Necropolis

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Madame Constant,” Lady Fanny said. “She came with very high recommendations.”

  Gwen shuddered. She’d only met Madame Constant once, but it had ended badly for both of them. Madame Constant believed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that children needed a firm hand to guide them along the path to adulthood, with every small deviation punished intensely. Lady Mary, Gwen’s mother, had hired Madame Constant as one of the endless series of governesses that had tried to bring up the young Gwen. But Madame Constant had taken one look at Gwen’s magic and resigned on the spot. If half the stories Gwen had heard about how she brought up children were true, it was hard to blame her.

  “She would have done,” Gwen said. She looked up, sharply. “And you trusted your daughter with her?”

  “Lady Elizabeth chose her,” Lady Fanny said. “I wasn’t consulted.”

  “This is your daughter’s education,” Gwen said. “Your daughter’s life. You shouldn’t let your mother-in-law supervise the development of a girl far too young to stand up for herself.”

  She shuddered, again. Madame Constant was – had been – a firm believer in the concept that sparing the rod spoilt the child. Gwen had no doubt that she would have been very harsh to Lady Fanny’s daughter, all in the interests of making her a proper young lady. She’d occasionally seen the victims of constant beatings at Cavendish Hall. They flinched away from every sharp noise and were suspicious of comforting words. And they were often so scared of the magic within them that they repressed it until it burst out and wreaked havoc.

  She straightened up and looked back at the manor. Had Lady Fanny’s daughter developed magic?

  It was simple enough to identify a magician, although she had no idea if Susan Willingham had ever been tested, but almost impossible to predict when a magician might actually come into his or her powers. Gwen herself still flinched in horror from the memory of the day her magic had come to life, even though she had continued to learn as much as she could without guidance from anyone else. Other magicians had developed their powers when stressed, threatened with death ... or, in one case, drinking himself into a stupor. That particular development had been nasty. It had taken days to clean up the mess.

  “So,” she said, as evenly as possible, “how did Madame Constant treat your daughter?”

  “I thought she was doing a good job,” Lady Fanny said. “She was hired to teach reading and writing, Latin and history ... and music. Susan was doing well ... I didn’t see any problems.”

  Gwen felt her face harden. She hadn’t seen any problems either, not with how she’d treated the servants in Crichton Hall or with the more generalised treatment of the poor and powerless in London. It had taken Jack to open her eyes and show her just how badly the latter had suffered under the aristocracy. There were far too many others in the aristocracy who never saw it at all.

  Or think the poor deserve it for being born poor, Gwen thought, bitterly. Even now, it was hard for someone to climb out of the gutters and into the middle class, let alone the aristocracy. There was just so much weighted against them.

  “Of course you didn’t,” Gwen said. “Was Susan the only person Madame Constant was teaching?”

  “Well ... Susan was the only person she was hired to teach,” Lady Fanny said. “But Jo, Susan’s personal maid, would often join the lessons.”

  Gwen lifted her eyebrows. It wasn’t uncommon for the servants to join the lessons, particularly the servants who were no older than the children of the house, but it sounded oddly charitable for Madame Constant. If the woman had ever had a charitable thought in her life Gwen would have been astonished. She’d always seemed more interested in hammering her idea of how to behave into her victims’ heads.

  Maybe I misjudged her, she thought, sourly. She didn’t try to teach me for very long.

  She looked down at the body again, studying the damage. Up close, it was clear that Madame Constant hadn’t ever had children of her own. Gwen was no medical expert – most of the textbooks she’d devoured had actually concealed truths, rather than revealed them – but the older woman looked too thin to ever have children. A nasty thought struck her, but a quick check revealed that Madame Constant was definitely female. Embarrassed, she ignored the coughing sound from Lady Fanny and straightened up. If she could pass for a man from time to time, why couldn’t a man pass for a woman?

  It’s harder to fool women than men, she reminded herself, sharply.

  “I think hiring her was a mistake,” she said, as she looked down at the dead body. “And your daughter is likely to carry the scars for a long time to come.”

