WHAT WITH COUGHING and swearing, it was some time before the caller was able to make himself understood. Prunella apologised, but her professions of remorse were not at all convincing.
“Sarah did tell you I was occupied with spell work,” she said. “You know, I am sure, Mr. Stapleton, how liable enchantery is to go awry when interrupted! Otherwise I should have been delighted to receive you, though you will allow me to observe that it is rather early for paying calls.”
Mr. Stapleton did not return her smile. Henrietta and her father were not much alike to look at, save in colouring. He was just as fair, with the same grey eyes—eyes that fixed a decidedly wintry look upon Prunella.
“I came,” he said, “because I received this.” He brandished a crumpled sheet of paper at Prunella. “It is the notice of an application to eject a certain person from the Royal Society of Unnatural Philosophers. Signed by you, ma’am!”
Prunella examined the sheet.
“Why, this is my petition for Edmund Hobday to be struck off,” she said, pleased. “So the Presiding Committee has published it after all! I had feared it might be conveniently forgotten.”
Mr. Stapleton took the paper back, smoothing it out. A trace of embarrassment entered his manner. He cleared his throat, but despite the boldness of his entrance, he seemed at a loss for how to begin.
Prunella waited, allowing herself a furtive glance at the other two occupants of the room. Behind her Muna huddled on a settee, trying to shield the burden in her arms from view.
Mr. Stapleton was so taken up with the object of his visit that he did not seem to have noticed Muna or what she held. Perhaps he would go away without seeing them at all, and there would be no trouble. Prunella shifted slightly so as to block his line of sight.
“Perhaps you are wondering why I have taken it upon myself to address you on this subject, Mrs. Wythe,” Mr. Stapleton said finally. “You may not know that Mr. Hobday is shortly to stand in such a relation to my family that any insult to him is likely to reflect upon my daughter Henrietta. In short, we hope soon to announce their engagement.”
Prunella stared.
“Surely not!” she said, with more candour than tact. “He is a wholly indifferent thaumaturge—and forty if he is a day!”
Mr. Stapleton stiffened. “I would have thought Mr. Hobday’s position in the world was deserving of more respect, even from the Sorceress Royal.”
“I believe I value a large fortune as I ought,” said Prunella. “But that counts for little when joined to a person who persecutes females for practising magic.”
Mr. Stapleton snorted. “We come to the reason for this petition! Do you call it persecution for a gentleman to make a few trifling remarks?”
“I am told Mr. Hobday harangued the scholars of this Academy for a full half-hour on the street, and would not let them get away till he had reduced them to tears,” said Prunella. “You may call that what you like, but I call it intolerable. Thaumaturges must learn they cannot ill-use the ladies under my protection. If they cannot be civil, I am pleased to teach them manners!”
Prunella had been outraged by the incident when she had first heard of it, and recounting the details vexed her afresh. She glared at Mr. Stapleton, as though she had half a mind to begin by educating him in proper behaviour.
Mr. Stapleton seemed to sense that he must alter his approach if he wished to win over the Sorceress Royal.
“I beg you will not mistake me,” he said, abandoning his former peremptory tone. “I do not by any means commend Mr. Hobday’s conduct. But he very handsomely acknowledges his error. He was in his cups when he encountered the”—he coughed—“the young ladies, and he did not expect decent females to be abroad at that time of night.”
“They had been working lunar magics,” said Prunella coldly.
“To ruin Mr. Hobday for a mere slip is surely disproportionate to his crime,” said Mr. Stapleton. “If you will not consider his career, consider yours, Mrs. Wythe. You cannot be unaware of how your petition will appear to the Society. It will be said that you are venting your rancour for a petty offence.”
“Yes, Mr. Wythe said the same,” said Prunella. “When my husband was Sorcerer Royal, he always sought to conciliate the Society. But I am cast in a different mould! I do have a vindictive temper when provoked, and I am fond of getting my revenge. So there can be no harm in my gaining a reputation for being vengeful.”
Mr. Stapleton gave her a look of disgust.
