Chapter 26
AMEMORY STIRRED within Zacharias as he entered the Great Hall among a sea of pale faces: a memory of being small and anxious, wishing very much to please, but fearful of being weighed and found wanting.
Time and use had overlaid the memory with fresher impressions. He was no longer intimidated by the vaulted ceilings, the ancient wood-panelled walls or the portraits of sorcerers past, gazing down upon the proceedings in eternal displeasure. He now knew the measure of those around him.
The Society was hard put to summon a quorum at most meetings, but today the Hall was uncommonly crowded.
Curiosity about how the Sorcerer Royal proposed to defend himself against the Hallett proved an irresistible draw.
Thaumaturges were packed so close in the Hall that sparks of magic flew in the narrow spaces between their bodies.
They were due to be disappointed, as the sharper-witted among them had already deduced. Zacharias Wythe was so composed one might have thought he had never heard of a ritual sacrifice in his life, and Geoffrey Midsomer sat huddled at the back of the room in a fit of the sullens.
Lord Burrow, rising to speak, put paid to any remaining illusions that the meeting might involve anything other than the usual tedious periods.
“I must apologise for this breach of protocol, but Mr. Wythe has kindly surrendered his precedence today to permit me to make an announcement on behalf of the Committee,” he said.
“It has come to the Committee’s attention that a purported amendment was made to the Charter, to remove the clause prohibiting the Hallett procedure.
This was done in a highly irregular fashion, and we shall be taking measures to withdraw the amendment.
There is no longer any intention to undertake the Hallett; the Presiding Committee deems it unnecessary. ”
At the disappointment that rippled through the audience, Lord Burrow raised his voice.
“I might add that the Committee considers the attempt to make use of the procedure ill-judged, and regrets that certain elements within the Society should have gone to such lengths to revive its availability. We are satisfied of Mr. Wythe’s claim to the staff, and no allegation against him has been proven that would render it necessary for him to surrender it. ”
So far as this went, this was perfectly satisfactory from Zacharias’s perspective, and he experienced a faint pang of regret at Prunella’s timing when Lord Burrow paused, staring.
Zacharias had bribed a servant to smuggle Prunella into the building through a side-door, but Prunella had decided to disregard the discreet entrance he had painstakingly orchestrated for her.
She wafted down the centre of the room on Damerell’s arm, appearing splendidly unconscious of the looks and murmurs she drew.
Midsomer glared. Josiah Cullip clearly longed to speak, but he had been given a stern talking-to by Lord Burrow after the events of the day before, and to draw attention to himself now was to risk his position as Secretary to the Committee.
It was another supporter of Midsomer’s who took up the gauntlet.
“At least one accusation requires no proof, for he has admitted it himself,” said Mr. Kendle in a strident voice.
“Zacharias Wythe has been teaching women magic, and has even invited one here! Is not that a breach worthy of consideration, or is the immunity of the Sorcerer Royal to shield even that folly?”
“There is no provision in the Charter either for or against the practise of magic by females,” said Zacharias.
“The general prejudice against it is founded merely in convention. Of course, even if there were such a prohibition in the Charter, the Charter can be amended, as some of my colleagues will be aware.”
Kendle looked rather foolish.
“I do not deny having trained a woman in the principles of thaumaturgy,” Zacharias continued.
“She is, as Mr. Kendle observes, here today. And I so dispute any contention that I have done wrong, that I shall declare now, that I hope my instruction of Miss Gentleman will be only the first phase of a comprehensive system of education of women with magical abilities.”
An outraged murmur rustled through the audience.
Zacharias spoke over it. He was conscious that very little time remained to him to say his piece.
Once he had achieved his purpose—the great, improbable design he hoped to effect at this meeting—it would be too late, and he would have lost his chance.
“It is my hope that we shall soon have schools for the instruction of magiciennes, as useful and esteemed as our schools for boys,” he said.
“Since it will require a considerable outlay before any such establishment may begin its operations, however, I would suggest in the meantime that the Society sets up scholarships to fund the instruction of talented magic users who could not otherwise study thaumaturgy.