  Lady Fanny blanched.

  Gwen ignored her as she turned back towards the fire. The firemen had intensified their efforts, yet the flames had neither faded away nor spread to the rest of the house. She fought down the urge to laugh as she realised the truth, then started to walk towards the flames, Lady Fanny scampering after her as if she didn’t quite believe what Gwen was doing. Up close, the heat was almost overpowering. Gwen felt sweat trickling down her back as she walked closer to the flames.

  “Stay here,” she ordered.

  Bracing herself, she pushed forward, closing her eyes and concentrating her mind. The heat grew even hotter, but it didn’t burn her flesh. Smirking to herself, she kept walking forward, feeling the heat fading away to nothingness. An illusion, she told herself, as she opened her eyes. Someone with more power than skill had created a small fire and an illusion of a very large one. There was almost no real damage at all.

  Outside, she heard shouting from the firemen, none of whom seemed to be able to believe their eyes. Gwen felt a moment of sympathy for them – they’d probably be blamed for soaking the house in their struggle against the illusory fire, once the illusion stopped affecting them too – then she stepped forward, into the schoolroom.

  Inside, she was greeted by a scene from hell.

  Chapter Three

  The schoolroom itself wasn’t too different from the study Gwen had used when she’d been a child, working her way through an endless succession of tutors. There was a pair of desks, a larger desk for the teacher and a blackboard, which had been badly marred by the fire. A shattered cane lay on the floor, smashed into a dozen pieces. One cupboard lay smashed open, revealing dried food and bottled water. She looked over towards the shattered window and winced, inwardly, as she saw the blood and the mangled remains of Madame Constant’s arm. Her body had been blown right out of the window.

  Should have asked where they found the body, stupid, Gwen told herself, as she searched the room quickly and efficiently. There was no sign of where the children – both children – had gone, but someone could easily have taken a small amount of dried food from one cupboard and a bottle of water from another. It suggested that there had been no preplanning before they’d fled, Gwen noted, although it was impossible to say for sure. The whole affair might have been carefully planned in advance.

  Pushing the thought aside, she looked over towards the other door and realised that it led to a second room. Peeking through, she discovered the mangled remains of a Grand Piano – one that had probably cost more than Gwen made in a year – lying on the floor, ripped to pieces. It didn’t look as though it had been blasted by a Blazer, something that worried Gwen more than she cared to admit. If Susan was displaying more than one kind of magic, it suggested she was a Master Magician, just like Gwen. Finding another Master would be a relief, but it would also be a major problem. The elements within the Royal Sorcerers Corps that hated the idea of Gwen leading them would have a collective fit when they realised that her successor would also be female.

  And not a very patient one, she thought, remembering her own music lessons. Those hadn’t lasted very long. She simply hadn’t had the patience to learn to play anything, not even the penny whistle Dave had given her as a joke. But then, the whistle hadn’t lasted any longer than the short time it had taken Lady Mary to realise she had it and confiscate it, despite their joint complaints. Anyon
e would have thought she considered whistle-playing undignified for a young lady.

  Gwen smiled at the thought, then walked out of the door and onto the grass. Ahead of her, there was a forest. It was nowhere near deep and dark enough to hide someone indefinitely, Gwen noted, but a child might not realise that. Gwen felt a moment of envy – she would have loved to run through the woods as a little girl – and kept walking until she was at the very edge of the forest. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her magic, trying to feel out where the children might be hiding. But there was so much life running through the woods that it was impossible to detect them ... if, of course, they hadn’t run further. Gwen silently prayed they hadn’t as she opened her eyes and walked into the woods. A great many things could happen to children in the countryside, few of them good.

  She smiled again, feeling an odd sense of relaxation as she strode deeper and deeper into the small forest. Birds sang in the trees overhead, reminding her just how much she enjoyed her few excursions out of London. A sudden bitter pang tore at her heart as she recalled that Olivia had loved those excursions too, the chance to be alone together. But Gwen’s work didn’t allow her much time to merely enjoy herself.

