Chapter 3 #3
“Oh yes, I know of our want of resource, and what is worse, I am not the only man in Government who suspects it. I need not tell you what that is likely to mean for the Society. You know the Government has never liked magicians above half: they are expensive creatures to keep, and they hardly pay for the keeping. Your arrogance may have served in the old days, when thaumaturgy had the power to justify its independence. Now, however—!”
He paused and took a turn around the room, his forehead creased with worry.
“I ought not to tell you—it is as much as my position is worth—but I am a friend to magic, little though magic may believe it,” said Edgeworth. He seemed to arrive at a decision, and continued, with more assurance:
“To own the truth, I brought the sultan to you in hope that you might put it in my power to do the Society a favour. The Government has grown doubtful of the utility of continuing to support the Society—the Society benefits, as you know, from various emoluments, and has not paid a penny in rent in hundreds of years. You cannot conceive what anxious attention the Government gives every farthing in these difficult times, and the Treasury has been pushing for a removal of the Society’s privileges for an age.
“Now, I do not know how the laity got wind of the Society’s difficulties—I never breathed a word of them—but there are those within the Government who have a notion that it may no longer be such a risk to offend Britain’s magicians.
It is proposed that we require a Fellow of the Society to demonstrate the measurement of atmospheric magic levels at the Spring Ball, when everyone who is anyone will be in attendance, and the results could not be concealed.
If what the Government suspects is proved—if English magic is shown to be no more than a bogey to frighten children with—why, then, it will feel at liberty to do what it can to make savings.
“And you may trust that that will be done,” concluded Edgeworth.
“So long as thaumaturgy clings to its famous independence, and refuses to lift a finger for King and country. I ought not to have told you even so much, but I wished you to understand why it is vital that the Society oblige the Government for once, even if it never did before.”
He looked at Zacharias with unfeigned earnestness—but it was, thought Zacharias, no great surprise that Edgeworth should be earnest, since in his view the Society’s good was bound up with his own advantage.
Zacharias could not agree. It was the Sorcerer Royal’s duty above all to serve his country, and that overrode any other obligation, including any he owed to the Society.
Even if it might help the Society’s position for Zacharias to attack Janda Baik’s witches on the Government’s behalf, it could not be thought of, when weighed against the risk of provoking the French.
If Zacharias agreed to one harebrained scheme proposed by the Government, founded on what was very like blackmail, it would be only the first of many. And his compliance would not address the root of English thaumaturgy’s difficulties: its want of magic.
It was clear what he must do. His dismay fell away. He said:
“I am afraid we must disappoint you. Though I am loath to disoblige the Government, I would rather risk its offence than offer France’s sorcieres an invitation to join the war. I am obliged for your confidence in me, however, and you may trust it has not been misplaced.”
Edgeworth took his umbrella from the stand in icy silence.
“Then I do not see that there is any need for me to detain you,” he said. “I will see you at the Spring Ball, I suppose.”
“If I return in time,” said Zacharias. At Edgeworth’s look of surprise, he added, “I am leaving town tomorrow, though I shall try my best to attend the Ball, of course.”
“I should have thought you were so taken up with your duties that you could not spare any time for rusticating,” said Edgeworth, all freezing astonishment.
“It is my duties that call me out of London,” said Zacharias, but Edgeworth’s suspicious expression spurred him on to add, “I am going to address a school of gentlewitches, in fact. The headmistress is a great friend of the Threlfall family.”
“It is no great odds,” said Edgeworth, losing interest at such a tediously unexceptionable reason for a trip. “You will hear what occurs at the Ball whether you are there or not. I expect there will be a great deal of talk of it this year.”
“There always is,” said Zacharias tranquilly.
But England’s crisis of magical resource would not be one of the subjects talked of if Zacharias had anything to say to it.
He would travel to Fobdown Purlieu, to the border that separated Britain from Fairyland.
As Fairy was the source of Britain’s magic, so it must be the source of its difficulties—and where he might find a solution.
He had hoped to have more time to perfect his spells for extracting magic from the border, but the experiment could not wait.
By the time the Society opened its doors for its annual Spring Ball, it would have sufficient magic with which to dazzle all its guests, even the most fastidious, most disbelieving representatives of Government. Zacharias would see to that.