“I had hoped to make you see reason, Mrs. Wythe,” he began, “but there is a most unwomanly spirit of independence in you, which—good God! What is that?”
Mr. Stapleton had been aware of the young woman on the settee behind Prunella, a native of some description, but he had paid her little mind, supposing she was a maidservant. It was not she who drew his gaze now, but the creature in her arms, whose high-pitched squeak had interrupted his tirade.
The beast’s head and legs were covered with fur the colour of sand, while its body bore a gay pattern of flowers and leaves, recalling sprig muslin. Most extraordinary of all, its round, alarmed eyes were precisely the same shade of grey as Mr. Stapleton’s—but it was not to be expected that Mr. Stapleton would notice this, with so much else to marvel at.
“It is a rabbit,” said the Sorceress Royal.
“It resembles no rabbit I have ever seen,” said Mr. Stapleton, staring. “What is that on its head?”
“Well,” said Prunella, hesitating. She had just noticed the blond curls clustering around the animal’s ears, and she was dreadfully afraid that if she spoke she would burst into laughter. Fortunately her guest proved more resourceful than Prunella might have expected from the girl’s youthful appearance.
“That is only the mark of its true nature, sir,” said Muna. “This is no ordinary rabbit, but a spirit.”
Mr. Stapleton started; he evidently had not expected to be understood by the native girl. Muna misinterpreted his reaction.
“You need not fear it will do you any harm,” she said kindly. “It is a tame spirit and abides by my every command.”
Collecting herself, Prunella said, “I ought to have presented you to our guest, sir. Miss Muna hails from the Malay archipelago and is to study thaumaturgy with us at the Academy. She has brought the—er—rabbit with her from her native shores.”
She cast a look of appeal at Muna, who rose nobly to the occasion.
“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother saved this spirit’s life when she was a girl, and it swore eternal loyalty to her lineage. It is a family heirloom.”
It was clear that Mr. Stapleton felt himself to be at a disadvantage. As the possessor of one of the largest fortunes in thaumaturgy, he was accustomed to far more deference than he had received from the Sorceress Royal. He gave Muna a look of resentment but did not lower himself so far as to address her.
“Your scholars keep fine society, Mrs. Wythe,” he remarked. “As though it were not enough that gently bred females should be educated alongside kitchenmaids, they must now consort with natives! But this is all of a piece with what I have heard of this establishment.”
The two years Prunella had passed as Sorceress Royal had accustomed her to being abused by her colleagues, and she had learnt to endure their incivility with a tolerable appearance of complaisance. There was only the slightest edge to her voice as she said:
“We count ourselves fortunate to consort with the witches of Janda Baik, you know! Their friendship is particularly valuable to Britain, for they are closely connected with Fairy. Miss Muna travelled through Fairy to honour us with her presence—a journey few English magicians now living can claim to have made. We hope to learn a great deal from her.”
Muna had been smiling politely at the Englishman. At this reference to Fairy she winced, her smile breaking, but neither Mr. Stapleton nor the Sorceress Royal took notice of this.
A happy thought had struck Prunella. She said, “Would you be so good as to oblige us with a magical demonstration, Miss Muna?”
Muna gaped. “Me, do a demonstration?”
“You see, I know very little of Asiatic enchantery,” explained Prunella, “and I am sure Mr. Stapleton has never seen an Asiatic spell. We should be delighted to see your magic.
“Miss Muna is an apprentice of Mak Genggang, a very great witch and a particular friend of mine,” Prunella added to Mr. Stapleton. “Oh, but perhaps you will recall Mak Genggang, sir? She attended the Society’s Spring Ball two years ago.”
“I recollect the lady,” said Mr. Stapleton grimly. He folded the sheet of paper bearing Prunella’s petition, tucking it away in his coat. “I must not detain you, madam.”
“Oh, are you going, sir? Will not you stay to see Miss Muna’s demonstration?” said Prunella. “From what little I know of Malay magic, it is truly fascinating!”