  I’ll find you, she promised silently. And whoever took you will not live to regret it.

  She paused as she heard the sounds of birds flapping away from a distant corner of the forest. Something had scared them ... and birds in the countryside were smart enough to be afraid of humans. Hunting was a common pastime, even for the poorest in the land; a bird could feed a family if it was caught in a trap or even shot down with a shotgun. She turned and walked towards the sound, not bothering to conceal her approach. If the children tried to run, she could catch them with her magic. And besides, they would probably react better if she was clearly not trying to sneak up on them.

  There was a sudden sound ahead of her, followed by a shape darting from a hiding place and running away from her. Gwen reached out with her magic and caught at the figure, then felt a sudden surge of resistance; frighteningly powerful, but utterly unfocused. Susan had no real training, Gwen noted, as she lost her grip on the girl. And then a burst of magic flashed out of a bush and over Gwen’s head. She ducked, almost a moment too late, as part of the mystery unravelled itself in front of her. There were two children and both of them had magic.

  “Enough,” she called, putting as much command into her tone as she could. Her mother had taught her how to issue commands to children and inferiors, after all, warning the young Gwen never to even hint that she thought they might not obey. Weakness invited challenges and attacks. “We need to talk.”

  There was another burst of magic, stronger this time. Gwen caught it on her own magic and watched as the flash of light broke up harmlessly. She gritted her teeth, then pushed as much Charm into her voice as she could. If her growing suspicions were correct, neither of the girls would have any real defence against blunt Charm.

  “Come here,” she ordered, feeling the magic rippling through the air. “Now.”

  There was a long pause, then two young girls appeared from the undergrowth, staggering towards her as if they were trying to resist her command. One of them was wearing a fine dress that looked as though it had seen better days; it was muddy, torn and ripped ... and probably completely beyond repair. Gwen shuddered to think of what Lady Mary would have said if she’d ruined a dress that cost upwards of twenty pounds. She looked enough like Lady Fanny that Gwen had no hesitation in placing her as Susan Willingham.

  The other wore a tattered dress that seemed to have survived the brief excursion to the forest better than Susan’s. She was smaller and thinner, with a nasty scar on her cheek that looked to have been made recently, perhaps within the last few hours. Her dark face and plainly braided hair suggested a poorer origin than Susan, although it was clear by the way the two girls clung together that they were definitely friends. Gwen felt a cold sensation in her chest as she worked out the remainder of the story, recalling the damage she’d seen in the schoolroom.

  “You must be Jo,” Gwen said, trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. Inspector Lestrade’s methods for interrogating suspects might work on burly men, but they would probably reduce young children to tears. “My name is Gwen. I’m the Royal Sorceress.”

  Susan’s eyes went wide. “You’re her?”

  Gwen smiled, then levitated herself a few inches above the ground. “Yes,” she said, simply.

  Susan’s face went very dark. “I’m not going back,” she said. Raw sparks of magic flickered around her face, each one glittering with deadly energy. “I won’t go back.”

  “Probably not,” Gwen said. She sat down on the ground, heedless of the mud staining the seat of her trousers, then motioned for the girls to sit down too. “But I do need to know what happened today.”

  Jo looked alarmed. “It was my fault,” she said, softly. “Everything was my fault.”

  “No it wasn’t,” Susan snapped. She caught Jo’s hand and held it, tightly. “It was the crone’s fault.”

  Gwen smiled. “Madame Constant?”

  “Yeah,” Susan said, rebelliously. She would probably have been told off for slurring her words like that, if she’d been in the schoolroom. “It was all her fault.”

  “Then tell me what happened,” Gwen urged. “Start from the beginning, then go on until the end.”

  The two girls exchanged helpless glances, then Susan started to talk. “We were supposed to learn together,” she said. “Jo was meant to learn too. But every time I made a mistake, the crone punished Jo. Look at her face.”

