The source of magic, p.8
The Source of Magic, page 8
John suspected that while there were some things he would get used to there was a lot of benefits of the industrial revolution that he would miss if he stayed on this world.
It wasn’t long before their lunch showed up. A roast lamb shank and vegetables. Again John wondered about the magic that was used to keep the city stocked like this. Perhaps magic didn’t know the difference between a pound of lamb shanks and a pound of weevil-infested biscuits, so they might as well conjure up something tasty.
They passed the time picking at the food and talking. John outlined some of the finer points of blending in for the purposes of meeting a secret contact and then they lapsed into idle conversation. While they sat picking at their meals, the hours ticked by and as the afternoon progressed the room filled up with bodies, mostly human. The background hum of voices gave the inn a welcoming feeling where John, Melanie and the few barflies hanging about didn’t stand out solely due to their presence in a large empty room.
“Olga seems to have plans for you to follow in her footsteps,” John said as an invitation for Melanie to elaborate.
“She’s a totem witch. For the Nekovolk, that means she is as close to a king as we have.”
“You don’t have leaders like kings?”
“Not exactly. A totem witch doesn’t tell you what to do. It wouldn’t work. Nekovolk aren’t like humans – as soon as you start telling us what to do, most of us will want to do our own thing. Grandma advises and guides all the Nekovolk in the city. Except me, that is.”
“When it comes to you, she does give orders?”
“She tries to, and I don’t mind running errands for her and put in for food and such, but when it comes to being a totem witch like her .…” She trailed off.
“You want something different? Your own life?”
John had become genuinely interested in Melanie’s story. He saw similarities between what she was going through and his decision to join the Navy right out of school.
“I want to learn all there is about totems, create them out of everything, not just stone, but I also want to learn about so many more things, see so much more than this city and our poor district. And what I don’t want is to spend my days carving little stone totems for mundane spells and being the shoulder for all the city to cry on. And I hate that this war is keeping me trapped here.”
“That’s why you got a job working at the Magical Academy. You thought that there may be a way for you to get a peek at their way of doing things, learn about new ideas and places.” It wasn’t a question. John understood.
“I don’t know what I can do there when everyone hates me for being Nekovolk, but at least it’s my own choice.”
John sat back in the booth and rolled ideas around in his head. In some ways Melanie and Olga were more alike than they realised. This was the first time Melanie had shown passion about anything. When she had been showing him the city she had been jubilant, but upon reflection John realised that this was more a cultural behaviour rather than a sign of overt interest. Nekovolk wore their hearts on their sleeve, or rather on their tails. But hearing Melanie talk about making her own decisions, learning and travelling, he noticed a hunger in her and a desire to carve out her place in the world.
“I have a proposal for you,” John said after a long silence at the table. “I want you to join me, permanently. I can’t produce magic without you. While you were waiting here I tried and it didn’t work. I need another person. Together we’ll make our way in this world and I can promise you it will be a damn sight more interesting than staying here and playing cloak and dagger with your grandmother.”
Melanie was taken aback. More used to humans being dismissive of her, the first thought that occurred to her was that John couldn’t be serious. Her emotions played across her face, first her mouth hung open, cute black hole framed by her full pink lips with her with eyes wide and sparkling with wonder at the grader of the scale of the life that was suddenly opened up to her. Then she firmly closed her mouth, causing dimples to form, and she furrowed her brow while she thought through her options. Finally she opened her mouth again, this time to speak but no sound came out.
The pause in her response was the moment a human man approached their table.
“The mad king keeps only cut flowers,” he said to the pair.
He was well dressed and from John’s recent education in fashion, the gaudy braiding and buttons on his powder blue doublet marked him as being from the upper echelons of the city’s citizenry. His face was angular and snobbish with a thin moustache. It was the kind of face John associated with entitled arseholes. The tone of voice the man had used along his body language, which had an air of disinterest and impatience, only served to reenforce John’s negative opinion.
Right as Melanie was handing across the large bag, a troop of guards entered the inn. There were five of them, and at the head of the group was the lieutenant that had first arrested John and from whom they had escaped from the day before.
The gentleman froze for a moment and then faded into the crowd. There was only standing room left and he joined one of the large groups of fops which provided seamless camouflage.
John swore under his breath and the two of them hoped out of their seats.
“Fuck. They’re here for us,” he said to Melanie. “I don’t buy for a second that the guy who arrested us keeps showing up by chance. You get out of here. If some guard stops you, don’t freeze, you just get around him and keep going.”
John set off though the crowd and made his way toward the guards who had fanned out as much as they could, their heads dipping side to side as they scanned the faces of the crowd looking for their quarry. Not that John was hard to spot, being about a head taller than most in the bar – and now he was walking purposely towards them.
One guard spotted John and raised his hand to signal for him to stop. John kept his eyes staring straight at the door and continued walking as if he didn’t even see the guards. He angled his approach to take him through a gap between two guards and ended up shoulder barging one of them.
