The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “The food shortages are going to bite soon,” Aiden said, grimly. “We’re trying to bring more food in from the countryside, but negotiations aren’t going well.”

  “And food is in short supply anyway, because of the drought,” Emily added. The noise was growing louder. A squad of rebel soldiers ran past them, heading towards the crowd. “What are you going to do about that?”

  “I don’t know,” Aiden said. “Right now, there’s no hope of rationing anything.”

  Emily glanced back, then allowed Aiden to lead her further down the road. There were no good answers. Perhaps... she toyed with the idea of opening a portal to Cockatrice and buying food there, but it would be difficult to establish the gateway without help. And it would be taken as a breach of her neutrality. She wasn’t too concerned about that, but... she shook her head. It was impractical unless the rebels had enough skilled sorcerers to help her open the portal, then close it before Alassa had to take official notice...

  A crash ahead of them interrupted her thoughts. She frowned as she saw another mob gathered outside a middle-class house. Aiden stopped and watched from a distance as the door was broken down, the mob screaming and shouting as it burst into the house and rampaged through the interior. Windows were smashed, pieces of glass crashing to the ground far below. The shouting grew louder as the crowd burst out again, carrying a badly-beaten man and his wife. Emily shuddered, watching helplessly as the crowd started to erect a makeshift gallows. They were going to execute them on the spot.

  She swallowed, hard. “Why...?”

  Aiden’s voice was heavy with satisfaction. “They were amongst the worst landlords in the city,” she said, darkly. “They bought entire blocks of apartments and slums, then hired thugs to break legs or evict tenants when they couldn’t pay. People on the run from the farms, people who would be executed if they were returned to their lords, had no choice but to pay or be thrown onto the streets. They had a piece of all the dark dealings in the city... and now judgement has finally come.”

  Emily looked away as the couple were hung from the lamppost. She wanted to do something, but what? She was supposed to be neutral. And besides, if Aiden was right... the couple deserved it. She’d seen enough predatory landlords back home. The crowd cheered, mocking the dead bodies. Their home was ransacked, the crowd carrying away anything of value before tearing the door off its hinges and leaving it as a warning to others. Emily was surprised they didn’t set fire to the house. It wasn’t as if it wouldn’t have burnt nicely.

  She shook her head. “Did they deserve to die without a trial?”

  Aiden met her eyes. “Ask their victims.”

  She studied the bodies, grimly. “They were landlords and loan sharks who squeezed their victims mercilessly,” she said. “You cannot ask their victims to give them a fair trial.”

  Emily winced as they resumed their walk. Everything the landlords had done had probably been perfectly legal, at the time. One couldn’t retroactively declare something a crime if one wanted to have a stable society, yet... she could understand why the crowd had wanted brutal and bloody revenge. And yet... the council was going to have a major headache deciding how to proceed. Passing laws against loan sharks and predatory landlords would merely drive them underground. The poor and the desperate, the people who had nowhere else to go, would still find them. And...

  “What are you going to do about their property?” Emily frowned as another complication occurred to her. “Who’s going to have legal title to it?”

  “They are - they were - enemies of the people,” Aiden said. “I think their property will be given to their former tenants.”

  Which might open up a whole new can of worms, Emily thought. They need to pay attention to property rights as well as human rights.

  She pushed the thought aside as they kept walking, passing a line of abandoned homes. Someone had covered the front walls with placards, informing passers-by that the houses had belonged to royalists and other enemies of the people. A handful of notes were more specific, stating that the owners had concealed aristocrats within their homes and had been condemned to death along with them. Emily shuddered, all too aware it might be a long time before things calmed down.

  The streets grew more placid as they walked into the poorer parts of the city, but she could sense the tension in the air. There were fewer people on the streets, almost all men who kept their distance from everyone else. She saw a couple of young girls hanging clothes on the washing line, supervised by an older woman who glanced at Aiden and gave her a very clear warning look. Emily hid her amusement. The old woman had also been fooled.

  “The people who live here rarely have two coins to rub together,” Aiden said, as they left the women behind. “We’ll be making things better for them, too.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Emily said. The very poor often had more important things to do than plot rebellion. Staying alive, for one thing. They couldn’t afford the luxury of believing pie-in-the-sky theories that promised a new world of liberty, justice, and equality for all. And they’d be very suspicious of anyone from the inner city who claimed to understand them. “Do you intend to let them have any say in their own future?”

  “Of course,” Aiden said. “What sort of question is that?”

  Emily sighed. “It’s very easy to think you understand someone else’s life,” she said, carefully. “But if you haven’t lived it, how can you understand it? How can you be sure you’re not making matters worse?”

  Aiden looked bemused. Emily shook her head. There was no way to explain the gulf between Aiden, the merchant’s daughter, and girls raised in the richer or poorer parts of the city. Aiden didn’t understand...

  “Well,” a new voice said. “What have we here?”

