Fists of Justice (Schooled in Magic Book 12)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “The Guild Council has decided that there will be a meeting at noon,” Sienna said, as Emily tucked into the food. “Apparently, Clerk Harriman will be presenting his findings. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging places for us.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said.

  “Karan, Croce and Marian will remain here,” Sienna added. She looked older, just for a second. “The mob burnt down Vesperian’s mansion last night.”

  “I heard,” Emily said. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No.” Sienna sat down, resting her fingers on the table. “The servants managed to get out before the blaze consumed them.”

  There was a pause. “He didn’t even own it,” she added. “The poor bastard who did own it will now have to rebuild the mansion or surrender the land back to the council. I don’t know if he can afford to rebuild it.”

  Caleb entered the room before Emily could think of a reply. She looked up and frowned in concern. Caleb looked…tired, dark rings clearly visible around his eyes. He held himself as if the only thing keeping him upright was sheer force of will; his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them. Emily opened her mouth to tell him to go back to bed, then reminded herself – sharply – that she wasn’t his mother. Sienna would tell him to get some rest if necessary.

  “Get a drink, then a shower,” Sienna ordered, curtly. She glanced at the clock. “We’ll be leaving in an hour.”

  Emily met Caleb’s eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “I only had a couple of hours to sleep,” Caleb said. “I’ll be fine. The little brat led me quite a dance.”

  “I’ll show you how to use the tracking spell.” Sienna rose, looking regretful. “And I also need to…discuss…matters with her.”

  Caleb nodded. “Did father come home?”

  “He’s still with the City Guard.” Sienna sounded as though she couldn’t care less, but Emily caught a hint of worry in her eyes. General Pollack was a brave man, yet he had no magic to protect himself. A dozen rioters could beat him to death if they wished. “I dare say we won’t be seeing much of him until the crisis is over.”

  Her eyes moved to Karan. “See to it that neither of your siblings leave the house until we return. And if they won’t stay still, use magic.”

  Karan looked down at the table. “Yes, mother.”

  Emily watched Sienna go, feeling a stab of sympathy for Marian. Sienna didn’t seem the type of person to bother trying to find out why her daughter was so upset. And yet, she didn’t blame Sienna for being concerned – and angry -- that her youngest daughter had deliberately put herself in danger. The rioters who’d attacked her on the streets would have no trouble tearing Marian to pieces, if they’d caught her instead.

  “Change into trousers,” Caleb advised, when they’d finished their breakfast. “You might have to run.”

  “Good thinking,” Frieda said. Emily shot her a sharp glance. “Or we could just teleport home.”

  Caleb looked back at her, evenly. “Can you teleport?”

  “Emily can,” Frieda said.

  “Then you’d better be prepared to run.” Caleb sounded as though he was trying – hard – to keep himself under control. “Because, you know, you might get separated in the crowd.”

  He cleared his throat. “Emily, you can’t teleport into Sorcerers Row,” he said. “If you have to teleport out, aim for somewhere on the far side of the river.”

  Emily nodded. There were enough wards surrounding the house to make teleporting extremely dangerous, if not fatal. She was fairly sure it would be fatal. Lady Barb and Void had warned her that teleport spells were easy to disrupt, even by low-power magicians. A lucky magician might just realize the danger in time to abort, but the timing would have to be terrifyingly precise. She doubted she could handle it.

  “I’ll be careful,” she promised. “What happened last night?”

  “She wasn’t with her friend,” Caleb said, flatly. “I don’t know where she was.”

  “Ouch,” Emily said. Alba had sneaked out too, she recalled. But Marian was too young for a boyfriend, wasn’t she? “Is she going to be all right?”

  “Probably.” Caleb smiled, humorlessly. “At her age, getting grounded is a fate worse than death.”

  Emily nodded as they hurried back up the stairs to change. Marian didn’t have a computer, let alone the internet; she didn’t even have television or a radio. Being locked in the house would probably feel like going to prison. There were books, of course, but Emily suspected Sienna would confiscate any novels Marian owned. By the end of the day, Marian might be begging for something – anything – to do. Maybe her sister would put her to work cleaning the house. God alone knew what had happened to the maid.

