Rowankind (3 Book Series)

by Jacey Bedford

  George groped for the brandy glass and sipped it, as much to give himself thinking time as for the drink itself. He sank into a chair.

  Lily stood and pulled the pins from the front of her dress and untied the strings, shrugging out of it and letting waves of muslin fall to the floor.

  “Help me with the laces, Ross, if you please.”

  “Lily . . . ” George began.

  “No, George, we can talk all we like, but until you see for yourself, you don’t know how you’ll react.”

  I undid the laces at the back of Lily’s short stays and they followed her dress to the floor along with her chemise.

  “Lily’s right.” Corwen took off his jacket and neck cloth, pulling his shirt over his head. He’d developed the knack of shrugging out of his breeches and boots during the change. Wolf legs are much narrower than human ones.

  Corwen and Lily changed at the same time, and two magnificent wolves stood in the middle of George Pomeroy’s drawing room—Corwen the larger of the two, silver-gray with a ruff tipped with black, Lily smaller and leggy with a black curly coat.

  “I don’t need to ask which is which,” George said.

  “No, you certainly don’t.”

  “Can they understand us?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Corwen yipped a yes.

  Lily put her front paws on George’s knees and licked his nose. He laughed, though there was an edge of hysteria in the sound.

  “I know it seems strange,” I said. “It did to me, at first. I met Corwen as a wolf, not knowing he was also a man, yet knowing he had intelligence and a sense of humor. Then I met the man, not knowing he was the wolf. It took me a while to realize they were the same person.”

  Corwen changed back into a naked man and unselfconsciously dressed himself. Lily followed his example, and I quickly dropped her chemise over her head and helped her into her short stays and bib-front dress.

  “Say something, George.” Lily dropped to her knees in front of him again.

  “I . . . don’t know what to say.” This time, however, he took both her hands in his.

  Lily’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I didn’t think it would be so hard. What a lot there is to tell you.”

  George swallowed hard. “You’re beautiful in both your forms. I’ll have to resign from the Mysterium, of course. We can live in Yorkshire, so you have room to . . . change . . . in safety.” He frowned and turned to me. “What about . . . children?”

  I smiled and ran a hand over my belly, still neatly hidden by the current fashion for high-waisted dresses. “I’ll let you know, but if Corwen and Lily’s mother raised a brood of shapechangers, I’m sure Lily and I can if that’s what fate decrees.”

  I heard Corwen breathe a sigh of relief. The first hurdle was over.

  “Don’t resign from the Mysterium, not yet,” he said. “You’ve come to the knowledge of magic at a very difficult time. Having someone inside the Mysterium could be a distinct advantage to us.”

  “I seem to suddenly be on a different side in all things magical. When I joined the Mysterium, I took an oath to protect this country from dangerous magic. I’ll not break that oath.”

  “Neither should you,” Corwen said, “but not all magic is dangerous. The Mysterium, unfortunately, doesn’t have enough understanding to differentiate between good and bad.”

  “What’s happening?” George nodded to the window. “Out there, I mean. Horses turning into unicorns, cows into bullocks, politicians’ left feet, blood-red leaves. Is it your doing?”

  “We don’t have that kind of power,” I said. “It’s Fae magic—a message to the king and to Parliament. The Fae have issued an ultimatum—protect the rowankind and disband the Mysterium, or else—”

  “Or else what?”

  “That’s the burning question. They could wipe out humanity without blinking, but most of the Fae don’t want to. They don’t want to govern us, they simply want to get on with their own lives. However, they created the rowankind and feel they have a duty to protect them, even the ones who don’t want to return to Iaru. These magical occurrences are a demonstration. If the king and Parliament can’t be swayed, things may get more serious.”

  “You said most of the Fae don’t want to destroy us. What about the others?”

  “There are some who carry a grudge, but they are in a minority.”

  “How can we stop them?” George’s eyes had gone wide. “Can we stop them?”

