“I do not believe so,” Paren said. “Finish putting the cannon in the shed, then take the rest of the day off.”
Frieda peered towards the targets at the end of the field. “Emily,” she said slowly, “I could shield myself against...against one of those.”
“Maybe,” Emily said. “But you’d be expending magic trying to protect yourself.”
“But...” Frieda shook her head. “I protect myself all the time.”
“You protect yourself against hexes and jinxes,” Emily said. She’d wondered that herself, back during First Year. “They’re magic. Your protections are designed to break them up into unusable spellware. But a bullet would be a physical impact.”
She scowled as another memory surfaced. Travis had knocked her down once, in a sparring match, and he’d done it despite all of her protections. It required more defenses to protect oneself from a physical blow, Sergeant Miles had said later, and it could drain one’s magic quicker than anyone would prefer. Normally, a mundane posed no threat to a magician — there were no shortage of spells that would stop a non-magical person in their tracks — but now...how much magic would need to be expended to keep a magician safe from a swarm of bullets?
And if someone can stop a pistol shot, she thought, could they stop a machine gun?
“If that’s true,” Frieda said, “why don’t more magicians use their fists?”
“Unmannerly,” Imaiqah said, as they turned to go back inside. “What sort of magician would settle a fight by punching the other?”
Emily looked down at her hands, thoughtfully. On both Earth and the Nameless World, the strong tended to dominate, but the definition of strength was different. She thought of some of the bullies she had known on Earth and wondered, briefly, what they would do if she turned them into snails. The experience would shatter their minds. But, on the Nameless World, it was magic that defined strength. She could turn Frieda into a toad, if she wanted to expend the energy, but Jade? He would reflect the spell back at her, at the very least.
Which is why we’re not allowed to prank students younger than us, Emily recalled. The Grandmaster had made it clear at the start of Second Year and the rule was enforced, vigorously. No First or Second Year should be a match for a Third Year.
“Because if you tried to beat up a stronger magician, you wouldn’t last long enough to kill them,” Emily said, slowly. “And if you faced a weaker magician, why use your fists?”
To conserve your magic, her thoughts answered her. But what good is conserving your magic when you’ll be having it drained to protect yourself?
“We have around two thousand Mark-VII muskets right now,” Paren said. “Training soldiers to use them has not been easy. Many of the hired swords I selected were reluctant to learn how to use the weapons. Even the ones that weren’t reluctant were...unsure of themselves. It may take time for a full unit of soldiers to be deployed.”
“The king will need to be kept informed,” Emily said.
“He is,” Paren confirmed. “But he’s leaving it in our hands, for the moment.”
Emily wondered, absently, just what King Randor was thinking. The temptation to just ban gunpowder and bury the new concepts had to be overwhelming. But he owed Emily — and Paren — and turning on his supporters was just asking for another coup. And besides, even without Nanette, the formula for gunpowder might already have escaped. It wouldn’t be long before other kings started fielding their own gunpowder weapons.
And the necromancers have their own armies, she thought, remembering the horde of monsters Shadye had massed in front of Whitehall, then hurled into the school. Muskets may tip the balance in our favor.
“Keep me informed,” she said, finally. “What about the cannons?”
“We have ten,” Paren said. “But producing them should speed up, now we’ve worked out most of the kinks. The real problems lie in powder safety, so we’ve adopted the precaution of keeping the gunpowder isolated from everywhere else and putting the safety officer’s apartment on top of the powder store.”
Emily laughed. They’d done the same in Elizabethan England, if she recalled correctly. She didn’t know if it had actually worked, but it would definitely tend to concentrate the man’s mind on safety. On the other hand, if he happened to have a subordinate who hated him, he’d be in the perfect place for assassination.
“I’m surprised the king hasn’t demanded more control,” she said. The cannons weren’t that powerful, but they could do a great deal of damage to a castle. “Does he know how fast you’re advancing?”
“I think he has a great many other matters on his mind,” Paren said. “Besides, we have yet to field a proper unit.”
“Take volunteers from the cities,” Emily advised. She knew next to nothing about military training, and most of what she did know was suspect, but she knew how hard it could be to unlearn something. “People who are willing to serve, yet don’t have any prior experience.”
Paren frowned. “Why?”
“Less to unlearn,” Emily said. “They wouldn’t have grown up thinking that swords and sorcery settle everything.”
“There might be problems,” Paren said. “The king would object to recruiting random commoners from the cities.”
Emily sighed, inwardly. The base of the Royal Army — and the private armies the barons had enjoyed, before the coup — had been composed of former peasants, with a hard core of professional fighters. It made a certain kind of sense; the peasants might be ignorant, but they were used to following orders without question, as well as being immensely tough. But people from the cities tended to be more inclined to question orders.
“Then see what you can do without it,” she said.
There was another concern, she suspected. The peasantry wouldn’t question...and they wouldn’t seek to duplicate the weapons for themselves. But city-folk, they might question — they might work out how to make gunpowder themselves, and then start designing their own weapons. And who knew where that would lead?
