by Emma Newman
Charlotte stood, too, and embraced him. “It will all be straightened out. And you’re a wonderful illustrator and things will improve, I’m sure of it. That publisher was a fool to turn you down.”
He kissed her forehead. “Hardly a fool, Charlie. It was the one who published Love, Death and Other Magicks.”
As he left the kitchen, Charlie gripped the edge of the table, feeling distinctly unwell. It was too much, all at once, to have Ben going through so much, her father under so much pressure and then the discovery that her own success had brought it all about. She managed to put the cups and saucers in the sink before the tears started, then before she knew it, she was sobbing.
There was a knock at the kitchen door and she frantically wiped her eyes with the tea towel. She was still trying to compose herself when she heard the clip of smart shoes on the floorboards behind her.
“Miss Gunn? I was wondering if . . .” Magus Hopkins stopped when she turned to look at him. “May I help?”
She shook her head. “What can I do for you, Magus? Would you like some more tea?”
“No, thank you. Magus Ledbetter has left and Magus Ainsworth is speaking to your brother.”
“Oh . . .” She tried not to look at him but that made her seem rude, so she grabbed the dishcloth and started wiping down the table instead. “Were you looking for my father?”
“Actually, I was hoping to speak to you.”
That awful pounding grew stronger in her chest. “Papa knows much more about . . . about the timepiece, if that’s what you’re curious about.”
He came closer and her industry increased until she was in danger of scrubbing a hole into the cloth. His hand, now free from its glove, reached over to touch the back of hers and stop her frantic work with the dishcloth. Another blush exploded across her cheeks at the contact and she froze. “Generally, Miss Gunn, when a Fellow of the Royal Society of the Esoteric Arts asks to speak with someone, it’s considered more important than the cleanliness of a kitchen table.”
Only two of his fingertips rested on the back of her hand with the lightest touch, yet it felt like the Magus had nailed her in place. Was he so forward with everyone? If George saw this now, he’d be incandescent. And yet the Magus didn’t move away, didn’t release her, until she finally looked into his eyes. “Whatever it is you fear, Miss Gunn, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you believe. Perhaps if you were to ask me about your concerns, I could reassure you?”
At last, he moved his hand away and the breath came back into her chest in juddering snatches. Stalling for a few moments to try to regain some logical thought, Charlotte took the dishcloth back to the sink, rinsed it out and washed her hands. By the time she was drying them on the towel, she’d concluded that the magus wasn’t going to leave without some sort of triumph. It was up to her to decide what form that would take.
“You seem very certain that I have concerns, even though I had the opportunity to ask questions earlier,” she said, standing as far away from him as the small kitchen would allow.
“There were several people there, including your parents. From the way your brother looked at you, I suspect he knows what they are, but didn’t want to say anything in front of them. I thought that an opportunity to speak to me in private would give you the freedom to ask whatever you wish, without fear of upsetting anyone.”
It sounded reasonable enough, and Ben wasn’t blessed with the best command of his facial expressions, but Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling that there was another reason behind the magus’s interest. Regardless, she had to say something, if only to make him go away.
“How long will it be before Ben is allowed to come back home?”
Hopkins smirked. “You sound like someone asking when her brother will be allowed out of Newgate Gaol.”
“How long, sir?”
“It varies. Some Latents take to the training very quickly and are safe in public within a matter of weeks. Others take a few months. No more than a year, though, I’d wager. I haven’t spoken to Benjamin yet, so I have no idea, but he seems bright enough.”
“He’s safe in public now,” Charlotte said, the anger slipping out before she’d had a chance to smooth it over.
“But that would change.”
“Really?”
“Surely you’ve heard about the accidents caused by those gone wild?”
Charlotte clenched her teeth, trying her best to keep her opinions trapped behind them. But the magus stared at her with those eyes and she felt like she was going to burst if she didn’t say something. “There was a man at Speaker’s Corner . . . he said that was all lies. He said that the Royal Society just traps gifted people and it’s nothing more than slavery!”
His eyebrows shot up. “You think I am nothing more than a well-dressed slaver, come to take your brother from you?”
“No, sir, you would be a slave yourself, your views so moulded by your captors that you don’t even realise what you are anymore, here to take my brother to make your owners pleased with you.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable.
“That’s what the man at Speaker’s Corner would say,” she added.
“And what do you think, Miss Gunn?”
She’d said too much. This was exactly why she daren’t risk being anything more than a secretive illustrator. Once she got upset about something, it pummelled her insides like a demon trapped within her, trying to escape. And then it always came out, at exactly the wrong time.
“I . . . think I’m worried about my brother and I’m frightened that the man was right. He said so many things and they all made sense. But I can’t ask anyone about it because if I do, they’ll look at me as you are now.”
“And these ‘things’ he said have been festering in your mind ever since. No wonder you seem so upset. About your brother.”
He added the last three words a beat later. It was then that she noticed the trail of steam rising from the spout of the kettle, which had been pushed off the hot plate and rested at the back of the stove. She thought about the water inside, of it turning to ice, and the steam stopped. He didn’t seem to have noticed it.
