Chapter 4 Free Novel, Rogue Magic

Posted on by Sarah A. Hoyt

I WAS WONDERING WHY THIS HAD NO COMMENTS.  DERP.  IT’S BEEN HERE SINCE 9 am.  I THOUGHT I’D PRESSED PUBLISH.  DERP DERP DERP.  I’m sorry.

*This is the new free novel I’m posting here a chapter at a time.  For previous chapters, page back to two weeks ago.  This is pre-first-draft, as it comes out.  It is a sequel to Witchfinder which will soon be taken down (once edited) and put for sale on Amazon.  Meanwhile, if you donate $6 or more, I’ll get you a copy of Rogue Magic, once finished and edited, in your favored ebook format.  Of course, if you’re already subscribing to the blog at a level at which you get whichever books come out that year, you don’t need to worry.   This book will acquire at least a temporary cover soon, I swear.  BUT not this week, because I’m still working on my website, I have a couple of short stories to finish and — this being the last weekend before a bunch of busy weekends, I’m going to take sometime off too.*

The Devil’s Child

Wolfe Merrit, Overseer to the Earl Of Savage’s properties and manufactories:

I guess my problem has always been birds with broken wings.  When I was little those were real.  There were any number of birds with broken wings, and of sad naked things fallen out of nests that I’d brought home, all wrapped in my handkerchief, and which my mother let me nurse by the kitchen fire.  Most died, of course, though that got less so as my powers came on.

And what can any man who is a cottager and the son of a farmer want with magical power, much less a magical power that’s bent on healing, who’s to know?  I misdoubt me that my dear mother was ever unfaithful to my father, besides the fact that I have my father’s same identical face. So, wherever the magical power comes from it must be from very far in the family.  Some Lord’s daughter that fell from grace, or some cottager girl who strayed with a Lord.

That was shame enough, that I had the magic, but you couldn’t hide it, and if we tried to then the village was more likely to say that there was something shameful in it and that it was my mother’s fault or my father’s mother even.  And so, I was sent to magic school proper, though that meant going to classes at the local elf-orphans home.  But I was treated right, as an out pupil, and my mother paid for it with the money from taking in washing, and when a position came up with the Earl of Savage I was ready to take it.

We’d just never told anyone that it was healing magic, because, as my father said, that’s woman’s power, and what did a man want with a woman’s bend on his magic.  Not as bad as foretelling, but bad enough.  And there was no point making people talk.  My marriage was bad enough.  And the child.

The thought of Jimmy, as I sat here, across the desk from the Earl of Savage made the doubt come up in my mind again, but I tried not to think of it.  I sipped the brandy to steady myself and said, “Yes, sir.  It’s gone rotten.  It comes apart and it does things as it was not meant to.  And that’s the long and the short of it, milor’.  And I think the strain comes from another world.”

Which of course, brought to mind Jimmy again, and Jimmy’s mother too.

It was the bird that falls from the nest thing, all over again, that is what my mother said.  And she was right too, even if she said it with her temper flaring up and that tone in her voice, like she disapproved.  Which she undoubtedly did.

Because what business a farmer’s son has either bringing home a naked elf lady he found wandering the forest, all out of her mind, or marrying her either, no one knew, not even myself who’d done it.

But we’d kept it from the Savages, and the marriage had lasted so little – she’d disappeared right after Jimmy’s birth – that there was no reason they should know.

Except Jimmy.  Fairyland was another world, wasn’t it?  And couldn’t they be tainting the savage magic through me?

“What did you use to determine that?” the Earl asked.  He’s a well setup man and some would say handsome, though as I thought that I heard my mother say in my head that handsome is as handsome does, and right enough, and what the Earl of Savage looks like is his grandfather, and what his grandfather done wasn’t handsome by any description.

“I used the Vanal variations,” I said.  “And I ran the Terobynian formulas.  It all points to magic from another world, milor’”

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing in speculation.  When I knew his grandfather he was an old man, leastwise when I knew him as an employee.  I knew of him since my birth, just about.  The women in the village called him old Nick and not just because his name was Nicholas, and cautioned any comely young girl – or boy, the old soot not caring much – to keep away from him.

He had been a handsome man, even then, well set up, with a full head of dark hair, and that unlike his son as would make anyone else doubt the relation, particularly since the village – and other villages around – were full of cottager children with that same handsome physiognomy.

