Sorcerer to the Crown

by Zen Cho

  She was so engrossed that for a brief time she forgot all about the treasures, and was only reminded of them when one of the stones rattled off the directoire and fell on the floor. Prunella leapt forward and scooped it up.

  The egg felt as hard as ever, no different from any dull stone, she thought—but then she felt something move within it.

  She rose and looked at the treasures. Some of the stones were vibrating, though the directoire itself was still. To her mingled delight and alarm she saw that one of the eggs was beginning to crack. The finest fissure could be discerned upon its surface, growing as she watched.

  Magic infused the air; her every breath was haloed with green mist. Prunella felt as though she were standing at the brink of a sea of magic, watching a swelling wave gather force before it crashed upon the shore.

  The very walls seemed to grow thin and insubstantial, scarcely capable of holding out against a fearsome world outside. The black shadows in the corners of the room took on a life of their own; they peeled off the floor and danced around her, holding hands. Ordinary things—the grate, the bed, the directoire, the curtains—all took on a dreadful significance.

  Prunella found her head hurt badly. The light from the fire was too bright. It was hard to move, for she felt as though with every step she pushed back a great load—a veritable boulder of magic. But she reached for the orb and somehow contrived to grasp it.

  Fortunately there was a basin of water not far from her. She dropped the orb into it, heard it splash—for Prunella could hardly see now; her vision was so crowded with lights and vivid colours—and rubbed it with her fingers till it was clean. Her task was hindered by the violent shaking of her hands, but the song began to fade, and finally the voice went silent.

  The egg in her hand was no longer anything but a stone. She placed it gently upon the directoire, and took stock of her treasures. Only one had that crack across it, which now looked like a mere fault in the stone—though not a minute ago she had seen a green light shining from it, and known that whatever it was that was locked within the stone was emerging.

  A stray line from the monograph she had read that morning returned to her—its only reference to familiars’ eggs:

  It is clear that familiars hatched from the egg have nothing to do with the true, angelic paredrus. Indeed, from the effects of such hatchings as we have seen, there is some ground for asserting that the former are rather creatures of the diabolical kind, but though the argument presents a rich vein worthy of further investigation, it falls without the scope of this work.

  Prunella had dismissed this earlier as nonsense. But she saw the author’s meaning now. He meant that familiars’ eggs were dangerous, and never more so than when they hatched. She knew this with a bone-deep certainty. She had known, when she saw the egg begin to crack, that she was not capable of controlling the spirit it contained, nor of predicting the fury it might unleash.

  That she would—must—hatch the eggs, however, she knew without a shadow of a doubt. Her headache was nearly gone, but she would have endured far worse for such a return—such a sense of limitless glory! She could not bear the thought that she might never again stand on that shore, looking out across that vast ocean of wonder. If this was how thaumaturges felt, little wonder they were so jealous of their magic, and begrudged women the most trifling spell! So too should she hoard magic if she had experienced that sensation and feared losing it.

  Still, it is unjust of them, she thought. If Mak Genggang is right, there is no reason a female cannot command a familiar’s powers as well as a man. It is shockingly ungallant of men to withhold from us our fair share of magic!

  Zacharias would have warned Prunella to proceed with caution if he had heard her thoughts. Strong magic was not unlike wine in its effect upon the heads of those unused to it, and the intoxication of a first encounter with the powers of a familiar had led more than one thaumaturge into folly. Zacharias might have said that given what one surrendered in the Exchange, no one in his right mind would become a sorcerer if not for that exhilaration—or unless he had some other potent incentive.

  But Zacharias was not present to give a lecture Prunella would have found dull. She had not quite made up her mind to become a sorceress herself, but she longed to make another trial with the eggs, if only to experience again that heady taste of power.

  Even if she possessed the secret of awakening the eggs, however—even if her mother (if it was truly her mother) had left her the song that would unlock their spell—she could not use it till she knew what was needed to pacify the familiars that emerged.