“I saw quite enough of Malay magic at the Spring Ball,” said Mr. Stapleton. “As I recall, the witch Mak Genggang employed it to threaten her own king, and caused Mrs. Geoffrey Midsomer to fall down in a swoon. I had never witnessed a more disgraceful scene—and in the Society’s halls! No, thank you. English thaumaturgy suffices for my needs.”
He picked up his hat, giving Prunella a severe look.
“I refrained from comment, Mrs. Wythe, when you were appointed the head of my profession,” said Mr. Stapleton. “I knew my daughter Henrietta had an affection for you as her old schoolfellow. I thought it right to reserve my judgment till we had seen how you conducted yourself as Sorceress Royal. Well, you have had your chance. You have shown what you are—a mere headstrong girl, caring for nothing but her own way!”
Prunella opened her mouth, but Mr. Stapleton shook his head, forestalling her with a raised hand.
“I don’t propose to impose upon you any longer,” he said. “I shall address myself to the Presiding Committee, for I know that a thaumaturge and a gentleman may expect a fair hearing from them. I beg you will reflect upon what I have said, however. In time you may come to consider the matter rationally.”
But his tone suggested that he had little hope of this. Jamming his hat upon his head, he swept off in high dudgeon, leaving the women staring after him.
THE door had scarcely shut behind Mr. Stapleton when the rabbit leapt from Muna’s arms. It transformed in mid-air, the hind legs elongating and the fur melting into the flesh.
Henrietta landed on the floor, panting.
“Oh, Prunella, how could you?” she gasped in tones of reproach. But then she looked down at herself and gave a stifled shriek—for, of course, when she had been metamorphosed into a rabbit it had been necessary to whisk away her clothes. Now that she had reverted to her own form, she wore nothing at all.
Muna averted her eyes, blushing, but the Sorceress Royal had less delicacy.
“Why, Henny, there is nothing to be ashamed of. It is not as though there were any gentlemen present, and I have seen you in far worse circumstances,” she said. “Do not you recall the Countess’s visit to Mrs. Daubeney’s school, when you brought up your dinner over her shoes? How vexed she was!”
This reminiscence was not designed to allay Henrietta’s distress. Muna ventured to suggest that perhaps Miss Stapleton would like to be dressed.
“She must be cold,” she said, though Henrietta’s brilliant colour rather suggested otherwise.
“Yes,” said Henrietta, with feeling.
The maidservant Sarah had retreated while the Sorceress Royal entertained Mr. Stapleton, but the promptness with which she responded to a summons indicated that she had not gone very far. All conversation was suspended till she returned with a robe for Henrietta. While Henrietta restored herself to decency, Prunella turned to their guest.
“I am very much obliged to you,” she said to Muna. “I thought Mr. Stapleton would never leave! It was a happy thought to propose that you demonstrate your magic. Mr. Stapleton disapproves of both women and foreigners having anything to do with thaumaturgy. I thought the prospect of seeing the magic of a woman and a foreigner would send him packing.”
Henrietta could not like to hear her father spoken of in these terms, and yet after such a scene she could hardly defend him. She only said, “Oh, Prunella!”
“I am sorry to speak so of one so nearly connected to you, but it is only the truth,” said Prunella. “How cross your papa made me! As for all that nonsense about your marrying Mr. Hobday, ought not you to disillusion him? I suppose you are hoping that Mr. Hobday will not offer, but perhaps he will, and if he does I should think it would be best to have given your papa notice of your intention to refuse.”
Henrietta would not meet Prunella’s eyes but drew her robe around herself, saying in a hurried manner, “What on earth possessed you to transform me into a rabbit?”
Prunella stared.
“You don’t mean to say you would accept an offer from Hobday?” she demanded, scandalised.
“I did not say anything.”
“But you cannot like him,” said Prunella. “He is quite old and not at all handsome. And I must warn you, if you tell me he has other excellent qualities, I will not credit it in the least!”
“Prunella,” said Henrietta, with dignity, “I understand your feelings, but surely we may speak of this at another time.” She cast a meaningful look at Muna, who tried to pretend she had not understood anything of what had been said. “You have not answered my question. I had no notion you understood the art of metamorphosis.”
