Sons of Liberty (31 page)

Adam snickered. “She caught you with a sailor,” he said. “Just how far along were you before she grabbed you?”

Raechel blushed. “We were kissing,” she said. Jane must have made a full report. Irene had told her that a suspected spy might be quizzed several times by different people, just to see if there were discrepancies in her words. “We didn't have time to go any further.”

The woman spoke for the first time. “Why did you even start kissing him?”

“
I was bored and frustrated,” Raechel lied. “My chaperone wanted me to remain in the cabin at all times, but I hated it. I just wanted to rebel.”

“
Understandable,” Adam said. “What sort of person is the Royal Sorceress?”

“
I can't say I know her that well,” Raechel said. “She struck me as a fair-minded person, but ... we never really spoke.”

She hadn't expected that answer to satisfy them and it didn’t. Adam asked her a dozen more questions, despite her clear irritation. Raechel could feel her head starting to pound as he tried to draw more details from her, even though she had tried to make it clear that there were limits to her knowledge. By the time the conversation switched to her impressions of America, she was nursing a headache and wishing it would just come to an end.

“
I dare say your chaperone will have problems finding you here,” Adam said. “Given your ... connections ... we have decided that it will be better if you remain here, rather than training to fight or slipping further into the hinterland. There will be work for you to do, I’m afraid, and you will do it.”

“
Yes, sir,” Raechel said. She needed time to think. Hopefully, whatever work she was given would be sufficiently mindless. “The escort mentioned rules.”

Adam smiled, showing his teeth. “They’re very basic,” he said. “You’ll be assigned a barracks; don’t slip into another set of barracks without an invitation or invite anyone else into your barracks without the permission of the occupants. Don’t try to leave the camp without permission. Don’t fight, steal or cause trouble among the men.”

Raechel frowned. “Trouble, sir?”

“
There are twenty men in this camp for every woman,” Adam said, flatly. “You may start a relationship with one of the men, if you wish, but you may not cause trouble by flirting with other men.”

“I see,” Raechel said.

“
Joan will show you to your barracks,” Adam finished. “We’ll be talking again soon, I’m afraid.”

“We will?”

“
You were born in England and raised amongst the ton,” Adam said. “You’ll have quite a few details we need to know, locked away in your head. Joan?”

The woman stepped away from the wall. “Come with me,” she said. “The female barracks is just outside.”

Raechel followed her through the door and into a long single-story building. There were beds, she was relieved to note, and private washrooms. A fire burned merrily under the stove, heating water for washing. It wasn't the more civilised place she’d visited, but at least it was marginally liveable. And yet, she couldn’t help wondering where the other women were. Learning to shoot? Or something rather less useful ...?

“
There are spare clothes in the rear cabinet, so take what you need from there,” Joan instructed. “Washing clothes is a communal activity here, so put any dirty clothes in the basket. Do you know how to wash your own clothes?”

“No,” Raechel said.

“
You’re going to have to learn,” Joan said. “We do all of the washing in this camp; clothes, plates ... you name it, we wash it.”

Her face twisted suddenly. “I know where you came from, Lady Raechel,” she added. “And I assure you that there are no servants here! No one is going to spoil you or do your work for you. You will make your own bed, you will prepare your own water to wash, you will cook, clean and do other chores I assign to you as part of your duties. If you fail to pull your weight, I will take steps. Do you understand me?”

“It’s better than being married off,” Raechel said.

Joan snorted. “You’ll be the first noble bitch to think that,” she sneered. She pointed to the scar on her face. “Do you know how I got this scar?”

Raechel shook her head.

“
A young brat like you thought it would be funny to tell her father I stole from the family,” Joan hissed. “Her father beat me, then took his knife to my face to brand me a thief before he threw me out onto the streets. One word out of you, one hint of reluctance to earn your keep and I will cut your pretty face until even the whores won’t want you.”

She glared at Raechel, then nodded to the washroom. “You’re stinking,” she added, in a tone that made Raechel flinch. She believed every word. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Wash, dress and get ready to go out. You have potatoes to peel.”

“I will,” Raechel said.

Joan snorted rudely, then turned and stalked off. Raechel shuddered - somehow, she knew Joan had meant every word - and then turned to find her new clothes. Twenty minutes ... it would have to be long enough. And if it wasn't ...

I got into the camp, she told herself, firmly. And now I have to survive long enough to find out what I need to know and get out again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“
Well done,” Gwen said. “You caught all of the bullets.”

She lowered the gun and smiled at Vernon, who eyed her darkly. Two days of practicing in Amherst had made him far better at shielding himself, although Gwen had the private suspicion that a better-trained Mover - like the rogue - would be able to stab a needle through Vernon’s magic. But it was very definitely an improvement. Vernon shouldn't have any problems tearing through a force of Frenchmen, as long as they didn't have any magicians supporting them.

And if they do, she added privately, matters may become rather sticky.

“
I knew you could do it,” Harry said. He clapped his hands as Gwen reloaded the gun. “I don’t think we need to go back to the docks.”

“The docks were safe,” Vernon muttered.

Gwen kept her expression under tight control. She wasn't sure if he was complaining for the sake of complaining or if he meant every word. The docks didn't normally include enemy soldiers shooting at the workers, yet a single accident could kill a man - or cripple him for life. Lucy had Healed a number of men who’d been raced to Cavendish Hall in time, but very few supervisors bothered to make the effort. Dockyard workers were cheap.

“
And we’re making far more here,” Harry reminded him. “Just think of what you can buy when we get back home.”

“Lady Gwen,” a new voice called.

