The Watchmage of Old New York (The Watchmage Chronicles Book 1)

by C. A. Sanders

  “It’s a disguise. I’m from Texas now.” I smiled at her confusion. “Someone’s gotta know something about your sister. Who do you think I should start with?”

  “Yer daft.”

  “Don’t worry. This isn’t my first dance. Which one’s Smokestack? The tall one?”

  She made a face. “Yeah, in the big black hat and the rings, but don’t worry, he’ll come to you. He comes to everyone.” The song ended, and she released my grip. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid. Yer kind thinks yer a hammer and everythin’s a nail. It don’t work like that here.”

  Hendricks tapped my shoulder. “You’re not going to like what I found.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  Hendricks swept his hand from side to side, gesturing to the crowd. “There’s magic everywhere.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Look down the end of the bar, that big man.”

  I took a look. There was an exceedingly large, hairy man there, with oversized hands that all but engulfed the mug in his hand. He wore no coat or hat. Maybe his copious hair and fat kept him warm. “What about him?”

  “He’s some sort of Dweller. The men around him are too.”

  “So? We’re looking for wizards, not Gnomes.”

  Hendricks shook his head and frowned at me. “Some Dwellers can change their shape into other animals, and some can cast spells like me. Mo’tok could’ve been lying to protect his clansmen.”

  I held my tongue and pocketed the lecture. “So we’ve a broader shelf to buy from.”

  “Even broader. That Turk over there playing cards, you see him?”

  I nodded as my eyes fell on the swarthy-skinned man. He sat at a round table, playing some card game with three other men.

  “He’s a Dweller, too. And the one next to him—against the wall? That’s Franklin Wythe.”

  I studied the man. He looked older than me, but only a few years. He was dressed in black, with a gray vest and black neckerchief. His black hair hung down to the base of his neck, and he brushed at it carelessly with his free hand. Most striking, his left eye was covered with a black patch. I saw the edges of a vertical red scar behind the patch. In front of him sat a large pile of coins, much more than the other three. “You know this man?”

  Hendricks nodded, and frowned even harder. “He’s a mageling. He’s been to your father’s house a few times, part of some group of rich magelings called The Hellfire Club. Master Nathaniel says that they’re frivolous and harmless, but he warned me about that one. He told me never to look him in the eyes.”

  “In the eye.”

  “Well, he told me not to look in it.” A clamor at the bar stole our attention. “Look,” Hendricks said. “Something’s happening.”

  “I can see that,” I said. “I’ve got two eyes.”

  The man that Leenie identified as Smokestack Sullivan stood on the bar, a bowl in his hand. “It’s time for the lottery,” he shouted and the crowd roared its approval. “Does everyone have their tickets? Good. It’s time to reach into the Bowl of Joy!”

  Hendricks leaned into me and whispered. “One of his rings has a spell on it. A very powerful spell. I can’t tell what it does.”

  “Smokestack? Is he a mageling too?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like this. Maybe we should tell Master Nathaniel.”

  “Nonsense,” I said. “We’ll have to be clever. As luck would have it, I can’t be anything but.”

  Smokestack thrust his hands deep into the bowl and kneaded it like dough. He took his time, stoking the crowd until they were ready to melt lead. “The winner is…” He grinned and pulled a small piece of paper from the bowl. “Number thirty-seven!”

  Among the groans was a hoot of excitement. A man threw his hands in the air and cut his way to the bar. “I won!” He showed Smokestack the slip of paper.

  “Congratulations, good sir. You know what that means. You get to…” he waited for the crowd to join him, “drink from the hose!”

  The man climbed over the bar. Leenie went to one of the kegs and attached a thin hose to the spigot.

  “You know the rules,” said Smokestack. “Drink as much as you can in one breath. Are you ready?” The man nodded and smiled wide. “Then drink!”

  The crowd chanted and cheered the man on as he sucked on the hose with all of his might. The man’s cheeks puffed, his Adam’s apple bobbed back and forth. Streams of beer ran out of the sides of his mouth. His stomach distended as he drank. Finally, he pulled his mouth away and gasped for breath. Leenie took the hose and pinched it shut again. The crowd’s cheers turned to good-natured ridicule, but the man was grinning all the same.

