Sorcerer to the Crown

by Zen Cho

  Prunella had gone pale. She stared fixedly at the foreign magician, her cloud forgotten. She was remembering a voice—a weary voice, singing the words of a potent spell—a voice unlocked by her own blood. Her mother’s voice.

  “Miss Gentleman, have a care!” cried Mr. Hsiang.

  While Prunella’s attention was elsewhere, her cloud had begun to question whether it was, after all, content to bear this strange weight. It seemed to the cloud that it had been happier in a previous life, when it had been as thin as the air, as free as the sky, and united with its kin.

  By the time Mr. Hsiang’s urgent voice penetrated Prunella’s consciousness, her cloud was bucking so outrageously it took all her attention to avoid being thrown off. The cloud sped off in a straight line, headed for the mountainous white drift in the distance.

  Zacharias’s ward proved a minor obstacle, but it needed only a little straining before the cloud succeeded in puncturing the invisible membrane of the spell. Prunella found herself sailing through a clear blue sky above Hyde Park, unprotected by any disguise, and in full view of anyone who might be there at ten in the morning.

  Which—alas for Prunella!—today included Mrs. Alethea Gray and Mrs. Sophia Kendle, driving about the Park in a barouche, their heads bent close together.

  Part of Prunella’s mind observed that Sophia gave a guilty start when their eyes met. The rest of her was too sunk in horror to wonder at Sophia’s starts. Sophia might dismiss the sibyl’s speech as nonsense, but neither she nor Mrs. Gray needed to know anything of thaumaturgy to understand that there must be something decidedly magical about Prunella for her to be soaring above Hyde Park on a cloud.

  There was no hope of escaping undetected. Mr. Hsiang was pursuing her, shouting:

  “Do not look down, Miss Gentleman! To look down would be fatal. But do not fear, we never lose more than ten students a year to cloud-riding.”

  Prunella put away the past, and the sibyl’s words, and her mother’s voice, and the guilty surprise in the faces of the women below. There would be time enough to puzzle over these things later.

  There was only one thing to do to remedy the situation. Prunella did it.

  • • •

  THE first Zacharias knew of the disturbance was Prunella’s reticule falling over. The familiars landed on the grass in a wriggling heap, squeaking: “Prunella, Prunella!”

  Then the storm descended out of the blue sky.

  It was as though a wrathful god had snuffed out the sun. A precipitous darkness fell, and the world was blotted out by rain. The roar of the tempest was inconceivable.

  Zacharias groped his way towards the familiars, hustled them back into the reticule, and shut it on their protests. In the illumination of a brilliant flash of lightning, he saw Prunella swoop down out of the turbid sky.

  “You have my familiars safe? Good. Come up on this cloud, Zacharias. We must be away at once.”

  Prunella’s urgency lent her an irresistible authority. Zacharias was swept upon her cloud before he could think to protest. As they lifted off into the air, she said, in a half-shout necessitated by the howling wind and crashing thunder:

  “I have summoned a monster.”

  “What?”

  “Not a real monster,” said Prunella hastily. “I did not forget what you said about its being a terrible evil to summon creatures from other realms. I used the first formula you taught me—the one for atmospheric magic—to draw upon the thunder hiding within the clouds. Did you know spirits populate all things, Zacharias?”

  “That old canard! I told Hsiang not to fill your head with outdated hypotheses,” said Zacharias.

  He did not like heights, and though the cloud, turned a stormy grey, had expanded to accommodate him, it was a tight fit for two people. The cold and wet and noise of the tempest combined with the embarrassment of his unavoidable proximity to Prunella to make Zacharias ill-tempered.

  “That idea was debunked in 1660 by the unnatural philosopher Gregor Fähndrich, as Hsiang would know if he read the essays I sent him,” he said. “But what has happened? Where is Hsiang?”

  “Oh, my cloud went too fast for me, that is all,” said Prunella, with a wholly unconvincing nonchalance. “It is a willful creature, but we understand each other now. Mr. Hsiang is quite right about spirits, you know. It came to me in a flash when I saw those wretched females. I cannot conceive what possessed them to go driving in Hyde Park at such an outlandish hour of the morning! Especially Mrs. Gray, who never does a thing unless it has been done by a duchess first. And when did Sophia become a confidante of Mrs. Gray’s? It is all a great mystery!”

  The storm followed them, concealing them from view, as they flew above the rooftops and chimney-pots of London. The air was so thick with rain that Zacharias could not see farther than an arm’s length away.

  “I wish you would explain about the monster, instead of indulging in this ill-natured gossip,” said Zacharias plaintively.

  “Oh, it was the easiest thing in the world! The thunder came ever so meekly to hand when I called it. At first I thought of casting it at Mrs. Gray—like Jove, you know—but I thought better of that, for it might have hurt them, and I only wished to cause a distraction. So I turned the thunder into a monster instead. I told it in the strongest terms that it must leave off once it had its fun, however, and Mr. Hsiang promised he would restrain its worst excesses.”

  Zacharias opened his mouth, but there did not seem to be language strong enough to condemn Prunella’s conduct. He had not managed to hit upon the right phrase when they began to descend.

  They landed in a narrow alley not far from Lady Wythe’s house, which was emptied by the rain. Prunella tapped the cloud affectionately as she alighted.

  “Off you go to the Jade Emperor, good cloud,” she said. “What a dear creature it is, though it has led me into such trouble. It would be unjust to blame it, I am sure. I don’t suppose clouds have any moral sense, do you?”

  “Prunella,” said Zacharias, with deep feeling, “I should be obliged if you would tell me what, exactly, you intended to achieve by loosing a thunder-monster upon Hyde Park?”

  “I would not have dreamt of inventing a thunder-monster under ordinary circumstances, of course, but there was nothing for it,” said Prunella. “Mrs. Gray is the most notorious gossip in town, and she and Sophia knew me at once. I could not afford to let them go away, having seen me flying around on a cloud, particularly after what that infuriating sibyl said.”

  “What sibyl?”

  “Of course, I did not tell you,” said Prunella guiltily. “I meant to, indeed, only there has been such a great deal to think of! There is no time for it now, however. When we arrive at Lady Wythe’s I shall go up to my room and swoon upon my sofa, and you must discover me and call for salts. When I am awakened, I shall explain that I was kidnapped by a foreign sorcerer while I was taking my morning exercise in the Park.”

  “Kidnapped by a foreign sorcerer?” said Zacharias blankly.

  “Yes, is not it clever? The story is such a pretty one, and I thought it up in a moment while I was flying to you. He caught sight of me as he was passing on a cloud and fell instantly violently in love, and nothing would do for him but that he should snatch me up and whisk me away to his native country. I protested, however, and to frighten me into submission he summoned a thunder-monster. But it did not answer, for the monster turned on him, and in the confusion of battle I was able to escape.”

  “And what did Mr. Hsiang say to your extraordinary story?”

  “Well, he is a consummate gentleman, you know, and he was so good as to agree to remain and duel the thunder-monster,” said Prunella. “Though to be sure I do not know that he understood the details of the story. However, it is of no consequence, for he will go back to China once he has seen the monster away, and will not be around to be questioned. I must say it has all fallen out charmin
gly.”

  Zacharias had been listening in increasing perturbation.

  “My dear Prunella,” he said, “do you realise what a diplomatic disaster your story will cause if it is believed? Unnatural philosophers are not on the whole known for their chivalry, but the Society could hardly disregard such an affront as a foreign magician’s attempting to run away with a young lady. The Society is already incensed by Mak Genggang’s escape, and this on top of it will occasion cryings out against all foreign magicians. I have no doubt the Society will propose a motion to break our treaty to refrain from magical war. I will have it on my desk tomorrow morning, wickedly ungrammatical and ill-spelt.”

  “Oh,” said Prunella. She was only temporarily deflated, however. She brightened and said, “Then I shall tell everyone it is a dead secret, not to be told to anyone.”

  “In that case the whole town will know of it by the evening.”

  “Yes, but not officially, you see,” said Prunella. “It will only be a rumour. I shall confide in everybody, and allow them to believe that there is a part of the secret I have told only them, because I trust them so particularly.”

  She paused for reflection. “And perhaps I shall suggest to the women that I wish the story to be kept quiet because I have fallen a little in love with Mr. Hsiang, and rather regret my defence of my virtue. With the men, of course, I shall have to take a different tack.”

  “Your amoral ingenuity in the pursuit of your interest is perfectly shocking,” said Zacharias severely.

  “Yes, isn’t it?” said Prunella, pleased.

  The rain had slackened to a thin drizzle when they approached Lady Wythe’s residence.

  “I think after all you had best arrive a little later, and ask Lucy for me,” said Prunella, with the air of one who had been thinking deeply on the point. “We shall let her discover me unconscious. I am sure that will be much more convincing.”

  “It is an excellent way to drive Lucy into hysterics, but I suppose that is only a slight disadvantage.”

  “Oh, fiddle!” said Prunella. “Lucy is not such a poor creature. Likely she will try to slap me awake, so I will be the one to suffer!” She put on a melancholy expression, but could not quite preserve it, for the glee of the scheme would keep breaking through. “Do wait here, Zacharias, and follow in ten minutes.”

  Zacharias saw her peer down at the servants’ entrance beneath the street, leap back, and steal up the steps to the front door. She peeped into the window, nodded, laid her hand upon the door, and went into the house.

  Her scream cracked in Zacharias’s ears like a whip.

  Zacharias was across the road before he had begun to think. He bounded up the steps and burst into the hallway. He would have been swept away on the flood if he had not grasped the doorframe in time.

  The hallway had turned into a river. It rushed away past Zacharias, flowing along the steps and down the road. Prunella was flailing along determinedly. The waters surged above her head, and the dark curls vanished. Zacharias’s heart stopped—but she emerged at the end of the hall, struggled up the stairs and clung to the banister, panting.

  “I am well,” she said, though her appearance contradicted her. She was wild-eyed, her lips pale. “Oh, I could not bear to drown! It must be quite the worst way to die!” A fit of coughing overtook her, but when she was able to take a breath, she said:

  “Zacharias, open my reticule, if you please!”

  Zacharias had almost forgotten the familiars. He had secreted Prunella’s reticule in his coat. He fumbled for it, and the familiars spilt out, squawking, neighing and swearing respectively.

  “What shall I do?” said Prunella.

  “Find the source,” said Zacharias. The water continued to mount, though he could not tell where it came from. He tasted salt on his lips. “The puddle and the fire were pure magic, using merely the semblance of the elements, but this is real water, drawn from elsewhere. The source must be here—find it, and we can stop it up.”

  The unicorn had struggled through the water to the stairs. Prunella released the banister and climbed onto its back. It had grown enough to be able to support her, though Prunella looked as though she were sitting astride a large dog.

  “Darling Youko! Nidget, Tjandra, find us the source of the hex, if you can, my dear ones.”

  The simurgh was already dipping in and out of the water, swooping down like a seagull sighting fish, and sneezing and shaking its child’s head vigorously when it emerged again. Nidget clambered on top of the clock that stood in the hallway—a handsome antique that Lady Wythe preserved more in memory of her grandparents than because it kept the time particularly well. This incident was likely to spoil its beauty and ruin what remained of its accuracy, for the clock was half-submerged.

  Zacharias was busy casting spells to stop the water from rising any further, and to identify its source, but he was distracted by an indignant chirp from Tjandra.

  “It is unkind to call Nidget a coward, Tjandra!” replied Prunella. “I am sure Nidget is doing as much as it can, and neither of us would wish it to drown. You can fly, but if Nidget were to fall into the water it could not swim— Oh!”

  For Nidget had leant out over the side of the clock, and dropped abruptly into the waters.

  “Nidget!” cried Prunella.

  The unicorn reentered the waters, though it looked none too pleased to do it. It had hardly taken two steps, however, when Nidget leapt out of the water, clinging again to the clock like a bald white monkey.

  “I have it,” it said.

  It held a metal ball, in which shifted hues of green, blue and grey. Water was still dripping from it, but Nidget gave it a shake:

  “Now stop that, wicked curse!”

  The water began to drain from the hallway. Zacharias lowered his staff, and saw Lady Wythe standing at the top of the stairs.

  “Good gracious,” she said.

  • • •

  ZACHARIAS and Prunella had just been settled before a roaring fire, each with an ample portion of negus to finish, when they were interrupted by an incursion—Damerell, looking for once harassed, and trailed by an apologetic Rollo.

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am, to have broken in upon such a charming family scene,” said Damerell, making his leg to Lady Wythe. “However, we have received such news as I thought you would wish to hear at once.”

  He looked expectantly at Rollo, who said:

  “I am sorry to be the bearer of such wretched news, Zacharias, but I walked Midsomer’s dreams, and he means to move for the Hallett to be undertaken tomorrow. They intend voting upon the motion in the morning, and going straight from the Society to take you up. They have already set up the table at the Society, and the pots.”

  “Pots?” said Prunella.

  “For the blood,” said Zacharias. He was keenly conscious of Lady Wythe’s dismayed gaze, and he exerted so much effort to conceal his anxiety in consequence that his tone was peculiarly flat, as though he spoke of something that did not concern him at all.

  He had known this was coming, of course, but he had thought he would have more time. Perhaps, too, some part of him had thought it would not really happen—had denied, despite all evidence, that his colleagues could bring themselves to carry out such an atrocity. Did he loom so large in their hatreds? Or was it the reverse—did they account him of so little value, that they thought nothing of treating him as they would not treat a dog? What was the death of a black man, after all, against Midsomer’s elevation?

  “You had best leave town as soon as you can, Zacharias,” said Lady Wythe. She rose, composed despite her pallor. “Indeed, I do not know that there is any reason why you should not go now. Lucy can pack what clothes you have here, and you may travel in my carriage. Prewitt is the soul of discretion, and will take you as far as you need.”

  Her voice steadied Zacharias: it was so calm, so
familiar and beloved. He did not respond at once, however, but sat with his head bowed.

  He could flee, but he would be easily pursued. Even if he were to disguise himself it was impossible for him to be inconspicuous anywhere in Britain. And it stuck in his craw to think of running from Midsomer: whatever familiars he had summoned, the man was not half the sorcerer Zacharias was, and all his schemes and conspiracies could not alter that fact.

  But worthier than pride, and weightier than pragmatism, was duty. Duty required that Zacharias stand his ground. He had too much work to do, and too many promises to keep, for him to give up being Sorcerer Royal quite yet.

  “I am sensible of your goodness,” he said finally. “But I shall not go anywhere. I have assured Mak Genggang that I will resolve her dispute with our nation, and I would leave far too much else unsettled were I to flee. I do not think the circumstances so very desperate. Midsomer has yet to succeed in getting rid of me, and there is no reason why his endeavours should begin to bear fruit now.”

  “I commend your courage, Zacharias, but I beg you will not be foolhardy,” said Damerell. “Midsomer’s supporters are not all of the Society, but they are numerous, and he has chosen for his allies those most irrational, most furious, most immovably opposed to your existence. You may find yourself facing down a mob.”

  “I still have sufficient resource to face even a mob of irate thaumaturges, I believe,” said Zacharias. He picked up his staff, and inspected it as though to check its sturdiness.

  “It all seems a vast deal of pother for a position you dislike,” remarked Rollo. “Of course Midsomer is a scrub, but if he is so eager to be Sorcerer Royal, why not let him? I thought you never liked it.”

  Zacharias hesitated, glancing at Lady Wythe. He might have spoken more frankly to Damerell and Rollo, who knew his true feelings regarding his office. But he was loath to expand upon his dislike of it in Lady Wythe’s presence, since it had been Sir Stephen’s dearest wish for Zacharias to succeed him.