Christopher G. Nuttall's Blog, page 6

Book Review: To Turn The Tide (SM Stirling)

To Turn the Tide

-S.M. Stirling

S.M. Stirling is well known amongst the alternate history community for his Draka books, which featured the rise of an anti-America, and the bestselling Island In The Sea Of Time trilogy, which not only set the standard for other such works to follow, but also gave the trope name of ISOT to the community, the concept of an individual/group/warship/etc being sent back in time (deliberately or otherwise) to change the course of history and hopefully build a better world. There are others who have looked at the concept, from the founding work Lest Darkness Fall – about which more later – to Weapons Of Choice or even my own Schooled in Magic books, which have been described as Harry Potter meets Lest Darkness Fall, but Island In The Sea Of Time remains one of the best.

In To Turn the Tide, Stirling follows in the footsteps of Lest Darkness Fall and sends his time travellers back to the Roman Empire, specifically during the rule of Marcus Aurelius, the last of the truly good Emperors of Rome. The back story to this time travelling mission is sketched out in vague detail: World War Three is about to break out, and a brilliant scientist has set out to develop a time machine which will allow a carefully-selected team to travel back in time and lay the groundwork for a much better world. The war breaks out ahead of schedule, as wars have a tendency to do, and the scientist is killed, sending back a random group instead of the planned team. Fortunately, they know enough about the historical Roman Empire, and the technology uplifts that can be implemented within a relatively short space of time, to start working on saving the Roman Empire rather than letting it be destroyed by a combination of internal decay and barbarian attack.

ISOT books tend to rest on two separate bases; technological development, and how it implemented, and modern characters interacting with the past. Stirling’s team – a surprisingly diverse collection of individuals, from a lesbian professor to a neurodiverse student keen to take full advantage of his sudden rise in social status – generally work very well together, integrating themselves into Roman society and integrating themselves with a series of dignities until they find themselves working with Marcus Aurelius himself. It works better than one might expect: Stirling has a good eye for how Roman society worked, and their interactions with local allies – and later enemies – work very well. The time travellers have to do as much as possible, before the disasters of Marcus Aurelius’s death (and his replacement by Commodus), barbarian invasion and smallpox, threaten to overwhelm the Empire. Stirling shows them grappling with the grim realities of slavery, sexual and religious discrimination, and many other problems that simply cannot be wished away. They can lay the groundwork for many things, but it will take years for long-term change to take effect.

This has curious effects on the team itself. The lesbian professor finds herself in a relationship with a barbarian fighting woman serving as a bodyguard (this is a common trend in Stirling’s work, although he doesn’t go into erotic detail in this book); the neurodiverse student discovers that he can attract dozens of women to his bed, and takes advantage of it (and probably takes advantage of them); the leader finds himself drawn to a Roman woman, and eventually marries her. Surprisingly, there is very little conflict amongst the team; the woman who might be expected to chaff against the sexual rules of Imperial Rome do not do so, nor do any of the team pull a Walker (the bad guy of the ISOT trilogy) and set out on their own, although to be fair the opportunities for doing so are far more limited in this book. The time travellers must hang together, or be crucified together, which has interesting implications. At one point, one time travelling woman enters a relationship with another time traveller because he lacks the local attitudes to women.

Stirling also does well at drawing out the Romans themselves, although they come across as flatter characters than the time travellers. He prefers to show Rome through the eyes of immigrants and barely tolerated migrants, rather than the Romans themselves; I suspect this takes a certain kind of sense, as outsiders are more likely to accept the possibilities of future technology and not dismiss them as magic/sorcery. He never loses track of the fact his Romans are human beings, rather than dumb animals (a common problem in certain beginner ISOT novels) or stereotypes. Surprisingly, the time travellers do not try to warn the Emperor of his son’s failings, although it might be difficult for a man to accept his son would become a tyrant.

The technological aspects of the book are also drawn out well. Stirling has an excellent grasp of what can be accomplished in a hurry, rather than conceding technological uplift is impossible or taking it to ludicrous levels, and his time travellers focus on labour-saving devices and gunpowder that can be turned into rifles and cannons, giving the Roman legions the firepower they need to defeat the invaders, winning time for Rome to solidify its position and start reforms that might give the Empire a chance to survive the coming decades. His time travellers also introduce the old standbys of such books, from the modern alphabet and numerical system to the printing press and other such innovations, although Stirling does not spend much time on them (probably because, by this point, they are very much expected in such books). And they focus on medical science, introducing all sorts of basic ideas that are common sense to us but wondrous to people trapped in the past.

In case it is clear, I loved this book.

There are some weaknesses, which should be noted. Very few of the characters receive anything like as much characterisation as they need, leaving them less developed than their counterparts in Island In The Sea Of Time, and there are very few arguments within the group; the handful of suggestions of a very real split go nowhere, even though this would add a great deal of drama to the story. I can’t say for sure, but I suspect this book is considerably shorter than Island In The Sea Of Time (although it is the start of a series). Events feel as if they are moving faster than they should, and I discovered that rereading the book helped me to focus on what was actually happening. There’s a sense that the time travellers want Rome to conquer the entire world, which might not be a good thing even if the Romans are transformed into semi-modern humans with semi-modern morals. It is easy to laugh at the characters who asked “what have the Romans done for us?” It is harder to accept that Roman conquest was not always a good thing, certainly not in the first years. But a reformed Rome should be better at creating a global state with enough local control to avoid the same curse that brought down the historical Roman Empire.

There are also some points in which the time travellers appear to have had an easier time of it that this should, although – like Stirling’s Dies the Fire novels – the story pretty much has to follow the survivors, rather than people who die unnoticed, and unremarked.

Overall, a very good read. I look forward to the sequel (a snippet has already been posted).

The Alchemist’s Secret – Lucy’s Choice

The Alchemist’s Secret – Lucy’s Choice

WARNING – MAJOR SPOILERS

A couple of people asked about the decision Lucy made towards the end of The Alchemist’s Secret, one insisting it had come out of nowhere and that it was somewhat out of character as well as being unwise (to say the least). I understand the scepticism, but there are a number of countervailing points that I will go into in greater detail in the next book. Put briefly:

First, unlike all the other Great Houses, House Lamplighter has no particular interest in maintaining the patron-client networks; Lucy does not have a patron-client network of her own and no real way to build one up, certainly against even minor opposition from the other Great Houses (who can simply outbid her). When the story starts, Louise is demanding reforms that will not (at worst) harm House Lamplighter and (at best) actually work in Lucy’s favour.

Second, Lucy is engaged to Gary, a common-born craftsman apprentice whose family are amongst the moderates in the rebel alliance, and don’t share the more extreme positions (unlike Jill) or have other agendas (such as Zadornov). Lucy genuinely believed a degree of reform was possible, without destroying the entire system, and that was what both Gary and Louise wanted as well.

Third, while Lucy does have some friends amongst the aristocracy, she has relatively few outright allies. In fact, in both her book and The Alchemist’s Secret, she gets pressured into surrendering her family’s rights to other families and in the latter she is actually threatened with losing what remains of her independence, assuming the hardline aristocrats emerge from the conflict victorious. It’s worth noting that Lucy, unlike Akin and Alana, did not attend school in the city and never had the chance to build the sort of contacts she would need to overcome her lack of money and power, or understand what her peers were truly thinking.

Fourth, because of her connections to the moderates, Lucy didn’t realise that the extremists intended to do something a great deal worse than a demonstration of power followed by an offer for a peace no one would like, but everyone would be able to tolerate. She did not set out to cause a near-disaster, and was caught by surprise as much as Rebecca when she realised what the real plan actually was.

And fifth, if you look at her book, ‘act in haste, repent at leisure’ is pretty much Lucy’s motto.

I’m not saying there won’t be consequences for her in the next book. There will be. But I’m not saying her actions came out of nowhere either.

OUT NOW – The Many-Angled World (Mystic Albion III)

The third and final book in Mystic Albion, following The Stranded and The Land of Always Summer.

The magic has returned …

In a night of terror, the barriers between the magical and mundane worlds were torn down – and the two merged into one, unleashing wonders and terrors beyond human imagination. Jet fighters fly past dragons and kids on broomsticks, creatures of magic and myth return to their old haunts and start wrecking havoc, and the outcast and dispossessed suddenly discover they have power beyond their wildest dreams.

As the country reels under the sudden shift in reality, and the government, police and military has to accept the world will never be the same again, shadowy factions move to take advantage of the chaos …

And, hidden in the darkness, a very old threat is about to come into the light.

Read a FREE SAMPLE, then download from the links here: Amazon US, UK, CAN, AU, Universal (may not work – the links appear unreliable now), Books2Read

Snippet – The Unnatural Order (Schooled in Magic 27)

Prologue I: The Grand Sorcerer

Great Sorcerer Resolute, Council Leader and Head of State, stood in front of the window and stared out over the city. His city.

Celeste was a beautiful city, a strange combination of wizarding towers, dimensionally transcendent homes and fairy-tale structures that could only be built with magic, and would collapse under their own weight if the magic went away. There was no other city quite like it,  Resolute knew, and there never would be. Most magicians lived alone, or in families that were really clans; Celeste, and Celeste alone, was the only place where hundreds of magicians lived and worked together, sharing their lives as only those touched by the gods could. It was the closest thing to paradise the world had ever seen, and yet …

He chose not to look at the drab buildings on the edge of the city, just inside the walls, where the mundanes lived, or to allow his imagination to wander to the layers of lost cities built on top of other cities, only to be buried again under Celeste. The city was old – the site had been settled so long ago that much of the city’s history had been lost – and warped by magic, from the sheer pressure of so many wards and magical structures to the remnants of experiments and magician disasters that had been flushed into the undercity and left to turn the local environment into a danger zone. He’d been down in the tunnels as a young apprentice, hoping to strike it rich; he’d found nothing, beyond an appreciation of the city – and the sheer potential it represented – that his master had never shared. And it had given him a cause.

