Chapter 26 #2
“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 Sorcerer 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.
“The command of the familiar Leofric has been a precondition of the office since the time of Roger Hayes,” said Mr. Plimpton. “The staff is not sufficient.”
“It was sufficient with me,” said Zacharias. He was wrinkling his forehead in a manner that signified he had a headache, but did not intend to let anyone else know it. It was a look with which Prunella had grown all too familiar.
Mr. Plimpton glanced at Lord Burrow, who coughed.
“We had received confirmation from the Fairy Court that Leofric had submitted to your control,” he said. “They would not be drawn on the details, but they were unwavering on that point. We could scarcely have permitted your accession to the office without that assurance.”
“I cannot see what is so terribly special about this old dragon,” said Prunella. “My familiars could match him any day, I am sure.”
“Admittedly a practitioner that has the benefit of three familiars must be reckoned an extraordinary force,” said Lord Burrow, not quite addressing her.
The Presiding Committee had not made up its mind as to how it stood on Prunella, and had fallen into two camps: one that glared at her, and another that pretended she was not there. Prunella found both equally diverting.