The Watchmage of Old New York (The Watchmage Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

The pit from yesterday was covered with a circular wooden platform about seven feet across, larger than normal.  It was ringed with two ropes, the top rope being four feet above the floor.  In the center was a line scratched into the wood.  I noted the large size and the hardwood floor instead of turf.  It would hurt when the fighters hit the floor. 

I turned to Hendricks.  “What you do is hold your hands out like this.”  I took a pugilistic stance.  “No, keep your left arm straighter than that.  That’s for grabbing the other man and holding him while you hit him.”

“You can do that?”

I nodded.  “The rules are no headbutts, biting, scratching, eye gouging, kicking while he’s down, and strikes to the groin.  Oh, and the spikes on your shoes can’t be too long.  It’s not fair to stab someone when you kick them.”

“These are things you could’ve told me before.”

“You’ll be fine, use your magic.”

“I’m not as good as you think.  I’m just an apprentice.”

“I trust you.”  I slapped him on the back.  It didn’t seem to reassure him. “Also, if you lose, Smokestack is gonna cut off our lemons.”

“Wonderful.”

The crowd shuffled in, eager for blood.  They stayed segregated, Irish taking up one side, foreigners the other.  I saw Wythe in the crowd.  He sat among the foreigners with a pair of gentlemen that I didn’t know.  He looked at me, and I swear that he winked.

Leenie kept a good distance from us tonight, but every now and then I saw her sneak a furtive glance at us.  I could imagine the fears that were going through the poor girl.  If we were found out, Leenie might join her sister in an eternity box.  Then again, so would me and Hendricks.

Smokestack took the center of the ring, and the crowd cheered.  He went into a call similar to last night’s, finally getting to the matches.

“Tonight we have three matches for your entertainment, using London Prize Ring rules.” The mention of the English capital drew hoots from the Irish patrons.  “Our first bout, with the green handkerchief…at six wins and no losses… ‘Irish’ John Cutter!”

A lean young man with fair hair and no front teeth stepped into the ring and tied a green handkerchief to one corner.  His waterman followed him and talked in the fighter’s ear.

No surprise, the Irish went off their chump for ‘Irish’ John. The sailors were less enthusiastic.  There was no doubt where the betting lines would lie for this one.

“…and with the red handkerchief, in his first bout, Ezra Madison!”  There were fewer cheers for Madison, though he was much bigger and much hairier than Irish John.  He tied off his handkerchief and cracked his swollen knuckles.

The two fighters shook hands at the scratch line and returned to their corners, where they stripped to the waist.  “The odds are two ta one fer Irish John,” cried Smokestack.  I noticed that he affected a Lower Wards lilt to his voice while announcing.  Better to relate to the crowd, I presume.  The b’hoys love their own.

Smokestack threw his arms out in jubilation. “The Bloody Knuckle’ll pay five ta one if you name the round.  Now toe the line and let the fight begin!”

The boxers stepped up to the scratch line and took their stances.  Men in the crowd began shouting out their wagers as Smokestack rang the bell, starting the fight. 

Before Madison could react, Irish John grabbed the man’s hair with his left hand and pounded him in the face with his right.  Madison tried to break the hold, but Irish John twisted to the right and hit Madison in the ear.  Madison fell to one knee, and the watermen stepped in, helping the boxers to their corner and ending Round One.

I leaned in on Hendricks so he could hear me over the noise.  “He has thirty seconds to toe the scratch line, or else he loses.  This’ll be a good fight.”  Hendricks didn’t answer, instead stared at the bloody spectacle before us.

Madison bled from his nose and lip, so he spent the next few minutes with his guard up, feeling Irish John out. Irish John threw a left hook a hair too slow, and Madison waded in with a left-right-left flurry to both sides of the jaw.  He ended it with a knee to Irish John’s bellows.  Irish John staggered, but before he took a knee, Madison grabbed him in a waist lock and slammed him to the wooden platform.  The crowd groaned as Irish John rolled around on the pallet, cursing and holding his shoulder.

Somehow, Irish John was able to toe the line for the next round, but his right arm hung useless.  Madison charged and landed blow after bloody blow, pinning him against the ropes, not letting him fall, until he smashed Irish John’s sniffer with a right and the poor kid dropped like a corpse.  Despite his waterman pulling him to the corner and shaking him, Irish John couldn’t do anything but bleed.  The Irish part of the crowd hissed as Smokestack rang the bell and his shoulder hitters collected the bets.

“We’re fighting next,” I said. “Have you thought about what spells you’re gonna use?”

“There’s so much blood…”

“You’ll be fine.  Fists of steel, face of stone.  You’ll know what to do.”