The old simmering anger burnt at the back of his mind as he waited for the council meeting to begin. Celeste was the hub of magical activity, of everything from trading to higher education and apprenticeships, and yet the magical aristocracy and the Allied Lands had tried to cut the city down, to keep it from growing into the wonder it should have become. They had made the rules and enforced them, taking the best of the newborn magicians for themselves and limiting the rest to ensure they could never pose a challenge to their rule. Resolute – he hadn’t been called Resolute, in those days – had been denied a chance to rise to the top, because he refused to let himself be turned into breeding stock and lacked the power to convince the aristocracy to overlook his lowly origins. He had seethed with resentment when he’d been forced to take up the sole apprenticeship he could find, but he’d turned that resentment into power when he’d entered local politics. He wasn’t the only one who saw the Compact as a tool to keep the lower magicians down, keeping them from enjoying their god-given gifts just as much as it kept them from rising to the top. It had taken time to build a power base of his own, to climb to the top of city politics and make a play to challenge the established order, but now …

His lips twisted, although there was no real humour in the expression. The Necromantic Wars were over. The Allied Lands were in disarray, the mundane aristocracy waging war on their rivals or being overthrown by their own people; the magical community was in chaos, trying to recover from the damage inflicted by a single power-mad sorcerer. There would never be a better chance to overthrow the Compact, to isolate the city of magicians and practice magic as it should be practiced. Who knew how far they could go? The city alone might not be enough for the new order. There was an entire world to be claimed.

And we have to move fast, he told himself. Everything has changed.

His heart clenched. He hadn’t believed the first reports from Heart’s Eye. The idea of mundanes being able to make magic was just absurd, the sort of nonsense one might read in the Lay of Lord Alfred. Resolute knew mundanes. They were, to a man, useless in the face of magic, cowering before magicians in fear in awe. The idea of a mundane who actually could gather, shape and cast magic was just … but it had happened. They’d built an airship, of all things, a flying castle that had been immune to spells and … and everything had changed. The old council had openly wondered why they should rock the boat, why they should risk everything on a bid for independence when they were already unchallengeable. But now they could be challenged. Their near-omnipotence was at risk.

It was time to act, to take control of their own destiny.

Someone cleared his throat, behind him. Resolute turned to see Boswell, a drab little man in a drab little robe, so low in magic that he barely had enough to light a candle. Enough to make him a magician, enough to let him lord it over the powerless mundanes, but hardly enough to let him become a power in his own right. The man had entered Resolute’s service a year ago and rapidly earned his master’s trust, not least because he had no aspirations of his own. He would rise and fall with his master, which gave him a very strong incentive to be as loyal as only a god-touched magician could be.

“My Lord,” Boswell said, with a nod. Magicians didn’t bend the knee to anyone, even lone powers. “The council has assembled, and is waiting on your pleasure.”

Resolute’s lips twitched, feeling a surge of glee as he picked up his staff and walked to the chamber. The councillors wouldn’t wait for long – they were prideful magicians, not mundanes – and he knew better than to keep them waiting, but it still felt good to have so many powerful magicians waiting on him. It was power, true power. He wondered, snidely, if it was how the Patriarchs and Matriarchs felt, as they lorded it over their magical families. He’d met Lady Fulvia once, back when she’d visited the city, and … he bit off that thought as he stepped into the chamber, Boswell taking his place at the wall as his master walked to his seat. The secretary had a perfect memory. He’d be able to recall, later, who had said what – and why.

But this time it won’t be needed, Resolute told himself. We are here to declare our independence, once and for all.

He sat, and allowed his eyes to survey the room. It had taken years of politicking to ensure that his faction controlled four of the High Council seats, giving them the majority they needed to take the vote to the Low Council. The outcome was already certain, to the point he was sure none of the councillors would take a stand by voting against it. They’d be taking their own lives in their hands if they did. They might be powerful magicians in their own right, but there were a lot of magicians on the streets who wanted independence and freedom now. Anyone who stood against their desires would be lucky if they had a chance to regret it.

“We stand at the brink of apotheosis or nemesis,” he said, without preamble. “The White Council is gone. The Allied Lands are in chaos. The magical families are in disarray. And the mundanes are getting ideas.”

He allowed his words to hang in the air. The idea of mundanes with magic was just terrifying – and it wasn’t just magic. He’d seen firearms and steam engines, railways and airships … the world was changing, and not for the better. The mundanes no longer knew their place … he cursed Lady Emily under his breath, for the changes she’d brought, even as he admired everything she’d done. She had the sort of power and influence he’d wanted, once upon a time, and the love and respect of countless people, magical and mundane alike. And yet, her foolishness was going to reshape the world. They had to take a stand now, while they could.

“It is time to act,” he said. He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of nervousness. They were about to step out of the shadows and into the light, to take control of an entire city and challenge the old order to a fight it could neither win nor refuse. “For decades, we have been held back; for decades, we have been treated as lower-class citizens, kept from achieving our full potential and becoming masters in our own house. It is time to separate ourselves from what remains of the old order, to renounce the Compact and inaugurate a brave new era.”

The air seemed still. No one spoke.

Resolute tapped the table, once. “All those in favour, raise your hands.”

The mood shifted. Four hands – including his – went up at once. Two more followed slowly, with a show of reluctance that might – or might not – be feigned. One hand stayed firmly on the table. Resolute scowled inwardly – Great Sorceress Sabayon had played her cards very close to her chest – and nodded openly. She would come to regret that, he was sure. Her voters were as driven by the idea of independence and freedom as the rest of the magical population. She would lose her post shortly, if he didn’t find a way to remove – or kill – her. There was no longer any time for half-measures. The dice had been thrown and now …

“The motion is carried,” he said. With six vote in favour, the Low Council wouldn’t try to stand in his way. Or even slow him down. “From this moment forth, we are an independent city once again.”

He allowed himself a tight smile. The preparations had already been made. The vote had been nothing more than a formality, a figleaf of legality covering a de facto seizure of power and imposition of a new order. His men were already fanning out, sealing the gates and removing a handful of magicians who could be relied upon to cause trouble, once they realised what had happened. Once order was in place, any magician who objected – or wanted to leave – would be allowed to go.

The mundanes would object too, of course. But who cared about them? They were beasts of burden, fit only to hew wood and draw water, to do all the hard drudgework while the god-touched magicians aimed for the stars. They would be put firmly in their place, if they tried to cause trouble. What could they do, against men touched by the gods?

What could they do, against magic?

Prologue II: The Merchant

Hannah looked up, sharply, and sucked in her breath as her cousin Jon stumbled into the shop.

It took her a moment to be sure it was Jon. He was normally a very handsome young man, to the point he never had any trouble finding a young woman to take to the dance hall, but now his head had been turned into an ass’s head, mounted so precariously on his body that she feared any sudden movement would break his neck. If he hadn’t been wearing the same short-sleeved shirt as herself, his tattoo clearly visible on his bare skin, she wouldn’t have recognised him at all.

“Jon?” Hannah stepped around the corner as the door closed behind him. “What happened?”

Jon opened his ass’s mouth and made a braying sound. Hannah gritted her teeth. The spell had robbed him of the ability to speak, at least in a manner anyone could comprehend. It was hardly the first time she’d seen some poor mundane hexed or cursed, for being powerless in a city ruled by magicians, and the hell of it was that it wasn’t the most sadistic or unpleasant transformation she’d seen. There were horrible rumours she knew to be rooted in fact … she bit her lip, hard, as she led Jon to the nearest seat and pushed him to sit down. It didn’t take much for a magician to decide to put a mundane in his place, to inflict humiliation or agony on a whim. Hannah had been hexed herself, more than once. And she had done nothing to deserve it.

“Stay there,” she said. Some magicians were friendlier than others, but she doubted she could find one who would undo the spell. They tended to believe that anything a magician did to a mundane was deserved, no matter how little that were true. “Don’t move.”

She darted to the door and locked it, switching the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. It was risky – she knew too many magicians who would happily take the sign as a challenge and blast the door down – but she dared not be caught doing something, anything, that could break the spell. Her skin crawled as she hurried back to the counter and opened an unlocked drawer, one that was so insignificant she hoped any watching eyes overlooked it. Their patron, who had cast the protective wards around the shop, could use them to spy if he wished. And if he caught them …

Her fingers closed around the runic tiles, pushing them into position as quickly as possible as she hurried back to Jon. The Magitech was simple, compared to some of the stories coming out of Heart’s Eye, but it was so explicitly illegal in Celeste that mere possession would be enough to get her a life sentence, and a brand new career as a spellbound slave. If she hadn’t had a distant cousin who’d obtained it for her … she braced herself as she pressed the tiles against Jon’s neck, all too aware she was crossing a line. But what choice did she have? The spell might wear off on its own or it might not, forcing her to pay through the nose for its removal.

Jon’s head twisted, bending in unnatural directions before snapping back to normal. “Thanks,” he muttered, gasping for breath. “That was …”

Hannah nodded, curtly, as she hurried back to hide the tiles and reopen the shop. There were advantages to living and working in Celeste – the money was good, and no one looked down at her for being a woman – but there were times when she wondered if it wouldn’t be preferable to go back to Kerajaan instead. Sure, she couldn’t own property in her own name – and if her husband turned out to be a boor she’d have to put up with it – but at least she wouldn’t be turned into a toad if she looked at some magician the wrong way, or merely happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, when an angry sorcerer was looking for targets. She glanced at the rear of the shop, where her father was preparing ingredients, and shuddered inwardly. It was their one chance to make a fortune, but the price was too high.

Her eyes narrowed, a shiver running down her spine as she saw the black-clad young men marching down the streets. The magicians had always pushed the mundanes around, but the near-constant harassment had been getting worse over the last few weeks. She had heard rumours of debates in council, suggestions it was time to declare independence … as if Celeste wasn’t already independent. A number of merchants had already moved out, a handful abandoning their patrons; others, she’d been warned, had been told they wouldn’t be allowed to leave the city until their contracts expired. She wondered, suddenly, if her father was one of them. She hadn’t been privy to the negotiations before he took possession of the shop.

