Chapter 16 #4
They both knew that this was such news as would rock the halls of the Society.
On every previous occasion of the discovery of a new familiar’s egg, the conferral of the egg had been the subject of protracted negotiations, of the furious jockeying of talented men of birth, of Machiavellian political manoeuvrings—even, in less enlightened days, of war.
It would not signify, to the thaumaturges who would sit in judgment upon Zacharias, that Prunella had such talent as Zacharias had never seen before in an untrained magician.
Nor would it signify that he had scarcely been in a position to prevent her bonding with the familiars when they hatched.
The familiars, in hatching, might well have destroyed the inn if not for Prunella’s swift action, and no thaumaturge—no male thaumaturge—could have predicted what she would do to pacify them.
Precious few thaumaturges had ever encountered a familiar freshly out of the egg, and what Prunella had done went against every piece of received wisdom Zacharias had acquired in the course of his excellent education.
But he was the Sorcerer Royal, and he had stood by when half the largest crop of familiars the kingdom had ever seen was thrown away on a magician with no family and no training—above all, a magician who was female.
“Yet would not the gift of the eggs make up for the lapse?” argued Sir Stephen. “Such a gift as the nation has not seen in centuries! The girl could be dealt with. She need not pose any difficulty. The thing is to make a clean breast of it, Zacharias.”
“The eggs would not be much of a gift without Miss Gentleman’s cooperation,” said Zacharias, rubbing his temples.
“Miss Gentleman allowed me to examine them. They are bound by an enchantment that locks them in stasis—a spell of wholly unfamiliar working. She knows the secret of the counter-spell, and without it the eggs are no good to us.”
“Cannot she be made to reveal the secret?” said Sir Stephen. “You need not stare at me so. What are your fine scruples against the interests of the nation? You must certainly tell the Society, and surrender the eggs. It is your duty.”
“We disagree as to where my duty lies,” said Zacharias. Any relief he had felt about being able to discuss the problem had dissipated. His head was pounding, his breath came short, and the air was full of light and colour.
“Zacharias,” said Sir Stephen. His voice vibrated with frustration; it was clear he would like to raise it, but he strove to govern himself.
“Listen to me, Zacharias: you think me unscrupulous, no doubt. You think I am ruthless; you pity the girl. You know there is truth in what I say, however. Every circumstance is conspiring to remove you from your office, and should that happen, who knows what might be the result? Recall your agreement”—he lowered his voice—“your pact with Leofric!”
“Miss Gentleman has trusted me,” said Zacharias with difficulty.
“She deceived you! She imposed upon you for her own purposes, and now you are burdened with a brazen nobody, who has no family, no resources—”
“And three familiars,” said Zacharias. “You know that if I were to surrender her to the Society, they would not be content with the four eggs. They would seek to wrest her familiars from her.”
He did not need to elaborate upon what the consequences of that would be.
It had happened not infrequently in centuries past, when England still had sufficient sorcerers to quarrel with one another, that a sorcerer would have his familiars forcibly removed from him.
The effects varied, but they were without exception horrific.
Some former sorcerers ran mad. Some lost all their magic, which to many magicians seemed a worse fate.
A few continued for days or even weeks as though nothing were amiss, until they died suddenly where they stood.
Their corpses grew instantly withered and grey, and turned to dust at a touch.
“That would be very bad,” assented Sir Stephen reluctantly. “Still, I am sure you could persuade the Society to show restraint.”
“Why should it, for a female of no account?” said Zacharias.
“You are quite right. Miss Gentleman has nothing—neither principles, nor connections, nor money—nothing but her magic and her absurd effrontery.” Zacharias half-smiled, though he had been vexed enough by that effrontery.
“She has only my good will to rely upon, and I—I owe her my life. I could not betray her. I will abide by our compact.”
He had to stop, for the old agony began to tear at his bowels. He staggered to the bed and collapsed heavily upon it, nightmare shapes figuring in his blurred vision. Before him extended a long, grim night, for the worrying at his vitals would not permit sleep.
“Oh, Zacharias,” said Sir Stephen. His voice seemed to come from a great distance, weighted with sorrow and reproach. “When will you stop striking these ill bargains?”
Zacharias did not answer, and Sir Stephen said no more. His cool, insubstantial hand brushed Zacharias’s head, and its touch bestowed relief.
Sir Stephen drew a spell across his temples, filling his troubled head with cloud and shadow. Zacharias smelt rain. His vision cleared, and he saw the dark expanse of a night sky, soft and starless. Finally he slept, forgetting pain.