The thing was, the old man wasn’t bad.  Not when you considered his son.  He was a lush and a lecher, and he didn’t do repairs to the cottages, and he didn’t care for the land and let it go to rack and ruin, and it was said he spent more on a pair of horses than a family would make in ten years, and he didn’t care, but he wasn’t bad.

You could sit – I found – and talk to him, and if you had a real problem, he would help you.  He had magic enough, and he did a magic examination of me when he hired me, that he must have known about the healing pull in my magic, and he’d never cared.

Yes, I understood I was lucky enough that when I was hired at eighteen the Good Lord had already blessed me with a face that would make no one weep but my mother and that not for joy, and that I was built like the men of the land, squat and blocky and not lank and graceful as old Nick liked them.  But to me, in his dealings with me, he was a fair master and a good one.

His son, on the other hand—

It had started with “I like to have the distinctions of rank preserved” all from that pale, tight lipped mouth, with those eyes that looked at you like you were dirt.  And while I’m not some kind of radical, nor meaning to overturn the order of society and magic, there is no reason to behave as though you’d like to trample others under your boot, that there isn’t.

So, now I watched the new Earl.  I hadn’t exactly cried big tears for the old Earl, not I, but my grandmother used to say “the devil that comes after me will make you fond of me” and that had been the truth right enough with the last two earls, and I wondered if it would be true again.  He hadn’t treated me scaly, and he didn’t seem high on the instep.  His verifying questions were what any man might ask, faced with the problem.  And he looked like his grandfather, though that might not mean anything.  He and his sister, Lady Helen, were the only ones in the family that looked like the old devil.  I’d caught a glimpse of her, once, long ago, going around a corner, and I remember thinking as you’d never know such a face as the old boy had could flatter a woman but it did.

The Earl of Savage turned from fiddling with things on his desk.  He looked tight controlled, like his father, and high strung, and very much in command, but then he looked at me.

I’ve seen a horse look like that, once.  He had broken a leg and lay, in pain till we could give him mercy.  Only there wasn’t anyone with a pistol, no one who could shoot him, and we didn’t want to hack at him with a knife, and he lay there so long that his screams ceased, and he was alive, but looked like he’d rather be dead.  His eyes had been stony with suffering, and that’s what the earl’s eyes looked like.

First you might think they were proud or closed-off, but when you looked close it was just he had gone through so much pain that at some time he’d quite shut off.

He dropped to his chair, behind his desk, and looked at me with those stone-suffering eyes, and said, “Well, what can we do?”

And I said “Milor’” because the man was only ten years or so younger than me, so I couldn’t call him “son” which was a good thing.  It would be a right mess if I had, and besides, an Earl is rather too large a naked bird to be wrapped in my handkerchief and brought home to mother’s fireside.

“If we don’t do anything, the manufacturies will close.”  A shadow crossed the suffering eyes.  “I don’t suppose we can live off the land.”

I shook my head.  Old Nick had done for that and well enough.  Too many years of selling off any piece that wasn’t entailed.  Too many years of taking it all out and putting nothing in.

“No,” he said.  “I didn’t think so.  And my sisters must have their portions.  My brothers, too, must have something to start in life.  I suppose I could sell myself on the marriage mart.  A title must be worth something, even with my reputation.”

I didn’t say anything.  I’d heard some of his reputation, which was that he was following in old Nick’s footsteps.  But his tender concern for his siblings was something I’d never heard from Old Nick.  No, and not from Old Nick’s son, either.

He rubbed at his nose, a gesture that made him seem all of three years old.  “Well.  What can’t be cured, must be endured.  We’ll do what we can, and hopefully get enough at least for my siblings’ needs.”

Which is when we heard the running steps outside the door and someone burst in, behind me.  By the time I turned around, I’d already seen the Earl’s expression freeze, and when I turned around I realized why – the person who’d come running was a maid.  Truth be told, she was probably a twinnie, somewhere between kitchen drudge and cleaning maid and no more than 13 or so.  That she’d burst running into the Earl’s office bespoke a lack of firmness on the Earl’s part that made me want to throw the whole thing over and go back to the land and be a farmer, like my father.  Only at the price corn was bringing…  And besides, my older brother Tom had the land.

But the girl bobbed three curtseys in turn, one after the other, then said in a fainting voice, “It is this letter milord.  It was on Lady Helen’s bed when I went to make it.  And… and her carpet bag is missing, and I thought–  I thought you’d want it right away.”

I wasn’t so stupid that lady Helen, the carpet bad, and the letter didn’t add up to an awful picture.  My mouth dropped open as the very pale earl of Savage reached for the letter.