Jon coughed. “Thanks,” he said, again. “I said no.”

Hannah blinked. “No? To what?”

“A witch wanted me,” Jon said. “I said no. And she hexed me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hannah said. There was nothing else she could say or do. The magicians made the rules and everyone else did as they were told, or else. Jon had been astonishingly brave to say no and … Hannah gritted her teeth. It could have been a great deal worse. “Perhaps we should just go.”

She glanced back at the curtain leading to the workroom, feeling a twinge of guilt for even thinking about it. Her father wanted to make enough money to ensure they could rise in the world, and Celeste was the only place they could make a fortune in a hurry. And yet, with every passing day, the city was growing darker and darker. She could leave now, buy passage to somewhere – anywhere – else and not return, but that would mean abandoning her father. And letting the magicians push her around.

A shimmer ran through the air, a frisson of magic that scared her to the bone. Her body twitched, then started to move of its own accord. A dreamlike trance fell over her, the world turning into a nightmare, as her body made its way out of the shop and up the road, Jan walking helplessly beside her. They weren’t alone, either. Dozens – hundreds – of mundanes were coming out of their shops and homes, from the youngest children to elders who could barely walk, some fully dressed and others dragged out of their showers or beds. The nightmare sharpened … she told herself, firmly, to wake up. She was suddenly, terrifyingly, aware of the force acting on her body, but it was impossible to resist. And yet, it was no dream.

Her eyes lolled from side to side, taking in the drab buildings. Mundanes were supposed to live in the ghettos, unless their masters chose to allow them to sleep in their homes, and they weren’t allowed to make their homes stand out in any way. They weren’t even allowed gardens and parks! The apartment blocks were dull and lifeless, the communal kitchens renowned for serving tasteless food … the schools and trade shops were the only places that showed any individuality and even that was very limited, more focused on useful skills than independent thinking. A student who learnt to think for himself would be lucky if he was merely ordered to leave the city.

She stopped at the top of the road, her body hanging listlessly as her head snapped upwards. A magician was floating above them, wrapped in an aura of power. A stab of pure envy ran through her, sharpening her mind despite the spell holding her in its thrall. She’d grown up a young girl in a kingdom that regarded young women as property, unless they had magic, and she’d often wished she had magic herself. It would have opened so many doors for her, given her the chance to go to Whitehall or Mountaintop or even become an apprentice in Celeste. Instead, her fingers were powerless and now …

The magician spoke quietly, but his words were audible right across the ghetto. “There is a new order,” he said, his tone shimmering with magic and authority. “Magic rules. Those of us who have power, who are blessed by the gods, will reign over those who were never blessed …”

Hannah felt her heart sink as he went on and on, detailing the removal of what few rights mundanes had in Celeste and reducing them all to serfs. She had known she was on the bottom half of the city, but now … she swallowed hard as the deadly speech came to an end, with a final reminder they were now de facto property. Maybe not quite slaves, but she’d met enough escaped serfs to know the only real difference between serfdom and slavery was the spelling.

The spell came to an end. Her body staggered, her legs buckling under her own weight. She would have fallen if Jon hadn’t grabbed her arm, holding her upright as the rest of the mundanes fell to the cobblestones. Some were crying, others were blank, their faces seemingly robbed of independent thought … Hannah tried to force herself to move, as the sheer horror of the situation washed through her mind. It was too late to run and hide, too late to escape the nightmare that had settled over the city. They were property now …

And that was all they would ever be.

Chapter One

“The Hierarchy does not exist,” Melissa said.

Emily eyed her thoughtfully as they sat in Melissa’s inner sanctum, a surprisingly shabby chamber that was remarkably comfortable. Melissa had recovered the family mansion – and the nexus point – after Void’s defeat, taking advantage of the chaos to reorganise the family and redesign parts of the mansion to suit herself. Emily couldn’t help thinking her inner chamber resembled their old common room at school, right down to the comfortable armchairs and sofas, but she kept that thought to herself. She wasn’t blind to the favour Melissa was showing her, by inviting her into her inner chamber. Melissa wanted – needed – to portray herself as a mature and reasonable young woman, a solid pair of hands to guide the Ashworth – and Ashfall – Families into a bold new era. It would have undermined her position if she shoved everyone her innermost sanctum. It was her space.

Melissa looked good, Emily noted. She was still the willowy redhead who had been a rival, and then a friend and ally, but she also looked more mature and reasonable than many other magical aristocrats. A slight bulge in her stomach suggested she was expecting, although no official announcement had been made. Emily suspected she was trying to keep the old ladies from bossing her around, once they realised she was pregnant, and turning the unborn child into a political pawn before the baby took their first breath. Melissa herself had been such a pawn and she’d hated it. Her husband – Markus – felt pretty much the same way.

“So I keep being told,” Emily said. There weren’t many people she could ask about the Hierarchy. Far too many of her older friends and mentors were dead – she felt a bittersweet pang as she recalled Void’s final words – or reluctant to talk, if indeed they knew anything. She was starting to wonder if its existence was a truth everyone considered bad manners to say out loud, even though it was indisputably true. “What do you know about it?”

“That it doesn’t exist,” Melissa said. She winked, one hand resting on her stomach. “Or that is what I was always told.”

Emily cocked her head. “And what were you told?”

Melissa leaned back in her chair, organising her thoughts. “You are aware, of course, that there are layers to the magical community that are opaque to outsiders,” she said. “A newborn magician who enters Whitehall will not be aware of the discussion circles, or quarrels, and even when they do make their way into magical society they will often be unable to get that far into the deeper layers. They simply lack the shared understanding of those born to magic, or the contacts they need to open doors they don’t even know exist. I have access to some of those networks, and Markus has others, but Fulvia had access to far – far – more.”

“I am aware,” Emily said, stiffly. The highest levels of society, mundane or magical, resembled nothing more than a mean girls association, ready to exclude anyone who was the slightest bit different, or weak, or simply a convenient target for malice, someone whose ouster could serve as a rallying cry to unite the group. She’d never liked such associations, not least because she lacked the personnel skills or outright sugar-sweet malice she’d need to partake. A word in the right pair of ears, a rumour with no discernible source … it wasn’t that hard to turn someone into the target, destroying their life for fun and profit. “And your point is?”

Melissa met her eyes. “The point is, some of those networks pass on whispered warnings. And one of those warnings, when I was a young girl, was about the Hierarchy.”

She paused, studying her hands. “It’s difficult to tell how much truth there is in the rumours,” she added. “Some stories insist the Hierarchy are the rulers of the world, and that everyone bows to them; others insist they rule in secret, and resistance is impossible because no one knows they’re in charge. Still others suggest the Hierarchy is a path to power, to the very darkest of magics; others insist the Hierarchy was destroyed, root and branch, by the Empire and exists now as a cautionary tale. And nothing more.”

“And no one knows anything for sure,” Emily muttered.

“No,” Melissa said.

Emily shivered. She had encountered two dark wizards in quick succession and both, when they died, had taunted her with a warning about the Hierarchy. The second had taunted her after he’d died, his body animated with a spell that should have been impossible. She knew better than to think anything was truly impossible, after so many years in a world shaped by magic, and yet the sight of a dead body issuing a final statement had chilled her to the bone. If the Hierarchy really existed – if – what better time to make a move than now, with the Allied Lands in disarray?

In all things, Virgil’s body had said, there is a Hierarchy.

Melissa spoke with quite certainty. “You know as well as I do just how many insane rumours there are out there,” she said. “Some are probably spread to conceal the truth. Others are little more than an attempt to build a reputation, to convince people they’re stronger than they seem or that their victory is assured. There isn’t an up-and-comer, male or female, who doesn’t pretend to be important, to make a show of having contacts or secrets or … or whatever it takes, to keep people guessing about his true power. Hinting at having ties to the Hierarchy could be just another attempt to boost their own reputation.”

“They issued their taunt after they were dead,” Emily pointed out. She could understand a living man trying to con everyone into overestimating his importance, but why bother when he knew he was dead? To spook her, or …? “And they were clearly up to something beyond petty power politics.”

She rubbed her forehead. The first Hierarchist – for want of a better term – she’d met had stolen a collection of books she’d buried under Whitehall, books that detailed how to summon and control demons. The nightmare he’d nearly unleashed had come close to destroying the entire world and yet … she wondered, sometimes, if it had been meant to fail. Some of the books were still missing and others had been copied, suggesting the knowledge was out and spreading. And then the second Hierarchist had been working to trigger a civil war, using it as cover for a slave trade ring … it puzzled her, more than she cared to admit. Virgil hadn’t needed to try to assassinate her, let alone spark off a war, to cover his own actions. And he hadn’t needed to use Marah …

The thought made her heart twist painfully. Marah – her former apprentice – was out there somewhere, doing … doing what? She wanted, she needed, to fight for the freedom of the common man … was she waging war on the aristos, using the magic Emily had taught her, or had she already run afoul of her own ambitions? Emily had no idea where the younger girl had gone, or why, but she had the nasty feeling that sooner or later they’d meet again. And who knew what would happen then?

Melissa met her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Emily looked up. “Talk about what?”

“What’s bothering you,” Melissa said. “Something is.”

“No.” Emily shook her head. Melissa wouldn’t understand. To her, Marah was an apprentice who had betrayed her mistress. She would never be anything else. There were no excuses, as far as the magical community was concerned, for such a betrayal. The idea that Emily might be willing to give Marah some space, and time, was just as absurd. She would never understand why Emily hadn’t already hunted Marah down and thrashed her, before kicking her out in disgrace. “I need to think about the Hierarchy.”

“Assuming it exists at all,” Melissa teased.