  After all, whatever I do with the treasures, I must know how they are to be hatched safely. I could scarcely sell familiars’ eggs that do nothing but give their owners headaches! Perhaps—the disturbing thought would occur—perhaps what the Society says is true, and I only suffered from the treasures because I am too weak to endure their magic, being a mere female. But there is one person who will know if that is true—one who will tell me what I must do to govern the treasures, if I am capable of it.

  She would go now, before anything occurred to prevent her asking the questions for which she craved answers. Mr. Wythe’s lodgings were near the Society, and it would be a short walk, shorter than the one she had taken from the school to surprise Mr. Wythe at the Blue Boar.

  If it were ancient, secret wisdom Prunella sought, she must consult that mistress of secrets, that revealer of mysteries, that unparalleled witch, defier of sorcerers and sultans alike—Mak Genggang herself.

  • • •

  DAWN had begun to unfold its silver light over the Society gardens when Zacharias passed through the gate. He was not surprised to see the figure waiting for him by the doors, though he had told no one of his intentions.

  “I had thought I would see you here,” said Midsomer.

  Zacharias bowed, though he was chilled by a premonition of disaster. He did not remark upon the curious circumstance of both his and Midsomer’s being abroad so early. Midsomer knew that Zacharias had travelled under darkness in hope of having the chance of speaking to Mak Genggang undisturbed. Zacharias knew Midsomer had hoped to catch him out. It was so unnatural a situation as not to require comment.

  “I hope Mrs. Midsomer is recovered from the shock she received yesterday,” said Zacharias. “I am glad she came to no lasting harm from the altercation.”

  “God grant that may be the case. It is too early for anyone who has my wife’s welfare at heart to trust that she has indeed suffered no harm,” said Midsomer coldly. “I am not here to discuss my wife, however. I had hoped to have the opportunity to speak to you in private.”

  “I have not much time, I am afraid,” said Zacharias. “But perhaps if you came to my rooms later—”

  “There is no need. What I have to say will not take much time,” said Midsomer. “I intend to propose to the Committee today that the Society take steps to subdue the witches of Janda Baik, whence came the hag Mak Genggang. Will you support this motion, or not?”

  Zacharias’s sense of foreboding grew stronger. “What steps do you propose?”

  “Whatever is necessary to ensure they can no longer pursue their evil magics,” said Midsomer. He smiled without mirth. “I admit I have not yet sketched out a plan of attack, but I am sure your imagination can supply any gaps.”

  “You mean military action,” said Zacharias. “Have you forgotten our agreement with the French, sir? The sorcieres watch our movements too closely ever to miss such a flagrant breach.”

  Midsomer looked pleased at this response, though he sought to conceal it, affecting a frown.

  “It is as I thought,” he said. “You may be so anxious to treat with our enemies that you will swallow any outrage, but I assure you such meekness is not universal. I believe that English thaumaturgy possesses a bolder temper, that will not brook insults to its women, and I intend to test my hypothesis today.”<
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  “I believe the Society knows its duty,” said Zacharias, though he felt little enough conviction on the point. “It knows, as you should, that we have not the magical resource to contend with France’s sorcieres, were they to engage us upon the battlefield. The addition of magic to his arsenal could well turn the tide in Bonaparte’s favour. Consider, sir, what horrors would await every woman in Britain in consequence. It would be imprudent in the extreme to risk so much for an accident that has given Mrs. Midsomer no more than a passing fright.”

  But Midsomer was not listening. He had heard what he desired from Zacharias, and had no interest in continuing the argument, but hurried on to his main point:

  “So you mean to oppose my motion, sir?”

  Zacharias had never liked Midsomer, but he had not thought him so willing to subordinate everything—the good of his country, every dictate of common sense—to his ambition.

  “I would consider it my duty to do so,” he said.

  “Then, sir,” said Midsomer in triumph, “I must advise you to resign the office of Sorcerer Royal, and forswear the staff.”