“I will try,” Paren said. “For better or worse, I will try.”
“Good,” Emily said. “This will change the world.”
She looked down at the floor, and smiled tiredly to herself. The gods might have made men, she misquoted, but perhaps she had taken the first steps towards making them equal after all.
Not quite the same, she reminded herself. What sort of gun can turn someone into a frog?
But it might not matter, her own thoughts answered her. People always have different levels of skill.
Chapter Thirty-Four
THE DRIVE BACK TO THE CASTLE was spent in pensive silence. Frieda seemed lost in her thoughts, while Emily thought hard about what she’d seen. Gunpowder had been hard enough to reinvent, but guns? Matters were moving ahead faster than she’d dared believe possible. Who knew what would happen when guns spread to the rest of the Nameless World?
She was still mulling it over when the coach entered the courtyard and came to a halt. As soon as the door opened, she jumped down to the cobbled tiles and looked around, half-expecting to see some traces of disaster. But there was nothing, apart from a pair of horses that eyed her with dark unpleasant eyes. Emily sighed — she had never liked horses — and turned to follow Frieda back into the castle.
Inside, Bryon was waiting for her. “My lady, you have petitioners who wish to speak with you,” he said. “They have brought lawyers.”
Emily blinked. She had never had much respect for lawyers, but she had to admit she hadn’t had much contact with them either. The Lawyer’s Guild of Zangaria was notorious for living down to the stereotype, yet it had managed to survive when the Accountants had faded away and the Scribes had been forced to reinvent their business model. Emily would have been impressed if she hadn’t known that King Randor insisted that all major deals had to have a lawyer involved, even merely to draft the contract. It ensured there was always work for the lawyers.
“I will be in the Great Hall in ten minutes,” she
said. She would have preferred longer to freshen up, but if someone had been waiting for her it would be rude to keep them waiting, even if they had brought lawyers. “Please have them brought to me after I arrive.”
Bryon bowed. “Of course, my lady,” he said. “I will see to them at once.”
Emily sighed, bid goodbye to Frieda, and walked back to her room, splashed water on her face, and changed into a new dress. The weight of the battery in her pocket mocked her, reminding her that she could be performing more experiments with the devices Yodel had made, but she pushed temptation aside and strode back to the Great Hall. Someone had been busy, she noted; the tables and chairs had been thrust to one side, allowing the petitioners to stand in front of her seat. She sat down and pasted a controlled expression on her face as Bryon entered the room. Whatever it was, she would deal with it...somehow.
“My lady,” Bryon said. “May I present to you Freeholder Jack, Freeholder Muick and Misters Clermont and Darnel, of the Guild of Lawyers.”
Emily sighed inwardly. Freeholders were a rank above independent farmers, although they were liable to pay more taxes. It didn’t exactly make them gentry, Emily thought, but they enjoyed considerable status in their communities. They also enjoyed exemptions from some of the other duties barons could assign to their thralls, including military service. It was not a rank anyone would care to abandon, if they had a choice. Both Jack and Muick looked prosperous; Jack was clearly several years older than Muick, with hair going white at the roots. Behind them, the lawyers looked surprisingly like monks, complete with brown robes and tonsures. She couldn’t help being reminded of Master Grey.
“Your Ladyship,” Jack said. “We thank you for seeing us at such short notice.”
“You are welcome,” Emily lied. “Time is not on my side at the moment, so could you please move straight to the point?”
Jack and Muick exchanged glances. “Your ladyship, you became the baroness two years ago, after the late unlamented baron met his timely end at the hands of the king’s executioner,” he said. “You have made many changes to the law, for which we are grateful.”
Emily sighed inwardly. This was getting to the point?
“However, your changes raise the issue of how contracts, signed and sealed in good faith, should be applied,” Jack continued. “Some of those contracts are now due.”
“I see,” Emily said. She had a terrible feeling she knew where this was going. “And what do those contracts involve?”
“Your ladyship, I have only a daughter,” Muick said. “My daughter cannot inherit the farm, by ancient law. It was my intention, therefore, to wed her to Jack’s son and allow them to combine our lands into one. She was to wed last year...”
“But she is now underage, by my laws,” Emily finished. “And even trying to marry her to someone against her will would also be against my laws.”
“Yes, your ladyship,” Muick said.
Mister Darnel stepped forward. “I have consulted the record books dating from the establishment of Zangaria as an independent kingdom,” he said. “There is no disputing your right to change the law as you see fit, your ladyship, as long as the king’s laws are not bent or broken. This was established when King Alexis I severed our formal ties to the remainder of the Empire, then reconfirmed when King Alexis III regained control over his kingdom.”
He took a breath. “However, it could be argued that your changes have infringed upon the king’s laws,” he continued. “In choosing to declare numberless contracts invalid because they break your laws, you may well be breaking the king’s laws.”
Emily had to admire his nerve. Baron Holyoake would have summarily thrown Mister Darnel into the dungeons for daring to challenge his authority. Emily was almost tempted to do the same. No matter what he thought he was doing, he was upholding two acts that Emily held to be criminal beyond all hope of redemption: marrying a girl off without her consent, while she was still underage.
