A Declaration of the Rights of Magicians--A Novel

by H. G. Parry

  “And if I said I’d come only as a friend?”

  Pitt stifled a sigh. “It’s been a very long night, Wilberforce. If you’ve come to tell me anything, I’d be grateful if you would come to the point. And if part of that point would involve warning me to what extent you intend to lead the opposition against me in future.”

  “I have no intention of leading, or indeed joining, any kind of organized opposition against you,” Wilberforce said firmly. “I truly do not.”

  “Excuse me, but one could be forgiven for thinking so. You do realize you just stood up in the House of Commoners and told them all that the government of this country was leading it into black magic and misery?”

  “I told them that we can’t break the Concord. We simply can’t.”

  “We can. We have no alternative, if we’re to carry on this war.”

  “The war needs to end. Now, tomorrow, as soon as possible. We can’t keep on like this.”

  “So you said. Dundas is certain you mean to set up your own party and turn on us.”

  “Dundas!” Wilberforce snorted. “He turned on us when we needed him five years ago. And he wants this war extended as long as possible expressly for the purpose of colonial expansion—everybody knows it, except perhaps you.”

  “For God’s sake, Wilberforce, I wish you’d give up the idea that I’m utterly naive to people’s ulterior motives. I know that Dundas wants to use the war to expand the British Empire. So do most people, if they’re honest. That’s what wars have always been for. I don’t think there’s any chance it will happen that way, not anymore. Either way, I can promise you it wasn’t why we entered this war, and it certainly isn’t the reason we need to keep fighting.”

  “Do you believe Dundas? About me?”

  “No. I told him he didn’t understand you at all, and then I told him he was being ridiculous. I told all of your detractors they were being ridiculous, in some shape or form.”

  “Thank you. Do you understand why I did it?”

  “Because you believed it was right, of course. That’s why you do anything.”

  Wilberforce was clearly still uneasy; he knew Pitt’s moods too well. “I always told you that I was an independent,” he said. “And that my beliefs might one day cause me to differ from you publicly. I hoped that day would never come; until recently I would have sworn it couldn’t.”

  “So would I,” Pitt said.

  “You said that even if it did, it would never shake the sentiments of friendship you felt toward me.”

  “I did. I just never expected you to capitalize on those sentiments at a time of war.”

  “Does this really still need to be a time of war? We entered into this conflict with the aim of restoring the French monarchy; I don’t think any effort on our part will bring that about now. Breaking the Concord will just plunge us deeper and deeper into a war of magic. Lives are being lost. All of Europe is under siege. Can we really not accept the authority of the French Republic of Magicians and come to some reasonable terms of peace?”

  “No,” Pitt said flatly. “We can’t. You know what’s happening over there.”

  “It’s different now. The tide has turned against Robespierre; for all we know, he’s been supplanted already.”

  “He has,” Pitt said. “Tonight; this very hour. I just heard it over the daemon-stone. I was about to send word to the king and the cabinet when you came in.”

  Wilberforce caught his breath. “Then surely… that makes breaking the Concord unnecessary now, if it wasn’t before. Robespierre’s death will almost certainly mean an end to the Terror. Surely that means that the enemy’s hold has weakened.”

  “Do you know why Robespierre has been supplanted, Wilberforce? Because the enemy saw through our attempts to use him. Because he’d become more of a liability than a strength, and he had no further use for him. Because we are about to move on to a greater and more terrible stage of the war.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Because it told me.” He hadn’t meant to break the news quite so bluntly, in a burst of frustration, but perhaps it was for the best. “It came to me a few nights ago, as it came to Clarkson. It knew our plans; somehow, and I still haven’t received word of how, it destroyed every last one of our ships without very much effort at all. It warned me that this was only going to get worse.”

  Wilberforce was, for once, silent. “And you believed it?” he said at last.