He drew something in the air and mumbled a word.  “Lord forgive me.”

After his men wiped the blood from the floor, Smokestack took to the ring again to announce our fight.  There was little fanfare for Hendricks beyond a few men that saw last night’s calamity.  I spied Leenie in the corner, her eyes on the ring and a worried look in her eyes.  I’ve only ever seen a worried look in her eyes.

“…And his opponent, from Little Water Street, with a record of fifteen wins and one loss, Jerry ‘Top Dog’ O’Leary!” Smokestack pointed out to the bar where a fiddler led O’Leary in with a reel.  O’Leary raised his beefy arms in the air to the cheers of the crowd.  He was large, with a bald head and a face that had scars like train tracks across his face.  One ear looked like a head of cauliflower.  He danced a jig as he approached the ring and spat at Hendricks’s feet.

“That was rude,” Hendricks said in my ear.

“It’ll be ruder when he’s punching you.”  I helped him strip down and tied a yellow handkerchief to the rope, his symbolic stake.  The winner collects both handkerchiefs as a trophy.  “You should take your cross off.  It’s gonna get punched into your chest.”

“I can’t if you want me to weave spells.  I don’t have enough power on my own.”

I nodded. “Smokestack wants you to draw the match out for a while.  You think you can do that?”

He gave his head a quick shiver. “I can create a cushion of air around me, but I don’t have the energy to hold it long and he can still punch through.”

“Give us ten minutes, and then knock him out.” He nodded.

Smokestack drew both fighters to the line.  I saw the fear in Hendricks’s eyes, and Top Dog must’ve too, he licked his lips like a street Arab looking at a pot of stew. 

“The line is three to one for Hendricks!” Shouted Smokestack.  The crowd went mad at the lopsided odds, with the majority betting on the larger and more experienced Top Dog.  It was a fool’s bet, but people are dumb, drunk people are dumber, and crowds of drunk people are barely human. 

Smokestack stepped out of the ring and rang the bell.  Hendricks raised his hands like I taught him.  Top Dog stepped back and kicked him right in the breadbag.  Hendricks folded like a bad hand and kissed the floor.  I jumped into the ring as Smokestack rang the bell.  Top Dog danced back to his corner to the delight of the crowd.

I helped Hendricks to his corner.  He was bleeding from a wound on his belly, and he left a spotted trail of blood from the center of the ring.  “What happened to your spell?”

“I’m not as strong as Master Nathaniel,” he said through gasps. “He’s wearing spikes.  Did you know he could wear spikes?”

“I told you.”  Hendricks was gonna get killed out there, and it would be my fault.  I imagined trying to explain it to Pop:
Oh, I wagered on your apprentice in a bare-knuckle fight, and he got murdered.  Sorry about that
. “Hold on a little more.  Be strong.”

“I’m not strong.  I was lucky last night.”  His eyes watered. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

After thirty seconds, Smokestack rang the bell again and both fighters toed the line.  Top Dog went for a belly kick again, but Hendricks backed away.  The crowd began to hoot and whistle as Hendricks covered up against the ropes.  Smokestack glared at me and nodded to Shadow McGuirk on the side, who looked bored with the whole event.

Top Dog grabbed Hendricks and pulled him into the center.  He hammered Hendricks with rabbit punches and then a knee to his wounded guts.  Hendricks yelped and dropped to his knees.  Smokestack rang the bell and glared at me again.

Hendricks winced with every move.  Clearly his spell wasn’t working.  He looked at me, his eyes pleading for permission to fail.

“Remember when I said you should last a while and give ‘em a show?”  He nodded.  “Forget it.  Knock the bastard out.”

As Smokestack called the fighters back to the line, Hendricks drew something in the air and muttered something under his breath.  It almost looked like he was praying.  I prayed that he magicked up something good.

The bell rang, and Hendricks lunged forward.  Top Dog hit him and it almost staggered him.  Hendricks grimaced and struck him with a right.  Top Dog’s head snapped to the side like he’d been hit with a brickbat. Teeth fell to the floor and blood poured from his mouth.

Top Dog collapsed, and the crowd roared like a howitzer. Smokestack announced Hendricks the winner and awarded him Top Dog’s handkerchief.  Smokestack’s grin went as wide as his mustache.

Cries of a fix echoed from the Irish part of the crowd.  Some threw their cups at the ring.  One b’hoy in the back row stood up and reached into his vest.  Before I could shout a warning, Shadow drew his own barker.  I’d never seen a gun of that type.  It must’ve been one of those advanced foreign models.

A moment later, the b’hoy’s skull was splattered across the back wall.  Shadow leveled his gun at the crowd, daring them to challenge him.

