Christopher G. Nuttall's Blog, page 33

Snippet – The Family Name (Zero 9)

Prologue

The Chiltern Lodge, Stephen Rubén had decided long ago, had been built by someone who wanted to convince his guests that he was still a man of power and influence.  It had taken Stephen a few days of digging in the family achieve, a punishment set by his father decades ago, to determine he’d been correct.  The lodge had been constructed for a loser in the endless struggles for power over the family, a particularly sore loser who’d taken his failings out on the local wildlife.  Everything about the lodge was on a grand scale, from the dining hall – roomy enough for a hundred guests – to the animal heads decorating the walls.  It screamed rustic in a manner that mocked the owner’s pretensions.  It was no great surprise to Stephen that no one had been particularly interested in taking the lodge for themselves, when the original owner died.  The lodge might be visually stunning, surrounded by beautiful countryside and yet crammed with all the comforts of home, but it was too far from Shallot to serve as a permanent base.  To take possession of the lodge was to concede, to one’s shame, that one no longer had a part to play in the games of power.

And yet, he admitted in the privacy of his own mind, it had its uses.

The lodge’s staff had been surprised when he’d arrived, but they hadn’t hesitated to prepare rooms for Stephen and his guests.  Stephen had been tempted to send them away, perhaps permanently, yet he’d known his guests wouldn’t appreciate having to fend for themselves during their little safari.  They hadn’t come to slaughter the local wildlife, let alone skin and cook the remnants of poor woodland creatures blasted by enhanced spellcasters.  The mere idea of making their beds for themselves … his lips quirked in amusement.  They’d done enough of that at Jude’s.

He lit the fire in the grate with a spell, then sat back in his comfortable armchair and waited for the remainder of the cabal to arrive.  They’d taken a risk gathering so far from the city, even with a cover story firmly in place, but there was no time for half-measures.  The very future of the family itself was at stake.  And there was no hope of saving their lives and their futures through more … legitimate channels.   Lord Carioca Rubén, Patriarch of House Rubén, had committed himself and his family to a course that would lead to either apotheosis or nemesis.  Stephen was all too aware that apotheosis was not on the cards.

“I trust this chamber is secure.”  Andrew Rubén was a tall man, his handsome face marred by a duelling scar.  “The staff can hardly be trusted not to report back to Carioca.”

“There are privacy wards already in place,” Stephen assured him.  It was unlikely the patriarch was paying close attention to them, with so many other problems concerning him, but he hadn’t survived so long by neglecting the basics.  “The staff are barred from these rooms.”

“You’ll excuse me if I check for myself,” Jeanne Rubén said.  It wasn’t a question.  She looked soft and warm, everyone’s favourite auntie.  It was easy to underestimate her, yet her smile and greying hair concealed a mind as sharp as an enchanted blade.  “I cannot live without the family, not at my age.”

“And I have matters to attend to in Shallot,” Davys Rubén said.  He wore mourning black, for his son who’d died only a few short months ago.  “Why are we here?”

Stephen waited for Jeanne to finish her examination of the charms, then studied his little cabal as they took their seats.  Andrew had been denied the power and positions he thought were his by right – a fairly common delusion – and, with the next generation readying itself to take the reins, faced a choice between gambling everything or retiring to the hinterlands of power.  Jeanne had old resentments driving her forward, demanding revenge for years of being told she couldn’t reach for supreme power herself.  And Davys had a son to avenge.

“Malachi is dead,” Stephen said, flatly.

“Good.”  Davys stared into the fire.  “The bastard got my son killed.”

“We had hoped Malachi could undermine our lord and master,” Stephen reminded him.  The disgraced outsider, the blackmailer, had been a tool.  Stephen had hoped he could rely on the man’s bottomless malice to damage Carioca without doing too much harm to the family as a whole.  He wouldn’t shed any tears for the man’s fiery death, but it had deprived him of a prospective weapon at the worst possible time.  “His death is quite awkward.”

He raised his voice, drawing their attention to him.  “The High Summer Ball will be held one month from now, in Aguirre Hall.  The ball will serve as both the coming-out party for the Aguirre Triplets and the formal announcement that Akin and Caitlyn are to be married.  The wedding date itself is still being negotiated, according to my source, but the general feeling is that it will take place on Winter’s Eve.  Carioca” – his voice darkened – “will not want to delay the nuptials too much.”

“Of course not,” Andrew said.  “The happy couple might decide they didn’t want to get married after all.”

“Which is possible,” Davys pointed out.  “They are betrothed, not engaged.”

“They appear to be very fond of each other,” Jeanne said, blandly.  “Their parents have worked hard to foster the match.  They are more compatible, in many ways, than most aristocratic couples.  I do not believe they will refuse to marry, when the time comes.”

Stephen grimaced.  Aristocratic matches were not about love.  Of course not.  The families came first.  Always.  The happy couple would have – should have – been raised to be realistic about such things.  As long as there were a handful of children, with no doubt about the bloodlines, the parents could do whatever they liked.  Stephen himself spent as little time with his wife as possible.  The feeling was mutual.

A flash of rage shot through him.  A Rubén, marrying an Aguirre?  Unthinkable.  Caitlyn could trace her ancestry back a thousand years, but Akin – and Stephen himself – could list his ancestors all the way back to the days before the Thousand Year Empire.  They’d been founders, senators, even emperors.  House Rubén had had its ups and downs – there’d been times when they’d been on top and times when they’d been clawing their way back up to the top – but the family had never declined for long.  House Aguirre … they were nothing more than parvenus.  They should have married into the older families, not set up bloodlines of their own.

He calmed himself with an effort.  “If we don’t act now, Akin will be the next Patriarch and Caitlyn will be his wife.  The two families will slowly merge, leaving us – ­us – on the sidelines.  Our bloodlines will be diluted, our family magics shared or lost forever.  We will lose everything, even our name!”

“And if we do act, we lose access to Caitlyn’s … talents,” Jeanne pointed out, evenly.  “House Aguirre will have an unbeatable advantage.”

“Caitlyn cannot be unique,” Stephen said.  “There have to be others.”

“We have found none,” Jeanne said.

Stephen said nothing for a long moment.  He had a trump card, a piece of information that had fallen into his hand, but he didn’t dare play it openly.  Not until they were ready to follow him.  There were too many players in the game for his peace of mind.  The cabal was hardly bound together by oaths of blood and promises of ancestral retribution.  Carioca would probably be very forgiving to whoever came to him, to betray the cabal before it was too late.  Stephen would have rewarded a willing traitor and he was fairly sure Carioca would do the same. 

“She isn’t invulnerable,” Davys pointed out.  “She can be killed.”

“That would trigger a House War,” Jeanne countered.  “And even if it didn’t, Akin would hunt the murderers down and kill them.”

Andrew leered.  “What about her children?  Would they have her talents … and their weaknesses?”

Stephen made a face.  The family – both families – had carefully avoided the question of precisely what would happen if Akin and Caitlyn’s children lacked magic.  Caitlyn was far from useless – she alone could make Objects of Power – but she was horrendously vulnerable too.  Stephen had been told that compulsion spells prevented her from actually doing anything useful, yet there were other ways to make someone compliant.  And if her children lacked magic too …

If they can’t defend themselves, they cannot lead the family, he thought.  And her family will feel the same way too.

Jeanne cleared her throat.  “What do you propose we do?”

She leaned forward, speaking with cold certainty.  “Francis is dead.  There are no other possible candidates for the patriarchy, certainly none who can hold a candle to Akin and would be interested in the role.  The majority of the new generation has made their peace with the concept of him suceeding his father.  The ones who might want to reach for the brass ring themselves have no hope of success.”

Stephen nodded.  He’d hoped Carioca and Davys would have more children, more prospective candidates for the patriarchy, but they’d been careful.  Very careful.  Carioca hadn’t wanted too many children competing for his favour, while Davys had clearly assumed Francis would either compete with his cousin or use his position as a bargaining chip when Akin succeeded his father.  None of them had realised that Malachi would push Francis too far, or that the Challenge would end in the young man’s death.  The disaster had left them scrambling to find another candidate before it was too late.

Andrew coughed.  “Penny?”

Jeanne snorted.  Penny Rubén had been doubly disgraced, first by being the daughter of Malachi and then by being demoted back to lowerclassman at school.  Akin himself had done it, supposedly for the best of motives.  Stephen suspected the younger man had planned it carefully, ensuring he could knock Penny down a peg or two in a manner no one could really challenge.  It was what Stephen would have done.  Akin might appear to be a genial good-natured child – young adult, now – but he was Carioca’s son.  He’d learnt his father’s lessons well. 

Davys looked up.  “House Aguirre’s Heir Primus is Alana, not Caitlyn,” he said.  “I don’t think Alana will give up her power so readily, even if merging the two families is good in the long run.”

“She may not have a choice,” Andrew said.  “What better dowry could Caitlyn bring than a prospective merger?”

Stephen cleared his throat.  “There’s one other possible candidate,” he said.  “Someone who might – who might – accept our guidance.”

“Really?”  Davys didn’t look impressed.  “Do you think Carioca has a natural-born son?”

“No,” Stephen said.  “I mean Isabella.”

Jeanne choked.  “Isabella?  But she’s a …”

A girl, Stephen finished, inwardly.  Tradition insisted that only men could head aristocratic families and House Rubén, traditional in all things, refused to bend to the modern world.  Jeanne had seen her ambitions curtailed for the same reason as Isabella herself.  Her femininity meant she couldn’t rise to the very top, even though she would have been good in the role.  And are you going to support me now, because it may force the family to discard that tradition for the good of all?

Andrew had the same thought.  “Isabella is a girl,” he said.  “Carioca will laugh at us.”

“And she’s in exile,” Jeanne added.  Her face was so expressionless Stephen knew she was thinking furiously.  “She betrayed the family.”

“She was young,” Stephen countered.

“Isabella is a girl,” Andrew repeated.  “I think you’re overlooking the simple fact that she isn’t eligible to lead … by the ancestors!  She’s in exile!”

“Carioca wants to bring her home,” Davys said, slowly.  “The council voted to send her into exile and leave her there.”

“Yes,” Stephen said.  “And we represent a good chunk of the council.  We could bring her exile to an end.  We can also nominate her as a prospective leader.”

Jeanne made a rude sound.  “And how do you intend to convince the council to break with tradition?”

“Yeah.”  Andrew leaned back in his chair.  “The council rejected Jeanne, even though Jeanne was infinitively superior to Carioca.  She had age and knowledge and practical experience, all of which Isabella lacks.  Why should they accept someone who is even younger than Carioca himself, when he assumed the role?”

“There are two factors in our favour,” Stephen said.  “First, we would be putting her forward as a regent, rather than a patriarch – a matriarch – in her own right.  There is precedent for both regencies, when the new generation is immature, and for women to serve in such roles.  There is also precedent” – he allowed himself a smile – “for a regency to evolve into a de facto patriarchy.  I might refer you to …”

“Yes, but not for a woman,” Jeanne snapped.  The bitterness in her voice was clear.  “Your precedents will not hold up if Akin challenges them, let alone someone else from the next generation.”

“We comprise a sizable fraction of the council,” Stephen reminded them.  “As long as she has our support, no challenge can hope to succeed.”

And that will keep her in line, his thoughts added, coldly.  She’ll do everything in her power to make sure she doesn’t lose our support.

“You cunning bastard.”  Andrew clapped his hands.  “You’ve found a loophole!”

Davys looked uncomfortable.  “You mentioned two factors,” he said.  “What’s the other one?”

Stephen braced himself.  They were ready, he thought.  But what if he was wrong?