  “It wasn’t lying. I doubt you can lie in a nightwalk, any more than you can through a daemon-stone. I would have told you this, by the way, if you’d come to see me before standing up and opposing me in the middle of the House of Commoners.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t. I barely arrived back in time for the emergency session as it was, and then it happened so suddenly—and, I confess, I was afraid you’d talk me into backing down again. It was cowardly of me. But what the enemy told you—I wish I’d been able to talk it over with you first, but it wouldn’t have changed my mind. If the enemy intends to lead us into more terrible conflict yet, that is all the more reason to make peace before it can.”

  “France is in chaos. There are no terms of peace we can make with them that will ensure the security of this country. But you heard that argument in the House, and clearly you were unconvinced then. I see no benefit to repeating a disagreement in private that we’ve already had in public.”

  Wilberforce sighed. He looked exhausted, and the shadows under his eyes spoke of the long, sleepless nights to which he was prone. “I was afraid you would be like this. It was stupid of me to call on you so soon; I’m trying to force your forgiveness before you’re ready to give it, if indeed you’ll ever be ready for that. I would understand if you find my opposition unforgivable. But I had to do what was right.”

  “Of course,” Pitt said, and heard the coldness in his own voice. It wasn’t the tone he usually heard when he was talking to his closest friends. But the insinuation, which he knew Wilberforce hadn’t intended, stung. “I myself don’t usually feel I have to do what is wrong.”

  “I didn’t mean that!” Wilberforce protested, with perhaps as much exasperation as alarm. “I mean that in this case I honestly feel you to be, with all the best intentions, making a mistake. Perhaps the enemy can’t lie outright, but it can certainly deceive in other ways, and it can certainly manipulate. I think it scared you, and I think it meant to do it. And as a result, you’ve reacted to France’s aggression in kind, without considering the alternatives.”

  “And when have they offered us any alternatives?” Pitt demanded, drawn in despite himself. Wilberforce was the only person in England who had heard about his meeting with the enemy—the only person who knew about the enemy at all. He had told Wilberforce because he had trusted him, as he had told him other things. He hadn’t told him any of those things so that they could be used against him.

  “They never will if you give them no indication that you would be amenable to them!” Wilberforce answered. “All they hear is what the House is saying in public, and that is nothing but clamor for war. I don’t think you hear yourselves sometimes. It’s sickening. It needs to stop. Have you seen the wounded and the dead coming out of the ships at Portsmouth?”

  “No, I haven’t. But I’m very aware of them. And of course it makes me sick. I want to end this war as much as you do—but not now, and not like this. You know what we’re fighting.”

  “I know. I’m not quite sure you do.”

  “For God’s sake. What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You told me you wanted to stop France without breaking the Concord.”

  “I did want that, more than anything. That was what everything we’ve done this year has been designed to bring about. And we failed. Do you understand that? We failed.” It was the first time he’d said it, even to himself. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. “Camille Desmoulins died without being able to help us. We don’t hold Saint-Domingue; if we ever do take it, the enemy will be lo
ng gone from there. It abandoned Robespierre before we could use him to track it.”

  “It lost a necromancer in the process.”

  “Not before building a substantial army of the dead. I’m still waiting to hear how large it may be, based on the number of executions in Paris. If that army is more than a few thousand, then even breaking the Concord might not be enough to stop them. And in the meantime, with Robespierre gone, we’ve lost all sight of our enemy. It could be anywhere, and behind anyone.”

  “It wants you to break the Concord. You know it does. It wants a war of dark magic and mesmerism and blood. It thinks it can win.”

  “Yes. I can only hope that it’s underestimating us.”

  “I think that you’re underestimating the French Republic of Magicians. You don’t understand what’s happening in France; I’m not sure any of us can. But Clarkson told us something about being over there when it started, and I’ve talked to the French nobles arriving to town in droves. And they all say the same thing: England can’t turn back the tide of revolution in France. When people have a cause like that, they don’t stop.”

