Gregory Grey and the Fugitive in Helika

by Stanzin

CHAPTER 20

  Boon And Blood

  Mere minutes before the ceremony at the Grand Odeum that would effectively make Gregory one of the most powerful people in Domremy, he had an epiphany.

  It came to him as he stood in the line of awardees for the evening, who were all dressed ridiculously richly and flashily. He’d been wondering exactly how it was that he had not noticed the Boon creep up on him until he was forced to panic at the sheer enormity of that prospect at the very last minute. After all, the responsible thing to do would have been to get done with all the panicking well before, wouldn’t it?

  It struck him that most people probably only panicked when they had time to… but if your mind was too busy working on other things, it wouldn’t start panicking until the subject of that panic was shoved in its face.

  It wasn’t useful as epiphanies went, but at least it put things into perspective… and thinking about it helped distract his mind.

  However, such a thought could only offer a limited amount of distraction, and if Gregory failed to find a good substitute, he’d find his brain freewheeling cheerfully through further terror.

  He was at the end of the line, and though the other awardees had looked at him curiously, everyone was clearly under some sort of impression that the evening had too much gravitas to be spoiled by chatter.

  Thankfully, Mango had been ushered over and inserted into the line just in front of Gregory; he reckoned he could spend at least ten minutes on the topic with her – ten blissfully thought-free minutes of conversation. And if he took time to offer niceties first, he could score as much as fifteen minutes.

  ‘Mango! You look terrifying!’

  She did look quite intimidating – instead of the formal and stiff blue-gold ceremonial dress Mr. Fester had outfitted Gregory with, Mango wore dark-red ceremonial armour.

  ‘It’s my family’s battle dress.’

  ‘You look ready to kill.’

  ‘Perfect… because I feel as if I’m being led into a slaughter.’

  ‘You look like you’re holding up alright.’

  ‘Oh I was, until I saw the crowd outside… and then I freaked out so much that I’m approaching calm from the other side.’

  ‘That many, huh?’

  ‘Haven’t you seen them? The ceremony’s already begun… when I came in they were commending Mr. Zeppelin for all the ships he committed to the rebuilding efforts… and Mr. Coffey and the Blood Bureau team was next… though I didn’t see that one… whatshisname – Schuyler.’

  You wouldn’t have, Gregory thought, though he’s close – Vincent was keeping the man somewhere in the gypsy camp. ‘I’ve no clue what’s going on outside. I’ve been here since noon… Mr. Fester’s been making me rehearse.’

  ‘Well, they’ve managed to cram about sixty thousand people into a space meant for forty… and there’s about half a million people outside the Odeum, all over the Arenas.’

  Gregory tried to wrap his head around that number. ‘Are there even that many people in Domremy?’

  ‘I do know of several countries with fewer people than that in them… oh, we’re moving.’

  They shuffled forward.

  ‘Gods, it’s starting.’

  ‘We’ve got some time yet… some people have got speeches to make.’

  The line progressed slowly forward down a narrow wooden corridor, and up a narrow set of wooden stairs; light chamber music drifted down from above.

  ‘Hey, I just had an interesting thought…’

  Gregory managed to stretch the conversation about his epiphany out to twenty minutes; in that time, they climbed up the stairs. The other awardees sometimes turned back and scowled at him; Gregory pretended not to notice.

  ‘I bet I bollix up the speech,’ he said gloomily.

  ‘Did you write your own?’ Mango asked. ‘I did.’

  ‘They wouldn’t let me… I’m not deferring my boon, so my speech is tied up into it… and Mr. Fester said I was going to ruffle a lot of feathers, so I had to package it up nicely… make it ‘politically correct’ and all.’

  Mango looked amused. ‘What kind of feathers are you ruffling?’

  ‘Every kind,’ Gregory said a little proudly.

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘Do you know where Susannah and Zach are?’

  ‘Somewhere in the crowd, though I heard they got good seats… Zach said if we puke, he’d be able to see it.’

  ‘That’s considerate of him. Listen, I’ve got something to tell you… though this isn’t the best time… depressing time, really.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You remember that gypsy man from the Peoplesmeet – the firedancer?’

