THE MAIDSERVANT SARAH came to Muna a few hours before the Sorceress Royal’s ball, her arms heaped with muslins, silks and satins of every hue of the rainbow. No one could have been kinder or more attentive: Sarah took infinite pains over Muna’s appearance, curling Muna’s hair before winding a turban around her head, and helping her into the dress they chose for her, a green silk gown with puffed sleeves and ruffles along the hem.
Nonetheless the maidservant left Muna woefully uncomfortable. Sarah had introduced a horrific invention called “stays,” and though what she had done to Muna’s hair was not unbecoming, the turban was in a rather more spectacular style than Muna would have chosen. She wished she could have kept her own sarong and jacket.
But Mak Genggang would say that it was proper for her to be dressed, here in England, as the other women were. At least Sakti was not there to make faces at her, she thought ruefully.
Mrs. Wythe’s carriage was to be sent for Muna, Miss Midsomer and the scholars at eight o’clock—one could walk to the Sorceress Royal’s quarters from the Academy, but the young ladies would hardly wish to do that in all their finery, said Sarah. Mrs. Wythe was already there, making the final preparations for the evening, and Henrietta had taken herself off earlier that day—she would be attending the ball with her family, for it was an occasion of sufficient importance that Mr. Stapleton had deigned to overlook his disagreement with the Sorceress Royal.
At half past seven Muna ventured downstairs to wait for the carriage. She was passed on the stairs by an agitated Miss Campbell, trailing a cloud of fragrance, her toilette only half-finished. But in the hallway there was a lone female, already dressed and waiting.
“Miss Edwards,” said Muna, for from the woman’s height she thought it must be the eldest of the scholars. But then the woman turned and the words died in Muna’s throat. The face was the last she had expected to see here, in a strange land. It was as familiar to her as her own.
She had never known gladness could be so piercing that it could make you weep. Her chest seemed to open out with relief. Tears sprang to her eyes. She reached out her hands to Sakti.
“Adik,” she cried. “I have been so worried! But the polong said you were in the Palace of the Unseen. How did you come here?”
“I beg your pardon?” said the woman.
All at once Muna’s vision cleared; the world reordered itself. In Sakti’s place stood Miss Clarissa Midsomer, pale and English. She was frowning as though she suspected Muna of insulting her, for of course Muna had spoken Malay. No one less like Sakti could be imagined—and yet for a thrilling, wonderful moment, Muna had seen her sister’s face in the Englishwoman’s.
Her conviction had been so strong that she could not immediately reconcile herself to the error. She passed her hand over her eyes, disappointment a hard knot in her throat. It was necessary for her to swallow twice before she could speak.
“I—I am sorry, Miss Midsomer,” said Muna. “I mistook you for another. It is this dim light, no doubt.”
Miss Midsomer inclined her head, still frowning. She was got up very fine for the ball. Her dress was simple, a white gown with flowers embroidered in pink and green silks across the front, but around her neck she wore a gold chain with a remarkable pendant. It was in the form of a snake with rubies for eyes and a blood-red tongue flicking out to taste the air. The scales covering its body were made of turquoise. For all its splendour, the shape of the snake was curiously inelegant—the serpentine coils ended in an incongruous stubby tail.
“What an extraordinary necklace!” said Muna, grateful for an excuse to change the subject. “I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”
The compliment did not seem to give Miss Midsomer much pleasure.
“Thank you,” she said in a forbidding tone. “It was a gift from my brother.”
She would not be drawn to say any more, though Muna heaped admiration upon the pendant. Muna was not sorry when they were joined by the scholars, ready for the ball and bubbling over with excited chatter. Even Miss Midsomer’s evident resolve not to enjoy their society or the evening’s merriment could not quench the girls.
“I was persuaded that Miss Campbell would prevent our leaving in time,” said Miss Edwards, once they were rattling way in the carriage. “She could not decide on which dress she meant to wear, though she had only two to choose from. She kept throwing one off and picking up the other, and then when we had got her into that dress she would insist the first was the best, after all. I had made up my mind that we should only arrive when the ball was nearly over, covered in disgrace. Mrs. Wythe hates unpunctuality.”
Forgetting the dignity of her fourteen years, Miss Campbell stuck her tongue out at Miss Edwards. Muna was laughing when Miss Midsomer surprised them all by bursting out:
“‘Hates unpunctuality’! When Prunella Gentleman was never early for anything in her life!”
“But she is Sorceress Royal, you know,” said little Alice Pinder. “People of consequence may be as late as they like. When I am a sorceress I shall never rise before ten o’clock.”
“Slugabed!” said Miss Campbell. “Why not sleep till noon?” She and Miss Edwards were delighted by this naked ambition in their young schoolfellow, but Miss Midsomer turned her face to the window with a long-suffering air.
They were none of them surprised when Miss Midsomer decamped upon their arrival at the Sorceress Royal’s quarters. She paused only to say:
“I must ask you to refrain from addressing me or claiming my acquaintance this evening. My mother and father are present and they would prefer me to limit my association with the Academy to no more than is strictly necessary for the discharge of my duties.”