  “And that is precisely why we can’t yet come to any terms with them. They have no intention of coming to terms with us, and at this stage, there would be real danger in accepting any terms they did put forward.”

  “There’s danger in continuing a war!”

  “Of course there is. There’s danger on both sides. But on the one side there’s danger accompanied with honor, and on the other side danger accompanied by indelible shame and disgrace; I know which one I would prefer for us.”

  “This isn’t a question of honor. People are killing each other.”

  “Which is exactly when questions of honor are the most important!” He caught himself before his anger flared, and forced himself to hold still until it cooled. It was rare for him to lose his temper; he didn’t think anybody had seen him do so since he had taken power eleven years ago. But it was times like this when he found himself, unjustly, resenting Wilberforce’s absolute faith in his own moral judgment. He knew Wilberforce frequently struggled over the right thing to do; Wilberforce had burst into Downing Street to talk his doubts through with him often enough, usually at unsociable hours of the morning when Pitt was still asleep. But when it came time to act, he always seemed so deeply, profoundly certain. Pitt never had time to be certain anymore. He was too busy trying to be decisive.

  “I never wanted this country to be at war while in my care,” he said, more calmly. “I never wanted to spend half my time trying to suppress rebellion in England and the other half trying to hold back the tides of revolution in Europe. I wanted to change things for the better, not devote myself to keeping them the same or taking them backward. I certainly never wanted to see the Concord broken in my lifetime. But this is where we are. We’re at war. This is where we stand right now, and the tide is coming in. I need to protect this country, both in terms of its physical safety and in terms of its integrity. France has challenged us, and we’ve responded. There is no way that we can withdraw from that conflict at the moment without compromising the principles that drove us to war in the first place, and there would be no guarantee of security in doing so. All we would do is open ourselves to further hostilities from the Republic of Magicians—and from worse.”

  Wilberforce shook his head. “I can’t accept that. There has to be a different way.”

  “The House of Commoners disagreed with you. Now a great many of them are very angry with you, and a number of the wrong ones are very happy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wilberforce said with a wince. “But I can’t let my behavior on serious matters like this be governed by the opinions of anyone. Not even you.”

  “I’m very aware of that,” Pitt said. It was layered with more sarcasm than he intended to show, but probably not than he meant. “And if you came here to explain that to me, you’ve done so. Is that all?”

  Wilberforce still looked unhappy, but he steeled himself.

  “I felt you looking at me when I stood up to give my speech,” he said hesitantly. “It was very hard for me to speak against you, but I did it. And then you kept looking at me. And it suddenly became nearly impossible.”

  “It could only have been for a few seconds.” Inwardly, his heart sank; Wilberforce had kept going so strongly, he had hoped that his mistake had gone unnoticed. “It was a momentary lapse, and I corrected it. Despite the political cost.”

  “You were mesmerizing me, weren’t you?” It was phrased as a question, but it wasn’t one.

  “I was willing you,” he corrected. “And my will broke through into something else. I apologize for it. It wasn’t intended.”

  “But it happened. Just as it happened with Clarkson, in the Tower of London.”

  “I know. I didn’t intend that either.”

  “I’m not for a moment suggesting you did. That doesn’t reassure me.”

  “There are many younger sons of Aristocrats in the House of Commoners. Abilities do break out during debates sometimes.”

  “Not yours,” Wilberforce said flatly. “You told me that yourself. You keep them under perfect control. What’s happening to you?”

  “To me? Wilberforce, France has risen against the Aristocracy, freed their unregistered magicians, and killed their royal family. Now they’re threatening our country and all of Europe. Control is not something that is coming easily to anybody.” He shook his head irritably. “If it reassures you, I’ve doubled the alchemy again as of yesterday. It should start to work very soon.”

  Wilberforce frowned. “Is that safe?”

  “You’ve existed on laudanum since you were stabbed.”

