by AR DeClerck
“When you say the lacking you mean the non-magicals?” I frowned at the derogatory term for the people without the connection to the aether that we had.
“Sorry, ma'am. Yes. Non-magicals.” Rivensbrow turned a shade of red I'd rarely seen outside a bouquet of roses.
“We certainly won't be welcome.” The Grand Master sighed low as his familiar paced.
“We can disguise ourselves.” Icarus rubbed his chin, and I smiled as he frowned over his dimple, as usual. “If they can't feel our magic they'll never know we're wizards.”
“Rivensbrow will accompany you.” The Grand Master looked down at his familiar's body. “I will, of course, stay behind.”
“You're well known in these communities,” Rivensbrow said as we turned onto the main road that would lead us into the city. By well-known I figured he must mean much disliked. “You'll have to disguise your appearance as well.”
“Easily done.” Icarus said, and he frowned when I laughed at his usual arrogance. It was a welcome sign that his frightening melancholy was finally fading.
“Very well, sir.” Rivensbrow turned the car toward the darker, coal dusted side of London. “On to Whitechapel.”
Whitechapel loomed before us, the smoke from the mills enveloping the sky and blocking out the dim light of the sun. The buildings were closer together, tall and leaning and lanky against the grime of the coal-dust laden sky. The roads were no longer the cobblestone of the west, but now were thick with muck and mud.
“Seems a different city, indeed.” Rivensbrow commented from his perch. His mouth was twisted in disgust at the dirty and the downtrodden who shrank back from the carriage into the gloom of the buildings.
“It might as well be.” Icarus stared hard out the window, his eyes narrowed. “The spell that the druids cast has poisoned this place against happiness. The land fairly cries out for blood.”
“You're a right ray of sunshine, aren't you?” Rivensbrow raised an eyebrow at me as I tried to hold back a laugh.
“Were that it was a joking matter, master Rivensbrow.” Icarus' hand was tight on mine, and though he didn't turn to me, I could sense he was angry. “As it is, I cannot see the sense in making light of such a perverse curse.”
“We're born to this world to laugh and cry, Grand Adept.” Rivensbrow's voice went deep with serious pondering, “If we cannot laugh, we will soon drown in our own tears.”
“Rivensbrow.” Orrin warned his man with a shake of Machiavelli's feathered head. He looked at me through the raven's eyes. “Pardon my man, he likes to play the devil's advocate, and I fear I've indulged him too much these last years.”
“No offense taken.” I said with a smile, “Icarus is known to advocate for the devil on his own from time to time.” I tugged on Icarus' hand and he looked at me, a frown between his brows. “What's bothering you?'
“A lasting effect of my near demise off the side of a dirigible, I'm afraid.” He tried to smile at me, but failed miserably. “It's the sudden realization that we are all the products of the lies our parents told us.”
“True.” I leaned against his arm and squeezed his hand. “My Granny Mae once told me that fairies left kisses on my nose, and that's where my freckles came from.”
“I rather like those freckles.” Icarus sat up straighter as Rivensbrow pulled the carriage over near the end of a street so dark with fog that the only light came from a flickering lamp near the corner. “Is this it?”
“There she be.” Rivensbrow swept off his hat and ruffled his thick shock of dark hair. “Laghairt Inn.”
I felt Icarus stiffen and I could not contain the gasp that escaped my lips.
“You know it?” Orrin hopped down from his perch near Rivensbrow.
“We've been under the assumption that Laghairt referred to a man called Gecko.”
“Perhaps both.” I said, pinning my hat down a bit more securely as the wind whipped up around the carriage. “The aether was giving us a dual warning. Both the place and the man are dangerous to us.”
“It's a rotgut place, for certain.” Rivensbrow locked down the carriage with the squeal of the brakes as his magic calmed the motor from a roar to a purr, and then to silence.
“Why is a man of obvious magical talent frequenting an anti-magic establishment?” Icarus pulled the collar of his duster up around his ears.
Rivensbrow's grin was pert as he turned to us, propping an arm on the back of the driver's seat. “I like to cause a right bit'o mayhem where I can.”
“Rivensbrow is an excellent spy.” Orrin shook his familiar's head at the antics of his man. “Despite his rather nonchalant approach.”