  “Only the king and Parliament can stop them now, but so far the king has not been able to move his ministers on the matter.”

  “What if the ministers were to move of their own accord?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “My grandfather has the ear of Mr. Pitt.”

  “Better that he had the ear of the first minister.”

  “Don’t underestimate Mr. Pitt.”

  “Would your grandfather be willing to speak to us?”

  “I’m sure he would.”

  41

  Mr. Pitt

  ON THE MORNING of the sixteenth day of June, the population awoke to a London with no beer. Every drop of beer in every vat, barrel, bottle, or jug had turned into pure clean water overnight.

  A population which had wondered at unicorns and red leaves, and laughed at politicians with oddly-shaped feet, and been mildly disturbed by the lack of fresh milk, was suddenly incensed by the absence of beer.

  The Times ran a lead article suggesting it was about time the Mysterium dealt with these strange magical occurrences, and if they did not have the resources, then Parliament should perforce give them the resources.

  The following day we received a note from George to say he’d arranged a private meeting for us with his grandfather and Mr. Pitt.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” I read the note and handed it back to Corwen over the breakfast table.

  “I don’t think anything is safe for us anymore. The more we get into this thing, the more our identity is compromised. When we met the king, we did it as Mr. and Mrs. Corwen Silverwolf, but George could reveal our identity at any time, even by accident.”

  “We always have the option of fleeing Britain on the Heart. Magicals aren’t persecuted on Bacalao.”

  “Would we take Lily with us? And George? And Freddie and Roland? What about Mother? And Poppy and the servants who have turned a blind eye for us so many times that the Mysterium could hang them all. And then there’s the mill and all the rowankind weavers. No, we’re too deep into this to ever back out. We have to see it through.”

  I leaned across the table and kissed him. “I wanted to know we both felt the same.”

  We took a coach across town. Robert Winter, Earl of Stratford, had a house in Cavendish Square, around the corner from the house where we’d met George and Lily yesterday. We trusted George was not laying any kind of trap for us, but we couldn’t be sure about his grandfather or, indeed, Mr. Pitt.

  We weren’t being entirely reckless. I’d stationed Lazy Billy in the square, dressed as a gentleman. Surprisingly, Billy washed up well and could pass as long as he didn’t open his mouth. As our coach pulled up, Billy strolled past and touched his left hand to his forehead in a prearranged signal.

  “Billy says it’s all clear,” I said, taking Corwen’s hand as I stepped down from the coach.

  George must have been watching for us because the door opened, and he stepped past the butler to usher us inside. Rather than leading us upstairs to the main drawing room, he crossed the hallway. “Grandfather is in his study. Come and meet him.”

  George’s grandfather was a short, rotund man in his mid-sixties, wearing an impeccably cut jacket and knee breeches. He wore no wig, and his hair, such as it was, was still mostly dark though receding greatly from his forehead.

  George cleared his throat, “Grandfather, may I prese
nt Mr. and Mrs. Corwen Deverell. Mr. and Mrs. Deverell, my grandfather, the Right Honorable Earl Stratford.”

  Corwen bowed, and I dipped a respectable curtsey.

  “And this is Mr. Pitt.”

  Pitt had been standing in the shadow by a large breakfront bookcase, dressed all in black, save for his white linen neck cloth and shirt. His coat was velveteen, double-breasted and cut away at the front to show a black silk waistcoat. He wore black trousers rather than light colored or buckskin breeches which added to his somber demeanor. I was surprised by his relative youth. For a man with such a political reputation, he was still on the right side of middle age, probably in his early forties, though his hair was gray and tied at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon.

  We bowed and curtseyed again and were bowed to in turn, then George ushered us to chairs.

  “I’ve told my grandfather and Mr. Pitt about the Fae and the rowankind,” George said. “Anything else you wish to add is entirely up to you.”