  Mango blushed till her face matched the color of her armour. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well… he’s dead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was an accident; he got in the way of a spell,’ Gregory said in a rush, ‘Chief Merlot told me they’re going to hold his funeral tomorrow … I told him how much you’d enjoyed his performance, and he said you were invited to the funeral if you wanted to come… and I know this is a bad time, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get to tell you in time…’

  ‘No, that’s alright… that’s horrible… of course I’ll come! When is it?’

  ‘At six tomorrow evening… here, a little way uphill from the arenas… we can get Zach and Susannah too.’

  ‘I’ll be there! Thanks for telling me.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Of course, it hadn’t been Chief Merlot, but Vincent who’d issued the invitation. A minute passed in melancholy silence.

  The line turned a corner; with a jolt, Gregory realised that only Mango was left to go before him. Through the door, he saw the Thrones standing directly in front of him; with the line of awardees wearing sashes of different colour behind them. A single awardee stood at the very front, giving his speech, but Gregory couldn’t make it out.

  The voice of the Master of Ceremonies called out. ‘Nominated by adoration by the nation of Domremy, for her resourcefulness, courage, and selflessness, Hero of Domremy, Magus Mango Piper.’

  ‘Good luck!’ Gregory whispered as Mango moved out into the stage, the unseen crowd cheering loudly. He kept his eyes fixed on her every movement, committing each motion to memory, just in case he went out there and forgot everything Mr. Fester had ever said. The Thrones draped a white sash over Mango, and Gregory heard the audience outside roar. She moved forward to make her speech; Gregory couldn’t make out a single word of it, but at one point, she bowed her head, and the whole Odeum was entirely silent.

  Would Vincent be in the crowd? He probably was, Gregory thought; Vera would want to know how the Ceremony went. When would he get to meet her? Was she as powerful as Vincent? What would they think of the boon that he was about to ask? Everyone in Domremy was probably going to hate him… and everyone in Helika.

  Mango finished her speech, and joined the line of awardees, flashing Gregory a quick smile.

  ‘Nominated by adoration by the nation of Domremy, for his resourcefulness, courage, and selflessness, Hero of Domremy, Magus Gregory Grey.’

  Suddenly finding breathing very difficult, Gregory strode out. A great and powerful light shone on the stage; peer as he might, he couldn’t make out the crowd at all… but he knew they were there… there was an incredible swell of noise in their cheer. Before he knew it, he was facing the Thrones, left arm stretched out; they draped a white sash over him without a word exchanged.

  He looked up at them; King Nathaniel nodded gravely at him, and Queen Renata smiled gently. Gregory turned around. He really couldn’t make out the crowd at all, for all that it sounded like the stage was about to be stampeded. There was a circle in front of him, which, Gregory knew, was charmed to amplify his voice. Thin ribbons of golden letters strung themselves out in the air in front of him – his speech had begun.

  ‘Thank you, Thrones. Thank you, Domremy. A few weeks ago, I blundered my way into your city, and
you have been very welcoming… though of course, that might something to do with the fact that I thoroughly saved your bacon…’

  The laughter swell out from the invisible masses; Gregory grinned.

  ‘I wasn’t going to ask for a boon… I only came up with it earlier this week.

  ‘After the Voidmark, I was unconscious for seven days. When I woke, my cousin sister, Johanna, took me to the Wormhole. I love books, and it was like finding a dragon’s hoard, if dragons collected books.

  ‘But before my greed could kill me, I saw newspapers, from the week after the Voidmark… and I read what they said… what Domremy was saying, about me: a returned Hero… a Seraph, even.

  ‘Well, I thought you’d gotten it right. What a nice people you all are.’

  The audience laughed again. Not for long, Gregory thought.

  ‘I’ve heard the stories you’ve been telling about me: the nice ones… and the not so nice. And I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for me to tell you the truth from the fanciful…Well, you can go on waiting, because I’m having too much fun listening to the things you come up with.

  ‘But it is true, that I’m the son of Vincent and Veracity Grey.

  ‘It’s true that my parents and I disappeared many years ago, and that not even I know what’s become of them.

  ‘It’s true, that I have no memory of my own life before the age of seven.