Hendricks looked at Top Dog and said nothing.

Nathaniel

I admit it, I lied.  I didn’t want Rabbi Levitt to know how injured I was from the fight.  He would worry himself sick and never let me leave.  I’d be a captive audience to his horrible jokes for weeks.

The wounds would heal.  While healing others is a difficult task, it’s somewhat easier to heal yourself.  Levitt’s magic soup set me well on my way. A couple of days of tending and I’d be a new man.  No, the problem was elsewhere.

The Chaos Seed is a vast resource of power, but it isn’t infinite.  I used a tremendous amount of Chaos energy fighting the Elemental, and I was spent.  I felt the seed trembling in my chest.  It’s the Chaos magic that keeps me alive.  If I drain the well completely, I would crumble to dust and there’d be one less wizard in the world.  As it was, I felt my muscles losing their strength and my bones growing brittle.

Desperate for rest, I trudged up the stairs to my bedchamber and rang the bell for Geebee.  She instantly appeared, and I asked her for some tea.  She flashed away and back within a few ticks of the clock.

I sipped the tea—she had added brandy, a welcome treat—and thought about the magnitude of what happened.  Not just the Hebrew community, but the entire Seventh Ward and East River docks could have been burned to the ground or sucked through the Veil. What kind of madman would let a living fire loose in their own city?  I had to find that Pooka, even more than the Vanderlay baby.  I knew that I had seen him before, but in my exhausted and addled state, I couldn’t remember where. I finished my nightcap and dressed for bed, my mind filled with rabbits and fire.  Within minutes, I was asleep.

“Master Nathaniel, are you awake?”

I awoke and found Geebee shaking my shoulder.  She did not appear happy.

“What time is it?”

“Two in the morning.  Come quick, Mister Lancaster is here. He says it’s an emergency.”

If it was enough to get me out of bed in the dead of night, I shuddered to think what Tom had done.  I grumbled, changed clothes, and stumbled down the steps.

Tom met me at the base of the stairs.  “Nathaniel, you’ve got to help me!  They’re everywhere!  Everywhere!”

“Calm down, man.  What is everywhere?”

“The Flerriers.  I tried to neuter them like you said, but something went wrong.  The spell misfired, and they’re multiplying.”

“Breeding?”

“No, budding.”

I threw my hands in the air.  “And I thought I might get some sleep tonight.”  I waved a finger and my cane and hat flew to me.

He seemed surprised when I opened the front door.  “Aren’t you going to flash us there?” He said.  “We don’t have time to spare.”

“No, we’re going to take a carriage like normal folk.” I didn’t have the strength to apparate both of us, not that he would know.  “You took a carriage here, I presume.”

“No, I flew.”  He pointed to a broom leaning next to the door.

Sometimes I’m reminded of how foreign the mageling culture is to me.  It must be so difficult for them. They see such amazing things around them, but aren’t able to scrape below the surface.  No wonder they spend so much time hoarding books and flying brooms, recreating ancient, foolish traditions that mean nothing, and—in Tom’s case—combining dogs with birds.

Master Sol understood.  The ancient man knew everything there was to know.  In truth, I never expected to take his place.  I suspected that one day I would take over another city, perhaps Brooklyn, but I never expected to have New York under my aegis.  It had been five years since he disappeared.  I wish he was here, but he didn’t like what the city was becoming.  He hadn’t been happy since the Revolution, when we drove away his adoptive countrymen.

“We’ll return by carriage,” I stated.  He frowned but complied.

I went to the stable and woke Arrock.  He looked ready to punch something, but he drove us across town to Tom’s estate.  As soon as we reached his labyrinth, the yipping began.  They were everywhere, leaping and flying, trying to escape the labyrinth.  We entered and the Flerriers nearly knocked me down with their affection.

“I built a shield to keep them inside, but they’re pushing its limits.  It won’t be long until they break through,” Tom said.

“I warned you,” I said as we pushed through the labyrinth.   Puppies still too young to fly ran underfoot, while full grown Flerriers clumsily flew above the hedges, playing games that only flying dogs can understand.

“The original pair live in the center,” Tom said with slumped shoulders.  “Look what they did to my statue.”  We turned a final corner and approached the center.

The minotaur statue stood proudly, but the many nests on it said otherwise.  The body was covered with feces and feathers.  Resting between its horns was a large nest.  The mother flerrier lay inside it, curled into a furry ball.  Three lumps grew on her back, no larger than robin eggs.

“I tried to alter the spell so that they couldn’t reproduce, but something went wrong.  Her skin started to bubble, and when each bubble broke off, it became a new puppy.  They’re aging at an amazing speed.”

“How many?”

