Nikolai frowned. "I'm glad for Jonathan, but how will that affect the future of slavery?"
"In two years or so, David Lisle will see Jonathan working," she said tersely. "Since he'll be healthy then, Lisle will realize that his former slave represents money, and he'll secretly sell him to another West Indies planter."
Nikolai swore. "Are you sure I can't kill Lisle now?"
"Alas, no. Lisle will send two slave catchers to capture his 'property.' While Mr. Strong is in jail waiting to be shipped to his purchaser, he'll get a message to Granville Sharp. Mr. Sharp will be so outraged that he will take the matter to the lord mayor of London. Lisle can't afford to go to court, and Mr. Strong will be freed. When Mr. Sharp's eyes are opened to the evils of slavery, he will fight it for the rest of his life. Currently, the status of slaves in England is unclear, but Sharp will step in to defend other men in situations similar to that of Jonathan Strong. Eventually, because of Sharp's work, a court will produce a ruling that essentially says that any slave is free in England."
Nikolai exhaled roughly. "That will indeed be a major step forward. I suppose it's worth letting Lisle live."
"I shall hope that he receives justice in the next life if not in this one." Her brows knit together in puzzlement. "I wonder how Jonathan Strong would have found his way to the surgery without our help?"
Nikolai shook his head, as uncertain as she was. "Perhaps someone else would have helped him. Or maybe he managed on his own. Or perhaps we had to be here to help. The last seems most likely, since he might have died without your healing."
"Part of me wants to understand how this time-travel business works. And part of me is afraid to know more." She swallowed her last bit of muffin. "Now that Mr. Strong is in good hands, what shall we do? Are we ready to attempt the next bespelled bead?"
He considered. "Despite my usual impatience, I'd like to spend a little time here. I've never been in England before, so I need to develop a better sense of the country. Also, learning about this time period should make it easier for us to adjust when we move further into the future."
"That's a good idea. We can find a nice respectable inn, perhaps in the city or Westminster." She sighed. "I wonder if any of my family is in London. Heavens, Duncan's children must be almost grown by now!"
He gave her a sharp glance. "It wouldn't be wise to visit them."
"I know." She pivoted, taking Nikolai with her. "But it's hard not to think about them. Let's walk along the river a bit. The shipping is the reason the city was built here, and as a sailor you should find it interesting."
She was right, he would. Maybe studying the port would take his mind off David Lisle. He allowed himself to relax as they strolled down to the waterfront, then along the river. They had traveled safely through time, and successfully accomplished their first task. Not only had they saved Jonathan Strong's life and liberty, but they had helped to form a link in the chain of freedom. Not a bad day's work at all.
Nikolai had seen his share of ports. London was both the same and different. Despite being on a river well inland, it was one of the busiest ports he'd ever seen. Great ocean ships loaded and unloaded alongside compact coastal vessels. Small boats darted up and down the Thames, carrying passengers and merchandise.
He enjoyed the familiar sights and sounds. He was also intrigued by the light, which was cooler and more blue than the blaze of the Mediterranean.
They were heading west and had passed London Bridge when a young naval officer approached them. "You have the look of a sailor," the officer said in a suspiciously hearty voice. "Are you one?"
Bemused, Nikolai said, "Why do you ask?"
Jean's grip on his arm tightened warningly. "He's a foreigner, Lieutenant," she said to the officer. "Maltese."
The lieutenant glanced at her wedding ring. "But you are British, madam, I hear Scotland in your voice. A foreigner married to a Briton is eligible for the press." He turned to Nikolai. "Do you have a Protection?"
He frowned. "What the devil is a Protection?"
That was the wrong question. "Since you have no Protection, sir, I am impressing you into the king's navy." The officer gestured and two heavyset men behind him moved forward. They looked like dockyard scum, and they wore dark blue bands on their right arms.
"What are you talking about?" Nikolai snapped.
