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Liverpool were firm believers in expansion. It kept the masses quiet and provided dumping grounds for criminals who could then be worked to death.
    Jack didn’t blame the French for feeling more than a little frustrated, even though most of their problems stemmed from their own government as well as geography. The French nobility had rallied behind the King in the years of unrest, but they remained determined to cling to their ancient rights, as did the Church. No King had the power to force them to reform, which meant that nothing would ever be fixed. The French could only draw money from a small segment of its society, the poor and powerless. France would suffer a revolution when they finally realised that they were damned to poverty no matter how hard they worked. The threats of ruthless suppression would no longer seem intimidating.
    “Right,” Lucy said. She took a sip of her brandy. “Most of our networks got crushed by Liverpool and his Dragoons. There aren’t that many of the old guard left.”
    Jack had expected that, but it was still a shock. There had been heady days in the past, when the movement had been gaining ground and sucking in people who could support the demand for peaceful change. And then all hell had broken loose and he’d had to flee for his life. Magic, as his old master had told him more than once, didn’t make a person invincible. It often made a person overconfident instead.
    “Priestly was transported to Australia,” Lucy said. “His wife and family were transported along with him. Jacob and Rowley died in the riots, either gunned down by the Dragoons or lost in the crush. Old Rupert died – pleasantly, if not peacefully – in someone else’s bed. Davy is still alive and active, but he’s downhearted.”
    She smiled. “And old Ebenezer is dead,” she added. “He died in a stone-cold bed.”
    “Old Scrooge himself,” Jack said. He shook his head. Ebenezer had been a loan shark, lending out money at ruinous interest rates to the poor and desperate. Anyone who failed to pay back the loan in time was visited by his hired thugs and beaten up, or killed if the first beating failed to produce the money. Jack had never known why Ebenezer had helped to fund the movement, but the old bastard had provided more than anyone would have expected. “Who took over the business?”
    “Henry Ebenezer, his son,” Lucy said. “He’s twice the bastard his father was, I’m afraid. Ebenezer had some limits, even though he was utterly ruthless; Henry has none. Most of the sparkers in this part of London are working for him now, along with the pimps, thugs and gutter-trash. He’s the uncrowned King of the Rookery.”
    Jack nodded, sourly. There had always been a magical underground, composed of magicians who were too poor or too weak to attract the interest of the Royal Sorcerers. He was, technically speaking, a member himself, but the underground had never been very united. Most criminals would know better than to lean on a magician – at least one with useful talents – but Henry sounded as if he’d figured out how to control his pet magic-users. Jack could think of a handful of ways, starting with Charm. Henry had never shown any sign of magic, as far as he knew, but it was hard to judge what someone was actually capable of without seeing them in action.
    Or Henry could simply be using carrots and sticks. The old ways had worked perfectly for his father. Why should his son be any different?
    “We may have to deal with him,” Jack said. “Does he get along with Davy?”
    “No,” Lucy said. “In fact, I believe that Davy is in debt to Henry.”
    Jack frowned. “We definitely have to deal with him,” he said. “Does he ever come here?”
    “He knows better than to interfere with me,” Lucy said, bluntly. “I still have my talent.”
    “That’s no surprise,” Jack said. “You’ve always been very talented.”
    Lucy made a rude gesture with her right hand. “But Henry will