“I propose this, Miss Gunn,” Hopkins said, leaning against the table, the luxurious dark brown brocade of his frock coat looking so out of place in their humble kitchen. “I will answer any question you have—no matter how dangerous or shocking it might be—and I will swear to you that those questions and the answers I give you will remain confidential. No one else need ever know.”
She frowned at him. “Why are you so keen to ease my fears? Isn’t it more important to make Ben feel comfortable?”
He smiled, and she hated the way it make her heart flip over and slap the inside of her chest, like a kipper being cooked in a pan. “It’s painfully obvious that you and your brother are incredibly close. If he knows that you are happy, he will be happy. And a happy Latent does far better than an unhappy one. So, ask me a scandalous question and I will give you an honest answer.”
“What happens to the people taken by the Enforcers?” At his intrigued expression, Charlotte added, “Ben and I saw a boy being taken from our local bakery this morning. It was rather distressing.”
“Well, that’s complicated,” Hopkins began, and Charlotte could feel herself lowering her hopes of getting a decent answer. This man may be a magus, but he evidently still thought she should only hear a neat, oversimplified explanation, suitable for the feminine ear. “It depends how wild the Latent is, if they even are a Latent, why they’ve been hiding or as yet undiscovered and how motivated they are to hide their gift.”
Charlotte gestured to one of the stools, her worries about receiving only a sanitised answer easing. “His mother didn’t want to let him go, so I assume that’s why it was being hidden, and the Enforcers often investigate a little before taking someone, otherwise it would be a lot of fuss wasted over false alarms,” Charlotte reasoned out loud as she sat down. “So, let’s say that boy is indeed ‘gifted’ and isn’t y
et wild; he’s not even fourteen yet. He probably wants to go home to his mother, so let’s assume he tries to hide his gift. What would happen to him?”
She could see that she’d narrowed the options to the one most difficult to discuss. Hopkins looked away to the window, eyes seeking something in his own reflection, perhaps. He was probably horribly vain. He sat down next to her. “There’s a serious of tests, designed to force the unwilling Latent to manifest their ability. They are deeply unpleasant and I wouldn’t wish the experience on anyone. The reluctant party is given many, many opportunities to cooperate before it reaches that point, but some people are . . . stubborn.”
“Or frightened,” she said, and he nodded.
“Yes, there have been a few who have grown up in families that have very . . . rigid religious beliefs and have convinced their child that any manifestation is a sign of Satan, rather than a gift from God. These poor souls often have the hardest transition into training.”
“And no one is ever released if they don’t want to be a magus?”
The skin between his eyebrows furrowed. “Of course not, Miss Gunn. As everyone knows, a Latent gone wild is incredibly dangerous. That we don’t see that happen very often is a testament to the hard work of the Royal Society and the vigilance of the public. They must be trained, for the sake of everyone.”
“And what if they refuse?”
He tilted his head. “I hardly think that is a concern that need be applied to your brother. He seems to be most willing, if a little nervous. Which is perfectly natural.”
“You said you’d answer my questions.”
Hopkins pursed his lips and smoothed his trousers over his knees. “Then they are incarcerated. And in the most extreme cases—where there is absolutely no other choice and they are too dangerous—they’re executed.”
It was Charlotte’s turn to look out the window. She couldn’t let him see her face, not when she was so afraid.
“But that is never going to happen to your brother, Miss Gunn. It’s patently obvious that he is eager to test and will submit himself willingly. It’s only those who continually refuse to accept what they are who are at risk. And they are given all the help it is in our power to give, to persuade them to become productive, valued Fellows of the Society.”
Was that a euphemism for torture? If they locked her up in a dark cell, starved her, denied her contact with George and her family until she submitted to them, would that be called helping her?
She took a steadying breath and cleared her throat, but it still felt clogged. “And the magi cannot marry, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“But what if they’re in love?”
“Love is secondary to our duty to the Empire. Any love for an individual is nothing compared to our devotion to the Queen.”
“But her soldiers in the army can marry! Her civil servants, her staff. Why not the magi?”
There was a pause, long enough to make her look at him again. He was staring at the floorboards and twisting a ring on his right hand. “It’s forbidden in the Royal Charter, Miss Gunn. It was decided that enabling Fellows of the Royal Society to marry and bear children would create a conflict of interests for the magi involved. How could they devote their all to the Empire when they are devoted to—”
“Oh, what rot!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I’m sure that a general in the army feels no such conflict.”
“But his wife is not being deployed to a battlefield, Miss Gunn. When we fight abroad, both men and women are on the field. What if a wife has to decide whether to send her husband or another, lesser magus to destroy an enemy battalion?”
“Favouritism must still be an issue in the regular army. There’s more to this than you’re telling me.”
Hopkins smiled at her. “You’re far brighter than you let people see.”
“You’re avoiding answering my question,” she replied, and he laughed. Strangely, she found she enjoyed the sound of it.
“I should imagine—remembering that this conversation is not to be shared—that it has far more to do with the risks that come with breeding hereditary lines. Whether the gift is passed in the blood remains a controversial topic; there is evidence both for and against. But there is no doubt that a family line which concentrates knowledge and resources for its own benefit above that of Queen and country would be inevitable, were marriage permitted.”