“I had a visit recently, from another disgraced member of the family,” he said.  “She told me something that changes everything.”

“Really?”  Davys didn’t look impressed.  “And what was that, pray tell?”

Stephen told them.

Chapter One: Akin

To attend Magus Court, to shadow my father from chamber to chamber, is a great honour.

I told myself that, again and again, as we strode down the long corridor to the innermost chambers.  The centre of the corridor was clear, no one would dare get in our way, but the walls were lined with clients, soldiers, lobbyists, politicians, newspaper reporters and sycophants who wanted to pay us for the privilege of kissing our boots, all talking so loudly the words blurred into a deafening howl.  My father appeared to be ignoring them, but – every so often – he would nod to someone and his secretary, bringing up the rear, would make arrangements for a private interview later in the day.  He’d told me it was a good way to make sure he knew what was really going on, that no one further down the food chain was trying to limit what information reached his ears.  It struck me as uncomfortably paranoid, but I’d learnt a hard lesson from Uncle Malachi.  It was hard not to grimace at the thought.  He might be dead, under mysterious circumstances, but his influence lingered on.

A young reporter, barely out of her teens, caught my eye.  “When’s the wedding?”

I gritted my teeth, schooling my face into a blank mask as I fixed my eyes to my father’s robes.  The golden outfit he wore, topped with an fancy wig, marked him as a man of power and influence, a man who drew supplicants to him like flies to honey.  I’d learnt to detest the hordes of vultures as I started my apprenticeship with my father, the men and women offering anything – anything at all – in exchange for a word in my ear.  A tiny minority had something useful to offer, my father had said.  The trick was telling which ones were worthy of an offer of patronage.

The reporter kept pace with us, somehow.  “Have you agreed on a date …?”

I kept my face blank, somehow.  It had taken months to agree that Cat – and her sisters – would have their coming-out ball on High Summer, at the end of the Season.  Cat had been a little ambient about it, but her sisters had been furious at being kept as children while their peers made the leap to adulthood.  The families were still arguing over when – precisely – Cat and I would be married.  Personally, I just wanted to get it done and dusted.  I wanted to be with her, not forced to meet under chaperonage or snatch a few private minutes from our families.  But no one could hide from the implications of our match.  Nothing would ever be the same again.

A pair of armsmen appeared from nowhere, seemingly literally, and frogmarched her out of the corridor.  I hoped they’d be gentle.  The poor girl probably just wanted a scoop, something that would make her name in a competitive world.  I didn’t really blame her, even though she’d poked a running sore.  Cat and I would be married.  There was too much riding on the wedding for either of us to back out, if either of us wanted to back out.  We just didn’t know when we’d be married.

We reached the end of the corridor and passed through a pair of security wards tuned to our magic.  Boswell – the secretary – remained behind, speaking to a handful of potential clients, while we walked into the elevator and allowed it to carry us upwards.  I relaxed, slightly, as more and more privacy wards fell into place.  Father held himself steady.  He’d told me, more than once, that the wards didn’t guarantee our privacy, even here.  Magus Court was layered with hundreds upon thousands of protective spells, but every sorcerer who fancied himself a player was trying to break them.  Knowledge was power, particularly if one was the only person who knew it.

The door hissed open, revealing a secure chamber.  Alana and Uncle Joaquin – Lord Joaquin Aguirre, her father – were already waiting for us, her father sitting on a comfortable armchair and Alana standing behind him as if she were nothing more than a servant.  She was learning from her father, just like me.  She met my eyes and winked, then lowered her gaze again.  It was hard to believe, sometimes, that she and Cat were siblings.  They were very different.

I studied her, thoughtfully, as I took my place behind my father.  Alana wore a long white robe, very much like mine, although her personal tailor had tightened it around the chest … I was surprised her father hadn’t ordered her to change before they left the manor.  The dress contrasted oddly with her dark face and darker hair, the latter still in braids despite her age.  I was sure she found that more than a little humiliating.  Her friends and many of her cousins had already been through their coming-out, when they were formally acknowledged as adults.  Alana might be her father’s heir, but she couldn’t even speak for herself …

Maybe that’s the point, I thought.  If she messes up now, it can just be blamed on her immaturity and everyone will pretend to believe it.

I shoved the feeling aside as our respective fathers exchanged greetings and got down to work.  They’d been rivals before becoming allies and there were times when I thought they would be more comfortable returning to rivalry, even though it would tear the alliance between our families apart.  I wondered, deep inside, if either of them had their doubts about the future.  They’d gambled everything on a plan to keep the two families allied permanently, but … things were going to change.  The families might never be united, yet …

Alana looked calm and composed as our fathers talked, hashing out issues in private so they could present a united front in public.  It was an impressive act, I had to admit.  She stood at attention, hands clasped behind her back.  If I hadn’t known her so well, I wouldn’t have known she was bored stiff.  Not, of course, that she wasn’t paying attention.  Her eyes were demurely lowered, but I was sure she was listening to every word and filing it away for later consideration.  I told myself I should be doing the same thing.  Father had made it clear he wouldn’t live forever.  There would come a time when I’d have to step into his shoes.  It wasn’t a pleasant thought.  I wasn’t one of the spoilt brats counting the days until my parents died.  I wanted them to live!

“The question is, do we accept her as a representative?”  Father’s voice was very quiet, a sure sign he was talking about something important.  I hastily replayed the conversation in my mind.  “And do we accept she won the vote legitimately?”

Uncle Joaquin frowned.  “It would be very hard to prove she didn’t.  The dockworkers are a very numerous group.  It makes it harder for anyone to rig the elections.”

Including us, I thought, coldly.  In theory, the guilds elected their representatives to Magus Court.  In practice, the guilds were so riddled with aristocratic patronage networks that we had a great deal of say in who got elected to what.  The bigger the group, the harder it is to control.

“And that means she outdid our own picked nominees,” Father said.  “Do we go along with it or do we seek to reject her?”

I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he’d smiled.  “Akin?  What do you think?”

“I think we have to accept the result, unless we have clear proof she cheated,” I said.  I found it hard to believe that Louise Herdsman had cheated, even after the Infernal Devices that had shook the city last month.  She wasn’t the type to cheat, particularly when she knew she had powerful enemies who would do everything in their power to prove she cheated.  “We have to uphold the system or it’ll collapse, taking us down with her.”

“And she’s just one person, with few real connections,” Alana added.  “Let her waste her time playing politics.  It’ll dampen the reformist fire.”

I kept my face impassive.  Louise Herdsman was a merchant’s daughter, hardly the sort of person to impress Alana.  Or Isabella, for that matter.  It was easy to class her as a know-nothing know-it-all, someone who couldn’t even be bothered to dress the part.  And yet, she was a very capable and determined magician in her own right.  Her zeal for social reform had only sharpened, in her last few months at Jude’s.  I wasn’t remotely surprised she’d walked into the trepid reform movement and made it her own.  The real surprise was that she’d managed to win enough dockworkers to her banner to win an election.  And yet …

Clever, I conceded.  She comes out ahead whatever we do.

“She might have some useful ideas,” I said, carefully.  “She really shouldn’t be underestimated.”

Father glanced up at me.  “Do you think she’d work with us?”

I hesitated.  I’d worked with Louise myself, back when we’d taken the Challenge.  She was a hard person to like, with so many rough edges it was easy to see why she had few real friends, but … she wasn’t a hard person to admire.  She had a passion that burned deep within her, a passion I found appealing and terrifying at the same time.  I honestly wasn’t sure how to put that into words.  They’d probably come back to haunt me.  Alana would see to it personally.

“I think she’d be open to discussions,” I said, carefully.  “But she wouldn’t be open to bribery or corruption.”

“Every man has his price.”  Alana didn’t seem impressed.  “And we can bid very high indeed.”

“I doubt it,” I said.  “There are some things money can’t buy.”

Our respective parents tabled the matter, for the moment, and moved on to a different topic.  I forced myself to listen, doing my best to keep my boredom off my face.  Alana seemed as impassive as ever, but I could tell she was bored too.  And she wanted to be her father’s successor.  I wasn’t anything like so keen on the idea.  I didn’t really want to spend my days in Magus Court, holding meetings in smoke-filled backchambers, or dealing with an endless succession of clients and supplicants.  If Isabella hadn’t been disgraced, if women had been allowed to lead the family, I would have stepped aside without hesitation.  Isabella would have been good at it.  Me?  I wasn’t sure I’d be anything more than a placeholder until the true successor arrived.

The thought bothered me more than I dared say, not to my father.  I was looking at nearly two centuries of life, barring accidents or acts of war.  I was going to be spending those years building my position, then securing my position so I could pass it to my son without a major struggle.  I’d seen enough of father’s manoeuvrings to know just how far he’d gone to make sure I could take his place.  His enemies wouldn’t be able to regroup in time to make a challenge when he stepped down …

My father cleared his throat.  “We could do with some coffee,” he said.  “Perhaps you two could go fetch it.”

Alana looked displeased, just for a second.  We might be the juniors, the lowest-ranking people in the room, but … we were aristocrats.  We weren’t servants.  And yet I wasn’t anything like so unhappy.  It was a chance to step out of the chamber and relax, before returning to the political debate.  I wasn’t remotely fooled by the genteel talk.  Our fathers were skirmishing as aggressively as a pair of duellists, testing each other before they moved in for the kill.

I bowed and headed for the door.  Alana followed me.  I could feel her gaze boring into my back.  I was pretty sure she was irked at having to leave, that she thought our fathers would be discussing matters they thought unsuitable for our ears.  There was only one issue my father wouldn’t discuss with me, one issue that he thought better handled by my elders and betters.  And that was the date Cat and I were to be married.

“You defended Louise,” Alana said, as soon as we were alone.  “Do you like her that much?”

“She’s an impressive person,” I said.  I wasn’t blind to the unasked question.  Alana might have feared I had feelings for Louise, just because I’d worked with her and tutored her.  “And she has the courage of her convictions.”

Alana snorted.  “And yet she didn’t spend any time forming alliances with her classmates.”

I stopped and turned to look at her.  “She’s just gotten herself elected to Magus Court,” I said, bluntly.  “And she did it alone, without becoming someone’s client.  She didn’t need an alliance, any more than she needed to submit herself permanently to one of us.  She’s become one of the most important people in the city and she’s no older than you or I.”

“Hah.”  Alana snorted, again.  “She’s nowhere near as powerful as us.”

“You and I inherited our positions,” I reminded her.  I doubted she’d understand.  “Your sisters aren’t interested in power.  I don’t have any brothers.  Neither of us had to compete for our family titles, let alone at a severe and seemingly permanent disadvantage.  Louise, on the other hand, had to fight for everything.  She’s not someone to underestimate.”

Alana walked past me, into the tiny kitchenette.  I knew she didn’t believe me, yet … I had been paying attention to Father’s lessons.  Louise was in a strong position, perhaps stronger than she knew.  There was no way the Great Houses could unite against the Dockworkers Guild, not without cutting their own throats.  It would be very hard, if not impossible, to convince them to recall her, let alone elect one of our clients in her place.  I had a feeling we’d hexed ourselves in the foot.  There’d been so many possible candidates, clients of one family or another, that Louise hadn’t needed an absolute majority to win.  She’d just needed more votes than anyone else.

And she doesn’t even have to do much to keep them happy, I thought.  I was suddenly convinced she knew precisely what she was doing.  As long as she doesn’t make any serious mistakes, they’ll keep voting for her.

I dismissed the thought as I stepped into the kitchenette myself.  It was small, surprisingly compact for Magus Court.  Alana poured water into a jug, muttered a heating spell and settled back to wait.  I found a pair of plates, piled them high with biscuits and placed them both on a tray.  Cat would probably laugh, if she saw me waiting on my father.  I wondered, idly, what Louise would think of it.