“There was something behind both dark wizards,” Emily said. She wasn’t sure how to put her feelings into words. They’d acted alone, but they’d also acted as though they were working with others … she wondered, suddenly, if the civil war had been intended to hide something more significant than a slave ring. “They were operating on too great a scale for them to be operating alone, for themselves.”

Melissa started to say something, then looked up as Markus entered the room and sat down next to her. Emily felt a twinge of envy at their happy domesticity, mingled with a grim awareness it would never be hers. She had no family in the Nameless World, no relatives who would help her up … no family name to serve as a sword and a shield. Her heart twisted, again. Alassa was married, Imaiqah might be getting married … was she going to be alone? She told herself, sharply, not to worry about it. Being born into a magical family was as much curse as blessing.

She looked at Markus and smiled. “What do you know about the Hierarchy?”

Markus blinked at the question. “I was … I was told about it by Aurelius, a year or two before we met,” he said. “It was a very vague statement.”

Emily leaned forward. “What did he say?”

“It was more what he didn’t say,” Markus said. He paused, clearly organising his thoughts. “I was one of the potential candidates for Head of Spider Hall, and the Administrator gave me an interview a week before the end of term. It was a very strange, very disjointed, conversation. I thought, at the time, that he was trying to confuse me.”

“Or lure you into sin,” Melissa offered, darkly.

Emily nodded. Administrator Aurelius had had one extremely capable agent – Nanette, who had later been recruited by Void – but having Markus in his corner, as the future Patriarch of House Ashfall, would be worth almost any price. He’d gone to a great deal of trouble to lure Emily herself to Mountaintop, the following year … had he been connected, on some level, with the Hierarchy? She wondered, numbly, just what he’d said when Void killed him. She hadn’t been there at the time. She hadn’t even known Void had killed Aurelius until much later.

She leaned forward. “What did he say?”

“He told me that the Hierarchy existed to take magic in unthinkable directions,” Markus said, slowly. “And he implied – very much so – that it existed outside the Compact. And the Allied Lands.”

Melissa blinked. “He thought that would tempt you?”

“I guess so.” Markus shrugged, languidly. “He never knew me very well.”

Emily made a face. There had always been a certain willingness amongst magicians to push the limits as far as they would go, a practice she could hardly condemn because she was guilty of it herself. The prospect of making a new discovery, from something as prosaic as a new potion recipe to a world-changing invention like magitech, had galvanised thousands of magicians, including a number who had accidentally killed themselves. Or worse. Markus wouldn’t be tempted by the prospect of being able to experiment without limits, or worrying about rules intended to prevent disaster, but she could name a dozen students in her old class who would be very tempted indeed. If she hadn’t seen the effects of dark magic up close and personal, she might have been tempted too.

“Unthinkable directions,” she mused. The first Hierarchist had been experimenting with demons, risking possession – or worse – during his mad rush to the White City. The second had been draining his slaves of magic and life itself, using magitech to gather their combined energies to power his spells. It was surprisingly innovative, for an traditional magician. She knew far too many who regarded magitech as just another form of conjuring. “What are they doing? What is the point?”

She met Markus’s eyes. “Did he mention any names?”

“No.” Markus shook his head. “In hindsight, he could have been testing to see how much I knew.”

“To see if Ashfall was dealing with the Hierarchy,” Melissa said.

Emily looked at her. “Were they? Were Ashworth?”

“If they were, I never knew about it,” Melissa said. “Fulvia is dead. A bunch of her cronies are also dead, or gone … as far as I know, they left the day I took power and never bothered to return. If they were dealing with the Hierarchy … the links were broken the moment they left.”

“Unless they’re still plotting against you,” Markus pointed out. “There are some people on my side of the family I wouldn’t trust to guess my weight, let alone watch my back.”

Emily listened to their banter with half an ear, mentally considering the possibility. The magical families did a great deal of research – House Ashworth had secrets, as did House Ashfall – and it was quite possible that some of that research had come directly from the Hierarchy. If they had a secret agreement, the discoveries could have been slipped into the mainstream without the true inventor ever coming into the light. It was far from impossible … a nasty thought ran through her mind, a horror story in which America and Russia had both traded with a secret and monstrously evil faction, out of greed for advanced technology and fear of being left behind. If the Hierarchy had close connections to the major families, it might explain why it had survived …

And Void killed a great many senior magicians, she thought, numbly. How much knowledge died with them?

“I wish I could tell you more,” Melissa said. “But all I know is rumours and innuendo.”

“You could track down Nanette,” Markus added. “She might know more.”

Emily nodded, although she doubted it would be possible. Nanette was a mistress of disguise, with a remarkable talent for passing unnoticed. She could be right next door, or halfway across the world, and tracking her down would be incredibly difficult. Emily didn’t even have the slightest idea where to begin. Nanette had told her a little about her family, but hardly enough to track them down either. The description had been so vague she could have come from one of a million possible families. She made a mental bet with herself that, if she went to Mountaintop and asked to see Nanette’s permanent record, it would be missing. Nanette was too smart to leave that lying around.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Melissa jumped and sat upright, letting go of Markus and brushing her hair back as her husband scooted away from her. Emily hid her amusement as Melissa waved a hand in the air, unlocking the privacy wards on the inner chamber. The door opened and a preteen girl stepped in, holding a charmed parchment in one hand. Emily’s eyes narrowed. If the adults had ordered a child to deliver the message, it almost certainly wasn’t good news.

“A messenger just dropped this off,” the girl said. She shot a worried look at Emily, then returned her gaze to Melissa. “It is charmed, and addressed directly to you.”

Melissa took the parchment, muttering a handful of spells to check it was safe to open. “Did you show the messenger to the guesthouse?”

“No, My Lady,” the girl said. “He said he had other messages to deliver.”

Emily felt a premonition of doom at the back of her mind as Melissa opened the parchment and scanned the message. It was rare for magicians to use messengers for anything other than the most important pronouncements, and even rarer for messengers to pass up the chance for a quick rest before galloping back onto the roads and heading back home. And yet, if the message was truly urgent, it would have been carried by a teleporter …

Melissa hissed, then looked at the girl. “You are dismissed.”

The girl hurried away, closing the door behind her. Melissa passed the parchment to Markus, then met Emily’s eyes. “Celeste has just declared independence.”

Emily blinked. Celeste was already independent. “Independence? Independence from whom?”

“Everyone, it seems,” Markus said. There was a hint of dark humour in his tone. “They’ve formally separated themselves from the Allied Lands, renounced the Compact, and demanded recognition as an independent state.”

“It’s more than that,” Melissa added. “They’re offering themselves as a home for discontented magicians, as well as those who want to push the limits as far as they can go,”

Emily took the parchment and read it carefully, forcing herself to parse through the stilted nuances of High Script and work out what it actually said. If anything, Melissa had understated the case. Celeste hadn’t just declared independence; it had laid claim to the farmlands around the city, defying the neighbouring kingdoms to do something – anything – about it. Worse, it had laid claim to the people who worked the lands. Ice ran down her spine as she considered the implications. Virgil had been sending his slaves to Celeste. And that meant trouble.

She cursed under her breath. The Compact was intended to do more than just keep the magical and mundane communities from clashing, let alone going to war. It was also intended to keep magicians from experimenting with dark magic, spells so dangerous they made necromancy look safe. The rules had been fraying for years – she knew she had played a role in weakening them, if accidentally – but now, if all the safeguards were to be tossed aside …

The system worked very well for the magicians who formed a de facto aristocracy, she mused grimly, but it was much less kind to the ones who were left in the cold.

“And if they’re breaking the Compact,” Melissa mused, “how far are they prepared to go?”

Markus grimaced. “They timed it well, didn’t they? There’s no one left to stop them.”

Emily shivered. Markus was right.

SIM Appendix: Celeste

Just a little bit of world-building for the upcoming novel …

Appendix: Celeste

Exactly when Celeste was founded is impossible to determine, although the combination of three rivers and fertile farmland in a strategic location near what would eventually become the Kingdom of Alluvia and the Princedom of Valadon made it certain that something would be founded on the site. The city was absorbed into the Empire when it took shape and granted a certain degree of independence, partly because of a desire to keep the trade routes out of aristocratic hands and partly because it had already attracted a sizeable population of magicians, which the original city council used ruthlessly to establish itself as the trading hub of the western empire. This happy state of affairs came to an end when the Empire collapsed, leaving the city undefended and vulnerable to advancing armies from the newly-founded kingdoms.

Realising their vulnerability, and isolation from the magical families that made up a de facto magical aristocracy, the magicians of Celeste banded together to destroy the first aristocratic attempts on their cities and establish near-total independence for their city-state. The kingdoms were not best pleased about losing access to the trade routes, but the establishment of the Compact between the magical and mundane communities and a degree of understanding that the city would remain politically neutral and open to all ensured the kingdoms agreed to tolerate the city’s independence. This did not sit well with the new city fathers, who believed – perhaps correctly – that they had been sold out by the magical families.

Celeste continued to develop over the next two hundred years, turning itself into a city of magicians. Determined to separate themselves from the mundane, as well as maintaining a degree of political unity, the city fathers developed a two-tier political structure that essentially locked the magicless mundanes out of power. Magicians got the vote, as well as the right to join guilds and quarrels; mundanes had very few rights, and indeed required a magical patron if they wanted to do business within the city. Intentionally or not, these measures limited the mundane population: Celeste was a wealthy city, and an enterprising merchant could be sure of making himself a fortune, but it was not regarded a safe place to raise mundane children or indeed live permanently. The vast majority of mundanes were either transient citizens at best or enjoyed the patronage of a powerful magician, who could be relied upon to take revenge if they were harmed.

