Sorcerer to the Crown

by Zen Cho

  But Mrs. Midsomer overrode her protest, snapping at the sibyl:

  “It is the other mortal I meant! What do you see of her past and future?”

  Prunella had been trying to make herself scarce, stepping sideways so that Sophia hid her from the sibyl’s view, but she did not move quickly enough. The sibyl’s gaze fixed upon Prunella, and her eyes widened. “You!”

  It was a large, busy, noisy room, and the press of the crowd had been such that their curious interchange with the sibyl had gone unnoticed till now. At her cry heads turned in their direction, and conversations broke off in exclamations.

  “I do not need my fortune told, thank you,” said Prunella hastily.

  “What do I see?” cried the sibyl in a voice that to the unfortunate Prunella sounded like a foghorn. “I see the Grand Sorceress, her palms embroidered like a bride’s in mortal blood! I see the Keeper of the Seven Spirits, mistress of the four points of the realm. I see the past and future of English magic, converging in one. I see the Undersecretary of Wonder and the Queen of the Five Boroughs of Magic (the last merely an honorary title, of course). Hail to thee, Lady, who brings such visions with her—hail and well met!”

  “Hail to thee, too, I am sure,” said Prunella.

  “But you are talking nonsense!” said Mrs. Midsomer crossly. “What has she to do with my beloved?”

  “She has nothing to do with your beloved,” retorted the sibyl. “No one cares for your beloved half as much as you do! This girl is a fine creature, for a mortal, and she will make their wicked Society so cross I am delighted to have seen her.”

  “Oh, if that is all!” said Mrs. Midsomer, losing interest. “Then you may be quiet!” She walked off without a second look at any of them.

  “Good gracious!” said Sophia. “What a very odd woman! As for that sibyl, well!” They looked at the sibyl, who had returned to her downtrodden pose, and looked like nothing more than an ordinary picture. “I do not know what Kendle will say! And to have subjected you, my dear, to such a diatribe! I could not make out a word of her speech, could you?”

  “Not a word,” echoed Prunella. “She must have been driven mad by her long imprisonment. I pity her, do not you?”

  “I think she is too impudent to be pitied,” said Sophia, who was still pink with vexation. “I declare I was never so put out! How I wish Kendle were something sensible, like a Member of Parliament. I have said as much to him, but he will not contemplate giving up magic for a moment.”

  To Prunella’s relief, Sophia was so taken up with the sibyl’s incivility to her that she said nothing of the creature’s speech about Prunella. The sibyl had not spoken so very loudly, and the general hubbub had been such as almost to drown out her voice. Prunella could not trust that Sophia or Mrs. Midsomer would not pass on enough of the sibyl’s speech to betray her, however, even if they did not understand the whole. Prunella had hardly understood it herself, but it had all sounded decidedly magical, and was bound to cast suspicion on her.

  Dared she conceal the incident from Zacharias? He would be excessively vexed to hear of it. But he might be able to explain the meaning of the sibyl’s speech. The Seven Spirits were the treasures, of course, including the four unhatched eggs, but who was the Grand Sorceress, and what were the four points of the realm? The Undersecretary of Wonder rather lacked elegance as a title, reflected Prunella, but the Queen of the Five Boroughs sounded well.

  “Oh, what a bore!” exclaimed Sophia.

  “What is it?” said Prunella.

  The guests had gathered at the end of the room. She and Sophia were swept along with them, but there was nothing to see—only Mr. Midsomer standing at the centre of the crowd, looking about with an air of complacency.

  “I believe he means to make a speech,” said Sophia. She pulled her mouth into a pretty moue. “I am sure these magicians are vastly clever, but do not you think, Prunella, that they do not know the first thing about a party? Fancy forgoing dancing for speeches!”

  “Gentlemen, I am honoured by your presence here tonight,” said Midsomer in a carrying voice. “Honoured by your support of my endeavours to restore dignity to our profession. Too long have we been compelled to silence—but soon we shall speak with one voice, and our words will decide the destiny of English thaumaturgy.”

  “There is Kendle!” whispered Sophia.

  Mr. Kendle stood with a group of other magicians close to Midsomer. Their countenances were grave, but their eyes were fixed on Midsomer with a fierce, bright look that made Prunella uneasy.

