Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic Book 12)

by Christopher Nuttall

  There’s more of them now, Emily thought. She couldn’t help finding that ominous. A number of Hands were carrying whips. And what are they doing?

  It felt like hours before the line finally reached the door. Caleb gave her hand a squeeze as they stepped into the temple – it was strikingly cool inside – and motioned to the left-hand door. The women ahead of her waited, as patiently as they could. Every time the bell rang, one of them walked through the door and vanished. Emily felt a shiver run down her spine as she reached out with her senses. Magic, powerful magic, was woven into the temple. No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see anything beyond the door. She wasn’t even sure what summoned the men to enter the temple.

  Emily stepped through the door as the bell rang, feeling vaguely silly. She’d never believed in the Christian God, let alone Loci Gods that belonged to a lone city. She had met powerful creatures, yet they weren’t gods. And yet…she felt a stab of pain between her breasts, a warning that there was subtle magic in the air. She touched the rune she’d carved on her chest, and glanced behind her. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to see that the door she’d come through had vanished. There was no way back.

  Bracing herself, she walked down the corridor and into a shrine. The subtle magic grew stronger, forcing her to grit her teeth in pain. A non-magician would have been swept away without realizing something was wrong…hell, a trained magician without specific protections would still have had problems. The air seemed still, somehow, as she looked around the shrine. It felt as though something was just biding its time before happening…

  Her eyes swept the room, warily. A single statue stood on a plinth, looking down at her. It was human, she thought, yet idealized, practically perfect in every way. The outfit it wore was smart without being pretentious. She couldn’t help thinking that the Beneficence Loci looked more like a trader than the kings or aristocrats she’d seen depicted in Zangaria. And yet, didn’t that fit the city? Beneficence had been a hive of innovation even before she’d introduced the New Learning. It had certainly been a center of commerce.

  She looked past the god, seeing the pile of food and drink at the far end of the room. The walls were bare, save for a handful of powerful runes. Preservation runes, she realized, established so long ago that their magic was firmly in place. It was an impressive piece of work, all the more so for – presumably – not having been designed by trained magicians. A piece of food, left in the room, would not decay. Time would only resume, for the food, when it was removed. The priests wouldn’t accidentally poison anyone.

  Did she have to kneel? She wasn’t sure. She didn’t believe in the god. It meant less to her than Christmas or Easter, two religious celebrations that had become secular holidays more noted for shameless materialism than religious contemplation. She’d certainly never met a god. Alassa was the only one of her friends who’d become a devotee and Emily had never been sure if her friend genuinely believed or if Alassa had merely found a way to annoy her father. Emily couldn’t help wondering what Jade thought of it. The Crone was hardly a comfortable goddess to follow.

  Caleb would be hurt if I didn’t pay my respects, she thought.

  But he’ll never know, the nasty part of her mind pointed out. No one will know what happened inside the temple.

  She stared at the statue for a long moment, then knelt – briefly. Nothing happened. There was no sense of heightened presence, no awareness of something greater than her. She’d felt greater things while encountering demons, or falling helplessly through time…here, there was nothing but carefully-shaped magic. Feeling oddly disappointed, she rose and walked over to the food. Countless worshippers had passed through the room, leaving everything from pieces of meat to bottles of drink. She put the apples down, silently hoping the priests didn’t eat them themselves, then walked out the rear entrance. Caleb already waited there.

  “You were in there a while,” he said. His tone was light, but his eyes were worried. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. “It was just my first time inside a major temple.”

  Caleb gave her an odd look as they waited for Frieda. He knew the truth of her origins now, but she suspected he had a hard time believing it. It was easier to believe she was Void’s daughter, raised in isolation, than that she might have come from a whole other world. She wondered, absently, what he’d make of the Christian God. A single all-powerful being made more sense, she felt, than hundreds of limited entities. A god wasn’t anything more than another powerful creature.

  Frieda joined them, a moment later. “I’ve never seen such a large temple,” she said. “How many people does it feed?”

  “I have no idea,” Caleb said. “But anyone can come for a meal, if they wish.”

  Emily kept her thoughts to herself as they walked down the steps and onto the street. It was less crowded now, although there were still too many people around for her peace of mind; priests, citizens, tourists…a dozen more Hands of Justice, walking around as though they owned the place. The handful of city guardsmen gave them a wide berth. Emily couldn’t help wondering precisely what was going on, behind the scenes.

  “Another statue,” Frieda said. She jabbed a finger towards the center of the road. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”

  Caleb nodded and led them to the statue, pushing his way through the crowds. Few people seemed to want to get too close, as if something about the statue spooked them. Emily studied it with some interest, reaching out with her senses in the hopes of touching whatever magic had been used to make it. But there was nothing, no wisp of magic at all. The only clue that the statue had once been human was its sheer perfection. No sculptor ever born could carve so much detail into stone.

  She reached out to touch it. But all she felt was cold stone. Marble? She wasn’t sure.