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

  I turned around and saw Smokestack Sullivan in front of me, smile as wide as the river. He held his hand out to shake. Each finger had its own jeweled ring, even his thumb.

  I gave his hand a firm squeeze. “New in town, but that don’t make me a puddin’ head, if that’s what yer a-thinkin’. I don’t roll over easy.”

  “Of course. I only wish to bid you welcome to The Bloody Knuckle. My name’s Smokestack Sullivan, and this is my establishment. I take it you’re a gamblin’ man? We’ve got faro, whist, cribbage and this new game from New Orleans they call Bunco. What’s your name, good sir?”

  “I’m Jawful Joe Willis, here from Texas, and this fella here is Hendricks, my valet and bodyguard.”

  “Bodyguard?” Smokestack said, looking Hendricks over. “Yer’ the one with the barker on your hip.”

  I nudged Hendricks with my elbow. “My man’s a real bully trap, tougher than an ol’ boot.”

  “Sir…” Hendricks said.

  “Don’t be modest, lad,” said Smokestack. “Mister Willis here looks like a man that knows who to bet on. Speaking of, we’ve got a match coming up I’m sure you’ve never seen in Texas. Ten minutes from now, in the pit.” He pointed to a rough cut doorway leading into the adjacent warehouse.

  “We’ll be there.”

  “Ata boy! Hope you brought enough jack. The wagerin’ gets pretty hot, but I bet you’re a man that’s not afraid of a little action. See ya there.” He spied someone in the crowd and shouted a greeting as he drifted away.

  “What are you doing?” Hendricks said. “I’ve never been in a fight in my life.”

  “You knocked those Redcaps silly. I’d bet on you versus any man.”

  “I’m not supposed to use magic against humans. Master Natha—”

  “Doesn’t need to know. Sometimes you have to break the rules to do what’s right. We’re in the right, remember.”

  “Yes,” He hugged himself. “The Bowery. You heard me say I didn’t want to come back here, right? Bad things happen.”

  “Good ones, too.”

  We made our way into the warehouse. Risers—little more than wooden planks—lined the walls, and people already filled most of them. We found an empty space six planks up and sat down. From my position, I had a view of the entire scene. Two levels down and to the right, Wythe sat with his Turkish friend. I saw Wythe slip the Turk a handful of coins. It wasn’t hard to deduce the reason. Never gamble with a wizard.

  Closer to the ground was the big man that Hendricks marked as a Dweller. With him was an entourage, a small, rat-faced man with soaped down hair and a nose that must’ve been broken several times, and two blond men that looked like they could be twins. All wore black shirts with gray stripes running across the chest and back. The smaller men chattered amongst themselves, but the big man yawned, looking bored with the proceedings.

  In the warehouse center was an empty pit. It was about four feet deep, wide enough that we could look inside, and empty.

  Leenie came by with a tray of beers. She handed one to me and one to Hendricks, who sniffed at his and set it down. “Whatever you do, don’t drink anything that anyone else gives you,” Leenie said. “Smokestack likes to roll the jay hicks and you’re as jay as they come. Where’d ye’ get that stupid hat, anywa
y?” Someone called to her, and she walked off.

  Hendricks looked at the beer like it was horse tea. “We’re bound for damnation.”

  “You think too much, Hendricks. If there’s one thing I learned at university, it’s not to think too much.”

  “You went to university? Where?”

  “Yale, in New Haven.”

  “Oh,” he said. “What did you study there?”

  “Divinity, until I got kicked out.”

  “Why?”

  “Gambling,”

  He groaned.

  The crowd grew silent as Smokestack walked to the center of the room. The crowd hooted at him and he bowed, taking in their affection like a sponge sops water.

  “Good evening, gentleman,” he said, eliciting more hoots. “Tonight’s main event is a whapper.” He gestured to two men rolling large barrels toward the pit. “Presenting the finest dog to ever kill a rat, King of Spain!”

  From another door, a man led in a wire-haired terrier on a rope. He barked at the crowd and wagged his tail at the crowd’s cheers. The rat-faced man below us fidgeted, but a look from the big Dweller, who was leaning forward, elbows to knees, froze the little one.