“‘. . . a family line which concentrates knowledge and resources . . .’ That sounds more like a definition of nobility.”
“You are too sharp for your own good, Miss Gunn. Now tell me, have I put your fears to rest?”
She considered his question. Some of her curiosity had been satisfied, but it had actually made her more afraid than before. She couldn’t say anything to that effect, though. “I have one more question. You test at home, to make it more likely the Latent will perform well. But if that’s the case, and Ben performs poorly once he leaves, will he be punished?”
Hopkins looked shocked at the suggestion. “Punished? We’re not an institute of corrections, Miss Gunn. The Royal Society has far more in common with a university.”
“Only compulsory,” Charlotte added.
“Indeed, but aside from that, there are many similarities. All Latents manifest more easily in familiar environments before they’re trained, so I expect there to be a significant drop in Benjamin’s performance once he is recruited. Assuming he is, of course.”
She nodded. “The evidence from the timepiece is irrefutable.”
“Indeed. Now, I have a question for you, if I may?”
All the muscles in Charlotte’s back tensed, but she couldn’t refuse him, so she nodded.
“Your brother has been seriously ill on two occasions. Is there a chronic condition involved? Or two unrelated illnesses?” When she hesitated, he continued, “We need to know about such things in advance, Miss Gunn. We have the best physicians on call day and night.” Another pause.. “It won’t have any bearing on the compensation offered to your family. I give you my word.”
Could she trust the word of a magus? Strange, all this time she’d been thinking of them as the faceless, masked terrors she’d seen dragging that boy into the carriage. But here she was, talking to one who seemed to be a reasonable person. Was she being lulled into dropping her defences because the way he looked was so distracting?
“In truth, sir, we don’t know the cause of his illness. We could only afford to call the doctor once, and he suggested it was some sort of nervous disorder, given the symptoms and the timing of when he fell ill on both occasions.” The fear bloomed in her chest that this mess they were in was going to cost Ben his life. “He’s left home twice, to study, and both times he fell desperately ill. He gets feverish at first, then when that passes he just starts to waste away. It’s awful. He only gets well when he comes home.” Her eyes started to fill with tears again. “That’s why I wanted to know how long he’ll be locked up at the Royal Society.”
“My dear lady, please stop speaking as if we are sending him to prison.”
“It amounts to the same thing if he falls ill and can’t return home.”
He studied her face. “This has been a great strain on you. It must be very tiring, having to nurse him back to health.”
“Exhausting,” she confessed. “But seeing him get stronger every day keeps me going.”
“He’s very lucky to have such a devoted sister.” He leaned in closer to her, making her lean back slightly. “Is that why you were so upset when I knocked on the door?”
He was so close, she could smell a sweet muskiness about him, a scent that made her want to move closer to him and breathe deeply. His eyes were fixed intently on hers, so striking they almost frightened her, as if a fundamental part of her soul could only accept someone so beautiful as being sent from another world to lure her into poor decisions. “That’s . . . a very personal question, Magus Hopkins, and one I don’t feel is particularly appropriate.”
Expecting him to pull back, pushed away by the boundary she’d intended to remind him of, she waited. But he didn’t move, didn’t look away and didn’t apologise. “I overheard the conversation with your father.”
This time her blush was as much one of anger as of anything else. “Really, sir, you are too—”
“The place you mentioned, where lots of people die, you went there, didn’t you?”
She made no effort to hide her surprise. “How did you know?”
“You sounded so certain, more certain than a woman told some numbers by a registrar’s clerk.”
“More than a mere clerk, sir—he’s my fiancé!” Charlotte thrust her left hand in front of her. “Did you not notice the ring?”
Hopkins looked down on the gold band and its tiny sapphire, unimpressed. “You haven’t denied it.”
“I cannot fathom why you would have any interest if I did, sir. This is entirely unrelated to my brother’s test.”
“I had the impression this debt has everything to do with it. Your father said as much. Now, tell me, was this place in New Road, Whitechapel?”
A chill ran through her, deepening when he smiled. “I knew it!” he said. “And you’re right to be worried about your father.” He stood and pulled an exquisitely decorated timepiece from his pocket. “I should go back to the living room. I’m sure Ainsworth will be finished soon. Perhaps a cup of tea for your brother would be a good idea. He must be getting tired.”
“Wait,” she said as he made for the door. “You’ve heard of these debt collectors, too? Do you know anything about the cage in the back room?”
He stopped, evidently intrigued. “I don’t, but I suspect I would like to. I can’t go there myself, of course. A magus poking around in private business premises would not go down well, should I be discovered. If only I could call upon someone brave enough to examine it, but alas, that would be in breach of the rules controlling my influence.”
She stood. “Are you trying to encourage me to go back there and break in?”
He looked so surprised, she even doubted herself. “Miss Gunn! The very idea! Oh, if you are planning to make a pot, I would be very grateful for a cup of tea, too. Our conversation has made me quite thirsty.” Hopkins opened the door and paused again, looking back at her. “It may interest you to know that the man you listened to on Speaker’s Corner won’t be there anymore. He’s being prosecuted for slander.”