Gwen turned to see a messenger standing by the gate. There was no Sorcerers Hall in Amherst - an oversight that perplexed her - so she’d taken over an abandoned townhouse that had belonged to one of the former mayor’s cronies. She had no idea who the crony had been, but he’d fled Amherst before the mayor himself, taking his wife, children and slaves with him. Thankfully, the garden was large enough to give the magicians room to practice.

“
I’m over here,” she said, striding towards the gate. “What do you have for me?”

The messenger stood straighter. “Lieutenant Travis’s compliments, Lady Gwen,” he said, his voice stuttering slightly. Up close, he looked no older than fourteen. “He requests your immediate presence. I’m to escort you to his position.”

Gwen nodded, slowly. Once he was no longer in overall command, Lieutenant Travis had blossomed. She had a feeling he’d be promoted in the very near future, if only to ensure that there were experienced officers on the ground. Most of the officers who’d accompanied Colonel Jackson were as unfamiliar with America as Jackson himself.

“I’m on my way,” she said.

She called for Wayne and told him to continue training, then motioned for the messenger to lead her to the horse and open carriage. Colonel Jackson had managed to clear most of the streets by opening abandoned houses and turning them over to the refugees - while conscripting male refugees to build barricades and dig trenches - but there were still dozens of people on the streets. Gwen wasn't too surprised to see a line of ladies of ill repute, plying their trade among the soldiers, militiamen and volunteers. Colonel Jackson had strictly limited the consumption of alcohol, pointing out that it would be needed to treat wounds, but he’d done nothing about prostitution. Trying, Gwen suspected, would merely have driven it underground.

And that would have made matters worse for the prostitutes, she thought, grimly. What else can we do?

She shook her head. Jackson had rounded up hundreds of women for emergency training in first aid - no one doubted that there would be a great many wounded, once the French finally attacked - but there was little else he could do. Indeed, he was working hard to get the children out of the city, shipping them up the rail lines to Philadelphia. God knew it was going to be a major headache, Gwen knew, reuniting the children with their parents after the war. But there was no choice. Children were simply more useless mouths to feed.

The carriage rattled to a halt. Lieutenant Travis was standing by the roadside, surrounded by a handful of redcoats. The soldiers looked as though they were trying to be discreet, although Gwen didn't know who they thought they were fooling. Men in red uniforms - Jackson insisted it was so the blood didn't show - tended to be far too obvious anywhere. She dropped down to the street and nodded to Lieutenant Travis.

“
There’s a Son hideout down the street,” he said, quietly. Too quietly. Gwen could barely hear him. “The Colonel wants the bas ... ah, pardon me ... the buggers alive.”

Gwen nodded, shortly. The Sons of Liberty had responded to Jackson’s warnings with quiet defiance. Leaflets had been popping up everywhere, calling for Americans to refuse British orders and stay out of the fighting. Jackson had had every printer in town investigated for sedition, but none of them appeared guilty. No one had any idea where the leaflets were coming from. The best guess was that the Sons had a printer of their own working somewhere within the city.

“
Then we go in fast and hard,” she said, grimly. Travis coloured, slightly. “They may already know we’re here.”

Travis nodded and drew his sidearm. “I’ll take the lead.”

“
I will,” Gwen corrected him. She knew he ran the risk of losing face by allowing her to go first, but better for him to lose face than his life. Her magic provided a layer of protection he couldn't hope to match. “Deploy your men to cut off any escape, then follow behind me.”

She walked down towards the house, carefully preparing her magic. The house appeared silent, but that proved nothing. There might well be another magician inside, confusing her senses. And even if there wasn't, thick stone walls would make it hard for her senses to pick up anything.

If Travis is wrong about this, she thought, someone is going to get badly hurt.

She braced herself, then reached out with her magic and yanked the door right off its hinges, tossing it across the street. “Don’t move,” she shouted, projecting as much Charm as she could into her voice. If she was lucky, the Sons would be unable to move longer enough for Travis and his men to grab them. “Don’t ...”

The entire front of the house disintegrated, sending a tidal wave of debris flying through the air and right into her protections. Gwen swore - she hadn't sensed the magic until it was far too late - and threw up a shield, covering herself and her escorts. Lieutenant Travis barked a command at a dark figure, standing just inside the building, but he ignored it. Gwen cursed again as the figure hurled himself into the air, landing neatly on the next building’s rooftop and waving at her. It had to be the same magician she’d faced earlier.

Lieutenant Travis pointed his sidearm at the rogue and fired. Gwen was impressed with his skill - firing a handgun accurately was far from easy - but she could have told him it would be useless. The bullet pinged off the rogue’s magic and fell harmlessly to the ground. Gwen gritted her teeth and send a wave of fire towards him, threatening to incinerate his perch. He struck a dramatic pose - she couldn't help being reminded of Jack - and launched himself back into the air, daring her to follow him. She pushed the flames up instead, but they merely sputtered along the edge of his protections.

“
Give up,” Gwen shouted at him, lacing her voice with Charm for the second time. “There’s no way out.”

The rogue laughed and pointed a finger towards the damaged house. Gwen’s jaw dropped as he shot a pulse of magic into the house, then she instinctively threw out another shield. The house exploded, the force of the blast slamming into her shield and hurling her and Lieutenant Travis right across the road. She sensed the death of the soldier who’d escorted them, caught in the blast before she could shield him too. Shock held her frozen for a second, just long enough for the rogue to make a getaway. She hurled herself into the air, trying to catch sight of him, but saw nothing. He could have vanished in any direction ...

A Master, she thought, numbly. She’d thought she was facing a Mover, but she’d just seen him use a second talent. A third too, perhaps; her Charm had been completely ineffectual on him. He’s a Master.

She looked back at the pile of smoking rubble, all that remained of the house. It had to have been a powder store, she thought, despite her confusion and horror. He’d deliberately blown it up to keep them from recovering anything and using it to defend the city ...