Engine of Lies ebook

by Barbara Howe

  Sven’s lip curled. “They haven’t made a serious effort. I have friends in the Air Guild—”

  René said, “Like that enchantress you’ve been flirting with?”

  Colour rose in Sven’s cheeks. “I have not been flirting with Enchantress Winifred.”

  René hooted. I said, “She’s been flirting with you. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Sven’s blush deepened. “I had noticed, but those coven meetings are serious business.”

  Hey, big sister. He won’t marry an airhead, will he?

  Not likely. He values intelligence too highly.

  Sven said, “As I was starting to say, before I was so rudely interrupted, I respect a few members of the Air Guild, but most seem stuck in the tenth century. Their idea of spreading the word is to magically make a few hundred copies of a song or story and send it to the lower ranks, who travel from village to village telling the news. They ignore the printing press because they didn’t invent it, and it’s non-magical, so it doesn’t count. To them, anyway. But I’m not a mage for nothing. I have connections in the printing business. We could print thousands of copies of a broadsheet and blanket the country with it.”

  “Will that help?” I asked. “Out in the countryside most people can’t read. More in the towns and cities are literate, but—”

  “Even out in the country most are within a few miles of someone who can read—a pastor, a retired scholar, a professional letter writer—somebody. If we put copies into their hands, the news will spread.”

  “Yes, but fast enough? In Cathay, the air wizards create notices that read themselves out loud.”

  Sven’s eyes went round. “Wow. How do they do that?”

  “No idea. But if we could figure it out, that would help.”

  “You bet.”

  “And we’ll light a fire under the Air Guild by showing them up.” René’s impish grin was contagious. “Make them do a better job of pulling their weight.”

  “And make a few enemies, too,” I said.

  René’s grin widened. “Do I care? How soon can we do it?”

  Sven said, “Good question. It has to be synchronised with exposing the secret to the noblewomen. It’s the queen and her ladies that matter.”

  I said, “We need to do it at the end of August—before unlocking the Water Office—when all the nobles are gathered in Paris.” I described my idea.

  René laughed. “That’ll serve the king right. Let’s do it.”

  I said, “Sven?”

  Sven frowned, tapping on his desk. “Might work.”

  René said, “What can I do?”

  Sven said, “Find out which witches and wizards aren’t members of the conspiracy. We’ll recruit the ones that would be sympathetic.”

  “I’m on it,” he said, and bounded into the fireplace.

  “Sven, you’re worried,” I said. “Why won’t it work?”

  Sven continued his relentless tapping. “It can work. But what will happen if it does?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You brought up the subject of making enemies. Remember what I said about giving the Fire Guild a black eye? There are guild members who don’t give a farthing about the lives of mundane women, but will be pissed off at you—us—for making the guild look bad.”

  “Why should I care about such reprobates?”

  “Warlock Flint, I expect, will be one. He’s attacked you more than once already, with little justification. What will he do if he has justification? You live in Blazes, not in the Fortress. Can you be on your guard against him, day and night, for weeks on end? And not just for yourself. Who will protect little Edward when you and Quicksilver aren’t at home? A level three lady’s maid and a level one nursemaid are no match for a warlock.”

  The room spun. The next thing I knew Sven was bending over me, pressing my head and shoulders down to my knees.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You look ghastly.”

  I pushed him away. “I won’t faint. I just hadn’t… I mean, I said the conspiracy was dangerous, but I didn’t…”

  “No, you don’t expect your neighbours to hurt you, do you? What normal, sane person does? Maybe I’m exaggerating how Flint will react…”

  I shook my head. I’d seen evidence of Flint’s mean streak, and he wasn’t the only one in the Fire Guild with a vindictive nature. My obligation to protect Frankland’s women fought with my primal urge to protect my family. Jean had been right in making me learn to fight. When this was all over, I would have to apologise for my stubborn streak.