On paper, the city is divided into seven districts (seven being the most powerful magical number) which elect one Great Sorcerer to the High Council and three Sorcerers to the Low Council. The High Council proposes laws and the Low Council votes to accept or reject them. In practice, politics are dominated by a mixture of openly-active guilds and shadowy quarrels, and councillors are often selected through inner circle dickering rather than open electioneering; public votes are often little more than a rubber stamp on candidates the council has already decided to accept. This would be a recipe for disaster, or at least corruption, elsewhere, but the combination of shared interests and limited authority has prevented major problems.

Celeste prides itself on being independent from the greater magical community, and makes a big show of accepting every magician – from hedge witches to lone powers – as long as they have a spark of magic. Where the great families try to assimilate newborn magicians, using them more as breeding stock than anything else, Celeste makes a big show of allowing anyone to rise to the top without (overt) political connections. On paper, apprenticeships and funds are handed out by merit, rather than family ties, and that is surprisingly true. Older magicians are encouraged to welcome newcomers, and teach them their skills. There are still secrets – the fact that some guilds keep certain techniques to themselves is a constant political headache – but fewer than elsewhere.

Celeste is known, also, for its surprisingly innovative magical researchers. The city only reluctantly recognises the strict rules laid down by the Allied Lands, and the researchers regularly push the limits to breaking points. It is generally believed that if those strictures were to be removed, magical research would advance in leaps and bounds; the council, including many who feel slighted by the greater magical families, suspect the strictures were intended to weaken independent researchers and ensure the families maintain their magical supremacy. This has produced a somewhat paradoxical political movement that both fears the New Learning (and the Heart’s Eye University) and, at the same time, wishes to emulate their ground-breaking approach to innovation. It also encourages the city government to turn a blind eye to anything that does not pose a major threat to the city itself.

Like most magical communities, the magicians of Celeste enjoy a considerable degree of individual freedom. The council is empowered only to intervene when one magician interferes with another, and even then the council has a nasty habit of siding with the stronger regardless of the legal niceties of the issue. Magical dwellings are regarded as the magician’s castle, and the owner has near-complete freedom within his walls and wards. Unlike other communities, Celeste rarely shuns magicians who violate social norms; the population, for example, does not exclude or ostracise slavedealers or slaveowners, and in fact magically-bound slaves are a common sight within the city.

Powerless mundanes, by contrast, enjoy very little freedom, and they have very few civil rights. They do not, for example, have the right to own property, nor to conduct business without a magical patron. A handful of particularly wealthy mundanes have managed to carve out a semi-legal niche for themselves, often through connections to smuggling rings or trading networks that operate within the city, but the majority are effectively second-class citizens, rarely – if ever – treated as anything other than serfs or slaves. They have their own schools, social clubs, and entertainments. Perversely, the only real advantage – other than the chance to make a small fortune – for a mundane living in Celeste is that the city recognises men and women as equals and an innovative young woman can make a fortune in her own name, rather than her husband’s, and keep it. (The banks draw no distinction between mundane and magical customers, which makes them largely unique within the city.)

It cannot be denied that Celeste is a very old city. The modern settlement was built on an earlier settlement, which in turn was built on a settlement that was earlier still. The upper levels are quite fantastical in many ways, with magical architecture created to show off the power of the original designers; some, it should be noted, would collapse under their own weight if magic wasn’t being used to constantly prop them up. Celeste prides itself on being one of the most beautiful cities in the world and there is a considerable degree of truth to that claim, as the local architects can allow their imaginations to run wild in a manner impossible to their mundane counterparts. Outside the inner circle, the architecture is much less wild; the lower-ranking magicians do not have the money to turn their houses into fantastical palaces, while the mundanes are forbidden to decorate their homes.

Below the city itself, there is a network of secret passageways and endless warrens that have never been properly mapped. The combination of high magic residue – the result of endless magical experiments that were later flushed into the sewers – and deliberate misdirection spells cast by smugglers and dark wizards ensure that anyone who goes into the subterranean world does so at severe risk of his life. There are no shortage of rumours about what might be lurking under the city, from crazed necromancers to the walking dead or creatures hideously mutated by magic (or transfigured humans who never regained human form); there are also tales of ancient artefacts, including some that date all the way back to the pre-empire days, that would make their finder wealthy for life if they managed to bring an artefact back to the surface and sell it to the highest bidder. Unsurprisingly, quite a few young magicians – and mundanes –  try to get rich quick by finding an artefact. Some succeed. Some return empty-handed. Some never return at all.

For the duration of the Necromantic Wars, the city maintained a precarious truce with the greater magical community and the Allied Lands, a truce that was, for various reasons, very unpopular within Celeste itself. The city council maintained a vague pretence that it was willingly choosing to follow the rules, and uphold the Compact, because of the importance of keeping a united front in the war, but this pretence came back to bite them after the end of the war. There seemed no pressing reason to maintain the Compact, which the city regarded as having been forced on them, and the devastation unleashed by the Void Wars significantly weakened the magical families, limiting their ability to intervene. Worse, the endless series of rebellions and revolutions in mundane lands convinced many magicians of their superiority. Worst of all, the development of magitech threatened to undermine the very basis of the city’s existence. The idea of mundanes with access to magic was terrifying.

The Supremacists had always maintained a major presence within the city. Indeed, it was the closest thing they had to a stronghold. The combination of sudden changes in the balance of power, and the lack of any outside force that might hold them to account, gave them the opportunity to come into the light, declare independence, and formally renounce the Compact. For the Supremacists, it was the chance to prove their essential rightness; for everyone else, it was going to be hell.

OUT NOW – Fantastic Schools 8

Featuring a whole new Schooled in Magic novella, The First Witch’s Tale.

Have you ever wanted to go to magic school? To cast spells and brew potions and fly on broomsticks and – perhaps – battle threats both common and supernatural? Come with us into worlds of magic, where students become magicians and teachers do everything in their power to ensure the kids survive long enough to graduate. Welcome to … Fantastic Schools.

Meet the students struggling to master magic after an invasion from a magical world in 1944, with allies who have agendas of their own; meet the first witch of Whitehall School, who’ll be the first if some of her teachers and peers have their way. Meet a student slipping into the magical world, barely scratching the surface of the wonders and horrors to come; meet students who find themselves in the wrong class and yet learning valuable lessons. And many – many – more …

Download from Amazon Kindle now. US, UK, CAN, AUS

Snippet – Cat’s Tale

Note – this story is set midway through Cursed, just after Cat leaves Emily …

Prologue

Jacqui awoke, in pain.

Her memories were a jumbled mess. It was hard to think clearly, hard to think through the haze that had settled over her brain. Her thoughts ran in circles, howling laughter echoing through her head as she tried to focus her mind, tried to draw on her magic to re-centre her thoughts and calm herself. It was impossible, the effort bringing her nothing but another stab of pain, needles driving deep into her mind and making her whimper in agony. Her eyes were closed, her eyelids squeezed tightly shut, and yet she could see things in the corner of her eye, visions of mocking faces … no, one face. A very familiar and deeply unwelcome face.

Emily.

The recognition brought a surge of memories, and a wave of pure hatred. Emily had been a nightmare, right from the very moment they’d first met. Emily had stolen her friend, her position, her reputation … and the hell of it was, Jacqui conceded grimly, was that she’d never meant to cause her harm. Jacqui was just collateral damage, a victim who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time … repeatedly. She had grown to hate, to loathe, the wretched girl who had torn her life to shreds and yet, the one time she had tried to fight – to take advantage of Emily’s powerlessness – it had ended in pain. Jacqui had had every advantage, from enough magic to do anything she liked to living in her place of power, and it hadn’t been enough. Emily had escaped, and shot her, and …

Ice ran down Jacqui’s spine, jarring her out of her daze. She had underestimated Emily – again – and she’d underestimated the pistol she’d carried, dismissing it as a silly little toy for silly little mundanes who thought they could stand against a magician, instead of realising it was a serious threat. She should have destroyed it on the spot … no, she should have killed Emily the moment the other girl had fallen into her power. She’d wanted to rub Emily’s nose in her defeat, to drive home the simple fact that she was now completely at Jacqui’s mercy, and instead Emily had turned the tables and shot her. The healer had told her she’d been lucky the ball hadn’t struck a few centimetres to the left, where it would have punctured a lung and probably killed her. As it was, it would take weeks to heal … weeks she didn’t have. Emily might be powerless – Jacqui was sure of that, if nothing else – but she had friends. And those friends would be after her shortly. If they weren’t already.

Tears prickled at the corner of her closed eyes. She’d hated Emily, but Emily had never paid her any heed. She was nothing more than an unknown rival, a figure so pathetic she simply didn’t register …she was so insignificant, in hindsight, that Emily hadn’t bothered to take any precautions against her. It wasn’t as if she’d needed to bother. Jacqui had had every advantage – her mind insisted on repeating the same point time and time again, ramming it home – and she’d still lost. And now she was on the run. She’d fled to the healer, paid through the nose for the older man to fix her up as quickly as possible, then ran to the docks and paid – again – for a ship to carry her far from home. She had no idea where she was going, but she really didn’t care. She had been in de facto exile after last year’s disaster, and her family would disown her when they realised how many powerful figures she’d pissed off, and as long as she had her magic she could make a living somewhere – anywhere – far from the world she’d known. It was shameful, but there was no other choice. There was nothing for her back home.

The boat shifted, the sudden motion making her retch. A nasty taste billowed up in her mouth, a taste she loathed and yet knew all too well. Durian. Sudden panic shot through her as she realised she’d been drugged, the last of the memories falling into place. The captain had wined her and dined her and perhaps she’d said a little too much, before going to bed and waking up … drugged. Her eyes snapped open, revealing a tiny little cabin with a tiny little bed, barely large enough for a grown woman. The air stank of salt water, of sea life mingled with something that nagged at her mind. The only source of light was a lone porthole, covered with iron railings. She sat uptight and realised, to her horror, that her ankle was manacled to the deck.

She couldn’t help herself. She screamed.

