Modern Magick 6

by Charlotte E. English

Muttering something about conspiracies, Mother plunked herself down on the throne and settled the lyre in her lap.

  And the matter was promptly settled, for once she’d set her good hand to the strings, her fingers began to move as though she had played the lyre since the cradle, and what poured forth was the most heavenly, ambrosial melody I could ever remember hearing. She even outdid Jay’s playing; her sudden talent far exceeded mine.

  I gave up a polite round of applause. ‘Congratulations, Father. You’re liberated.’

  And my father, wretch that he was, promptly went off into a gale of helpless laughter.

  19

  It was too cruel to abandon my mother to her new role among the Yllanfalen straight away, though I was sorely tempted, for her sudden accession to rank and privilege had only soured her temper further. But Jay and I agreed to stay for a day or two, to see that she received suitable care.

  We needn’t have been concerned. The sprites may have treated my father with indifference, but for some reason they adored my mother. They flocked around her, plied her with curatives and pillows and sweetmeats and every good thing, and played her lullabies until she fell asleep (or hurled her pillows at their heads, which she tried once and never attempted again, for the immediate and predictable result was a mass pillow fight).

  Ayllin conducted her, very late that night, to a sumptuous suite of rooms near the top of the King’s Halls (henceforth to be termed the Queen’s Halls, no doubt). Whereupon, she disappeared into the depths of the largest, most ornate bed I have ever seen, and for the next two days thereafter spent little time awake.

  My father was not disposed to await her waking. He consented to spend a night among the Yllanfalen, but no more, for bright and early the next morning he appeared in the Queen’s Breakfast Parlour (where Jay and I were dining in mother’s place) with the brisk air of a man desirous of immediate departure.

  ‘She’ll do fine,’ he told me, then hesitated. ‘Won’t she?’

  ‘Once she’s got used to the idea. You haven’t seen Delia when she’s got a project in hand. The Yllanfalen won’t know what hit them.’

  ‘My commiserations to the Yllanfalen.’

  I smiled. ‘No, I think this is just what Ayllin and the rest were hoping for. It might take them a while to get used to my mother’s methods, but she’ll get the job done.’

  ‘And what’s the job?’

  ‘Overhaul?’ I shrugged. ‘If they want to survive, well, no one survives the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune like my mother.’

  ‘With or without a full set of hands.’

  ‘You see my point.’

  He smiled, faint and wintry. ‘Maybe the lyre got it right, the second time.’

  ‘It must’ve seen some qualities in you, Dad.’

  ‘Goodness knows what they were. Anyway, I depart.’ He nodded at Jay in friendly enough fashion, who nodded back, and added a wave. ‘Take care of Cordelia,’ said Dad.

  ‘It’s Ves,’ I said.

  Jay grinned at me. ‘I will, sir, but you should have realised by now: Ves is more of a chip off her mother’s block than she likes to think.’

  ‘I don’t know what that is supposed to mean,’ I said, with a flinty look.

  He pointed a chunk of fresh bread at my face. ‘That, right there.’

  I composed my features into an expression of sunny serenity. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Dad hesitated. In fact, he positively dithered. ‘Cordelia—’ he began.

  ‘Ves.’

  ‘Ves, then.’ He dithered some more, then gave up whatever the point might have been, and shook his head. ‘It was good to meet you.’

  ‘Mm. You too.’ I watched as he walked away, dithering a bit myself.

  Jay was busy buttering another roll. He said, without looking at me, ‘You’ll regret it if you don’t.’

  ‘Curse it.’ I launched myself out of my chair and ran to the door, just as my father disappeared from view. ‘Dad?’

  He returned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Erm. Sprites?’ I said, groping at thin air. ‘Anybody got a thing to write with?’

  ‘A thing?’ said Cadence in my ear, though without troubling to manifest.

  ‘Pen, pencil, quill, tomato juice, fresh blood— ah! Perfect, thank you.’ An exquisite pen of coiled silver leaves appeared in front of my nose, together with a miniature scroll. When I set pen to paper, a shimmering silvery ink poured forth. Never have my name and phone number looked more magnificent.