Jean interposed herself between him and the officer. "You're making a mistake, sir. This man is not my husband, so the British navy has no right to impress him."
"All the wives say that," the lieutenant sneered. "He's mine to take, and it's up to him to prove otherwise. If he objects, he can appeal to the Maltese consul for help. Now come along." The officer's men closed in around Nikolai.
He wasn't afraid of the men, but it might be bad form to knock them unconscious with magic. He was wondering what to do when Jean quietly offered a handful of gold to the officer. "You are supposed to take only experienced sailors. Mr. Gregory is neither a common nor an able seaman, nor is he British. Seek elsewhere."
The lieutenant glanced down and evaluated the amount of the bribe. "If he isn't a sailor, you're right, ma'am, he is not eligible for impressment. Sorry to have disturbed you." He pocketed the money, then collected his men and moved away.
Nikolai asked incredulously, "They were going to take me by force and make me work as a sailor? I thought there was no slavery in England!"
"Except for sailors who are needed by the Royal Navy," she said drily. "The press-gangs are only supposed to take qualified seamen, but they are not always careful. A Protection is a document that says you can't be pressed. Generally men with money have them, but heaven help them if a press-gang sweeps them up when they don't have that Protection on them."
"So you bribed him for my freedom?"
"It seemed the simplest solution," she said candidly.
He swore in several different languages, including Malti, which he saved for special anger. Before he ran out of phrases, a ruckus erupted halfway down the block. A woman began beating a man over the head with a mop. "You'll not take my man, you devils!" she shrieked "'E's the support of me and my children and his old mum!"
Her victim, one of the lieutenant's bullies, raised his arm to block her blows but kept a firm grip on his struggling captive. "The king needs 'im more. You can starve for all 'is majesty cares."
As the lieutenant tried to intervene, a dozen more people joined the fight. Half were women wielding brooms and frying pans, while the others were workingmen. The mop woman's husband had been rescued from his captors when a dozen more men with blue armbands arrived. The newcomers had three prisoners in their midst and several weeping women behind them.
A full-scale riot exploded, civilians against the press-gang. Men, women, and children poured out of buildings and shops and began fighting the gangers. Jean took a firm grip on Nikolai's arm. "Time for us to leave."
He ignored her tug. "This is like corsairs taking slaves for the galleys."
"Not quite as bad. Pressed men can get a bounty if they declare themselves as volunteers, and they get paid for their service. If they stay in the navy long enough, they'll even get a pension. But it's still being taken by force." She frowned. "I've heard that sometimes a man will set the press-gang on another man he dislikes. Or a father who doesn't approve of his daughter's sweetheart will bribe the press to take the lad away."
"None of these men will be taken away," Nikolai said grimly. He waded into the mob, heading straight to the nearest member of the press-gang. He threw a solid punch at the man, with a dash of the magic he'd used to knock Jean unconscious when they met.
He laid the ganger flat on the ground. Though less satisfying than beating David Lisle to a bloody pulp, Nikolai still enjoyed bruising his fists and punishing men who were little better than slavers.
He knocked down only three of the press-gang since the other civilians had taken care of the rest, but that was enough to relieve his simmering anger. As he stood panting over his last victim, a young
man with a bruised cheek said, "Well done, sir!" He offered his hand. "The bluidy bastards had taken me from my wedding!"
As Nikolai shook the proffered hand, a pretty young woman with flowers in her hair came to the young man's side. "My thanks to you and the others," she said softly. "Losing my darling to the press would have been a poor start to our marriage."
Nikolai bowed to her. "I am new to London, and I find myself most impressed with her liberty-loving citizens. My best wishes to you on your marriage."
As the young couple left, Jean arrived, picking her way daintily among the fallen. "I trust you feel better now, my dear?" Her eyes were mischievous.
"Indeed, I do." He took her arm and continued along the street, still heading west. "Is it common for locals to fight with the press-gangs?"
