by Zen Cho
Time and use had overlaid the memory with fresher impressions. He was no longer intimidated by the vaulted ceilings, the ancient wood-panelled walls or the portraits of sorcerers past, gazing down upon the proceedings in eternal displeasure. He now knew the measure of those around him.
The Society was hard put to summon a quorum at most meetings, but today the Hall was uncommonly crowded. Curiosity about how the Sorcerer Royal proposed to defend himself against the Hallett proved an irresistible draw. Thaumaturges were packed so close in the Hall that sparks of magic flew in the narrow spaces between their bodies.
They were due to be disappointed, as the sharper-witted among them had already deduced. Zacharias Wythe was so composed one might have thought he had never heard of a ritual sacrifice in his life, and Geoffrey Midsomer sat huddled at the back of the room in a fit of the sullens.
Lord Burrow, rising to speak, put paid to any remaining illusions that the meeting might involve anything other than the usual tedious periods.
“I must apologise for this breach of protocol, but Mr. Wythe has kindly surrendered his precedence today to permit me to make an announcement on behalf of the Committee,” he said. “It has come to the Committee’s attention that a purported amendment was made to the Charter, to remove the clause prohibiting the Hallett procedure. This was done in a highly irregular fashion, and we shall be taking measures to withdraw the amendment. There is no longer any intention to undertake the Hallett; the Presiding Committee deems it unnecessary.”
At the disappointment that rippled through the audience, Lord Burrow raised his voice.
“I might add that the Committee considers the attempt to make use of the procedure ill-judged, and regrets that certain elements within the Society should have gone to such lengths to revive its availability. We are satisfied of Mr. Wythe’s claim to the staff, and no allegation against him has been proven that would render it necessary for him to surrender it.”
So far as this went, this was perfectly satisfactory from Zacharias’s perspective, and he experienced a faint pang of regret at Prunella’s timing when Lord Burrow paused, staring.
Zacharias had bribed a servant to smuggle Prunella into the building through a side-door, but Prunella had decided to disregard the discreet entrance he had painstakingly orchestrated for her. She wafted down the centre of the room on Damerell’s arm, appearing splendidly unconscious of the looks and murmurs she drew.
Midsomer glared. Josiah Cullip clearly longed to speak, but he had been given a stern talking-to by Lord Burrow after the events of the day before, and to draw attention to himself now was to risk his position as Secretary to the Committee. It was another supporter of Midsomer’s who took up the gauntlet.
“At least one accusation requires no proof, for he has admitted it himself,” said Mr. Kendle in a strident voice. “Zacharias Wythe has been teaching women magic, and has even invited one here! Is not that a breach worthy of consideration, or is the immunity of the Sorcerer Royal to shield even that folly?”
“There is no provision in the Charter either for or against the practise of magic by females,” said Zacharias. “The general prejudice against it is founded merely in convention. Of course, even if there were such a prohibition in the Charter, the Charter can be amended, as some of my colleagues will be aware.”
Kendle looked rather foolish.
“I do not deny having trained a woman in the principles of thaumaturgy,” Zacharias continued. “She is, as Mr. Kendle observes, here today. And I so dispute any contention that I have done wrong, that I shall declare now, that I hope my instruction of Miss Gentleman will be only the first phase of a comprehensive system of education of women with magical abilities.”
An outraged murmur rustled through the audience. Zacharias spoke over it. He was conscious that very little time remained to him to say his piece. Once he had achieved his purpose—the great, improbable design he hoped to effect at this meeting—it would be too late, and he would have lost his chance.
“It is my hope that we shall soon have schools for the instruction of magiciennes, as useful and esteemed as our schools for boys,” he said. “Since it will require a considerable outlay before any such establishment may begin its operations, however, I would suggest in the meantime that the Society sets up scholarships to fund the instruction of talented magic users who could not otherwise study thaumaturgy.
