Gwen stared at him, unable to believe her ears. “They forced their way into the children,” Jack said, sharply. “They were often injured – and the injured were thrown out onto the streets to die. Lord Fitzroy was one of the brothel’s most powerful patrons.”
Abruptly, he turned and headed down the street. Gwen followed him, her mind spinning. If Lord Fitzroy had been having sex with children...she felt revolted, disgusted. She’d been introduced to him, socially, and he’d kissed her hand. It was irrational, but she wanted to scrub her hand thoroughly, scrape off the skin and remove all traces of his lips...Jack was moving faster now and Gwen almost had to run to keep up with him. How could anyone do that to a child? How could anyone...?
She looked around her and, for the first time, understood what Jack was trying to tell her. The urban poor had literally nothing to lose, but their chains. Savage repression and ignorance – and magic – was all that kept them from rising up against their masters. And Gwen, if she became the Royal Sorceress, would be a part of that repression. And...what had they done to deserve such suffering? Gwen prided herself on being intellectually honest – and the only thing they’d done wrong was being born to the wrong parents. What was the difference between Gwen and the girl who had been selling flowers, but an accident of birth?
Jack stopped outside a building on the edge of the wealthier part of town. “I’m going to show you something that many people would say wasn’t fit for female eyes,” he said. “Which is very strange, because the things in this building are happening to females.”
He leapt into the air and rose up to the rooftop. Gwen followed him, her mind still spinning, and watched as he opened a hatch and reached down into the darkness. He motioned for her to wait while he dealt with the sentries, and then called for her to come down into the building. The air seemed thicker somehow, glowing with the scent of magic. Gwen watched as Jack created a light with his magic and illuminated the hallway. A handful of doors lay ahead of her, each one with a tiny glimmer of light coming from just above the carpet. Jack slipped forward, listened at one of the doors, and then opened it a crack. Gwen followed and looked inside.
It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. A pair of naked buttocks – male buttocks – were heaving up and down on the bed. She flushed, almost looking away despite a kind of queasy fascination, and then realised that there were two pairs of feet. There was a woman under the man, gasping as he thrust deeper and deeper into her...Gwen skittered away, flushing bright red. She had never seen a man and a woman having sex before, not ever. It seemed louder than she had expected...
Jack smiled as he opened a second door. This time, the girl was bent over the bed, the man standing behind her and thrusting into her. It looked painful; Gwen was sure that the woman wasn’t enjoying herself at all. Magic rose inside her, only to be dampened by Jack’s presence. He pulled her back to the hatch and they floated up and out, leaving Gwen stunned as one thought kept spinning through her mind. She’d recognised the second man. Lord Blackburn was unmistakable.
“The women here aren’t here of their own free will,” Jack said, twenty minutes later. They sat together on the rooftops, looking over in the direction of Buckingham Palace. “Every poor child who shows signs of magical ability is taken by the Royal College. The street gangs get paid for each child they deliver to Master Thomas and his subordinates – very few magical children escape the net. Each of the boys is adopted by a wealthy family, one who can meet his every need. He is encouraged to forget his real parents. The girls are taken to one of the farms, like this building here. They are raised carefully, and then...bred with male magicians, each one eventually becoming pregnant. A pregnant woman is well cared for, but her children are taken from her at birth. The males, again, to be raised by good families and eventually become magicians; the females to be raised in...other establishments before being sent to the farms.”
Gwen found it hard, almost impossible, to comprehend. “But why...?” She managed, finally. “Why all...this madness?”
“It isn’t madness,” Jack said, seriously. “The great advantage Britain has over the rest of the world is an organised magical system. It won’t last and Master Thomas knows it. Here, in places like this, they’re breeding the next generations of magicians. They hope that by...cross-breeding the talents, they will breed more magicians with multiple talents. The results weren’t too successful when I was still working for Master Thomas, but they’ve had plenty of time to experiment since then.”
He looked up at her. “I came out of one of those programs,” he said, softly. “I never knew my real mother or father. I was raised by a wealthy family until Master Thomas came for me. He may even have been my father, Gwen; every male magician in the Royal College is expected to do his bit for the program. Lord Blackburn is far from the only one to come here and attempt to impregnate the girls. None of the poor women have any choice about what happens to them...
“When I found out, I knew that I could no longer stay with Master Thomas,” he admitted. “If you had been born to a poor family, you would have wound up here – or dead.”
He shrugged. “But it’s time for you to head back to Cavendish Hall,” he said. “If you still want to go back, that is...”
Gwen hesitated. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She felt terrible, and confused. “I just don’t know.”
“I understand,” Jack said. He pointed towards Big Ben. “You can find your own way home from here?” Gwen nodded. “We’ll see each other again, sooner or later. And I hope you make the right choice.”
Gwen stared at him. “But what is the right choice?”
Jack chuckled. “The right choice is the one that allows you to sleep soundly at night,” he said. “I wonder just how well Master Thomas sleeps these days.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Where the hell have you been?”