  Screams split the air. Emily jumped back, expecting…she wasn’t sure what she expected. She readied a spell, turning around to see the crowds moving back from the Temple of Justice. The screams grew louder…she glanced around, looking for a proper vantage point. Perhaps if she climbed up…

  The crowd parted. Seven people – five men, two women – knelt in front of the temple. Their shirts had been removed, leaving them topless. A Hand of Justice stood behind each of them, holding a nasty-looking whip. Emily watched in growing horror as they brought the whips down again and again, drawing blood as they lashed bare flesh. The victims screamed, then pleaded for mercy. She wasn’t sure who – or what – they expected to answer.

  Emily reached for her magic, then stopped. She didn’t know what to do. Could she help them? Should she help them? They were making no attempt to escape. Even the women – both bare-breasted, both barely older than Emily herself – weren’t trying to hide themselves, let alone trying to run. Had they chosen to be whipped?

  She looked away, feeling sick. The sound echoed in her ears, the screams mingling with the crowd roaring after every stroke. Men and women cheered, mocking the victims as they suffered. Insults and catcalls echoed, followed by whistles and lewd suggestions. She recoiled, then forced herself to move. Caleb and Frieda followed, pushing their way through the growing crowd. She couldn’t help realizing that both of them seemed to take the punishment in stride. It was just part of their world.

  The screams faded, slowly, as they made their way down the street. But her ears still rang.

  “They would have offered themselves for punishment to balance the scales,” Caleb said, quietly. A dozen youngsters pushed past them, no doubt eager to see the whipping before it was over. “Justice is about balancing the scales.”

  Emily shook her head. She’d heard that argument before. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life…such punishment didn’t really change anything. The scene she’d unwillingly witnessed was more about retribution than anything else, a grim reminder that anyone could face such horrific punishment. She’d seen men and women in the stocks, or forced into slavery as payment for their crimes, but public whipping
s were worse…

  “It’s sick,” she said.

  “They chose it,” Caleb said. “They thought it would provide balance.”

  “My father said the same thing,” Frieda said. She shivered. “He was always drunk at the time.”

  Emily reached out and squeezed Frieda’s shoulder. Her friend rarely talked about her childhood, but Emily had seen the scars. Frieda had been beaten savagely, time and time again, from an early age. She’d been lucky, very lucky, to be sold to a passing magician and taken away to Mountaintop. She’d certainly never shown any interest in going home.

  But if they chose to be whipped, she asked herself, is it wrong?

  Despite herself, she had no answer.

  Chapter Seven

  THE BANK OF SILENCE WAS AN immense building, easily larger than most of the temples she’d seen as they made their way to Bankers Row. It was larger than every other bank on the street, with a longer line of customers waiting outside. And yet, Markus had hired more guards to patrol the walls and placed more complex wards around the building. He clearly expected trouble. The other bankers had hired guards of their own.

  “We’ll be taking a look at the shops,” Caleb told her. “Do you know how to find your way to Railway Street?”

  Emily shook her head. “I’ll ask someone.” She wished, suddenly, that she’d thought to bring the chat parchment with her. It was astonishing how much she’d grown to miss cell phones over the last few years. How had people coped in bygone days without their friends and family at the touch of a button? “If I meet you in a couple of hours…?”

  “If you can’t find us, just go back to the house,” Caleb said. “We’ll come back eventually.”

  “Try not to get into trouble,” Emily said. She glanced at Frieda. “And don’t get him into any trouble either.”

  Caleb rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Frieda smirked.

  Emily watched them go, then turned and walked to the front door. A pair of armored guards eyed her with professional interest, their eyes lingering on her face rather than her chest. Emily couldn’t help thinking they looked more like soldiers than most of the men she’d met during the war. And yet, there was a falseness around them that bothered her, an attitude that made her think they hadn’t seen real combat. Sergeant Harkin had been crude, rude and willing to do whatever it took to turn his students into combat sorcerers, but he’d been a man. He’d seen the elephant and survived. These men…she thought they’d never seen war.

  A clerk, standing behind them, studied her for a long moment. “Yes?”

  “Inform the manager that Lady Emily wishes to speak to him,” Emily said, firmly. The clerk’s eyes opened wide. “And then escort me to the waiting room.”

  The clerk stared at her. “I…I need to see some proof…”

  Emily reached out with her magic and brushed it against the wards. Markus had keyed her into the outer defenses back when he started the bank, pointing out that she was one of his best customers. The clerk jumped, then turned and scurried into the bank. Emily followed him, pretending not to notice the guards hiding smiles. There must be no love lost between them and their social superior.

  Markus must have been alerted by the wards, because he entered the waiting room while the clerk was still trying to offer her food, drink or the latest broadsheets. Emily smiled as he dismissed the panicked man, then opened a hidden door and invited Emily to walk upstairs to his office. He was only three years older than Emily, but he held himself like an older man. She told herself that it probably wasn’t surprising. He was, after all, the de facto head of the Bankers Guild.

