Sorcerer to the Crown

by Zen Cho

  For a moment Zacharias saw how fully sensible Prunella was of the weakness of her position. Even with three familiars, an untrained female, alone in the world, could not resist the Sorcerer Royal if he chose to compel her compliance. But defiance lit her eyes: she squared her shoulders and tossed her head, as though she would fling off any uncertainty.

  “Even if you did, the eggs would be no good to you,” she said. “They are bound in an ensorcellment, a vastly strong one, and they will never be anything more than four dead stones unless the spell is lifted. I have the secret of unlocking the charm, but no one else knows it.”

  Zacharias said drily, “I can quite see why you do not feel the need for education, since you possess such a number of magical secrets!”

  Prunella did not smile. Her face was composed, her mouth a determined line, but she could not altogether conceal her uncertainty. Zacharias recalled the look of alarm that had passed fleetingly through her eyes.

  “Come,” he said gently, “are not we friends? I do not think we are so far apart. You will wish to learn as much as you need to, to be able to govern your familiars, and I understand that you require some assurance regarding your future. I do not say you have convinced me that a London Season is the best means of achieving it—”

  “You have not proposed any alternative!” exclaimed Prunella.

  “But,” continued Zacharias, “I can hardly proclaim myself an expert in this regard. Lady Wythe will know better. Shall we ask her if she will do as you desire, and see how she replies?”

  Prunella blinked, taken aback. Then she rallied, saying with a businesslike air:

  “Do you mean to say you accept my offer of an egg?”

  “If you agree to training,” said Zacharias. “And I should very much like to see all the remaining eggs, if you have no objection.”

  “Perhaps you may,” said Prunella. “Since we are friends.”

  • • •

  BEFORE anything could be asked of Lady Wythe, Prunella must first be accounted for to her, and Zacharias found this as difficult as he had feared. In Lady Wythe’s sitting room the next day, he attempted to explain that the girl he had produced was not his mistress, without ever lapsing into such indecorousness as to say the word.

  “I am conscious of how this must appear,” he said. “But I assure you, I should never seek to—should never involve you in any sort of— I hope you believe I should never require you to countenance anything approaching impropriety.”

  “Zacharias,” said Lady Wythe, “I am not a schoolgirl, that you should stammer so. I was married thirty years, and have hardly led a sheltered life. I beg you will tell me your trouble.”

  “You are very good, ma’am,” said Zacharias, but he still looked worried. “I scarcely know where to begin.”

  Though she had sworn she would let Zacharias manage the affair, Prunella had been growing rather restless, and at this she could no longer contain herself. She interjected:

  “Mr. Wythe means, ma’am, that I am not a courtesan, but what is even worse—a witch!”

  This elicited a forbidding look from Zacharias.

  “Say, rather, a thaumaturgess,” he said. “Or perhaps we might call you a magicienne. Witches practise a type of petty or folk magic, very different from our thaumaturgy, and your village witch is just as likely to be a man as a woman. It is a loose usage to describe every female who practises magic as a witch, much to be decried.”

  “Mr. Wythe has been so good as to offer to teach me, ma’am,” said Prunella, ignoring him. “I used to be at a school for gentlewitches, where of course they taught no thaumaturgy, and it seems it is a very shocking thing to be magical and taught nothing but how to restrain it.”

  Lady Wythe looked bewildered.

  “Age must be scattering my wits,” she said, looking to Zacharias. “I had thought the teaching of restraint was precisely what must be done with women who are afflicted by magic. I do not, you know, refer to the household magics the servants do—there is no harm in enchanting a pot to prevent its boiling over, or a broom to sweep a floor, but is not unnatural philosophy a different matter altogether? I had always understood it was forbidden to our sex.”

  “So it is,” said Zacharias. “But if you had seen what I witnessed at that school, ma’am, you would agree that far more harm is done in preventing the natural exertion by women of their abilities than could ever be done by training them up as thaumaturgesses. I believe a thorough reform is required.”