  ‘It’s true, that I’ve spent the last seven years in an orphanage… that I knew nothing of my first home, or that I had family that still looked for me.

  ‘It’s true, that I am grateful to be back! … because great snakes, do you know how awesome it is to do magic? You’ve had it all your lives, so maybe you don’t think it’s a big deal… but I didn’t always have it.

  ‘You don’t get to do magic at the orphanage… the best I could hope for was that maybe, just maybe, some craft-master mage would take me as apprentice… and teach me just enough magic to conjure fire.

  ‘When I learned I was to come here… it was unreal – I was quite literally afraid that it wasn’t true… but I got onto the Zeppelin, and I flew into Domremy City.

  ‘It was like journeying to Heaven… because magic is so much more than I’d ever dreamt! Look at the Blood Bureau – it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of! And if that weren’t awesome enough – you’ve managed to come up with rechargeable runes? Get out of here!

  ‘Of course, I found out not everybody thinks rechargeable runes are a great idea… that another could use one’s magic… I didn’t grow up with the idea that magic is sacred…I wasn’t raised under any sort of Shamanic influence. That’s why, two complaints stood out the most.

  ‘First, it sounded strange to hear that people were angry, saying it violates the Shamanic texts.

  ‘Even weirder was hearing them say that the implications… of using rechargeable runes - it would destroy the societal structure that’s served Domremy for over a thousand years.

  ‘Domremy is one of the handful of prominently magical nations in the world… and one of the seven… only seven… Reflective nations. We have four mages for every ten non-mage… or I should say we had.

  ‘The Voidmark struck us, hard, and now, we have only a little over two mages for every ten non-mage. Almost half of our total magical peoples are dead – in a single day… more, if you consider that many more full mages died than part mages.

  ‘I think that social structure… that you’re all so keen to keep – it’s dead. It died on the Voidmark.

  ‘I don’t know why magic turned on us. I don’t know what corrupted it. Our greatest scholars are baffled by it still – so maybe we’ll never learn why.

  ‘But I did learn something else… we all learned it. We learned that our magic can be taken away from us – and that we’re almost helpless to prevent it. We learned that our magic isn’t constant… it is not permanent… it is not forever…

  ‘Magic was the strength that protected us in the thousand years of war that we struggled to build Domremy… the strength that helped us build a revolutionary philosophy – the Reflective Manifesto – which persuades every spirit to pursue it’s own calling, unheeding of others…

  ‘At the orphanage, I dreamt of magic almost every day since I can remember… and the very day I came back to my magical heritage - it was almost taken away from me.

  ‘You see a thousand year old culture gasping for life… I see an entire population weakened… its most precious resource – its magical strength – stolen away.

  ‘If something can be stolen away from us, we must guard it that much more carefully… but I don’t know how to guard against another Voidmark.

  ‘If something can be stolen away from us, then we must know where to look so we can get it back… but I can’t bring our dead loved ones back to life…

  ‘If something can be stolen away from us… then we must hoard so much of it that our losses, however tragic, don’t leave us vulnerable – and that’s what rechargeable runes can do! I don’t know if you know, but during the Voidmark, when all our spells conjured nightmares… the magic inside the Lovelace runes remained pure, and the constructs that used them conjured spells, not spectres. So many of you claim to hate what Lovelace runes are about… but if another Voidmark strikes, they will be the only magic you can turn to.

  ‘And if something IS stolen away from us, then we should build it… build so much of it, that no amount of theft could leave us poorer – and that I can do something about.

  ‘For the first of my three boons, I ask the King and the Queen to grant me this – rebuild Domremy’s lost magical strength. Restore the numbers of our mages… no more part-mages, no more non-mages – no more magical potential unrealised because there’s no one to pay for a magical education.

  ‘Take every child of Domremy under your patronage, and teach them all they magic they could possibly learn. Let Domremy become the first nation of Earth where every citizen is a mage.

  ‘May the Thrones find me worthy of this boon… thank you.’

  Gregory stepped out of the speaking circle. The Odeum was quiet, as if people had not quite understood what he’d asked for… or as if they thought they’d misheard him. Moving to join the other awardees, he saw they were mostly slack-jawed. Mango though, looked positively giddy with glee – she beamed at Gregory.