“The king has declared that contracts are to remain untouched,” Mister Darnel said. “But you have declared them invalid.”
“Yes,” Emily said, flatly. She took a moment to catch her temper. Changing them into toads — would anyone notice the difference? — would not help. “However, I believe the king has yet to rule on this specific case.”
She gritted her teeth in frustration. King Randor’s father, if she recalled correctly, had wanted to use contract law to keep the barons under control. It hadn’t worked very well, as the coup proved, yet...she hadn’t expected to put her foot so firmly on a landmine when she’d started to rewrite the laws. The king could support her, which would call contract law into question, or undermine her. If the latter...she would leave, and the other barons would be emboldened to plot again.
“That is true, your ladyship,” Mister Darnel said. “But legally, your law and the king’s law cannot conflict.”
“Which would insist the contract be enforced,” Emily growled.
“Yes, your ladyship,” Mister Darnel said. “Any future contracts could not infringe your law — and no one would complain about that — but signed contracts cannot be put aside on a whim.”
Emily forced herself, firmly, not to say the first thing that came to mind. No one had said that to Baron Holyoake — at least, they had never said it twice — and yet they were prepared to say it to her? But Baron Holyoake hadn’t been interested in his subjects, save for what tax he could extort from them. If they’d wanted to kill themselves in the streets, or turn into bandits, he wouldn’t have given a damn.
“And so we must appeal to you,” Mister Darnel said. “The contracts must be upheld.”
“Tell me,” Emily said, looking at the two Freeholders. “Do your children actually want to get married?”
“They have always known they would get married,” Jack said. “There was never any question of them liking anyone else.”
Emily supposed that made sense. If they’d grown up together in a tiny village, there would have been fewer partners than if they had grown up in a city...and fewer chances to stray, too. And if they’d known they were going to get married, one day, they might not have been looking for anyone else. And yet...
“If the girl is thirteen, the marriage can wait three more years,” Emily said. “If, of course, she actually wishes to marry your son.”
“There is no one else for her,” Muick said. “And I do not wish to lose the farm.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you lose the farm?”
“If I die, with my daughter unmarried,” Muick explained, “the farm will pass to my uncle’s descendants. My daughter will remain an old maid for the rest of her life, while he takes my farm and uses it as he sees fit. This contract is her only hope of retaining the farm.”
And are you saying that because you think it is her only hope, Emily asked silently, or because you think it will influence me?
She took a moment to compose herself. “And why can’t your daughter inherit the farm in her own right?”
“She is a girl,” Muick said, as if that explained everything.
“So am I,” Emily said, simply.
Muick paled, but stood his ground. “You have magic, my lady,” he said. “My daughter has nothing but a farm she cannot run in her own name. Should she be married when I die, the farm will continue and be managed in her husband’s name; should she be unmarried, the farm will go to my uncles or one of their descendants. They will find her an inconvenience.”
And kill her, Emily thought, if they can’t beat her into submission.
She took a long breath, trying to recall what she’d read about land rights. Property rights were different — a woman could own her own property — but land always had to stay in the male line. Indeed, Jack and Muick were bending the law by marrying their children; arguably, Jack’s son wasn’t part of the male line. But he would be a man, married to the former owner’s daughter, and in possession. And possession was nine-tenths of the law.
Not here, she remin
ded herself. The law is what the aristocracy says it is.
“I do not approve, now or ever, of allowing children to be married off before they can consent to the match,” she said. “Nor—” she held up a hand as they took a deep breath “—do I approve of people marrying before they reach a certain age. I could, however, offer a compromise. In the event of you dying before your daughter is married, the land would stay in her name.”
Mister Darnel twitched uncomfortably. “My lady,” he said. “If you changed the laws concerning land rights, even for one farm alone, there would be trouble.”
He was right, Emily knew. The fabric of inheritance law, no matter how unfair or sexist she considered it to be, would start to unravel. There were certainties written into the old laws, certainties that she should not alter without a very good reason. But while she thought she had a good reason, she knew that others would not feel the same way.
She considered other options, rapidly. It would be easy enough to gift the daughter a small sum of money, enough to ensure she could support herself if her relatives kicked her off the farm. Or she could arrange for the daughter to be offered a job at the castle or in one of the growing industries. Or...for all she knew, the daughter would turn sixteen and marry Jack’s son before anything happened to her father.
But if her relatives want the farm, she thought, they could murder the father and claim it, legally.
It would be simple enough to change the law, she was sure, so unborn generations of women would have the same land rights as men. But it wouldn’t help the current generation...
“I can offer another suggestion,” she said, after a moment. “If they are betrothed, the land can go to Jack’s son, if you die before your daughter is old enough to wed. He will keep the land as long as he marries her within a year of her turning sixteen, then merge the two farms as you planned. If he chooses otherwise, or she decides not to marry him, the land will revert to her.”
“As she will effectively be a divorcée,” Mister Darnel said, slowly. “I do not know how that will hold up in a court of law.”
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