The King's Man

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “We’ll see,” Caroline said. “I thought I wouldn’t be writing any more reports after I left school.”

  Sir Griffons laughed, humourlessly. “Paperwork is the bane of our lives,” he said. “But your reports will be studied long after you’re gone.”

  “Sure,” Caroline muttered. “And people will be writing reports on our reports, under the title of how not to do it.”

  “You can get away with anything, if you win,” Sir Griffons said. “Victory has a thousand fathers. Defeat ... is all in your hands.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  My father had made it clear, when I was a child, that I was not to go out after dark, not in Water Shallot. The streets were decidedly unsafe for a young boy, even one who’d been born and raised in Water Shallot. I’d resented it at the time, but - as I’d grown older - I’d come to understand that the old man had been right. The bars were crammed with dockyard workers and fishermen drinking their sorrows away, the streets were infested with drunkards looking for fights and whores looking for clients ... it was no place for a child. Even now, I felt oddly unsure of myself as I led Caroline down the dark street. The street corners were lined with toughs, their weapons clearly visible. A challenge to a fight could come at any moment.

  I walked past a pair of stalls selling suspicious-looking sausages, my stomach churning as I breathed in the aroma of fat and rotten meat. The sausages were incredibly spicy, at least partly to blot out the taste of foul meat. They were being sold at cut-rate prices, but hardly anyone seemed interested in buying. I didn’t blame the locals. No one could afford to get sick in Water Shallot. Their masters would simply fire them and hire someone else. There was never any shortage of unskilled labour. My father had certainly had no trouble hiring people to work for him when he’d expanded his store.

  Caroline took my hand as we turned the corner, passing a line of prostitutes. The women hooted and waved, baring their breasts or sticking out their legs as we passed. I saw a pair of sailors bartering with a girl, haggling over her price. I doubted she’d be very expensive. The high-class brothels were on the other side of town. The other prostitutes cheered as the woman led her customers into a dark alley. I felt sick, wondering if they’d wind up being mugged ... or infected with something unpleasant. Father had been so sharp on the subject of seedy whores that I’d wondered if he’d had a bad experience with them, once upon a time. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about.

  The Working Men’s Club was a converted warehouse, midway between the bridges and the docks. It was surprisingly well-lit, magic lanterns drifting in the air as if it was owned and operated by an aristo. Music echoed through the air as we approached, a drinking song properly brought up youngsters weren’t supposed to know. I had to smile. There were five official verses and countless unofficial versions, ranging from one about the evils of drink to a celebration of the virtues of drunkenness. I knew more of the verses than I cared to admit, certainly not to my father. He’d have thrown a fit.

  There were no guards on the doors, I noted, as we passed through a simple privacy ward and stepped inside. The clubbers didn’t seem to care that we’d entered their territory. I looked around with interest, noting that the gaming tables and sporting facilities had been removed for the night. Instead, the crowd was drinking beer and eying the podium. The singer was still belting out the verses, including several I didn’t know. I frowned as we pushed towards the bar. The clubbers weren’t normally ones for concerts. They preferred to spend their time drinking, gambling and playing games.

  My lips quirked. The clubs were intended to keep grown men - and a handful of women, the ones who’d earned their places amongst the men - off the streets. I wondered just how well they succeeded. The older men had wives and families, the younger men wanted a wilder life featuring boozing, prostitutes and potions that were technically illegal. I was mildly surprised the clubs were as popular as they were. Perhaps the older ones wanted time away from the wife and kids. My father might have been the same, if he hadn’t lost my mother in childbirth. I’d heard enough older men grumbling about the ball and chain to know some of them lacked perspective.

  The bartender gave us both a sour look. “What’ll it be?”

  “Two beers,” I said. Ordering anything else - here - would arouse suspicion. I shuddered to think of what would happen to someone who ordered wine or water. He’d either be the bravest man in Shallot or the stupidest. I supposed it would depend on how well he could handle himself in a fight. “And some peanuts, if you please.”

