A Distant Magic

by Mary Jo Putney

  They sat on piles of timber, surrounded by the scent of fresh-cut oak, and told the tale of Adia and their mission. Kofi listened with the alertness of a wildcat. When they were done, he said, "What do you wish of me?"

  "We need allies. Magical help and information," Nikolai said bluntly.

  Jean added, "Adia told me that you will be living in London for many years, so you will be a good ally, if you're willing." She caught Kofi's gaze. "Adia also said that you were the most powerful African priest in London."

  Kofi dropped his gaze and stared at the ground. "Tell me about Mattie."

  "She was your wife," Jean said softly. "She died at a white man's hands in the Virginia colony."

  Kofi swallowed hard. "I strangled him with my bare hands, then fled to Upper Canada. From there, I worked my way to England on a ship. I have another wife now, and children. Few know of Mattie."

  "That is why she was chosen as the key to your confidence," Jean said. "You yourself suggested to Adia that Mattie be used to establish us with you."

  Eyes narrowed, Kofi reached out and grasped Nikolai's hand. Energy blazed between them. Nikolai realized dizzily that he was being scoured, tested, judged. After the first shock, he found that he could see into Kofi as well as vice versa. The man had led a turbulent life. He had survived by always being ready to fight, and by having a gift of magic that he only gradually came to understand.

  After working his way to England, he found work at this small cooperage. When the owner died, Kofi had married the man's daughter and they ran the business together. There had been a few who objected to a black man marrying an Englishwoman, but most of the people in this neighborhood accepted it with a shrug. As his life became stable, Kofi had studied magic with the London elders. Powerful and determined, he would make a formidable ally.

  "You will help us, then," Nikolai said, and it was not a question.

  Kofi nodded before turning his gimlet gaze to Jean. "You will need white allies also. You are English. Do you have friends you can call on?"

  "I am Scottish, and yes, I do have friends and family in London. I shall have to think who I might ask." Her mouth quirked. "Adia had the advantage of starting from the future, so she knew what had happened and that you would be here now. Coming from the past, I look to the future in ignorance."

  "Use your instincts, girl. They will carry you."

  "Is time magic something only Africans can do?" Nikolai asked.

  "I don't know," Kofi said. "I have little experience of European magic. Even among Africans, time magic is very rare. One of the elders who initiated me said that Africa is the mother of mankind, with roots that go back to the beginning of time, and this is why only Africans can do time magic." Kofi shrugged. "He may have been right. I do not have the gift for it myself, but some of the other elders have known priests who could move through time." He rose. "Come. You must meet my wife if you are to use us for a touchstone through the coming years."

  Jane Andrews was a calm woman who had seen enough of her husband's magic, and hosted enough gatherings of the London elders, that she didn't even blink at the idea of travel through time. She merely said, "If you need us, we're 'ere. When the young 'uns are old enough to be told, they'll 'elp, too."

  "We may need help soon to activate the next spell." Jean took Nikolai's arm. "Thank you both. It's good to know we're not alone."

  After they left the cooper's shop, Jean removed her hand from his arm. He firmly replaced it. He enjoyed the quiet magical buzz between them when they touched. He asked, "Are you thinking of telling your brother of your presence and our mission?"

  She shook her head. "He's not the right person, and not only because he spends much of the year in Scotland. It would be too complicated to involve him in our mission. We are too close. He might become too protective."

  "Do you have another candidate in mind?"

  "I'd love to talk to Lady Bethany Fox, but she might not even be alive now—she was old when I left England." Jean frowned. "I'm thinking of Lord and Lady Falconer. Simon is almost like a brother to me. A rather alarming brother because of his power, but I would trust him with anything, including not talking to Duncan. He is an earl and has a good political understanding. Simon and Meg are often in London, which could be useful. Meg is also very powerful, and because she spent years enslaved, I'm sure she and Simon would support our work."

  "This countess was enslaved?" he asked, surprised.

  "Not by corsairs or plantations owners, but a rogue mage," Jean explained. "He kept her enthralled so he could use her power. Joined to his own magic, that made him very dangerous. She wasn't a countess then, of course. Just a girl of unusual potential. He enthralled several others for the same reason."

  "Slavery is even more widespread than I realized." What Jean described was mind rape combined with slavery. The countess must be a very strong woman to have survived that. "I look forward to meeting the Falconers." Seeing Jean's frown, he asked, "Is there a reason you don't wish to?"

  "I'm afraid of what I might find out, Nikolai. What if Simon or Meg has died? What if others I care about are gone? What if I'm told of my own death? I don't want to know!" Her fingers tightened on his arm like a vise. "I hadn't realized how necessary ignorance is to carrying on with one's life. I'm glad I'm not a seer. Seeing too much would make me mad, I think."

  "Then we shall visit your earl and the first thing you shall say is that you don't want any knowledge of the fates of your intimates," he said. "If he and his wife listen well, I presume they will honor that."

  "They both listen very well." More relaxed, Jean glanced up at him. "Now to find a bookstore and a coffee shop, for there we will learn the temper of the times."