“Nor should the scholarships be restricted to women. Mine is only one of many voices that have decried the recent practise of demanding that magicians pass for gentlemen before they may pass for thaumaturges. Why should not thaumaturgy be open to the poor? Who among us has not seen the lad on the street, barefoot and ragged, entertaining his friends with a cantrip? The farmer who shields his crops from the frost with a spell, and the coachman who speeds his carriage by magic?”
Zacharias was prevented from continuing by the hubbub of his colleagues’ voices, as his audience vociferously denied ever having seen anything of the sort. Before either he or they had said all they wished, however, they were interrupted in the most spectacular manner conceivable.
The glass of a high window shattered, and a second woman entered the Great Hall—one whose presence Zacharias had not counted upon.
Mak Genggang glided around the Hall above the openmouthed thaumaturges, landing finally on her feet beside Zacharias. She had not come alone.
Sultan Ahmad and Mr. Othman seemed shamefaced about the wings they had sprouted, and were inclined to hang back, but the sultana was not at all discomposed. She was the only one of the curious party who remained wingless. There was nevertheless a subtle difference about her whole person, but Zacharias had little time to contemplate the change. An eerie yowl pierced the air, of such an extraordinary pitch that the magicians in the Hall clapped their hands over their ears.
“Good God!” cried Lord Burrow. “What in Heaven’s name is that?”
“Who is that, if you please!” said Mak Genggang. “He has not a name yet, but he would thank you to be civil all the same, would not he, the precious little creature?”
The infant cradled in her arms did not seem amused by her coaxing. It glowered. In a baby of its diminutive size, this should have been more endearing than intimidating—and would have been, if not for the fact that the tiny mouth contained a complete set of fangs, and the eyes shone a lurid red.
“Mak Genggang!” exclaimed Prunella. “Why, what are you doing here?”
“We are going home, but I thought it would only be civil to bid you good-bye,” said Mak Genggang. “You may give me a kiss, child.”
When Prunella had complied, the witch nodded at the indignant magicians, saying:
“And you may assure your sovereign that he need not worry about us any longer, since he has taken such a kind interest in our island. Sultan Ahmad and I have settled our differences—you will see that I have given him and Mr. Othman wings, so that we may fly home together. The queen is coming to stay with me and my women for a time, so that we can look after her and the little prince.”
Zacharias murmured confused felicitations, which the sultana ignored, and the sultan scowled at.
“Is the baby ill?” said Prunella, inspecting the child with open fascination. “Why does it look so queerly?”
“Oh, he is in fine fettle,” said Mak Genggang, bouncing the creature while it glared around with eyes like red lamps. “Such a child as any mother would be proud of. It is only that he arrived in the world a little late, after his mother had already died.
“Yes,” she added, at Zacharias and Prunella’s exclamations of horror, “the queen had an uncomfortable time of it, poor soul. She was brought to bed of the dear boy last night, but she perished in the process, alas. Fortunately she was transformed instantly into a lamia. That was a piece of great good luck, for it does not happen to all poorly mothers, you know. But it could hardly be expected that her son should be any
thing but a vampire after that.”
The thaumaturges who had approached to peer at their unexpected guests stepped back as one man, leaving a space around the sultana. Zacharias, looking at her with new eyes, saw the signs of the transformation she had undergone. The nails on the slim brown fingers were long and yellow; the lips were blood-red, and she licked them from time to time with an unnervingly long tongue.
“How extraordinary!” said Zacharias, feeling this did very little to describe the situation.
“Oh, certainly!” Mak Genggang agreed. “I have never seen a male vampire! To be sure, it is uncommon for the child to survive—usually it dies, or is eaten. Fortunately the sultan had the sense to seek me out at once, and I contrived to prevent his royal wife from devouring the poor babe. When a lamia first rises from her deathbed she cannot very well control her instincts, you know, but we have managed to make her understand. However, mother and child still require a great deal of attention, and the sooner we are home, the better.”
