Sons of Liberty (42 page)

Gwen lifted her eyebrows. “How did you practice?”

“
I had volunteers subject themselves to my power,” Bruce said. “It never worked.”

“
Charm requires a subtle touch,” Gwen told him. “The more power you use, the more obvious that you’re using magic. It tends to annoy people.”

She shuddered as she recalled Lord Blackburn. The man had been a monster, a Darwinist who believed that magicians were inherently superior to everyone else. And he’d been quite happy to use his powers to molest women ... he’d vanished, just after the Swing. She had no idea where he’d gone, but she hoped she never saw him again.

“I could get them to do what I said,” Bruce mused, “but they never stayed under my control.”

Gwen shook her head. “The best Charm works when the victim invents their own reasons to do as you want,” she said. “It’s harder to do anything to resist if they talk themselves into following orders.”

She frowned. “Are there any Charmers among the Sons?”

“
Not to my knowledge,” Bruce said. “We have a number of magicians, but ... you know ... many magicians get killed here, as soon as they show themselves. I was surprised Harry and Vernon lived long enough for you to recruit them.”

Gwen blinked. “You know them?”

“
They refused the invitation to join,” Bruce said. He shrugged. “I was equally surprised they didn't abandon you, after the call to war. They could have vanished completely, if they’d wished.”

“
You can ask Harry, afterwards,” Gwen said. She felt another stab of guilt. “Vernon ... died.”

“
It happens,” Bruce said. “Seventy of my men died in the battle, Gwen. I may have to account for each and every one of them, once we reach New York.”

Gwen nodded. Given time, the British Crown could muster hundreds of thousands of soldiers - and the Franco-Spanish could muster millions, but the Sons had been far more limited in how they could recruit newcomers. Seventy dead was nothing, compared to how the dead had been piled up across Germany, yet it still had to hurt. Bruce definitely had a great deal to answer for.

She felt a sudden rush of affection that surprised her. No one had ever done anything for her, not really. As a little girl, she’d known she would be married off; as an older girl, she'd known it was unlikely she’d ever be more than a burden to her family; as a magician, she'd known she’d only been recruited because she was unique ... and yet Bruce had risked everything, his life and his position, for her. Her mother and father had never shown her so much consideration as he had, in that one glorious moment.

And yet he’s technically a traitor, her thoughts reminded her. You cannot allow yourself to feel for him until you know the outcome.

She shook her head, morbidly. There was no technically about it. Bruce was a traitor, even if his motives were better than Sir Charles’s. His father might be able to convince London to forgive, but it would never be forgotten. Perhaps it would all work out for the best - the Sons would make powerful allies - yet there would be consequences ...

“Gwen?”

Gwen blinked. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn't been listening to him.

“
I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “I was miles away.”

“
I was saying you should teach me how to Charm,” Bruce said. “It’s a very useful skill.”

“
It would need an unwary victim,” Gwen said. She disliked using Charm, if it could be avoided. Lord Blackburn had inadvertently taught her what it was like to be on the receiving end. “Using it on someone who knows what to expect can be difficult.”

“
I need to learn,” Bruce said. “How many talents are there that I have never mastered?”

“
You were good at playing the fop,” Gwen said. “Are you sure you didn't use Charm to convince people not to look behind the facade?”

“
That’s just play-acting,” Bruce said. He smirked. “The trick is to be annoying, but not too annoying; blatant, but not too blatant. It helps that I really wasn’t expected to do much of anything in New York.”

“
I suppose you were never offered a chance to shine,” Gwen agreed. “Didn't your father try to offer you a commission?”

“
New York Militia,” Bruce said. He puffed out his chest. “A fancy uniform, a stipend and absolutely nothing to do. No one gave a damn if I attended training sessions or not.”

“I always hated people like that,” Gwen said, without thinking.

Bruce looked hurt. “Because we’re lazy?”

