by Zen Cho
She caught sight of Zacharias, and stiffened.
“There you are wrong,” said Zacharias faintly. “She is not merely any little old lady.” He stepped forward. “I believe we have met, ma’am.”
The matron opened her mouth, frowned, and said a quick spell. It was not too cold a night, but her breath issued in puffs of green mist. When the puffs dissipated, she spoke in fluid English:
“You must have done something very shocking to have incensed the fine ones,” said Mak Genggang. “In my country one need merely wander into the jungle to find the spirit realm, but the spirits have erected a perfect forest of wards about Britain. How do you contrive on so little magic? Though to be sure, the punishment is no more than you deserve for your wickedness.”
“I am sorry to hear you say so, ma’am,” said Zacharias. He paused. “Did the Fairy Queen tell you as much?”
“Is that what you call her? I never saw her at all,” said Mak Genggang. “I merely went through her country as a shortcut. It takes such an age to travel to Britain otherwise. I had to come, of course, since that ridiculous raja is here begging for scraps from the foreigners’ table. I shall not have that young ciku stealing a march on me! It is convenient that I have met you, for you will be able to help me.”
There must once have been a time when he was not harried on every side by the whims and starts of importunate females, reflected Zacharias wistfully, but that halcyon period seemed very far away.
“Indeed?” he said noncommittally.
“I desire to speak to your King,” said Mak Genggang. “You had best bring me to him straightaway—and no dillydallying, if you please, for the fate of the nation depends upon it!”
“Good gracious,” said Prunella, staring. “But what dreadful thing is it that is going to befall us?”
“I have befallen you,” said Mak Genggang. “I was not referring to Britain, however. I was speaking of what is of rather more importance: the fate of my nation, which your King seeks to bully!”
“If you will permit me to say so, ma’am, I believe there is a misunderstanding,” said Zacharias. “Our King has no wish to alienate you, and I am sure would regret any inadvertent offence.”
“If he had no wish to offend, he ought not to have lent his ear to Raja Ahmad!” retorted Mak Genggang. “A sovereign ought to learn better judgment of character. It must be clear to anyone with their wits about them that the raja is a fool. But then again”—her eyes gleamed—“I suppose it serves your King’s purpose to treat with fools!”
Zacharias decided he would steer clear of diplomacy. If he was to avoid confusing Britain’s relations with Janda Baik beyond repair, he had best keep his lips sealed, and entrust this new arrival to those who understood politics.
“I would be pleased to escort you to town, ma’am, and if I cannot promise you an audience with the King, I can certainly introduce you to his representatives,” he said.
Edgeworth would be far from delighted to see Mak Genggang, and Zacharias was likely to lose any credit he still possessed with the man when he produced her. But after all, she could not be left to rampage about the country, and doubtless find some magical means of breaking into Windsor.
“We must hope that the Government will find some means of addressing your grievances,” said Zacharias, who thought this very unlikely.
But Mak Genggang was more sanguine.
“I have a suspicion they will,” she said, with alarming good cheer. “If they know what is good for them!”
12
ZACHARIAS RETURNED TO London in no mood for the Spring Ball. He had never been fond of a party, and this promised to be an even more dismal occasion than usual, if the Government carried out its intention of orchestrating a humiliating public review of England’s atmospheric magic levels.
Lady Wythe was visiting friends in the country, or Zacharias would have brought Mak Genggang and Prunella to her. Since he could not, he borrowed a leaf from Prunella’s book, and told his housekeeper that he had been honoured with a visit by a fairy princess and her duenna, which must be kept secret.
Fortunately Mak Genggang’s arrival had solved one difficulty, even as it created others. They were able to dispense with Cawley, for as Prunella put it, “Mak Genggang is so old she must be respectable, even if she is a foreigner.” She and Mak Genggang were fast friends at once, and Zacharias might have been concerned by the content of their whispered conversations as they talked away the long miles to London, if he had not been brooding over what he had learnt at the border.
