Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic Book 12)

by Christopher Nuttall

  The smell – too many humans in too close proximity, mingled with salt water – grew stronger as she pushed her way into the corridor. She could hear chatter coming from nearby, but she couldn’t see anyone. A metal grate, set within the wooden deck, led down to the lower decks. The sailors would be down there, she knew; the night crew would be trying to rest, even as the day crew went to work. She wondered, absently, why some of the crew were talking. They’d be keeping their comrades awake.

  Or maybe not, she thought, as she walked into the next compartment. They’ll be so tired they can sleep through anything.

  She drew in her breath as she saw the coffin, mounted neatly on a wooden block. It was a simple design, with a name and a handful of runes carved into the wood. And yet, it was empty. Casper’s body had been blasted into dust, the remains drifting down towards the nexus point and vanishing. No spell she knew could salvage anything that was indisputably Casper. But General Pollack had insisted on taking a coffin home anyway. Emily didn’t think that was healthy, yet she knew everyone grieved in their own way.

  You’d think differently if you lost a child, she told herself. You’d want to believe that some of him had been laid to rest too.

  A small book lay atop the coffin, protected by a simple wardspell. Emily felt a twinge of pain, remembering how many magicians and officers had written a brief farewell into its pages. Casper had deserved better than an early death, even if he had died a hero. Far too many others had already been forgotten, after dying in defense of the Allied Lands. No one, as far as she knew, had any idea how many soldiers and civilians had died. Most would only be mourned by their families.

  She shook her head, then turned and headed for the outer door. A gust of cold air struck her as she pushed it open and stepped out onto the deck. Willow was rolling, gently, as she made her way along the green coastline, her deck shivering as she plowed her way through the uneven waves. Emily felt her stomach twist and swallowed hard, silently promising herself not to throw up in front of the sailors. Her legs felt unsteady as she forced herself to walk towards the quarterdeck. Every movement felt, to her, as though the ship was on the verge of capsizing. She told herself, firmly, that her mind was playing tricks on her, but it didn’t feel convincing. She’d never managed to get her sea legs.

  Willow felt small to her, even though she’d been in more confined spaces. Emily couldn’t help thinking that she was tiny, compared to a ship on Earth. Ninety crew and ten guests, all crammed into her hull…she turned as she heard a shout, just in time to see a young boy scrambling up the mainmast and into the crow’s nest. The boy couldn’t be anything like old enough to shave, let alone go to Whitehall. It still surprised her, even now, to see children performing adult tasks. The four sailors who scrambled up to the forward sails dwarfed the cabin boy.

  “My Lady,” Captain Rackham said, once she reached the table on the quarterdeck. “Thank you for sharing my table.”

  Emily – reluctantly – held out her hand for him to kiss, then withdrew it as soon as she decently could. Captain Rackham looked like a pirate, right down to the black waistcoat and the cutlass on his belt. He probably was a pirate from time to time, she knew; Willow was fast enough to catch and overwhelm anything smaller than a full-fledged warship, if there were no witnesses. No one would ask too many questions, either. The Empire had worked hard to keep the seas clear of pirates, but it had been a long time since anyone had been in a position to patrol the waves.

  “Please, be seated,” Captain Rackham added. “My table is your table.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said.

  She sat next to General Pollack, silently welcoming the older man’s presence as she nibbled a piece of bread and salt beef. A steward – probably under contract to the captain – passed Emily a glass of lime juice, his eyes flickering over her face as if he were trying to memorize every detail. Emily braced herself before emptying the glass at one swallow. It was so sour that she hadn’t been surprised when the captain told her that some of the sailors refused to drink it, even though it was the only thing protecting them from scurvy. He’d made it clear that he expected everyone on his ship to drink their juice, even if they weren’t part of his crew. It kept them safe.

  And they didn’t have time to restock when they picked us up, she thought, as she chewed her beef. They’re running short of supplies.