“Damerell started teaching me before he left for Threlfall,” Prunella explained. Rollo Threlfall had received a summons from his aunt Georgiana but a week ago, requiring him to visit his family’s home in the Fairy province they governed on behalf of the Queen. This had so cast him down that his friend Damerell had agreed to accompany him, for though he was a mere mortal magician, Damerell’s connection with Rollo was of long standing, and he was well regarded by Rollo’s relations.
Which was all very well for Rollo, said Prunella, but it was highly inconvenient for her. Damerell was one of her few allies in English thaumaturgy; an old friend of her husband, Zacharias Wythe; and a sorcerer possessing not only a fund of magical ability but what was even more valuable to the Sorceress Royal—an understanding of thaumaturgical politics surpassed by none.
“But he had scarcely begun when he was obliged to depart,” Prunella said now, sighing. “It is a wonder the spell came off! Was it very unpleasant? I confess I simply reached for the first charm that came to hand. I would not have done it if I had known you would not like it!”
“It felt excessively peculiar,” said Henrietta. “Though of course I am obliged to you for concealing me from Papa. I thought I should die when I heard his voice! I tried to cast a spell myself—an invisibility spell—but it did not take, though I am sure I took the greatest care in pronouncing the formula.”
Prunella looked thoughtful. “Perhaps it was your worry that threw off the spell. If you cast it again now, we might study it and see if we can trace the flaw.”
Muna had been watching the Englishwomen, waiting for an opportune moment to speak. She had supposed herself forgotten, but this was not so, for now the Sorceress Royal smiled at her.
“It will be an opportunity for Miss Muna to see an example of English magic, which I am sure she will like,” said Prunella. “And then, Miss Muna, if you have no objection, perhaps you could demonstrate some of the magics with which you are acquainted?”
Muna would not have a better chance to plead her case—and Sakti’s. “I should be delighted to tell you all I know of the magic of Mak Genggang, but—there is the matter of my sister, ma’am.” Her voice quavered despite her best efforts.
A shadow fell across the Englishwomen’s faces. Looking thoroughly ashamed, Prunella said, “Oh yes, of course! I am so sorry. What an appalling thing to have happened! You must think us entirely unfeeling. I can only beg your pardon.”
“You will wish to rest,” said Henrietta, touching Muna’s elbow. “We have prepared a room for you. Shall I take you there now?”
“You are very good, but I am not tired in the least,” said Muna. The way the Englishwomen spoke made her anxious—it was action she desired, not sympathy. “I could lead you now to the place where I last saw my sister, if you could open the way again. I marked the trees along the path as I came.”
Henrietta glanced at Prunella. “Perhaps the summoning circle . . . After all, there is nothing to prevent your entering Fairy, Prunella.”
The Sorceress Royal looked as though she could think of several reasons, but she said nothing, only going over to the summoning circle they had chalked upon the floor. She tapped her staff on the circle, but after a moment she shook her head, saying, “No, it is as I thought! The way is closed. Mak Genggang was always very tidy in all her workings.”
She turned to Muna.
“I am afraid we here in Britain are allowed far less liberty in the matter of travelling to Fairy than you are in your country,” said Prunella. “In Janda Baik, I hear, one may wander into the Other Realm by accident! But we had the misfortune of offending the Fairy Queen some years ago, and in consequence she closed the borders of her realm to Britain—no one may cross over without her permission. To travel here from Fairy is one thing—the Queen frowns upon it, but it is known to happen. But to go the other way is nearly impossible for a mortal. Of all the English only I may open the doors from Britain to the Other Realm.”
It was as though there was an object stuck in Muna’s throat, which made it difficult to speak. Nonetheless she managed to say, “Cannot you do it? Oh, Mrs. Wythe, I beg you! I should do anything—render any service in my power—”
“I could,” said Prunella slowly. “But the realms of Fairy Within are various and extensive, and they do not behave as mortal lands do. That is why no mortal has ever succeeded in mapping Fairy. Even if I contrived to open a route into Fairy without attracting the Queen’s attention, I could not promise to return you to the place where you lost your sister. Do you think she will have returned there?”