Gwen ignored Cannock as the guard showed her into Cavendish Hall. It had been a difficult walk back to the Hall, if only because her mind was spinning. She’d seen Lord Blackburn forcing himself on a woman – and how many others, she asked herself, had done the same over the years? Cannock was a powerful Mover, even though he was a complete pain in her posterior. Had he been ordered to impregnate any number of unwilling women?
“You’re lucky Master Thomas isn’t here,” Cannock said, getting in front of her. Gwen had started to walk towards the stairs, ignoring him. “He’s out on a raid for the police – but he was worried about you. We’ve had all kinds of reports.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Where the hell have you been? And what the hell are you wearing?”
Gwen fixed him with a look that would have done her mother proud. “Take your hand off me, now,” she said, icily. Cannock let go of her and stumbled backwards, either shocked by his breech of etiquette or suddenly reminded that Gwen had far more talents than he possessed. “I am going upstairs to my rooms. You will inform Master Thomas, when he returns, that I am catching up on my sleep. He will doubtless wish to talk to me himself.”
She walked up the stairs, silently daring Cannock to follow her. He shouldn’t have been in charge at Cavendish Hall, but she could see him assuming control if all the senior magicians were out of the building, looking for her. Or perhaps Master Thomas was somewhere other than on a raid. He had made little fuss about her attending David’s birthday dinner…perhaps he was at one of the other farms, impregnating other women. The thought chilled her to the bone as she stumbled into her rooms. She locked the door behind her, even though she knew that any magician with a hint of magic would be able to break through the locks and force his way in. How many women had been sacrificed on the altar of necessity?
Despite herself, she yawned. It had been a long day, even though she’d been unconscious for part of it. She pulled at her outfit, suddenly aware that she must look a sight, and undressed rapidly. The mottled pattern of new skin that she remembered from when she’d been with the underground was rapidly fading. By
morning, she suspected, it would be gone completely. The aches and pains still haunting her body were all that remained of injuries that should have killed her outright. Lucy’s talent was a miracle, a miracle that Master Thomas and his men would have done anything to acquire. Absently, Gwen wondered if Lucy had any children – and, if so, if they shared the healing talent. How many other talents were known to the underground, but not to the establishment?
She crawled into bed without bothering to don her nightwear and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew was that she was being shaken, firmly. She opened her eyes and saw one of the maids, staring down at her anxiously. Her long curly hair was falling down to tickle Gwen’s face.
“You have to wake up,” the maid whispered, urgently. Gwen, still half-asleep, couldn’t even remember her name. How long had she slept? Bright sunlight was pouring in through the windows, suggesting that it was early morning. “Master Thomas wants to speak with you.”
Gwen allowed herself an inner sigh of relief. At least Master Thomas hadn’t come charging into her room demanding answers, although it would have been a gross breech of etiquette. A master had ultimate power over his apprentice, but Gwen could count on the fingers of one hand the number of women who had been apprenticed in male professions. Master Thomas wouldn’t have violated her privacy so blatantly. On the other hand, he was certainly going to demand answers the moment Gwen showed her face.
“You have to come,” the maid insisted. She sounded worried. Master Thomas had clearly put the fear of…well, himself into her. “Please…”
Gwen pulled herself upright, ignoring the maid’s blush as Gwen’s bare breasts were revealed. “Please inform Master Thomas,” Gwen said, in a tone her mother would have recognised at once, “that I will attend upon him as soon as I have finished my toilet. And then inform the kitchen that I would like a late breakfast.”
The maid fled, leaving Gwen to pull herself out of bed and splash water on her face. Gwen had never taken long to dress – her mother took hours before going out to a ball or even a simple meal with a few friends – but she paced herself as she pulled on her apprentice’s uniform. It gave her time to clear her head and decide what she could – and would – tell Master Thomas. She wasn’t going to tell him the truth, at least until she’d sorted out her own thoughts and feelings. The memory of Lord Blackburn flashed in front of her eyes and she shuddered. Master Thomas was the most powerful magician in Britain, at least as far as anyone knew. He would have been called upon to father hundreds of children.
“It is vitally important that no one questions the paternity of your children,” her mother had said, once. The young Gwen had realised that David had been allowed far more freedom than she, and had demanded answers from her mother. In hindsight, she cringed at the memory and wondered why her mother hadn’t slapped her face once or twice. “You must remain like Caesar’s wife, above suspicion. What contact you have with men” – her tone had suggested that Gwen would want little contact with men – “must be carefully chaperoned to ensure that your name is not brought into disrepute.”
Gwen scowled at the memory as she checked herself in the mirror. The King was known for having bastards, at least three according to her mother’s gossip. Queen Caroline might have been favoured by the British public, but she had never been allowed such liberty. Gwen could see how the scheme had worked for so long. No one would question the origins of a child, provided that they were adopted as very young children. Indeed, no one would have to know that the child had been adopted at all. The child himself might never know that the people who had brought him up weren’t his real parents.
