Rewrite That Witch
CH1263 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1263: Future Work

“Excuse me — sorry, excuse me —”

The men turned as Manfeld shouldered through. Eyes landing on him, reading him. The one who’d been laughing stepped forward: the leader, obviously, the kind of man who arranges himself in the center of every tableau.

“Well, look at that. Another one who can’t wait his turn.” He grinned. “You’ll get your chance when I’m done.”

No weapon. Twelve men at least. One way through this: drop the head fast enough that the others hadn’t decided yet what to do.

Manfeld raised his open hands and kept walking, slowly, telegraphing nothing.

“Thought you should know — someone’s already gone to fetch the guards in black.” He glanced at the woman, trying to signal: I’m not with them. She tilted her head and looked, if anything, mildly curious.

She doesn’t look frightened at all.

“Guards in black?” The leader’s grin didn’t shift. “You think the patrol picks a side? You’re green, boy. Run along home.”

Laughter from the ring.

Manfeld moved. He put his shoulder into the man’s sternum and got his fist into the face before anyone had finished laughing. The leader went down like a sack dropped from a window.

These men were nothing like Mick Kinley’s trained servants. The leader hadn’t even gotten his hands up.

Then the rest of them came in, and Manfeld took hits across his back and legs that he filed away for later. He reached out toward the woman.

“Come with me —”

She took his wrist instead of his hand.

And then blue-white light cracked out of her like a whip.

The arc swept through the rushing men — through them, one after another, a skewer of crackling current — and they locked rigid and toppled backward with no more ceremony than knocked-over candlesticks.

Silence.

The woman clapped her hands once, lightly, as though congratulating herself on a serviceable piece of embroidery.

“That should do it.”

Manfeld’s mouth was still open. “Are you a — ”

“Yes. I’m a witch.” She said it the way someone says they’re from the east district. “Didn’t see the point in hiding it.”

He studied her. He had, somewhere in the back of his mind, assembled a composite picture of witches from legend and rumor — beautiful, unearthly, dangerous. The woman in front of him was homely, thin, and looked approximately as unearthly as a market clerk.

“What do we do with them?” He nodded at the men on the ground.

“I’ll call the police. I used maybe ten percent — they’ll be up in half an hour. Probably sent to the mines or the Furnace Area after that. Half a month, if they’re lucky.” She paused. “Actually, slightly longer for the loud one.”

Manfeld stared at her. He had the distinct, retrospective feeling that she had been in no danger whatsoever, and that this had always been true.

“I’m Sharon. And you are?”

“Manfeld.”

“You’re the only person who stepped forward.” She watched him with an expression he couldn’t categorize. “Why?”

“Why?” He rubbed the bruise forming across his shoulder blades. “Because it needed stopping. I didn’t know you didn’t need the help.”

“A matter of course,” she echoed slowly. “If it were that obvious, those onlookers wouldn’t have run.”

“There’s always someone who gets it,” he said. His father had told him that. The old histories had told him that — how all nobles had once been ordinary people who had decided to maintain order rather than wait for someone else to.

“Yes,” Sharon said, something shifting in her face. “There always is.” She studied him. “You’re a new arrival? Have you considered the police department?”

“You mean — the guards in black.”

“Among other things. They protect residents, investigate crimes. I think the work would suit you.” She added, almost offhand: “And they don’t always wear the black uniform.”

Before he could ask what she meant, she said, “I have a report to file. Someone’s waiting for your group.” She turned and walked toward the inner city.

He stood and watched her go.

“Now you understand why I stopped you.” Matt fell in beside him as Manfeld rejoined the group, smiling as though he’d watched this scene before.

“What exactly just happened?”

Matt set off walking and explained as they went. The residential suburb had grown dangerous as the immigrant population swelled — most crimes targeting women, perpetrators slipping between the jurisdictional cracks because the police couldn’t be everywhere. Simply calling the police after the incident still meant the damage was done before they arrived.

“So the witches patrol,” Manfeld said.

“They do it on their own time, and it serves two purposes: they’re never bored, and potential criminals can’t be sure whether the woman they’re approaching is an ordinary person or someone who can put fifty volts through them. Uncertainty is an excellent deterrent.”

“So nobody knows which women are witches.”

“Exactly. Since the police department will punish whoever the witch identifies, the chronic offenders have started to do the arithmetic.” Matt’s voice was even, almost administrative. “It’s better than before.”

Manfeld turned it over. It was nothing like the patrol teams he’d known, which existed mainly to collect bribes and reinforce the nobles’ authority. This was something else — closer to what a knight was supposed to be, in the versions of knighthood worth believing in.

If Sharon hadn’t been lying, this was a job worth having.

They reached the temporary residential building and claimed their rooms. Matt paused at the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow and show you the city properly. Ask me anything between now and then.”

Manfeld almost asked about the police application. Instead he said: “On the ship, I saw iron birds in the sky — machines, with people inside. Do you know what they are?”

Matt’s face opened into a grin. “I was the same. I could barely believe it the first time. But you get used to them quickly.” He paused at the door. “If you’re talented enough, you might even fly one yourself.”

“Seriously?”

“Princess Tilly posted a notice in the central square. She’s recruiting Aerial Knights.”

The door closed.

Manfeld stood alone in his room for a long moment with that thought, and the sound of engines, somewhere far above the city, still faint in his inner ear.

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