  He inclined his head towards Prunella. “Miss Gentleman has kindly acceded to my testing the principle upon her. If all goes as we hope, we shall have in Miss Gentleman an example of success to present to the Society when I propose my reform. But my scheme requires your participation, ma’am. Miss Gentleman knows no one in London. I should be grateful if you would take her in. I would provide for her expenses, and her stay need not be of long duration.”

  Lady Wythe looked from Zacharias to Prunella. Such quixoticism from Zacharias was not wholly unexpected to Lady Wythe—she was accustomed to his fits and starts—but it was clear she was concerned about the young stranger. She leant over to Prunella and took her hand, to Prunella’s alarm.

  “I hope you will forgive me, Miss Gentleman, but do you truly grasp the scale of the undertaking to which you have agreed?” she said. “Magic is a perilous practise, you know—strenuous for men, and it must exact an even greater toll upon a woman’s frame.”

  “Miss Gentleman is—” began Zacharias, but Lady Wythe forestalled him.

  “My question was addressed to the young lady,” she said firmly. “You need not be afraid to tell the truth, my dear. Simply say what your wishes are regarding yourself, and I shall see that they are respected.”

  Prunella hesitated, glancing at Zacharias, but he had retreated into his chair at Lady Wythe’s reproof, and looked haughtily unconscious.

  “I am obliged to you for your solicitude, ma’am,” said Prunella slowly. “But I have been devising spells and cantions since I was quite a little thing, and was never the worse for it. It was never part of my plan to become a thaumaturge, but—” She paused, and looked at Zacharias again.

  Lady Wythe looked anxious.

  “You must not let him persuade you to do anything you dislike,” she said.

  An extraordinary noise issued from the long-suffering Zacharias. “I, compel Miss Gentleman to do what she would not like to do!”

  “You are very kind, ma’am,” said Prunella earnestly. “But indeed, I am happy to submit to Mr. Wythe’s instruction. Mr. Wythe and I understand one another, I believe.”

  “Well, it is an extraordinary situation,” said Lady Wythe, keeping her thoughts to herself. “But I do not doubt Zacharias’s judgment in thaumaturgical affairs, and I should be happy for you to stay with me.”

  “I am obliged to you, ma’am,” said Zacharias. “That will render our course a great deal smoother.” He coughed, and went on, more awkwardly than ever:

  “There is another favour I must beg. Miss Gentleman has travelled to London because she wishes to be—I believe the term is ‘brought out.’”

  Lady Wythe stared at him.

  “Into society,” Zacharias added.

  Prunella thought it right to intervene.

  “As I said, I never thought of being a thaumaturge till I met Mr. Wythe,” she said. “But I should very much like to enter society.”

  “Heavens,” said Lady Wythe blankly. “But why on earth—?”

  “Because I should like to have a husband,” said Miss Gentleman, surprised to have to explain the obvious.

  “I understand Miss Gentleman will venture to find herself a husband, and only desires assistance in gaining access to the best society, so that she may begin her efforts at the highest level,” said Zacharias. Miss Gentleman nodded approvingly. “If you would be so good as to introduce her into society,
she has agreed to submit to a moderate regimen of thaumaturgical training.”

  “Oh, there is no question whatsoever,” exclaimed Prunella. “I would read a thousand grimoires if that was what it took.”

  An awful silence descended.

  “I cannot seem to make sense of the situation, despite your explanations, Zacharias,” said Lady Wythe finally. “I cannot make out why it is so necessary that Miss Gentleman should agree to training. Of course, my dear”—this to the young lady—“you must be married, if that is what you wish. But it seems to me that the best means of achieving that would be for you to return to this school. I should be happy to exert my influence with the headmistress to see that you obtained a good place, and in time I am sure a young woman of your charm cannot fail to find a suitable husband.”

  “But a suitable husband is not what I want at all,” cried Miss Gentleman.

  “With respect, ma’am, we have not yet told you the whole,” said Zacharias. “Miss Gentleman has recently come into the possession of three familiars. They have consented to travel within her valise to evade detection.”