  She changed into her borrowed trousers and a shirt, then hurried downstairs. Sienna stood at the door, speaking to a young man Emily didn’t recognize. He nodded politely to her, then hurried away as Caleb and Frieda joined them. Caleb had changed, but he still looked tired and wan. Frieda looked surprisingly neat in a black shirt and trousers. Sienna flickered her eyes over the shirt – a size or two too tight, Emily noted – and then looked away. Emily was silently glad her shirt wasn’t so daring.

  “The meeting will be held in the Square.” Sienna waved a hand in the air, adjusting the wards before she opened the door. “We have to hurry.”

  Emily took a breath as they stepped into the morning air. A faint taste of ashes hung over the city; glancing north, she saw a plume of smoke rising into the air. Vesperian’s mansion was still burning, then. She wondered, absently, what spells had been used to make the blaze impossible to subdue. There were several that needed specific countermeasures to stop, if she recalled correctly. Or maybe the firemen had lost money too and simply decided to let the building burn to the ground.

  The streets were crowded with hundreds of people making their way towards the Guildhall, some carrying weapons and wearing armor. Emily couldn’t help staring at a man who carried a sword almost as big as himself, wondering how he managed to swing the blade. Someone had probably charmed it, she decided. Sergeant Miles had taught her a great deal about charmed weapons, although he’d always been careful to point out that a charmed blade didn’t make the bearer invincible. A blade could be charmed to cut through anything, or weigh as much as a feather, but a crafty magician could always undo the spell at the worst possible time.

  “Too many people on the street,” Frieda muttered, as they turned into the square. “Is the entire city here?”

  “No.” Caleb glanced from side to side, his eyes grim. “But it will certainly feel that way.”

  Emily nodded. The square – just in front of the Guildhall – was crammed with people, from wealthy merchants, industrialists, and priests in fine robes to commoners wearing clothes that had clearly been handed down from generation to generation. Many of the latter carried pieces of paper bearing the stylized ‘V’ – their notes, Emily realized. Others held weapons or muttered angrily to their neighbors as rumors sped through the crowd at terrifying speed. She couldn’t recall seeing commoners carrying so many weapons before, but Beneficence wasn’t Zangaria. Anyone who wasn’t actually a slave could carry a sword, if he could afford it.

  “That’s Speaker Janus,” Caleb said, as Sienna led them towards the small gathering of dignitaries outside the Guildhall. “He’s talking to father.”

  Emily followed his gaze. A tall, thin man, with dark hair and a goatee that reminded her of Disney’s Jafar, stood next to General Pollack, speaking to him. The red robe he wore was identical to the robes worn by his followers, save for the gold trim around the hood. Emily glanced around, noting that there were nearly thirty Hands of Justice within eyeshot and probably many more out of sight. She couldn’t help thinking that they were waiting for something. But what?

  “Lady Emily,” a voice said. She turned to see Harriman, wearing a grey suit that matched his personality. “I trust you slept well?”

  “Well enough,” Emily lied.

  “Good, good,
” Harriman said. She thought she heard…fear…in his voice as he held up a set of papers. “I have to speak to the crowd, once the Grand Guildmaster has made his speech.”

  Emily winced in sympathy. She disliked the idea of speaking in front of a crowd too, even when the crowd wasn’t angry. Harriman might put the mob to sleep, if he recited facts and figures at them, but they’d wake up angry. She silently prepared a number of spells as a single trumpet blew, bringing silence in its wake. The meeting was about to begin. She reached for Caleb’s hand and held it, tightly, as Grand Guildmaster Jalil took the stand.

  “Citizens,” he said, calmly. His voice was boosted by a spell, ensuring everyone could hear. “Our city stands tall against the waves, our city…”

  “Get to the money,” someone shouted. Others took up the cry. “Get to the money!”

  “He owes me,” someone else shouted. “Where’s the money?”

  “Hecklers,” Sienna muttered. She sounded troubled. “Paid hecklers.”