  Zacharias stared at him, taken aback. Midsomer continued:

  “Consider how much trouble your resignation would save. I would refrain from demanding punishment for your failure to prevent the shameful events of last night, and you could hold aloof from our retaliation against Janda Baik, since you hold the hag in such friendship.”

  “I will certainly not resign, and I am surprised you should ask it of me,” said Zacharias, swallowing his fury with difficulty. Would Midsomer have treated with such high-handedness a Sorcerer Royal who was an Englishman? There was no need to ask the question. The answer had been made clear to Zacharias, in a multitude of ways, his entire life.

  Midsomer shrugged.

  “I had little hope you would agree,” he said, with an air of resignation. “I knew we should be obliged to take the staff from you by force, but I had hoped we might be able to resolve the matter peaceably, for everyone’s sake.”

  “And am I to accept that my being replaced by you would be for my own good?” said Zacharias contemptuously.

  Midsomer blinked. Zacharias had thought it obvious that his own civility was a polite fiction, disguising very different feelings, but he saw that Midsomer had not recognised this. Midsomer had not thought to receive anything but unwavering courtesy from a Sorcerer Royal he had repeatedly insulted. He had no more expected such plain speech from Zacharias than he would have accepted a pert answer from his black footman.

  “Say, rather, for the common good!” said Midsomer, flushing. “What did you do to defend Englishwomen from that hag? As much as you have done to prevent our public humiliation by the Government, and the removal of our privileges!

  “Yes,” he added, at the alteration in Zacharias’s countenance, “you believed you had concealed that! It is fortunate I discovered the Government’s intention before the Spring Ball, and did the little required to appease it. That you could not even do so much speaks volumes of your vaunted ability.”

  “I never laid claim to any extraordinary ability,” said Zacharias. He was trembling with anger. “But that I refused to stoop to bribery, or bend to illegitimate pressures, I believe speaks for itself.”

  Midsomer stepped back, his lip curling.

  “I should call you out for that if you were an Englishman,” he said. “But I would not lower myself by fighting the likes of you. I have given you fair warning. If you will not give up the staff, you will have to bear the consequence of your obstinacy.”

  “I do not make out your meaning, sir,” said Zacharias, his voice dangerously quiet. “I beg you will explain yourself.”

  Midsomer met his eye, unblushing. He said:

  “Recall that Cecil Hallett was asked to surrender the staff, and refused.”

  The hairs rose on the back of Zacharias’s neck. Every thaumaturge knew of the manner of Cecil Hallett’s demise. It had been such a death as was not easily forgot.

  “That procedure was outlawed by the Charter,” he said.

  “The Charter can be amended,” said Midsomer. “Good day to you, sir. I would think upon what I have said if I were you.”

  • • •

  ZACHARIAS mounted the stairs to Mak Genggang’s room in considerable agitation of spirits. He was so distrait that he would not have noticed the servant girl hurrying down in the opposite direction if she did not brush against him in her haste.

  He was almost at the door to Mak Genggang’s room when he recalled that the Society employed no female servants.

  He caught up with Prunella outside the building. She was walking briskly towards the gate, a basket tucked under her arm, for all the world as though she were going to market to buy a fish.

  Prunella was in cheerful spirits, though she had slept little the night before. A minor enchantment had sufficed to lead her to the room where Mak Genggang had been imprisoned within the Society. Though the Committee had hedged the room about with wards to prevent the witch’s getting out, no one had thought to institute any measure to prevent others from getting in.

  They had stayed up half the night talking, and very profitable the conversation had been too. Even after Mak Genggang had nodded off, halfway through a rambling story about a weretiger of her acquaintance, Prunella had been too excited to sleep. She had paced the room, making great plans, till dawn’s pale light shone through the window.

  They had agreed they would make their escape once it was light: “Else I shall be bumping into things, and like as not be eaten by an owl,” said Mak Genggang. Prunella could not help feeling they had contrived it very neatly, till she saw Zacharias on the stairs.