“You have contacts inside, then?” Icarus pulled the fingers of his gloves more securely over his rune. I could feel the aether swirling around us, drawn by both the power of Lucan Orrin and the power of Icarus and I together.
“A few.” Rivensbrow plopped his hat on his head and I watched as the air around his face began to shimmer. His skin bled like liquid, until congealing again into the visage of an older man with thick mutton chops and a nose reddened from drink. “At least, Sir Hugh Whittingstone does.”
“Sir Hugh indeed.” Icarus looked to me. “Dark hair and a bewitching blue eye for you, darling?”
I chuckled even as my heart sped up at his endearment. “As you wish.”
The sensation was a tickle across my skin as the world around me blurred. A moment later I patted my hair, longer now and full of lively dark waves. My skin had taken a swarthy tone, and as I pulled a compact mirror from my bag I grinned at the sparkling blue of my new eyes.
I raised a thick dark eyebrow. “Is this your ideal woman, Icarus Kane?”
He shook his head, his eyes burning hot as he caressed my cheek. “I can still see my Cora.”
“Now for you.” I insisted, even as his words melted my heart. With his near death he'd certainly achieved an acumen for sweet talk.
“What's your wish?”
“You, as you are.” I insisted, even as Rivensbrow and the raven both snorted in derision at our romantic language.
“Alas I cannot indulge you today, Cora dear.” Icarus' own face began to shimmer as Rivensbrow's had, and soon his blonde curls became thick and straight, hanging over a craggy face with small dark eyes a mouth twisted in cruel amusement.
“Must you look so harsh?” I asked, tucking my mirror away and hanging my parasol from my arm.
“I kept the dimple.” he said as he opened the door, stepping into the mire of the Whitechapel mud. He reached up for me and lifted me, carrying me over the dirt to the boarded sidewalk.
I touched the cleft in his now-jutting chin and smiled. “I shall kiss you there, Icarus Kane, when we are free of this.”
His voice was hot in my ear, the sound caressing the lobe. “I shall let you.”
We parted as he sat me down, and Rivensbrow in the guise of Sir Hugh trudged up beside us.
“I'll say you're my nephew and his new bride, fresh off the boat from America.” Rivensbrow's bushy eyebrow went up. “If you can keep your mouths shut and your eyes open we're bound to hear all we need to know.”
“I daresay we can play your game.” Icarus took my hand, tucking it into his elbow. “Lead on, Sir Hugh.”
Icarus did not like the smell of the place. There was no acrid scent of magic in the air, and it felt like the aether had stayed outside with the fresh air. The smell of sawdust and rot pervaded the place and irritated his new nose. Cora stepped close and he smelled roses over the stink.
“Hugh!” A bear of a man grabbed up the transformed Rivensbrow and hugged him.
“Patrick O'Halloran, you blarney-filled bastard!” Rivensbrow seemed delighted to see the big man, whose bald head made Icarus wince as the light glanced off it.
They shook hands as if they were old friends, and the big man delivered a slap to Sir Hugh's back that had him stumbling.
“Where've you been hiding ye gammy blackguard?”
The Irish man's accent m
ade it hard to understand his words, but Icarus got the gist. Rivensbrow followed him toward a table in the back of the crowded bar, and Icarus and Cora had no choice but to follow. Icarus ground his teeth as more than one man cast a lustful glance at the curvy figure Cora cut in her dark red gown. With her newly darkened hair and the contrast of her eyes she cut a dashing figure. He began to wish he'd made her unattractive.
“Who be these fine folks?” Patrick slugged back his pint with the fervor only and Irishman could have for his ale, and he burped long and loud as he slammed the tankard back to the table.
Rivensbrow waved for them to sit, and Icarus made sure Cora's back was to the corner, and he sat so close as to nearly be on top of her.
“This is my nephew, Nicholas, and his wife Lydia. Fresh off the boat from the Americas to see their old uncle.”
Icarus humphed as Sir Hugh's meaty paw slapped against his back. He glared at the merriment in Rivensbrow's dark eyes. The man really enjoyed this too much.
