The Right Side of History (Schooled In Magic Book 22) by Christopher Nuttall (top ebook reader txt) 📗

how well she wore her masculine guise. It was no wonder, Emily thought, that even people who knew her well didn’t realize she was female. She walked like a man, talked like a man... she swaggered down the street, one hand on the pommel of her sword, in a manner that defied anyone to think she wasn’t a cocky young man. Emily had grown up in a world where women wore unisex clothes and yet even she had been fooled. She felt a flicker of pity, mingled with grim understanding. A sorceress might be treated as an equal, if only because she had the power to make her displeasure felt. A mundane woman would find it a great deal harder to get her way.

“This street has a bad reputation,” Aiden said, as they reached the corner. “Even now, most people will take the long way around rather than walk past the houses here.”

Emily frowned. “Why so?”

“The king’s most trusted advisors made their homes here,” Aiden said. “They were very nasty people - believe me, I figured out most of their secrets. The man who lived in that house” - she pointed to the house on the corner - “was bedding his niece, all the while trying to convince the king to make over her property to him. Their wives weren’t any better. One of my best sources was a maid who worked back there, whose mistress delighted in treating the servants poorly.”

She winked. “I believe her maids attacked her, when the city exploded with red hot rage,” she added. “There wasn’t enough left of the bitch to bury. I think they threw what remained of her on a bonfire and went off to loot the house.”

Emily felt sick. “And these stories were more than just rumors?”

“Oh, yes,” Aiden said. “Some of the residents here were so vile even the aristocracy thought they’d gone too far.”

They turned the corner and walked onto the main street. There were more people in the open, strolling... Emily couldn’t help noticing there were dozens, perhaps hundreds, of unaccompanied women. Broadsheet criers worked the crowds, loudly proclaiming the arrival of the latest edition; Emily bought a copy of one of the papers and stuffed it in her pocket for later. She covered her ears as she passed a pair of criers from rival broadsheets, who seemed more intent on outshouting each other than actually selling copies. Emily hid her amusement as Aiden pointed her finger at one of the boys and ordered him to stop shouting and get back to work. He jumped, then did as he was told.

“And I say to you there can be no peace if a single toff remains alive,” a loud voice proclaimed. Emily frowned as she saw a man in a little cloth cap haranguing the crowd. He had an impressive voice, drawing attention from everyone on the street. “There can be no freedom if one of them remains alive to destroy our liberties.”

The crowd howled in approval. Emily winced inwardly as they worked themselves up into a crescendo of fury, directed at any aristocrats who might happen to cross their path. She hoped the remaining aristocrats had fled or gone into hiding. Mob rule was always dangerous. There was no way in hell the crowd wouldn’t get out of control. They’d kill everyone who got in the way, even if they weren’t aristocrats. She’d seen mobs on the streets before. That hadn’t been pleasant for anyone.

“Everyone has the right to speak,” Aiden commented. “They just don’t have the right to be heard.”

Emily gave her a sharp look as they walked onwards. There were men arguing for everything from universal civil rights and constitutional government to communalism and effective communism. A man in an ill-fitting military uniform was insisting on universal military service, warning of the dangers of a royalist military; a man beside him was insisting, with even greater conviction, that everyone had both the right and the responsibility to bear arms at all times. Emily glanced at the crowd, noting just how many of them were carrying weapons. It wouldn’t have been allowed only a few, short weeks ago. Only the aristocracy had had the right to keep and bear arms.

A young woman stood on a bench, making the case for female rights and pointing out - repeatedly - that if women were denied rights it was only a short step to denying men rights as well. She didn’t touch on anything too specific, but she insisted - loudly - that women should have the right to vote in the forthcoming elections and that they’d go on strike, refusing to recognize the new government if they didn’t have any say in its formation. A little further down the road, an older woman was demanding price controls for food and an absolute ban on alcohol. The crowd was alternatively cheering and booing her.

That’s not going to go down well, Emily thought. They’re not going to thank her for banning alcohol.

She glanced at Aiden. “Are you going to hold elections?”

“That’s the plan,” Aiden said. “But we don’t know when.”

Emily frowned as they circumvented the crowd and walked around the corner. It was never easy to time an election, even in the best of times. Here... she could see the rebels putting the elections back time and time again until it was tacitly accepted they’d never be held at all. It certainly wouldn’t be easy to organize them, not in the middle of a war. There’d been a lot of thinking about non-monarchical forms of government - and even some practice, in the city-states - but nothing on a national scale. She could see arguments getting out of control and leading straight to civil war. Her heart sank. It was going to be years before everything sorted itself out.

“And I say to you, the land belongs to those who work it,” a farmer snapped. The crowd before him cheered loudly. “It does not belong to those who do nothing but fellate