  I handed the results to Tom. ‘In case you feel more like being a dad than being a king.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ he said, and tucked the paper into his trouser pocket. ‘I couldn’t have been less interested in being a king.’ He stooped to give me the briefest peck on the cheek, and then he was gone.

  I wandered back to Jay, feeling vaguely dissatisfied with this response. ‘Does that mean he does or doesn’t want to be my idol, role model and hero?’

  ‘I don’t wish to insult your father, but I think he’s a tiny bit of a coward,’ said Jay. ‘It’s my belief he’ll square up to the idea, though, given a little time.’

  I leaned my cheek in one hand, and toyed with a bit of fruit left on my plate (some unidentifiable thing resembling a peach crossed with a cherry). ‘I’m not sure I want a coward for a hero.’

  ‘You’ve courage enough for both of you. Cut him some slack.’

  ‘Is your father a hero?’

  ‘Every inch of him.’ Jay said this with pride, but it was mixed with something wry and rueful. ‘I’ll introduce you sometime.’

  I perked up at that. If Jay wanted to present me to his heroes, maybe I wasn’t doing a bad job of being Ves after all.

  Jay smirked at me, and added, ‘I’d better make sure they put on a spread fit for a princess.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘Why not? You’re the descendant of a king and a queen.’

  ‘My father was king in name only, and doesn’t count. Anyway, it’s not hereditary around here, however much Mum might have wished otherwise.’

  ‘I wonder why she wanted that for you.’

  ‘Mum was always good at that. Long periods of neglect, then some peculiar attack of remorse and she’d make some big gesture to make up for it.’

  ‘This was a pretty big gesture.’

  ‘Six years was a pretty long silence.’

  He conceded the point with a nod. ‘So what’s next for us, if it isn’t royalty and privilege?’

  I went to chew a fingernail, and stopped myself in the nick of time. ‘I want to contact the Court at Mandridore, see if there’s news about Torvaston’s book. Or that box of junk we picked up.’

  ‘Junk?’ Jay spluttered. ‘The jewels on that scroll case alone could buy my parents’ house.’

  ‘I meant junk in the sense of random. A fork? A snuff box? What does it all mean?’

  ‘Maybe nothing. I imagine even kings accumulate clutter.’

  ‘Don’t ruin my dreams.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He grinned. ‘I’m sure it’s the Enchanted Fork of Magick and Wonder.’

  ‘Doubtless. And the Snuff Box of Mystery and Dreams.’

  ‘With a naked lady on the lid.’

  ‘It wasn’t a— no, never mind.’

  ‘Wise choice.’

  After a couple of days of kicking our heels in the Queen’s Halls, hobnobbing with the sprites (mostly me), and playing hauntingly beautiful music on every instrument we could lay our hands on (mostly Jay), we grew bored.

  Actually, that was mostly me, too.

  I announced that my mother clearly had no need of us, and set forth to bid her a firm goodbye.

  I found her reclining in a state of near unconsciousness in her boudoir of pillows, attended by three hovering sprites. Her eyes opened when she saw me. ‘Cordelia.’

  ‘Mother. We’re off.’ I bent to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Wait.’ She sat up, wincing. ‘The— the lyre. Where is it.’
<
br />   ‘Lying on your throne. Do you mean to retrieve those pipes, by the by?’

  ‘Nope. We don’t need ‘em. Nor the lyre either, for now. Take it.’

  My feelings about that idea could only be expressed by my backing away, very quickly. ‘No. I’m not touching it.’

  ‘Get Jay to take it, then.’

  ‘I don’t think he wants to touch it either.’

  She snorted. ‘One of you will have to.’

  ‘Have to?’

  ‘I promised Milady.’

  ‘A few things have changed since then.’

  ‘A promise is a promise. Take it.’

  ‘Milady wouldn’t choose to divest the new Queen of the Yllanfalen of her sacred instrument—’

  ‘Take it.’ Mother was growing agitated, which in her case meant aggressive. ‘I promised her. She made me promise.’

  ‘Made you?’ I echoed numbly. ‘No one can make you do anything, Mother.’