Alana cleared her throat.  “You know what they’re discussing?”

I nodded.  “Have you heard anything?”

“Dad’s been hinting we’ll be coming out at the end of the summer,” Alana said.  There was a hint of bitterness in her voice.  She was eighteen and yet she was still legally a child.  I was sure her friends and cronies were carefully not mentioning it in a manner that drew attention to the elephant in the room.  “Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing too specific,” I confessed.  Father had acknowledged me as an adult after I’d completed the Challenge.  I had a feeling he might have waited longer, if I hadn’t proved myself.  “I’ve been told to keep my nose out of the discussions.”

Alana smirked, her dark eyes sparkling with sudden mischief.  “And have you actually obeyed?”

I felt my cheeks heat.  “Father wouldn’t be very pleased if he knew I was spying on him.”

“So, you have.”  Alana’s smirk grew wider.  “What did you hear?”

“Nothing.”  I shook my head in some frustration.  The discussions had taken place on neutral ground.  House Lamplighter perhaps, if they hadn’t been held at Magus Court itself.  “I haven’t heard the matter being discussed, not formally.  Just a lot of stupid chatter from stupid relatives.”

It wasn’t easy to keep the bitterness out of my voice.  House Rubén had been invaded by hundreds of relatives, ranging from my father’s cousins to people who had a very weak tie to the family … all of whom insisted on speaking to me, congratulating me on suceeding my father – even though I hadn’t even done it yet – and trying to convince me to remember them when I came into my own.  The fact the last two points contradicted themselves didn’t seem to bother them.  The only upside, as far as I could tell, was that I was building a list of people I really didn’t want on the family council. 

But I might not be able to keep them out, I thought, curtly.  I hadn’t realised, until he’d explained to me, why Father allowed some of his enemies to keep their seats.  Their positions are just too strong.

Alana tapped the pot, then poured water into the cups.  “I almost forgot,” she said, as she put the milk jug on the tray.  “I have a message for you.”

Somehow, I doubted she’d forgotten anything.  And there was only one person who’d use Alana as a go-between.  “From Cat?”

“She wants to see you.”  Alana’s voice was suddenly serious.  “In the Workshop, as soon as possible.  She burned up a favour to get me to pass the message on.”

I blinked.  Alana and Cat might have been getting on a little better, since their disastrous first decade, but Cat wouldn’t ask her sister for anything unless it was important.  And … it wasn’t the sort of message she’d normally trust to anyone.  Asking me to visit her – alone – could land us both in hot water.   Betrothed or not, we weren’t supposed to be unchaperoned until the wedding. 

“I’ll sneak off after lunch,” I said.  “Cover for me?”

“You’ll owe me,” Alana said.  “And believe me, you’ll pay.”

I nodded as I picked up the tray and carried it back into the meeting chamber.  It was hard not to keep the concern off my face.  Cat had a dozen ways to send me a perfectly legitimate message, including a couple that – probably – wouldn’t go through one or both families first.  If it was that important … I wondered, suddenly, if I should fake an illness and leave early.  Father wouldn’t be pleased, but …

“Thank you,” Father said.  He took the coffee and sipped it.  “Joaquin?”

“We have come to a decision,” Uncle Joaquin said.  He looked at his daughter, his dark face unreadable.  “The High Summer Ball will be held at Aguirre Hall.  It will serve as your formal coming-out party …”

Alana gasped, losing – for once – control of her face.  I swallowed hard, a multitude of feelings racing through me.  I didn’t know what to think.  The wedding date itself might not have been set, but it was only a matter of time.  And then … I stared down at my hands, suddenly apprehensive.  Cat wanted to see me.  Why?

“Thank you, Dad,” Alana said.  She dropped a curtsey that looked completely heartfelt.  “I won’t let you down.”

“I have every faith in you,” Uncle Joaquin said.  “And your siblings.”

Father glanced at me.  “The formal announcement will be made at lunchtime,” he said, quietly.  “Until then, try not to cheer too loudly.”

I grinned.  Cat and I were going to be married!  And … I promised myself, as our fathers discussed the arrangements for the ball, that I was going to see her as soon as possible.  If she wanted me to visit, if she’d gone to some trouble to ensure I got the message quickly, it had to be urgent.  And …

Go see her, before everyone else hears the news, I thought, numbly.  I was pretty sure the word had already gotten out.  Father and Uncle Joaquin wouldn’t have made up their minds on the spur of the moment.  I’d be surprised if the gossip papers weren’t already putting out special editions.  And find out what she wants before it’s too late.

Stuck in Magic 8

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Chapter Eight

The question mocked me as I purchased some food from a roadside stall and forced myself to eat it.  Why should anyone listen to me?  I was no one.  I wasn’t a warlord or a magician or even a wealthy merchant.  Hell, for all I knew, I was missing something.  There were no shortage of horror stories about ignorant do-gooders who’d made things worse because they didn’t really know what was going on.  Sure, buying food staples in bulk can save money in the long run, but only if you have the space to store the food.  What sort of idiot wouldn’t realise that poor people often didn’t have the space to store anything?

A ignorant idiot ignorant of her own ignorance and idiocy, I thought.  My stomach shifted as I chewed a piece of meat … I thought it was meat.  I didn’t want to know what it had been, before it had been killed and tossed in the cooking pot.  But what am I going to do here?

I was terrifyingly aware of my own ignorance.  I’d come to a world where no one gave a damn about the colour of my skin or college degree and yet … I didn’t have the slightest idea how to apply for a job.  Or what was fair pay.  Or what my legal rights were … actually, I was fairly sure I didn’t have any rights.  Damansara didn’t strike me as a place founded on law, order and a shared understanding of the rules.  The citizens had presumably evolved ways to govern themselves, but I didn’t even know who to ask for help.  And who would give me help?  I didn’t know that either.

The marketplace surrounded me as I wandered through the square.  The merchants might be interested in hiring me … it was galling to consider being a shopboy or delivery man after spending years in the army, but it was better than starvation.  I’d known too many people who’d refused to do menial labour, even when it was that or starve.  I knew better than to let myself fall into that mindset.  And yet, I didn’t even know where to begin.  Who’d be interested in hiring me?  I didn’t even know how to ask.

I wandered past a stall piled high with fruits and vegetables, wondering if the stallkeeper would be interested in a spare pair of hands.  I needed somewhere to stay as well as money to earn my keep … I was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, but I doubted I’d last a night if I tried sleeping in an alleyway.  Shantytowns and homeless encampments tended to be thoroughly unsafe for strangers.  I was lucky I wasn’t a young woman running away from home.  I’d probably find myself being sweet-talked by a pimp, then get put to work turning tricks on the street.  Somehow, I couldn’t see myself being a successful prostitute.  Even Cleo had hesitated to describe me as handsome.

The thought hurt, more than I cared to admit.  I’d loved her.  I loved my boys.  But I’d never see them again and they’d never know what had happened to me.  The army would probably class me as a deserter, as someone who’d driven into the countryside and vanished … I made a face.  They’d never even find the car.  And …

I heard a shout behind me and turned, just in time to see a young boy – he couldn’t be older than fourteen, although it was hard to be sure – running away from a stall as if the hounds of hell were behind him.  He held a loaf of bread in one hand.  The merchant was shouting about thieves … I realised, to my horror, that he’d stolen the bread.  A flash of naked anger ran through me.  I’d known too many would-be shopkeepers ruined because of thieves, their livelihoods destroyed because they couldn’t replenish their stock or … I lunged forward without thinking and tackled him.  He tumbled to the ground, lashing out with surprising strength.  It was hard to get a grip on him.  He twisted and turned in a desperate bid to escape.  I held him down, ducking a wild blow aimed at my face as I caught his arms and pressed them against the ground.  The loaf of bread hit the street and lay still.  I hoped someone wouldn’t try to eat it.  I’d seen animals shitting and pissing on the ground.  There were things on the cobblestones no one wanted in their mouth.

“Got the brat!”  I looked up to see a pair of city guardsmen running towards me.  “Good work!”

The thief twisted underneath me.  One of the guards clapped me on the shoulder, then pushed me off the boy and kicked him hard.  Too hard.  I tensed, suddenly wondering if I’d made a mistake.  The boy was a thief and yet … the other guard caught hold of the lad by his hair and yanked him upright, then searched him roughly.  A set of pouches tumbled to the ground.  I guessed the boy was a pickpocket as well as a thief.  And yet …

I eyed the guardsmen warily as they pocketed the pouches, making sure to keep their hands on the boy.  They looked … it was hard to put the feeling into words.  They didn’t look very professional.  They looked more like thugs than real policemen.  I had the feeling they were the type of guardsmen who’d take bribes, who’d exploit their positions for all they were worth.  I’d met the type, in Afghanistan.  They’d managed to unite entire districts against them.  A shudder ran down my spine.  Who could blame the locals for wanting the policemen dead?

“You’ll come with us,” the lead guard said.  I was certain it wasn’t a request.  “Come.”

I hesitated.  They were muscular, but I didn’t think they knew how to use it.  I could take them both, even without the gun.  And yet … I considered running, on the assumption I could simply outrun them, but where would I go?  The boy I’d caught moaned in pain as one of the guardsmen kicked his ankle, hobbling him.  I sighed and fell into step beside them.  It was hard not to miss the looks people were giving me.  They probably felt I’d done the wrong thing.  I was starting to feel the same way too.

The crowds parted as we walked down the streets.  I couldn’t help noticing how many people turned away from the guardsmen, as if they were fearful of attracting their attention.  I’d seen that before too, in places where honest policemen met unpleasant ends and government cared more for appearance than reality.  I wasn’t sure this place was advanced enough to care about appearance, but … I considered, again and again, simply running for my life.  And yet, it was pointless?  Where the hell would I go?

Perhaps I shouldn’t have shot those guys, I thought, morbidly.  Perhaps I should have asked Jasmine to take me …

The boy let out a moan as a small fortress came into view.  I stared in astonishment.  The guardhouse was a blocky structure that looked designed to withstand a siege, surrounded by a wall topped with iron spikes.  A pair of guardsmen stood outside the gates, their hands resting on their swords.  The street beyond was surprisingly quiet.  I guessed no one wanted to walk past the guardhouse for fear they’d be dragged inside and tortured.  My escorts spoke to the gatekeepers, then marched through the gate and into the building.  The air inside was surprisingly cold.  I shivered, helplessly.  The thief was passed to a pair of guardsmen and I was shown to a stone bench.  I shrugged, sat and waited.  It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do.

I forced myself to wait for what felt like hours.  Guardsmen – all men, I noted – came and went with astonishing regularity.  They wore the same uniform – a white tunic with a black belt and sash – but otherwise they were strikingly dissimilar.  Some were old, some were young; their skins ranged from white to black and everything in between.  Some of them looked as if they could get into Special Forces without even trying, others were weirdly acrofatic to the point I couldn’t help wondering if they’d been cursed.  One of the weirder looking men reminded me of Obelix.  They chatted to each other like …

Silence fell.  I looked up to see a middle-aged man making his way towards me.  He wore the same white tunic, but a golden – or at least gold-coloured – sash.  I would have known he was in charge even without it, from the way the rest of the guardsmen deferred to him.  His face was rough, covered with unkempt stubble; his smile was missing several teeth; his piggish eyes showed a glint of intelligence unleavened by humanity.  I was careful not to meet his eyes as he marched closer.  I had the feeling he’d take it as a challenge.

