The True Queen

by Zen Cho

  Muna was almost as diverted as she was annoyed by this faith in her mind-reading abilities. “How was I to know that that was what your look signified?”

  “It would have saved a great deal of time if you had paid attention,” said Sakti severely. “I must have looked in dozens of trees to find you!”

  “Trees?” said Muna, thinking she must have misheard.

  “Did not you see them as you came in?” said Sakti. “All this”—she gestured around them at the grove—“is an illusion. We are inside a tree that the Queen cursed and turned to stone. There is a whole jungle of them, entombed in the caves beneath her Palace. They say the spirits of the trees offended her by their loyalty to a great spirit, her deadly rival.”

  Muna went still. In her mind she heard again the angry voices of Georgiana of Threlfall and the Queen of the Djinns, quarrelling about the ancient history of the Unseen Realm . . . but was it so ancient?

  “The rival spirit you speak of,” she said. “Was that the True Queen?”

  “Why, I should not have thought you would have had time to learn the Court’s gossip,” said Sakti, impressed. “You had better not let anyone hear you call her the True Queen, however; it is sedition. It is safer to say ‘the Great Serpent.’”

  But Sakti did not linger on the subject of the True Queen; she was more interested in recounting her efforts to find Muna. “I should think there are hundreds of trees here. Most of the ones I looked in were occupied by languishing mortals, or spirits with the heart cut out of them, capable of little more than spitting and swearing. But there were a few demons that still had magic enough to make trouble, and I barely escaped from them with my hide! The prisoner in the tree next to you nearly bit off my head—it was a sort of monitor lizard that could breathe fire.

  “But you know, kak, you ought not to have come directly to the Queen’s presence chamber. The Queen does not even know I exist. There are such a number of spirits here, and all so different, that it is easy to avoid drawing attention to oneself. No one has even suspected me of being a mortal. Why did not you come by a quieter way?”

  Muna had forgotten quite how exasperating her sister was. “It is not so easy to open a door from England to Fairy. And it is not as though I had a map!”

  “Could not the polong help you?”

  Muna began to answer, when she remembered they were not alone. When she glanced back she saw that Henrietta remained at a courteous distance, pretending she could not hear their conversation.

  Muna and Sakti spoke in Malay, but who knew what powers of understanding the English magicienne possessed? It was not out of the question that she might have cast a translation spell . . .

  But even as the thought passed through her mind, an image of Henrietta’s countenance as she gazed on her father’s house rose before Muna.

  No, Muna thought with a certainty that surprised her, Henrietta would not deceive me.

  Henrietta trusted Muna. Perhaps it was time that trust was returned.

  Sakti had followed Muna’s gaze. She frowned. “Who is that?”

  “Henrietta,” said Muna, beckoning. As the Englishwoman came shyly towards them, she said to Sakti, in English, “This is Miss Henrietta Stapleton, an instructress at the Sorceress Royal’s school for witches.”

  “I do not need to be told who this is,” said Henrietta, smiling. “It is your sister, of course. The resemblance is remarkable!”

  To Sakti she said, “I am afraid we had given you up for lost—we thought it so unlikely that a mortal swallowed up by the wilderness of Fairy should ever return. But it seems we underrated your resource, Miss . . . ?”

  Sakti did not supply her name. It was Muna who said, “My sister is called Sakti.”

  “Kak!” protested Sakti.

  “She is my friend,” said Muna in Malay.

  Sakti’s look of misgiving did not change. “She is English.”

  “Even Mak Genggang has English friends!” protested Muna. “I tell you this lady may be relied upon.” She turned to Henrietta. “My sister is about to explain what happened when she vanished in the jungle. Aren’t you, adik?”

  Sakti gave Henrietta a discontented look, but then a cheering thought occurred to her. She said in Malay, “After all, we can always abandon her here if she is not to be trusted.”

  “Adik!” said Muna reproachfully, but Sakti continued, in English:

  “There is not much to tell. I found the enchanter that cursed us, that is all.”

  Muna’s eyes widened. “You found the author of the curse?”