  Sven said, “I don’t have a family to protect. Maybe you’ve already done all you needed to do. René and I can let you out of the counter-conspiracy, and we’ll carry on without you.”

  “Aren’t you…” I stopped. Sven wouldn’t lie to me; I shouldn’t ask a question he wouldn’t care to answer. Sven, in his own way, was as good a model of a fire wizard as Jean. Like Jean, like Beorn, he would do what he had to. Even if, like me, he was afraid.

  Jean’s words, from months earlier, echoed in my head. A warlock’s primary responsibility is to Frankland’s security. That trumps everything else: family, personal comfort, one’s own life.

  “No,” I said. “You can’t do it without me.”

  “If that’s the way you feel,” he said, “then let’s get on with it.”

  Counter-Conspiracy

  Days passed with lightning speed. I moved in a blur of activity, taking no time to brood on the rapid approach of the first of September, or on the empty shell my marriage seemed to have become. Even after the superficial effects of the gift of cold water wore off, Jean did not come back to my bed. He was seldom home for dinner, and often left the house before dawn. We spent hours together holding hands on Storm King—every night, now that Sorceress Lorraine’s gift let me absorb power and rebuild my reserves—but it was work, not pleasure, and he bore more resemblance to a slave driver than a lover. Aside from the practice on Storm King, we neither touched nor talked.

  It is not accurate to say we didn’t speak. We exchanged greetings and inconsequential pleasantries in passing—the kinds of things any two people sharing living quarters must say to each other to maintain a façade of civility. No one watching us would have guessed we were anything other than happily married and quite busy.

  But we never talked about anything that mattered. If asking for his advice and guidance would not have given away our counter-conspiracy, I would have grovelled, begging for his help. I didn’t dare mention any subject connected to it, and everything other than our house and Edward seemed to touch on it. I volunteered nothing. He asked no questions.

  I had never imagined a married woman with a child, in daily association with dozens of people, could be so lonely.

  The meetings with the mages went from twice a week to every other day as we struggled with the overlapping spells. Jean was politeness itself in the meetings, but paid me no more attention than he paid anyone else. He encouraged everyone to ask Sven the questions concerning fire magic, and stepped in only on the most arcane points. On those, sometimes even the other mages dropped out, leaving Jean and Sorceress Lorraine, the two oldest, arguing details that went over everyone else’s heads. They were as far beyond me as Master Sven was beyond that silly air witch, Enchantress Winifred, and both exhibited pleasure at debating someone who did not need every other word explained. Sven glowered at them. I watched through hooded eyes, and loathed them both.

  When not in the Warren’s amber room or Sorceress Lorraine’s chilly study, I held court in our drawing room in Blazes, listening to a lengthening queue of witches, wizards, and commoners reporting abusive nobles. I dealt with some problems until Beorn chewed me out for putting myself in danger and ordered me to stay home in Blazes to direct less essential personnel in handling wayward nobles and tracking fugitives. Any accused crimin
al the Fire or Earth Guild could locate, a warlock grabbed and dropped over the border with a nudge towards New London. A steady stream of hints from Sorcerer Charles about fugitives’ movements helped. Each exiled fugitive meant one less contentious trial for us to grapple with, our neighbours’ growing ire over the influx be damned. Only Enchanter Paul, whose jurisdiction included trade and diplomacy, minded.

  As I got better at the long-range spells for communication and information gathering, I kept Sunbeam and other experienced members of the guild hopping, only calling on the Fire Warlock when a situation threatened to ignite. We dealt with new problems before they erupted into open violence, but knew we straddled a powder keg.

  Sunbeam never complained, but looked exhausted and a decade older. He would fall asleep within minutes of sitting down in any chair with a back. René didn’t bother with the chair. He would collapse onto the hearthrug and snore. Sunbeam’s wife came to protest I was overworking him; she stayed for an hour, fussing around me like a mother hen, pouring chamomile tea, and insisting I lie down and take a nap.