  Lady Wythe had not taken notice of the valise before. It loomed suddenly large in her vision: a small brown case, much the worse for wear, resting on Miss Gentleman’s knee.

  There was no disbelieving Zacharias. His authority on such matters could not be gainsaid, and he spoke with total conviction.

  “You see my position,” said Zacharias. “There is no alternative. Miss Gentleman must be trained.”

  “Indeed,” said Lady Wythe faintly.

  • • •

  LADY Wythe insisted on Zacharias’s staying the night in her house. It was so late, and still so cold in the evenings, she was sure he ought not to be venturing out again, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to make up a bed for him.

  She suspected, rightly, that despite the late hour, Zacharias intended to go from her house to his office, for his fortnight’s absence had stored up for him a great deal of work. When he began to suffer the symptoms heralding one of his attacks, however, he thought it wise to submit, recalling his misadventure at the Blue Boar.

  He was not surprised to find Sir Stephen waiting in the spare bedroom for him.

  “You must certainly inform the Society,” said Sir Stephen.

  As he sat down to take off his boots, Zacharias was conscious of a sense of relief. Even if they were bound to quarrel on the subject, he could at least be frank with his former guardian. It was not possible to confide in anyone else, for Prunella had bound him to secrecy regarding her four remaining treasures.

  “If you mean I should tell the Society about the familiars’ eggs,” said Zacharias, “they are Miss Gentleman’s property, and she has only agreed to make one over to me once she has succeeded in contracting a marriage.”

  Sir Stephen disregarded this.

  “Of course, there are the creatures that have hatched!” he exclaimed. “What a wretched coil it is—for if you bring the Society the eggs they are bound to ask where they came from, and if it were to come out about the girl’s familiars, you could hardly survive the scandal. Your position is already precarious, and that hag’s antics have not helped.”

  They both knew that this was such news as would rock the halls of the Society. On every previous occasion of the discovery of a new familiar’s egg, the conferral of the egg had been the subject of protracted negotiations, of the furious jockeying of talented men of birth, of Machiavellian political manoeuvrings—even, in less enlightened days, of war.

  It would not signify, to the thaumaturges who would sit in judgment upon Zacharias, that Prunella had such talent as Zacharias had never seen before in an untrained magician. Nor would it signify that he had scarcely been in a position to prevent her bonding with the familiars when they hatched. The familiars, in hatching, might well have destroyed the inn if not for Prunella’s swift action, and no thaumaturge—no male thaumaturge—could have predicted what she would do to pacify them. Precious few thaumaturges had ever encountered a familiar freshly out of the egg, and what Prunella had done went against every piece of received wisdom Zacharias had acquired in the course of his excellent education.

  But he was the Sorcerer Royal, and he had stood by when half the largest crop of familiars the kingdom had ever seen was thrown away on a magician with no family and no training—above all, a magician who was female.

  “Yet would not the gift of the eggs make up for the lapse?” argued Sir Stephen. “Such a gift as the nation has not seen in centuries! The girl could be dealt with. She need not pose any difficulty. The thing is to make a clean breast of it, Zacharias.”

  “The eggs would not be much of a gift without Miss Gentleman’s cooperation,” said Zacharias, rubbing his temples. “Miss Gentleman allowed me to examine them. They are bound by an enchantment that locks them in stasis—a spell of wholly unfamiliar working. She knows the secret of the counter-spell, and without it the eggs are no good to us.”

  “Cannot she be made to reveal the secret?” said Sir Stephen. “You need not stare at me so. What are your fine scruples against the interests of the nation? You must certainly tell the Society, and surrender the eggs. It is your duty.”

  “We disagree as to where my duty lies,” said Zacharias. Any relief he had felt about being able to discuss the problem had dissipated. His head was pounding, his breath came short, and the air was full of light and colour.