  “The curse?” echoed Henrietta, no less astonished. “Are you under a curse, Muna?”

  “Yes, we believe so. I will explain all in time!” said Muna hurriedly. She turned back to Sakti. “Adik, do you mean the curseworker Midsomer was here, in the Unseen Realm?”

  “Midsomer?” said Henrietta.

  “No, not Midsomer,” said Sakti, frowning. “What has Midsomer to do with anything?”

  But then her expression cleared. “Oh, the spell in Malacca! That was a mistake. The magic must have gone awry. There is a Midsomer here—Geoffrey Midsomer, an English magician who married a spirit and heartily regrets it—but he is not our enemy. The author of the curse is a spirit, one of the Queen’s attendant djinns. I don’t know his true name, of course—he is far too canny to have let it slip—but he goes by some absurd title. The Earl of the Waters of the Nose, or some such . . .”

  Muna stared. “You don’t mean the Duke of the Navel of the Seas?”

  “That is it! He is the one that cursed us.”

  “But that can’t be,” said Muna, baffled. “What makes you think so?”

  “Why, he was the one who summoned me here,” said Sakti. “That is how I came to the Palace. I arrived and he declared himself my master.”

  She paused, looking around, before performing a complicated gesture with her hands. A wall of white light sprang up around them, from which issued a faint buzzing, like that of bees.

  “In case anyone is listening,” explained Sakti. “You see, the—Duke, did you call him? I think of him as the thief, for he stole your magic and our memories, and that is not all. He has stolen a treasure belonging to the Queen—they call it the Virtu.”

  “That can’t be!” Muna repeated. But then she thought of the turquoise pendant resting in the pale hollow of Clarissa Midsomer’s throat, on the night of the Sorceress Royal’s ball—the Duke’s eyes, intent and full of wonder, fixed on Clarissa—and the eerily familiar ornament the Fairy Queen had worn, which had looked so much like Clarissa’s necklace.

  Muna’s protests died in her throat. She pressed a hand to her temple, for impossible ideas swarmed in her mind.

  All she was beginning to surmise could not be true, she told herself. She was going mad, perhaps. It was something in the air of the Unseen that was giving her such strange fancies. She must be sensible. And yet the suspicion growing within her would not be conquered by staid sense.

  “The Queen thinks it is a secret that the Virtu has been stolen, but there are no real secrets in the Palace of the Unseen,” said Sakti. “You never met such a parcel of old gossips as the spirits here! They all know the Queen is desperately anxious about the loss of her talisman, but since she means them to be deceived, they are obliged to collude in the pretence. She sees conspirators everywhere, and anyone who dares ruin the illusion would suffer.”

  “But the Duke was sent to Britain to recover the Virtu,” Henrietta began. “He cannot have stolen it . . .” But her voice trailed off.

  “Yes, it was clever of him, wasn’t it?” said Sakti. “He went to the Queen when the news came that the guardians of the Virtu had lost it, and insisted he go to Britain on her behalf. He thought it best to be out of her way. I expect the Queen half-suspects him, but currently she suspects everyone of meaning her ill. There are rumours that her sister—the G
reat Serpent—will soon return. It seems she was the true heir to the throne and rightful sovereign of the Unseen Realms, and the Queen is only a pretender. It has made the Queen exceedingly cross; the Court is in a terrific ferment.”

  Glancing at Henrietta, Muna saw that the Englishwoman was near being convinced. Muna’s own incredulity was dying away, for Sakti spoke with such confidence that it was impossible to doubt her. If she was right, it would certainly have been an astute move on the Duke’s part to have accused another and volunteered to investigate the theft.

  Muna shook her head in an attempt to clear it. The Duke who had summoned Sakti to his side had stolen the Virtu. The Virtu contained the best part of the banished True Queen’s magic—the True Queen who was expected to make a return.

  It all pointed to an answer that Muna feared must be true, incredible as it seemed. But there was still a missing piece. Groping towards understanding, Muna said aloud:

  “What makes you think the Duke stole the Virtu, adik?”

  “Oh, he told me,” said Sakti offhandedly.