  The King’s voice rang out then – it was the first time Gregory had heard it: ‘The Throne thanks you, Magus Gregory Grey, and grants your boon.’

  That’s when the murmur of the crowd swelled and swelled into a tremendous chatter… but no one was clambering on to the stage just yet, so they presumably weren’t rioting. But the ceremony was over, and the Thrones were moving off the stage, the like of awardees following; there was a ball to get to.

  ‘Greg… what the bloody hell!’ Mango hissed, looking to be in serious danger of injuring her neck as she tuned to look at Gregory.

  ‘Feathers properly ruffled, you reckon?’

  ‘Ruffled? More like plucked clean… that’s what you’ve been putting together the whole week?’

  ‘Yeah. What d’you think?’

  ‘I think it’s brilliant. I think you’re in a load of trouble. I think you better sign up for mum’s classes quick coz one night you’re going to wake up and find assassins in your bedroom… and you should never drink from anything but your poison detecting chalice again… and… and I’m glad I deferred my boon… you’d have stolen my spotlight!’

  Gregory grinned happily. Something roared inside his chest… he couldn’t believe he’d needed Johanna to tell him he had the power to remake the world in the way he, Reggie, Alf and Mixer had always wished it would be.

  Also, above his station his left toe, Gregory thought with a snort – the Earl’s words had never really left him.

  They were led out of the Grand Odeum, down a pathway of hedges, which was lit up by hundreds of softly glowing flowers, until they came upon a great and golden tent – the Magus Ball.

&
nbsp; ‘Just confirming… but we don’t have to dance if we don’t have to, right?’ Gregory asked Mango just before they entered.

  ‘No, but you shouldn’t refuse a girl if she happens to come up to you and ask to dance.’

  ‘Perfect… they can take the lead.’

  Inside, the tent was stupendously decorated. The walls emanated a gentle, golden glow. Round tables of different sizes were scattered around, each bearing a tremendous feast of meats and cakes and wines.

  ‘Each new Magus’ family gets their own table… oh, that’s a pretty dance floor.’

  It was a floor of white marble that, like the walls of the tent, seemed to glow with its own light, a shimmering silver liquid. At one corner of the floor, a colourful string quartet played a light waltz. And in the centre of the tent, the Throne’s table lay draped in golden cloth and golden plates and golden goblets.

  ‘That’s the ugliest thing I’ve seen in my whole life… there’s so much gold, it’s hurting my eyes.’

  ‘Are we supposed to have dinner on that ugly thing-’

  A ball of red cannonballed into Gregory, and a ball of yellow into Mango.

  ‘Heroes!’ yelled Johanna and the girl Gregory recognised as Jenny, Mango’s cousin sister.

  ‘Congratulations!’ a chorus of voices called out. The families and guests of the awardees had entered. Uncle Quincy, Zach’s family, Mango’s mother, and the Coffeys – everyone surrounded them. Uncle Quincy swept Gregory up into and spun him around, roaring with laughter.

  ‘Don’t hurt the sash!’ Johanna chided.

  ‘What was that?’ Zach said, grabbing Gregory by the shoulder the second he was back on the ground. ‘What was that boon?’

  ‘I thought you’d like it.’

  ‘Like it? Like it… you…’ Zach trailed of into incoherence.

  ‘You look very handsome,’ Susannah said, rescuing Gregory from Zach’s clutches, and pecking him on the cheek for just a moment longer than was casual.

  ‘You look… I think the word’s… ravishing,’ Gregory said, stepping back to look at her white and silver dress.

  ‘I thought you’d like it.’

  Gregory shook hands with the adults and they found all their tables together in a cluster close the spectacularly ugly golden centrepiece.

  ‘So who’s sitting there?’ Johanna asked.

  ‘No one… until the very end, I think. We’re supposed to have desert with the Thrones there… but that’s it,’ Mango said.

  ‘Why is everyone looking at us?’

  ‘Not us, dear… they’re looking at Gregory,’ Susannah said.

  He hadn’t noticed, but suddenly every pair of eyes in the room felt like a spotlight just as hard as the one on the stage earlier, only this time he could see his audience.