“There I certainly concur,” said Lord Burrow. He turned to Zacharias. “Mr. Wythe, this is a meeting of the Fellows of the Society, and there are certain rules to be observed. If you wish to entertain visits from every passing witch, might I suggest that the Great Hall is not the place to do it?”
“But this is not merely a personal visit, sir,” said Zacharias on a sudden inspiration. Mak Genggang was already tucking the babe under her arm and looking about for an exit. “I believe Mak Genggang intends to make an announcement of particular interest to the Society.
“Ma’am,” he said to Mak Genggang, “we had an agreement, as I recall. The thaumaturge who caused your coven such inconvenience has been punished. His familiar has been taken from him.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” said Mak Genggang. “It is no more than he deserves. I should advise you not to stop there, but set fire to his house, too, and sell his children to pirates. That is the only way he will learn to abandon his wicked ways.”
“I am sure he has already begun to regret his wrongdoing,” said Zacharias, keeping a stern eye on the furious Midsomer. “But I think you promised a favour in return for his punishment, Mak Genggang. It was to do with the block upon our magic?”
“Well!” said Mak Genggang, hesitating. “As to that, it seems to me the less magic the English possess, the less likely they are to send magical armies to menace us.”
“Oh, pray remove the block on our magic, Mak Genggang,” Prunella interrupted. “It is so provoking for our magicians to be forever running out of magic. Of course they are tiresome creatures and do not deserve anything better, but it puts them in such horrid tempers, and they take it out on Zacharias.”
“Which is very bad for him, I am sure,” said Mak Genggang. “However, if it is a question of whether he is to suffer, or my women—”
“But I am thinking of you and your women,” said Prunella earnestly. “For you must know that our King still has any number of ships and guns and soldiers, and he is probably quite wicked enough to use them if you vex him.”
“Miss Gentleman!” sputtered Lord Burrow.
But however treasonous it might be to malign one’s own sovereign to the representative of a foreign power, it seemed to have the desired effect.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Mak Genggang begrudgingly. “We shall see. I will ask my women to intercede with the spirits on Britain’s behalf, and perhaps they will permit magic to enter your realm again.”
“We should be very much obliged if you would,” said Zacharias.
“You must not expect immediate results, however,” said Mak Genggang. “My women have been in a continual twitter since the attack. You might not think it, but lamiae are the most high-strung creatures in the world! But I will tell them they have nothing to fear from the foreigners. The Sorcerer Royal himself has extended his protection to them, and the Sorcerer Royal can be trusted. Is not that so?”
The bold black eyes met Zacharias’s, and in them he read a threat that rendered their gaze rather more frightening than the baby’s.
“I certainly hope so,” he said.
• • •
ZACHARIAS’S colleagues had not followed all of the conversation, and after Mak Genggang departed through the window she broke, it was necessary for him to explain that he had (he hoped) remedied the problem of the decline in Britain’s magic, without employing a single spell.
The thaumaturges were inclined to think he ought simply to have put the foreign witch under lock and key until her followers had promised to remove the block on England’s magic.
“After all, there is nothing to say she will keep her word,” said Kendle. “Like as not she will not. No foreigner ever does.” He gave Zacharias a look pregnant with meaning.
“I do not know that I credit this cock-and-bull story of vampiresses bribing the Fairy Court to deprive Britain of magic,” said another thaumaturge. “I have taken the measure of our atmospheric magic myself this past fortnight, and it is on the rise for the first time in years—each week higher than the last.”
“Indeed,” said Zacharias. “That brings me to another announcement I wished to make today.”
“Another announcement!” said Lord Burrow: he had begun to think of his dinner.
“I think I can promise it will be my last,” said Zacharias.
“I beg you will be quick about it,” said Lord Burrow. “If it is about those scholarships, we shall take the notion under consideration, so you need not belabour the point.”