“
Because you got the rank and the uniform, but you did nothing with it,” Gwen said. She remembered Major Shaw and shuddered. “And people like me were expected to stay at him, wear frilly dresses and let the men make all the decisions.”

“I suppose,” Bruce said.

“
And there are plenty of careerists who would make better officers,” Gwen added. “But rich men buy commissions and push the careerists back down.”

“
I could have been more,” Bruce said. “But I didn't want to look too good.”

Gwen looked him in the eye. “When - how - did you find out that you were a magician?”

Bruce frowned, then smiled. “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours,” he countered sweetly. “Deal?”

Gwen hesitated. She hadn't wanted to talk about her experience to anyone, even Master Thomas. Enough rumours had gotten out, despite her mother, to ensure that she was no longer considered a suitable marriage prospect for anyone of her station. But she did want to know Bruce’s story. She didn't know the stories of any of the Master Magicians.

“Deal,” she said.

“
I used to spend a lot of time climbing trees,” Bruce said. “Father never approved, said I’d fall and break my neck. Never stopped me, of course. One day, while father was in England, I slipped and fell. But I never hit the ground.”

“You stopped yourself in midair,” Gwen said, flatly.

“
More or less,” Bruce said. “My mother’s family warned me to keep my abilities a secret, even from my father. And so I did.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “And your story?”

Gwen closed her eyes. She wasn't sure she wanted to see his reaction. “I was seven,” she said. “Mother was having one of her headaches and the nanny was visiting friends, so she banished me into the garden and ordered the maid to take care of me. The poor girl didn't have the slightest idea how to handle a child. There I was, throwing a tantrum, and she was desperately trying to get me to shut up. Everything she said just made me scream louder.”

Bruce gave her an odd look. “And then?”

“
I wanted sweets,” Gwen said. “I must have used Charm, somehow; the maid stopped nagging me and ran to get sweets, a whole pile of sweets. She was shaking like a leaf, dropping them in front of me ... she collapsed, moments afterwards. The gardener came running, but it was too late. They couldn't do anything for her. The last I heard, she was in a bedlam.”

“
A madhouse,” Bruce said. “Couldn't you do anything?”

“
I didn't know,” Gwen said. “It wasn't until I overheard some of the other servants talking that I knew what had happened. They were all scared of me after that, Bruce. We couldn't keep servants for long, no matter how much we offered. They called me a monster, a devil-child. And there were times when I believed them.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Bruce said.

“
I was a spoilt brat,” Gwen said. She couldn't help feeling guilty. She hadn't known what she could do, but she’d been throwing a tantrum anyway. It wasn't as if the maid had any power over her. “And as my powers developed, I became worse.”

“
At least you grew up in a loving household,” Bruce said. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Not everyone has that opportunity.”

“
I suppose,” Gwen said. “But I still feel bad about it.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

“I want him dead,” Adam snapped.

Raechel looked up, closing her eyes so she could hear better. Adam had taken Roosevelt into the next room, but he was speaking so loudly she could hear him through the wood. She knew that something had happened, from a report a messenger had given straight to Adam, yet she had no idea what. And she couldn’t escape the feeling that it was something important.

She rose and pressed her ear against the wood, despite the risk. If she was caught spying on the two men, she’d be lucky not to be hanged at once. Adam would remember just how many documents had crossed her desk and insist on it, before she had a chance to report to anyone. She listened as hard as she could, but it was still hard to pick out the words.

“
He did what he thought was right,” Roosevelt was saying. He was deliberately pitching his voice low, as if he was trying to calm the older man. “And it may have worked out in our favour.”

“
At the cost of pissing off the French,” Adam thundered. “Has it occurred to you that we need French support?”

Raechel felt her blood run cold. She hadn't been sure where some of the money came from, but she thought she knew now. Every last franc spent on the Sons of Liberty would be worth it, for the French, if the Sons rose up at the right time. The information she’d seen as it crossed her desk made it clear that the Sons had been planning multiple uprisings. Even if they were all put down, they would distract the redcoats from the real enemy.