He must obtain an explanation for the block on their magic as soon as he could, and the most direct way of achieving that was to seek an interview with the Fairy Court. The Court must be in expectation of such a calling to account, but Zacharias doubted they would welcome the confrontation. He certainly did not.
There was, of course, the Fairy King’s rout, which was held every rising of the blood-red moon in the Eastern Reaches of the Draconic Provinces. Zacharias had been aware of the occasion, as a potential factor that might affect the ebb and flow of magic into Britain, and therefore the enchantments he had planned for increasing Britain’s magic. He had had no intention of attending the event—the Sorcerer Royal had not been seen at the rout since Sir Stephen had been chased out by a fury wielding a flowerpot (a story Sir Stephen had often told to his own disadvantage, but never fully explained). But in theory the application of any foreign ambassador for an audience with the King would be granted at his rout. There was no reason why Britain’s representative should be an exception, uneasy though their relations were now.
When had Fairy stoppered the flow of magic? Not till after Geoffrey Midsomer had crossed the border upon his return to England, for surely he would have detected it then—the Court had made no attempt to conceal what they had done. Magicians were a gossipy race, and any thaumaturge worth his salt would have broadcast the intelligence far and wide. Zacharias must, then, be the only one who knew of the block.
He must prevent the news reaching the Society till he had a better notion of what had moved the Fairy Court to act as it had done. His position was already so uncertain that it could hardly survive such ill tidings, unless he were able to offer a remedy—though what form that remedy would take was not at all clear to him.
With all of this to worry him, Zacharias arrived at the Society in his best silk stockings poorly equipped to take any pleasure in the Ball. But he was not alone in this. There was a note of unease in the gathering that sat oddly with the gaiety and bustle.
The first Spring Ball had been hosted by the Society at its new buildings in 1376, in celebration of the grant of the lease by the Crown. More than four hundred years later, it remained the prime opportunity of the year for magicians and Ministers to mingle, though the attitude of each body of men to the opportunity had undergone a considerable change within the intervening period.
When the tradition of the Ball had first begun, it had been considered a coup for the Crown that it should have contrived to persuade the intransigent sorcerers to accept its liberality. Now the position was reversed: there were very few English magicians who could claim the title of sorcerer, and the Society was much less sure of its status than it had been in former times.
Zacharias discerned this uncertainty in the strained faces of his blue-coated colleagues and the patient titters of their wives. Everyone was merry, but he doubted anyone was at their ease. No doubt the news of the Government’s plans had got out. But the Society’s imminent embarrassment seemed to recede in importance compared to what he had learnt at the border.
“What are you doing here?” said a voice behind him, in tones of unutterable disgust.
“I could not have stayed away forever, you know,” said Zacharias mildly.
“If you think a week is sufficient for your enemies to forget you—!” exclaimed Damerell. “Sir Stephen never had the least regard for his own
security, and he has imparted the same recklessness to you, I see.”
“I thought I might as well return, since Hampshire seemed no safer than London,” said Zacharias.
Damerell eyed Zacharias through his quizzing-glass, then said, “Let us walk on. There is a good spot for confidences up the hall.”
They stopped by an alcove in which hung a painting by a past Sorcerer Royal’s sister. Eliza Hamersham must have had more than a soupçon of the gift her brother had turned to such advantage in his career, for her portrait of a beloved niece and her terrier had an effect out of all proportion to its innocuous subject. Eliza’s way of rendering her subjects’ eyes slightly larger than was lifelike, and of imparting to their skin a deathly bluish tint, made any person of sensibility so uncomfortable that few chose to linger there. The other guests gave them a wide berth.
“Now what has Hampshire done to you, that London would not?” said Damerell.
Zacharias gave him a brief summary of the attack at the Blue Boar, though he said nothing of Prunella’s part in it. “Since running away did not seem to improve my position, I thought I might see how standing my ground would serve. What is the feeling here? Has there been talk of what the Government is planning this evening?”
