Sons of Liberty

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  She looked at Rochester. “He might try to kill you, Your Excellency.”

  Bruce spluttered with shock. “He ... he would never dare! This palace is heavily guarded!”

  “He’s a Mover,” Gwen said. She had to fight the urge to reach out with her power and hold him upside down. “He can just smash his way through most of the defences.”

  “You can't stay here,” Rochester said. He took a long breath. “If he comes for me, he comes for me.”

  “You can't die,” Gwen insisted. “Your Excellency ...”

  “And we can't lose Amherst either,” Rochester said. His voice was very firm. “Whoever this magician is, whatever he wants, it changes nothing. We have to stop the French from breaking into the heartlands or we’ll lose most of the empire. If that means leaving me without a proper bodyguard ... well, I’ll take the risk.”

  “Father,” Bruce said.

  Gwen felt a flicker of vindictive glee, mixed with guilt and shame. Bruce didn't seem to care much for his father, but the prospect of losing him had to sting. Part of her wanted to enjoy his sudden horror, the rest of her was horrified at revelling in someone’s pain. Maybe Bruce really needed nothing more than a slap across the face from reality.

  “It has to be done,” Rochester said. “You will accompany Lady Gwen to Amherst as my personal representative.”

  And get him out of the way if the rogue does come calling, Gwen thought. Bruce looked to be in reasonable shape - he hadn't let himself go, like so many indolent aristocrats - but he was no match for a Mover. The rogue would tear him apart, probably without ever noticing what he’d done. At least something of the Viceroy’s family would survive.

  “If that is your wish, father,” Bruce said, finally.

  “It is,” Rochester said. “Lady Gwen will take care of you, I think. Do what she says.”

  Gwen would have expected horror, if a boy her own age was told to obey her. But Bruce showed no visible reaction. She wondered, absently, if he was stunned by the prospect of his father being brutally murdered ... or of facing the French himself. He would be brave, she was sure, but she doubted he had any real experience ...

  There was a knock on the door. Rochester rose to his feet. “Come!”

  Gwen turned, just in time to see Irene and Raechel being ushered into the room. She stared, astonished. The Viceroy knew who they were, of course, but no one else was supported to realise there was more than a casual connection between the three of them. Three weeks onboard a ship didn't automatically make them close friends.

  “As far as anyone knows, I invited them here to discuss a match between Raechel and my son,” the Viceroy said, answering her unspoken question. “There is much to discuss.”

  “More than you know,” Irene said. She sounded tired and worn. “Your Excellency, we have a vitally important report to make to you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  As a child, Raechel had heard her father talking about meetings - some formal, some held over glasses of port - that had decided the future of the empire itself. She’d always wanted to be there, to have her voice heard as the great and the good debated what to do ... but now she was in a high-level meeting, she was scared. It wasn't her who would be making the final decisions, such as they were, yet she thought she understood the implications. A mistake at this level would be catastrophic.

  She outlined what she’d discovered as Irene taught her, holding nothing back. Gwen’s face betrayed her surprise, while both Viceroy Rochester and his son remained impassive as she listed the handful of names and faces she knew. Jane, Hamish ... the Viceroy showed a hint of surprise at the latter, but otherwise seemed unmoved. He must have suspected the younger generation for a long time, part of Raechel’s mind noted. Hamish’s dissatisfaction with the status quo would hardly be unknown to him. If his father hadn't been so important ...

  “Clever of them,” the Viceroy noted, when Raechel had finished. “Hiding in plain sight.”

  “Arrest them,” Gwen urged. “If they’re building an army they have to be stopped now.”

  “We don’t know everyone involved in the conspiracy,” the Viceroy pointed out. “If we arrest the people we do know, we might well trigger an uprising before we had a chance to interrogate the prisoners and identify the remaining Sons. Even if we did ...”

  He sucked in his breath. “The militia is unreliable,” he added. “I’d bet good money that the Sons obtained their weapons from the militia in the first place. If we declare martial law and put troops on the streets, we might find that we were merely reinforcing the Sons.”

  “Use the regulars,” Gwen said.

  “The regulars are needed in Amherst,” the Viceroy snapped. “Whichever way we jump, Lady Gwen, we’re going to take a beating.”

  “Maybe not,” Irene said. Her voice was very composed. “The Sons clearly aren't ready to move, Your Excellency. If they were, they wouldn't be risking exposure by recruiting more soldiers and assistants from New York. They may well have only a few thousand men under their banner.”

  “They’d want to ensure they could trust their recruits too,” Gwen added. “Vetting them all, even with the aid of a Talker, could take months.”

  She looked down at the map. “The French might well be involved too,” she warned. “They certainly played a major role in assisting the Swing. Maybe that was just a warm-up for this.”

  “An uprising on the streets of New York, if it succeeded, would tear the colonies apart,” the Viceroy said. “And with the French pressing up from the south ... at best, we’d be refighting the revolution at the worst possible time. Losing the naval bases along the coastline alone would cripple our ability to hold territory and mount counterattacks.”