She stopped dead as a thought crossed her mind. How did she know that Lady Mary was her real mother? How did she know that her father was really her father? The thought of Lady Mary adopting a young girl…but no, Gwen hated to admit it, but she did have her mother’s face. Lady Mary had the same blonde hair and face as Gwen; only Gwen’s eyes had come from her father. And she could see her father objecting to allowing someone else to father a child on his wife. It would have been more understandable if Lady Mary had had children from her first husband, if she’d had one. No one in High Society would have asked questions about that; indeed, the second husband would be expected to adopt the children formally.
The thought tormented her as she gathered herself and walked downstairs. She’d delayed as long as she dared, even though her thoughts weren’t complete. If she lied to Master Thomas and he caught her at it, he would never trust her again. But if she told the truth, she would put Jack and Lucy in terrible danger. And yet they were rebels, rebelling against the establishment. And they had a very good cause.
Master Thomas looked tired as she entered his study. He had a small office on the ground floor which he used for official business. Gwen had seen it once or twice before, but hadn’t spent any real time in it. He was seated behind a massive desk, reading a file of papers and checking off names against a list on the table. Gwen stopped in front of the desk and waited, uncomfortably aware that it was far too similar to facing her father after a childish prank. Master Thomas had every right to discipline her as he saw fit.
He looked up and fixed her with an unblinking stare. “What happened to you last night?”
Gwen swallowed, hard. There would have been plenty of evidence of the desperate chase and fight across the rooftops of London. They might even have found the dead body, the body of the man she’d slain. It would have been obvious that he had been killed by magic – and Master Thomas might deduce that Gwen, rather than Jack, had killed him. If he saw through her lie, she knew that he wouldn’t be merciful. Jack had betrayed him too badly for him to trust another apprentice completely.
“The rogue attacked my brother’s dinner,” Gwen said, finally. It dawned on her that she truly was as selfish as her mother had called her, long ago. She hadn’t even thought to ask after David and his guests. The guilt gnawed at her mind as she faced Master Thomas. “I gave chase across the rooftops and…”
She broke off. “He did something to me,” she admitted. “I blacked out and collapsed. When I recovered, it was midnight and I was lost somewhere in London. I made my way back to Cavendish Hall and went to bed.”
“He just left you there,” Master Thomas said. Gwen flushed. She knew how weak it sounded. Jack would have wanted to kill her if she hadn’t listened to him, if only to deprive Master Thomas of a powerful ally. “Where did you get the street clothing?”
Gwen hoped that he’d believe that her flush was embarrassment, rather than shame. “My clothes were rags,” she said. “I gave them to a street beggar in exchange for something I could wear back to Cavendish Hall.”
She had always hated it when men thought of her as a foolish female, a phobia she’d had ever since she’d become aware of the difference between men and women. It was ironic, she admitted in the privacy of her own mind, that that very phobia drove her to commit foolish acts. Chasing Jack across the rooftops had been foolish; not taking a bodyguard to her brother’s dinner party had been foolish…and then giving away her clothes would have been foolish. As explanations went, it wasn’t one that could be easily disproved. Her ruined clothes would still be worth far more than a labouring woman’s outfit.
“You should have known better than to give chase to him,” Master Thomas said, flatly. He sounded as if he was angry, but not at Gwen. Gwen wondered, absently, what else had happened since she’d been knocked out. Jack might have shown himself to her as a diversion, to distract attention from something else. “You risked your own life.”
“Yes, sir,” Gwen said, tightly.
“You’re strong and adaptable and you have much less to unlearn than your fellow students, but you’re not ready to fight another Master,” Master Thomas said, sharply. “You didn’t just put yourself at risk, Lady Gwen; you put the future of the Royal Sorcerers Corps at risk. Who could have replaced you if you’d died on the streets?”
His eyes met hers, boring into her very soul. �
�You will not risk your life again,” he said. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Gwen said. She felt...uncertain. Master Thomas had always been good to her, yet the memory of the farm mocked her – and him. How many women had he slept with in the hopes of producing talented children? And how willing had those women actually been? “I understand.”
“A male student would be feeling the sting of my displeasure,” Master Thomas said. “As it is, you can go to the library and study for the next few hours. An urgent matter has come up and I must attend to it. You can return to your practice tomorrow morning.”
Gwen nodded and left the study, not trusting herself to speak. Most of her fellow students would have regarded being banished to the library as a punishment, but Gwen rather enjoyed the chance to study the collection of books – and pick out the numerous misconceptions about magic put forward by various authors. Lombardi loved the library too, yet when Gwen entered there was no sign of him. There was no sign of any other students either. The library was as dark and silent as the grave.
She glanced around to be sure that she was alone and then started to hunt for a particular book. Jack had told her the name of the author, but she had no idea where it would have been shelved – or even if it had been left on the shelves. There was a section of restricted books that could only be read with permission from Master Thomas and Gwen knew, without needing to ask, that permission would not be forthcoming. She was on the verge of abandoning her search when she spotted the book she was looking for, hidden away amid a set of mathematical treatises. It was a small pamphlet, dated 1801. The author, she realised, might well have known Professor Cavendish personally. They might even have been friends, although Professor Cavendish, according to his official biographer, had been a very shy and retiring man. It was a minor miracle that he’d even been able to convince the establishment that magic existed.
The Royal Sorceress Page 24