  ‘They don’t look very friendly,’ Johanna said.

  ‘No, they don’t. Come on, let’s eat.’

  As everyone sliced into an enormous roll of ham, Augusta Lovelace turned to Gregory. ‘I suppose I ought to thank you.’

  ‘Thank me… why?’

  ‘You publicly voiced your support of my work… the first time anyone important has done that.’

  ‘Really? The first… the first time?’

  ‘Not even the Throne’s done it. Everyone’s beginning to use my work, but no one comes out into the open and admits it.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I think Gregory’s made history here,’ Zach said, ‘he’s managed to turn a full third of his teeth-gnashingly adoring admirers into haters within ten minutes of stepping into office… it deserves to be honoured, it does. I propose we raise a toast. Come on now, everyone.’ He brandished his glass of champagne, and laughing, everyone picked their own up as well. ‘To Gregory and Mango, and all the things they’re going to step into, and the people they’re going to enrage, and the perks that are inevitably to come my way by virtue of being their friend.’

  ‘To Gregory and Mango,’ they chorused.

  ‘Thank you… thank you, Zach. That was touching,’ Gregory said, smiling despite himself.

  Sometime later, a smartly-dressed man came up to their table.

  ‘Magus Mango, the King requests your presence... and Magus Gregory, the Queen yours. If you would just follow me…’

  They stumbled out of their seats.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Mango whispered.

  ‘No idea… maybe it’s some Hero business?’

  They were led to separate ante-tents on the far side of the silver dance floor. Shrugging at each other, they entered.

  The Queen was seated in front of a large wooden goblet or basin of some sort.

  ‘Sit, Magus Gregory.’

  He had to focus to not fidget in his seat. His fingers wanted to thrum, his feet to tap, and his knees to rock. He settled for slowly chewing the inside of his cheeks as the Queen regarded him.

  He looked down at the basin.

  ‘Pure runewood,’ the Queen said. ‘From a species of tree endemic to Domremy.’

  It was very disconcerting, Gregory thought, the way she managed to switch her hats so fluidly, yet completely. And though he could barge into Headmistress’ office and spew out a crazy idea, no one had ever taught him what to say to a Queen.

  ‘What is it for, my Queen?’

  ‘It is meant, Magus Gregory, for the true ceremony for becoming a Hero of Domremy. What happened at the Odeum was a show, staged for the people. The ceremony we are about to hold now is magical in nature.

  ‘But first, we shall speak. Don’t be afraid to speak your mind… the ceremony will happen regardless of what you say – Domremy has willed it.’

  ‘Alright,’ Gregory said cautiously.

  ‘Have you any idea, how much nastiness your boon is going to stir up? Not everyone will remember the pretty speech you gave tonight. They will call you a fool, and you’ve certainly already lost many of your admirers.’

  ‘Well, then they’re just being as silly as they were for making me a Hero in the first place,’ Gregory snapped, then blushed. Still, there was something funny about her manner – condescension? It irked him.

  The Queen though, looked delighted. ‘Oh, you have no idea how glad it makes me to hear that from you. You might not be the worst Hero after all. Yes, people are silly as anything. A person might not always be, but a people… silly is what being a people usually means.’

  ‘But you don’t think my boon is stupid.’

  ‘Stupid? It was presumptuous and it was imperious. It was also well intentioned… so not stupid… but certainly… naïve? Then again, naiveté can get away with a lot. And your naiveté, especially, Gregory, is going to let the Throne get away with a lot.’’

  Gregory had no idea how to respond to that, so he did not.

  ‘Don’t look so disheartened. Do you know what a revolution is?’

  ‘It’s when people get together and throw over someone in power.’

  ‘It only means that sometimes.’

  She’d paced her way around the table and upto Gregory.

  ‘You’ve been taught to waltz?’

  ‘Wha- yes! Mr. Fester arranged for lessons.’

  ‘Then I’d like the honour of the first waltz with Domremy’s youngest ever Hero,’ the Queen said, and held out her hand.