  “Which may well be what the French have in mind,” Gwen said. “And they’d have the added advantage of ensuring the Sons take the brunt of the fighting. Losing their army would make it harder for the Sons to resist French rule.”

  Raechel looked at her. “You think the French want to rule America?”

  Gwen shrugged. “America has great promise,” she said. “And whoever controls the continent is going to be in a very strong position for future expansion. The French may be hoping that we and the Sons destroy each other.”

  She looked back at the Viceroy. “Does this make a difference to the original plan?”

  “No,” the Viceroy said. “You have to accompany the army to Amherst.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency,” Gwen said.

  Raechel swallowed. She'd known that Gwen had no hesitation in flying into danger, but the thought of losing her only real friend was terrifying. Gwen ... was one of the few people she could talk to, even if she was the Royal Sorceress. And yet, if there were good reasons for Gwen to go south, she’d go south.

  “We also need to root out the Sons,” Irene said. “Raechel, I propose that you accept Jane’s offer of escape from” - her lips quirked - “my clutches.”

  The Viceroy frowned. “You’d think she’d be more useful to them in New York.”

  “I don’t think so, Your Excellency,” Irene said. “Raechel is a wealthy heiress, but she has no access to that money until she turns twenty-five - unless, of course, she gets married while she’s over here. And if she did, her husband might not be friendly to the Sons. It’s amazing how sudden wealth can change a man’s character. Right now, she isn't even a pawn on the gaming board.”

  “True,” Gwen agreed, reluctantly.

  Raechel cursed under her breath. Irene was right, of course. Wealthy or not, as long as she had no access to her wealth no one would pay any attention to her. Even her suitors would be more interested in pleasing Irene than herself. Absently, she wondered just how many quiet offers of future favours had been made to Irene, while she’d been at the meeting. A chaperone stood to gain a great deal from organising a wedding to suit herself.

  And then it hit her. She was going to go underground. She was going to leave the comforts and safety o
f New York and go ... where? She was going to be in a place where the slightest slip would get her killed, or worse. And Irene, her mentor, was going to be miles away, at best. She might have no way to slip out and send a message to New York ...

  She fought to control her emotions, refusing to allow herself to slip, even as her heartbeat thundered so loudly she was sure the entire room could hear it. As dangerous as the prospect of going undercover was, it was also her chance to prove herself. She could convince everyone, once and for all, that she was more than just a pretty face - and a name, with a sizable legacy attached. No one would ever be able to dismiss her again.

  “Raechel,” Gwen said. It took Raechel a moment to realise she’d missed part of the conversation. “Raechel, do you want to do this?”

  Raechel looked down at her pale hands. On one hand, it was her duty; someone needed to infiltrate the Sons of Liberty and she was in the best place to get into their system. But on the other hand ... she’d faced danger before, in Russia, yet this was worse. The Sons wouldn't hesitate to cut her throat if they saw her as a potential threat ...

  “Yes,” she said, firmly. “I do.”

  “We’ll stage an incident,” Irene said, briskly. “Something that will give you a motive to escape. Jane will, I’m sure, be willing to help you.”

  “She said as much,” Raechel said.

  The Viceroy coughed. “Why?”

  Raechel winced. He was right. If she’d had access to her money, the Sons would have good reason to want to help, but right now ... she was useless. A man, at least, might make another soldier, someone to carry weapons and fight for the cause. But what good was she when her experience of life outside England was so limited? The whole affair might come to an end when Jane refused to help her ...

  “Because they’re young,” Gwen said. Raechel glanced at her in surprise. “Hamish Tarleton is in his early twenties, I believe, Jane isn't any older than Raechel or I. By freeing Raechel from her chaperone they’re striking a blow against a social structure they have come to hate.”

  “I hope you’re right,” the Viceroy said.

  He rose to his feet. “You may make use of one of the meeting rooms, if you wish,” he said, flatly. “I have a speech to write.”

  Gwen nodded. “Raechel, we’ll talk privately, if you don’t mind.”

  Raechel glanced at Irene, then nodded. Bruce led them down the corridor to a small chamber, then bowed once and retreated. Raechel couldn't help noticing that Gwen’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight, her expression unreadable. It was unlikely Gwen was interested in him, she told herself, but Bruce was the Viceroy’s son. She needed to stay on reasonably good terms with him, at least as long as his father was in office.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Irene said. “Call me when you’re ready to discuss the plan.”

  Raechel nodded, then followed Gwen into the room. It was smaller than she’d realised, barely large enough for a couple of armchairs and a drinks cabinet. She eyed the bottles hopefully, remembering pleasant days at the club when she’d experimented with fancy liqueurs from France, then reminded herself - rather firmly - that drinking herself silly was a very bad idea. Gwen took one of the armchairs and motioned to the other, inviting Raechel to sit. Raechel nodded and sat down.