Zacharias had confided in Damerell regarding his encounter with Edgeworth: he trusted Damerell as much as he could trust any fellow thaumaturge, and he needed a pair of eyes and ears to attend to what occurred while he was gone.
Damerell shook his head, appearing to examine Miss Hamersham’s work closely. “Not one peep from the Government have I heard, though the Society has been a hive of activity in your absence. The object of that is your removal from office. Fortunately, as you know, it requires an Herculean effort to convince thaumaturges to agree. They have just come to a consensus on your successor, but deciding upon a means of unseating you, and installing him, will require a great deal more bickering.”
Zacharias observed to his relief that there seemed to be limitations to the concern a man could feel at the burdens loaded upon him. His organ of anxiety was already so exercised that this new complication only provoked irritation.
“I hope that will not interfere with my reform,” he said absently. “Though I suppose it will—I suppose it will interfere with everything. Bother! Who is to be my successor?”
“I am glad you take it so coolly,” said Damerell. “Your successor is to be the prodigal son, of course. Who else could it be? Geoffrey Midsomer’s return has been so neatly timed, it would be a positive waste for him not to be put forward.”
Zacharias heard this without surprise. The younger Midsomer was, as Damerell said, a natural choice for those Fellows of the Society who disliked a mere African’s wielding the staff of the Sorcerer Royal. Midsomer Senior was more a magician by reason of his birth and connections than for any native ability, but his son was undeniably gifted. Geoffrey Midsomer had invented several ingenious spells in his youth, and of course he possessed the unusual distinction of having sojourned in Fairyland.
It was a bold move to play for the staff of the Sorcerer Royal, but then, why should not Geoffrey Midsomer be ambitious? He basked in the glory of having escaped the Fairy Court; his uncle was Lord Burrow, who chaired the Presiding Committee of the Society; and he could only benefit from having such a rival as Zacharias. He provided a convenient focus for the hopes thwarted by Zacharias’s investiture, and so could not want for support.
Zacharias could only think of one thing Midsomer lacked. “He is not a sorcerer.”
Damerell nodded. “But neither were you, you know, before you took up the staff.”
“Oh, I am a sorcerer,” said Zacharias wearily. “Would that I could forget it!”
The silence that ensued then might have been very awkward, for Damerell knew no more than anyone else of what had happened the night Zacharias had been made Sorcerer Royal. The Presiding Committee had conferred for long, secret hours when Zacharias had emerged the master of the staff, whom none but the Sorcerer Royal could use.
The staff, being famously fastidious, was generally acknowledged to be the ultimate arbiter on the question of who should be deemed the Sorcerer Royal. Still, it was irregular in the extreme for a Sorcerer Royal to lack a familiar. Zacharias himself had been so distressed by Sir Stephen’s death (or pretended to be, said his enemies), as to be unable to offer any explanation for the circumstance. It was whispered that the Committee had been compelled to consult the Fairy Court by shewstone in order to reach its decision. But the decision was made: Zacharias was declared the true Sorcerer Royal, the acknowledged successor of Sir Stephen.
Damerell was an intimate not only of Zacharias but of Sir Stephen, and he might justly have expected to be told more. But Zacharias had not confided in anyone. He had assumed his new responsibilities quietly, as though the abuse and suspicion heaped upon him did not exist. Damerell could scarcely ask, since Zacharias had not offered to explain, and he was possessed of too much true delicacy to probe further. He said serenely:
“Very natural, I am sure! I should feel the same in your position. Though I do not much envy your adversaries either. Their difficulty is that you are a most gentlemanlike fellow, leaving aside your colour. Of course, that can’t be left aside, but it all makes matters rather awkward for those that would persecute you.”
“I cannot say I feel any pity for them,” said Zacharias.