“Nor should the scholarships be restricted to women. Mine is only one of many voices that have decried the recent practise of demanding that magicians pass for gentlemen before they may pass for thaumaturges. Why should not thaumaturgy be open to the poor? Who among us has not seen the lad on the street, barefoot and ragged, entertaining his friends with a cantrip? The farmer who shields his crops from the frost with a spell, and the coachman who speeds his carriage by magic?”
Zacharias was prevented from continuing by the hubbub of his colleagues’ voices, as his audience vociferously denied ever having seen anything of the sort. Before either he or they had said all they wished, however, they were interrupted in the most spectacular manner conceivable.
The glass of a high window shattered, and a second woman entered the Great Hall—one whose presence Zacharias had not counted upon.
Mak Genggang glided around the Hall above the openmouthed thaumaturges, landing finally on her feet beside Zacharias. She had not come alone.
Sultan Ahmad and Mr. Othman seemed shamefaced about the wings they had sprouted, and were inclined to hang back, but the sultana was not at all discomposed.
She was the only one of the curious party who remained wingless.
There was nevertheless a subtle difference about her whole person, but Zacharias had little time to contemplate the change.
An eerie yowl pierced the air, of such an extraordinary pitch that the magicians in the Hall clapped their hands over their ears.
“Good God!” cried Lord Burrow. “What in Heaven’s name is that?”
“Who is that, if you please!” said Mak Genggang. “He has not a name yet, but he would thank you to be civil all the same, would not he, the precious little creature?”
The infant cradled in her arms did not seem amused by her coaxing. It glowered. In a baby of its diminutive size, this should have been more endearing than intimidating—and would have been, if not for the fact that the tiny mouth contained a complete set of fangs, and the eyes shone a lurid red.
“Mak Genggang!” exclaimed Prunella. “Why, what are you doing here?”
“We are going home, but I thought it would only be civil to bid you good-bye,” said Mak Genggang. “You may give me a kiss, child.”
When Prunella had complied, the witch nodded at the indignant magicians, saying:
“And you may assure your sovereign that he need not worry about us any longer, since he has taken such a kind interest in our island. Sultan Ahmad and I have settled our differences—you will see that I have given him and Mr. Othman wings, so that we may fly home together. The queen is coming to stay with me and my women for a time, so that we can look after her and the little prince.”
Zacharias murmured confused felicitations, which the sultana ignored, and the sultan scowled at.
“Is the baby ill?” said Prunella, inspecting the child with open fascination. “Why does it look so queerly?”
“Oh, he is in fine fettle,” said Mak Genggang, bouncing the creature while it glared around with eyes like red lamps. “Such a child as any mother would be proud of. It is only that he arrived in the world a little late, after his mother had already died.
“Yes,” she added, at Zacharias and Prunella’s exclamations of horror, “the queen had an uncomfortable time of it, poor soul. She was brought to bed of the dear boy last night, but she perished in the process, alas. Fortunately she was transformed instantly into a lamia. That was a piece of great good luck, for it does not happen to all poorly mothers, you know. But it could hardly be expected that her son should be anything but a vampire after that.”
The thaumaturges who had approached to peer at their unexpected guests stepped back as one man, leaving a space around the sultana.
Zacharias, looking at her with new eyes, saw the signs of the transformation she had undergone.
The nails on the slim brown fingers were long and yellow; the lips were blood-red, and she licked them from time to time with an unnervingly long tongue.
“How extraordinary!” said Zacharias, feeling this did very little to describe the situation.
“Oh, certainly!” Mak Genggang agreed. “I have never seen a male vampire! To be sure, it is uncommon for the child to survive—usually it dies, or is eaten. Fortunately the sultan had the sense to seek me out at once, and I contrived to prevent his royal wife from devouring the poor babe. When a lamia first rises from her deathbed she cannot very well control her instincts, you know, but we have managed to make her understand. However, mother and child still require a great deal of attention, and the sooner we are home, the better.”
“There I certainly concur,” said Lord Burrow. He turned to Zacharias. “Mr. Wythe, this is a meeting of the Fellows of the Society, and there are certain rules to be observed. If you wish to entertain visits from every passing witch, might I suggest that the Great Hall is not the place to do it?”