  The other passengers made small talk, making no effort to include her. Emily was silently grateful, even though she knew they probably considered it standoffishness. Her stomach left her in no state for idle chatter. She listened, saying nothing, as the passengers chatted about the war, bouncing question after question off General Pollack. Thankfully, none of them knew who she was. They’d be much more insistent on trying to open lines of communication if they’d known the truth. She might be in exile – technically – but she was still Baroness Cockatrice. Her word was gold.

  King Randor probably feels otherwise, she thought, ruefully.

  General Pollack elbowed her, gently. “Eat more,” he warned. “We’ll be heading into land soon.”

  Emily made a face as the midshipman placed a small bowl of stew in front of her, but tried to eat it anyway. It tasted faintly unpleasant, as if the meat had been cooked in vinegar. And yet, she knew she was eating better than any of the sailors. They were lucky if they got hardtack and salted fish. She’d seen a number of crewmen fishing during the voyage, trying to catch something to supplement their rations. Apparently, anyone who caught a fish was allowed to keep half of it for himself.

  She glanced from face to face, reminding herself – again – that the Nameless World was strikingly diverse. Four merchants, one of them accompanied by his eldest son; three noblemen, who could presumably have used a portal; and a lone man who said nothing, his eyes flickering everywhere. The merchants were chatting loudly about steam engines and what they’d do to shipping, once the first steamboats set out on the open sea. Emily couldn’t help noticing that the captain seemed vaguely affronted by the suggestion. Willow wouldn’t be able to compete if – when – the steamboats lived up to their promise.

  As long as they have wood or coal to burn, she reminded herself. All this ship needs is a strong wind.

  “Come,” General Pollack said. Emily looked down at her bowl and discovered, to her surprise, that she’d finished it. “We’re just rounding the headland now.”

  Emily followed him, all too aware of eyes watching her as they climbed down the ladder and headed to the prow. The sailors might enjoy looking at a young woman, but the passengers were more interested in marriage alliances. General Pollack had had to explain that his charge was already engaged, much to Captain Rackham’s amusement. He was the only one who knew the truth. Emily would have found it amusing if it hadn’t been so annoying. Had they really expected that General Pollack would give them her hand in marriage?

  They think you’re his niece, she reminded herself. And your uncle would have considerable power over your marriage.

  She pushed the thought aside as she joined General Pollack at the prow. A young lad sat at the front of the ship, mounted on the bowsprit above the wooden mermaid figurehead. Emily couldn’t help thinking that he looked awfully unbalanced as he carried out his duties, but the cabin boy seemed to take it in his stride. He practically had the sea in his blood. Chances were, Emily recalled, he was a sailor’s son, born and raised by the docks. Going to sea would have seemed natural.

  “The captain is altering course,” General Pollack commented. He pointed a finger towards the shoreline. “What do you make of that?”

  Emily frowned, holding up her hand to block the sunlight as she peered into the haze. She saw a faint smudge of utter darkness…a black cloud, hanging in the air over a distant bay. It was raining…wasn’t it? Underneath, there were jagged rocks and the remains of a building. A castle, perhaps, or a lighthouse. It stood on its own, completely isolated. There were no other signs of habitation. And yet, the cloud seemed to pulse, as if it had a malig
nant mind of its own…

  A hand fell on her shoulder. She jumped.

  “Careful,” General Pollack said. “People have been known to be…to be touched, even at this distance.”

  Emily gave him a sharp look. “What is it?”

  “It used to be called Roderick’s Bay,” General Pollack said. “Now, everyone calls it Bad Luck Bay.”

  He lifted his hand, making an odd gesture towards the cloud. “Roderick was a sorcerer, perhaps one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world,” he added. “He was the lord and master of a small community on the edge of the Barony of Swanhaven. Thirty or so years ago, he vanished into his tower and started work on a new spell. A year after that, the tower collapsed into rubble and that thing” – he nodded at the cloud – “appeared over the remains. Since then, anyone foolish enough to go too close has suffered terrible bad luck. The community he ruled broke up shortly afterwards, most of its inhabitants heading south into Swanhaven. It was quite a scandal at the time.”