It was a whole family of birds with broken wings

56 thoughts on “Chapter 4 Free Novel, Rogue Magic”

  2. Not enough coffee? :D

    I have a problem with snail mail, even with the really important stuff. I will fill the forms and put them in envelopes, and then forget to actually take that envelope to the mail box. And then wonder when I get questions why I haven’t mailed this or that, or when I find the damn envelope buried under other papers on my desk. Looks like my unconscious thinks the deed is done the minute the form is in the envelope. Have to say I vastly prefer emails, unfortunately some things need signatures.

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  3. I like Merritt. Now _that’s_ a man with a Mysterious Past. (Or a well-publicized embarrassing past. All at the same time.)

    If magic goes mostly with lords’ byblows and those of elves, I’m sure England has a rich and varied tapestry of magical commoners after all these centuries. Heck, probably everybody in the world has a good chance in the genetic lottery.

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  4. (sniffle) W-we thought you didn’t LIKE us any more… (large, tear-filled eyes) an…an you found funnier commenters, that wear pants and matching socks…(pulls out dramatically large hanky) *honk* (sniffle)

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      1. Or what if she had been kidnapped? (reading mystery novels, currently. Serial killers and all that, but that’s too creepy, a hostage can be saved)

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          1. Nope, just a reminder not to jump to conclusions before you know the facts. You are feeling all offended when the poor woman could have even been sitting duct taped in some basement somewhere… now wouldn’t that have made _you_ feel really guilty once you found out? :D

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            2. a) Guilt gland removed by accident when the gall bladder got yanked
              ii)I had the Plumber Ninjas deployed to rescue her, honest!
              3) She already confessed. Now I’m just piling on to add flavor.

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        2. I PITY the kidnapper. Forget that he’d have to put up with me, you lot would come boiling up from all over the country with a single minded cry, “If you’re not going to let her go, give her a computer with net access!”

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          1. This lot? I am pointing no fingers, but they’s some as would try persuading the kidnappers to keep you chained to the keyboard, requiring a certain daily minimum of words to earn your daily gruel ration. Does the term “galley slaves” have no resonance?

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            1. Daily gruel ration? Have you no sense of self-preservation? We need to keep her on a diet of seafood that reminds her of home, red meat to satisfy the aggression that memory brings up, and some good scotch, coffee, and tea to keep her happy enough that she won’t find a way to carpe jugularum those who bring her rations. (You know she’d convince the cat to do it.) Besides, varied diet means happy writer, and happy writer means good work. Otherwise she’ll get too far behind, and Toni would round up the other Baen authors and tell them “Sarah must be free! Sic ’em, boys!”

              And I don’t want to see what a bloodthirsty and unrestrained combination of Kratman, Williamson, Ringo, and Correia would look like.

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              2. The correct order is Ringo, Williamson, Correia, and Kratman.

                You didn’t see them on the Horseman panel at Revelation Con?

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                1. okay, I have to ask this, even if it means I get killed at the next con I meet them. Kratman — War, natch. Correia — Death. But which of the two remaining are Famine and Pestilence? We’d have to go with Mike as Famine — he’s the relatively smaller one. BUT… Ringo? Really?

                  And Kate Paulk, yoo-hoo “Revelacon” Where apocalypse TRIES to happen.

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                  1. Ringo = Death, if for the Posleen novels alone.

                    Correia = vampirism, lycanthropy, zombyism = Pestilence.

                    Baen needs to put out the T-shirt.

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                    1. Note that the first rider is considered by some analysts to be the Anti-Christ. The question is, of two Catholics, a Mormon, and a Pagan, which is funniest to claim is unambiguously the Anti-Christ?

                      Seriously, I see strong clear thematic justification for where I’ve placed Larry and Mike.

                      White’s crown ties into kingship, which I might be able to find a slight thematic affinity for in Ringo’s writing, compared to Kratman. Especially compared to Williamson. The bow probably symbolizes plague and poison. (See, forex, Apollo’s bow. Also root of Toxic.) Posleen (yellow plague or infestation), TLC, Ringo’s life sciences background(IIRC).

                      (This is mostly after the fact. I thought it was mostly an arbitrary choice, but maybe my intuition is messing with me again, or maybe I’m just pulling stuff together to justify myself after the fact.)

                      Kratman’s writing sometimes gives me a strong sense of the inevitable failure of human things. Hence, mortality.