  Emily looked up, sharply. Two young men were standing in front of them, blocking their path. She sensed, more than heard, another one behind. She kicked herself, mentally, for not paying closer attention to their surroundings. Law and order had been a joke in the slums even before the city had fallen into revolutionary hands. She cursed as Aiden drew her sword, trying to look ready to fight. It was all too clear she didn’t know how to handle the blade. Emily was no swordsmistress - she’d always been better with magic, or daggers - but she knew better than that.

  The leader laughed. “A fool of a toff who thinks he can bring his girl here?”

  “Back off,” Aiden said. She waved the sword in the air. “Back off, or I’ll gut you.”

  “A kiss from the maiden and we’ll let you go,” the leader said. Emily wouldn’t have believed him even if he hadn’t been openly leering at her. “Just a little kiss from those soft lips...”

  Aiden opened her mouth to say something, but Emily acted first. She shaped the spell in her mind, then cast it at the three thugs. Their eyes opened in surprise as they saw the magic, too late. Their bodies shrank, becoming frogs. They started to croak, helplessly. Emily shook her head. The spell wouldn’t last forever, but... hopefully, it would teach them a lesson. And if one of their earlier victims realized they were helpless...

  “You have to teach me how to do that,” Aiden said, as she returned her sword to her belt and rubbed her forehead. “That was awesome.”

  “I think swordfighting lessons would be more useful,” Emily said. “What were you planning do to if someone challenged you?”

  “Throw the sword at them and run,” Aiden said. “Father wouldn’t so much as teach me how to use daggers. He said it was against the law.”

  She snorted. “And who cares about the law when they don’t?”

  “Not you,” Emily said. They resumed their walk. “You really need a proper tutor.”

  “And you think someone will teach me?” Aiden laughed, bitterly. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Get the right teacher,” Emily said. “And he won’t give a damn about proper behavior.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  AIDEN WAS RIGHT, EMILY DECIDED, AS she spent four days exploring the
city, chatting with the councilors and waiting for the rebels to decide what they wanted to say to the royalists. There was going to be blood. The city seemed torn between hope and fear, between the promise of a new era and a return to the days of slavery. The council’s grip on power was terrifyingly fragile, leaving it unable to do anything but rubberstamp excessive anti-royalist measures. It was just a matter of time until something came tumbling down and started a holocaust.

  She pushed as hard as she dared, but she couldn’t get a clear idea who’d backed the rebels. It was clear they’d received help from someone, yet... who? She knew she hadn’t done it, but she was far from the only suspect. There were quite a few self-made men who saw themselves as heralds of a new world order - or, more practically, encouraging the Levellers to ensure the aristocracy didn’t seek to confiscate their new wealth. And there was always the prospect of someone from the neighboring kingdoms, seeking to set off a civil war to weaken Alluvia. She had to admit, sourly, that it might have worked.

  “This is boring,” Prince Hedrick complained, one morning. “Can’t I go out for a walk?”

  “Not unless you want to die,” Lady Barb said. She’d teleported to Dragon’s Den to collect the post and a handful of supplies, then returned. “The rebels are just waiting for you to step outside.”

  Emily nodded. She’d heard a handful of speakers calling for Hedrick’s head, preferably not attached to his body. The prince had been accused of a string of crimes, from raping innocent peasant girls to incest with the queen, the princesses and even his brother. And... Emily was fairly sure half the charges weren’t even remotely true, but it hardly mattered. The moment the mob saw the prince, they’d tear him apart and dump the remains in the river. It was far better, for all concerned, if he stayed safely inside the house, out of sight.

  She winced as she drank her tea. Prince Hedrick had every right to feel trapped. He was trapped. There was nothing to do in the barren house, but pace the rooms and flirt with Silent. The maid hadn’t shown any sign of interest, as far as Emily knew, yet... what would Hedrick care? Emily had found a handful of books for him, but he wasn’t much of a reader. She would have felt sorrier for him if he hadn’t managed to get on her nerves.

  “You could disguise me,” Hedrick pointed out. “A couple of spells...”

  “You could always wear a dress,” Emily suggested, mischievously. “If you looked like a girl, you might be mistaken for me...”

  If looks could kill, the look Prince Hedrick gave her would have blasted her into dust and ashes. Emily felt a twinge of guilt, mingled with the grim awareness the prince had agreed to come with them despite the risk. He’d insisted on it... she shook her head as Lady Barb shot her a reproving look, reminding her she probably shouldn’t taunt him. The prince knew he was caught in a trap. He didn’t need her making it worse.

  And yet, no one would imagine him in a dress, she thought. No wonder Aiden had gotten away with wearing male clothes for so long. It’s unthinkable.

  She finished her drink as she heard a knocking at the door. Silent went to answer it, then returned and dropped a curtsey. “My Lady, a messenger has arrived,” she said. “You’re invited to the Palace of the People.”

  “My father’s palace,” Prince Hedrick snapped. “Those scum have...”