  Smokestack took a puff of his cigar, blew it out, and shouted “Fill the pit!”

  The two men overturned their barrels, pouring dozens of squeaking, squealing rats into the pit. Immediately, King of Spain pulled at his leash, trying to get to his prey.

  “Look at him,” shouted Smokestack, “so eager to kill. Last time he croaked fifty rats in eight minutes. Will he be under or over tonight? Place your bets, and let slip the dog of war!”

  The crowd cried for blood as the handler unleashed King of Spain. The dog leapt into the pit, grabbing a rat by the neck and shaking it to death. He moved to another and then another, leaving a trail of broken, twitching bodies in his wake. The rats crawled over each other to get away, but King of Spain was relentless.

  “Five already? He’s aiming for a new record. Keep those wagers coming!” Smokestack directed his two helpers to collect the gamblers’ bets, one for the over and one for the under. Based on their bet, they received a red or blue tag. Smokestack came to each collector and took the house cut. I noticed that both Wythe and his friend drew red cards. The big Dweller took a blue one.

  I looked at Hendricks, his face turned the color of curdled milk. “This is hideous. I can’t stay for this.”

  “Remember…”

  “I can’t…I can’t.” Hendricks fled the scene, returning to the other room. Leenie followed, clutching her empty tray.

  I don’t blame the man, the scene was gruesome. King of Spain herded the rats like sheep, circling them, keeping them in a mass, and then diving in to break one’s back. It was precise, it was savage, and with the roar of the crowd behind me and the drink in my hand, it was intoxicating.

  “Three dollars on the over!” I heard myself call. One of Smokestack’s men took my money and handed me a blue tag. I cheered with the others, lost in a fever dream of bloodlust, as the terrier took apart the rat horde.

  The smoke and sounds of dying rats fogged my mind like a South Street morning. Five minutes past, then six. At half past seven minutes, King of Spain grabbed the last rat in his jaws and bit down, snapping the vermin’s back. His handler jumped into the pit to call off the dog, and Smokestack marked the time with his pocket watch.

  “Seven minutes, forty seconds, a new record at The Bloody Knuckle! Turn in your tags, b’hoys.” Smokestack puffed his cigar and smiled at the take.

  Half of the crowd—myself included—threw down their blue tags, while the men with red tags collected their money from Smokestack’s men. The spell broken but not forgotten, I went back to the bar for another mug of the heavy wet.

  I walked into a chaos. Three men lay in heaps on the beer-soaked floor. A ring of gawkers looked around, unsure of what to do next. In the center, loosening his collar and sweating, was Hendricks. Leenie stood near and rubbed her cheek, which was red and starting to swell.

  I cut my way through the rubberneckers and moved to Hendricks’s side. I brushed my coat back far enough to show my Patterson. “What did you do?”

  Hendricks fingered his hat nervously. He whispered, for my ears alone. “I…uh…I did like you told me, to listen to what people said around me. This man, he was trying to,” he hesitated, “buy time with Leenie. She said no, and he grabbed her. She slapped him and he slapped her back. I had to do it. I grabbed him and…did what I did the other day. His friends tried to fight me and I did them, too.” He looked around at the angry faces. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

  Smokestack joined us. “Three men,” he whistled. “You weren’t drawin’ the long bow about this one.” He tipped his hat to Hendricks. “We have fights here every other night, and I’d love to see him in the ring. Does he box?”

  Inspiration struck me. “Sure as shootin.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Sure you do. You’re tough as all get out,” I said to Hendricks, making sure it was loud enough for those nearby to hear. Sometimes that kid has a head full of pudding.

  Smokestack’s grin spread his mustache across his cheeks. “Excellent. I’ll see you on the morrow, and we’ll see what he can do when he toes the line.” He turned to one of his men and pointed to the drunks on the floor. “Sheamus, show these bastards the door, and don’t be gentle. You rough up m’lassies, we rough up you.”

  And like that, we were in the boxing business.

  Nathaniel

  I backed away from the window as the Fire Elemental reached inside the room and reformed. It—for I knew not its gender—filled the room from floor to ceiling. Its head caused the ceiling to smolder and its feet did the same to the floor. It stepped toward me and snarled, showing its sharp teeth of solid flame.