  Gregory’s brain stuttered to a halt, then spat out the ballroom etiquette Mr. Fester had drilled into his head: counter clockwise on the floor, jostle no one, leave the entrance to the floor clear, find no faults with your partner, don’t move faster than others are moving, don’t be flashier than your partner, and make eye contact.

  … most of this probably wasn’t going to be a problem.

  He took her hand, and she began to lead them around the room. She was very tall, and he didn’t even come up to her chin. He had to lean away a little, or he’d have had an accident every time she took a breath. That said, he waltzed her with everything he’d learned from the six hours of practice he had had with Mr. Fester.

  The Queen w
ent on speaking as they danced.

  ‘Revolution can also a period of dramatic and far-reaching change. Do you know what the people hate most of all?’

  ‘Change?’ Gregory ventured.

  ‘Precisely. To change, to evolve… that is the maxim of every human success, yet people avoid change like the plague. They fear it. They think it will harm them. And so, they will fear you, Magus Gregory Grey, and they will hate you… and why shouldn’t they? Magical ability has always separated the elite from the Mundane. In one evening, you’ve forced the people think about a world where they are no better than those they once called peasants. You weren’t even nice enough to ask them… you simply said that this ought to be so… so very tyrannical….’

  It was officially the strangest conversation Gregory had had, weirder than when he’d first met Vincent in the clearing near the Caverns. He still had no idea of what to say… he thought the Queen had been happy with his boon.

  ‘And yet, because you so conveniently assumed the mantle of tyranny, the Throne doesn’t have to. Every successful revolution happens at the right time and at the right place.’

  The scent of her wafted over him, a rich and fruity air, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. The Queen was having none of that though. She stood right in front of him and with a finger, pulled his face up to meet her eyes again.

  ‘Chin up, Magus Gregory. You’re about to call for a revolution. Do you think it’s at the right time and at the right place?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gregory mumbled, then cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I do. I’m not the only one talking about it. I’m not the only one thinking it. And there’s all that stuff that Zach’s mum… I mean, Mrs. Zeppelin, is doing. You can do magic without even learning it now. If everyone can do magic, then everyone should be able to do it. It shouldn’t matter that you aren’t rich.’

  The Queen nodded. ‘Had you made this boon even ten years ago, the King and I would have had to refuse, never mind the price you could have demanded for the refusal. A call for a revolution then would have served no purpose, and even the Throne needs to keep people happy, or at least, comfortably discontent.

  ‘Now though... do you even realise what a great favour you’ve done to me, and the King, personally?’

  Gregory stared at her nonplussed.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do,’ said the Queen. ‘Being a Hero is not like other titles the Throne might bestow upon you. It is a covenant, a sacred agreement between the Hero and the nation.’

  ‘Nation… you mean Domremy?’

  ‘Yes, Domremy itself,’ the Queen said softly. ‘Its people, its lands, its culture, its heritage and its spirit. Domremy lives, and as such it has a soul. And be clear on this – by soul, I mean living Will, the same Will you are taught about in your Sorcery lessons.

  ‘Your covenant is with Domremy. Domremy acknowledges you as its chosen child and as such, you and your friend Magus Mango Piper are more closely bound to this land in some ways than even the King or I.

  ‘Domremy recognises you as its guardian, and it will protect you in turn. In a manner of speaking, when you say something, your voice can be said to be Domremy’s voice. Do you understand?’

  Gregory took a few moments to absorb that. ‘So… when I asked for that boon… people will take it to mean that everyone in Domremy wants what I want?’

  ‘Perhaps not in absolute terms… but after a fashion, yes. A nation is a sum of many parts and I dare say you’ll find those who will now accuse you of the vilest blasphemy.’

  ‘I don’t see how this is a favour to you…your Grace.’

  ‘Universal magical access – an old and controversial dream. Despite its costs, it’s inevitable, for reasons both economic and moral.

  ‘We – the King and I, that is – thought we were prepared. Many campaigns were drawn up, many scholars consulted. Every possible source of outrage had been identified. It was going to be long and slow process and would take an entire generation before we saw any worthwhile change. But we were ready.’

  She looked down at him wryly. ‘Then along comes a boy with a stick and so much for all that.’