She did not wait for an answer before vanishing into the crowd. The scholars gaped after her.
“She is very disagreeable!” said Alice Pinder, with the unhesitating judgment of childhood.
“Hush!” said Miss Edwards, but Miss Campbell said indignantly, “As though we wished to claim her acquaintance! I wonder why Mrs. Wythe agreed to take her.”
“Shall we look for the Sorceress Royal?” said Miss Edwards to Muna. “I am sure she will wish to see you.”
Muna had scarcely paid attention to Miss Midsomer’s ill breeding in her amazement at her surroundings. The Sorceress Royal’s quarters, decorated for a ball, showed her Britain in a new light. As she followed the scholars through the crowd, she felt as though she had strayed into yet another world—a world far more glamorous than the cold, shabby Academy. Surely the Palace of the Unseen itself could not boast a brighter blaze of lights, richer furnishings or more beautiful people, expensively dressed?
Save for one or two of the men, who were garbed in the same gorgeous uniform, she could not help noticing that everyone present was white. Muna was conspicuous among them for the darker hue of her skin, and she was sure she was not imagining the heads that turned as she passed.
After her first thrill of embarrassment, she flung her head back, meeting the eyes of the women who stared at her, until they looked away. Sakti would not have been afraid of being stared at; she would not have worried about being deemed provincial or ill-bred. She would have been confident that all she did was right, since it was she who did it. If Muna was to recover her sister, she must have her sister’s own courage. She could not be so feeble as to falter on account of a mere party.
She heartened herself enough that by the time they found the Sorceress Royal, Muna was able to greet her with a tolerably convincing smile. Mrs. Wythe was standing with Henrietta and Mr. Wythe; they received Muna and the scholars with delight.
“How magnificent you are!” said Prunella, admiring Muna. “That is precisely the gown I should have chosen for you. And that turban! You have just the complexion for that shade. How clever of Sarah!”
Muna was able to return these compliments, for Mrs. Wythe was looking very well. She wore a pale lilac robe trimmed with gold embroidery and her dark curls were caught up in a fillet. In one hand she held a delicately carved ivory fan; in the other, the staff of the Sorcerer Royal—the same staff that George Midsomer held in his painting.
“It looks odd to bring this to a ball, I know,” she said, when Muna glanced at the staff. “But thaumaturges are mad for all articles of the kind—pomp and pageantry—and I do not omit anything that might encourage them to be civil.”
She presented her husband to Muna. Muna recognised the dark gentleman she had seen from afar; closer to, she saw why Henrietta blushed when she spoke his name, and the scholars harboured such a passion for him. Zacharias Wythe was not only tall but remarkably handsome, with a gentle manner that was peculiarly winning.
He bowed. “I regret that my duties called me elsewhere, or I should have been present to receive you. I was very sorry to hear of the misfortune you met on your journey here. An appalling tragedy—without precedent, Mak Genggang tells us.”
Muna’s head snapped up at this. “Mak Genggang told you . . . ? You spoke to my mistress?”
Mr. Wythe blinked. “We were anxious to inform her at once.” He glanced at his wife. “Mrs. Wythe said you particularly desired that she should be told about your sister.”
“What did she say?” said Muna, her heart in her throat. “Is she coming?”
She knew the answer at once from the look of pity and discomfort on Prunella’s face.
If Mr. Wythe was equally dismayed, he was less transparent. He said gently, “You need not doubt she was exceedingly concerned. She wished me to assure you that she will do everything in her power to trace your sister. But she could not come away. Her duties in Janda Baik detain her. For the time being she begs you will remain with us.”
Muna felt cold, though what with her stays and petticoats, and the smart white spencer Sarah had given her, she was more heavily covered than she had ever been in her life. She folded her arms, pressing her gloved hands into her elbows to warm them.
Mak Genggang does not know Sakti is in the Palace of the Unseen, she told herself. If she did, perhaps . . .
But even if Muna could tell Mak Genggang where Sakti was, would the witch risk an encounter with the Queen of the Djinns on Sakti’s account? Muna and Sakti had already made trouble with the British; Janda Baik did not need another powerful adversary. After all, they were only two of the many people requiring Mak Genggang’s protection. Not only the witch’s household, but the villagers—indeed, the people of the island as a whole—depended upon her. Muna would be foolish to think Mak Genggang would abandon her obligations for one girl’s sake.
Her eyes stung with unshed tears. There was no one Muna could rely upon—no one who would save her and her sister, unless it was Muna herself. And she was so ill-equipped to do it!
Mr. Wythe was still speaking.
“I have called up our records on Fairy and will study these for what guidance they may yield,” he said. “We have not lost a magician in Fairy in many years, and even then . . . But if there is something we can do, it shall be done. Your sister will not be forgotten. I beg you will be patient, impossible as that will seem to you.”
“Thank you,” said Muna when she had swallowed the lump in her throat. She owed it to Sakti to keep trying, even if she doubted what help the witch could—or would—give. “May I speak with Mak Genggang myself?”