  Midsomer held up a scroll.

  “I have here that for which you have waited,” he said. “Our amendment to the Charter of our honourable Society is approved. The Hallett procedure, which has so long been prohibited, has been restored. We have now a means by which the staff of the Sorcerer Royal may be removed from the unworthy. No longer need we abide by the dictates of a Committee that has acceded to the usurpation of our profession’s noblest office. No more are our hands tied!

  “I have invited you here today as a sign of my gratitude—but also to remind you that our work has just begun. On Thursday I shall stand before the Society and propose a motion for the procedure to be undertaken to remove the pretender. I require your support, colleagues, for a vote that will alter the history of English magic!”

  “Never fear, Midsomer, you have it!” and “Hear, hear!” cried his audience.

  Midsomer swept a triumphant look over the crowd.

  “Now, gentlemen, since you are of my mind,” he said, “I come to my third reason for arranging this gathering. I have long desired to take you into my confidence. I have hidden my secret only for fear that it might put our enemy on his guard. But now the time is ripe. English thaumaturgy is assembled against him. And you, sirs, the mainstay of English magic, merit nothing less than the truth. When I returned from Fairyland, I returned with a gift for England—a pearl beyond price, hidden till today. I returned with a familiar!”

  The guests fell silent, as though in one stroke they had been deprived of their faculty of speech. But in a moment their voices rose again, the whole room talking excitedly at once.

  “But then, sir,” cried one man, “you are a sorcerer!”

  Midsomer inclined his head, as much as though the title were a royal one. “I have not claimed the title before this day, but I hope I am as worthy a sorcerer as ever sprung from English soil.”

  He said no more, but he did not need to say anything else, to call up in his colleagues’ minds the man for whom he was such a natural replacement—a man who had not sprung from good English soil.

  “I think we know, sir, who may be called upon to receive the staff when it is removed from he who so little deserves it.” It was Mr. Kendle who spoke, and Prunella lowered her eyes, in case he should notice her looking daggers at him.

  “This crowns all our efforts,” cried another thaumaturge. “It is such a triumph for English magic as we have not seen in decades. Will you tell us more of your familiar?”

  “I will do better than that,” said Midsomer, smiling. “I will show her to you.”

  Turning away from his astonished audience, he said to his wife, standing demurely behind him:

  “Laura, my dear, will you come forward, and be introduced?”

  “Why, Prunella, your hand is like a vise!” whispered Sophia. “What is he saying?”

  Prunella loosened her grasp. She said, striving for calm:

  “He is saying that Mrs. Midsomer is a fairy, though I ought to have known it without his telling us. Those eyes alone proved it! And her shocking manners, and knowing how to call forth the sibyl!”

  But the excitement vibrating in her voice was owed in largest part not to the revelation of Mrs. Midsomer’s nature, but to what it meant regarding Mr. Midsomer. For if he intended to become Sorcerer Royal, and sought to enact this mysterious procedure upon Zacharia
s—if he had even gone so far as to get himself a familiar, and demand the allegiance of his colleagues—then there could be no question about it. Mr. Midsomer must be the assassin.

  • • •

  SOPHIA found Prunella rather a distracted companion for the remainder of the evening: her conversation was not so sparkling, and her laughter not nearly so ready as usual, and both ladies were united in desiring an early retreat.

  Mr. Kendle would have liked to stay and concoct plans with his colleagues, now that their triumph seemed so near at hand. But his discontent was moderated by the thought that it might be no bad notion to remove Miss Gentleman from the scene. It was unlikely she had understood enough of what had passed that evening to carry tales—though Mr. Kendle indulged his pretty young wife, he had little opinion of her intelligence, and Miss Gentleman seemed no different from any of the other flighty young creatures Sophia called her friends. Even so, he made sure to slip a charm for forgetfulness into her mind when he handed her down from the carriage.

  Prunella disposed of the charm by feeding it to Youko, as Nidget and Tjandra objected to the taste. She was in a considerable tumult of spirits, and it seemed intolerable that she would have to wait an entire night before warning Zacharias.