"I believe so. We didn't see this in rural Scotland, but citizens in port cities must always be alert to the possibility of being pressed. When the navy is particularly hungry for men, the gangs will even go into the countryside." She shivered. "Until today, I hadn't thought about how truly wicked impressment is. You're right. It's slavery."
He stopped dead in the street as an insight struck. "This may be why opinions in Britain can be swayed to abolition! People here live with the fear of being taken by violence and forced into slave labor. Surely that will make them more sympathetic to the plight of slaves everywhere?"
Jean caught her breath. "You may be right. Britain's power comes from her navy, and that means many seamen must serve, willing or not." She smiled up at him. "Perhaps we have found another piece of the puzzle."
His eyes narrowed as he tried to define what he sensed. "There are strange energies in this area. Some dark, some light. I feel that a battle has been fought that is beyond the men and women who struggled here today. It's like a pressure in my mind. A riot. Can you feel that?"
"Cities are notoriously intense," Jean said. "Guardians usually feel tired the first few days after arriving in a city, and London is the most tiring one of all. Since you are newly initiated, perhaps you're more aware of mass energies than in the past."
"Perhaps." He mentally explored the clashing energies again. "But my intuition says that what I feel is something more specific to our mission."
"In that case, we both need to pay attention." She smiled. "But for today, let us just be visitors enjoying one of Europe's great cities."
Chapter
TWENTY-SEVEN
To Jean's relief, they were able to find a pair of adjoining rooms in a respectable inn. She wasn't ready to share a room with her partner and his rather overpowering masculinity. He seemed equally relieved to have some distance between them.
Still tired from the power she'd expended on Jonathan Strong, she lay down for a nap in midafternoon and woke up the next morning. It was embarrassing to have slept more than the clock around, but she felt strong and refreshed.
After washing up and dressing, she tapped on the connecting door to Nikolai's room. There was no answer. Wondering if he was sleeping or perhaps had already risen and gone out, she quietly opened the door—and found him sitting on the bed clad only in boots and breeches. He was staring intently at his hands as he poured light back and forth from one palm to the other.
Shirtless, he was…quite magnificent. His shoulders were broad and a hard life had produced hard muscles. She was so entranced by his half-naked body that it took her a moment to notice the small leather pouch he wore around his neck.
As she entered, he looked up, startled. The light between his hands winked out as sensual tension flared like sparks in tinder. They stared at each other, on the brink of forgetting the compelling reasons for staying apart.
Jean took a step toward him, yearning to run her hands over his beautiful chest. At her movement, Nikolai chopped off his energy with unnerving abruptness, then grabbed the shirt that lay beside him on the bed. "I thought it was customary to knock," he said drily as he yanked the garment over his head.
Jean drew an unsteady breath and forced desire back into the box where she'd locked it away. "I did knock. You didn't hear."
When his face merged from the white linen, he said, "I was concentrating too hard to hear you. Light and fire are fascinating."
"And you're getting very good with them." She strolled over to the window, giving him privacy to finish dressing while removing temptation from her sight. Realizing that her hands were clenched into fists, she forced herself to relax. They were adults. They could control desire. Then she realized that his image was reflected in the window glass. She shut her eyes against the sight. Control had its limits. "Is that a medicine pouch around your neck?"
"Adia made it," he said in an unforthcoming voice.
"African magic is a great deal more fun than the Guardian sort," she said wistfully. "We're so mental. You get drums and feathers and other interesting objects."
That startled a laugh from him. "I hadn't thought of that, but you're right."
Feeling the energy between them return to normal, she turned to see that he'd finished dressing. After debating whether to refer to what had happened or stay silent, she said, "Perhaps next time we should not get adjoining rooms."
"That might be easier." His mouth quirked into a smile. "But easier isn't always better. I think I like being driven mad by you now and then."
She thought of the delicious shock of finding him half dressed. "I take your point, but I don't know if my self-control is up to such challenges."