  Gwen gritted her teeth. A whipping boy ... girl, in this case. She’d read about them in books, but she’d never heard of anyone actually trying in real life. An aristocratic boy would be given a friend from the poorest level of society, someone who could be whipped if the young aristocrat acted badly. In theory, the aristocrat would be overcome with guilt at watching his friend get punished and stop acting badly. Gwen suspected that, based on some of the more entitled aristocratic magicians she had to deal with as Royal Sorceress, the noble youth would as likely watch and laugh as his friend suffered. Not everyone was moved by someone else’s pain, particularly those who had never been taught basic empathy in the first place.

  “Jo could make things move,” Susan said. “I used to love watching her make our dolls dance, but when the crone found out she struck her across the face. And then I ... I ...”

  Her voice trailed away. Susan and Jo might have come from very different places in society, but their shared magic – even if they weren’t completely aware of it – would have brought them together. Gwen felt another sudden stab of envy, wishing she’d had a magical friend, even if she’d only been a serving girl. But she’d never met another magician until Master Thomas strode into her life and recruited her to serve as his successor.

  “Your magic burst out,” Gwen said, softly. “What happened?”

  “There was fire everywhere,” Susan said. “The crone fell backwards, her shoulder was burning; Jo threw her out the window, but the flames kept spreading. And we ran ...”

  “You can’t run any longer,” Gwen said. She stood up, using magic to sweep the mud off her trousers. “But I don’t think you will be staying here either.”

  Susan stepped in front of Jo protectively. “I won’t let you take her to jail,” she said, with an icy firmness that reminded Gwen of several much older girls. “I won’t!”

  Gwen was tempted to point out that it had been Susan who’d killed Madame Constant, but held her tongue. Susan had been conditioned to believe that her friend would pay the price for her misdeeds; even now, even after someone had died, she still clung to the fear of her friend being punished. Perhaps the whole concept of the whipping girl worked after all ... Gwen considered it briefly, then shook her head. It was cruel, heartless and thoroughly unpleasant.

  “She won’t go to jail,” Gwen assured her. In crimes involving magic, it was her judgement that was final. B
esides, it was an established point of law that accidental magic, unleashed when the magician first came into his or her powers, wasn’t a criminal offence. “But neither of you can stay here. You’ll both come back with me to Cavendish Hall.”

  Susan’s eyes lit up. “You’ll teach me how to use magic?”

  “Someone definitely will,” Gwen said. The British Empire needed all the magic-users it could get, even if they happened to be born female. Besides, Susan was clearly powerful if she’d managed to create such a realistic illusion and leave it in place for several hours. “And you won’t have to worry about Madame Constant ever again.”

  She watched as the two girls shared a long hug, knowing that one day they would realise that they’d actually killed someone, no matter how unpleasant she’d been. Gwen herself hadn’t handled the knowledge very well, other magicians had merely taken it in their stride or had a few rough nights before they came to terms with the simple fact that they’d ended a person’s life. It wouldn’t be easy for them at Cavendish Hall – they’d be younger than most of the students there – but it was the best place for them. Besides, it would be a good chance for them to catch up on their education in other matters too.

  “Come on,” she said. “The carriage is waiting.”

  The two girls followed her out of the forest, muttering excitedly to one another. Gwen smiled, remembering her own enthusiasm when she’d finally been allowed to attend Cavendish Hall, then schooled her face into a blank expression when she saw Lady Elizabeth striding across the lawn towards them. Her face was set in grim lines that Gwen recognised from her own mother, the absolute certainty that she was in the right combined with a reluctance to listen to anyone else. Gwen gritted her teeth in cold determination, then stepped forward. There was no point in handing someone like Lady Elizabeth the chance to get their word in first.

  “I will be taking the girls back with me to Cavendish Hall,” she said, shortly. “Susan and Jo will each be allowed to bring one bag of clothing and a handful of treasured possessions. Any ... paperwork relating to Jo will be transferred to me and handled by my lawyers. There will be time, later on, for Lady Fanny to visit her daughter, but for the moment it is vitally important that she finds her feet at Cavendish Hall.”