  Muna was mystified. “Surely it was very trusting of him to confide in you!”

  “Well, he had lost half of it,” explained Sakti. “That was why he summoned me. He desired me to steal the half he had lost.

  “The creature is addicted to gambling, you see,” she continued. “He owes parts of his soul to all sorts of persons. Everyone in the Palace knows that his affairs are hopelessly involved. I expect that is why he stole the Virtu—so he could extricate himself from his embarrassments. But it did not occur to him to stop gambling once he had the Virtu. He accrued further debts of honour and had nothing else with which to settle them.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that the Duke gambled away the Queen’s Virtu?” demanded Muna.

  “Yes, wasn’t it stupid of him?” said Sakti, with some relish. “I was vastly encouraged when I discovered that! But the creature is not altogether witless. He did not surrender the whole of the Virtu to the winner—he broke it in two and kept half. But of course that meant he only had half the magic he had hoped for.”

  “So that is what happened,” said Muna slowly. “It begins to fit together.”

  “What does?”

  “Why did the Duke desire you to recover the lost half of the Virtu?” said Muna, ignoring Sakti’s question. “I mean to say, he is a powerful spirit. It seems odd that he should have summoned a mortal female to help him.”

  Sakti frowned.

  “That is something I have not quite made out,” she admitted. “I think his summoning spell must have gone awry. He used the Virtu to call me up. I believe he was hoping for a great spirit—a mambang or naga of renown. He seemed quite disappointed to find me so insignificant. He had nearly made up his mind to steal the lost half back from Midsomer himself, but then he was obliged to leave for England . . .”

  “Midsomer!” Henrietta exclaimed. “You do not mean Geoffrey Midsomer acquired the other half of the Virtu?”

  “Oh, do you know him?” said Sakti, looking at Henrietta with new interest. “He is not much of a magician, but it seems he has extraordinary luck at dice. The Duke is not the first spirit to have suffered at his hands at the gaming table. But no one can touch Midsomer, for his wife is a favourite of the Queen, and very short-tempered.” Sakti sighed. “One can only search Midsomer’s residence when she is away. I have not been able to find the missing half of the Virtu, though I have hunted high and low.”

  But she squared her shoulders, turning to Muna with an air of resolve. “But I shall find it, kak—never fear! And when I do, I mean to demand our freedom from the Duke. He is so desperate he will not be able to deny us. That is why I summoned you here.”

  “I am glad you did,” said Muna.

  She saw all now. It had been no accident that she had been granted that vision of the serpent floating in the waters. She had been led here for a reason.

  “But you will not find the Virtu if you look for a hundred years, adik,” she said. “You see, I know where the other half of the Virtu is.”

  Henrietta’s head whipped around. “You do?”

  “You know where it is too,” said Muna. “Do you remember the necklace Miss Midsomer wore at the Sorceress Royal’s ball?”

  Henrietta’s brow furrowed. She shook her head.

  “There was such a great deal to think of that day,” she said apologetically. “I scarcely saw Clarissa before the ball, and I missed most of it after the Duke appeared, for I was seeing to our guests.”

  “If you had been less preoccupied, you would not have failed to notice it,” said Muna; though she addressed Henrietta, her eyes were on Sakti. “Miss Midsomer wore a gold chain. And hanging from it, a very fine pendant, in the shape of a snake . . .”

  Sakti’s eyes were round. “A blue snake, with red eyes and a short tail? The Duke’s half of the Virtu was the same!”

  “The replica the Queen wore in her hair reminded me of Miss Midsomer’s ornament,” said Muna to Henrietta. “And Miss Midsomer is sister to Geoffrey Midsomer, is she not?”

  Henrietta saw what she meant.

  “You think Geoffrey Midsomer gave Clarissa the half of the Virtu he won?” she said. “I suppose it would have been sensible. He must have known the Duke would seek to reclaim the article if it remained in Fairy. But if Clarissa wore it to the ball, the Duke must have seen it. He met her then, did he not? Prunella told me of it. She said he was fascinated with Clarissa.”

