by H. G. Parry
“To fight a naval battle, perhaps. But this is a fight against the enemy, and I’m a mesmer descended from a family of blood magicians. I may not be a blood magician myself, but I might be close enough for it to be of use in some way.”
“It’s very dangerous.”
“It’s dangerous for Fina too, but she can choose to go. So can I, of course, whatever you say. You’ve given me a home, and I’m very grateful for that, but if I choose to leave your roof, you have no real influence over me.”
“That’s true,” Pitt conceded dryly. “But I think you’ll find I have some influence over the Royal Navy.”
Hester smiled, but didn’t waver. “Please,” she said. “You said you would trust me to lead an army for you, and I always believed you. I don’t ask for an army. But I know I can help.”
And she could. This was a new world, a world where magic was breaking free and women and Commoners and freed slaves were fighting openly in wars across the world. Old rules were being exposed as the artificial constructs they always were, and nobody had learned the new ones yet. Perhaps there were none. The thought made him desperately tired suddenly, or perhaps that was only the mesmerism. Either way, he didn’t let it show. It would pass.
“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, which meant she had won. He had never denied her anything in her life. Besides, she was right.
“I’m sorry for what I said to Clarkson,” Wilberforce said, unexpectedly. “About not trusting vampires.”
It took Pitt a moment to remember why he might be expected to need an apology. When he did, he almost laughed. “Oh. No, don’t be. I never gave it a thought.”
“Nonetheless,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
At the end of that summer, a ship sailed from the harbor at Portsmouth. It had been there only a few weeks—before that it had been sailing in the Mediterranean and the West Indies for many months, and it still carried the faint tang of warmer seas and cloudless skies. It had stopped back in England, among other reasons, so that the fleet admiral aboard could travel to London to call at Downing Street. There were reports to be made, and mysterious orders to be received.
Those who lived along the docks at Portsmouth were naval people—they saw many ships of the line and were difficult to impress. But by this same token, they knew when a ship was to be admired, and this one was impressive. It had been built at the heart of the Seven Years’ War between Britain and France, a beautifully wrought first-rate vessel with three decks and 104 guns. When her keel was laid in the summer of 1759, the then prime minister, William Pitt the Elder, came to the docks at Chatham to commemorate the occasion. His younger son, who bore his name, was seven weeks old.
It had seen battles in the decades since, and many of them it had won. It had been retired and then rebuilt, and now served as flagship for Admiral Lord Nelson, ungifted Commoner made Aristocrat and hero of the British fleet. It carried a crew of 820 men and five battle-mages; its captain was Thomas Hardy, and its first battle-mage was Catherine Dove, formerly Kate Dove of the London wharves. They called it the Victory.
That summer, when it sailed in search of Napoléon’s invasion fleet, it carried two guests on board. One was Lady Hester Stanhope, daughter of the Earl of Stanhope and niece to the prime minister. The other was Fina.
Cape Trafalgar
October 1805
Kate Dove had served under Captain Thomas Hardy since the war had resumed. He knew her from the days of the HMS Mutine, when they had followed Nelson to stop Napoléon from reaching Egypt; she had remained in his service during the Battle of the Nile that same year. She had been transferred several times since, but when the Treaty of Amiens had lapsed, she had found herself once more aboard one of his ships—as fourth battle-mage, then gradually climbing the ranks to first as the three above her were killed, sent home, and transferred, in that order. Naval battle-mages had short terms of service, and Commoners the shortest of all. Their magic tended to place them on deck in the midst of the worst battles; there were still too few of them, so they were constantly shifted about to where they might be of use; many of them sickened quickly from the unaccustomed use of their magic under terrible conditions.
Kate had survived. She was a decent battle-mage, after her years of practice, but she was a brilliant naval magician. She knew not only how to call a wind, as many weather-mages could, but where to push it amid the wonderful, complicated rigging to ease the ship upon its way, to steady it in storms, and to awaken it in days of dead calm. At her best, not only the sky and the sea but the Victory itself felt like an extension of her body or her soul.