He looked me up and down, his expression managing to suggest he’d seen more impressive people sleeping rough on the streets.  I did my best to remain calm, yet ready to act.  I’d met my share of unfit commanding officers, but the newcomer managed to be worse.  He looked the type to explode at a moment’s notice, the type who could be set off by anyone or anything.  I braced myself, unsure if I’d be rewarded or punished.  It was quite possible I’d made a serious mistake and put my neck in the noose.

“So,” the newcomer said.  He had no indoor voice.  He sounded like a sea captain trying to make himself heard in a storm.  “Who are you?”

“Elliot, sir,” I said.

“I am Captain Alder, City Guard,” the man thundered.  He turned away.  “Come.”

I stood and followed him through a twisting maze of corridors.  The building felt old, as if it had been passed down from generation to generation of guardsmen.  I suspected the interior had been designed to confuse intruders as much as anything else, although there was no way to be sure.  Captain Alder marched onwards without so much as slowing down, forcing everyone else to get the hell out if his way.  I wasn’t even sure he was looking where he was going.  It looked as if he didn’t have to.  I saw men jumping out of his way as if they were about to be run down by a charging elephant.

My lips quirked.  I hastily smoothed them into a neutral expression as Captain Alder led me into a small room.  Another man – tall, thin, bald and strikingly pale – stood to greet us.  He nodded to Captain Alder, then looked at me.  I felt an odd little tingle as his eyes met mine for a second.  Magic?  The man was dressed in black.  Jasmine had told me that magicians were the only people allowed to wear black clothes. 

Crap, I thought.  I didn’t have the slightest idea what this man could do, but … there was something in Captain Alder’s posture that suggested the magician was dangerous.  It was strange, very worrying.  I’d known boys who were so insane, so willing to do anything to hurt someone even if it meant getting hurt themselves, that they’d scared even grown men.  What now?

“Sit,” Captain Alder ordered.  He pointed to a chair.  “Why did you help my men?”

I felt a strange compulsion to answer – and answer truthfully.  It was disconcerting to feel my lips threatening to move of their own accord, to speak words that I didn’t quite want to speak.  I tried to shape a lie, it refused even to form.  I cursed under my breath, wondering if I should shoot the pair of them and then try to escape.  Magic … who knew what the sorcerer could do to defend himself?  They had guns.  It wasn’t impossible they knew how to protect themselves too.

“I don’t like thieves,” I said, finally.  It was true.  It was also a test of just how much the spell would allow me to do.  I could say anything I liked, as long as it was true.  I’d just have to be careful my answers matched the questions.  I was pretty sure they had ways of making me talk.  “They ruin lives and businesses.”

“Good.”  Captain Alder seemed oddly amused by my answer.  “You’re new to the city, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.  I tried to tell a half-truth, to say I’d been in the city before, but I couldn’t force myself to shape the words.  “I’ve only just arrived.”

“I see,” Captain Alder said.  “Where do you come from?”

I tensed.  They might not believe the whole truth, spell or no spell.  And if they did … I shuddered, inwardly.  I wasn’t sure what would be worse.  If they believed me … I wondered what they’d do.  Laugh at me?  Enslave me?  Sell me to someone who could put my knowledge to work?  Or … I didn’t want to know.

“I was brought from a distant land,” I said, carefully.  “I’ve been travelling ever since.”

The sorcerer leaned forward.  “You have a translation spell on you,” he said.  “Why don’t you speak the common tongue?”

“I was never taught how to speak it,” I said.  “I’m trying to learn.”

Captain Alder studied me for a long moment.  “Did you run away from a farm?”

“No, sir,” I said.

“Good,” Captain Alder said.  He seemed pleased by my answer.  It took me a moment to realise he’d have had to return a runaway to his former master.  “What are you doing in the city?”

“Looking for a job,” I said.  “It isn’t going very well.”

Captain Alder laughed.  “What sort of job do you want?”

“Something that pays and lets me have a place to sleep,” I said.  There were several other answers, but I didn’t want to get into them.  I needed to learn how the city really worked – and master the common tongue – before I tried anything more complex.  “I’m not that picky.”

Captain Alder and the sorcerer exchanged glances.  “Last question,” Captain Alder said.  “Do you want to join the guard?”

I blinked in surprise, then kicked myself.  There was no reason to believe the locals vetted the guardsmen very thoroughly, if at all.  Captain Alder had confirmed that I was new to the city and in desperate need of a job and … he didn’t need to know anything else.  Hell, he might see my lack of anywhere else to go as a positive advantage.  Besides, I might just have made myself unpopular by catching the thief.  The locals probably didn’t like thieves, but I’d bet my life they hated the City Guard even worse.  I might discover the locals didn’t feel inclined to help me at all.

“It would be a good job,” I said, although I wasn’t sure that was true.  The spell should have kept me from lying, but … what if I didn’t know I was lying?  I found it hard to believe the spell could determine absolute truth or … I shook my head.  There would be time to think about the implications later.  I needed to learn the common tongue, then start studying.  “I would be interested.”

“Good.”  Captain Alder glanced at the sorcerer.  “Thunder, I’ll see you later.”

The sorcerer – I tried not to snicker at the name – stood and left the room.  I shaped a lie in my mouth, just to test if the spell was still working.  The lie seemed ready to leave my lips.  I didn’t dare say it out loud as Captain Alder stood and stared down at me.  I was taller than him, I thought, but he had a presence that dominated the room.  It was hard to escape the sense I was far too close to a wild animal, one that might turn on me at any moment.  I wasn’t sure what I’d managed to get myself into, this time.  Working as a guardsman might just land me in worse trouble.

“Kneel,” Captain Alder ordered.  “Have you ever sworn fealty before?”

I shook my head.  I’d taken the oath, when I’d joined the army, but I had a feeling Captain Alder meant something different.  It was disturbing to kneel, let alone place my hands in his and listen to a string of words that bore no resemblance to anything I’d heard back home, even in period dramas.  There was no mention of truth, justice or even law and order.  Instead, I was told to obey orders from my superiors and little else.  Back home, I’d been told policemen spent years training for the role.  Here … the ability to wield a club or a whip was sufficient.  I suspected there was no such thing as a written law code.

“Welcome.”  Captain Alder relaxed, slightly, when he’d finished reciting the oath.  He hadn’t asked me to recite it back to him, not even the important parts.  “I’ll have you outfitted at once.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask questions so quickly – Captain Alder would probably react badly – but I owed it to my conscience to take some risks.  “Sir … the boy I caught … what will happen to him?”

“The street rat?”  Captain Alder shrugged, as if the matter was of no importance.  “He’ll be lamed, probably.  Or sold into slavery.  There are lots of people who’ll pay good money for a young worker …”

I felt my gorge rise.  I’d caught the boy and condemned him to … I swallowed hard, cursing myself savagely.  What the hell had I done?  This wasn’t America.  This was … this was somewhere completely different.  And I might have made a dreadful mistake.

Learn the rules, I told myself, savagely.  There was nothing I could do to save the boy.  Not now.  And then you can figure out how to make things better.

Stuck in Magic CH7

How is the serial format working out?

Chapter Seven

I couldn’t say I was surprised.

Not really, not after I’d killed the three knights.  Clearly, there was something going on I didn’t understand.  It was a grim reminder that I was a stranger in a strange land.  Jasmine could have stopped them and yet … I didn’t understand.  I promised myself I’d think about it later, when I had time.  The bodies were cooling, and the Diddakoi were burying them by the roadside, yet it was only a matter of time until their master realised they were missing.  They hadn’t looked to be part of a decent outfit, with superiors who looked out for them, but I couldn’t take it for granted.  In my experience, most warlords tended to be very aware of the foundations of their power.  The ones who lost sight of what put them on top tended to lose everything else very quickly.

A chill ran down my spine as the wind shifted, bringing with it a reminder of the encroaching desert.  The Diddakoi were ignoring me – although some of the young men were shooting admiring glances at me – and I felt alone, even though I had yet to start walking.  I didn’t even know where I’d do.  Heading further into the warlord’s territory struck me as foolish, perhaps even dangerous.  Small communities and suchlike tended to be worried about strangers.  The odds were good I couldn’t pass for a local.  Everything from skin colour to posture shouted that I was a traveller from distant lands.  I feared the worst if they decided I was a potential threat.  For all they knew, I was the vanguard of an invading army.

If my entire unit had arrived here, I thought sourly, we could have carved out an empire before we ran out of bullets.

I put the thought aside as wishful thinking and checked my pistol.  I had four rounds left in the clip and another clip on my belt.  It was a relief to know the bullets could go through armour – and whatever magical protections the knights might have had – but my military superiority wouldn’t last.  Once the bullets were gone, they were gone.  Hell, just having superior weapons was no guarantee of victory.  In theory, I could reload the gun with local powder.  In practice, I feared that trying would end with the pistol exploding in my hand.

Jasmine caught my arm and pulled me behind the caravan.  She looked … flushed, although I wasn’t sure why.  Embarrassment I’d saved her?  Or … I gritted my teeth, unwilling to entertain the thought of her family blaming her for being groped.  I’d seen that before, in too many countries to mention.  And … I still wasn’t sure why she hadn’t saved herself.  The knights hadn’t posed any kind of threat to her.  She could have blasted them all before they could react, let alone lash out or run.

“Thanks.”  Jasmine’s hands twisted for a long moment.  “I …”

I took the plunge.  “Why didn’t you save yourself?”

“There are agreements,” Jasmine said.  “I could … I could have handled it.  I could have dealt with them.  I could have … I could have handled them in ways that wouldn’t bring a world of trouble down on our heads.  But … I couldn’t do anything overt.”

I reminded myself, sharply, that this was a very different world.  The Diddakoi paid a price for their freedom to roam where they willed.  And yet … it was hard to accept I might have done the wrong thing.

“There are hexes of permanent impotence,” Jasmine was saying.  I barely heard her.  “Or other spells, all of which …”

“I’m sorry,” I said, although it wasn’t really true.  There was no point in begging to be allowed to stay.  My presence was a liability now.  The Diddakoi would have to swear blind the knights had allowed them to pass, then met their fate later on.  I supposed it would be easy enough.  The local warlord might not even realise just what had killed his men.  Even if he knew about gunpowder and muskets, my gun was from a whole other world.  “I …”

I wanted to ask her to come with me, but I had the feeling it would be pointless.  Jasmine was going to go back to school, leaving her people alone.  Unprotected.  I supposed there might be a reason she had so much freedom … I shook my head, trying to put the amateur speculation aside.  This society had magic.  There was no reason to assume it had evolved along similar lines to my own and plenty of reasons to suspect otherwise.  How did society cope with some of its people were effectively weapons of mass destruction?

Jasmine held up a hand, then scrambled into the caravan and started to rattle through her drawers.  I waited, silently cataloguing what I’d kept with me.  Perhaps I could sell some of it for ready cash … I had a bunch of concepts I could sell for money, even if there was someone else who’d snapped up the low-hanging fruit, but getting them into production wasn’t going to be easy.  I didn’t even know enough to determine where best to start.  God knew there’d been plenty of busybodies, from the temperance and porridge women to civil affairs officers and social justice warriors, who hadn’t even bothered to ask why things were the way they were before trying to change them.  I’d hated that sort of arrogance when I was a kid.  And here, trying to meddle too much might end with my death.

“Here.”  Jasmine returned, carrying a small glass vial.  “Regeneration potion.  It’s tricky to make and pretty expensive, particularly as it isn’t tuned to a single person.  Drink it in a single swallow and it’ll repair anything that doesn’t kill you outright.  Once.  Don’t try to dilute it.  You might be able to sell it, if you’re desperate, but make sure you drive a hard bargain.  You’ll only be able to sell it once.”