  “He was entranced!” said Muna, recalling the fixity with which the Duke had gazed at Miss Midsomer. “But what if it was because he had recognised the missing half of the Virtu in Miss Midsomer’s pendant? It is no wonder he decided to stay in England. It was his best chance of retrieving what he had lost to her brother.”

  Henrietta looked troubled. “I cannot believe Clarissa knew what she had. If she did, surely she would have told Prunella and surrendered the Virtu. Even now the Fairy Queen suspects Britain of having robbed her!”

  “This sister of Midsomer’s is in England?” said Sakti. When Muna nodded, Sakti said, “Then we shall have to go to England to steal it back, I suppose.”

  “Yes,” said Muna. “We must go to England.” She took a deep breath, but it scarcely alleviated her nervousness at what she had to tell Sakti. She knew it would sound mad, for Sakti seemed to have no suspicion of the truth herself.

  “For the Duke is there too,” Muna continued. “And we must recover the whole of the Virtu, adik—the half he holds as well.”

  Sakti looked startled. “You wish to steal his half? So we may use its magic to break the curse, you mean?”

  Muna shook her head.

  For a moment she felt sick with dread. A part of her had known the truth since she had seen the replica of the Virtu perched upon the Queen’s head. Perhaps she had known it even before—when she had asked the fine ones to grant her a vision of her sister, and they had shown her the serpent, half-asleep under the waves surrounding Janda Baik. But till now Muna had not dared to look directly at the truth.

  “Because . . .” she said, but the words stuck in her throat. To say what she knew was to lose what was most precious to her in life—to accept that the connection she valued most was an invention of her fancy, founded on a mistake—to admit, finally, that she did not have a sister.

  She looked into Sakti’s wondering eyes. Muna could see that Sakti was impressed by her daring in declaring that they should steal the Duke’s half of the Virtu as well as Clarissa’s.

  It heartened her absurdly.

  It was not a lie, she thought. I was her sister.

  For months Muna had defended and advised and borne with and worried for Sakti; that had been no sham. It did not matter if it was happenstance that had bound them together, rather than blood. Sakti had been hers since Muna found her on the shore.

  “Because the Virtu is yours,” sh
e said. “You are Saktimuna, adik. You are the spirit they call the True Queen—the Great Serpent, sister to the Queen of the Djinns.”

  20

  Meanwhile

  The Stapletons’ residence, England

  AMELIA

  ANYONE MIGHT HAVE thought there was little in her circumstances to worry Miss Amelia Stapleton. At eighteen, she was blessed with beauty, wit and—apparently—fortune in equal measure, due to make a dazzling debut at a coming-out ball for which her fond mamma had spared no expense.

  But Amelia was in fact burdened with anxieties large and small. She was ruminating on these one morning, a week after the Sorceress Royal’s ball, when her sister Louisa burst into the room.

  Louisa wore the air of importance of one who bears great news. Amelia half-rose from her chair, exclaiming, “Do not tell me—Henny is back!”

  “No,” said Louisa tragically. “Mr. Hobday is here!”

  Amelia stared. “Here?”

  “He is waiting in the drawing room with Papa,” said Louisa. “Porter told me. Papa sent her to bring Henny down to see Mr. Hobday.”

  They were gazing at each other in horror when the door burst open again, admitting this time the youngest Stapleton sister.

  “’Melia, have you heard?” cried Charlotte. “Mr. Hobday is here and wishes to see Henny! What are we to do?”

  It had been six days since any of them had seen their eldest sister, Henrietta. They had all grown accustomed to Henny’s sudden absences—she had been given to them ever since Mrs. Prunella Wythe had founded her plaguey Academy—but she had never been away for so long before.

  Louisa had even begun muttering about going to the Academy to try to find her, though they were all terrified of the Sorceress Royal. Everyone said Mrs. Wythe was an unwomanly creature, ruthless with those who got in her way. It was an article of faith among the Stapletons’ set that Mrs. Wythe had exiled Geoffrey Midsomer to Fairyland, and caused the death of Matthew Bloxham: