Stuck In Magic

by Christopher Nuttall

  Horror flowed through me as I took in the sight. Four of the five people were in manacles, making it impossible to fight or run. The fifth wasn’t shackled, but had a nasty-looking collar around her neck. Generations of atrocities flashed through my mind as the barker – no, the slave dealer – started to talk.

  The slaves were a mix of colours, but … I recoiled in horror. My ancestors had worn chains too. Was this what awaited me, if I stayed in the city? Or what …

  The dealer kept babbling. The shackled men had been legally enslaved, he insisted; they were good for five days work out of every seven. I recoiled as the bidding started, the price rapidly going up and up. I couldn’t believe anyone would bid for a slave … no, I knew better. I’d seen slaves in the Middle East. If this culture accepted slavery, if it saw nothing wrong with enslaving people … I studied the slaves themselves, trying to determine how they felt about the whole affair. Two of them – insanely – looked pleased. A third was loudly declaring that he was worth more than a pittance. I couldn’t understand it. It was just horrible.

  My mind raced, trying to come up with a scheme to free them. But nothing came to mind. The crowd would tear me to pieces if I tried … I touched the pistol, then shook my head. Back home, orders had prevented us from doing anything about barbaric traditions. Here, I was just as helpless. All I could do was watch.

  I turned away as the collared girl was pushed forward. The crowd grew louder, screaming for her to take off her clothes. She was pretty, her tanned face a mix of a dozen different roots. I granted her what little privacy I could by not looking, cursing myself for … for what? There was nothing I could do for her, but look away. I forced myself to push my way through the crowd and out of the courtyard, fleeing the helplessness gnawing at my very soul. I’d heard of horror – I’d seen horror – and yet the sight behind me had unmanned me. There was nothing I could do.

  It’s easy to be detached if it happened in the past, or in a country that isn’t yours, I thought, in a fit of self-mockery. But it’s harder to just watch it happen when you’re trapped in the same world …

  I lost track of time as I stumbled through the city. Rationally, I knew I shouldn’t be surprised. Slavery was the mark of a primitive society, with a primitive mindset. It wouldn’t survive the dawning industrial revolution … or would it? Slavery had been on the decline in the United States before the Cotton Gin had suddenly made it cost-effective again. I didn’t want to think about it. And yet, the nightmare pressed against my mind. What sort of society would condone such treatment? I really shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d seen enough, over the last few days, to know I was trapped in a medieval world.

  Slavery and serfdom was just … normal, as far as the locals were concerned. I wished, desperately, for a portal back home and a chance to recruit my army buddies. Magic or no magic, a small army of men with modern weapons could punch out the opposition and start reshaping the world.

  But it’s not going to happen, I thought. Whatever force had brought me here had done so, seemingly, at random. Jasmine had told me there was no way to guarantee I’d get back home. I am trapped …

  The air changed. My instincts sounded the alert. I looked up and frowned as I spotted a gang of older toughs, manning what looked like a makeshift checkpoint.

  They were an oddly diverse lot, but there was no mistaking their intention. A young lad eyed me as I walked towards him, gauging my willingness to stand up to him. I looked back at him evenly, silently daring him to try something. I didn’t like the odds, pistol or no pistol, but I didn’t have it in me to back down. Show weakness to a human wolf and he will be forever at your throat. The boy stared at me for a moment, then shrugged and said something to his companions. I guessed it was a dismissive remark, a droll observation that I probably didn’t have anything worth the effort of stealing. I understood, all too well. It was important to save one’s face in such a world.

  I heard laughter behind me. The brats were laughing at me … I ignored them with an effort. The City Guard should be dealing with them, but … the City Guard didn’t seem to be good at anything beyond pushing people around and, really, it wasn’t much good at that either. I found it hard to believe they had any sort of authority, let alone a way to keep the street toughs under control. Back home, the cops had all sorts of advantages. Here … they didn’t even have a monopoly on legal force. No wonder the city was so ridden with crime.

  My thoughts were spinning, again, by the time I reached the campsite. The travellers were packing up, readying themselves for the next stage of their eternal journey. Brother Havre gave me an unwelcoming look … I balled my fists, trying to resist the temptation to start a fight. He’d spent some time, yesterday, trying to convince Jasmine to walk out with him. She hadn’t been interested. I thought he was jealous. Idiot. Jasmine was young enough to be my daughter.

  Jasmine herself was sitting by the caravan, brewing a potion over a fire. She looked up and smiled as I approached. “Did you have a good time?”

  “No,” I said, bluntly. I was too tired to dissemble. “I saw a slave market. I

  … how did they wind up slaves?”

  “Depends,” Jasmine said. “People in debt sometimes sell themselves into slavery to pay off their creditors. Or they are enslaved, by order of the court. Or …

  criminals are enslaved to repay their debt to society. In theory, we are told, a slave can earn money for himself so he can buy his freedom. In practice …”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “The slave’s master will keep charging interest until the slave owes him more money than ever before.”

  “Sometimes,” Jasmine agreed. “It does work, sometimes. The slaveowners aren’t supposed to cheat the slaves. A slave who knows he has no hope of buying his freedom is a slave who can turn on his master, or simply run away. There’s a certain incentive to play fair.”

  I squatted beside her, feeling sick. “It’s disgusting.”

  “Yes,” Jasmine said, flatly.

  “Doesn’t anyone try to change it?” I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s … it’s horrible.”

  Jasmine shrugged. “The city-folk have their little ways,” she said. “They can govern themselves as they wish.”

  “As long as they don’t upset the local lord,” I pointed out. “Right?”

  “Yeah.” Jasmine let out a breath. “Even for us, freedom is never free.”

  I sighed, inwardly. I thought I understood. The Diddakoi had their freedom, but it came with a price. They were a highly-stratified society, one that could never put down roots or become a steady community. Those who chose to play by the rules were welcome. Those who didn’t were either shunned or asked to leave.

  I wondered, suddenly, if Jasmine would be pressured into marrying her father’s

  choice, even though she had magic. It was never easy to leave a tightly-knit community. I’d known people who’d been cut off from their families for marrying outside their culture.

  Jasmine snapped her fingers at the fire. It died, instantly. I felt a shiver, despite the warm air. I was never going to get used to magic. It was just …

  unnatural.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow,” Jasmine said. She stood, brushing down her skirt.

  “Do you want to stay?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to stay in the city and I didn’t want to lose myself in the Diddakoi. They weren’t bad people, but …

  “I think I’d like to see the next city,” I said, finally. “Is that allowed?”

  Jasmine grinned. “It’s just the same as this one,” she said, waving a hand towards the nearest building. “The name is different, but the people are just the same. Unless you go to Dragon’s Den or Pendle and they’re both on the far side of the world.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure Jasmine’s grasp of geography was any better than mine, given how vague she’d been about how some places related to others, but if a town was over a hundred miles from Damansara it might as well be on the other side
of the known world as far as the locals were concerned. There was nearly three thousand miles between New York and San Francisco and, without modern transport, travelling from one to the other would take months.

  Jasmine touched my hand, lightly. “You can stay for the next part of the journey,” she said, “but you’ll have to make up your mind soon.”

  “I know.” I wished I had an answer. There wasn’t much I could do for the Diddakoi, beyond manual labour. It wasn’t as if they needed me. Jasmine had been very kind and helpful, but I knew it was just a matter of time before she went back to school. And then … I snorted at the thought of going back with her. What place did I have in a school of magic? “I’ll decide at the next city.”

  “Good.” Jasmine grinned at me. “And right now we’d better get some sleep.

  Grandfather wants to leave bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  I saluted. “Yes, My Lady!”

  Chapter Six

  We left the following morning, bright and early.

  I couldn’t believe just how clean the air was, after a week in the city. It was hot and dry – I thought I could taste sand with every breath I took – and yet it was so pure. The stench of human sweat and waste that had pervaded the city was gone, blown away by the smell of fields and pollen. I thought I could taste sand in the air, whenever the wind shifted slightly, but I didn’t mind. It was so far superior to the city that I honestly didn’t understand why so many people stayed there.

  They don’t have a choice, I thought. The city was … the city. I’d picked up enough about local politics to know the cityfolk couldn’t simply move into the countryside and stay there. The lucky ones would wind up swearing loyalty to the warlords or moving from place to place in hopes of finding work. The unlucky ones … I grimaced. The slave market haunted my dreams. They’re stuck.

  I glanced at Jasmine, sitting beside me as we led the convoy further down the rough road. She looked oddly pensive. She’d explained, as we waited to pass

  through the gates, that she’d be returning to magic school – I couldn’t help thinking of it as Hogwarts – within the month. The thought bothered me more than I cared to admit, to anyone. Jasmine was the closest thing I had to a friend, in the strange new world. When she was gone … I didn’t know what I’d do. I didn’t want to stay with her people and I didn’t want to set out on my own. And there were no other choices.

  My mind churned. I’d moved from place to place before, but this was different.

  This wasn’t my world. The underlying assumptions of how things worked would be different. The city might be reasonably tolerant – Jasmine had told me that merchants from all over the world passed though its gates – but the countryside would be suspicious of strangers. I could see ways to irrigate the drying fields, yet … would they listen? I’d met enough do-gooders back home, idiots who hadn’t understood how the world actually worked, to fear the locals wouldn’t listen to me. They’d think I was just another idiot. I would have sold my soul for the remainder of my old platoon, or even a handful of army buddies with guns. If nothing else, we wouldn’t have been so vulnerable. This was a dog-eat-dog world.

  The wind kept shifting, blowing through Jasmine’s hair as she guided the horses onwards. I frowned as we passed a set of hovels, the locals so worn they didn’t even look up at us as we passed, and headed deeper into the countryside. The terrain was strange, a weird mixture of tundra, thickets and sandy near-desert that puzzled me. I thought I spotted people living amongst the trees, but it was hard to be sure. The back of my neck prickled as we headed further and further from the city. I was certain we were being watched. It was hard not to escape the feeling that some of the unseen eyes weren’t human.

  “It’s good to be on the move again,” Jasmine said, more to herself than to me.

  “We’ll find a place to camp somewhere …”

  Her eyes narrowed as she peered into the distance. I followed her gaze. Three men on horseback sat ahead of us, holding what looked like spears. It took me a moment to realise they were lances, honest to God lances. A whiff of something unpleasant crossed my nostrils as the wind shifted again, a scent of horseshit mingled with something I couldn’t place. They were knights in armour, yet they lacked the polish of movie knights or SCA recreationists. It was hard to be sure – they were some distance away – but they looked more than a little grubby.

  I reminded myself that didn’t mean they were useless. I’d learnt the hard way that a military force that prized appearance over reality was certain to get thrashed when it actually had to fight. And yet, it was hard to take them seriously.

  I grimaced as the distance narrowed. A tank would have squashed them flat and never even noticed. Hell, an AFV or a police car – even a regular car – would have had no trouble running them down or outrunning them. I doubted the horses would willingly charge a tank or an AFV. And yet, I didn’t have a tank. My hand dropped to my pistol, combat instincts screaming a warning. There was going to be trouble. I knew it.

  Jasmine scowled. “Don’t say a word, unless they speak to you first,” she ordered, curtly. I heard an edge of worry in her tone and shivered. “And don’t tell them where you came from.”

  I winced, inwardly. Jasmine had more power in her little finger than most people had in their entire bodies. I’d seen her use magic for all kinds of things. I’d even encouraged her to show off a little, in hopes of understanding my new home. It was hard not to feel a little intimidated by the power at her disposal, although she’d never done anything remotely threatening to me. And yet, she was worried. I eyed the knights worriedly. Did they have magic too?

  Or … or what?

  The knights moved into the middle of the road, forcing us to come to them. My instincts kept sounding the alarm. I felt as if we’d moved into an ambush, with

  insurgents on both sides ready to pour fire into our positions. I found myself looking for cover, for places we could hole up while calling for air support … I shook my head in frustration. It wasn’t going to happen. We were trapped and yet … there were only three of the bastards. Magic or no magic, we outnumbered them. We could fight our way through easily.

  It won’t be that easy, a small voice reminded me. The knights represent the local warlord.

  I kept my face impassive, somehow, as the convoy shuddered to a halt. The knights managed – somehow – to look both ridiculous and dangerous. Up close, their armour was tarnished and patched in dozens of places; their faces were twisted with grim anticipation that only sharpened when they looked at Jasmine.

  I shuddered, bracing myself for real trouble. They weren’t anything more than bully-boys, throwing their weight around as if they might lose it at any moment.

  I knew the type. They liked pushing people around, but they were useless in a real fight. And they tended to alienate everyone, even potential supporters.

  The knights dismounted and walked towards us, moving with surprising grace despite their armour. They kept their swords in their scabbards – I was surprised they weren’t carrying gunpowder weapons, just swords and whips – but I was certain they could draw them at incredible speed. Their armour looked heavy. I made a mental bet with myself that the knights were at least as strong as me, probably stronger. Their faces were brown, scarred and pitted with a lifetime spent in the open air. They looked mad, bad and dangerous to know, but they wouldn’t be weaklings. They were carrying heavy armour all the time.

  And what sort of threats do they expect to encounter, I asked myself, if they’re wearing armour all the time?

  The leader scowled as he stopped beside the caravan. “Get down.”

  Jasmine obeyed, putting the reins to one side before clambering down to the ground. I followed, feeling uncomfortably exposed. There were only three of them … I stared, silently assessing my chances. I could draw my pistol and put a bullet through the first one’s head before he could react, probably. They hadn’t moved to take my pistol, even though it was clearly visible on my b
elt.

  I frowned. They stared at me in cold disdain. I realised my mistake a second too late. I’d met their eyes. There were cultures where meeting someone’s eyes was an unspoken challenge.

  Perhaps I should grovel, I thought. I hated the very idea of kneeling in front of a trio of thugs, but … perhaps there was no choice. Perhaps I should …

  The knight waved a hand at me. “Who is he?”

  “My prospective cousin, here to learn the ropes,” Jasmine said, quickly. I kicked myself, mentally, for not suggesting we put together a cover story.

  “He’s from Galicia.”

  The knight looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my face for a long thoughtful moment. One of his companions made a remark I didn’t quite hear, but sounded crude. He grinned, rather sadistically, and shot me something that might have been a pitying look. I guessed he thought I was attracted to Jasmine. I didn’t know much about marriage customs amongst the Diddakoi, but if I was a cousin she was presumably off-limits even though it was pretty clear we weren’t actually related. I felt a wave of loathing. Jasmine was young enough to be my daughter.

  “Our lord has commanded us to search everyone who enters his lands,” the knight said, in a tone that suggested he hoped we’d try to resist. He raised his voice. “Everyone out of the caravans.”

  The Diddakoi obeyed, looking as pissed as I felt. I gritted my teeth as we were

  herded away from the convoy and ordered to wait by the side of the road. The knights leered at us as they started to poke their way through the caravans.

  Something broke inside one of the lead caravans, the sound echoing in the air like a gunshot. Jasmine’s fingers shaped themselves into a spellcasting pose, then stopped as she forced herself to relax. I told myself it would all be over soon, that we’d resume our drive shortly. It wasn’t very reassuring.

  I leaned closer to Jasmine so I could whisper in her ear. “What’re they looking for?”

  Jasmine shrugged. “Runaways, probably,” she said. “The serfs are bound to the land, unable to leave without permission. Their local lords never give it, so they run away. The cities are supposed to capture and return runaways, but as long as they’re careful they don’t get caught.”