Sometimes she was the only woman on her ship, and that didn’t trouble her. This voyage, however, there were two more female magicians on board. Lady Hester Stanhope was an Aristocrat, about Kate’s age, strikingly tall and strikingly pale. Fina was small and dark-skinned, older yet radiating energy. One wore her birth and privilege like a shield; the other moved as though nobody could see her and nobody could touch her. Kate suspected, in their own ways, both felt very out of place on a ship.
Fina and Lady Hester had come on board at Portsmouth six weeks before. Admiral Nelson had gone to London. Kate had not, though it was her first chance to see her old home in two years. She had written to Dorothea once and had received a letter from her a few months later. They were all doing well enough; Tilly had had a baby; Danny was going to marry a young woman from Whitechapel. They all sent their love. She sent back hers. There was nothing more they needed from each other. Nelson, though, had returned with mysterious orders and deepened frown lines, and immediately put the ship on course to rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.
Young Charles Sinclair, Kate’s apprentice weather-mage, would barely look at the newcomers.
“There’s something strange going on,” he insisted, his Welsh lilt fearful. “They’re not battle-mages—not of a kind I’ve ever seen.”
It was true. The Victory had a varied and diverse crew—from America, from Canada, from Europe, even from India. And yet nobody, not even Hardy, seemed to be able to explain why these two were on board.
“They’re helping us find the fleet,” Kate said to Sinclair. It was what she had been told. “Stop being nosy.”
In truth, Kate liked the two of them. They shared a cabin with her on the orlop deck, and as they had no duties they were often there when she came back from her own. They would share biscuits from the ship’s stores and sip their ration of rum. It was almost like her childhood, when she and Christopher would lie awake after dark and whisper secrets and plans—even though Fina was somewhat quiet, Hester somewhat high-handed, and neither of them given to divulging secrets.
Kate had no reason to be secret herself. She told them about the ship and the sea and the various quirks of the crew. She warned them candidly that the four male magicians in the next cabin were all right, but to be careful of the men belowdecks, and to stay out of Nelson’s way as much as possible.
“If you’re here,” she said, “he obviously needs you, but there’s no need to keep reminding him of the fact. He doesn’t like women on board.”
“Oh, Nelson,” Hester said airily, but Kate could see her taking note. “I’ve dined with him at Downing Street a thousand times. It’s difficult to be frightened of a man when you’ve seen how he takes his tea.”
“Why are you here?” Fina asked Kate. “Why would you risk your life if you don’t need to?”
“This is all I’ve wanted, my entire life,” Kate said. “I want to use magic. I want to be on the sea. I want to avenge my brother, if I can.”
Fina’s severe face softened. “Was he killed by the French?”
“The kraken,” Kate said shortly. “It’s why I’m here—or one reason. I want to face it myself one day. I glimpsed it just once, off Alexandria. But then we ran.”
“If this is an invasion fleet,” Hester said, “we might see the kraken very soon.”
Kate didn’t tell them of her suspicion that Hardy had requested her spe
cifically because of that day—because he had remembered that she had been focused enough on the kraken to feel it before anybody else.
“I don’t think there is an invasion fleet,” she said instead. She stretched and leaned back in her hammock. Her shoulders were stiff after climbing the rigging to summon the wind. “I think they went back to Spain, and the kraken with them.”
But there was an invasion fleet. And on the morning of 21 October, they were sighted off Cape Trafalgar.
It was a fine, clear morning when the call came that the French ships were on the horizon. Fina, coming up on deck, could barely feel the motion of the ship; they seemed to be moving no faster than a gentle walk.
“Thank God,” Hester said. “The waves the last few days have been abominable.”
Fina smiled, despite everything that was happening around them and in her head and in her heart. “Nelson thought so too, I hear.”