“What brings ye to the Inn?” Patrick's blue eyes were sharp, despite the four empty tankards that sat in front of him. He watched them carefully, looking for deception. His demeanor was relaxed, Icarus thought, only because he sensed no magic in any of them.
“There ain't nothin' holdin' us to Lincoln.” Icarus saw Cora's eye widen at his impeccable American accent. He hid his smile and folded his arms, “We've no use for magic, but the high wizard is sittin' in Lincoln's parlor this very minute.”
“No use for magic, then?” Patrick's eyes grew cooler, and he sat forward. “Then what means brought you across the ocean, Nick? Surely you dinna paddle your own boat?”
“Steamer.” Icarus nodded to Cora. “My wife gets sick 'round the stink of magic.”
“So ye've lost yer love for the local, then?” Patrick waved for another ale, and the barmaid came around with four large tankards. She grinned at Icarus with her wide red mouth, but scurried off at Cora's irritated growl.
“Uncle Hugh contends that times are changin' in London-town. He said there was a place here for non-magics.”
“Indeed there is, me boy. Indeed there is.” Patrick seemed to relax as he swallowed more of his ale. He leaned back and nodded in Hugh's direction. “Sir Hugh be a right ole loyal dog. A man who knows how hard we work, just to scrim for what be ours by right.”
Icarus could not resist a jibe at the man. “And by ours I'm thinkin' you don't mean English, seein' as how you're off the boat, too.”
“I mean non-magicals, boyo. I mean the lacking.” The man's lips curled as he said the words.
Cora sat forward, and Icarus feared another diatribe about the cultural cruelty of the term, but she surprised him yet again.
“Damn magic. Let steam do the work. Let science haul our goods and move us about.” She sipped her ale without taking her eyes off the Irishman.
Icarus tensed, expecting the man to rage about a woman's ideas in matters such as these, but he was surprised when the man threw back his head and guffawed aloud, drawing the eyes of several other customers to their table again.
“I like yer fire, gel. By jove, I do!” Patrick looked at them hard a moment, “And if Hugh trusts ye then so will I.” He lowered his voice, and Icarus strained to hear over the rumble of the crowd. “Be wary, though. The craic be sayin a dark wizard is about.”
“What's a dark wizard want in Whitechapel?” Rivensbrow appeared anxious, and Icarus began to realize just how good an actor the man really was.
“And what about the warden of London?” Icarus couldn't help to throw in, “I hear tell he's a devil to the black.”
'He's a hard neck, speak true. He'll kill the wizard, but he won't be doing it for us.”
Icarus nodded, but Cora's hand on his leg, squeezing, made him hold his tongue. These lack-witted fools had no idea how hard he worked to keep them all safe.
“I still don't know what a dark wizard would be doing in Whitechapel.” Cora raised an eyebrow at the barmaid as she swooped low, her bosoms nearly in Icarus' face as she scooped up the empty tankards. She shot the pretty waitress a scowl, and the woman scampered off with a lusty laugh.
“He's footherin fer Robert Croft, not about to doubt it.”
“Croft?” Rivensbrow leaned back and crossed a leg. “Isn't he the one who runs around like a madman, shouting about the end of magic?”
“Speak true, Sir Hugh.” Patrick gestured them to lean in as he spoke low. “Croft were the one come up with those orbs we been carrying around. They nullify magic, or some scientific guff. Alls we know is that a wizard has no power when one of them is on.”
“And this dark wizard wants the orb?” Icarus hoped he sounded properly impressed, when inside he was disgusted with the whole charade. He longed to stand up and reveal himself and explain to all these simpering idiots exactly what it was he was trying to save them from. A life of payment for electricity and travel was the least of their worries.
“Nah.” The brawny Irishman grinned, “Croft made something bigger. Something he swore would erase magic. It be a long lane that has no turnin' now, me boyo.”
Icarus felt sick at the idea of losing the connection to magic, and all it was capable of accomplishing.
“We'd all be equal then, see,” the man continued, “then it be the skiprats and scuzzbutts that drag the coal and haul the corn.”
“Some kind of machine?” Cora's hand on Icarus' leg grew tight with excitement. He silently urged her to relax, pushing the man for more information that he was ready to share would make him suspicious.