                      Anyone, pick one or both, or none
                      a) the four unleashed, unrestrained, and blood thirsty would kill, IIRC, a third or fourth of the world’s population
                      b) the four unleashed, unrestrained, and blood thirsty is unremarkable and normal

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                    2. I’d like to know where I fit in.
                      Oh, wait. Pace Kate, I’m the Red Woman of Babylon. (Somehow Red Woman of Colorado doesn’t have the same feeling, though Colorado means red.) Um… meanings within meaning, wheels within wheels — I’m a BELIEVER!

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                    3. On the Baen Authors as Gundam Pilots thing, I currently am thinking that Sarah Hoyt is a match for Setsuna F. Seiei (sp?).

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                  2. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

                    See, Ringo, for not instantly being fully enthusiastic for my deranged social experiments, thus oppressing me, is Tyranny, the White Rider.

                    Williamson, being a Libertarian, is Anarchy, the Red Rider. Also, Sharp Pointy Things.

                    Correia, is, of course, Taxes, the Black Rider.

                    Kratman being the last rider seems hard to justify, unless you keep in mind both his abnormalities and that he makes a rather killer Duo Maxwell.

                    Note that the Rider order is reverse that of the W portion of the traditional ‘Baen Authors cosplay as Gundam Pilots’ line up.

                    Appended:

                    Zechs (00): Hank
                    Noin: Toni

                    Heero Yuy (01): David Drake
                    Duo Maxwell (02): Tom
                    Trowa Barton (03): Larry
                    Quatre Warner(04): Mike
                    Chang Wu-fei (05): John

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            3. She would only be a galley slave _after_ the draft is edited and returned to her for proofing.
              Prior to that she would only be a manuscript slave.

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        1. Bob, the cod’s for ducking, or soaking in milk and then cooking, not for wearing. *facepalm*

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    2. no, no, I think I prefer my commenters pantless. They’re less confined. (RUNS.)

      As for socks… didn’t you guys get the funny socks with pompoms I sent? No? I had this idea you could wave the pompoms to show approval. Sigh… the USPS must have foiled my plan.

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  5. a) I like this.
    b) Like the musing on the Earls.
    c) Hope something comes of the mention of the Elf wife.
    d) If he is a fixer, I can hope that he helps fix some of this situation.

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  6. I was about to call. I checked just ONE MORE TIME, and it was there. Otherwise, you’d probably have gotten a phone call. If that didn’t work, a knock on your door, with axehandle in hand (to beat up the scurvy knaves that had kept you from your computer, of course).

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  7. I’m enjoying this. I never got into Witchfinder because I arrived somewhat in the middle of it. If it’s at all useful to have eyes that are seeing the characters and settings fresh, that’s me.

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    1. Bathrobe, shorts, no coffee. Wanna come down to the kitchen for a cuppa? We’ll discuss …. Why lizards are totally evil and cats rule the Earth until caffeine kicks in.

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      1. They rule until a chihuahua-dachshund mix moves in–then they find something else that can jump as high as they can, wiggle under furniture the way they can, and takes every lap as his by divine right–the way they do.

        At least, the Humane Society told me he was chihuahua-dachshund. He might actually be one of the lizards.

        Oh no >soft whimper<

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  9. Fortunately, I don’t think the Regency had the modern UK definition of “pants” as equivalent to “underwear,” especially given Coleridge’s use of the word in “Kubla Khan.”

    (That is, “And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,/As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,/A mighty fountain momently was forced….” It’s a strong image, as if Mother Earth does Lamaze.)

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  11. Questions: Problems with the Blythe magic manufacturer? Something to do with intrusions from other magical world? Has this affected their products yet? Who, if I rightly recall, made the magic that Lady Helen and the maid Betsy used to leave home?

    It may prove most fortunate for them that the girls left their hair under that mattress.

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  12. I was wondering where your post was. Unfortunately I was unable to access my computer until this morning.

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    1. It was lost in the recesses of my being lost in my underpants. Apparently. I mean it beats the band. I leave it up and don’t press publish. Head>desk. AND THEN I was all fearful of asking, because y’all might have hated it.

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      1. Don’t you think that, if it we had found it terrible, some one of us would have at least said something like, ‘Sarah where in the blue blazes have you put your caffeine? It is obvious from this piece of writing that it was not in you.’

        And, just to add to your nightmare, I herewith share one from Alice Cooper’s second Welcome To…:

        http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsHzVE1MP7c

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  13. Magic gone bad, mysterious secrets (what’s with Jimmy?), and I like Wolfe too….

    Is it next Friday yet????

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