“
The plan was to rise up in the rear, when the French attached Amherst,” Adam added, sharply. “Doing nothing might have been survivable, but actually joining with the redcoats to resist the French? They’re not going to ignore that!”

“
The French are just as bad as the English,” Roosevelt said. “At least this way we can count on their gratitude.”

“
We can't count on their gratitude,” Adam insisted. He made an audible effort to lower his voice. “We have betrayed one friend in hopes of winning over our enemies, revealing far too much about ourselves in the process. And it happened because that ... that ... idiot thought it would be a good idea to impress a girl!”

“A very well-connected girl,” Roosevelt noted.

Raechel considered it as Adam fumed. Gwen? She couldn't think of anyone else who might be well-connected in Amherst. Just what had happened down south to convince the Sons that it might be worth standing aside, for a while? And what had ... someone ... done to piss off the French?

“
This is a deadly mistake,” Adam repeated. “Need I remind you that we voted? And that the vote was for doing nothing? We have been pushed into joining the wrong side ...”

“If the Viceroy keeps his word,” Roosevelt pointed out, “it will not be the wrong side!”

Adam snorted. “And you expect the Viceroy to keep his word?”

“
He’s already started laying the groundwork, according to our spies in New York,” Roosevelt said. “And they have had a taste of our power.”

“
Not enough to make them compliant,” Adam hissed. “If the French want to screw us, General, all they have to do is forward our letters to the British and watch the chaos from a safe distance. We gave them our word.”

“
To hell with the French,” Roosevelt said. “Do you expect them to keep their word?”

“
Then we fight another revolution,” Adam said. “The English have betrayed us ...”

“The French have not had a chance,” Roosevelt said.

“
I demand that we take steps,” Adam insisted. “The vote was taken!”

“
And circumstances changed,” Roosevelt said. He sounded as though he was reaching the end of his tether. “If this goes badly wrong, we can and we will demand disciplinary measures. Our friend made a number of decisions that might well go badly wrong. But until then, we will cling to the promise of winning what we want without a fight.”

“Bah,” Adam said.

Raechel heard someone walking and hurried back to her desk, sitting down hastily before the door opened and Roosevelt strode across the office and out of the door. Adam followed him, his face dark with anger. Something had clearly happened, but what? Adam glowered at her as she looked at him, then sat down at his desk and poured himself a glass of rotgut. He didn't offer her any as he took a long swig.

“
Raechel,” he said, suddenly. “I have a job for you.”

Raechel blinked in surprise. “Yes, sir?”

“
Go find Ivan,” Adam ordered. He still sounded angry, although it didn't seem to be directed at her. “Tell him I wish to speak with him, at once, and then go for a long lunch. Don’t come back until two in the afternoon.”

“
Yes, sir,” Raechel said. If she’d been genuinely working, she would have been delighted at the prospect of taking two whole hours off. Instead, she found herself wanting to know just what Adam and Ivan were going to say to one another. “Do you know where I can find him?”

“
He’s normally at the shooting range, this time of day,” Adam said. “Try not to get shot when you speak to him.”

Raechel bit down the sarcastic response that came to mind and rose, grabbing her cloak as she hurried for the door. Behind her, she heard Adam pouring another glass of rotgut. It bothered her, more than she cared to admit. She’d never seen him drinking anything stronger than water before.

The camp was teeming with activity, she noted, as she hurried towards the shooting range. A number of men sat in the stocks, punishment for violating one or more of the camp’s handful of rules; she gave them a wide berth as she passed. They were lucky, she thought. Being trapped in the stocks was humiliating, but if they were in Britain they’d be ducking rotten fruit - or stones, if their crimes had been bad enough. A woman sat at the rear of the group, looking sullen. What had she done to wind up in the stocks?