  ‘Except for Milady. Cordelia, the sole reason you were sent out here was to get that lyre. You won’t be popular if you go back without it.’

  ‘Why does she want it so badly?’

  Mother wheezed, which I realised was meant to be a laugh. ‘She told me all about her plans in exhaustive detail, naturally. After that, we had a pyjama party and braided each other’s hair.’

  ‘I see your point.’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘I’m still not touching it.’

  ‘Then I hope your man Jay’s braver than you.’

  ‘He’s not my— I’m not a coward!’

  Mother just looked at me.

  ‘Fine, we’ll take it. But what does the damned thing even do, besides install monarchs on that shiny throne down there?’

  ‘I don’t know, quite, but…’ Mother lapsed into thought for a moment. ‘It has an unusual line on the past, I think.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I can sense bits and pieces of a location’s past, to a certain degree. I told you that. When I had that lyre in my hands…’ She was growing tired with the effort of talking, and fell silent for a moment. ‘Whoosh,’ she finished feebly, making a something-exploding gesture with her good hand.

  If Mother was right about that, I began to get an inkling as to why Milady wanted to borrow it. ‘It would make sense,’ I suggested. ‘It is an instrument of history and tradition.’

  ‘Until lately.’ Mother’s eyes crinkled in a tired smile.

  ‘Change comes to us all. But why aren’t we borrowing you as well as the lyre, in that case? Your ability there isn’t too common.’

  ‘Milady probably has someone for that.’

  Could be so. The Society employed quite a lot of people, and Milady made a point of collecting the rarer talents.

  Mother’s eyes closed again. I watched her for a little while, trying to convince myself that her pallor was fading. She looked terribly weak, and somehow… forlorn, adrift within that enormous bed by herself.

  Her eyes snapped open. ‘Weren’t you going?’

  ‘Right. Sorry. Bye, Mum.’

  ‘It is a truly remarkable thing,’ said Milady upon the following morrow.

  Jay and I were at the top of her tower, comfortably seated in chairs of House’s providing. The lyre occupied a plinth before us; that, too, had been spun out of nothing by our beloved House, and it was of fitting beauty: silver studded with amethysts, and attractively carved. House had style. The moonsilver lyre sat there sparkling dreamily in the sun, its strings peacefully flowing, emitting a faint, fae melody to tease our ears.

  I’d taken it up, at first. Jay had taken one look at my eyes, and swiftly swiped it off me.

  ‘Nope, nope, nope,’ he’d said. ‘Bad idea.’

  I’d studied him carefully for some minutes afterwards, but he showed no signs of developing the same peculiar symptoms as I did.

  And lo, Jay became our designated lyre-carrier.

  ‘It’s one of the oldest Great Treasures I have seen, or even heard of,’ Milady continued, in a voice of uncharacteristic enthusiasm. ‘To think that it has been lying in a pond these thirty years!’

  ‘I can only apologise for my father,’ I said.

  Milady said, more gravely: ‘I must apologise, Ves. I had no idea the venture would prove so… personally significant for you.’

  ‘Except that it began with my mother.’

  ‘Delia gave me no reason to imagine you were so completely out of touch.’

  ‘Would you have chosen differently, if you had known some of these things?’

  When Milady decided to be open and honest, she really did it properly. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Shall we move on from the apologies, then? Why have we just retrieved this lyre?’

  ‘I believe it may be of use to us in the matter of Farringale, and perhaps the fifth Britain. If the reports of its talents are true, much may be learned. It goes to Orlando’s department at once, and I have hopes of hearing something shortly.’

  ‘Orlando? Why?’ He was our inventor. His specialty was new stuff, not dusty old artefacts.

  ‘Because nobody understands the inner workings of enchantments better than he, and his associates. How do you suppose he produces such high quality products? His creations are not produced out of thin air. He has studied a vast number of existing artefacts and treasures.’

  ‘Right. Has there been any word from the Court?’

  ‘Little of relevance, yet. Torvaston’s book is being translated and studied as we speak, though it has yet to shed any light on those objects you retrieved along with it.’

  My heart sank a little. I’d hoped to have something new to dive into as soon as we returned.