“Well, that almost made it worth it, I’ll concede. But I’m not selfless enough to suffer just so people I dislike will suffer too.”
Hester’s dislike of Nelson was mostly on Fina’s behalf, she thought. Nelson and Pitt were close allies, and Hester generally approved of anyone who supported her uncle. But Nelson had been coldly civil to Fina at best. Fina herself didn’t care—or, more honestly, she had expected it. Wilberforce had warned her about Nelson too, long before they set out for England.
“He’s a good and honorable man, I think,” he had said, with the air of someone being very fair. “He’s also a staunch anti-abolitionist. He genuinely believes that Britain has a moral duty to expand her empire, and he is not interested in conflicting opinions—particularly mine. I understand completely if you hesitate to be on a ship under his command.”
“You need me on that ship,” Fina replied. It was late at night, and the London streets outside the window were cold and quiet. “They might find the fleet without me, but they won’t find the stranger.”
“Even so, I hate to ask you to work with someone who has so little regard for your rights as a human being. I couldn’t imagine doing it myself.”
“That’s because you’ve never had any practice.” Beneath her trepidation, she felt a flicker of affection. “I’ve known men like him all my life, and worse. I’m not afraid of this one. Will you promise me something, though?”
“Of course. Anything.”
Fina thought carefully before speaking. “I’ll go with Nelson to the Mediterranean,” she said at last. “I’ll find the stranger. I hope we can stop him. But it won’t solve everything. Even if the stranger dies tomorrow, the war with France will go on. Napoléon will be emperor of France, and he will keep trying to take your country. And Jamaica will still be a colony upheld by slavery. The trade won’t end. My people won’t be free.”
“Not right away. But the enemy brought the war, and he’s done his best to preserve the slave trade.”
“He didn’t create war—and he certainly didn’t create slavery. He’s only a man. And when he’s gone, there will be plenty of men left to fight.”
“Of course. But—”
“Don’t tell me of course! I need you to promise me you understand this, Mr. Wilberforce. If I never come back, I’ve left my people’s fate in your hands. You can’t think that this will be the end, or you won’t fight hard enough.”
She wasn’t aware of her voice rising until the end of the sentence, but she didn’t curb it. She was tired of curbing herself.
“I’m sorry.” Wilberforce’s own voice was quiet. “I like to think I’m not naive to the evils that men do, but I know I can’t possibly understand them as you do. It’s far easier for me to blame them on some immortal supernatural shadow creeping across the globe. I promise, as much as it’s possible for me to know it, I know you’re right. I’ve been fighting against slavery for twenty years—I hope nothing will ever make me underestimate the strength of its hold on this country, and nothing will ever make me stop. But I do have hope that without the stranger’s influence, we’ll be able to succeed.”
She had to be satisfied with that. For herself, all she dared to hope was that the immediate threat the stranger posed would be over. But there was indeed a chance that the stranger’s death could bring about more long-lasting change; and even if that chance was slim, she couldn’t bring herself to insist that Wilberforce have no hope for it at all.
And perhaps things were changing already. It was the fourth time Fina had been on a ship. The first time she had been a captive under the decks, chained in every way it was possible to be chained. The second time she had been a stowaway crammed in the ship’s stores, fleeing captivity with the hope of freedom and revolution. The third time she had been Toussaint’s magician bartering passage for England, fleeing the knives of Dessalines to make a deal with her enemies. Now she was a free woman, under the protection of the British navy, fighting to save her people. Perhaps, after all, the world was opening rather than closing, and the next time she would be something different again.
“He’s here,” Hester added abruptly. She had been quiet an unusually long time.
It took Fina a moment to understand. “The stranger?”
Hester nodded. “I felt it in my sleep. Just a trace, like a finger riffling through my dreams. I didn’t quite believe it before—there’s only the slightest trace of anything resembling blood magic in me, and he’s never noticed me before. But I felt it. He must be on those ships.”