“Hey, watch yourself!” John yelled.
The guards encircled him and he shoved the one who had tried to bring him to a halt. His plan wasn’t to start a fight or escape, he needed to buy time for Melanie to slip away safely. With the loud and offended manner John was affecting, all eyes were on him. The shove hadn’t been enough of a provocation for the guards to draw their daggers, though he knew that with most police on Earth, it would have at least earned him a spritz of capsicum spray. Ultimately he was betting that they didn’t want him two roughed up, unless the reason the lieutenant was after him was a grudge against the man he was forced to let go. If that was the case, he was a dead man, John thought to himself as a guard grabbed each of his arms up high so that he couldn’t move and a third drove a fist into his gut.
Chapter 5
All in all, it hadn’t been a bad beating. The guards, needing to give John (and the rest of the inn’s patrons) a quick lesson in who not to shove but wanting to preserve their knuckles gave him a few good shots to the gut and then frogmarched him out onto the street. Knowing it was coming, he had taken the edge off of it by flexing his core muscles and he did his best to move with the punches even while his arms were pinned.
He didn’t give any trouble once he was sure Melanie had gotten away. He didn’t have time to explain his thinking, though when you’re a woman on the bottom rung of society, you don’t need to be told that the guards wouldn’t shy away from getting handsy when the opportunity presented itself. Not when it’s your word against theirs. John was willing to take a couple of gut punches to spare Melanie that indignity. He just took the time to remember the faces of the guards in case an opportunity ever came up to repay their kind attentions.
After securing his arms behind his back with iron shackles, they marched him back to the Hall of Magistrates. John was surprised at the weight of the shackles. They stung distractingly every time they moved, and pinched a bit of his skin in between the gaps of their large clunky parts.
John got to see the affluent parts of the city in daylight hours. The people were dressed more colourfully than the people of the first district, through their mood was far more serious, especially when they were glaring at John and his escort. There was no sign of street vendors or children climbing boxes and walls nor the welcoming smells and sounds of the Nekovolk lives played out in public on the street.
The third district had another fashion change, with a large number of people wearing robes similar to Lord Detier, though not just in grey. There were quite a large number of blue and fewer in the colours of red, yellow and orange.
When they reached the Hall of Magistrates, John noticed that they were taking the same path as before. When they passed a large set of doors that were held wide open he could see a rudimentary court arrangement. There were more guards with prisoners in shackles along a bench running the length of the back wall.
A small clerk sitting at an ostentatious desk outside the court smiled unctuously at John as he approached and grabbed a quill from its pot ready to record John’s details and offence in his ledger. A disappointed cloud came over his face as they continued past without stopping. John then realised that he was not being processed like a regular lawbreaker.
They arrived at the same office and, after a brief moment when the lieutenant entered alone, leaving John with the guards in the hall, John was ushered in and found himself staring in front of the same desk and the same magistrate as on his first night.
“I think we can do without the restraints,” said the magistrate.
“Thanks. Those things lose their charm quickly,” said John rubbing at the red raw spots on his wrists.
From his tone he could almost have been talking to an old friend. It was not lost on him that he was most likely arrested at the magistrate’s instructions. Were he younger and stupider he would have played the tough guy with a deadpan expression and grunting his answers. Over time he had learnt, though, that the best thing to do was push down the rage and indignation bubbling up inside and play nice with people who had your fate in their hands. Smiling doesn’t mean you have forgotten, it just means you’re smart enough to play the game until you were on a more even footing.
“I’m glad to see you have had a chance to dress more in line with local trends. Though it’s not as colourful as the current fashion demands, I think it suits you better.” The judge was being very hospitable in response to John’s friendly demeanour and John inclined his head to acknowledge the compliment.
“I’m Judge Vale, and I have some notes here pertaining to your short time in the Capital. Now, the charges as written by Lieutenant Chifly are: trading in contraband to wit, active magical totems, all of which are declared forfeit to the Academy of Light; common assault; and assault upon a City Guardsman,” the Judge Vale read aloud.
He paused and looked up at John to see if his demeanour had changed or if he would raise any objection. John kept his cool and waited silently, nodding to show he had understood what was going on. The mystery of why the lieutenant was showing up any time John stepped onto the wrong side of the law was resolved. Chifly had been looking for a way to bring John in before the judge. There must have been a tail on him from the first night after he left the Hall of Magistrates with Lord Detier. There may even have been informants among the Nekovolk relaying information about his movements and actions.
“You seem like an intelligent man, and I won’t insult you by talking around the issue with euphemisms, vailed threats of prosecution and allusions to clemency,” the magistrate explained in a direct fashion.
John was starting to like him a little more and relaxed with the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to play along with a childish charade. This was blackmail, plan and simple. John wasn’t happy about it, but it could have been worse.
“What do you know about the war with the savages?” the Judge asked.