“Oh, Miss Muna,” said Henrietta in a tone of pity. It was only then that Muna realised that her cheeks were wet with tears.
“No,” said Muna, drawing her arm across her eyes and ignoring Henrietta’s attempt to console her, “I doubt she will be where I lost her. But surely something can be done to find her!”
The Sorceress Royal looked grave. “Do you have any idea what can have taken her? Was it a fairy? Could you tell what magic had been employed?”
Muna explained what had occurred, though the more she said, the worse she felt. She might have been telling the Englishwomen that Sakti had been struck by lightning, or drowned at sea. The looks that passed between them said what they would not—that they believed Muna’s sister to be lost beyond any hope of recovery.
“Could not a message be sent to Mak Genggang?” Muna said finally. The witch would be able to help, she thought. Mak Genggang was not one to submit to fate when fate’s workings did not suit her.
“Oh yes, there is no question of that!” said Prunella, sounding relieved to be entrusted with a task she was able to perform. “She must be told what has become of your sister.”
“Perhaps she will know of a way to find her,” said Henrietta. “After all, she knows the Fairy realms far better than we do.”
Muna could see that Henrietta meant well, but her very gentleness had a chilling effect. Nothing could have better conveyed the Englishwoman’s absolute conviction that Sakti was gone forever, swallowed up by the mysterious forces of the Unseen Realm.
Muna was suddenly overcome by the weariness she had been so eager to deny. She had run the remainder of the path to England in her desperation, slowing her pace only to score the bark of the trees she passed so she might find them again. She had known that she risked offending the spirits of those trees by doing so, but what could she care for that when Sakti had been taken?
She swallowed.
“May I send a message to the witch myself?” she began to say, but a great booming noise, as of an explosion, drowned out her voice.
Screams rose from the street outside. For a moment the three women stared at one another, frozen in shock. Prunella dashed to the window.
She was pale when she looked around.
“Another one, Henny!” she said. “They grow bolder by the day. I wonder if we still have a door! Did not I tell you we should be sorry if we had been so extravagant as to paint it?”
She turned to Muna, saying, “I beg you will forgive me for leaving you with Miss Stapleton. She will see to it that you are settled in and answer all your questions. I must go now, but I shall come to you as soon as ever I can, and we shall summon up your mistress on the shewstone.”
She did not wait for Muna to answer, but shot out of the room, calling out, “Tjandra! Youko! To me!”
A CRATER had been gouged out of the street below, just outside the Academy. It was smoking gently, glowing with a faint green light. Curious passers-by had gathered around it. As Muna and Henrietta watched from the window, the Sorceress Royal joined the crowd. She was not alone.
“What are those?” said Muna.
The Sorceress Royal was shooing people away from the crater, assisted by two animals. One was a deerlike creature with graceful antlers, its body covered in scales. The other was a bird with splendid emerald plumage, like a parrot, but rather larger. When it lifted its face, Muna saw that it had a human head—the elegant dark-haired head of a youth, with a sullen expression and a beak for a mouth. She gasped.
“Those are the Sorceress Royal’s familiars,” said Henrietta. “The unicorn is called Youko and the simurgh is Tjandra. She did not think they were needed for the enchantment we cast to receive you, for our part of the summoning was straightforward—Mak Genggang supplied most of the magic needed. But they serve Prunella in all magical matters and, by adding their magic to hers, entitle her to call herself a sorceress.”
It was some diversion from Muna’s misery to see the Sorceress Royal’s familiar spirits as they crawled over the crater with their mistress, studying the effects of the hex. She had grown accustomed to the sight of lamiae when living under Mak Genggang’s roof, but the lamiae looked so much like human women that it was easy to forget they were spirits with such unsavoury habits as preying upon pregnant women and devouring the viscera of unfortunate men. There was no mistaking the unicorn and the simurgh for anything but magical beings, however.