  Jalil cleared his throat. “We have faced many crises in our time,” he added, grimly continuing with his speech. Emily wasn’t sure if he was being brave or stupid. “And yet, we have overcome them all…”

  “Where’s my money?” a heckler shouted. “He stole it all!”

  The crowd roared with anger. Emily glanced from side to side, realizing there were too many people crammed into the square for the guards to restore order. The hecklers continued to shout, their taunts boosted by their own magic. Jalil, not used to such blatant disrespect, paled rapidly. Pieces of rotten fruit began to fly through the air…

  “Give us back our money,” a voice shouted. Or was it many voices? “Give us back our money!”

  Jalil steadied himself. “Clerk Harriman has inspected the accounts,” he said, holding onto the podium as though it were a life preserver. Surprisingly, the roar quietened. And yet…odd flickers of magic were running through the air. “He will now present his findings.”

  Caleb squeezed Emily’s hand as Harriman walked forward and took the podium. He shook like a leaf. Emily silently prayed for him as she peered around the square. General Pollack muttered orders to a messenger; beside him, Janus watched Harriman, a faint smile flittering over his face. Their eyes met, just for a second. Emily thought she sensed…something…looking back at her through Janus’s eyes.

  “Ah…my team has gone through the first set of accounts.” Harriman looked down at his set of notes. Emily wondered if he’d planned a long speech before seeing the angry crowd. “We have determined that the Vesperian Track – and Vesperian Industries – has debts of roughly seventy-five thousand crowns…”

  The crowd seemed too stunned to respond. It was a figure so immense as to be beyond easy comprehension. On Earth, it would have been billions – perhaps trillions – of dollars, enough money to buy or run a country. And it existed – it had existed – as nothing more than pieces of paper. Vesperian hadn’t had a hope of paying off his debts.

  And the total keeps going up, Emily thought. When will it stop?

  Harriman paused. “The estate’s total assets are worth no more than twelve thousand crowns,” he added, after a moment. Clearly, Emily noted, he’d gone back to the account books in the morning. She wasn’t sure if she should salute his dedication or reprimand him for making matters worse. “This is, in many ways, a best-case estimate. The sellable value of his goods may be much lower…”

  “I want my money back,” someone shouted. Again, others took up the cry. Harriman stood at the podium and waited, holding himself upright through sheer bloody-minded determination. Emily felt a flicker of admiration as the noise grew louder. “I want my money!”

  “We are currently assessing the precise debts owed by the estate to his creditors,” Harriman continued. “Once we have a clear picture…”

  “Theft,” a heckler shouted. “I paid a hundred crowns to that bastard!”

  “A thousand,” someone else shouted. “I want my money!”

  Emily glanced at Caleb. He looked pale. The crowd moved, a handful of members hurrying off while others started towards the podium. Harriman still stood there, one hand crumpling his papers. He knew, as well as she did, that there was no hope of recouping enough money to pay all the investors. The rich men – the industrialists – would be paid first. There wouldn’t be enough left for the others…

  …And, judging by the growing anger running through the crowd, the realization was finally sinking in.

  “I want my money back,” a woman yelled. “I have debts!”

  “Give me my money,” a man added. Emily ducked as pieces of rotting fruit started to shower down on the podium. She felt panic howling at the back of her mind. A man could fall in the crowd and be trampled to death before anyone realized he was in trouble. “Give me the money!”

  Jalil hurried forward. “Be calm,” he pleaded. “We’ll give you the money.”

  The crowd roared. Emily winced as she pulled back, grabbing hold of Frieda’s arm and pulling her back too. It had been precisely the wrong thing to say. The crowd was a wild animal now, scared of the future and whipped up by hecklers…someone had put the hecklers there, she thought. She looked around, desperately. Janus walked calmly towards the podium, a faint smirk clearly visible on his face. There was no sign of General Pollack…

  …Or Harman.