“At last count, a dozen, but there could be more.” He laid a hand on the side of his face and moaned.

I conjured a floating ball of light to illuminate my upcoming work.  “Gather them here, and hurry.”  Tom scampered off.

I sat cross-legged on the grass, trying to find my center and deduce how much power I could afford to lose.  I didn’t have the heart to kill them, but the Law demanded a solution.  I had an idea for a temporary fix, but it wouldn’t be easy.

Tapping once again into the Chaos Seed, I slowly raised my hands.  A small pit opened near the entrance to the center garden.  Molten iron seeped to the surface.  Through force of will, I stretched the molten iron into a river.  It ran along the border until it joined itself in a perfect circle.  I charged Water energy inside of me, and released a spray of icy water to chill the iron into a solid ring.  By the end, I was gasping.

I summoned and covered the iron ring with a layer of quicksilver, and then a layer of argent.  The key was getting the quicksilver to stay between the layers, and yet be free enough to move within the circle.

I stopped to rest.  Unlike the binding circle that I used against the Fire Elemental, this required several steps.  The Elemental was from another plane, and its essence wanted to return.  Moving an unwilling creature with the precision I required—and without hurting them—was more difficult.

Tom returned with a raw steak and fourteen Flerriers.  He tossed the steak to the minotaur statue and the pups flew after it.  They wrestled and snapped at each other in their frenzy for the meat.  Tom looked at me with mournful eyes and disappeared behind a hedge.

I reached for one of the Flerriers and brushed off some fur.  I placed the fur onto the sending ring, and it melted into the metal.  The ring began to glow like a ribbon of moonlight on a lake.  With a small twig, I sketched the intricate runes necessary for precision into the ring. 

The eastern sky grew pale by the time I was done with the runes.  Tom returned with two more Flerriers.  Once inside the ring, they wouldn’t be able to leave.  I made sure that Tom, rhe mother, and I were outside of the ring.

“Nathaniel, I’ve been thinking.”

This couldn’t be good.  “Go on.”

“Some other wizards and I have been talking.  Maybe,” he paused as if looking for the right words to sooth my disposition.  “Maybe letting the Flerriers loose isn’t such a calamity.  Maybe it’s time people believed in magic again.  Maybe…maybe we can change the world.”  He brought his hands forward like he was offering me something.  “Maybe we can save it.”

I stared at him, and he grinned. “Are you mad?”  I grabbed him by the vest and shook him until his head wobbled.  “You’ve never listened to a single thing I’ve said!  Master Sol would kill you without hesitation if you said that to him!”  I shook him again.  “Magic is not a toy.  Magic is a responsibility.”

Fear in his eyes, he tried to step away from me, but I didn’t let him go. 

“Do you even know the madness I’ve had to deal with this week?  New York is going to Hell, and here I am dealing with flying puppies…flying goddamned puppies!”

“I’m sorry. It was a thought and nothing more.”

I released him. “I could name a half dozen civilizations that thought the same.  The Pharaohs, the Gomorans, the Babylonians, the Atlantians. They ruled their people with magic, and some ruled well.  The end was always the same. The Chaos overwhelmed Reality and the Warp destroyed them.  They died horribly, cursing their magic as it shred their souls apart.  Is that what you want?  Is it?”

“No.” He hung his head.  “I want to help.”

“The Star of Nine was created to prevent such catastrophes from happening.  They are far more ruthless than I.”  A bitter taste in my mouth made me swallow hard.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I need a moment.  Take the mother out of the circle.”

I turned to the center garden, now awash in flying puppies.  I let the Chaos Seed bloom inside of me, and I stretched out my hand.  A flash of blue-white erupted from my fingers and struck the sending ring.  The light spread across the ring until the entire garden glowed blue-white. It flared to blinding levels, and vanished. 

Everything was gone.  The hedges, the statue, the Flerriers, even the ground underneath.  There was a pit twelve foot deep in the center, and nothing more.

“Where did you send them?”

“To a farm upstate. With all the troubles in Manhattan right now, I have to put the Flerriers aside for another day.  Give me the mother.  I’ll find a remedy through her.”

“I feel terrible about this,” Tom said as he handed me the bird-dog.

“You should.”

“Let me make amends.  You’re still looking for the Vanderlay’s baby.  Come to the Hellfire Club tomorrow, at dusk.  One of us must know something.”

“Somebody always knows something.  Goodbye, Tom.  Do anything this stupid again, and it’ll be your last.”

“But of course.” He grinned.

Yet I knew it was his last regardless.  I had to inform the Star of Nine, and I knew their response: The Law must stay unbroken. My heart ached for my friend, but it was my weakness in letting him fly so close to the Sun.