“Good. Then it’s time.” The thought was strangely thrilling. She looked at Hester. “Are you all right?”
“Oh yes.” For once, she didn’t sound very certain. “I used to know when my uncle had been bothered by the enemy, you know. He’d come downstairs just a little more tired the next morning, and drink just a little more heavily the next day. I used to wish I knew what it was like. Now I know, I don’t know how he bore it for so long. I would have challenged that thing long ago.”
Fina’s throat tightened. She thought, for the first time in months, of her last sight of Toussaint Louverture. “You would have lost.”
“Yes, I think so too. But I would have hurt it.” She laughed. “Apparently I am that selflessly vindictive after all.”
“I know I am,” Fina said grimly.
The other five magicians were stationed on the quarterdeck: Kate and her apprentice, Charles Sinclair, probably had something to do with the fair wind that was tugging at their sails.
“They’re readying for battle,” Reeves said before Fina could speak. The metalmancer’s pale, thin-lipped face was tight with apprehension. “I can feel their cannons moving across the water.”
The Victory was clearing for action at the same time. The deck was alive with the rumble of cannons rolling into position and the shouts of men below. It was indeed time.
Nelson’s strategy for the battle was simple and revolutionary. The British fleet was split into two columns, with the Victory and Admiral Collingwood’s Royal Sovereign at the head of each. The French ships were waiting in a great curved row to meet them; if all went well, the British ships would smash through the enemy line and divide it into three easily defeated sections. This meant, though, that the Victory would take the devastating force of the first broadside.
“I suppose you’ve done this with Toussaint a thousand times,” Hester said to her in an undertone.
Fina shook her head. “Never in person. Always through someone else. I’ve died a thousand times in someone else’s body.”
“How strange.” There was no trace of uncertainty in her voice now. The wind had flushed color into her white cheeks, and her eyes were hard and bright. “What does it feel like?”
Fina was about to reply, but Nelson broke in first. He had come up behind them without warning. His thin, disdainful face, blue-eyed and battle-scarred, betrayed nothing more than grim determination.
“We’ve had word from the lookout,” he said. “It seems you were right. This is an invasion fleet—or was intended to be.”
It took
Fina a moment to realize that Nelson was, for the first time, talking to her. In that time, Hester had already asked the question. “How do you know?”
Nelson kept his gaze on the horizon. “The dead are on board.”
“Dear God,” Kate said. Nobody needed to say anything else.
The dead were almost never at sea. They were of little use in a naval battle. If they were on board, and in great numbers, then they were bound for land, as they had been when they came to Saint-Domingue. Fina remembered the wave crossing the burning trees at the siege of Crête-à-Pierrot, and shivered.
“What about the kraken?” Kate asked. “Any sign of it?”
“Not yet,” Nelson said. “Perhaps they’re waiting for it.”
“If we stop this fleet now,” Hester said, “then we can send the dead to the bottom of the ocean. They’ve already been severely culled by the Saint-Domingue invasion. This could take them off the battlefields for good.”
“Yes.” Nelson seemed to realize Hester was there for the first time. “Get belowdecks, Lady Hester. I don’t want you here when the fighting begins.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Hester drew herself to her full height, which was somewhat taller than Nelson’s. “I’m here as a battle-mage.”
“And once the battle begins, there will be casualties aplenty belowdecks. There will be blood and pain and amputations. Mesmerism will be of far more use to the surgeon there than it will here.”
“I came to help win the battle,” Hester said, although with less fire. She was pragmatic enough to see the sense in the orders. Nelson had been clever in his handling of her after all.
“And if we require your magic, you’ll be sent for. For now, I think two weather-mages, a fire-mage, a water-mage, and a metalmancer will be sufficient.”
“And me,” Fina said. She said it without anger, but Nelson hesitated to look at her. He was blind in one eye; it was difficult at times to see where his gaze was aimed. In this case, though, she suspected the avoidance was real.