The hatch opened, revealing the captain …Rackham, if she recalled correctly. She hadn’t thought to ask many questions, once she’d ascertained his ship was leaving within the hour. She’d just shoved money into his hand and allowed him to welcome her onto his ship and she’d missed the gleam in his eye, the way his gaze had crawled up and down her body in a decidedly sinister manner. She’d thought her magic would protect her, but … she met his eyes and saw nothing beyond cold calculation. He was handsome enough, in a dark and rakish sort of way, yet … she shivered helplessly, remembering how such men had once seemed darkly attractive, to a young woman who could protect herself. She couldn’t protect herself now. She reached for a spell, in desperation, and nothing happened. Of course not. She’d been drugged.

“Welcome, Your Ladyship,” Rackham said. “I do trust you are enjoying your accommodation?”

Jacqui tried to come up with a snappy response, but there was nothing. She had never had the sheer presence that could compensate for a lack of magic, or the connections that would bring a hundred trained combat magicians to her defence. Emily would crack a witty one-liner, she was sure, then pull the manacle from the deck and use it to beat Rackham to death. Jacqui didn’t even have the strength to swat a fly, thanks to the drugs working their way through her body, and even without them she’d never been the strongest of young women. Rackham could overwhelm her with one hand tied behind his back. She told herself to be patient, to hope he’d make a mistake and forget to keep her drugged. If she got her powers back, she could turn him into a frog and blast her way out of his ship.

Rackham’s voice dripped sarcasm. “You were very talkative, last night,” he said. “No one is going to pay a ransom for you, or am I wrong?”

“No,” Jacqui managed. How much had she drunk last night? There was a reason magicians were supposed to avoid alcohol, certainly not more than a glass or two. She’d heard enough horror stories to know the dangers, mostly involving drunken magicians casting spells they couldn’t undo when the alcohol wore off. “You won’t get anything for me.”

“Oh, yes we will,” Rackham said. He leered at her. “What do you think this ship is?”

Jacqui swallowed. She hadn’t paid much attention to that either, in her haste to get out of the city before the hammer came down. The only thing that had mattered was getting out as quickly as possible … she tried to recall what she’d seen, but there was nothing. She wouldn’t know a clipper ship from a brigantine, which probably made her unique in a city completely dependent on waterborne trade. But she hadn’t been born in Beneficence …

“We’re slavers,” Rackham said. “And you’re our prize catch.”

“But …” Jacqui started to point out that slavery was illegal in Beneficence, then caught herself. A great many things were illegal, right across the Allied Lands, but there were always people who wanted them and had the money and connections to get them. Her fingers touched her neck, half-expecting to feel a charmed collar around her throat. “You can’t …”

“You’re a graduate from Whitehall,” Rackham pointed out. “Do you know how many people would pay, for a prize like you?”

Jacqui didn’t want to think about it. The magical community disliked the idea of magically-bound slaves, but it had never bothered to do anything about it. They did nothing beyond shunning the slaveowners, angering the bastards and making them more determined to keep their slaves.  She had heard that certain slaves really were valuable, and she knew her education would make her one of them, but …

“You have a choice,” Rackham said. “If you behave yourself, you’ll be sold to someone who will appreciate you. If not … you’ll be sold to the brothel. Choose wisely.”

He took a canteen from his belt and held it out to her. “Drink.”

Jacqui smelt the durian on the air and pulled back. “Drink,” Rackham repeated. His tone hardened. “Or do I have to force it down your throat?”

“No.” Jacqui forced herself to drink, trying not to throw up at the ghastly taste. Rackham watched her with beady eyes, making sure she actually drank enough of the potion to keep her powerless for a few hours more. “I … please …”

“You’re a slave, and you will be sold,” Rackham told her. He stepped back and tapped on the hatch. It opened, to reveal a young man who passed his captain a tray of food and then retreated as silently as he’d come. “Eat. Drink. If you do manage to free yourself, stay in this cabin. My crew will not treat you kindly, if they find you outside your quarters.”

He bowed, so deeply it was clear there was no sincerity in the movement, and left the cabin. The hatch closed behind him, the lock clicking into place so loudly Jacqui knew there was no point in trying to escape. She swallowed hard, feeling her stomach growl, and pulled on the chain. It was too firmly embedded in the wooden deck for her to pull free, and the manacle itself was locked around her ankle. A simple spell could have easily freed her, but she had no magic. And she would never be allowed to regain her powers, not until it was far too late. Rackham was no fool. He knew what she’d do if she had even a spark of magic left to her.

Tears prickled in her eyes as the reality of her situation sank in. She was a slave, en route to an unknown destination where she would be sold to her new master … and she was trapped. There was no way out, no clever trick she could pull … her teachers had told her she was a capable student, but she was a plodder. She had no spark of genius, nothing that would let her tear through all barriers and make a name for herself. Emily would probably find a way out, but she was no Emily …

And she was going to end her days helpless, alone, and enslaved.

Chapter One

The funny thing was, the first time I met Emily I disliked her.

I hid it well – I don’t think she ever picked up on it – but I disliked her.

You have to realise, the idea of a first-year student joining Martial Magic was just unbelievable. I don’t care who raised you, or who taught you; it should have been hard, near impossible, for a first-year student, with only a year or two of magic under her belt, to meet the basic requirements for the course. Aloha was the youngest student to qualify in decades and everyone knew she had spent the last year working her ass off, mastering spells that were normally taught to fourth-years and studying tactics that were never covered in basic Defensive Magic classes. No one, myself included, doubted that she had earned her place in the class. But Emily …?

My first assumption was that Void had spent the year since she came into her magic teaching her everything she needed to know, drilling her until she met the class requirements. It wasn’t an unfounded assumption – he had a reputation as a harsh taskmaster – and it might have been enough to get her into the class. My second was that she was deliberately concealing her own prowess, pretending to be ignorant and incapable for some reason of her own. It was rare for magicians to be modest – most of us have a high opinion of ourselves, with good reason – but it wasn’t completely unknown. And my third – which turned out to be accurate – was that someone had pulled strings to get her into the class.

I was not pleased. I was not the only one. I might have said something nasty and unforgivable, right at the start, if Jade hadn’t taken such an instant shine to her. He saw something in Emily that no one else, not even I, saw at the time, recognised that beneath the scrawny young girl with almost no grounding in magic was a genuine cleverness, mingled with vast potential and determination. She got knocked down a lot, in those early days, but she always got up again. I was starting to respect her, even to like her, before she saved our lives and then the school. And after that, no one questioned her right to be in the class.

It was funny, in hindsight, how I hadn’t realised she was growing into an attractive young woman until years later, after I’d graduated and she’d left the school. The young Emily was thin and pale, and it took years for her body to grow out a little, for her hair to shine and her face to take on a healthy pallor, but when she did I noticed her. I flirted a little and then, in the midst of our mission to rescue Princess Alassa, I kissed her. She kissed me back and we became lovers and …

And then she lost her magic.

It was not easy for her to cope, and our relationship ran into trouble. I had been attracted to the daring adventurer side of her, to the person who had put herself at risk, time and time again, doing what she thought right and proper … and that part of her was gone, crushed by the sudden loss of her powers. She had fallen from the most promising young magician of our age to a common mundane and it nearly broke her. I did what I could, but emotional support was a skill I had never bothered to master. What could I say to her, what could I promise, that would make up for what she’d lost? And then …

Jacqui kidnapped her, humiliated her, nearly killed her … and she’d escaped, and she’d gone to Caleb, and he’d brought her back to me, and … we’d broken up. I ran. I told myself I was going to kill Jacqui, and I meant it, but the truth was that I just couldn’t look at her any longer, not without recalling the young woman I’d fallen for, the young woman who had been a spark of life in an uncaring world, but who was now crushed and broken. I couldn’t bear it and I ran.

And Jacqui was going to pay.

The thought drove me onwards as I strode through Beneficence, the people spotting my dark face and darker clothes and giving me a wide berth. The air stank of dead fish and salt water … I gritted my teeth as I neared Jacqui’s home, surprisingly far from the magical quarter. She had made a fool of herself, only a few short months ago, and her family – from what I’d heard – had turned her into a remittance woman, paying her way as long as she stayed well clear of her ancestral home. I doubted they’d be inviting her home anytime soon, after they realised what she’d done. Queen Alassa of Zangaria and Jade, her husband, would be putting a bounty on her head, as would many others. The odds were good she’d be disowned, if she lived long enough for the bounty to be publicised. I had no intention of letting her live that long, after what she’d done. I didn’t care about the money. I just wanted her dead.

I slowed as the house loomed up in front of me, a simple two-story structure that – in a cramped city – spoke of money or connections or both. Jacqui had probably been given the task of representing her family in the city, a post that was largely meaningless in any real sense and generally only offered to family members who were too highly-ranked to be ignored and yet too stupid to be trusted with anything important. There were at least two or three people like that in every major family, aristocratic or magical, and they tended to cause problems if they couldn’t be given a sinecure quickly enough to quell their demands for real power. Jacqui certainly qualified, I noted as I scanned the wards surrounding her home. Emily might have lost her magic, but she had friends who would avenge her and enough money – in her own right – to make Jacqui very miserable indeed. What had Jacqui been thinking? Did she think she could hide her involvement forever?

I cast a charm around myself to conceal my presence from prying eyes, then stepped up to the wards and started to work my way through them. Jacqui had never been a particularly innovative magician and her wards were bland and boring, lacking any individuality or hidden surprises buried under well-known charms. They would have kept out any footpad, but to a trained and experienced magician like me they were about as effective as a complete lack of wards. That would have been a little more disturbing, in a way. I would have spent hours poking gingerly through the walls, wondering what I was missing. I kept alert as I reached the inner wards – a more careful magician would leave a twist here, to annoy me – but there was nothing. I was almost disappointed. Jacqui had spent six years in Whitehall for this?

The door was hanging open. I shaped a spell and held it at my fingertips as I pushed the door all the way open and peered inside. The inner chamber was a mess, pieces of debris lying on the ground and blood staining the floor. I knelt down and touched it with my fingertips, wary of any spells that might have been worked into the liquid. Blood-based magic was incredibly dangerous, and I doubted Jacqui had the nerve to take the risk, but I had been wrong before. It was still liquid, suggesting it hadn’t been that long since it had been shed. I hoped it wasn’t Emily’s blood, although it was hard to be sure. I didn’t think she’d been bleeding when Caleb brought her home.

I straightened, and walked into the next room. A body lay on the ground, a nasty wound clearly visible in their chest. Her chest. I feared it might be Jacqui for a nasty moment, before I looked closer and realised the dead woman had clearly been an older servant. Jacqui’s family might have loaned her an old retainer, with orders to keep an eye on Jacqui as much as support her, or she might have been hired in the city. Probably the latter, I suspected, judging by her hard-worn appearance. She had been old enough to be Jacqui’s mother, before she’d been shot. I didn’t think the wound had been caused by magic.

The corpse gazed at me accusingly as I looked the body up and down, then headed onwards. Jacqui had had a laboratory in the rear of her house, a chamber that looked as if it had been hit by a series of whirlwind spells. Someone had torn open the cupboards and swept bottles off the shelves, dozens of ingredients – some magic, some mundane – pooling on the floor, some already sparking with magic as they mixed together in ways that would have given my old alchemical tutor a heart attack. It was a minor miracle they hadn’t already caught fire. My eyes swept the chamber, looking for something I could use to neutralise the ingredients before the reaction billowed out of control and exploded, but saw nothing. Jacqui had either removed it or she’d never had it. I mentally bet on the latter. If she’d wanted to blow up the house to hide her tracks, she had more than enough magic to do it.

Foolish, I thought. The wards were strong, but there were limits. She could have blown herself up and taken a chunk of the city with her.

I turned and walked up a flight of stairs into a bedroom, telling myself to hurry. It was clearly Jacqui’s, judging from the sheer size; someone had been through the chamber like a tornado, opening and ransacking drawers, dumping their contents on the floor without bothering to pick up afterwards. I felt a twinge of guilt as I looked around – you did not go into a magician’s bedroom without permission – and ruthlessly suppressed it. Jacqui had scooped up a handful of clothes, from the evidence, and left the rest behind to burn in the coming fire. She’d been in a hurry, I noted. The dresses might not be the kind of thing one might want to wear on the run – I had a mental image of a woman riding a horse while wearing a ballroom gown and snickered – but they’d fetch a pretty crown at the local market, where the buyers wouldn’t ask too many questions about how she’d obtained them. Jacqui hadn’t had a contingency plan for going on the run, clearly. She’d certainly not bothered to take any basic precautions.

“And she’s not here,” I noted, as I went through the rest of the house. The kitchen had been left alone, as far as I could tell. I guessed Jacqui had stayed out of the kitchen, to the point she didn’t have the wit to wonder where her meals came from, or even to make herself a bunch of sandwiches before she fled. “Where is she?”

I closed my eyes for a long moment, thinking hard. Jacqui wasn’t the cleverest person in the world – her plot to kidnap Emily had been mind-bogglingly insane, and so poorly carried out I couldn’t help wondering if someone had sabotaged it – but she wasn’t completely stupid. She couldn’t stay in the city, which meant she had to get out … and the nearest portal was on the other side of the bridge, in Zangaria. I didn’t think she could teleport without assistance and I doubted she’d take the risk of hiring a teleporter, which meant … she’d need to take a ship if she wanted to leave in a hurry. And that meant …

The blood was lying where I’d seen it, splattering the floor. I touched it again, trying a detection spell. It didn’t work perfectly – whoever had bled had tried to cut the bloodlink, which was proof the blood wasn’t Emily’s – but it pulled me towards the docks. I dipped my handkerchief in the blood, then made my way out of the house, altering the wards to contain the explosion if – when – the reaction finally got out of control. There was no point in letting it take out the entire block.

I scowled as I made my way down to the docks, passing through crowds of sailors heading to the pubs before returning to their families, and looked around. The basin was crammed with fishing boats making their way into the harbour, as the sun started to drop beneath the horizon, and it was easy to imagine Jacqui convincing a fisherman to take her to the Zangarian coastline and drop her off somewhere out of sight. Or maybe even taking her further away. Jacqui might not be a great magician, by any reasonable standard, but she could certainly cast a compulsion spell. Or simply offer a great deal of money.

The stench of rotting fish grew stronger. I looked around, hunting for someone who might have noticed her when she passed through the docks. There was always someone who paid close attention to the hustle and bustle, either because they worked for information brokers or because they simply didn’t have anywhere else to go. I smiled grimly as I spotted an older man sitting on a stone bench, his hands resting on a cane. A former sailor, probably, watching the youngsters plying his old trade. I walked over to him, careful to let him see me coming. His face was so gnarled I wondered if he’d been cursed, but his eyes were bright. I suspected he missed very little, as he sat on the docks. I knew the type very well.

He spoke with an odd accent, one I didn’t recognise. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for a fugitive,” I said, warily. There was no way to tell which way he’d jump, if he thought I had bad intentions. Runaway young women – or men – weren’t that uncommon and not everyone thought their families had the right to drag them home. It was quite possible he would try to mislead me, or simply refuse to answer my questions. “She kidnapped a young woman and then ran from justice.”

“A lot of people come here to hide from justice,” the man said. There was a faint hint of amusement in his tone. “Which person are you looking for?”

I held out my hand, casting an illusion spell. I hadn’t known Jacqui very well – we hadn’t shared any classes, and the age gap made it impossible for us to have any relationship as long as we’d both been in the school – but I remembered her. The image was as precise as I could make it … I hoped, thinking about it, that she hadn’t tried to disguise herself. A magician wearing a glamour could walk right past the most observant old man and go unnoticed. The thought of her getting away like that was infuriating. Given time, the bloodstained handkerchief would lose its value and leave me short of any way to track her.

“I recall her,” the man said. He shot me a look that might have been intended to be a leer. It was hard to tell, on his craggy face. “She ran down the steps and took passage with Rackham.”

He snickered. “She must have been desperate. What was she running from?”

“Justice, like I said,” I snapped. The old man was perceptive enough to realise that Jacqui – and I – were both from the magical aristocracy. He might assume she was running from me … technically true, I supposed, if for quite the wrong reasons. “Who is Rackham?”

“A tramp freighter with a bad reputation,” the old man told me. “He’ll be back shortly, if he isn’t delayed by the wind. Or the rain. Or …”

I reached into my pocket and offered him a crown. “Thank you for your help,” I told him. I was fairly sure the old man had been telling the truth, if only because he had enough stubborn pride not to like. I knew the type. “I’ll wait for him to return.”

The old man nodded, making the coin vanish with practiced ease. I turned away and walked to the harbourmaster’s office, where a small bribe convinced the clerk to tell me, completely off the record, that Rackham was a smuggler … and, officially, nothing more than a tramp freighter captain picking up random cargos and putting them down again somewhere else. Good cover for a smuggler, I noted as I found lodgings in a seaside inn. The man hadn’t left any sort of schedule, nothing to say when and where he’d be heading before he made his way back to the city, and no one would think anything of it. I hated the idea of waiting for a man I knew might not be back in a hurry – or at all, if Jacqui decided to cover her tracks by killing him – but there was no other choice. Jacqui had fled so quickly I doubted she’d had time to leave a false trail. Nor would she go back to her house.

I spent the next two days asking around, trying to learn more about the mysterious Rackham. Everyone agreed he was a smuggler, but no one was quite clear on what he smuggled. I wasn’t sure what the point was, in smuggling anything into the city. Goods that would earn a smuggler a life sentence in Zangaria passed unnoticed in Beneficence, a city where few things were forbidden. There were certainly no kings passing silly laws against wearing purple. And yet, there were a few things that were, by common agreement, forbidden.

I knew what that meant. Someone would want them, just because they were forbidden.

And by the time Rackham returned to the city, I had a plan.

What Next?

Hi, everyone

I’m currently 31 chapters into Exiled To Glory (snippets on the blog) and I’m hopeful of finishing the first draft this week. I have a short story to write for a collection, and another project that might or might not pay off (and I will discuss it later), but after then I intend to start writing The Unnatural Order, which will be book 27 of Schooled In Magic. I’m not quite sure when yet (these are the school holidays) but it will happen.

And after that?

That is the question. Option One is The Fires Of Freedom, which will be the direct successor to The Burning World (A Learning Experience). Option two would probably be The King’s Secret, which is the direct sequel to The Alchemist’s Secret, although I don’t have the plot precisely pinned down yet. The main character will obviously be Adam, but am unsure if I should tie his plot into Lucy (after the events of The Alchemist’s Secret) or pair him up with someone else instead.

The problem, you see, is that I started to explore the storyline in three different points of view. This meant that The Zero Secret, The Family Secret, and The Alchemist’s Secret overlapped in places, a challenge I tried to meet by keeping three books as far apart as possible. Right now, there are now two separate plotlines that need to converge; would it make to sense to isolate them, to a certain degree, so there would basically be two books running in parallel, or would it be better to bring the plotlines together sooner?

I’m actually thinking about pairing Lucy with Isabella, for obvious reasons, and putting Adam’s with another viewpoint character. How does that sound?

Beyond that, as some of you know, I have written a novella for Fantastic School Wars that has given birth to a full plot. It would be relatively stand-alone, unlike the cunning man and its sequels, and it would give me a chance to play around with other teams that I can’t explore with Emily or Adam. Would you like to see that instead?

Let me know what you think.

Chris

How Did We Get Into This Mess?

(Normal commenting rules apply …)

How Did We Get Into This Mess?

I’m going to be drawing very heavily on an example from Battlestar Galactica. If you didn’t watch the show, or you weren’t a fan … sorry .

I have a great many quibbles with how the latter half of Battlestar Galactica developed, when it became painfully obvious that the producers did not have a plan, but one thing that has always struck me as both entirely plausible and yet mind-bogglingly stupid was the election in which Gaius Baltar was elected President of the Twelve Colonies (or what was left of them), a decision that led straight to the Cylon occupation of New Caprica and the death of a sizeable percentage of the remaining human race. It seems forced, almost as if the producers wanted the story to go in a certain way even though it appears natural, and yet it is not. Like I said, I have many quibbles, but this is something they got right.

Why did Baltar win the election?

As I see it, there are two reasons.

Baltar’s opponent was Laura Roslin, and Roslin was far from a perfect candidate herself. She became President through the death of everyone above her in the line of succession, and in fact did not intend to hold new elections until she was shamed into doing it. She was a religious fanatic who bent the knee to other religious fanatics, she convinced one officer of the fleet to mutiny, sparked off a civil war within the fleet, she plotted to kill the legitimate commanding officer of the fleet, abandoned a number of civilians to the enemy, and even planned to murder an innocent child. She has a terrible habit of giving her word and then going back on it, a sense of her own rightness that makes it hard for her to listen to criticism, and – not least – it was her who appointed Baltar as her Vice President, suggesting she was fine with the prospect of him succeeding her if she died.

Now, you can argue that Roslin was entirely justified in most of these decisions. We, the viewers, might be inclined to side with her even when she is doing something wrong. But not everyone will agree with these decisions, particularly when they don’t have insights us viewers have.

Baltar makes an interesting contrast. He is a man of science, as well as a legitimate war hero, and he has much else to recommend him. He does not, as far as the average citizen knows, have a history of making bad decisions, and even the ones we viewers do know about were not the intentional treason of his original series counterpart. Baltar’s great flaw is being weak willed and feeble, more interested in his own pleasure than that of working for the good of mankind, but that too would not be so apparent to the average citizen of the fleet.

Looked at from the point of view of the average citizen, before the disaster, Baltar is not a bad choice.

But there is a second, far more profound, reason for his election.

The main characters live in relative luxury. The senior officers – and Roslin – have expansive quarters, solely to themselves. Roslin has a corps of reporters and aides who give her administration the sense of being bigger than it is, and who are also presumably living in what passes for luxury. The vast majority of viewpoint characters are well treated, and perhaps – just as important – they have something to do. They may see themselves as deprived, compared to their lives before the flight, but compared to the average citizen they live in luxury.

The average citizen is crammed into a multitude of tiny starships; food is short, water is heavily rationed, the fleet is under de facto martial law and – worse – under constant attack. The lucky ones are working themselves to death trying to keep the fleet going a few weeks; the unlucky ones are trapped in those ships, unable to do anything but pray that one day they will find a place where they can lay down their burdens and rest. They have good reason to be afraid of their president, their military (Admiral Cain was not the only one who committed atrocities against the civilian population), and the relentless enemy who hounds the fleet every day. The fact that the senior crew live in relative luxury, and Roslin feels free to waste resources and personnel on maintaining a West Wing-style administration, would be rubbing salt into the wound. So too would the class and religious divisions within the fleet.

And then they are presented with the opportunity to leave the fleet and settle on a new world.

It seems perfect. New Caprica is difficult to find (and it would not have been found were it not for an unforeseeable disaster), and it seems safe. Why keep looking for a world that might not exist – and by now, it’s possible the fleet knows the commander did not believe originally in Earth – when you could settle New Caprica instead? Like I said, it seems perfect.

The discovery was bad luck for Roslin, but what made it worse was her own failure to realise how this shifted the dynamics of the election. The smart option at this point would be to suggest a compromise between the ‘settle the planet’ and the ‘run away as fast as possible’ options, arranging for a slow and steady settlement that would not put thousands of people at risk if the planet was discovered by the enemy. Instead, Roslin chose a ‘my way or the highway’ approach and discovered, too late, that far too many voters were prepared to choose the highway instead. She basically threw the election to her opponent, a problem compounded by a plot to rig the election in her favour.

Why did she mess up so badly, with such disastrous consequences for the fleet?

The answer is obvious, and it has nothing to do with the producers forcing the outcome. Roslin had lost touch with public opinion, and instead of allowing her actions to be shaped by what the public was prepared to tolerate she was trying to force them to go in a direction they do not want to; worse, she was trying to get them to sacrifice their own concrete interests for a nebulous quest and/or the hypothetical danger of the colony being discovered, attacked and destroyed. To Roslin, who lived in relative luxury, this was not a great hardship; to everyone else, it most definitely was.

It seems impossible, in hindsight, that anyone could vote for Baltar. But if you had been on that fleet, in those conditions, you would properly have voted for Baltar too. And so would I.

***

And now we shall move from TV shows to modern real-life politics.

The European elections saw a major rise in support for right-wing parties. This has not yet produced any decisive shift in the balance of power – the European Union is very bad at listening to public opinion, and is carefully designed to limit the influence of public opinion – but that has not stopped a vast number of commenters screaming about the rise of the far right. There have been endless comparisons to Hitler and Mussolini, grim predictions about the future of Europe if the far right gets into power, and a great deal of breast-beating about how people could be so stupid to vote for those fools. Some have even questioned the value of democracy at all, running arguments that essentially boil down to “we have to destroy democracy in order to save it:” they have attacked the founding principle of democracy, free speech, on the assumption that doing so will save the world, and undermined social trust to point it can no longer be said to exist.

The core problem is that the European elites have fallen into very bad habits. They do not attempt to answer the arguments put forward by their enemies; instead, they attack their enemies personally, screaming insults and accusations of fascism, and do everything in their power to lock them out of politics and silence their voices. They certainly make no attempt to adjust their policies in response to the rise of right-wing parties, not even trying to throw increasingly disillusioned voters a bone. From the point of view of someone living in an ivory tower, in safety, their policies make sense; from the point of view of someone who does not have that safety, their policies are utterly disastrous. It is the fundamental problem facing elites that are increasingly choosing to put appearance over reality.

And the only reason they can get away with that is because reality does not affect them. Yet.

Their actions have had four entirely predictable consequences. First, by locking anyone rightwards of centre-left out of power as much as possible, they have spared the right-wing any share of the blame for the economic and social disasters sweeping over Europe. (Ironically, this is one of the few moments where the Hitler comparison actually works.) Second, by proving they have lost their grip on reality, they make the right wing look sane and reasonable by comparison. Third, by smearing sane and reasonable policies as ‘fascist,’ to the point the word has lost all meaning (along with a vast number of others) they have provided political cover for people who are genuinely fascist. And fourth, by attacking free speech, slandering their enemies and undermining social trust, they have ensured that any genuine warnings about the dangers of the far right will go unheard.

And they have lost touch so completely that they are unable to realise that they are their own worst enemies.

Those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it. But those who effortlessly use the Hitler comparison have not learnt any of the lessons of Hitler’s rise to power and the subsequent destruction of democracy and the war that left Germany and much of Europe in ruins. Hitler rose to power, at least in part, because Weimar Germany was caught in a global economic storm it could neither avoid nor control. It was very much a victim of events outside its own borders, although the failure to deal with Hitler while they had the chance certainly played a major role in their own collapse. Modern day Europe, by comparison, enjoyed – or used to – a considerable degree of control over its own fate. It was possible that a sane and rational policy could have led to a European Union that worked, but that would have required leaders who were practical men and a genuine commitment to democracy and accountability. Instead, we have an elitist organisation with an immense democratic deficit and a population that increasingly feels it no longer has any say in its own future. And that population is growing desperate.

It is a sad truth that desperate men make poor decisions. Desperation can drive people frantic, push them to take ‘all or nothing’ choices that would be, from a more dispassionate point of view, excessive, immoral, or both. The refusal to address entirely legitimate concerns fuels desperation, and the willingness to embrace extreme solutions …

Because if everything is fascist, nothing is …

… And if you are drowning, you don’t stop to check who is offering you a hand before taking it.

***

And now the United States has a far worse problem.

There is no denying the simple fact that Joe Biden performed very badly in the recent debate. It made a mockery of all suggestions that Biden’s near-senility was exaggerated by his political enemies, and calls into question his ability to survive another four years in the most stressful occupation in the world. All he had to do was look more sane and reasonable than Donald Trump, not a particularly high bar to clear, and he couldn’t even do that. For Republicans, the debate was proof that Biden simply is not up the job; for Democrats, the debate calls the common sense of the party leadership in the question, as well as the truthfulness.

But the Democrats have backed themselves into a corner. And how are they going to get themselves out of this mess?

If they convince Biden not to run in the coming election, who will be his successor? Kamala Harris is even less popular than Biden himself, and she lacks any real support within the Democratic Party. Her selection as VP may have come from cold political calculation rather than any consideration of the long-term good of both the party and the country itself. Running Kamala would be even more chancy than running Hillary, but asking her to stand aside to would raise the spectre of accusations of racism, of the suggestion that the party elites are quite happy to push aside a black woman to make room for a white man. They would have to grasp the nettle of accepting her as a presumptive candidate or taking the political heat for pushing her out, and I am not sure which one they would consider to be the best of a pair of bad choices.

Perhaps the best choice would be to try to arrange a new nomination process, and insist that Kamala seek the votes of the party members like everyone else. But even that would not be likely to go down very well.

But the even bigger problem is that the party elites have lost touch with the people. They are so consumed with hatred for Donald Trump that they have actually become their own worst enemies, and instead of taking advantage of the opportunity to win votes by pushing sensible policies they have inflicted a great deal of damage – and convinced many of their own voters that they are insane – and somehow made Donald Trump look the better choice.

As the movie tagline goes,” whoever wins, we lose.”

Cheap Books Alert

My friend Mathew Quinn, whose works I have reviewed earlier, is selling copies of his steampunk military novels, Battle for the Wastelands (UK link) and Son of Grendel (UK link), at the reduced price of £0.99. If you like my military-SF, give these a try .