  At last I allowed my eyes to stray downward. Yes, both men had large left feet. Lord Stratford’s was accommodated by an enormous slipper, but Mr. Pitt’s was encased in bandages.

  “Gout.” He saw me looking. “And now large gout. I have a personal interest in seeing these magical occurrences are prevented or—better still—reversed. Is that possible?”

  “Whatever the Fae can do, they can also undo,” I said. I knew they could, but I didn’t know whether they would.

  “The primary concern of the Fae is the safety of the rowankind,” Corwen said, “but they understand that until magic is an everyday part of human life, there will always be problems.”

  I took up the explanation about the Armada, Martyn the Summoner, Queen Bess, and the Rowankind. Mr. Pitt had been first minister, so he should already know about the rowankind but possibly not about the Fae or the goblins and magical creatures. I paused as Lord Stratford shook his head in disbelief, and Mr. Pitt made a derogatory noise when I mentioned goblins.

  “Gentleman, I would be happy to introduce you to a goblin, if you don’t believe me,” Corwen said. “Or maybe you should ask for a copy of the report of a gruesome murder in Whitechapel which occurred on the first of this month. In particular, read the description of the victim.”

  I continued. “Goblins are very industrious. They live and work in the capital and in other major cities, pay their taxes, and contribute greatly to the country’s economy. Some of the other magical races are more at home in the countryside—hobs and pixies, for instance.” There was no need to mention trolls and kelpies.

  I became aware both Lord Stratford and Mr. Pitt were looking at me very oddly, and Mr. Pitt’s mouth was agape which I’m sure was not something that occurred very often.

  “The Mysterium—” Mr. Pitt seemed to gather his thoughts.

  “The Mysterium is the problem, not the solution,” I said. “They’ve come to realize that the newly awakened rowankind have magic, and their response is to hang them, even though in law nothing forbids the rowankind from using magic.”

  Corwen went on to explain how the rowankind at Deverell’s Mill had been able to use their magic to power the water wheel. Lily added that there was a mill in Lancashire, where the local Mysterium was compliant, which now powered its machinery by rowankind-created water power.

  “Rowankind could be a great benefit to industry,” she said.

  “Which would also benefit the Fae, as there are parts of Iaru affected by industrial blight seeping through.”

  George cleared his throat. “I have the figures here from the Mysterium. In the last six months, they’ve hanged seventy-eight rowankind without trial. Seventy-eight.”

  I hadn’t realized the figure was so high and, by his expression, neither had Corwen. I turned to Lord Stratford and Mr. Pitt. “The Mysterium has neither the resources nor the knowledge to deal with rowankind or any of the magical races. The rowankind are gentle people. They’re no threat. As for the other magical races indigenous to the British Isles, they’re self-regulating. The Lady of the Forests has oversight and will curb any behavior which threatens humanity.”

  “The Mysterium is far too fond of its own legend,” Corwen said. “They’re concerned with stamping out any unregulated witchcraft, but they barely understand it.”

  “They would hang me in an instant,” I said, perceiving that a demonstration was needed.

  I felt the still air in the room and began to move it in a circle, faster and faster until the paper on Lord Stratford’s desk wafted around the room twice. The trick was settling the paper back down where it had been, but I managed it. Then I made a witchlight and put it up to the ceiling, brightening the room with magic.

  “Parlor tricks, gentleman,” I said. “But the Mysterium would condemn me for them without a trial. You understand what trust I’m placing in you when I admit to my witchcraft.”

  George cleared his throat in the direction of his grandfather, who seemed to shake himself back to reality. He glanced sideways at Mr. Pitt. “Mrs. Deverell, Mr. Deverell, my grandson has undoubtedly told you I have had severe misgivings about the power invested in the Mysterium. I would like to thank you for coming today and assure you no confidences will be broken. Isn’t that right, Pitt?”

  “Err, yes, of course.” Pitt didn’t sound so sure, but George had assured us his grandfather was a man of his word.