I swallowed.  I’d done a little buying in the marketplace, back in Damansara, but it hadn’t been easy to work out how much things cost.  Prices had been very variable, certainly outside the basics like food, drink and clothing.  “How much should I charge?”

“As much as the market will bear.”  Jasmine’s voice was serious.  Very serious.  “I could never have paid for the ingredients myself.  I had to brew the cauldron at Whitehall and I was lucky to be allowed to keep a couple of vials.  I was …”

She shook her head.  “If someone is seriously ill, the potion might save their life.  But if they’re desperate, they might try to take it.”

“I understand.”  I had the sudden feeling she’d given me something everyone would want to steal.  She might as well have given me a gold ingot to put in my pocket.  The ingot might have been safer.  “Do you … do you not need it for yourself?”

Jasmine smiled.  “I can handle most things without it,” she said, with a hint of pride.  “I was going to be a healer.  If it wasn’t for …”

Her voice trailed off.  I found it hard to look at her.  Jasmine’s smile was so bright it was otherworldly, as if I was unworthy to so much as glance at her.  It was suddenly very hard to even stand so close to her.  Jasmine dropped down from the caravan and stood next to me.  She barely came up to my shoulder, yet she seemed taller.  A crude joke ran through my head, only to be instantly dismissed.  She was something … different.

Jasmine touched my chest with a single extended finger.  I felt a faint tingle, which vanished so quickly I thought I’d imagined it.  My heart seemed to skip a beat, just for a second.  She leaned forward, reality itself seeming to twist around us.  I felt another tingle, a stronger one, as her lips kissed my forehead.  It was hard, so hard, to keep my mind focused.  She couldn’t kiss my forehead without my cooperation and yet … my head span.  It was all I could do to remain standing.  My mouth was so dry I couldn’t speak.

She stepped back.  Reality shifted, one final time, and snapped back into place.  My head ached in confusion.  What had just happened?  I couldn’t quite remember …

“I replenished the translation spell,” Jasmine said.  She sounded more … normal now, less of an untouchable goddess.  “And I gave you a little protection.”

My forehead tingled.  “What did you do to me?”

“I gave you a little protection,” Jasmine repeated, patiently.  “It won’t last forever, as you don’t have magic yourself, but it’ll give you a chance.  I think you’ll be able to withstand one hex, perhaps two, before the protection is rendered useless.”

“And then someone will be able to turn me into a toad,” I guessed.  “Is that likely to happen?”

Jasmine frowned.  “It depends where you go,” she said.  “And what you wind up doing.”

“Ouch.”  I tried not to shudder.  I’d seen books listing curses and hexes … how many of them were actually real?  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”  Jasmine gave me an odd little smile.  “And thank you for riding with me.”

I took the rucksack and a proffered gift of water and food, the latter little more than hardtack and salt beef.  I’d never thought I’d miss MREs, but … I wished, not for the first time, that I’d known I was going to fall into another world.  I could have assembled a platoon of army buddies – I knew a bunch of people who’d be up for an adventure – or simply crammed a van with trade goods before driving down that road.  Hell, there were people who’d been raised in more traditional communities who had far more useful skills.  I wished – suddenly – that I’d spent some time on the farm.  I’d had a friend who’d invited me.  It felt like a lifetime ago.

The remainder of the Diddakoi ignored us as we walked to the edge of the convoy.  They’d finished burying the bodies, leaving the graves covered with sand and soil.  It was hard to tell the ground had been disturbed, let alone turned into makeshift graves.  A few hours – or days – would see the wind sweeping away what few clues remained.  By the time the bodies were discovered, if they ever were, the Diddakoi would be long gone.

“Don’t wear your pouch too openly,” Jasmine advised.  “And be careful what you say or do.”

I have no friends here, I thought.  I’d never been so alone in my life.  No one to come to my aid, no one to …

Jasmine kept talking.  “Make sure you keep practicing the language,” she warned.  “That spell won’t last forever.  Once it goes …”

“I understand,” I said.  I’d practiced already – and I had a great deal of experience with foreign languages – but I was going to have to do more.  It would be tricky to explain to a sorcerer what I needed if I couldn’t speak his tongue … if, of course, I could find a sorcerer I could trust.  I’d heard so many horror stories that I wanted to keep a safe distance from magic users … it didn’t help, I supposed, that I had no idea what a safe distance actually was.  “I …”

Jasmine gave me a tight hug.  “Take care of yourself,” she said.  “And may the gods go with you.”

I shivered as I returned the hug, then took one last look at the convoy.  The Diddakoi had been friendly, but distant.  I’d known I would have to decide, sooner or later, if I wanted to become one of them or leave … I hadn’t thought it would come so quickly.  The thought churned in my mind as I turned away, readying myself for the walk.  It wasn’t going to be easy returning to the city, but I knew I had to be there before dark.  The city gates would be closed and locked as soon as night began to fall, leaving me in the open.  I had the feeling it would prove hazardous to my health.

“Thank you, for everything,” I said.  “And goodbye.”

I raised a hand in salute, then turned away and started to walk.  Behind me, I heard the sounds of the Diddakoi mounting up and driving further into the warlord’s lands.  I hoped they’d be safe, I hoped they’d have the sense to keep their mouths shut if anything happened and they got caught.  Or they’d blame everything on me.  I didn’t want to be hunted by a man who probably had a small army under his command, but it would be better than him harassing the travellers.  Besides, he’d find it harder to track me than the convoy.

Unless he uses magic, I thought.  It was a hot day, the sun high in the sky, but I shivered anyway.  Who knows what he can do?

I tried not to think about it as I kept walking, maintaining a steady pace.  I’d done route marches and forced marches and – of course – I’d had to keep moving in Iraq and Afghanistan and a handful of other countries.  It was preferable, I told myself, to be here.  The locals might be suspicious of strangers – I was careful to circumvent the hamlets and villages, rather than walking through them – but at least they weren’t shooting at me.  The handful of people I saw looked too downtrodden to shoot at anyone, even if they’d had the guns.  I saw no weapons.  I was fairly sure the local warlord wouldn’t want his people to have guns.  They might start shooting at the knights instead of passing strangers.

The fields looked strange, an odd mixture of fertile and dried-out land.  I had the impression, although I couldn’t be sure, that the farms were undermanned.  It wasn’t easy to tell where one farm ended and the next began.  The road led me past dried ditches that might have marked the edges of a farm, or might have been nothing more than irrigation channels running dry through disuse.  I wondered, idly, why the farmers weren’t trying to produce more food.  The city wasn’t that far away.  I could easily imagine it consuming more and more food every year, particularly if the population continued to swell.

Which it might not, I thought.  There had to be limits to how much a city could grow, certainly in the absence of modern technology.  There’d been millions of people in New York and feeding them all had to be difficult.  I’d read a handful of books where the supply chains broke down and the results were looting and rioting, followed by mass starvation.  The larger the city, the greater the risk of total collapse if the food runs out.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, I decided, as I started to encounter more and more people heading to and from the city.  They looked like merchants and farmers.  A handful of them shot wary glances at me, but the majority seemed content to ignore the stranger.  They were all men, at least on the surface, yet I was sure a handful were actually women.  It wouldn’t have been apparent – not even remotely apparent – if I hadn’t grown up in a world where women regularly wore male clothes.  I didn’t blame them.  It wasn’t the first time I’d seen women pretend to be men in patriarchal societies.  It gave them more freedom, as well as security.  I guessed they were the wives, sisters and daughters of farmers, come to sell the farm’s wares.

My stomach growled as the city walls came into view.  I ate a piece of hardtack, then joined the line of people advancing towards the gates.  The wind shifted, blowing the stench of the city into my face.  I grimaced, telling myself I’d get used to it.  I had no choice.  There was nowhere else to go.  If the guards on the gates told me to get lost … I wondered, idly, what I’d do if that happened.  Try to sneak into the city?  Or set out into the unknown?  My heart started to race as I passed through the gates …

The guards ignored me.  They almost made a show of ignoring me.  I tensed, half-expecting to be jumped the moment I crossed the line into the city.  There were guards on the far side, all paying more attention to the farmers than to me.  They didn’t seem to be waiting for me … it took several moments to realise they were deliberately ignoring me because they didn’t want to take official notice of my presence, because they thought I was a runaway.  I was torn between relief and fear.  If I was taken for a runaway serf, I might be dragged back to a farm I’d never left …

I kept walking, allowing the city to envelop me.  I wasn’t sure where I was going.  People shouted back and forth, their words echoing in my ears as they pushed their way through the crowded streets.  I had the vague idea I could find a place to stay somewhere near the market, perhaps a job or two.  There was always work for someone willing to do the dirty stuff, I knew, although I wasn’t sure anyone was doing the dirty stuff here.  The streets were filthy.  I doubted there were any volunteers to clean the sewers … hell, I wasn’t even sure there were sewers.  My stomach churned at the thought.  Damansara was a breeding ground for flies and disease.  I wondered if they’d even made the connection between flies and disease.  Perhaps I could tell them.

And perhaps they wouldn’t listen, I thought, numbly.  I was starting to feel hunger pangs again.  Why should they listen to you?

Stuck in Magic CH6

Chapter Six

We left the following morning, bright and early.

I couldn’t believe just how clean the air was, after a week in the city.  It was hot and dry – I thought I could taste sand with every breath I took – and yet it was so pure.  The stench of human sweat and waste that had pervaded the city was gone, blown away by the smell of fields and pollen.  I thought I could taste sand in the air, whenever the wind shifted slightly, but I didn’t mind.  It was so far superior to the city that I honestly didn’t understand why so many people stayed there.

They don’t have a choice, I thought.  The city was … the city.  I’d picked up enough about local politics to know the cityfolk couldn’t simply move into the countryside and stay there.  The lucky ones would wind up swearing loyalty to the warlords or moving from place to place in hopes of finding work.  The unlucky ones … I grimaced.  The slave market haunted my dreams.  They’re stuck.

I glanced at Jasmine, sitting beside me as we led the convoy further down the rough road.  She looked oddly pensive.  She’d explained, as we waited to pass through the gates, that she’d be returning to magic school – I couldn’t help thinking of it as Hogwarts – within the month.  The thought bothered me more than I cared to admit, to anyone.  Jasmine was the closest thing I had to a friend, in the strange new world.  When she was gone … I didn’t know what I’d do.  I didn’t want to stay with her people and I didn’t want to set out on my own.  And there were no other choices.

My mind churned.  I’d moved from place to place before, but this was different.  This wasn’t my world.  The underlying assumptions of how things worked would be different.  The city might be reasonably tolerant – Jasmine had told me that merchants from all over the world passed though its gates – but the countryside would be suspicious of strangers.  I could see ways to irrigate the drying fields, yet … would they listen?  I’d met enough do-gooders back home, idiots who hadn’t understood how the world actually worked, to fear the locals wouldn’t listen to me.  They’d think I was just another idiot.  I would have sold my soul for the remainder of my old platoon, or even a handful of army buddies with guns.  If nothing else, we wouldn’t have been so vulnerable.  This was a dog-eat-dog world.

The wind kept shifting, blowing through Jasmine’s hair as she guided the horses onwards.  I frowned as we passed a set of hovels, the locals so worn they didn’t even look up at us as we passed, and headed deeper into the countryside.  The terrain was strange, a weird mixture of tundra, thickets and sandy near-desert that puzzled me.  I thought I spotted people living amongst the trees, but it was hard to be sure.  The back of my neck prickled as we headed further and further from the city.  I was certain we were being watched.  It was hard not to escape the feeling that some of the unseen eyes weren’t human.