  For several days after the ritual that sent Gregorio and Jean Macrae into the future, Adia did little but sleep, eat, then sleep more. She felt so drained that she wasn't sure if she'd ever do magic again. Even her dreams were empty.

  But eventually, she awoke feeling energetic and ready to face life again. The question was, What should she do? She was staying in a guest room of Gregorio's house, sharing the same balcony that Jean's room opened on. A maid had delivered a breakfast tray with bread and fruit and tea. Adia had never lived in such luxury—in the future, she had always been the one who delivered the food, not the one who received it. She found that she didn't like being waited on. She preferred managing for herself.

  After eating, she headed down to the office where Louise worked mornings. The Frenchwoman glanced up from her ledgers. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

  "Is it that obvious?" Adia paused by Isabelle's perch to offer the macaw nuts.

  "The last several times I've seen you, you looked like a ghost—gray and wan." Louise pushed her chair back. "If you want company, you are always welcome to join my family and me for dinner. My husband's ship has returned, and he'll be here for several weeks, and of course you already know the children."

  "That's kind. I will join you this evening." Adia began pacing the office. "But what am I to do with myself? I've worked my whole life, I don't know how to be a woman of leisure." She stopped by the bookcase that covered half of one wall. "What a wonderful library Captain Gregorio has. I've never seen so many books in one place. Will he mind if I read some?"

  "He will not mind." Louise's expression became bleak. "Particularly if he never returns to Santola. Do you think that he and the Scottish witch will return?"

  "I don't know. Probably not," Adia said honestly. "You and he are close?"

  "He brought me out of whoredom and taught me that I had value. We were lovers for a time, but that was never the most important part." Louise used her penknife to carefully sharpen a quill. "Will you stay on the island? One of our ships can take you to France or Spain or Italy. From there, you can return to England."

  "There is nothing for me in England now. My husband is a boy in Africa today. My children have not yet been born." She fought the despair that lanced through at that knowledge. She had known what she
was losing when she called the magic. Though she hadn't realized quite how much it would hurt. "Besides, I feel that I must stay here as...as an anchor for them if they are to have a chance to return. So I must stay, and find occupation so that I will not go mad."

  "You will find no more accepting place than Santola, and there is plenty of work. Would you like to help me? There is much figuring and correspondence, and I could use an assistant who can read and write a fair hand."

  "I would like that." Adia pulled a volume from the bookshelf. Tom Jones: The History of a Foundling. She had heard of this story, but never had a chance to read it. She and Daniel didn't have money to spare for books.

  "Why don't you write your own story?" Louise suggested. "You could get it published in London. The moving tale of an innocent African girl stolen from her home and sold into slavery could help educate people about slavery. There is much ignorance, and people are more touched by tales of individuals than mere numbers."

  The suggestion resonated within Adia. "Perhaps you're right, but I don't know if I can write well enough. Even if I can, how could I get such a story published? How can I write about events that are in the future from our time?"

  Louise frowned. "There are always printers looking for exciting tales to publish. I know of no journal that tells a story like yours, so I think it would attract interest. Your other question is more difficult. I think you would have to write the tale without events that could be dated easily. Write as 'An Anonymous African Princess.'"

  "I was no princess," Adia protested.

  "You are now," Louise said, clearly enjoying herself. "Describe the exotic places where you have lived, especially Africa—people love a travel tale. Tell of the great love between you and your husband and how cruelly you were torn apart, how you risked all to be together—women in particular love a romance. And speak of the great blessings of becoming Christian. All will approve of that."

  "I am not so very good a Christian," Adia said drily.

  "You are now!" Louise smiled wickedly. "Think of this as a way to reach people's hearts. Emphasizing certain aspects of the truth will help in that task. You know something of Christianity, don't you?"

  "I have been baptized," Adia admitted, "but we also used Christian symbols to worship African gods."

  "No white man needs to know that. The story of how you were stolen away as a child, of how you fell in love and married—those are real, are they not?"

  "They are indeed," Adia said softly.

  "Then shape them into a tale that will have truth at the core, but is also designed to make men and women weep at the horror that is slavery." Louise leaned back in her chair and grinned. "But save your mornings to work for me."

  "May I have pens and paper?"

  Louise gestured toward a cabinet. "Gregorio's lap desk is in there. You might as well use it." Her expression had turned serious. "I have a touch of seer in me, Adia, and I feel that a journal such as yours could be important."

  "I think you're right." Adia opened the cabinet and removed the lap desk. As she surveyed the contents, she added, "At the least, it will keep me from fretting."

  As she headed up the stairs, she wondered how long they would wait for the return of Jean and Nikolai before giving up. Would she eventually become so lonely that she would take an island man as a lover? Would Daniel find another woman to warm his bed? She didn't want to think of it. For herself, it would be a long time before the need for warmth would overcome the vows she had exchanged with her husband.

  She set up the lap desk on the table in her room, then paused to think about where she wanted to start. Paper was expensive and should not be wasted.

  Despite Louise's suggestion that she remove events like the American Revolution, she decided it would be easier to write her life as she had lived it. When she was done, she could go through and make a fair copy, removing details that might give her away. She must change names also.