  She wished she knew what the Hallett was. Despite attentive eavesdropping at the party, she had not been able to obtain any clarity on the point, for everyone seemed to assume that everyone else knew what it signified. The name Hallett was a familiar one, but where had she heard it before?

  Though she racked her mind, pacing her bedchamber, no answer presented itself. But that the Hallett represented another of Mr. Midsomer’s attempts to remove his rival, Prunella did not doubt.

  How could anyone think he might make a better Sorcerer Royal than Zacharias! she thought. When Zacharias is so good and clever, and would not hurt a fly! Whereas Mr. Midsomer is little better than a murderer. Indeed, he is only prevented from being a murderer by his incompetence. The horrid little ginger-haired man—“Oh!”

  She had exclaimed aloud, and Tjandra fell off the bed in startlement. He righted himself at once, and flew to the mantelpiece, but it was necessary for Prunella to spend some time petting him before he would condescend to be friends again.

  “It was only because I was surprised,” she explained. “Mr. Midsomer is related to Clarissa, of course—you did not know her, Tjandra, but she was at the school. I remember she had a brother, and it must be he. It accounts for all. I could believe anything of a relation of Clarissa Midsomer’s! She pinched the littler girls when she was cross. I thought it an unchivalrous habit.”

  Since she could neither wake the household with her news, nor, in her agitated state, go to sleep, Prunella resolved that she would review all the spells she knew for warmaking. If Mr. Midsomer means to attack Zacharias, he need not think Zacharias’s friends will sit quietly by and let him!

  Though few of the schoolgirls had been as vicious-tempered as Clarissa Midsomer, a life passed amid the feuds and rivalries of a girls’ school had left Prunella not wholly unprepared for battle. She found she knew six hexes, some of them quite highly finished pieces of devilry, and Nidget said that it was sure it could invent others:

  “We were always quarrelling in Fairyland! I am sure I killed dozens of my kinsmen, and other enemies besides.”

  “I declare, Nidget, sometimes you frighten me,” said Prunella, gazing at the elvet in dismay. “I beg you will not say such bloodthirsty things in Zacharias’s hearing. I am sure he would not like it. But if your experience helps us defend him, that is all to the good.”

  Nidget was not overly fond of Zacharias, for it suspected Prunella of allocating too large a share of her affections to the tall reserved mortal who made her such regular visits. It said crabbily:

  “And what has he done for us that we should defend him?”

  “Why, what would become of me if his enemies should succeed?” said Prunella. “I have not received a single offer of marriage yet, and if Zacharias loses his staff, or worse, before I am able to establish myself, we may find ourselves on the streets! We are only here at his sufferance, Nidget, and it would behoove you to remember that.”

  Both she and Nidget knew self-interest was not her chief motive for desiring Zacharias’s safety, but Prunella could comfort herself that at least none other than her familiars had reason to suspect she felt anything for him but a perfectly decorous gratitude. To be in love was so inconvenient, so—missish! Particularly when Zacharias, she was certain, would never see her in that light. It was nothing more than a passing fancy, she told herself, and fortunately there was such a lot to think of that she scarcely had time to dwell on her feelings.

  “You ought not to risk yourself for that milksop,” said Nidget jealously, but Prunella snapped:

  “You are a fool if you think Zacharias is a milksop! But I know you are not really so foolish. The longer we stay up, the more we shall quarrel, so we had better go to bed, and we will all be better-tempered tomorrow.”

  With that Nidget had to be content, for she climbed into bed and put her head under her pillow, by way of signifying the conversation was at an end.

  20

  SCARROW,” SAID DAMERELL.

  “No, no, he would never do,” cried Lady Wythe.

  Their heads were bent over a piece of paper, but Lady Wythe started when she saw Zacharias. A blush overspread her countenance, and her look of lively interest changed to reserve.

  “Why, what possible objection can there be?” said Damerell. “He has a substantial establishment, and he is far less stupid than some of the others.” He only looked up when Lady Wythe failed to respond.

  Damerell had traded his usual quizzing-glass for a pair of round spectacles, which did little for his manly beauty, magnifying his eyes to an alarming degree. “Halloa, Zacharias, are you here? We are considering Miss Gentleman’s prospects after our fortnight’s work.”