“You’re losing. I would say that you were almost at the stage of defeat except that this doesn’t feel like a city under siege. The people say it's the wizards who are keeping things from going to hell inside the city and they seem to have faith that this is a situation that can go on indefinitely. I don’t know enough about magic … but something seems off to me. At the very least, people should be worried that one day your enemy is going to find a way to break through the Egg, but they act like the are watching a circus performance any time there’s an attack. What I want to know is if this is the capital and the rest of the kingdom has been taken, why are people so calm about it? It’s like they don’t care. Where are the mothers holding weeping vigils for their sons and husbands to come home, or the men who were trapped in the city while their wives and daughters are left to the attention of people you all call savages? They might not care about the kingdom but it’s like the world outside the Egg just doesn’t exist.” John leaned back in his chair. It felt good to be able to talk about his suspicions.
“My assumption was that you had been brought to this world by the wizards for some reason. Is that correct?” asked the judge.
“Not on purpose, but yes. My world is called Earth and is very different.”
“In that case, you are a very perceptive person. You have noticed in only a couple of days what has only become apparent to me and a few others over a year. That is how long the city has been under the Egg. Though before that we were surrounded by the enemy so closely that it feels like it has been longer.
“Perhaps we do not need the stick. A small carrot might be sufficient," Judge Vale said.
The judge glanced up at Lieutenant Chifly to exchange looks and he took the sheet of notes and turned it face down to one side of his desk.
“We know that there is something untoward going on involving the Academy of Light. If we had evidence that they are acting against the King or even the people of the capital, then we could move on them.
“Right now we are hamstrung. The wizards are the saviours of the city and subvert any other authority in the city – including the judiciary. What you saw a few nights ago is not an isolated incident. Any time there is scrutiny they use their role as the magical defence in the war as the excuse to take over or simply ignore the law.”
John noticed the increased rancour in the judge’s voice as he got to the key issue. The judges and magistrates were no longer the only deciders of men’s fate and they wanted the monopoly back. Perhaps they ran a just and fair legal system; however, John had yet to encounter one that was not a hot bed of nepotism and sanctimony at the whim of political influence of the day.
“You want me to do some investigating to find out what is really going on.” John had beat the judge to the punch. "But here’s the age-old question: why me?”
Chifly spoke up: “All of our guards and other agents are known to the Academy, and we can’t be sure that they don’t also owe the wizards some allegiance as well. You’re new, and they have no reason to believe you’re working to restore the authority of justice.”
John didn’t like Chifly’s attitude and tone of voice. He was either so brain-dead he would swallow anything the judge told him, or he was toeing the party line as hard as he could to cover up that he knew the Hall of Magistrates was just as bent and power hungry as the Academy.
John thought about how he might go investigating the wizards, and knew that Melanie’s job as a maid at the Academy of Light would be an asset.
“If I have any chance at this, I’m going to need money. Money, any records you have collected on what is going on, and a letter from you that will get me out of any trouble with the guards for any action I might have to take.”
The judge was prepared for the first request and, pulling open a drawer, fetched out a leather purse.
“There’s fifty gold there, in assorted coins. Anything you don’t use, please think of a payment for your services, along with the annulment of these charges.
The judge scribbled a few lines on a small oblong of piece of parchment. When he was done he lit a candle and held what looked like a thick square red crayon in the flame. It was sealing wax and as it started to soften and melt it filled the room with a smell not dissimilar to shoe polish. A good portion of hot wax was smudged off on the page and the judge, having collected a silver seal stamp from next to his inkwell, carefully imprinted the judicial seal onto the small document. When he was satisfied that the ink and wax were sufficiently dry, he rolled it up and tied a thick ribbon around it.
“Here is the letter of passage with the judicial seal for the guards, though I wouldn’t rely on it too much. If you are identified as working with the guards this will all be for nothing.”
Chifly collected it from the magistrate and handed it to John.
“We don’t have anything written down about the wizards. I can write you a letter giving you a brief history of the war. I will have it delivered to you. I understand you are living with the Nekovolk totem witch," Chifly explained.
“If that’s everything, then I’ll be getting to work,” said John.
“Just one thing,” said Chifly. "Send your updates and reports to Judge Vale’s chambers and don’t take too long with your investigation.”
John left and found his own way back to the streets and set off to make his way back to the Nekovolk district. As he passed the first alleyway, he noticed movement from out of the corner of his eye, a shadow dropping from down from the roof to the pavement below.
He turned and braced himself for a fight; however, he was faced with Melanie stepping out of the alleyway adjusting her skirt.
“Melanie, I’m glad to see you, I’ve had enough surprises for one day,” said John, rubbing his sore abs.
“I followed you from the rooftops,” she explained as she hugged him. "Are you hurt badly?”
“Not too bad, I’ve had worse beatings in the boxing ring. You’ve got a talent there. If you don’t want to be a totem witch, you can always become a cat burglar.” His voice was light and soothing.