  Emily frowned. “What was he doing?”

  “No one knows,” General Pollack said. “But no one will risk going into the bay. Ships have been known to run aground on rocks that weren’t there before the…well, whatever he did.”

  “And no one saw anything of him,” Emily guessed.

  “No one,” General Pollack agreed.

  The mist hanging over the coastline grew thicker as Willow advanced steadily westwards, the captain and first mate barking incomprehensible orders that rang in Emily’s ears. Seagulls appeared out of nowhere, cawing to one another as they landed on the sails. The sailors cheered as the first bird touched down, then returned to their work. It was proof, Emily supposed, they were nearly home, even though they’d been close to land for most of the voyage. No one in their right mind would want to set sail on the Great Sea, let alone the Roaring Depths. Few ships that headed away from the mainland were ever seen again.

  But there is a third continent, Emily recalled. She’d seen the map, carved into the stone deep below Whitehall. What’s waiting for us there?

  She smiled, despite herself, as she saw a pod of dolphins jumping through the waves, showing themselves briefly before disappearing back under the water. They didn’t show any fear of the boat, even though fishermen sometimes hunted dolphins. Perhaps they were trained…or, perhaps, they realized the large ship wasn’t a fishing boat, let alone a giant whaler. The sailors had told dozens of stories about men who’d set off to hunt the whales, only to discover that the whales could fight back. Without harpoon guns, hunting whales was a dangerous endeavor.

  And that might change, she thought. What happens when someone invents a harpoon gun?

  “Watch,” General Pollack said. The mist was growing stronger, gusts of wind blowing water into her face. “You’ll never forget this.”

  Emily took hold of the rail and held on, tightly, as Willow started to roll alarmingly. She saw – she thought she saw – glimpses of rocks, just below the surface, visible for bare seconds before vanishing under the waves. They weren’t about to run aground, were they? She hoped – prayed – that the captain knew what he was doing. If worse came to worst, she told herself firmly, she could teleport off a sinking ship…

  …If, of course, she had time to cast the spell.

  The mist parted, suddenly. Emily sucked in her breath, honestly awed, as Beneficence came into view. She’d seen the city before, from the shore, but this was different. Beneficence was perched on a towering rock, a strange mixture of buildings mounted on buildings that reached towards the sky. Hundreds of people were clearly visible, climbing up and down ladders that went all the way down to the waterline, where they met tiny boats tied up by the cliff face. The sight took her breath away.

  Willow rounded the edge of the rock, then spun in place before lunging into a giant bay. The Caldron was immense, crammed with ships of all shapes and sizes; behind them, Emily could see ladders and steps that led up to the city above. It felt almost claustrophobic to her, as if it were both large and terrifyingly small; the water heaved and boiled, threatening to push the ship in all directions. The tiny beach on one edge of the Caldron seemed almost an afterthought. There were so many children playing in the sand that there didn’t seem to be enough room. Their older siblings scrambled over the rocks, scooping up crabs and dropping them into buckets. They’d make good eating, if cooked properly.

  “We’ll be the first off the ship, once we’re tied up,” General Pollack said. “Your bag will be delivered directly to the house.”

  Emily nodded. She hadn’t brought much, beyond a change of clothes. Her staff and some of her other tools had been left with Sergeant Miles, who’d promised to take them back to Whitehall for her. There was nothing dangerous in her rucksack, certainly nothing of use to anyone else.

  “Ah,” General Pollack said. He pointed towards the docks. “The welcoming committee.”

  Emily smiled, despite herself. Caleb stood there, wearing a long, dark cloak. Beside him…

  “Frieda?”

  “Lady Barb suggested that your friend be invited too.” General Pollack looked oddly amused. “I trust she will be a suitable chaperone?”

  “I think so,” Emily said. It was a shame to need one. “She can handle it.”

  “Very good,” General Pollack said. Willow bumped against the dock, a trio of sailors scrambling down to secure the lines. “Welcome to Beneficence!”