  “It is very improper to gossip so about our acquaintance,” said Lady Wythe, attempting to look severe. “I do not know how you inveigled me into the exercise, Damerell.”

  “What are acquaintance for, if not to supply the pleasures of gossip?” said Damerell. “Besides, you know, ma’am, it is only to help Miss Gentleman, for if she is to bring off a good marriage she must direct her energies along the channels most likely to produce a satisfactory result. You would not wish her to entertain any unsuitable offers.”

  “That I should not like,” said Lady Wythe decidedly. “What with her looks, and these unfortunate rumours of her wealth, she attracts a great deal of attention she would be better without.”

  “London’s bachelors should rejoice that Lady Wythe has no daughters to guard,” said Damerell to Zacharias, in a confidential aside. “I have never known so strict a judge of character. We have dismissed Oliver for his want of conduct, Potier for his want of feeling, and Sargent for his want of conversation. I declare, ma’am, if you had your way, I believe no one would marry at all.”

  Zacharias was about to tell Damerell what he thought of him when Prunella burst into the room. There were violet circles under her eyes, as though she had slept poorly, but she exclaimed, with even more than her usual energy:

  “Zacharias, what can have kept you? I have been practising my spells all night and morning, though I hope you know a killing spell or two, for none of mine are murderous. Mr. Midsomer means to do something very wicked, I am sure of it, and those tedious thaumaturges are all in it together, and they must be stopped!”

  Zacharias was taken aback, though not so much that he did not regret Prunella’s freedom in using his Christian name. They had fallen into the habit of addressing each other so, and its being an unusual circumstance only struck him now that they were in the company of others. Lady Wythe and Damerell both looked unconscious, but he could trust that neither of them had failed to mark the liberty.

  “Did you say
you saw Midsomer?” said Damerell.

  “Did you say you were practising?” said Zacharias.

  Prunella poured out her tale of the Midsomers’ gathering the day before, only omitting to mention the sibyl’s prophecy regarding herself.

  “And Mrs. Midsomer is Mr. Midsomer’s familiar, and not his wife at all!” she concluded. “At the end of his speech Mr. Midsomer went about shaking every gentleman’s hand and thanking him, and it seems they are all planning to vote at this Society meeting for the Hallett to be carried out. Fortunately Mr. Midsomer took no notice of the females, and Sophia and I evaded Mrs. Midsomer for the rest of the evening. I did not wish her to remember me, and Sophia, I know, thought her a horrid bore.”

  That Midsomer had a familiar was, of course, no revelation to Zacharias, and it explained a great deal that she should have been hidden in plain sight as his wife. It was sensible of Midsomer to reveal his familiar to his followers now, for it made it obvious who should replace Zacharias. There was no earthly reason why he should feel blindsided by how far Midsomer’s plans had advanced—he ought to have foreseen this after his visit to the Fairy Court.

  “I doubt Midsomer would have been overly concerned even if he had seen you,” Zacharias said in a measured tone that he hoped disguised his internal turmoil. “He has not concealed his desire to oust me from my office. I have known for some time what he has planned.”

  Lady Wythe was not troubling to conceal her internal turmoil at all.

  “Zacharias,” she said, her voice unsteady, “do you mean to say you have known for some time that Geoffrey Midsomer intended to invoke the Hallett against you? And you told no one?”

  Zacharias said warily, “Midsomer indicated he had thoughts of reinstating the procedure. It seemed so outlandish—at the very least, so disproportionate a response—that I did not credit it. That was foolish of me, of course.”

  “But what is the Hallett?” cried Prunella.

  “It is an obscure procedure, and has not been repeated since its namesake was done away with,” said Damerell. “Traditionally, of course, the Sorcerer Royal was replaced when he was murdered by his successor. That is a piece of savagery we no longer practise, I am pleased to say; instead, the Fellows of the Society vote to elect a new candidate. Unfortunately, the staff of the Sorcerer Royal is no democrat. There is no guarantee it will submit to being transferred to another while its holder still lives and disagrees. The only means of ensuring the staff complies with the vote is to undertake a ritual sacrifice of its master. If his successor is anointed with his blood, the staff may well decide there has been no material change.”