He needn't have worried, because the big man laughed again and tweaked one of Cora's dark waves. “Indeed, pretty bird. A feckin' machine.”
Rivensbrow pulled Patrick's attention from Cora. “So the wizard is after Croft then? Sounds dangerous to let him hang about Whitechapel.”
“He's safe. We've locked him down with a few guards, and we've got enough of those orbs to keep the wizards away.” Patrick grinned wide and bumped Rivensbrow's shoulder. “Won't no dark wizards be getting to Croft or his machine. In a day or two it'll all be over.”
“There now, see!” Rivensbrow winked at Icarus. “We've nothing to worry about. In a day or two magic will be gone and we can get on with our lives.”
“You sure seem to know how this thing will fare. Who's to say the richies won't take over, just like the magics?” Icarus hid his wince as Cora's fingers bit into his leg. He couldn't leave without trying to understand the reason these people hated magic.
“Nothing, boyo.” Patrick tipped his tankard and dumped the last of the ale down his throat, “Nothing a'tall.”
“Then why does it matter who controls it? Wizards or non-magicals, it's still going to work out the same for us in the end, isn't it?”
“The world has ever been about haves and have-nots, me boy,” Patrick rolled his shoulders and stood, nodding his head to Cora, “and the way it be we've not a pot to piss in, do we? With the magic gone, who's to say where the hammer falls. Just move outta the way afore it falls on you.” He shook Rivensbrow's hand and then Icarus' before stumbling off toward the outhouse door.
When the man was out of earshot Rivensbrow leaned toward Icarus with a curious grin. “Does that pickle your cucumber, Grand Adept? He's right, you know. As it stands, only the haves can have, and the have-nots must take what's left.”
“Are you defending the idea that magic should be destroyed?” Icarus stared hard at the man, trying to see his game.
“Not a'tall.” Rivensbrow stood, rolling Sir Hugh's stooped shoulders. “I've spent plenty of time down here, and I can see why they're tired.” He waved around at the people clustered in groups at the tables or standing in twos and threes along the wall. Most were covered in coal dust and wore dirty, bedraggled clothes. Many were too thin, and hadn't seen a decent meal in quite some time, if ever. “They toil and work from sun up to sundown and what they make goes to pay the Grand Houses for barely enough food to live. Orrin knows the reasons things have to change, but
I'm not sure he'll be able to change it fast enough to stop what's coming.”
“You think I'm oblivious to the plight of these people?”
“Nah.” Rivensbrow's grin was sly, “I think you're seeing it through rose colored glasses. You think you're helping these people by destroying dark wizards and hunting demons, and you are, but who can worry about a demon when their child is starving to death? Wake up, Grand Adept.” Rivensbrow waved toward the door. “You wear fine clothes and live in a spacious home with fine things. You've never been hungry a day in your life. And because you can use magic, you never will be.”
“What should we do, then?” They spoke quietly as they left the Inn and moved through the dark toward the car. “Give up all we have, and take a vow of poverty, and allow the demons and dark wizards to maim and kill as they will?”
“No.” Rivensbrow opened the driver's door and climbed inside, turning back to them before he sat, “I think you should realize that these people are desperate. They don't want to destroy magic because magic is bad. They want to live and be equal to wizards, but that will never happen unless they make themselves heard. The fear of change is a mighty tool.”
Icarus scooped Cora into his arms and carried her over the mud. He helped her into the seat and climbed in, shutting the door behind him.
“Rivensbrow is a wizard, but he is also a spokesman for the non-magicals.” Orrin's familiar hopped up to Rivensbrow's shoulder.
“He's saying that non-magicals will revolt because they can never use magic. What are we to do to stop it, short of allowing them to erase magic all together?” Cora moved closer to Icarus, laying her head on his shoulder.
The Grand Master looked hard at them from the eyes of the bird. “Once you told me that a compromise must exist between us, Ms. Jenkins.”
“I did. I thought they would realize that science and magic together can do extraordinary things.”
“Science is the only thing that can equal magic.” Orrin looked hard at Icarus. “It is only by accepting this, and relinquishing some of our control to science, that we will ever come to peace with this.”