"Mine barely was this time," he admitted. "After we break our fast, do you have a particular goal for the day?"
"I want to visit a bookshop. We need to find some newspapers so we can learn what is happening in the world." She shook her head. "I still have trouble believing that American colonists have defeated the British Empire. I wonder if there is any hint of that in current newspapers?"
"That war is still years in the future, but the causes must be building now." He reached for his tricorn hat. "After we inform ourselves, what then? I want to walk and explore the city, but that will happen no matter where we go."
"I'd like to try to find Kofi, the African priest Adia told me about."
His brows arched. "I thought the plan was to be as quiet as possible."
"In general, yes, but I think we should find Kofi. We might need his help to trigger the next spell bead."
"Given how much power it took to come here, you're probably right," Nikolai agreed. "The two of us might not be strong enough to do it without aid."
"Besides needing magical assistance, we are likely to be in London more than once since it's the political heart of Britain. We might need allies and a base of operations, and who better than the African community?"
"And they can tell us more about what's going on now. Do you have detailed directions for finding Kofi?"
"Fairly so, though Adia isn't sure of his exact location at this early date." Jean smiled ruefully. "Adia said that there's nothing like collecting information to make one realize one's own ignorance. She and her friends did their best to write down anything about the abolition movement that might be useful, but there is much I don't know."
"I'd like to read her notes and historical summaries," he said as he ushered her toward the door.
"Adia said I shouldn't allow anyone to read the notes, even you. Knowledge of the future might be dangerous. The fewer people who know, the better." Jean shivered. "I feel as if we're playing with fire, and can't even see the flames. The more we limit our effect on this time, the better."
"I take your point, but what if something happens to you?"
"You can read the notes then," she said cheerfully. "But they'll give you a headache as you think about the time travel. Are we changing what will happen? Or already part of the flow of events? Has it always been foreordained that we attempt this mission and help the abolition movement? Or is it ordained that we will fail?"
"No wonder your head aches." He took hold of the doorknob. "Nonetheless, I should like to see what she says abo
ut abolition."
"Alas, you'll have to wait." Not that she blamed him for wanting to know. Even secondhand knowledge was better than none.
It took two days of searching, plus Nikolai's skill as a finder, to locate Kofi. The African community was suspicious of white people, and Nikolai didn't look African enough to allay fears.
But eventually they found Kofi, who owned a small cooper's shop. They had been referred here by another African after reassurances that they meant Kofi no harm. "That's him," Jean said quietly. "Look at the magic around him."
Nikolai invoked mage vision, which was getting easier. As Jean said, the tall, broad-shouldered man radiated power. He was assembling staves within a metal jig, his hands moving with startling speed. He stopped work and straightened as they approached, his expression wary. Parallel scars slashed across his cheeks.
"You are Kofi?" Nikolai asked.
The cooper's eyes glanced toward an axe that leaned against the wall next to him. "Who wants to know?" he growled in a deep, rumbling voice.
"I am Jean Macrae, and this is Nicholas Gregory," Jean said peaceably. "A friend said you can help us."
"Why would I?"
"She said to tell you that we are here because of Mattie."
Kofi sucked in his breath as if he'd been struck physically. "In the back garden."
He led the way through the shop and into a long, narrow garden stacked with weathering wood. The piles were so high that the space between was like a small, private room. Kofi crossed his arms over his chest and waited for an explanation.
Jean exchanged a glance with Nikolai, silently suggesting that he tell their story. He nodded and began, "We have come to you because we are working toward the abolition of slavery, and we were told you might be able to help." He took a deep breath. "And we have come through time to do this."
Instead of scoffing, Kofi examined them both with sudden intensity. His gaze caught on Jean's beaded bracelet. "You are witches using African time magic." His gaze moved to Nikolai. "You have African blood and African magic. Tell me more."
A Distant Magic Page 23