  Gregory looked away, feeling a little hot around the corner. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No. I fear that if it’s anyone who should be apologising, it’s me. Lucky for me, Queens don’t have to apologise. Ever.’

  ‘You? How come?’

  ‘All our work didn’t go to waste, Magus Gregory. Do you truly believe that we managed to draft out an entire Philosophy and Law of Education in the one week since you asked for the boon? These things take decades! We already had decades of work invested into this. So when you burst into my office, with ink all over your face, I took advantage of you. Your boon offered me an opportunity to speed up this revolution’s timeline… and I took it.’

  The Queen sighed. ‘Only, at this moment, it’s much more your revolution than it ever was mine.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Gregory said. He was listening intently, but a part of him was rather proud at how well the waltz was going.

  ‘I will do my best to be simple. How deeply are you committed to this dream of yours, Magus Gregory? Starting a revolution by asking for a boon is a simple thing. Would you be willing to become the face of that revolution, to lead it?’

  Gregory wore his puzzlement on his face.

  ‘It’s important that you understand this… tell me, what do you know of Occilox himself?’ the Queen asked.

  ‘He founded the Reflective faith… and Domremy.’ Everyone knew that.

  ‘Was that achievement his alone? Obviously not. There must have been any number of advisors, scholars and idealists who’d contributed to the First Reflective Manifesto, but his name is the only one everyone remembers. His story is the only one that most will ever care about. Why?’

  ‘Because it’s the one people most like to hear?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Melancholy crept into the Queen’s voice. ‘I wish you could have met my daughter; she would have loved to speak with you.’

  Gregory swallowed, and said, ‘I wish too… that I could have met her.’

  ‘Your uncle told me you like to read, yes? Then you know that people think of themselves and the world around them in terms of stories… the story of their own lives, the story of the lives around them – lots of little stories that come together to make one big story, and it’s almost always the same story, told in different forms, and different characters, but always the same. Would you agree?’

  ‘I guess,’ said Gregory. The Bobbin used to say something like this, on one of those rare nights when he allowed his more favoured charges to sip at his rum. ‘It’s like the pattern of folktales… a conflict, a quest, a battle and a lesson.’

  ‘Precisely. Every revolution has a hero – a face to look at, a voice to listen to. Occilox was the hero of the Reflective revolution. Now, another revolution is coming. We need another Hero. And what do you know, we have one, and brand new at that. One who’s practically volunteered for the role.’

  Woah, said every component part of Gregory.

  Uncle Quincy had said that there would be those who wished to use him, but he had probably been thinking of underhand methods and false flattery. Apparently, being a Queen meant you could tell a person up front that you planned to make use of them.

  Then he thought about what she was asking, and he laughed, hard.

  The Queen indulgently watched him chortle. ‘The idea doesn’t scare you then?’

  ‘Scare me? This is too much, on top of all the other muchness of this place.’

  ‘Muchness?’

  It was about as much as he felt like saying. Complaining about the earthquake, the spectres, the knighthood, strange missing-person posters, the tithes, his father, Lesley Greene, and now this whole revolution business sounded well justified in his head, but it would probably sound like whining if he said it out loud… and ungrateful. That didn’t mean he couldn’t think it, and he was thinking it as loudly as
he could.

  ‘Yes. Muchness,’ said Gregory.

  ‘Then you refuse.’ It wasn’t a question, but the Queen did seem surprised, and a little disappointed.

  ‘What? No… I mean, I don’t know,’ Gregory said. ‘It’s just that… so what even if I did ask for the boon I asked.’ He searched for words that would not suggest that he thought the Queen was crazy. ‘That doesn’t mean I’d make a good… Hero. Function doesn’t always follow form.’

  It was good line, though he couldn’t remember where he’d picked it up.

  The Queen was silent for a minute. ‘Perhaps what you lack is a bit of perspective. Oh Gregory, don’t you see? Don’t you see your pattern… your story? It’s so perfect… do you have any idea how people see you?’

  ‘They hate me?’

  ‘Not quite. Even the ones who don’t agree with you believe that you’re simply unfortunately misguided… perhaps led astray by your friendship with Master Zeppelin. No one truly hates you. Let me tell you your story, as the people see it.’