  There was just a chance they might still get away, she thought, for it was clear his attention was elsewhere. When she heard determined footsteps behind her, Prunella quickened her pace.

  “If your hope is that I will forget having seen you provided you only walk fast enough, I am afraid you will be disappointed,” said Mr. Wythe. Amusement and irritation mingled in his voice in equal measure. “Surely you do not think to escape me so easily?”

  Prunella resigned herself to discovery. Still, Mr. Wythe need not know everything yet.

  “You have an unfair advantage; being such a wretched long creature, you need only take one stride to my two,” she retorted, tugging the gingham cloth over the top of her basket. Unfortunately its inmate possessed less discretion.

  “He is right, you know,” piped a tiny voice. “We ought to have disguised you with a spell. I cannot conceive why I did not think of it before. My wits must still be in disorder from last night’s hullaballoo.”

  Zacharias’s eyes widened. Before Prunella could stop him, he pulled away the cloth, revealing what she had hid inside the basket.

  The basket itself was a product of magic. It had originally been Mak Genggang’s shawl, and had been transformed because Prunella thought a basket looked servant-like. Nestled within it was Mak Genggang, exactly as she had always been, save that she was no larger than a mouse—a cat could have eaten her, if it was so foolish as to try. She sat cross-legged with her palms braced against the bottom of the basket.

  “Good day, Sorcerer,” she said. “It is a fine house your magicians have, but far too cold. You ought to waste less magic on warding poor old females, and spend more on warming your feet. Mine are as cold as the sultan’s heart!”

  “What are you doing?” gasped Zacharias.

  “She is hiding,” said Prunella crossly. “You know we talked about the importance of discretion, Mak Genggang!” She turned down the cloth. “You need not stare at me. It is shocking that the Society should have been so disrespectful as to imprison Mak Genggang for a misunderstanding, when that silly turbanned creature was not even hurt.”

  “I can see that it seems disproportionate,” said Zacharias, striving to keep his calm. “But you
cannot simply smuggle out a prisoner of the Society!”

  “Oh, but I have,” said Prunella. “It was the easiest thing in the world, and it needed to be done, you know, for Mak Genggang could not escape herself. I have never seen such an extravagance of magic, and all to prevent her flight! Now I have seen the Society’s profligacy, I am hardly surprised the nation suffers from a lack of magical resource. I only wonder that we have any magic left.”

  “Are you truly unaware of the extreme delicacy of the situation?” said Zacharias. “The Society was all for meting out immediate punishment. It was all I could do to persuade my colleagues to wait for a formal investigation. They have been uncommonly patient, according to their lights, but any wrong movement now may cause an explosion. You must return her.”

  “I certainly shall not!”

  “I should like to see her do it!” said Mak Genggang beneath the cloth.

  Squaring her shoulders, Prunella marched off down the street. There could be no thought of abandoning Mak Genggang to the Society now, when the witch had taught her so much. She would stand by Mak Genggang, and she did not mean to look back.

  And Prunella would have held to her resolve, if there had not been a great thud behind her, and if Zacharias had not let out such a horrible scream.

  • • •

  ZACHARIAS did not mean to make a play for Prunella’s sympathy. He had slipped and fallen: it had rained during the night, and the ground was still wet. He thought nothing of it, but when he sought to rise he found he could not.

  He reached out to steady himself, and put his hand down in a puddle of rainwater. He did not mind this either—until claws sank into his hand.

  Zacharias screamed. The pain was excruciating, and when he tried to tear his hand away it felt as though his arm would sooner be pulled out of its joint. The puddle grew and transformed.

  Zacharias saw a gaping maw made of brown water, with translucent fangs, and leaves swirling down its throat. He took a deep breath despite the prickling of magic in his nostrils, knowing that one inhalation would need to last him a while, and then the monster gulped him down.