She might not be able to come, Emily mused. She ran her fingers over the chat parchment, thoughtfully. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, but what? She might be deep in the Blighted Lands…
Her mouth dropped open as the pieces fell into place. The speaker had used an odd spell to petrify the banker, but it was similar – very similar – to the spell Aloha had used to make the first set of chat parchments. Emily was sure of it. The chat parchments did carry magic from one piece of parchment to the others…indeed, in some ways, they were all the same piece of parchment. It was a simple spell, on the surface, but it became far more complicated when someone tried to write it down. And someone had warped it into a nightmare…
She looked down at the parchment, not seeing anything. The secret behind Aloha’s spell had leaked quickly, unsurprisingly. Magicians could be relied upon to try to duplicate spells, once they knew something was possible. It was no surprise that someone had managed to improve on the original piece of work. Using it to transfer magic was really nothing more than scaling up the chat spellwork.
And then they channel it into a spell concealed in the staff, she thought. She couldn’t help feeling a flicker of admiration. Whoever had modified the spell was brilliant. They must have been using the staff to boost the presence too.
She sobered. And they’re using their talents to support a theocratic state.
“Shit,” she muttered.
Frieda looked up. “Emily?”
“There are spells to shatter wands,” Emily mused. “Aren’t there?”
“Yeah.” Frieda’s right arm twitched. She’d been forced to use a wand at Mountaintop. It would have stunted her magic if Emily hadn’t taught her how to use her powers without it. “I’ve had them used on me.”
“We can use them against the speakers,” Emily said. She felt better than she had for a long time, just putting the pieces together. “I wonder if they have amplifiers scattered through the city.”
Frieda frowned. “Amplifiers of what?”
“Magic.” Emily scowled. The last time she’d seen anything like it had been at Whitehall. “But we still have the problem of just how to deal with Justice.”
She rose. “We need to talk to an expert. And Markus is the only expert we have.”
“And so you’re sneaking out to see him,” Frieda said. “You are going to tell Sienna, aren’t you?”
“I’ll have to,” Emily had no idea if Markus was still alive, but she needed to find out. Aloha had taken up an apprenticeship somewhere and wouldn’t thank anyone who disturbed her. “And you’d better come with me.”
“With pleasure,” Frieda said. Her smile widened. “It isn’t safe out there.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“YOU LOOK FUNNY,” FRIEDA SAID.
“So do you,” Emily countered. The glamour was definitely in place – Frieda looked like a normal young man – but there was something odd about the way she moved. “Try to walk more like a man.”
“So I should swing my shoulders and thrust out my chest?” Frieda stuck out her tongue, mischievously. “And stick my head so high in the air that I bang my chin into the nearest wall, which I didn’t see because my eyes were looking up…”
“Just walk normally,” Emily said. “And try not to make eye contact.”
She sighed as she tested her own spell. It was easy enough to use a glamour to look like a different woman – she’d done it often enough – but passing for a grown man was a great deal harder. Anyone who didn’t know the glamour was there might not notice it, yet they might realize – at some point – that there was something odd about the two young men. And once they got suspicious, they might look closer and eventually peer through the glamour.
“Ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”
The glamour flickered the moment they stepped out of the house and brushed against the network of wards and sensing spells. Emily had to smile, even though it wasn’t really funny. Trying to break through a glamour was considered bad manners, particularly if the glamour covered up some minor blemish rather than anything more serious. But once they walked out of Sorcerers Row, the glamour settled back into place. She allowed herself a moment of relief as they headed down the streets, making sure to steer well away from Temple Row. The Fists of Justice would take an interest in anyone who went there.
Beneficence wasn’t her city, but she still felt a pang at seeing just how much the city had changed in less than a week. The shops were closed, homes barricaded and the streets almost deserted, save for a handful of men scurrying to and fro. There were no women at all, not even prostitutes. But then, the Fists of Justice had made it clear that whores were sinners too.
And it doesn’t matter to them if the women had a real choice or not, she thought, darkly. All that matters is that they sold their bodies for money.
She gritted her teeth as they walked past a row of closed shops. She didn’t understand how a woman could willingly sell her body, giving herself to a dozen different men in a day, but she understood that choices were sometimes limited. If someone had to choose between prostitution or starvation and death, which choice should they make? Which choice would she make? She liked to think she would sooner die than sell herself, but she knew it wasn’t that easy. And if she’d had children, the choice would be even harder. Could she leave them to starve too?
But the Fists of Justice don’t care about circumstances, she thought. That had shone through their words. They didn’t care why someone had made a bad choice, they didn’t care that all the other alternatives were worse…only punishment mattered. All they want is power.