Chapter 50
Chapter
No, not breathed; I couldn’t breathe. Could hardly think. I’d faced excommunication and execution once on the charge of Sorcery. I didn’t wish to face it again.
“This is a trick.” I backed up, shaking my head. I hit the barrels. “A trap. You didn’t succeed before, so you’re trying again. I won’t. I am not a sorcerer. I am a faithful Christian.”
“Of course you are,” Burgess said. “And so are we.”
I didn’t understand. It had to be a trick. Except Conybeare had the bylaws. And Burgess had the hands of a reliquemist. None of this made sense.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Burgess said. “I felt similarly when I learned the truth. I’m sure Mr. Conybeare did as well.”
Conybeare nodded. He’d lost that anxious look finally. There was a sadness, almost, in his eyes instead.
“It took the archbishop himself to convince me. Buckland and me. That was back at Society’s founding, before we started bringing fellows here to see it for themselves.”
If he was telling the truth—if—then I could understand why Conybeare was master of fellows. He was widely known as the most devout of the geomagicians. If he said it wasn’t sinful—that it was, in fact, demanded, by the Church and Crown both…
“But sorcery is forbidden,” I said, still shaking my head. “It is evil. The Bible is clear!”
“It isn’t evil,” Burgess said. His green eyes were gentle. “But it can be used, too easily, in the service of evil.”
“And that’s exactly why the practice, and knowledge, is so carefully regulated. The truth is too dangerous.”
“But the reliquemists know,” I said slowly. “And geomagicians. Who else?” I asked.
“Some of the clergy. Not your average parish priest, mind. But the bishops.”
“And Royal Academy of Science fellows,” Conybeare added.
“Oh, yes. And Bank of England leadership.”
“Some of the military, too. Generals and such.”
“Parliament, I assume?” I asked.
“If it’s relevant.”
I was dizzy. All this time. All this time, this secret world of sorcery, of forbidden magic, hidden away—going on under our feet. No. Going on over our heads.
I had been friends with Lucy too long not to think of it like that. The elite—and men, almost all of them—casting their spells in the dark, probably laughing at all the rest of us.
Except I was one of them now. The elites. And I had vowed already to protect this secret, with my own blood. I didn’t have to like it. I’m sure no one liked it—but what was the other option?
I could refuse. Demand to leave at once.
But I certainly wouldn’t be able to stay a geomagician.
And what good would that even do? I couldn’t tell anyone what I’d learned.
I wasn’t stupid. If I spilled this secret, my own lifeblood would follow.
I wasn’t going to destabilize all of England just to die for it.
And if you did decide to run, there isn’t even a door. The realization chilled my veins. If I refused them now, this place could very well be my tomb.
I had been quiet a long time. Long enough that they knew I wasn’t going to throw a fit.
“It’s your blood,” Burgess said. “You have to do the honors.”
I trembled as he had me dip my right hand into the pewter bowl.
“Od commemahe do pereje,” Burgess spoke slowly, and I repeated the unfamiliar words in a thin, quavering voice. “Salabarotza kynutzire.” The scent of copper filled the air as I finished the spell, and the waxy sensation ran down my neck and spine.
The materials in the bowl swirled around my fingers, the solid pieces melting to liquid, and it was pleasantly warm. The smell was oily and acrid, gentled by beeswax. I pulled out my hand at Burgess’s instruction. My fingers were coated from the knuckle down, the sticky black clinging to my nails.
Burgess noticed my staring and handed me one of the white cloths. “It takes many times to stain, I promise.”
I scrubbed and scrubbed, until my fingers ached and turned pink under the black. But the sensation of the slick black tar lingered long after I was wiped clean.
I climbed the stairs to Henry’s office in a daze.
Sorcery. Reliquemical serum was made with sorcery.
The very notion still made my thoughts stutter and freeze.
I’d been taught to fear sorcery practically from the cradle.
Sorcery, according to my childhood lessons—and reinforced by every theomagical book I’d read in the years since—was sinful because it tapped the language of creation.
Using sorcery was akin to using the breath of life itself, a theft, in essence, of God’s own power.
Except Conybeare and Burgess said sorcery wasn’t evil at all. Dangerous, they’d called it, but not evil. Not sinful. That was rather well supported by the fact that apparently Church and Crown both knew, and approved. And always had.
I thought, then, of Edgar Murray. When we were children, he’d been convinced there were secret magics. Some magic more powerful than reliqs. Magic that could have saved his mother.
We’d humored him, reading his books and listening to his theories. But he’d been right. There was another magic. Secret arts, indeed.
His father had been a peer. Had he known? Had he let it slip, somehow, and set the young Edgar searching for the secret?
I had to assume Edgar knew the truth now, as a member of Parliament. I could picture my old friend easily: the grin of triumph spreading across his face as he realized the truth he’d always sought.
But not Lucy. Something angry churned in my chest, a reflexive defense of my friend.
There was no way she knew. Because if Lucy Murray knew that reliquemical serum was made with sorcery?
It would be the golden sword she’d searched for all her life: a blade sharp enough to slice through the heart of the reliq system and destroy it forever.
How many of the common folk would use reliqs if they learned they were sorcery-forged? Some would shrug and accept it with ease. But many would recoil in horror at the very idea, anathema to their faith. And where would they go? Straight to the Prometheans.