  Gwen looked older, Raechel noted, although she wasn't quite sure why she had that impression. Her blonde hair had grown a little longer since they’d first met - her lips twitched as she recalled her aunt’s sardonic remarks about young unmarried girls who cut their hair too short - and her eyes were as bright as ever, but there was something in the way she held herself that suggested she was tired. She hadn't had any real chance for a break, Raechel recalled; she’d come back from Russia and plunged straight into war. Even the voyage hadn't really been relaxing for her ...

  “You don’t have to do this,” Gwen said. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

  “I need to do it,” Raechel said. “This is my only chance to prove myself.”

  Gwen’s lips quirked into a humourless smile. “There were plenty of times in my life when I wanted men to think of me as more than a foolish female,” she said. “And half the time I did it by acting foolishly.”

  “This isn't foolish,” Raechel said. “Gwen, if the Sons launch an uprising now, British North America is finished.”

  “You won’t have any magic,” Gwen warned. “If you get caught ...”

  “I know the risks,” Raechel said. Some of Irene’s stories had been dark enough to nearly turn her hair white. “Do you have any better plan?”

  “No,” Gwen said. “But if Jane’s a Talker, the rogue magician I encountered today might be a Son too. And you can’t count on the Sons following the rules.”

  “I know,” Raechel said, frostily. She’d had quite enough of her family treating her as a delicate little flower. She wasn't going to take it from Gwen too ... although, if she was forced to be honest, she hadn't made exactly the best impression when they’d first met. “Can I ask a different question?”

  “Of course,” Gwen said.

  Raechel hesitated, trying to get her thoughts in order. “Are you sure we’re on the right side?”

  Gwen’s eyes hardened. “Explain yourself!”

  “They talked about equal rights for everyone,” Raechel said. She tapped the space between her breasts meaningfully. “You only have power because of your magic - and because you’re unique. I don’t have any power at all, because I was born female. If I’d had a brother, he would be spending the family inheritance right now. How many women were sent into exile, over here, for doing something that would be feted if it had been done by a man?”

  There was a long chilling pause. “I think I understand, finally, how Master Thomas must have felt,” Gwen said. She sounded irked by the realisation. “I asked him the same question.”

  “And he said?”

  “He said that anarchists want to tear down the system,” Gwen said. “They don’t realise that they need to put something in its place. Even during the civil wars, Parliament had an alternate governing structure ... maybe that’s why Parliament won.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Anyone can point out problems, Raechel,” she added. “And I agree with you. It isn't fair that a woman can be punished for something that isn’t considered a crime, if done by a man. But actually tackling those problems is a great deal harder. Jack had no plan for creating a government of his own. I wonder if the Sons of Liberty have a plan themselves.

  “And if they don’t, they might as well give the colonies to the French.”

  “They wouldn't want that,” Raechel protested.

  “I’m pretty sure the Highlanders didn’t want to have their clans broken up and their lands confiscated, when they rose in support of the Young Pretender,” Gwen snapped. Her voice grew louder. “That didn’t stop it from happening! They launched an uprising without the weapons or popular support they needed to actually win. Getting all the way to Derby was a minor miracle in its own right, but it cost them everything.

  “They’re young, young and idealistic. Half of them don’t have the slightest idea what it takes to run the government. And I’d bet that many of their supporters are so poor and desperate that they have nowhere else to go. But that doesn't mean they’re in the right! I won’t say the empire is perfect, because it isn’t, yet it’s a damn sight better than living under the French king.”

  “And you’re the one who wants to have servants treated like people,” Raechel said, before she could stop herself. “The Sons might do it.”

  “Or they might create a tyranny of their own,” Gwen warned. “There’s no government structure in place for them, not now. Building one in the middle of a war won’t be easy.”

  She met Raechel’s eyes. “I understand how you feel,” she said, her voice softening. “But the Sons cannot be allowed to doom us all.”

  Raechel lowered her gaze. “Is it wrong to be idealistic
?”

  “No,” Gwen said. “But it is wrong to be so idealistic that it blinds you to reality.”

  She sighed. “Maybe the Viceroy will make concessions,” she added. “But right now, we have to regard the Sons as a potential threat, an enemy within. Anything you can dig up will be very helpful.”

  “I understand,” Raechel said, reluctantly. “And I know my duty.”

  Gwen met her eyes. “It's never easy to force the head to rule the heart,” she admitted. “But the head must rule.”

  Raechel scowled as Gwen reached out with her magic and opened the door, inviting Irene into the room. Men had been saying that women were ruled by their emotions since time out of mind, insisting that women were ill-fitted for government because they couldn't think logically. But, in her experience, men were ruled by their emotions too. It was just a different set of emotions, emotions that could be just as destructive to men as they were to women. Very few people could think logically and reasonably on a consistent basis.