  “I’ll be along in a moment,” Emily said. She stood and grabbed her coat. “And I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

  She wondered, as she hurried along the corridor, if the rebel council had finally made its decision. Aiden had been talkative about everything but the deliberations over what terms to offer the royalists. The others had been even less willing to talk. Sergeant Oskar had discussed military tactics with her, but little else. She had a feeling, as she spotted the messenger waiting for her, that they hadn’t been sure of the answer themselves. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had started a revolution without a clear idea of what they wanted to do after they won.

  They haven’t won yet, she reminded herself. The Crown Prince is still out there somewhere.

  The messenger was a different young boy, barely entering his teens. “Lady Emily?”

  Emily tried not to flush at his blatant hero worship. “Yes.”

  “Please, come with me,” the messenger said. “I’ll take you there directly.”

  He chatted, loquaciously, as they walked up to the palace. Emily did her best to answer his questions, keeping her eyes open for signs of trouble. There were more bodies hanging from lampposts, some of them seemingly killed only a few short hours ago. The placards beneath them blasted profiteers, traitors and naysayers. Emily shuddered as she saw a young man, no older than her escort, hanging from a rope. What had he done to deserve to die? How many grudges were going to be paid back, in blood, as the revolution gathered speed? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  There were more troops in the palace grounds, moving endlessly through a series of exercises. They were as mismatched as ever, although they all wore the little cloth cap that seemed to define the rebellion. She watched them for a moment, then the messenger cleared his throat and led her into the palace. Someone had done a great deal of work, clearing up the mess and stripping anything useful out of the building. She wondered, idly, if the palace’s former servants had returned to serve the rebel leadership.

  “Emily.” Althorn greeted her with a nod. “Please. Come with me.”

  Emily nodded and followed him into a smaller chamber. It looked like a comfortable sitting room, although there were marks on the floor that suggested a handful of minor pieces of furniture had been dragged out and taken somewhere else. A large painting hung on one wall, depicting a brown-haired young woman leading an army, a gun in one hand and a green flag in another. Her eyes narrowed as she realized who the woman was supposed to be. She supposed, rather crossly, that the artist had - somehow - managed to actually paint a near-accurate picture of her. Some of the paintings she’d seen hadn’t even got the hair color right.

  “You are an idol to many of us,” Althorn said. “What do you think?”

  “I think you didn’t bring me here to discuss artwork,” Emily said. She took one last look at the painting, then sat. “I have never been comfortable looking at paintings of me.”

  “The paintings are often idealized,” Althorn agreed, dryly. “Why, there is a painting of Hedrick himself that depicts him as a true hero, with a face so brave and true it makes people want to believe in him. The artist was paid seven hundred crowns for his work. He was grossly underpaid.”

  “I imagine so,” Emily said.

  Althorn turned and poured them both glasses of juice. “It is always interesting to compare notes,” he said. “Have you found your chats with my comrades... insightful?”

  Emily took a moment to study him. Althorn still had the charisma that drew her to him, even though she knew it was dangerous, yet... it was starting to rub thin. The rebels were caught in a bind, trying to establish a new government while readying themselves to fight the remnants of the old one. It was a task that would test the smartest people on the planet, let alone a collection of rebels that had no practical experience in governing. Althorn was handsome, and lacked neither courage nor cunning, but... she shook her head. It was disturbing, on some level, to feel such an odd attraction. She tested, gingerly, for magical influence. There was none.

  “They’ve been very interesting,” she said. “Naturally, I wish you all the very best of luck.”

  Althorn smiled. “Is that a declaration you will join us?”

  “I gave my word I will serve as a mediator,” Emily said. If push came to shove... she supposed she would prefer to side with the rebels. “Have you agreed on terms?”

  “You don’t believe in diplomacy, do you?” Althorn raised his glass in a silent toast. “I must say I approve.”

  “There are countless aristocrats who will spend hours dancing around the topic at hand,” Emily said. She recalled a five-page letter that could have been summed up in a couple of line
s and scowled. “I prefer to think of myself as practical.”

  “I approve,” Althorn repeated. He took a sip, then produced a sheet of paper. “We debated the issue for days. There were demands that we consider to be impossible to put aside, that we will fight if the Crown Prince refuses to accept them, and demands we’re prepared to be flexible on. I trust you’ll excuse me” - he smiled, rakishly - “if I don’t tell you which is which?”

  “My feelings aren’t the issue here,” Emily said, bluntly. “The Crown Prince will not thank you for wasting his time, if you are determined not to budge on some of your demands.”

  Althorn shrugged. “First, the Crown Prince is to swear to accept the outcome of the revolution. The monarchy itself will become a constitutional monarchy, with all powers vested in the people themselves. The aristocracy will be effectively dissolved, with its property either left with its new owners or distributed amongst those who work the land. If they refuse to accept this outcome, they are to be formally stripped of their power and declared traitors.

  “Second, the kingdom is to be governed in line with the Zangarian Great Charter, which I believe you had a hand in writing. Serfdom and slavery are to be abolished. All men are to have freedom of speech, the right to keep and bear arms, the right to seek employment wherever they wish and everything else laid down by the charter. There will be no impressed servitude of any kind whatsoever, including military service.”

  Emily frowned. “Do you intend to grant rights to women as well?”