  “Zacharias,” said Sir Stephen. His voice vibrated with frustration; it was clear he would like to raise it, but he strove to govern himself. “Listen to me, Zacharias: you think me unscrupulous, no doubt. You think I am ruthless; you pity the girl. You know there is truth in what I say, however. Every circumstance is conspiring to remove you from your office, and should that happen, who knows what might be the result? Recall your agreement”—he lowered his voice—“your pact with Leofric!”

  “Miss Gentleman has trusted me,” said Zacharias with difficulty.

  “She deceived you! She imposed upon you for her own purposes, and now you are burdened with a brazen nobody, who has no family, no resources—”

  “And three familiars,” said Zacharias. “You know that if I were to surrender her to the Society, they would not be content with the four eggs. They would seek to wrest her familiars from her.”

  He did not need to elaborate upon what the consequences of that would be. It had happened not infrequently in centuries past, when England still had sufficient sorcerers to quarrel with one another, that a sorcerer would have his familiars forcibly removed from him. The effects varied, but they were without exception horrific. Some former sorcerers ran mad. Some lost all their magic, which to many magicians seemed a worse fate. A few continued for days or even weeks as though nothing were amiss, until they died suddenly where they stood. Their corpses grew instantly withered and grey, and turned to dust at a touch.

  “That would be very bad,” assented Sir Stephen reluctantly. “Still, I am sure you could persuade the Society to show restraint.”

  “Why should it, for a female of no account?” said Zacharias. “You are quite right. Miss Gentleman has nothing—neither principles, nor connections, nor money—nothing but her magic and her absurd effrontery.” Zacharias half-smiled, though he had been vexed enough by that effrontery. “She has only my good will to rely upon, and I—I owe her my life. I could not betray her. I will abide by our compact.”

  He had to stop, for the old agony began to tear at his bowels. He staggered to the bed and collapsed heavily upon it, nightmare shapes figuring in his blurred vision. Before him extended a long, grim night, for the worrying at his vitals would not permit sleep.

  “Oh, Zacharias,” said Sir Stephen. His voice seemed to come from a great distance, weighted with sorrow and reproach. “When will you stop striking these ill bargains?”

  Zacharias did not answer, and Sir Stephen said no more. Hi
s cool, insubstantial hand brushed Zacharias’s head, and its touch bestowed relief.

  Sir Stephen drew a spell across his temples, filling his troubled head with cloud and shadow. Zacharias smelt rain. His vision cleared, and he saw the dark expanse of a night sky, soft and starless. Finally he slept, forgetting pain.

  17

  ROLLO THRELFALL WAS having an excellent day.

  Rollo did often have excellent days. The youngest son of an indulgent father, he was never burdened by any graver responsibility than that of making up numbers at ambitious hostesses’ dinners, or deciding whether to purchase a likely piece of horseflesh. The unclouded skies of this particular day were rendered all the bluer by the reflection that if not for the nobility of his friends, he would at that very moment be at his aunt Georgiana’s, providing an account of the speech he had given at her friend’s school.

  As he had not, after all, given the speech, he had been not been called upon to visit his aunt, for Aunt Georgiana’s affection for her nephew was as moderate as his fear of her was acute. Rollo had passed the previous evening at the Theurgist’s instead, winding up an excellent dinner with wine and pleasantries, and he had awoken in the morning to a throbbing head the approximate size of the Stone of Scone.

  By noon, however, Rollo was out of bed, as lively as the day he was born, and swathed within a neckcloth whose points could not be faulted by the most exacting Pink of the ton. He was in great good humour as he sallied forth to meet Damerell at the Theurgist’s, and his mood was only improved by the sight of Zacharias Wythe, sitting with Damerell at their accustomed table.

  “Halloa! This is a piece of good luck!” said Rollo. “I had not thought to see you so soon, Zacharias. I must congratulate you upon your success. I had a letter from my aunt last week, and it seems you went down a treat. Mrs. Daubeney was excessively obliged—said the handsomest things about your speech.”

  “I am happy to have given satisfaction,” said Zacharias. Mrs. Daubeney’s letter had clearly withheld more than it disclosed, he reflected.