“It’s good to be on the move again,” Jasmine said, more to herself than to me.  “We’ll find a place to camp somewhere …”

Her eyes narrowed as she peered into the distance.  I followed her gaze.  Three men on horseback sat ahead of us, holding what looked like spears.  It took me a moment to realise they were lances, honest to God lances.  A whiff of something unpleasant crossed my nostrils as the wind shifted again, a scent of horseshit mingled with something I couldn’t place.  They were knights in armour, yet they lacked the polish of movie knights or SCA recreationists.  It was hard to be sure – they were some distance away – but they looked more than a little grubby.  I reminded myself that didn’t mean they were useless.  I’d learnt the hard way that a military force that prized appearance over reality was certain to get thrashed when it actually had to fight.  And yet, it was hard to take them seriously.

I grimaced as the distance narrowed.  A tank would have squashed them flat and never even noticed.  Hell, an AFV or a police car – even a regular car – would have had no trouble running them down or outrunning them.  I doubted the horses would willingly charge a tank or an AFV.  And yet, I didn’t have a tank.  My hand dropped to my pistol, combat instincts screaming a warning.  There was going to be trouble.  I knew it. 

Jasmine scowled.  “Don’t say a word, unless they speak to you first,” she ordered, curtly.  I heard an edge of worry in her tone and shivered.  “And don’t tell them where you came from.”

I winced, inwardly.  Jasmine had more power in her little finger than most people had in their entire bodies.  I’d seen her use magic for all kinds of things.  I’d even encouraged her to show off a little, in hopes of understanding my new home.  It was hard not to feel a little intimidated by the power at her disposal, although she’d never done anything remotely threatening to me.  And yet, she was worried.  I eyed the knights worriedly.  Did they have magic too?  Or … or what? 

The knights moved into the middle of the road, forcing us to come to them.  My instincts kept sounding the alarm.  I felt as if we’d moved into an ambush, with insurgents on both sides ready to pour fire into our positions.  I found myself looking for cover, for places we could hole up while calling for air support … I shook my head in frustration.  It wasn’t going to happen.  We were trapped and yet … there were only three of the bastards.  Magic or no magic, we outnumbered them.  We could fight our way through easily.

It won’t be that easy, a small voice reminded me.  The knights represent the local warlord.

I kept my face impassive, somehow, as the convoy shuddered to a halt.  The knights managed – somehow – to look both ridiculous and dangerous.  Up close, their armour was tarnished and patched in dozens of places; their faces were twisted with grim anticipation that only sharpened when they looked at Jasmine.  I shuddered, bracing myself for real trouble.  They weren’t anything more than bully-boys, throwing their weight around as if they might lose it at any moment.   I knew the type.  They liked pushing people around, but they were useless in a real fight.  And they tended to alienate everyone, even potential supporters.

The knights dismounted and walked towards us, moving with surprising grace despite their armour.  They kept their swords in their scabbards – I was surprised they weren’t carrying gunpowder weapons, just swords and whips – but I was certain they could draw them at incredible speed.  Their armour looked heavy.  I made a mental bet with myself that the knights were at least as strong as me, probably stronger.  Their faces were brown, scarred and pitted with a lifetime spent in the open air.  They looked mad, bad and dangerous to know, but they wouldn’t be weaklings.  They were carrying heavy armour all the time.

And what sort of threats do they expect to encounter, I asked myself, if they’re wearing armour all the time?

The leader scowled as he stopped beside the caravan.  “Get down.”

Jasmine obeyed, putting the reins to one side before clambering down to the ground.  I followed, feeling uncomfortably exposed.  There were only three of them … I stared, silently assessing my chances.  I could draw my pistol and put a bullet through the first one’s head before he could react, probably.  They hadn’t moved to take my pistol, even though it was clearly visible on my belt.  I frowned.  They stared at me in cold disdain.  I realised my mistake a second too late.  I’d met their eyes.  There were cultures where meeting someone’s eyes was an unspoken challenge.

Perhaps I should grovel, I thought.  I hated the very idea of kneeling in front of a trio of thugs, but … perhaps there was no choice.  Perhaps I should …

The knight waved a hand at me.  “Who is he?”

“My prospective cousin, here to learn the ropes,” Jasmine said, quickly.  I kicked myself, mentally, for not suggesting we put together a cover story.  “He’s from Galicia.”

The knight looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my face for a long thoughtful moment.  One of his companions made a remark I didn’t quite hear, but sounded crude.  He grinned, rather sadistically, and shot me something that might have been a pitying look.  I guessed he thought I was attracted to Jasmine.  I didn’t know much about marriage customs amongst the Diddakoi, but if I was a cousin she was presumably off-limits even though it was pretty clear we weren’t actually related.  I felt a wave of loathing.  Jasmine was young enough to be my daughter.

“Our lord has commanded us to search everyone who enters his lands,” the knight said, in a tone that suggested he hoped we’d try to resist.  He raised his voice.  “Everyone out of the caravans.”

The Diddakoi obeyed, looking as pissed as I felt.  I gritted my teeth as we were herded away from the convoy and ordered to wait by the side of the road.  The knights leered at us as they started to poke their way through the caravans.  Something broke inside one of the lead caravans, the sound echoing in the air like a gunshot.  Jasmine’s fingers shaped themselves into a spellcasting pose, then stopped as she forced herself to relax.  I told myself it would all be over soon, that we’d resume our drive shortly.  It wasn’t very reassuring.

I leaned closer to Jasmine so I could whisper in her ear.  “What’re they looking for?”

Jasmine shrugged.  “Runaways, probably,” she said.  “The serfs are bound to the land, unable to leave without permission.  Their local lords never give it, so they run away.  The cities are supposed to capture and return runaways, but as long as they’re careful they don’t get caught.”

I shuddered.  My ancestors had had much the same problem.  I wondered if there was anyone in the city helping the serfs to run and hide.  It was possible, although unlikely.  Damansara would be easy to starve, if the warlord laid siege to the walls.  The city fathers might try to turn a blind eye to any runaways, but if the warlords came calling with an army … I cursed under my breath.  The runaways might keep wages down, too.  It was quite possible they’d find themselves locked out of the local guilds, ensuring they’d have problems finding work.  My ancestors had had that problem too.

The knights finished poking their way through the caravans and headed back to the front of the convoy.  I had the impression they hadn’t done a very good job, although it was hard to be sure.  They’d probably made certain they’d checked everywhere big enough to hide a grown man.  I frowned at the look on their faces as they walked up to us.  They looked dark with anticipation.  It wasn’t over yet.

“On your feet,” the leader ordered us.  “Now.”

I stood, keeping my eyes lowered.  I couldn’t understand why the Diddakoi were taking it so calmly, not even trying to put up a fight.  Jasmine wasn’t the only magic-user amongst them, surely.  The knights had had their fun … I tried not to grimace as they formed us up into a line, Jasmine at the front.  I knew what was coming … I knew what was coming, even as I hoped and prayed I was wrong. 

“Let’s see what you’re carrying,” the knight said, with a leer.  “Let’s see …”

I felt a surge of anger as the knight started to search Jasmine, hands wandering all over her body.  How dare he?  Jasmine stood still, but I could tell she was shaking with rage.  I’d been taught how to search prisoners, yet … it wasn’t about safety or security.  It was about naked sadism and power and … they wanted to do worse, much worse.  I knew the type far too well.  They weren’t going to stop until …

The pistol practically leapt into my hand.  I pointed it at the leader’s head.  “Step away from her!”

He laughed.  It wasn’t a nervous laugh.  I was pointing a gun at his head, my finger tightening on the trigger, and he genuinely thought it was funny.   It struck me, too late, that he honestly didn’t recognise the threat.  The flintlocks and muskets I’d seen in the city were handmade things, strikingly crude.  The pistol in my hand had come from another world.  He probably thought I was threatening him with a truncheon.

“Step away from her,” I repeated.  “Now!”

“I’ll teach you to threaten your betters,” the knight growled.  He tugged the whip from his belt.  “I think fifty lashes …”

He shoved Jasmine to one side.  I shot him, instinctively.  The shot was strikingly loud in the silence.  He staggered, then crumpled to the ground.  His companion gaped, unsure what had happened, then grabbed for his sword.  I shot him too, then turned to look for the third knight.  He turned and fled, running for the horses as fast as he could.  I guessed he wasn’t Sir Lancelot or Sir Galahad, even though I supposed a hasty retreat was the best choice under the circumstances.   He’d just seen two men killed through what might as well have been magic.  Even if he knew what a firearm was, he would never have seen anything like mine before.  And putting some distance between us was his best chance of survival.

I hesitated, then shot him in the back.  He tumbled – I breathed a sigh of relief that the bullet had gone through his rear armour – and hit the ground.  I paced towards him, keeping my pistol pointed at his head.  He wasn’t dead, but – from the way blood was flowing out of the wound – it was just a matter of time.  I grimaced in disgust.  If he hadn’t been wearing armour, he might have survived long enough to get medical treatment.  The bullet hadn’t just punched through the armour.  It had rammed chips of metal through his body.  He was beyond help.

Jasmine stumbled to her feet.  “What have you done?”

I blinked at her.  “They were going to rape you!”

“I could have handled them,” Jasmine snapped.  Sparks darted around her fingertips.  “You didn’t have to kill them.”

“You could have zapped them into frogs or something,” I pointed out.  “Why … why did you even let them stop us?”

Jasmine looked pained.  “There are agreements,” she said.  “We’re not supposed to get involved in local politics.”

I scowled as I turned back to the dead knight.  The guards might not have been magicians, I supposed, but their master probably had magic-users under his command.  Maybe Jasmine could have taken them out, easily.  Their master would have sent others after the travellers and who knew where that would have ended.  I wondered, sourly, if I’d made a mistake.  The local warlord might be an asshole who made regular assholes look bland by comparison, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take care of his men.  I’d seen too many warlords in Afghanistan to feel otherwise.  The smart ones treated their men well.  The stupid ones rarely lasted long enough to make a mark.  And if this local warlord had lasted long enough to establish a dynasty …

The thought mocked me as I searched the bodies.  They weren’t carrying much, beyond small pouches of coins.  I poured them into my hands and studied them thoughtfully.  They were so rough and imprecise that it was impossible to determine what they were worth, not without a pair of scales and some dumb luck.  Or magic.  One of the knights had a dagger concealed in his sleeve.  Jasmine sniggered when she saw it.  I didn’t get the joke.

“What’s so funny?”  I turned the blade over and over in my hand.  It was very well made, certainly compared to the swords.  I had the feeling they would snap under the right – or rather the wrong – conditions.  “It’s just a dagger.” 

“That’s a virgin blade,” Jasmine explained, as I removed a miniature scabbard from the knight’s arm.  “Noblewomen carry them, in order to defend their virtue.  It’s very rare for a man to carry one.”

“Probably why he carried it,” I said.  I knew the value of a concealed weapon or two.  The dead knight might have been endlessly mocked by his comrades for carrying a lady’s weapon, but it might have saved his life.  Particularly, my thoughts added, if it was something he wouldn’t be expected to carry in the first place.  “He could stab someone who thought he was defenceless.”

The thought made me smile, which vanished when I looked at the knights.  They were walking slabs of muscle.  It was hard to believe they’d ever be helpless – or seen as helpless.  I’d seen tougher men in the army, but not many.  I was strong – I knew I was strong – but I was relieved I hadn’t had to trade punches with them.  I had a feeling I might have lost.

“We’ll have to bury them, then let the horses run off,” Grandfather Lembu said.  I tried not to glare at him.  He, not Jasmine, should have spoken to the knights.  “And we have to talk.”