  Chapter Two

  “EMILY,” CALEB CALLED.

  Emily’s legs still felt wobbly, but she managed to make it down the gangplank and into his arms before she collapsed. She was glad, so glad, just to hear his voice again. Caleb wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, just long enough for his father to clear his throat. Emily blushed as Caleb kissed her gently on the forehead, then let her go. Frieda coughed a moment later, warningly. She was clearly taking her chaperonage duties seriously.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Emily said. She held Caleb’s hand, reluctant to let it go. “And you, Frieda.”

  “And you.” Frieda smiled as Emily glanced at her. “What did you do to your hair?”

  “I had a little accident,” Emily said. She didn’t think she was allowed to talk about Wildfire, at least not in public. Master Grey had made it clear that the mere existence of the potion was a state secret. “I’ll have it regrown in the city.”

  She stepped back and looked at Caleb. He wore a long, dark robe – a mourning habit, she realized suddenly. He was as tall and lanky as ever, but his eyes were shadowed and he held himself in a manner that suggested he was worried. His brown hair even seemed to have greyed, marginally. She might be imagining it, but he looked older. Beside him, Frieda was wearing a brown dress that made her look like a merchant’s daughter. She’d tied her dark hair into two long pigtails that hung down to touch the top of her breasts. She looked paler too.

  “You could always have it cut short,” Frieda suggested. “Or just let it regrow naturally.”

  “It looks better long,” Caleb objected. Emily had no trouble realizing, for once, that he wanted to talk to her privately. Frieda might not be an ultra-strict chaperone, but there were things neither of them wanted Frieda to hear. “Father…”

  “Take Emily back to the house,” General Pollack ordered. “I’ll be along once I’ve made arrangements for the coffin.”

  A pained expression crossed Caleb’s face. Emily had always had the impression Caleb didn’t like Casper very much, but they’d still been brothers. Losing Casper had to hurt, even if they’d all known the dangers. Emily had no blood siblings. She had no real conception of what it was like to have brothers or sisters. Frieda was the closest thing she had to a sister, and they’d only known each other three years.

  “Yes, Father,” Caleb said.

  He bowed his head, then turned and led Emily along the docks. Emily resisted the urge to walk closer to him, even though it had been a long time since they’d been together. It had only been a month, the rational
part of her mind insisted, yet it felt as though it had been years, as though they’d both changed. She told herself, firmly, not to worry about it. They would have plenty of time together, once they got back to Whitehall.

  Assuming I don’t have to spend evenings and weekends trying to catch up with my work, she thought, wryly. Grandmaster Gordian won’t go easy on me just because I killed a third necromancer.

  The cawing of seagulls grew louder as they walked along the dockside. Emily glanced from side to side, drinking in the scene. Dozens – perhaps hundreds – of fishing boats were heading out through the gap in the cliff walls and onto the open sea, followed by a pair of midsized ships practically identical to Willow. Merchants and hawkers prowled the docks, making deals and selling their wares. A passing salesman held out a tray of salt fish, inviting them to buy a snack. Caleb shook his head, dismissing the man. Emily understood precisely how he felt. The food on the docks wasn’t always safe to eat.

  “This is a very odd place,” Frieda muttered. Her eyes flickered from side to side as if she expected to be attacked at any moment. “I don’t like it.”

  “It’s home,” Caleb said, bluntly. “And it’s where the four corners of the world meet.”

  Emily nodded in agreement as a line of sailors hurried past them, heading to one of the larger ships. They were a diverse crowd, men as pale as herself mingling with the darkest men she’d ever seen…and others who were clearly the product of mixed marriages. A handful of women followed them at a more sedate pace, their dresses clearly marking them as whores. The guild sashes they wore made Emily smile, even though she knew it wasn’t really funny. Whores might have their own guild in Beneficence, but they were still practically at the bottom of the social scale. Only slaves were lower.

  “A couple of my friends had parents who were born on the other side of the world,” Caleb added. “And others went to live there.”