  I was grateful to Beorn for ordering me to stay home, as being close to my son helped assuage some of the anguish I felt about the prospect of leaving him motherless. If I had not been in the next room when the nursemaid yelled for me to watch him taking his first steps, I would have been heartbroken. Sometimes I gave in to morbid curiosity and wondered who would take up the mantle of mothering him when I was gone. Not that I expected Jean to remarry. He had lived alone for so many years, the demands of wife and child must test even his phenomenal self-control.

  Any witch and wizard entering our doors to report a problem exited a recruit in the counter-conspiracy, if they did not already know the secret. The growing power of the counter-conspiracy bolstered René’s optimism, but reliving the horror of comprehension with each new recruit took a vicious toll on my spirits. Every time I could snatch a free moment to work on the paper we planned to have printed to spread the word, I cried over it.

  Sven and René did most of the legwork on the counter-conspiracy, and I covered for them, assigning them tasks only when no one else was available. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting at any minute for Beorn to come roaring out of the fireplace, ordering me to stop favouring them and berating all three of us for not doing our share. That order never came, but waiting for it did nothing to calm my nerves. Thank God he didn’t notice when I disobeyed his orders and left Blazes, each time recruiting a critical player in our counter-conspiracy.

  “I hope you don’t mind having tea out in the garden,” Earl Eddensford said. “The house is an oven. Up on this hill we may catch a breeze.”

  “If there are any. Too bad I’m not an air witch.”

  Claire handed me a fan. “Pretend you are one. That’s what I do.” She snapped her fan open with a delicate little flick I didn’t try to imitate.

  “Of course I don’t mind sitting out here, as long as we’re in the shade. Your gardens are lovely.” And they weren’t heavy with strands of deceit, like the drawing room.

  I itched to dive straight to the point, but was reluctant to put a pall on the conversation from the outset. Precious minutes ticked away as we made small talk. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I said, “When are you two leaving for Paris?”

  The earl flinched. Claire stiffened. “He’s leaving tomorrow,” she said. “I’m not going—not on this trip, anyway.”

  Her husband’s lugubrious expression reminded me more of a little boy about to receive a whipping than a ranking nobleman. “Traveling in the summer heat would be too much for her. Besides, this is not a pleasure trip. She would be bored.”

  “Bored?” I said. “In Paris? She would find ways to amuse herself, and she’s wanted to see Paris for, well, as long as I can remember.”

  Claire said, “Richard promised me we’ll go next spring for a holiday. I can wait until then.”

  “Umm-hmm. And how are things here? Are you two settling into your roles as the new earl and his lady?”

  Smiles returned at the introduction of this safer topic. “It isn’t much of a change for me,” he said. “I’ve handled most of my father’s responsibilities for several years. I have been introducing Claire to the city’s prominent citizens, and they’ve all responded most cordially.”

  She said, “His cousin threw a dinner party for us last week. It was fabulous. Let me tell you about the food…”

  She rattled on, making my mouth water. If I hadn’t known her so well I would have imagined she didn’t have a care in the world, but for all her delight with the things she had seen and tasted, I sensed the party had upset her.

  The earl excused himself, giving us time together for girl talk, before I had come up with an excuse to send him away. When he was out of earshot, I asked, “Are the people you’ve met really treating you well?”

  “Well enough. Better than I expected, given that I’m a commoner.” She shrugged. “I don’t care if it’s curiosity, or wanting to get on the new earl’s good side, or what, as long as there aren’t any obvious snubs. You remember I wondered if Richard was ashamed of me? I must have been mistaken. He’s acting as proud as a duke.”

  “So you’ve gotten over being angry at him?”

  She tossed her head. “I was never angry. You’re making me forget what I wanted to tell you about the party. You should have seen what the hostess was wearing…”

  While Claire talked, I threw all the spells I had used on Sven’s study onto the hill. Keeping my concentration was easy—all I had to do was nod and say the occasional “oh, my,” and “my goodness.”