How Sakti would have liked to see them! thought Muna. This gave her a dreadful pang.
“What a welcome we have given you!” Henrietta was saying apologetically. “You must think we live in a state of perpetual excitement. But I assure you this is by no means a daily occurrence. We hardly have an attack more than once in a fortnight.”
Muna said, to distract herself, “It is the effect of a curse—a deliberate attack? Who can have done this wicked thing?” But then she remembered that Mak Genggang had said the English were at war.
“They are a sanguinary people, the English,” the witch had said. “They are not content with quarrelling with their neighbours, but must needs sail over the seas to trouble us too!”
“I suppose it is your enemies the French,” Muna said now. “They must be heartless indeed, to prey upon defenceless females!”
“Oh, well!” said Henrietta, hesitating. “In these times one ought not to leap to conclusions, and perhaps . . . But English thaumaturgy has entered into a treaty with France’s sorcieres, under which neither will attack the other, and we have never yet found them out in a breach. So far as we know, the attacks upon the Academy have all been from Englishmen.”
Muna stared. “Your own countrymen!”
“You are surprised,” said Henrietta. “In your country, I am told, it is deemed perfectly natural in a woman to practise magic! But here the open practice of thaumaturgy by females is an innovation, and English society is not fond of innovations. There are some gentlemen who still object to our very existence.” She gave Muna a shy sidelong look. She seemed embarrassed.
“Your education will not have prepared you for such a reception,” said Henrietta. “No doubt Mak Genggang has never known such opposition!”
On the street outside, the Sorceress Royal had been joined by a man dressed like an Englishman, but with skin of a much darker hue than that of any Englishman Muna had yet seen. He leant upon a silver-topped cane, watching Prunella and her familiars at their work, and the Sorceress Royal smiled as she looked up at him.
“I believe she has,” said Muna absently. “Any great witch will have her enemies.” But her mind had turned to Sakti again, and the English witches’ troubles interested her less than her own. She opened her mouth to speak, but Henrietta had caught sight of the dark gentleman.
“There is Mr. Wythe!” she exclaimed. A pink flush rose in her cheeks. She added, by way of explanation, “Zacharias Wythe is one of our foremost scholars of magic—a brilliant mind. He was Sorcerer Royal before the staff passed to Prunella, shortly before they were married.”
Henrietta was deeply interested in the scene below. She lingered by the window, gazing in rapt attention as Mr. and Mrs. Wythe started to work an enchantment to restore the paving destroyed by the hex.
It was not polite to interrupt her, but Muna could not afford politeness. She said, “Miss Stapleton, Mrs. Wythe mentioned a shewstone, which might be used to convey a message to Mak Genggang. Would it be possible for me to address her now?”
This served to break Henrietta’s absorption. She turned away from the window at once, looking concerned. “Of course, you will wish to speak with her as soon as possible. I should certainly summon Mak Genggang if it were in my power, but I am afraid the shewstone is reserved for the use of the Sorceress Royal. Its magic will not answer to any other master.”
A thought struck her. “Unless . . . do you know of any magics that would enable us to speak with your mistress? Prunella says Mak Genggang does not have a shewstone herself. I am told she employs a basin of water to commune with magicians in other countries.”
“No,” said Muna. “Mak Genggang has not taught me that magic.”
But the witch had not sent her and Sakti forth wholly unequipped. Muna’s hand stole to her bundle, feeling the outline of the djinn’s bottle.
“I confess I am a little tired,” she said. She had not meant for her voice to waver, but perhaps there was no harm in it, for it made Henrietta look sorry for her.
“Anyone would be, after all you have undergone!” said the Englishwoman with ready sympathy. “Let me take you to your bedchamber and you may rest before dinner. We do not keep fashionable hours here at the Academy, but you can be sure of several hours of peace. And”—she hesitated, looking away—“I beg you will not worry about your sister. With the aid of two such magiciennes as Prunella and Mak Genggang, I should not be surprised if we soon found her!”
But she did not sound convinced.