  “Vesperian’s goods will be sold to buy back the notes,” Jalil insisted. It had no effect. Of course it didn’t – Harriman had told the crowd that Vesperian’s total assets couldn’t be sold for more than a fraction of the debt. “I…”

  “You have led this city astray for far too long,” a new voice said. Janus stood by the podium, looking as calm and composed as a man ordering dinner. There was a sense of righteousness around him that transcended the chaos. “You have led your people into sin and depravity. No more.”

  Silence fell like a hammer blow. The crowd milled uneasily, angry yet unwilling to challenge the priest. It was a long, chilling moment before Janus spoke again.

  “This is the time of Justice.”

  And then Emily sensed the presence.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  SHE TURNED, SLOWLY.

  The presence was overwhelmingly powerful. It was like staring into a bright light, yet being unable to look away. The…entity…stood at the edge of the square, its sheer power so staggering that her knees threatened to buckle. It thrust itself into her awareness, existing on multiple levels at once…she thought, suddenly, of the nexus points. The entity wasn’t even doing it deliberately, part of her mind noted. It was so powerful she couldn’t help looking at it.

  Its power thrummed on the air, deafening her. She wanted to kneel, to prostrate herself before its immensity. It was so real that she felt like an illusion, like something that didn’t quite exist. No wonder Alba had been so badly shocked when she’d seen the entity; no wonder she’d termed it a god. And yet, something kept Emily from surrendering her will completely. It could be a trick.

  She forced herself to take a mental step back, then another. The entity stood there, her senses swimming as she tried to study it. It was huge, infinitely large, so enormous its head touched the sky…she tried to comprehend how it could be both utterly immense and yet standing calmly in the square. Her head spun as she pulled back again, glancing from side to side. A good third of the crowd had fallen to the ground, prostrating themselves in front of the entity. Others cowered or ran in all directions…

  It’s a lie, she thought, as she touched her chest. The rune wasn’t burning, which meant…what? No subtle magic? A compulsion on such a scale wasn’t impossible, if one had enough power. But there was no nexus point in the city, was there? No one could have kept a nexus point hidden, not when anyone with a hint of magic could detect it. It has to be a lie.

  Caleb coughed, tugging at her arm. Emily realized, dully, that her hand was throbbing in pain. Caleb had squeezed her tightly enough to hurt. And yet, she’d barely noticed – no, she hadn’t noticed. She
pulled her hand free, then glanced at Frieda. Her friend was wavering, looking as if she might fall to the ground at any moment. Emily caught her shoulder and yanked her back, hoping to break the connection. Frieda jumped, then looked away from the entity.

  “I AM JUSTICE,” the entity said. There was so much power in its voice – so much compulsion – that it was hard, very hard, to doubt it. It spoke as if it, and it alone, possessed the truth. “I HAVE BEEN SUMMONED TO TEND TO MY CAUSE.”

  The power surged, suddenly, as the entity raised its hand. A bolt of lightning flashed from its fingertips, reaching out to strike Jalil. The older man screamed in pain as his entire body blazed white, then turned to stone. Emily knew, on a level that could not be denied, that he’d died…and that he’d died in agony. The knowledge beat on the air like a giant heartbeat, impressing itself into her soul. She looked around as the lightning flashed again, seeking out Guildmaster Merriam. Merriam screamed and ran, but the lightning followed him. There was something cruel in the spell, Emily thought dully. It moved in slow motion, just slowly enough to give the impression that Merriam might manage to escape. But it was a lie…

  She looked away, shielding her eyes, as Merriam died.

  Too much power, she thought, numbly. It hurt to even try to probe it with her senses, but she had to try. Even a protected nexus point didn’t have so much calculated malice woven into its very nature. The entity was designed to hurt anyone who tried to analyze it. She found her head starting to hurt – again – as she tried to study the power. There’s too much power being thrown around too freely.

  Her mind raced as Sienna pulled her back, shouting for her husband. A necromancer would have such power, but almost no control. Was she looking at a necromancer wrapped in an overpowered glamour? It didn’t seem possible. A necromancer would have slaughtered the entire crowd by now, instead of merely making examples out of a couple of guilty parties. She glanced back at the entity, trying to focus on how it channeled and used power. But it was too powerful for her to track the ebb and flow of magic surrounding it…