I groaned aloud. Once again, I found myself caught between Lucy and the Society.
But I was almost to Henry’s office now. At least I could talk to him. He knew the secret. He could help me sort through these complicated feelings. He’d probably point me toward some obscure literature on the subject of sorcery that would set my mind at ease.
I slowed as I neared the cracked door to his office, because there were voices coming from inside. I didn’t want to interrupt; Henry had only just become president, after all. This could be important Society business. I leaned against the wall to wait.
“…Six more dead last night. Innocent buyers, just trying to conduct their business in the slicks.” I couldn’t place the voice, but it was vaguely familiar.
“The chaos cannot go on unchecked.” That was Buckland.
“And it won’t,” said the voice I didn’t know. “The home secretary has been very pleased with the batch you provided on a trial basis. Not to mention, he was rather persuaded by your…er, demonstration during the attack on Parliament. How exactly did you do it, Stanton?”
“Well, I didn’t truly mean to kill them,” Henry said. “Only to make them stop. But the manifold reliq was more powerful than I’d expected. Apparently, it stopped their hearts altogether.”
“Well, it was effective nonetheless.”
I pressed my back to the wall, the wind suddenly knocked out of me.
I recognized the other voice now. Lord Knackbull. They were speaking of what had happened in Parliament, when Henry had thrown down his reliq.
Henry had killed those two men. With a manifold reliq.
I hadn’t put it together before. Granted, I had just been shot. And, later, I’d simply assumed the soldiers shot them. It was only when I heard Henry just now that I even remembered the flash of white in the moments after I was shot.
I moved as close to the cracked door as I dared and peered through. Henry was facing away from the door, but I’d been right: Lord Knackbull stood across from him, flanked by Buckland and Davies.
There were ways to kill with magic. With enough reliqs at hand, you could enchant something to become very heavy and watch it fall on your enemy’s head, or launch a knife through the air.
I admittedly hadn’t spent much time thinking of ways to magically kill a person, but most any method would involve many, many reliqs.
And even with all the reliqs in the world, you couldn’t simply will a man dead with magic.
Except, apparently, Henry’s manifold reliqs made it possible—simple, even—to reach into a man’s body and stop his heart.
He’d told me how powerful the manifold reliqs were. Again and again. Seventy times more powerful than a usual reliq. And after my healing, I finally understood what that meant in practice, rather than theory. But this revelation showed the other side of that power.
“…the Society normally provisions our fossil finds directly through the minister of finance for distribution to the Reliquemical Guild. But of course we would be glad to deal directly with the home secretary, given the current state of emergency,” Henry was saying smoothly.
Buckland jumped in. “I can assure you, our only aim as a Geomagical Society is to quell the violence in our streets. These are troubled times in which we find ourselves.”
Knackbull nodded. They all did.
“They are indeed. I think it’s clear these damned Prometheans must be stopped. I, for one, would feel more confident in my little granddaughter’s safety if more of these manifolds were at our disposal.
“Our initial trial supply was for twenty-three manifold reliqs, I do believe?”
“Correct,” Henry said.
“And those have already been distributed. How many more can you have ready within the week, Stanton?”
Henry puffed his lips. “Unfortunately, the Glasswater Mill is limited at current capacity to the production of one manifold reliq per day. But,” he added brightly, “with additional guaranteed funding, I can start the second Loom and double production. And within three months we will finish construction on two more Looms.”
“I see,” Knackbull said. “I will pass this to the home secretary at once. I can’t speak for Peel, of course, but I know he is deeply concerned about the state of the city, and eager for solutions. I don’t see that we’ll have any problems authorizing the funds.
“Well, gentlemen, I must be getting back home. My knees begin to ache. But this has been a pleasure. And I look forward to continuing this partnership with the Geomagical Society. Perhaps some good will come out of all this mess, after all.” Knackbull shook their hands in turn.
I pulled back from the crack in the door, pressing my body flat against the wall.
They were going to sell manifold reliqs to the government.
No—they already had. Twenty-three. Twenty-three manifold reliqs in the hands of the constables.
I shivered, my hand unconsciously going to my chest. Where one of those reliqs had healed what should have killed me.
Lucy. Lucy. I should tell Lucy. She needed to warn her people.
If the constables or military—even only twenty-three of them—were armed with manifold reliqs, there would be a bloodbath next time they came into conflict with the Promethean protestors.
My stomach twisted. To warn Lucy would be to betray the Society. If all went well, the Society would earn a tidy profit from this business.
A profit that would turn around to me in the form of a fellowship stipend, now that I was elected. I wasn’t proud of the thought, but it was there nonetheless.
And—an uncomfortable thought crept in—what if the Society men were right?
Perhaps I couldn’t trust my own judgment on the matter.
My own thoughts were clouded by Lucy’s involvement, and my trust in her.
But Lucy was only one person, and the Promethean movement was much, much larger than her.
And she herself was the one who explained that there were other movements, too. Other groups more radical than hers.
Knackbull said six people were killed last night while trying to do business in the slicks.
I’d been unconscious for those first riots, but I could certainly feel the tension in the air now.
People were afraid. Maybe it really would be best for the government to have the reliqs if it helped quell this rising violence.
Think. I had to think it through.
I realized, too slowly, that now their business was concluded, and the men would be coming for the door. I scrambled back, nearly running to Ajax’s room.