  ‘Eight years ago, a family disappeared… a mother, a father and a child, good people and well-respected. The yearlong search revealed nothing, and they faded into urban legend… but still they are remembered.

  ‘One day, many years later, a terrible tragedy strikes the nation – magic itself corrupted. Imagine the surprise and the wonder of a despairing people, when, in a corner where we were almost certain to encounter only death – a school filled with practically defenceless children – we instead found life, the children saved by a boy with a stick.

  ‘We disbelievingly hear of the boy’s efforts – a level of ingenuity nearly unheard of at that age – and his near self-sacrifice. And as we tell ourselves fantastic story over and over, we came to believe. Even as we prayed for his recovery, the strangest of all rumours spreads… and then is discovered to be true, that the boy is the returned child of the long lost family… and rumour grows more fantastic with every telling…

  ‘Then someone says it – he’s the prophesised Seraph, sent to us in our darkest hour, the one who’ll restore balance to a world spiralling into unrest and war… and everyone wants to believe it. His legend grows even as he sleeps, and many are terrified that he’s on the verge of death, that their saviour will be taken away before they could ever know him…

  The Queen abruptly stops the long waltz, and clasps Gregory’s hands in her own.

  ‘And then he wakes.’

  Gregory didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone’s eyes shine quite like that.

  ‘The entire nation cheers for their nominated Hero, for he cannot possibly be anything less. They ache to see him, and wish fervently to hear that he’s accepted the mantle they’ve bestowed… and he does! He looks every bit like how they’ve imagined him… and then he asks for it… for universal magical access.’

  ‘Do you see now, Magus Gregory? Your story is practically written – your acts so beautifully framed. All it requires is that you play the parts as you’re expected, that you live the story… and in less than a decade, every child in this nation could be a budding mage.

  ‘It will be a greater service by far that you’ll do for Domremy than you have already done. You will be seen to lead, but you will not be alone, as Occilox was not alone. You have my word. So will you, Magus Gregory, lead us?’

  Gregory slowly pulled his jaw back up to his skull. A part of him wanted to applaud the Queen’s speech. Another wanted to point out that he knew exactly what she was doing; that he’d read all about how to play to a person’s ego; and that he knew how inspiring speeches were all about getting people to back you up by making them think they belonged.

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  The rest didn’t matter. There was simply nothing else he could have said if he didn’t want to wake up kicking himself for the rest of his life.

  The Queen glared at him in triumph. ‘There were those who counselled me against speaking to you so plainly. That this is a decision beyond what one can expect a child to make. I am glad to see you’re not most children, Magus Gregory.’

  Oh, blah, blah, blah.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She still clasped his hands, and he was acutely aware of her soft warmth as she kissed him.

  ‘Thank you! Boons are ceremonial things… but if there’s ever something you think needs the Throne’s attention, you have the Throne’s ear.’

  There was a knock on the door leading into the room.

  ‘We will speak more on this soon. There won’t be much for you to do here in the near future, but I think you’ll like what we’ve planned. And now it’s time for the ceremony, before we step back out for dessert… step over the basin, Magus Gregory…’

  At a command from her, the basin filled up with that same silvery, shimmery water that had churned in the fountain at Gregory’s Blooding at the Caverns.

  The Queen unceremoniously cut her palm open; the blood bloomed through the water. Then she cut Gregory’s palm open; as before, it was painless.

  ‘Once again, place your instrument into the water, Magus Gregory.’

  This time, the belt soaked in both his and the Queen’s blood, even as she chanted her strange sounding words. When the water was clear, Gregory and the Queen both reached for his belt; the water healed their cuts in moments.

  ‘Hold your instrument.’ The Queen pulled out a chalice, and scooped up water from the basin. ‘Drink.’

  It was like suddenly becoming aware of someone else’s mana intersecting your own… if that somebody else were a god. It was in the air, the ground, in him, and in the Queen, and in the sky. It was big… no, ginormous, and powerful, and utterly calm.

  ‘Woaaaaaah,’ Gregory said.

  The Queen laughed. ‘Gregory, say hello to Domremy.’

  ‘Hello… Domremy.’

  Domremy flooded through him.