  Perhaps Jay had, too, for he said: ‘What would you like for us to do next, then?’

  ‘You are free to take some time off, if you’d like.’

  Time off? My mind went blank at the prospect. When was the last time I’d had more than, say, half a weekend of free time?

  ‘Great,’ said Jay, rising from his chair. ‘Because it’s Anaya’s birthday, and I’m late.’

  ‘Convey my greetings to your family, Jay,’ said Milady.

  ‘Absolutely, ma’am.’ Jay bowed.

  ‘Who’s Anaya?’ I asked as he passed me.

  ‘My sister.’

  ‘How many sisters do you have?’

  ‘Three. I’ll see you in a couple of days, all right?’ He smiled at me, and left.

  A couple of days. I watched the door close on his retreating back.

  ‘Can I stay here?’ I asked, trying not to sound plaintive.

  Milady hesitated. Probably she should say no.

  ‘Yes, Ves,’ she said instead. ‘It has been a difficult week for you, hasn’t it?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Of course. There’s chocolate in the pot. And on this occasion, you will find your pot on Valerie’s desk.’

  I found two pots on Val’s desk, in fact, and some more joys besides. Enthroned atop the expansive surface lay my favourite book in the world: dear Mauf, his purple covers gleaming. And curled atop Mauf was a tufty bundle of yellow fur, sound asleep.

  Val was deep in a book, of course; I rarely saw her in any other state. She did not immediately look up as I trailed into the library, so I sat in the chair opposite and laid my cheek against Robin Goodfellow’s soft fur.

  ‘Bad week, hm?’ said Val.

  ‘Mmpf,’ I said.

  She closed her book, handling it with tender care. ‘The Baron left those for you. He’s off on some kind of diplomatic mission, and said you’d probably want them.’

  ‘So I do.’ I sat up and poured chocolate.

  ‘Is that for me?’ said Val, pointing at the second pot.

  ‘I expect so. Milady sent me down here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No idea. Actually, she didn’t send me so much as put my chocolate down here as bait.’

  ‘I don’t have much for you to do.’

  ‘It’s okay. Apparently
I am having “time off”.’

  Valerie blinked. ‘Oh.’

  I gulped chocolate.

  Valerie watched me with her steady dark eyes, and nodded slowly. ‘You’d better tell me about it, hadn’t you.’

  ‘Do you want to hear about it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do I?’

  I began, wretchedly, to laugh. ‘It makes the most farcical story. You may not believe me.’

  Val took a swallow of chocolate, and grinned. ‘I like farce. Hit me with it.’

  And I did.

  A week drifted by, only some of which I spent at Home. After a day or two of basking in House’s familiar comforts, I felt obliged to remove to the Scarlet Courtyard, and bask in Mrs. Amberstone’s comforts instead (which, to be fair, are not insignificant). Jay had leave to remain with his family for much of it, which was doubtless good for him. I tried to recall if he’d managed to have more than an afternoon off since he’d joined the Society, and concluded possibly not. Good sport, Jay. It would be a shame to burn him out.

  The problem with a lifestyle like ours is, you forget what to do with free time. I lounged; I chatted with Val; I caught up on a bit of walking, and a bit of reading. There was cake, which I ate listlessly.

  I slept too much.

  No doubt this was good for me, too, for when a summons to Milady’s tower materialised some eight or nine days later, enthusiasm couldn’t begin to cover my feelings.

  I was back at Home and at the top of the tower within an hour.

  ‘Welcome, Ves,’ said Milady as I ventured in. An elegant chair had been placed for me, facing the centre of the room, where manifested the faint sparkle in the air that was all one ever saw of Milady. The suggestion of a second chair occupied a spot nearby, an intangible outline; House had got halfway through conjuring another, and paused.

  ‘Good morning, Milady,’ I said with my usual curtsey, and took the solid chair.

  ‘I trust you are well?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘If a little bored.’

  The sparkle intensified: amusement. ‘You ought to have time off more often,’ she said. ‘There are laws about that sort of thing.’

  I tried to feel as though that would be a nice idea. ‘What would I do with it?’

  ‘Jay, for example, has been—’