  The bartender poured the beers, then shoved a small bowl of peanuts at us. I paid - the booze was cheap, probably to ensure the working men stayed safely drunk - and led the way to the corner. The crowd was growing larger, men - and a handful of women - chatting to each other as they waited. It was standing room only. I muttered a spell to remove the alcohol, then took a sip of the beer. It really should have been poured back in the horse. I couldn’t believe there’d been a time when I’d drank beer like water. I’d been young and foolish and trying to impress my peers. Father had put a stop to that when he’d caught me. I supposed I should be grateful.

  It felt like hours before the singer finally stopped murdering a ballad and stepped off the stage. The musicians took a bow - the audience showed its appreciation by pelting them with peanuts - then hurried into the next room. I felt a twinge of sympathy, mingled with the grim awareness that the working men were tough nuts to crack. They knew what they liked and woe betide someone who tried to give them something - anything - else. Caroline shifted next to me as the crowd pressed against us. There were just too many warm bodies in the room. I’d thought I was used to crowds, but now I was tempted to turn and try to force my way out of the hall.

  “And now,” a voice boomed, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for.”

  I frowned as music started, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. The crowd started to sing, practically in unison. I pretended to sing, moving my lips soundlessly as I listened to the lyrics. Whoever had written the song - and the music - had done a brilliant job. He’d reminded us of the hard life of a commoner, while holding out hope that things would change when the working men found their power. It came back, time and time again, to the simple theme. The working men would find their power ... and everything would change.

  Caroline shifted against me, uncomfortably. I kept pretending to sing, silently grateful there were so many people in the hall that no one would notice I wasn’t actually making noise. I was a commoner and yet ... the song called to me and repelled me in equal measure. I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the simple fact that the singers were steadily losing their individuality, subsuming themselves in a greater whole. I’d read a lot about mob psychology, back at Haddon Hall. A person might be smart enough to avoid doing something disastrous; a mob might be too consumed in its cause to care what it was doing. And afterwards ... the people involved might not understand what they’d done.

  The singing went on and on. I’d had no idea there were so many socialist songs. We sang about brave men and women who worked together to build farms and factories, we sang about robber barons getting their just desserts from their former victims, we sang about the importance of unity and the curses we’d pile on anyone who dared betray us ... I shuddered as the song grew unpleasantly vindictive, knowing we’d be in deep shit if we were caught. We’d have to fight our way out ...

  I breathed a sigh of relief as the singing finally came to an end. The crowd was shouting and cheering, all fired up for whatever was going to come next. I looked around, unsure what to expect. A rally, the papers had said. What did it mean? I had no idea. Caroline looked as ignorant as I felt. I saw her exchanging glances with an older woman pressed up against her. The woman seemed to be trying to say something, but the noise was so loud I couldn’t pick out a single word. I couldn’t even read her lips.

  A hooded figure stepped onto the stage. My eyes narrowed. The hood and cloak were completely shapeless,
but somehow I was convinced the hooded figure was female. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Perhaps it was the simple fact that she was acting as though she had something to hide. A faint obscurification charm covered her face, casting a veil of shadow over her features. I leaned forward, trying to peer through it. I had the strangest feeling I should be able to see her face. I just wasn’t sure why.

  She reached for her hood and pulled it back in one smooth motion, revealing a very familiar face. I stared in complete and total disbelief as blonde hair spilled down - and around - a severe face. Louise! It couldn’t be Louise. But it was. Her mouth was set in a grim expression as the crowd cheered. She seemed to be above it all, yet ... I shook my head, unable to wrap my head around it. Louise wasn’t a socialist, was she? She wasn’t a politician ...

  Saline said Louise had gone into politics, I reminded myself. She didn’t say what kind of politics.

  I shook my head. It was incredible. Louise was a merchant’s daughter. She’d been to Jude’s ... by now, she’d probably graduated from Jude’s. The ceremony would have been a few weeks ago. She had less in common with the working men than I did. And yet, they were cheering her to the skies. I couldn’t understand it. There were men in the room who’d sooner paint their faces and wear dresses than take orders from a girl young enough to be their daughter. And yet ...

  “The system is rigged,” Louise said. I was sure she was using a charm to amplify her voice, but I couldn’t sense anything. “We know this to be true. The system is rigged against us.”

  I listened, feeling a twinge of awe, as Louise explained the truth. I’d known the system was rigged - Father had made that clear - but Louise told us how and why the system was rigged. The aristos had created a system that put all the power firmly in their hands, keeping everyone else under control even though the city was - in theory - democratic. The crowd muttered angrily as Louise continued, reminding them they were the victims of the aristos. Their lives were controlled by the aristos. There was no point in trying to fight.

  “They seek to keep us divided,” Louise said. “They want us to remain unaware of our power. They want us to remain ignorant, so we don’t challenge them. They want ... but we can fight back! Through knowledge, through understanding, through patience and force and unity! We can reclaim our birthright! We can reclaim the freedoms they stole from us!”

  I stared, unsure how to feel. Her words called to me. I wanted a world where I didn’t have to bend the knee to the aristos, a world where merit triumphed over breeding. And yet, I knew enough - from my instructors - to fear the consequences of mob rule. The rebels would defeat their enemies and then turn on themselves. Louise might go mad with power - or she might lose control. I wasn’t sure which one would be more dangerous.

  My eyes lingered on her as she continued her speech. Louise would never be classically beautiful, but ... I thought she’d never looked more striking. There was something about her that called to me, something that insisted she was someone to take seriously. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. She was just ...

  Caroline put her mouth next to my ears. “You’re staring.”

  I felt myself blush. “I ...”

  A low tremor ran through the room. I felt my ears pop, an instant before the bottles behind the bar shattered with a deafening retort. Magic - hostile magic - spilled through the air, brushing through the crowd and sending dozens to the ground. I blocked the itching hex as it passed over me, looking around for whoever had cast the spell. The floating lanterns glowed brightly for a second, then winked out. Darkness fell, like a hammer blow. I heard the door blow in, debris flying in all directions. People screamed as shadowy figures hurled spells into the room.

  I started for the stage as the crowd roared like a wounded animal, then hurled itself on the attackers. Magic flared, powerful spells lashing out at the socialists. The screaming grew louder - I sensed one of the magicians die, probably trampled to death - as things grew worse. An attacker stepped up in front of Caroline, half-hidden in the gloom. She cancelled his protective wards, then kicked him in the groin. He was out of it before he hit the ground. I couldn’t help feeling it was probably a relief.

  “Get out of here!” I shouted at Caroline. “Move!”

  I kept moving. The stage was right in front of me. Light flared, revealing two attackers racing towards Louise. She was casting spells of her own, but they seemed completely ineffective. The attackers, whoever they were, knew what they were doing. I summoned a chair from the side of the stage and brought it down on the nearest attacker’s head. He crumbled like paper, his comrade turning towards me with murder in his eyes. I blasted his wards with a hex Sir Muldoon had shown me, then followed up with a haymaker that would have stunned an elephant. He went flying. I glanced back, but the darkness was descending once again. There was no sign of Caroline. I hoped she’d had the sense to get out while she could. A whole bunch of people were about to get hurt.

  “This way!” I caught Louise’s hand and half-dragged her towards the rear entrance. The warehouse wasn’t that complex, thankfully. I’d seen enough to guess where the exits actually were. “Hurry!”

  Louise let out a yelp as we sprinted down the corridor and onto the darkened streets. A riot had sprung up, seemingly from nowhere. I swallowed hard, unsure what to do. If I’d been on my own, I could have watched for Caroline or sneaked into the shadows and headed back home. But I had Louise with me. Caroline could get out on her own, but Louise? I briefly considered taking her back home, yet ... I shook my head. Sir Griffons wouldn’t be pleased to see her. And besides, I had no idea who’d attacked the rally. Aristos? I could easily imagine Francis leading a gang of young bucks to attack the socialists. Francis was dead, but there was no shortage of idiots in the aristocracy. I wondered if I’d bashed a chair over his brother’s head. Did Francis have a brother?

  The riot grew louder. “This way,” I said, hoping to the ancients I was right. “We have to hole up somewhere.”

  Louise seemed to be in shock. She didn’t try to fight as I pulled her down the street, past two blocks of tenement housing before reaching a cheap and nasty inn. I knew the rules of the place as well as I knew my name, although I’d never been inside. The innkeeper wouldn’t ask questions, as long as you crossed his palm with silver. I plucked a pair of coins out of my pouch, paid the woman at the desk and helped Louise up the stairs to our room. We’d be safe in the inn, I hoped. It was unlikely the rioters would burn it down. Hopefully, the riot would break up before the City Guard arrived.

  “They ... they attacked us!” Louise sounded stunned as she sat on the bed, even though she knew aristos could be treacherous. Francis had nearly killed her, too. “They could have killed everyone.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. In truth, I had no idea how many people had been injured or killed. There was no easy way to tell, short of going back to the hall and counting the bodies. “It might not be as many as you suppose.”

  Louise looked up at me, her eyes clearing. “Adam?”

  “Yeah.” I wondered what I should tell her, if anything. What would she say if she knew I was a Kingsman? “I thought it would be interesting to attend your rally.”

  “They wouldn’t be trying to kill us if they didn’t think we were a threat,” Louise said. She sounded oddly happy, even though there could be hundreds of people wounded or killed back in the club. “You probably saved my life.”

  I grinned, pleased. Louise didn’t deserve to die. She certainly didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a pack of cowards too fearful to show their faces.

  “Yeah.” I smiled. I’d saved her life. “I guess I did.”

  Louise stood. “You saved my life and ...”

  She leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine. I felt my body move, my hands slipping down her back. Her breasts pressed against my chest. I wanted her, with an intensity that surprised me. We’d just escaped certain death. I knew I should be calling Caroline, or Sir Griffons, but ... it was suddenly very hard
to focus. We were trapped, at least for the moment. And she was so very beautiful. It was suddenly very hard to undress without tearing something.

  It wasn’t my first time. But it was definitely my best.

  Chapter Twenty

  When I awoke, I wasn’t sure where I was.

  I sat up, looking around the room. It was bright outside, the sunlight streaming through a window and mockingly reminding me I’d overslept. The bedroom ... wasn’t my bedroom, not the one I shared with Caroline. Someone shifted next to me and I jumped, half-convinced I’d wound up in bed with Caroline before I recognised Louise. She was naked, her pale skin covered in sweat and red marks. The memories came flooding back as she opened her eyes. We’d been in a riot, we’d escaped, we’d found a place to hide and ...

  And we slept together. I felt a surge of sudden warmth towards her, mingled with an awareness that I might really have fucked up. And not in a good way. Sir Griffons is not going to be pleased.

  “Adam?” Louise smiled at me, dreamily. “What time is it?”

  I reached for my pocket watch and glanced at it. “Eight o’clock, more or less,” I said. “I ...”

  Louise looked down at herself, her cheeks reddening. I watched with a strange fascination as her blush ran down until it reached the top of her breasts. She really was beautiful. I wanted to stare all day, even though I knew I was in deep shit. Sir Griffons was really not going to be pleased. Caroline was going to be even less pleased. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, pacing to the window and peering through the curtains. The streets below were quiet, too quiet. I didn’t like the look of it. They should have been packed with workers heading to the docks and schoolchildren trudging unwillingly to school.