  His office was large, easily five times the size of a bedroom at Whitehall. A marble desk sat in the middle, under a pair of giant glass windows; a small set of comfortable chairs and sofas sat in the corner. Emily had to smile when she saw the portrait of Melissa hanging over the fireplace. It was so accurate that Melissa had clearly sat for it, not so long ago. A pair of maps – one showing Beneficence and the surrounding lands, the other showing the known world – dominated the other wall.

  “Emily,” he said, motioning for her to take a seat. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said, sincerely. She’d always liked Markus, more than she’d liked Melissa. “I would have written ahead, but…”

  “I heard.” Markus rang a little bell on his desk. “You’ve been to war.”

  A young, dark-haired woman materialized out of a side door and bowed. Like so many others, she looked to be mixed-race, a combination of Chinese and Indian features. Her dress was professional, but surprisingly tight around her breasts. And yet, there was an innocence about her that Emily found a little amusing. She suspected, from the glint in the woman’s eye, that she dressed that way so she was always underestimated.

  “Kava, please,” Markus said. He looked at Emily. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “No, thank you,” Emily said.

  She leaned back in her chair as the secretary returned, carrying a tray of mugs, a pot of Kava and a small collection of pastries. Her stomach rumbled as she saw them, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten that much for breakfast. Perhaps she could take one or two, just to be sociable. Markus wouldn’t mind.

  “Help yourself.” Markus sat down facing her, taking a mug and a single pastry. “I believe we all owe you a debt.”

  “It came at a high cost,” Emily said. Had Markus known Casper? He might well have known of him. Most magical children were taught the names and family lines of their peers. “But we won the war.”

  “Yes, you did,” Markus said. He leaned back in his chair. “Did you read the last stockholders report?”

  Emily shook her head. It would have been sent out three weeks ago, but naturally her copy would have gone to Whitehall. Markus wouldn’t have known where else to send it. She’d find it when she returned to school.

  “There were a lot of people coming in and out of the banks,” she said, instead. “And the city feels…odd.”

  “There’s been an investment boom.” Markus tapped his nose, meaningfully. “The microloans we’ve been offering, along with the other banks, have galvanized a massive boost in industry. Investment in steam engines and railways has skyrocketed. Everyone is buying stock.”

  “If they can afford it,” Emily said.

  “If they can afford it,” Markus agreed. He frowned, nodding towards a pile of letters on his desk. “The requests for loans – more significant loans – are coming in, day by day. My staff are more than a little overwhelmed.”

  Emily frowned. “How secure are these loans?”

  “Some are good, some are bad.” His face darkened. “I’ve earned a reputation for being stingy, I’m afraid. I won’t loan money unless I think there’s a better-than-even chance I’ll recoup my investment.”

  “That’s common sense,” Emily pointed out.

  “Not according to some of the newer broadsheets,” Markus said. “They’re insisting that I’m putting the brakes on the industrial boom by not providing money to fuel it.”

  He sighed. “It isn’t that easy to judge prospects,” he admitted. “I can seize the property of someone who takes a loan, if they are unable to pay it back, yet…what do I do if they just don’t have enough to compensate me for the loss? A client took the loan I gave him and bought a ship, then vanished when it became clear he’d never be able to keep the ship. She’s probably been renamed and repainted by now, somewhere on the other side of the world.”

  Emily nodded in grim agreement. There was no international system for tracking down criminals, let alone debtors. A man who reached the next country, perhaps even the next city, with enough untraceable goods could probably vanish, taking a new name and finding a new place. There wouldn’t even be many problems in hiding an entire ship. It wasn’t as if there was a giant list of every ship sailing the seas.

  “And I don’t want to snatch their children,” Markus added. “Melissa would kill me.”

  “Good
for her,” Emily said. The concept of taking someone’s children to pay their debts was horrifying, even though it was technically legal. Melissa, who’d been used as a pawn herself in her family’s affairs, had good reason to hate the practice. “How are you coping?”

  “I’ve hired extra staff to research business opportunities,” Markus said. “We do have a slush fund, and money coming in from most of the microloans, so we should be safe enough as long as we don’t start cutting into our seed monies. It means we get some bad press, but most of our larger investments have managed to pay off.”

  “So the bank itself is fairly stable,” Emily said.

  “I think so,” Markus said. He took a sip of his Kava. “We can’t control what people do when they remove their money. There have been times, over the past few weeks, when I’ve been worried about the sheer number of people trying to invest. I’ve even noted a number of customers who’ve taken the financial hit, just to get their money out of the bank. They gave up a sure thing just to play the investment game.”

  “And if they lose, they lose,” Emily said.

  “Yeah.” Markus glanced at the window. “And I’m really not sure what’s happening with the other banks. The Bankers Guild isn’t big on sharing information.”

  “I thought you were the guildmaster,” Emily said.

  “Only by courtesy,” Markus said. He grinned. “I was the first bank manager in the city, unless you count the handful of sorcerers who used to run protective vaults. Some of them think they should have the title, to be fair. With or without them, Emily, we bankers don’t have an established guild structure. I imagine one will sort itself out, sooner or later, but it may not be in place when we need it.”