  “Yes, I have,” Wilberforce said frankly. “And I’d be very wary of doubling the dose. Particularly over and over again.”

  Pitt nodded, trying to concede the point. He wasn’t feeling very fair. “In answer to your question, then, I should imagine so. Safer than letting its effects wear off.”

  “If I understand it correctly, that effect is simply to keep you alive. It doesn’t negate anything you might feel or desire.”

  “Are you asking me if I feel any desire to kill people?”

  “Aren’t you fighting a war?”

  Pitt looked at him. It was a long moment before he trusted himself to speak. “Get out,” he said flatly.

  Wilberforce blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “Get out of my house. Immediately.” The shock, hurt, and betrayal that had been simmering inside since Wilberforce had got to his feet in the House of Commoners had suddenly flamed to the surface. He felt his eyes light with what he knew was mesmeric fire, and just for once he didn’t care.

  Wilberforce flinched and took a single faltering step backward against his will. Then he set his jaw and raised his head with the obstinacy that was so familiar to those on the other side of the slave debate.

  “Of course I’ll leave if you want me to,” he said, a little thickly through the effort of resistance. “You don’t have to force me. Please do consider something, though. We know that there is a vampire in France. I know you think it must be fought with everything we have. Please do consider that this, too, might be exactly what it wants.”

  Pitt didn’t reply. The throbbing in his temples had been replaced with the singing of blood in his ears, and he knew in that moment that if he chose to, he could snap the tiny figure in front of him like a twig underfoot.

  Wilberforce inclined his head stiffly, turned, and left the room.

  As the door closed behind him, Pitt drew a deep breath and released it slowly, willing himself back into calm with all the force he had just directed at his friend. It was difficult; magic was rampaging through his blood, and he was too tired and too troubled to rein it in as he usually did. He breathed in again, and out, and realized his hands were clenched into fists. He relaxed them.

  He was already starting to feel ashamed of his own behavior, but the hurt was too recent for it not to be foremost in his mind. He h
ad been accused of almost everything under the sun in the time he had been prime minister, from warmongering to drunkenness to dishonesty. It was the fate of senior politicians, even generally popular ones. But Wilberforce had always known what he was, and had believed in him. That had just changed. What had already been an unexpected public criticism of his methods had deepened, seamlessly and terribly, into a private question of his motives. And at the moment, he could only think, How dare he?

  The window was speckled with falling raindrops as Pitt walked over to it and looked out. Out on the street below, he could see Wilberforce climbing into his carriage. He would probably be going back to Clapham, despite the lateness of the hour: he would want the comforts of his home and friends at a time like this. Pitt would have been very grateful to disappear into the country himself, but he had half his cabinet waiting for him downstairs. He had news to impart to them, and to the king. And then everything would begin. On his desk, the smooth black stone sat silent and ready.

  Daemon-stones would serve you but never forgive you. Pitt didn’t really believe that—it was too close to superstition. Even Wilberforce believed it more as a parable about evil than a practical reality. But it came to him, unwillingly, that their plans had twice been dependent on the shadow in that stone: first to alert Desmoulins, and then to warn Robespierre. Now both Desmoulins and Robespierre were dead.

  Without warning, pain lanced through his stomach, accompanied by a wave of nausea that made him gasp involuntarily. He leaned heavily against the window ledge, trying not to breathe. His heart shuddered in his chest.

  Hold still, he ordered himself. It’s just a reaction to the mesmerism. It will get better in a moment.

  It did get better, but slowly, over several agonizing moments. Around him, upstairs and downstairs and in the streets, bloodlines flashed into sharp relief: bright shards of divination, warm strands of empathy, cool gleams of water magic. The daemon-stone on his desk was a burning cloud of ice. He remembered being fourteen, newly arrived in Cambridge, far too excited and nervous to care about the occasional flash of pain or nausea or the flicker of other people’s bloodlines at the edge of his awareness. This was how it started. This was what it felt like when blood magic awakened.