  I knew very little about Elementals, as Master Sol rarely lectured on them. They are creatures of a different plane of existence, where all things are made of that element: Fire, Earth, Aether, and the like. They can be brought into this world, but they don’t belong, and crossing planes often drives them to madness.

  I felt for the creature’s plight, but I felt more for the damage he could wreak on the city. Fires are as common in New York as crooked aldermen, and the Great Fires are infamous in their devastation. A sentient fire could burn down the entire city, but the worse threat would be if too many people saw the creature. Fires are deadly, but Warp is far worse.

  I drew Air energy into me and released a powerful blast of wind. It drove the beast back and repelled the smoke that was filling the room.

  The Elemental lashed out at me with one arm. I brought a shield of air into play an instant before the blow, but it still knocked me across the room. I tumbled over a chair and landed on my back, my lungs blasted empty and my wits rattled hard. The Watchmage’s Cane rolled away from me.

  The creature advanced as I tried to recover my faculties. It lunged forward, but I knocked him back with a water spout. Steam rose into the air and the creature shrieked like a tea kettle. It came on again, and this time my water spout wasn’t enough. I rolled away just as its foot crashed down on the floor, scorching the wood and setting it ablaze. My trousers caught fire, burning the cloth and skin underneath. I grimaced and doused the flames.

  I staggered to my feet in front of where Levitt was guarding his family. There was forceful chanting from behind me and I felt the pull of powerful magic. Levitt was doing something, and for a moment I felt relief.

  That moment was shattered when the creature ran its arm along a wall and set it ablaze. My head swam from the smoke. My eyes watered and burned.

  I had no plan of attack, and the Elemental was too powerful to fight without one. If I had time to do research and prepare, I could return this poor, mad beast to its home, but I was expecting a simple conversation with a friend, not a fight with a nightmare. The Chaos Seed bloomed inside of me, but I felt it waver under the strain. It looked as if I’d be seeing my Anna again after all.r />
  I reached out with my will and called the Watchmage’s Cane. It flew to my hand, still cool to the touch and tingling with power. I pointed the cane at the creature. The room exploded into white, sleet and ice blowing every which way, snuffing the fires and shrinking the Fire Elemental until it retreated to the shattered wall. It screeched as hail drove through its body. I concentrated the blizzard into a thin lance of wind and snow. The Elemental fell out the window and onto the street. It crashed to the ground, spreading its fires to the overturned carts around it and the terrified rioters. Perhaps that wasn’t my best idea.

  I leapt through the broken wall and fell to the street, cushioning my fall with a blast of Air. The Elemental kicked a broken cart at me, but I deflected it with a simple spell and smashed it into the ground. The pieces lit the wooden sidewalk and a new blaze formed.

  And then my worst fears were confirmed. The people had seen too much, and as their rigid minds broke from the new possibilities—magic—their reality tore. The Warp started as a small wound in the side of a burning wagon, but grew and shifted, like rain water down a rocky hill. The Warp opened in all directions, spreading purple mist as the Dwellers’ world seeped into ours, and ours into the dream world.

  One man cowering behind a cart was wrapped in the mist. One arm faded, leaving multicolored sparkles. He screamed as the rest of him vanished. Across one patch of street that the mist touched, a glittering birch tree sprouted and immediately caught fire. Shimmering buttercups poked through the paving stones.

  Three confused Pooka appeared in the mist and collapsed. I knew what happened and despaired for them. So many Dwellers reach our world this way, against their will, pulled through the Warp and abandoned in our world of smoke and iron.

  I heard a crash, and I saw the front door of Levitt’s tenement fly into the street. It was Uncle Shmuel, naked to his waist, with a blanket tied around his shoulders like a cape. His pasty skin shimmered orange and blue in the firelight and shadows. The magic radiating from him shocked me with its intensity.

  Shmuel charged the Fire Elemental and threw a mighty punch. It struck home, and although the monster had no substance above flame, the beast recoiled as if it was flesh and blood. Shmuel launched several more blows that rocked the creature back and knocked flame teeth from its mouth. One fell into a buttercup patch, which smoldered and sparkled.