“All things considered, you may be the worse off,” Damerell allowed. Despite the lightness of his tone, the look he gave Zacharias was worried, and he added abruptly, with unwonted seriousness, “What a predicament you are in, Zacharias! What do you propose to do?”
Zacharias had glimpsed John Edgeworth among the milling crowds.
“No more than what I have been trying to do all along,” he said. “My duty. I beg you will excuse me for a moment.”
• • •
ZACHARIAS thought he ought to break the news of Mak Genggang’s arrival as soon as he could. It was an awkward thing to do at a party, but then the Spring Ball had always been an occasion for intrigue.
How Mak Genggang’s presence might affect the Government’s plans regarding Janda Baik, he would not attempt to predict. If Zacharias were a Foreign Office bureaucrat, he thought he might throw in his lot with Mak Genggang, rather than the fretful sultan. His encounters with each had been brief, but they had been sufficient to decide his views on who was likely to triumph in any struggle for power.
Fortunately, his views were of no importance whatsoever. If those whose decision it was to make would only take Mak Genggang off his hands, Zacharias would be content.
Luck was not with him that day, however. Edgeworth was at the opposite end of the room, but what with the crowd, he might have been a league away. Zacharias had not contrived to cover half the distance when he found his path blocked by a stranger, who was talking animatedly to someone behind her.
Zacharias murmured a courtesy, intending to edge around the woman, but something about her voice caught his attention.
“I must see him! Knowing the face of one’s enemy lends such nourishment to one’s hatred as cannot be equalled. I am surprised you wish to forbid it!”
Her companion replied in a protesting tone, “I should not dream of forbidding it, Laura. I merely beg that you have patience. There will be time enough to see— Wythe, by Jove! Are you here indeed?”
Zacharias had already recognised the companion’s voice, and was attempting to wriggle away before he could be observed, but he was defeated by the crush. He turned to face the one person he most wished to avoid.
“Good evening, Midsomer,” he said.
“I had not expected the pleasure of seeing you at the Ball,” said Geoffrey Midsomer. “Were not you lately in Hampshire?”
Midsomer wore an awkward smile, as if he were as discomfited by the encounter as Zacharias. They had been acquainted since they were boys,
but they had never had much to do with each other. Zacharias could not feel friendly towards the son of a man who had campaigned against him since he was a child, and that the young Midsomer now wished to supplant him was unlikely to be any further recommendation to Zacharias. He bowed, and his reply, though civil, was brief.
“I returned to town today.”
“I should not detain you, but my wife has entreated to be introduced,” said Midsomer. The woman who had been standing in Zacharias’s way went to Midsomer’s side and slipped her hand through his arm, looking up into Zacharias’s face with unusual directness. “Laura, my dear, this is Mr. Zacharias Wythe, who is the Sorcerer Royal.”
“How do you do?” said Zacharias.
Mrs. Geoffrey Midsomer was fashionably dressed, with her curls piled high in a yellow satin turban, but neither her face nor her figure possessed any particular beauty or distinction, save her eyes. These were large and bulbous, and of a hue so pale they almost seemed silver. She stared openly at Zacharias.
“So this is the Sorcerer Royal!” she said. She had a high-pitched, musical voice, with the slight inflection of a foreign accent—a curiously familiar accent, though Zacharias could not identify it. It was this accent that had drawn his attention when Mrs. Midsomer was speaking to her husband earlier. “He is not at all what I expected, Geoffrey.”
Zacharias glanced at Midsomer, taken aback, but though Midsomer flushed, and appeared conscious of his wife’s discourtesy, he did not reply. It did not seem meet for Zacharias to respond, since he had not been addressed. After a moment’s hesitation he said to Midsomer:
“I hope you do not suffer any ill effects from your residence in Fairyland. It has been a considerable time since any thaumaturge has enjoyed such exposure to Fairy and been able to return. I believe the last was Loveday, was it not? I read his journals with interest, but his observations are now fifty years old, and fresh intelligence will be very welcome.”