  After her thoughts were ordered, she dipped her pen in the inkwell and wrote, "I have changed the names and details of those I met during my enslavement. Some are good people who were part of an evil system; I do not wish to shame them.

  "The evil I leave to God's justice."

  Chapter

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Why do you wish to find a coffeehouse?" Nikolai asked.

  "I don't know about other cities, but in London, they are the places where men gather to talk and discuss the news of the day," Jean explained. "There are usually copies of newspapers for customers to read. You can learn what engages men's minds now. If you think it appropriate, you could mention slavery and see how others react. Adia was right when she said the slave trade will not end until the mass of people protest it. Britain's press is very free. The newspapers and debating societies will discuss anything. It will aid our cause if they start talking about slavery."

  He nodded thoughtfully, understanding her point. "Are women not allowed?"

  "No, which is why I will find a bookstore." She smiled. "Besides learning what has been published in recent years, I'd like to have a book to read in the evenings."

  He studied her winsome face and the tendrils of red hair escaping her bonnet and could think of other ways of spending evenings. Though his mind believed that they must develop as individual mages before they became lovers, other parts of his anatomy were harder to convince.

  Patience.

  The coffeehouse was low-ceilinged and smoky, the long tables scattered with newspapers and writing materials. In early afternoon, the place was about half full. Nikolai was surprised at the range of men present. While a number were dressed as clerks or merchants, others were clearly laborers. A few men sat alone with newspapers and mugs of coffee, but most gathered in friendly groups. Half a dozen were debating a subject vehemently while others conversed with moderation. Several men looked up when Nikolai entered, but there was nothing hostile in the curiosity.

  He spent a few moments getting his bearings. After hanging his hat on a peg with the other hats, he approached the only woman, who presided over a counter by the fireplace. Coffeepots stayed warm by the roaring fire. The woman poured a tall, steaming mug for Nikolai at his request.

  On the counter were a pitcher of milk and bowls of cracked sugar. He gazed at the sugar a moment, thinking that it had been harvested with blood and sweat by slaves in the Indies. But he didn't intend to start a revolution today. He merely wanted to learn. He added milk and sugar to his mug, then took a seat at an empty table where a rumpled newspaper waited.

  The contents of the newspaper were a shock. The tone was positively treasonous. They could print such things without being jailed? After scanning the first newspaper, he picked another one from a different table. It was even more seditious than the first.

  He looked for more newspapers. A man in one of the groups noticed his gaze and offered a gazette lying in front of him. "Would you like this, mate?"

  "Thank you." Nikolai accepted the gazette. "I am newly arrived in Britain, and I find the freedom of expression rather startling."

  "Aye, we're the freest people in the world," the man said complacently. From his dress, he might have been a stevedore. "Englishmen have our rights, even the least of us."

  "Some 'ave more rights than others," another man said. "Why shouldn't all decent workingmen be able to vote? Why only property owners?"

  The others in the group laughed. "You 'ave strange ideas, Tom," one said. "Only folks who really count are those with money."

  "If enough of us say it's wrong, things'll change," Tom said stubbornly.

  "Next thing, Tom will be sayin' women should vote, too." The comment set off a roar of laughter, followed by a lively political discussion. Nikolai said little, but he was impressed by the knowledgeable speech of even the most roughly dressed.

  His expression was thoughtful when he left and met Jean at the bookstore on the next street. "I see why you sent me to the coffeehouse. Are all Englishmen so independent and well informed?"

 
"Not necessarily." She took his arm and they headed back toward their inn. "Coffeehouses tend to attract those who are interested in discussion. Different coffeehouses have various kinds of customers—there is one called Lloyds where men meet to underwrite shipping insurance. Ship captains usually go to a different coffeehouse. For those who want only to drink, there are plenty of taverns and gin shops."

  "I was amazed at the inflammatory writing in the newspapers. In Paris, the editors would all be in jail."

  Jean's brows arched. "I didn't realize that the French controlled the press so tightly. Complaining about the government is normal here."

  "Are Scots as concerned with their rights as Englishmen?"

  "Scots are equally independent, but there are differences." She grinned. "The English complain about the government while Scots complain about the English."

  "This independent spirit might be why abolition will take root here," he said thoughtfully. "Just as fear of being violently impressed into the navy might make the common man more sympathetic to slaves. If we keep going forward in time, it will be interesting to see how British notions evolve."

  "'Interesting' is one of those all-purpose words," she observed. "Ever since I met you, my life has become 'interesting.' I'm not sure how much more I can bear."

  He smiled teasingly. "Would you really rather be part of London society, powdering your hair and attending too many entertainments?"

  "Some days, yes." Her smile lit her eyes. "But not today."

  Entrance to Falconer House was not easy for a stranger who could say little about his business. Nikolai was dressed in his sober best while Jean had gone to a used-clothing shop and bought a black mourning gown and bonnet with a veil so heavy that even Nikolai could barely recognize her.

  By prearrangement, Nikolai did the talking to get them into the earl's Mayfair home. Jean kept silent, but he felt her use her magic to "lean" on the butler and persuade the man that Lord Falconer would want to see these strangers.