Jasmine looked as if she wanted to say something, but he cut her off and looked me dead in the eye.  “You can’t stay.  Not now.”

She-Ra And The Princesses of Power Overall Review

I find it hard to put my feelings regarding She-Ra and the Princesses of Power into words because, in many ways, they depend on points of view.  The final season was not a bad season, unlike – for example – Battlestar Galactica – but, at the same time, it represented something of an abandonment of its previous concept.  The show expanded to the point it could handle an ensemble cast, yet this weakened many of the characters.  Indeed, the whole thing was let down – to some extent – by several characters grabbing the idiot ball in quick succession.

Originally, the core of the series centred on Adora and Catra, who grew up together as Horde Cadets in the Fright Zone.  They were both subjected to abuse by Shadow Weaver, their surrogate mother, who expected Adora to be a hyper-perfect cadet and, at the same time, piled Catra with physical and verbal abuse.  By the time we are introduced to them, the damage has been done.  Adora feels responsible for everything, while Catra – blamed for everything – feels permanently trapped in Adora’s shadow (and responsible for nothing).

Their paths diverge when Adora finds the Sword of Protection, becomes She-Ra, meets Glimmer and Bow and joins the Great Rebellion.  Catra, in the meantime, chooses to stay with the Horde (particularly after Hordak gives her the first true appreciation in her entire life).  The first season remains focused on them, with the Best Friend Squad and the Super Pal Trio serving as backup characters.  Team Adora and Team Catra clash repeatedly despite the remnants of Adora and Catra’s former friendship; both characters build up their positions and powers (Catra, in a moment she thoroughly deserves, bests Shadow Weaver for the first time and then comes within a hair’s breathe of total victory).  In a sense, both characters come out ahead.  They both beat Shadow Weaver, then win what they crave (a meaningful life for Adora, power and respect for Catra).

This balancing act starts to fall apart in seasons two and three (which are really one combined season).  As more characters take on significant roles, the two main characters are partly shunted aside.  Worse, the good guys keep winning undeserved victories (one of the less pleasant aspects of the show is the way in which the good guys are so much better than the bad ones, when they use their powers – an odd hint of elitism I don’t like).  It’s difficult to blame Catra for starting a villainous breakdown, particularly as she discovers that being Force Commander (Hordak’s second-in-command) isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  And yet, with her being well aware of Shadow Weaver’s true nature, she allows herself to be manipulated far too easily.  Adora, of course, makes the same mistake. 

This is the point where too many characters grab the idiot ball.  Hordak tortures Catra because he’s in a bad mood, not because she deserved punishment.  Catra allows Shadow Weaver to manipulate her, accidently freeing her from prison.  (I’m not including Catra trying to lie to Hordak, because he gave her plenty of reason to think he wouldn’t take the truth very calmly).  Adora heals Shadow Weaver (when she makes it to Bright Moon).  Angelia (who has good reason to know about Shadow Weaver) doesn’t think to fill Glimmer in on the truth.  Adora, Glimmer and Bow set off to the Crimson Wastes without bothering to make any preparations; Adora tells Catra about Shadow Weaver and the Portal.  Catra decides to open the portal, rather than staying in the Wastes with Scorpia and building a kingdom of her own.  Between them, they come pretty close to blowing up the entire planet and Adora had every right to be angry at Catra, but Adora bears some of the blame too.

Season four covers an ever-expanding war between the Horde – now co-led by Catra and Hordak – and the Great Rebellion.  The war extracts a price on its fighters, with Catra and Scorpia having a falling out and Glimmer, Bow and Adora coming ever-closer to a falling out of their own.  Catra makes a serious – but understandable – mistake and loses the war, only to have Glimmer return the planet to the original universe … allowing Horde Prime to invade.  Season five covers the war against Horde Prime, a far more powerful and determined enemy than Hordak (now exposed a defective clone).

It isn’t a bad season, but it’s greatest flaw is that it abandons the Team Adora and Team Catra format.  Characters have switched teams before (Entrapta to Team Catra, Scorpia to Team Adora).  It might have worked better, IMHO, if Glimmer had switched teams and, with Catra and Hordak, found a way to break out of Horde Prime’s custody … allowing Adora and Catra to meet as equals.  The moments we get – Catra risking everything to save Glimmer, Adora returning the favour for Catra – are good, but they’re not good enough.  In a way, they diminish Catra.  It’s nice to see Adora and Catra get together, at the end of the show, but they’re not quite equals. 

Catra is not the only character to be diminished by the ongoing series.  Hordak is introduced to us as a powerful warlord, with a very definite presence.  He’s evil, but he’s not completely unreasonable.  Season two/three weakens that by giving him a sympathetic backstory and partnering him with Entrapta, who eventually ends up in a relationship with him at the very end of the series.  It’s something of a cop-out – Mermista is the only one to ask if Hordak and Entrapta getting away with everything is fine – although, to be fair, he does make a stand against his abusive ‘big brother.’ 

That said, the expanded format does have its upsides.  Scorpia grows and develops as a character, as does Glimmer.  Both Sea Hawk and Swift Wind grew on me, as did many of the lesser characters (King Micah’s attempts to practice fathering on Frosta come across as creepy, particularly as Glimmer is six years or so older than Frosta).  Indeed, Horde Prime is perhaps the only completely irredeemable characters in the series.  Shadow Weaver sacrifices herself to save her daughters, leaving the question of just why she chose to do it.

The show has been both praised and criticised for feminist and lesbian themes.  This is something of a mixed bag.  On one hand, the princesses inherit their power by birth rather than ability (Scorpia may be the only exception, as she’s the one who makes a conscious decision to lay claim to power).  There’s a certain elitism about the show that is only called out once, by villagers caught in the middle during the fifth season.  On the other, Catra – who works for her victories – is also female.  It’s also true that Bow, Sea Hawk and Hordak worked for their skills in a manner  none of the princesses could match.  It’s fair enough to say that the vast majority of the best and the worst people in the series are all female (Horde Prime being the major exception, although he may well be genderless).  How important you consider this to be is up to you.

And while I’m happy to see Adora and Catra wind up together, the relationship wasn’t really developed properly.

Overall, it’s difficult to rate the show.  As an action and adventure cartoon, it does very well (but, to some extent, it becomes more focused on characters than the action.)  As a look into the effects of abuse, it does better; it puts human faces on the abused, much as Anne Frank is a human face on statistics.  At the same time, however, it is quick to absolve too many characters of their mistakes and offers quick solutions rather than more thoughtful (or deserved) answers.  Format wise, you pretty much have to follow from the beginning.  That’s something that, IMHO, should have been rethought.   

On the whole, I enjoyed it.  But it could have been so much more.

Schooled in Magic/General Update

As you know, Little Witches came out just before Christmas (Happy Christmas) and, pretty much immediately afterwards, I finished the first draft of The Right Side of History, which picks up immediately after Little Witches.  I’m hoping to get the eBook out by mid-February, but obviously it depends on editing and cover designing.  After that, my rough plan is to write The Face of the Enemy and Child of Destiny in February and April respectively.  After that …

I do intend to expand The Cunning Man’s Tale (which will be published in Fantastic Schools III) into a full novel, perhaps as the first of a trilogy.  It follows a very different character from Emily –  for starters, he’s not a magician – as Heart’s Eye becomes the home of a steampunk-style world.  I’m scribbling down notes for that, although – as always – I intend the first novel to be fairly stand-alone.  I also intend to continue with the Stuck in Magic serial – I hope you’re enjoying it. 

I do have more story ideas for Emily, so she will be back.  .

On different books …

Cast Adrift is being looked at by a publisher, but – of course – there’s no guarantee of anything.  If it doesn’t get through the filters, I’ll publish it online and then start writing the squeals. 

Fighting for the Crown (Ark 16) just came out too and I’m scribbling notes to turn the Drake’s Drum concept into an actual plot. 

I have a rough plan for The Prince’s War, which will be the first of a new series following Prince Roland as he kicks ass in the chaos of the dying empire.  I’m not sure, yet, if I should write that one in March or Drake’s Drum.

I’m messing around with other ideas, both fantasy and SF.

One of them is set in the very dawn of empire, in which a star union is bent on reuniting the human race for very good reasons … not, of course, that everyone sees it that way.  The hero would get in serious trouble as he graduates the space academy and, for political reasons, is punished by being promoted to Lt. Commander (he graduated as a LT), given command of a rust-bucket and told to establish law and order in a distant sector.  His enemies think he’ll be blown away (it’s a rubbish ship), find it an impossible task or simply get lost when the time comes for more promotion,

Another – more fantasy than anything else – would follow a princess, the twin sister of the Crown Prince, who escapes her uncle’s clutches when he takes the throne for himself, poses as her brother and raises a rebellion. 

I’ve also been looking at a handful of short stories for the Fantastic Schools set and suchlike.

What do you think I should do first?

Chris

OUT NOW – Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal 16)

HMS Lion and HMS Unicorn have made it home from their first mission against the alien virus, opening the way for humanity to take the offensive.  Now, a major fleet is readying itself to depart into enemy space, intent on smashing the virus’s ability to wage war and destroy the threat once and for all.  And Captains Hammond and Campbell will take the lead.

But humanity itself is buckling under the strain of endless war.  The stresses of fighting are tearing the fleet apart.  And a very personal betrayal threatens to plunge the captains and their crews into a bitter feud, deep in alien territory.  The stakes could not be higher …

… And the risk of total defeat has never been so great.

Read a FREE SAMPLE, then purchase from the following links: Amazon US, UK, CAN, AUS, Draft2Digital (more links coming, so check back regularly.)

OUT NOW – Little Witches (Schooled in Magic 21)!

Merry Christmas!

The Necromantic Wars are over, but the Allied Lands are unprepared for peace.  In the aftermath of the war, old grudges flare to life.  And, with the White Council scattered, it is only a matter of time before the fragile peace is shattered beyond repair.

In a desperate bid to save what they can, the Allied Lands plan to hold a conference at Laughter Academy.  But all is not well in the witches school.  The girls are growing increasingly reckless, increasingly out of hand, preying on the mundanes below the mountain school as their tutors plot and scheme to take advantage of the chaos.  And no one seems to know why.

Emily is in no condition to intervene.  But when Lady Barb, her former tutor, asks for her help, Emily cannot refuse.  Heading to Laughter, taking up a teaching position, Emily finds herself dragged into a world of schoolgirl games, staffroom politics and a deadly plot aimed at the heart of the Allied Lands themselves …

Download a FREE SAMPLE, then purchase from the links HERE (new links being added as we speak).  Plus, Nanette’s Tale – a semi-prequel – can be found here.

FREE BOOKS

(And Now I’ve Got Your Attention, Vote For Me)

Between 24th December and 26th December, the below books will be free to download from Amazon.  Check out the start of five great series …

The Empire’s Corps

Ark Royal

The Zero Blessing

Storm Front

Outside Context Problem

The Right Side of History Snippet II

I can’t post CH1, because it’s full of spoilers, but here’s the second prologue.

Prologue II

When she’d become Queen, Alassa had instituted a very simple rule.

She was not to be disturbed, she’d told her courtiers, between dinner and supper.  Not unless the matter was urgent.  Truly urgent.  She’d made it clear, and backed it up, that anyone who disturbed her without very good reason would be spending the next week as a frog in the royal frog pond.   It wasn’t something she was proud of, and she was uncomfortably aware she might miss something important because the messenger was reluctant to interrupt her, but it was vitally important for her sanity.  A reigning monarch had so little time to herself that she had to do whatever it took to make sure she got it. 