  Odd. Even at her most conceited, Claire had seldom been boring. Was she blathering on to keep me from asking questions? She had already answered the one that concerned me most, and she hadn’t lied.

  Of course she hadn’t. I had asked the wrong question. I would have been angry. Claire had been hurt and ashamed, and still was. Time to fix that.

  The last spell, the one against lip readers, took more concentration. I closed my eyes.

  “Oh, Lucinda, I’m so sorry I’m boring you. I’ve been talking about that party all this time. Tell me what life is like in Blazes now that you’re back.”

  “No, no, not now. As much as I’d like to, I can’t stay long, and we have to talk about the trip to Paris—”

  “Oh, that. Richard should have gone yesterday, but he’s been dragging his heels. He was upset when the second summons came, saying he had to go earlier. He wouldn’t be ready to leave tomorrow if I hadn’t told the servants to hurry things up.”

  “Claire, Richard is going to need your help. When he leaves for Paris, you are going with him.”

  Recruits

  “Richard needs my help?” The scone Claire had been nibbling made a slow descent to her plate. “I know you witches and wizards are going to rebuild the Water Office. Richard told me the king wants to be sure it still works, and that’s what the summons is about. But what does that have to do with him? Or me?”

  “That’s only part of it. Before that, there will be a meeting where the Fire Warlock shows the nobility what happened to Lord Edmund. And that’s—”

  “Oh, no.” Claire seemed to crumple. “You mean the whole country will know. That’s awful.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the worst of it, and this is why you have to go with him. See, when—”

  “What could be worse? I’m sorry, Lucinda, but this is why I let him off with a promise to take me later. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be there when the Fire Warlock embarrasses him in front of everybody.”

  I stopped fanning myself long enough to stare at her hard. “He told you what the king has planned?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re not surprised.”

  She studied the roses downhill from us as if they were in full, gorgeous bloom instead of parched from the heat. “What happene
d to Edmund was the only thing anybody wanted to talk about at that party. Well, not the only thing. They talked about the magic guilds rebuilding the Water Office, too, but nobody knows what that means, and it just confuses them. Edmund dying upset them a lot more. They didn’t say anything directly to either Richard or me, but I heard whispers. And then, when the second message came from the king, Richard was more upset. A lot more. So, no, I’m not surprised.”

  “I don’t blame you for not wanting to go with him, but you have to. No, wait, don’t interrupt. You didn’t let me finish earlier. The king ordered the Fire Warlock to show the nobles what happened to Lord Edmund. He doesn’t know we’re going to give him more than he bargained for, and show them how Lord Edmund lived, and why he died, not just how he died.”

  She abandoned her scrutiny of the roses, and stared at me. “Lucinda, what are you talking about?”

  I gripped the hard edge of the wooden bench. “Claire, I’m going to tell you a secret. The secret the noblemen, including your husband, don’t want you to know.” I described Lord Edmund’s crimes, and the noblemen’s secret. Baron D’Armond’s trial, and Mrs Wetherby’s boarding house. Maggie Archer and her friend Fiona.

  I paused. Claire stared into the far distance. Her fan had fallen into the grass, but she made no move to pick it up.

  “I know this is hard to believe,” I said. “I can show you what I’ve seen, but we’ll need a fire. We’ll have to go in the house, to a fireplace.”

  “No, I believe you.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I believe you,” she repeated, focusing again on me. “This explains so much. I ought to have guessed. People say one thing but everything I’ve seen since I came to Gastòn tells me another. Have you freed me from a spell?”

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  “I should have known.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself. With magic involved, you couldn’t have known.”

  “But I’ve known something was wrong, only I didn’t know what. Some of the men at the party were just horrid. I’ve had men undress me with their eyes before, and I despise it, but this was worse, like I was a roast they couldn’t wait to stick knives into. I can only imagine what that poor girl in Abertee felt when Edmund—and I’m not going to call him a Lord any longer, so help me God—when he was pawing her.”