  “Let’s get down to business, then,” Corwen said. “The Fae asked us to take a message to the king. They demand all persecution of the rowankind cease and that the Mysterium be dissolved. The king has told us that Parliament is too taken up with the French question and the food shortages to consider legislation they perceive as neither necessary nor urgent. We have spoken with the Fae and for the moment persuaded them that they should show their power without causing irreversible damage. This they have done—so far—but they’ll soon do more if the situation isn’t resolved.”

  “What more can they do beyond these parlor tricks writ large?” Mr. Pitt asked.

  “They can reduce London to a smoking hole in the ground,” I said. “Or they can wipe humanity from this island altogether.” I paused to let it sink in. “There’s nothing you could do to stop them. You can’t fight what you can’t find.”

  “This threat . . . is it real?” Mr. Pitt asked. “How do we know you aren’t bamming us, madam?”

  “Good question. How would it be if we set up a meeting with the Fae? Would you trust yourselves to us as we have entrusted ourselves to you?”

  “They would come to talk to us?”

  “I rather think you would have to go and talk to them.”

  * * *

  The following day we awoke intending to ride to Iaru to secure a meeting with the Fae Council of Seven for Lord Stratford and Mr. Pitt. I threw back the covers and crossed to the window where Corwen was already standing, hands on the sill, looking out over the river.

  “Ice,” he said, “in June.”

  “What?” Then I noticed large chunks of gray-white something floating down the river with the outgoing tide.

  “It can’t be.”

  But it was. There were people standing on the stair that led down to the river, pointing to a rowboat that was bringing in a large chunk of ice.

  “Where’s it coming from?” I asked.

  Corwen hastily pulled on his clothes and went downstairs and out to the water’s edge. I saw him talking to some of the people there, and then he came back up.

  “The river is frozen between Westminster Bridge and London Bridge. Apparently, the ice is so thick that people are already venturing out onto it, and they’re talking about holding a frost fair.”

  “Don’t they realize how serious this is? The Thames may freeze in January or February, but never in June.” I pushed open the window. “It isn’t even cold. If the Fae release the spell, the ice could vanish in an instant, and hundr
eds of people could drown.”

  “I doubt we could stop them. Londoners tend to make the best of whatever comes their way. Besides, none of the other Fae changes have reversed themselves suddenly. There’s no reason to think the ice will vanish without warning.”

  I shuddered. “All the same, when we take Lord Stratford and Mr. Pitt to Iaru, let’s cross the river by a bridge.”

  “Of course.” He kissed me on the cheek and tied the laces of my short stays which ended above my growing belly.

  We collected Timpani and Dancer from their regular stable at the Red Lion and crossed the river by London Bridge. From our vantage point we could see the wide stretch of river frozen on the upstream side. Londoners were already out on the ice, some walking with caution, a few skating, though since the river hadn’t frozen for the last seven years, I was surprised to see anyone with skates. A few enterprising souls were already setting up stalls to entice even more people to be bold.

  The river was still flowing beneath the ice because from the downstream side water gushed out between the starlings of London Bridge, breaking off great lumps of ice, though more seemed to form almost instantly.

  “Can you feel it?” I asked Corwen.

  “What?”

  “The sun is warm on my back, but cold is rising from the ice. It feels unnatural.”

  “It is unnatural. The Fae created it.”

  “Do you think the ice is safe?”

  “If it isn’t, there’s not much we can do about it,” he said. “We should ask Larien when we get to Iaru.”

  Lily had wanted to come, but we’d talked her out of it since we hadn’t mentioned her shapechanging abilities to anyone. She could still deny her magic if questioned by the Mysterium. We’d arranged to meet George, Lord Stratford, and Mr. Pitt at the Roehampton Gate to Richmond Park. There was Mr. Pitt’s gout to consider and Lord Stratford’s age, so they planned to arrive at the rendezvous by coach. The rest of the journey on horseback would be relatively short.