It irked her, more than she would willingly admit to anyone, that she hadn’t realised just how much her father had to do until she’d inherited his throne.  The king had risen early and worked from dawn till dusk, the men of his bedchamber – his inner councillors – feeling free to interrupt him whenever they pleased.  The one advantage of being a Ruling Queen, Alassa had discovered, was that she didn’t have to keep her inner council so close, but it hadn’t taken king for her courtiers to reason out that they could send their wives, sisters and daughters instead.  Alassa would have preferred to banish them permanently, but there was no way to send them away without causing massive offense.  The last thing she needed was their husbands, brothers and sons plotting revenge.  She had enough troubles already.

She kept her face under tight control until she stepped into her inner bedchamber, then allowed herself to relax as the wards shimmered around her.  It was hard, very hard, not to sag as she leaned against the door.  Winning the war had been easy.  Winning the peace, it seemed, was a great deal harder.  She had to find a balancing point between factions that hated and detested each other, factions that would hate and detest her if she showed the slightest hint of favouritism to their enemies.  It felt as if she was stirring an unstable cauldron, the brew within permanently on the verge of exploding.  There were times when she was honestly tempted to grab her husband and daughter, empty the royal treasury and go into exile.  In hindsight, she wondered how different her life would have been if she’d stayed at Whitehall instead of going back to Zangaria.

Gathering herself, she walked past her daughter’s bedchamber – Princess Emily was sleeping, her nursemaid sitting beside the cot – and into her bedroom.  Jade was seated at the desk, reading the reports from the royal spies.  They’d made sure to pick up the remnants of King Randor’s spy network and build their own, in hopes of preventing another coup or another aristocratic uprising.  Alassa thought she understood, now, why her father had gone mad.  There was never any shortage of disturbing reports, but how many of them were anything more serious than a slighted aristocrat venting to his friends?  She didn’t know.

Jade stood and gave her a hug.  “Bad day?”

“I had Lord Hardin, again,” Alassa said.  It was hard to hide her disgust.  “He wants to marry his ward.”

“Bastard,” Jade agreed.  “Want me to kill him?”

Alassa was tempted.  Lord Hardin had played his cards very well, somehow managing to remain on King Randor’s good side without alienating either the Noblest or Alassa herself.  He’d certainly not taken any part in the civil war, ensuring that he evaded the sanctions Alassa had handed down to her father’s more open supporters.  It helped, she supposed, that Hardin’s territory was right on the edge of the kingdom.  It gave him a ready-made excuse for not sending anything more than thoughts and prayers.  But it also made it hard for her to squash him like he deserved.

She sat on the bed and rubbed her forehead.  Lord Hardin’s ward was too young for a betrothal, let alone a marriage.  And yet, Hardin thought he could bind her to him – and ensure permanent control over her lands – before she grew too old to object.  Alassa allowed herself a flash of cold anger.  She knew how she would have felt, if her father had announced her betrothal before she reached her majority.  It might have been years before the marriage was solemnised, but everyone would have treated it as a done deal from day one.  If she’d had a brother …

“I might need you to go look at her lands, to see how he’s ruling them,” she said.  She hated the idea of sending Jade away for a few days, but there were few people she trusted completely.  And besides, Hardin wouldn’t be fool enough to give Jade a hard time.  If he did … Jade would smash him flat well before word reached Alexis.  “Perhaps even to provoke a fight.”

Jade nodded as he sat next to her.  “How much do you want me to provoke a fight?”

“Only a little,” Alassa said.  She wanted an excuse to take a swing at Hardin – or, at the very least, to park a garrison in his lands – but it had to look legitimate.  “I don’t want to push him so blatantly everyone takes his side.”

She leaned into Jade’s arms, allowing him to hold her tightly.  It was a display of weakness she could never allow herself in front of the court, not when half of them already believed Jade gave her orders in private and the other half thought he should.  Bastards.  It hadn’t been that long since they’d been slated for execution, if they fell into Randor’s hands.  A little gratitude was not too much to expect, was it?  It probably was.  Courtiers had short memories.  And now there was an infant princess, she’d bet her crown that some of them were considering the advantages of having a monarch who couldn’t talk.

And if I die early, she thought, Jade will take Millie and run.

Jade kissed her, lightly.  Alassa lifted her lips to his, enjoying the sensation.  His hands started to roam her body, fiddling with the clasp.  The dress was designed to be difficult to take off in a hurry, something that Alassa had once found a little amusing.  It wasn’t so funny now.  The unmarried ladies of the court might have reason to wear a chastity belt, or something that served the same purpose, but she was a married woman.  And she was the queen …

The wards jangled.  Alassa jumped, swallowing a curse.  Whoever had disturbed her was going to regret it.  Whoever … she reminded herself, sharply, that she needed to hear the messenger out before she did something unspeakable to him.  No one would dare enter her chambers unless it was urgent.  She stood, straightened her dress and gave Jade a meaningful look.  He headed for the secret passage that ran beside the reception room.  King Randor had used it to conceal guards, when holding meetings with untrustworthy aristocrats.  Alassa preferred to use it to allow her husband to listen to the meetings, without making his presence obvious.  It was yet another compromise she’d had to make between what the court expected of her and what she had to do to maintain her sanity.

She raised an eyebrow as she stepped through the door and saw Mouse waiting for her.  The young woman – she was practically a commoner, although her father had been knighted long ago – was loyal.  She had to be loyal.  Alassa had rewarded her for her services by elevating her over the countless noblemen who thought they should be Mistress of the Queen’s Bedchamber.  It had made her enemies, but … Alassa tried not to grimace.  Mouse was loyal to her personally and that was all that mattered.  And besides, she wasn’t anything like as hidebound as the rest of the court.  She didn’t waste time trying to turn her queen into something she wasn’t.

“Your Majesty.”  Mouse curtsied.  Her face was pale, fearful.  “Prince Hedrick has arrived.”

Alassa blinked.  “Prince Hedrick of Alluvia?”

Mouse nodded.  Alassa’s mind raced.  Prince Hedrick had wanted to marry her, years ago.  He’d attended her wedding, but then … she didn’t recall hearing much of anything about him.  Hedrick was a second son.  He wouldn’t be promoted over his brother … hell, there was a very real chance he would be sent into de facto exile.  If he had … why had he come to Zangaria?  Alassa couldn’t think of a good reason.  It wasn’t as if she was obliged to give him more than the time of day.

“He just galloped into the courtyard,” Mouse added.  “He requests an immediate meeting.”

“I see.”  Alassa was tempted to tell Hedrick to wait.  And yet, he wouldn’t have broken protocol so blatantly unless the situation was dire.  What was it?  “Please have him shown to the blue room.  I’ll speak with him there.”

She glanced at the walls as Mouse turned and hurried out of the room.  Jade would make his way down to the next cubbyhole, while Alassa moved through the monarch’s private corridors.  She thought fast, trying to determine why Hedrick had galloped all the way to Zangaria … even using the portals, it was a hell of a long way.  If he’d come to pledge his love … she snorted at the thought.  It would be preferable, she supposed, to a bid for his kingdom’s throne.  That would be a major diplomatic headache.

I suppose I could tell him to get lost and swear blind I didn’t see him, she thought, as she stepped into the blue room.  But too many people will have noticed his arrival.

She took a seat and waited, folding her hands on her lap as the door opened.  Prince Hedrick stepped into the room – he’d lost the swagger, part of her mind noted – and bowed deeply to her.  There was no hint of reluctance, no suggestion he thought he should be bowing to a king instead.  And yet, as he straightened, he looked nervous.  His eyes flickered from side to side, as if he expected assassins to teleport into the chamber and jump him.  Alassa hadn’t intended to offer refreshments, let alone alcohol, but she was tempted to do just that.  Hedrick looked like someone who needed a drink.

He was handsome enough, she supposed.  The unfinished cast to his features she recalled from his unsuccessful courtship was gone.  His face suggested a strong character, his short blonde hair suggesting a martial mindset.  Or, perhaps, martial ambitions.  Hedrick was old enough to have fought in the last battles of the war, but Emily hadn’t mentioned him in her letters.  His father might not have let him go.  Losing one prince would be bad.  Losing both would be a disaster.

“Your Majesty.”  Hedrick didn’t stumble over the words.  “On behalf of my father and brother, I must plead for your help.”

Alassa’s eyes narrowed.  She would have understood the younger generation rebelling against the elder.  She would have understood Hedrick waging war on his father and older brother.  But … asking for help on behalf of both of them?  What had happened?  And why was he so fearful?

“Your Majesty, I …”  Hedrick swallowed and started again.  “There has been an uprising in the streets.  We have lost control of Jorlem City and many smaller cities.  The rebels have my father and stepmother prisoner, along with my half-sisters and many others.  I … I barely escaped with my life.  The Crown Prince is assembling his troops to retake the cities, but … we need help.”

Alassa kept her face carefully blank.  Zangaria was quite some distance from Alluvia.  It would be tricky to assemble troops and dispatch them to the other kingdom, even if it wasn’t politically impossible.  She knew there were factions within her government that would flatly refuse to send help, and others that would use it as an excuse to demand crackdowns at home … hell, just sending troops would cause problems with other kingdoms.  The Necromantic War was over.  Alassa was uncomfortably aware that the Allied Lands were starting to fracture, as old grudges came back to life.  She didn’t regret the end of the war, but … she had to cope with the problems of victory. 

“Zangaria is a long way from Alluvia,” she said, carefully.  “Why do you require my help?”

Hedrick looked down.  “The rebels claim to have been inspired by one of your noblewomen,” he said.  “The rebellion is in her name.”

Alassa raised her eyebrows.  “Emily.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hedrick said.  “They claim to have risen in her name.”

“Emily would not have set out to trigger a rebellion,” Alassa said, flatly.  “She’s been … busy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hedrick repeated.  “And yet the rebels claim to have risen in her name.”

Alassa wasn’t sure how seriously to take that.  Hedrick was describing literally world-shaking events.  Alassa should have heard something, beyond vague rumours, well before the younger prince arrived at her door.  Alluvia was a long way away, but still … she sighed, inwardly.  The tale had probably grown in the telling.  Emily wouldn’t have set out to overthrow a kingdom, but …

“I will discuss the matter with my trusted advisors and then get back to you,” Alassa said, slowly.  “I do not believe, however, that she is behind your rebellion.”

“They claim she inspired them,” Hedrick said.  “Our councillors advised us to request that you bring her to heel.”

Alassa hid her amusement.  Emily was, technically, a liegewoman.  She was supposed to support her queen in all things.  But Emily didn’t really accept the responsibilities – or half of the rights – of a liegewoman.  She didn’t even understand them.  Alassa knew Emily couldn’t be pressured into doing anything.  King Randor had tried and the result had been an utter disaster.  She could see how Hedrick, and his advisors, might think Alassa could control her …

Which means I might get the blame, if Emily is credited with starting the uprising, Alassa thought.  Shit.

She stood, signalling that the interview was over.  She’d have to discuss the matter with Jade – and then Emily herself.  Emily’s last letter had said she was going to Laughter Academy … quite some distance from Alluvia.  That was meaningless, of course.  Emily could teleport.  And she’d figured out how to craft a teleport enchantment too …

“Your Majesty!”  Hedrick looked stunned.  “I appeal to you …”

Alassa bit off a sharp response.  Hedrick didn’t appeal to her, not really.  Instead, she summoned Mouse and directed her to show Hedrick to the guestroom.  The servants would take care of him – and, also, keep an eye on him.  It would be useful to know just what sort of person he was, although … Alassa shook her head as he followed Mouse out the door.  He’d just dropped a massive hot potato in her lap …

… And, for the first time in far too long, she was unsure how to handle it.