“I hope you will,” said Zacharias. “I believe it is a scheme that can only benefit the nation. I hope my successor will agree, but as I am resigning, it would be overstepping my place to say any more.”
The room went still. Damerell looked up, alert as a hound that had caught the scent.
“You are not allowed to resign, man,” cried Lord Burrow.
“I think you will find that I am,” said Zacharias composedly. “But I am conscious of the importance of avoiding any gap in succession, and I have already considered who should take the staff after me. I believe the staff will concur, for Miss Gentleman is the best-equipped of any magician living to adapt to the peculiar demands of the position.”
For a moment a fragile silence reigned over the Hall—a quiet composed of pure astonishment. It was broken by a deep, bubbling, delighted laugh, issuing from Damerell’s corner of the room.
“I have never been so happy to have risen before noon,” said Damerell.
Prunella stared at Zacharias as though she had never seen him before. But no one took any notice of her, for everyone else was having his say.
The general feeling was that Zacharias had lost his mind, and was almost as much to be pitied as censured.
“You have perhaps been working too hard, Wythe,” said Lord Burrow. “Perhaps you should take a sabbatical. A holiday will set you up.”
“It is not such a bad idea,” said Cullip, who looked in better spirits than he had since Zacharias had left him shivering upon the Cobb. “Since the Sorcerer Royal proposes to forswear the staff, we should put his successor to the vote. Mr. Geoffrey Midsomer—”
“Has withdrawn himself from candidacy,” said Zacharias, fixing his gaze upon Midsomer, who squirmed. “Besides, you forget, Mr. Cullip, that magic is not a democracy.”
With this he picked up the staff and, pitching low, threw it to Prunella.
She caught it, looking as startled as any of the men around her.
“For the sake of the Seven Spirits, Miss Gentleman, and in the name of the Grand Sorceress,” said Zacharias. “An enchantment, if you please. I would suggest a summoning. I believe your interpretation of the old formula will greatly interest the gentlemen present.”
Recognition entered Prunella’s eyes, followed by a glow of pride. She lifted her chin, holding up the staff.
It was a risk. The staff of the So
rcerer Royal was not known to be kind to the magicians whose mastery it rejected. But Zacharias was not afraid—or so he told himself, over the deafening thump of his own heart. The mistress of three familiars could justly claim precedence over any thaumaturge in the Hall, including himself.
Prunella spoke the formula for summoning in ringing tones.
For a dreadful moment nothing happened. One of the gentlemen standing by Prunella sought to take the staff from her. She offered to knock him on the head with it, before Damerell intervened:
“You will have the courtesy to permit Miss Gentleman the trial, sir, or have me to answer for it.”
“Is this some sort of joke, Wythe?” Cullip began to bluster, when a gargoyle came to life behind him.
Nidget somersaulted off the wall, knocking the astonished Cullip off his feet, and it was followed by the others.
Tjandra blossomed from the bosses above—the dear familiar bosses, which had been so helpful to Zacharias in days past. The simurgh’s brilliant green wings seemed to block out the light as he flew to his mistress.
Youko made the most conventional entry. She trotted in through the door, pushing thaumaturges out of the way with a jerk of her horned head, till Prunella was surrounded by her familiars—a small, indomitable figure, with the staff glowing in her hand.
• • •
IT is not a point that admits of debate,” said Mr. Plimpton. “The rule cannot be circumvented.”
The private room to which the Presiding Committee had retired was too small for the number of people crowded into it, and Mr. Plimpton had been growing hotter and more disgruntled in the course of the meeting. He was a large, bald man, in appearance resembling nothing so much as an irate infant, and his temper had reached such a pitch that Damerell was moved to suggest in a whisper that Prunella summon a nurse to put baby down for a nap.
He spoke in jest, but Prunella secretly thought it no bad idea. It seemed absurd that the Committee should be so perplexed by a minor point of protocol, when her three familiars sat around her feet, proving her the most powerful magician in the room.
