire. On the other side, they found Lord Mordaunt in a battle with Gilbert. The lich was using lightning to avoid roasting his own servants with fire. Gilbert was shielding himself with what looked like a burning official.

“Should I shoot at him again?” Archer offered.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” she said weakly.

“Can you manage any more magic?”

“I don’t know.”

There was another flash of lightning and Gilbert found himself on his back, much farther from Mordaunt than he’d been just a second earlier. His grisly shield was missing. On further inspection, so was his arm.

Gilbert ran forward, brandishing his sword. Mordaunt had drifted a little closer to the ground. Gilbert was going to do his best to hack one of Mordaunt’s arms off. He didn’t know if he could jump high enough or if he could strike hard enough, but his only other option was to wait until one of these bolts hit their mark.

There was another flash of light, and his sword vanished in a shower of molten steel. As he stumbled, he saw Alice and Private Archer drawing near. Gilbert growled in frustration.
Why weren’t they trying to escape?
The clearing was filled with the dead. Behind that grim scene, London was burning.

Gilbert scrambled behind some debris, narrowly avoiding another bolt. He was now one-armed and weaponless, and had no way to hurt or even impede the lich. There was another blast, and his shelter was obliterated.

There was nowhere left to hide. Gilbert stood.

Mordaunt hovered over him. For a moment it looked like Mordaunt was going to say something. Then he seemed to think better of it. Before the blow fell, Gilbert heard Simon screaming.

“Gilbert! The circle! The circle!” he was saying. At his feet was a small chalk circle, drawn onto the concrete footpath.

In a hopeless gesture, Gilbert ran towards the lich, holding his remaining fist up in defiance. Mordaunt made a grand gesture, preparing a vindictive final strike for the scurrying rat that had taunted him for so long. As the motion fell, he tumbled slightly to one side and was engulfed in flames.

Gilbert looked to the side, and saw that Alice had expended her strength in this final gesture. She collapsed, striking the ground before her fire had even reached the target. The blow sent Mordaunt’s strike awry. Gilbert jumped into the air and grabbed at him, pulling him to earth. They rolled along the ground, and both were wrapped in flame. Gilbert quickly overpowered the smaller man and dragged him into the circle that Simon had prepared.

Gilbert had expected everything to go dark when he entered the circle, but nothing seemed to happen. Mordaunt continued to struggle and curse as the two of them roasted.

Gilbert looked up, and Alice was standing. No, not standing. Hovering. She was floating above the ground, her ragged dress billowing around her feet. She reached up, as if to grab the clouds, and pulled them down in a single motion. Rain fell. Not icy November rain, but warm rain, as if it were springtime. She held out her arms as the water came down in a great deluge. Soon even the most aggressive fires were overcome, and the inferno ended. Alice bowed her head, and the rain relented.

She spoke, and her calm voice carried over the entire field, and perhaps even into the city, “Put your weapons down. Your master has fallen. Enough bloodshed.”

The last few guns now went silent. There was a chorus of plops as people dropped their swords into the mud. A cloud of mist drifted over the field, mixing with the last rivulets of smoke.

“What is happening?” Gilbert demanded.

“Almost done!” shouted Simon eagerly. He was scribbling away on the sidewalk beside Gilbert. He was pushing water out of the way with one hand and writing furiously with the other.

Alice drifted downward and landed gently beside Gilbert. She held out her hand, from which hung the small crystal. “Ready?” she smiled to Simon.

“Ready!” he replied.

Alice nodded to Gilbert. “Careful to keep yourself out of it!” she warned.

Gilbert shrugged and heaved Mordaunt into the other circle. None of this made any sense to him.

Mordaunt landed in the circle with a clatter, and tiny specks of light began to escape from his form. It began with just a few at first, but soon a great stream of them flowed. His body shook and convulsed, and finally his bones fell apart, lifeless.

Alice cradled the brilliant crystal in her hand for a moment before hiding it away. Whatever power had come over her was clearly gone.

“It’s over?” asked Archer in disbelief.

Alice looked over the battlefield, “Aside from healing the injured, arresting the guilty, burying the dead, cleaning the debris, and repairing the damage? Yes, it’s all over.”

“I hope we don’t have to accomplish all of that tonight!” said Simon in a daze.

“No indeed. We should leave quickly,” she said. “We’re all drenched. We’ll freeze in the cold air if we don’t find a fire soon, and I don’t think there’s anything left in this field that’s capable of burning.” She patted the pocket where she had placed the crystal, “This is the life of Prince Leopold, and we need to get it to safety. I don’t know how many of Mordaunt’s servants are left or if they’re of a mind to make further mischief for us, but I’m not inclined to give them the opportunity.”

“What about him?” Simon asked, nodding towards the pile of bones.

“You’re right, we can’t leave his remains there or they might slip away with them and try again,” Alice said thoughtfully. Finally she decided, “Bring the skull. His bones will be useless without that.”

They dried off at the stables and the soldiers took care of them until a carriage could be arranged. They were tired and sore, covered in soot and small burns. They rode to Grayhouse in silence.