Mr. Wythe hesitated. “Yes, of course. If a suitable time can be found . . . As you know, she is a woman with many demands on her time.”
“We told her all you have told us,” Prunella assured Muna. She seemed about to say more, but then she raised her head, her expression changing.
“Why, there is your mamma, Henny!” she remarked. She sounded glad of the distraction. “You will forgive me, Miss Muna—I must pay my regards. I wonder what has made her look so cross!”
Muna turned to see a fair-haired Englishwoman bearing down upon them. She did indeed bear a strong resemblance to Henrietta, and must have been equally pretty in her youth. But the first detail that struck the observer was the fact that she was in a towering rage.
“Henrietta Stapleton!” she cried in a voice that drew startled looks from the other guests. “There you are!”
“Yes, Mamma,” said Henrietta. She darted a look of perplexity at Prunella. The Sorceress Royal spread her hands, as much as to say she had no notion what was amiss. “I said I would look for Mrs. Wythe, you know, and you see I have found her.”
“Are not you ashamed of yourself?” said Mrs. Stapleton, her bosom swelling. “I am surprised you can bring yourself to address me with such an air of innocence, when you have deceived me!”
The colour drained from Henrietta’s face.
“Deceived you?” she echoed. “What—what can you mean?” But Henrietta was a poor actress: her face was a picture of guilt. Before she could continue, the Sorceress Royal stepped on her foot, as though by accident. Henrietta gulped, but said no more.
“You know just what I mean,” said Mrs. Stapleton. “Or rather, I should say who! I am speaking, as you know perfectly well, of her!”
She flung out her hand, pointing at Muna.
“Of me?” said Muna, baffled, but the Englishwoman did not reply. She stood glaring at Henrietta.
“I do not understand,” Henrietta faltered.
“You have been making up to a native sorceress,” said Mrs. Stapleton. “And you never breathed a word of it to me!”
“But, Mamma—”
“To think I should have sacrificed so much on your account,” said Mrs. Stapleton tearfully. “Attended such a number of dull parties—scraped to so many Honourables and Countesses! I thought only of you and your sisters. I was determined that you should hold the position in the world to which your beauty and worth entitled you. And this is the reward for my devotion!”
She flung out her hand again, compelling Muna to skip out of her way, or embarrass everyone by receiving an inadvertent slap from Henrietta’s mother.
“How could you, Henny?” said Mrs. Stapleton in a throbbing voice. “Hiding a foreign sorceress in your bosom, when I have been racking my brains for a sensation to present at Amelia’s coming out! You knew how I felt when your aunt received a Comte and would not allow anyone else to take him about. And when that cunning Mrs. Midsomer harboured a fairy daughter-in-law for months, telling no one, before it was announced in the manner best calculated to make a splash!
“To be sure, she came to no good end,” she added piously. “Which just goes to show that pride comes before a fall. But a native sorceress is nearly as novel as a fairy, and you never told me of her! If your papa had not mentioned his encounter with her, I should not have known she existed.”
Muna was meditating upon a discreet retreat when, to her astonishment, Mrs. Stapleton seized her. The Englishwoman held her by the shoulders, inspecting her as though she were a goat for sale.
“She is quite perfect!” declared Mrs. Stapleton. “Not so pretty as to draw away attention that should rightfully be Amelia’s, but presentable enough. The dress is disappointing. You would not guess she was an Oriental sorceress from her dress. The turban will do, however.”
“I should hope it will do,” said Prunella. She had been stifling giggles behind her fan while Mrs. Stapleton harangued her daughter, but at this liberty she froze up. “It is mine, as is the dress, and they were both shockingly dear. You will oblige me by releasing Miss Muna, Mrs. Stapleton. You will give her curious ideas of English manners!”
“Oh, I do not mind it,” said Muna. She felt sorry for Henrietta, who looked stricken. Muna had often thought she would like to have a mother, but in her imaginings she had never conceived of having a mother like Mrs. Stapleton.
“Oh!” said Mrs. Stapleton, disconcerted. She let Muna go. “You speak English, do you?” She soon rallied, however. “Where is your familiar? Stapleton told me of it—you will recall my husband, Stapleton; he saw you when he called on Mrs. Wythe at the Academy the day before yesterday. I should like to see the creature. Stapleton said it was monstrously strange!”
Casting Henrietta an uneasy look, Muna said her familiar was resting. “It is not accustomed to English weather, and I have not ventured to expose it to the cold, for it is very delicate.”
“In truth, ma’am,” said Prunella, “it was I who asked Miss Stapleton to keep Miss Muna’s arrival a secret. I knew Miss Muna was anxious to avoid notoriety.”
“To become notorious is the last thing I desire,” agreed Muna.
Mrs. Stapleton said, mollified, “That is natural, I suppose. To be made a fuss of is what I, too, cannot endure! Still, it was very wrong in Henrietta to deceive her own mother.”
“I did not set out to deceive you, Mamma,” Henrietta burst out. “If I had known you had any interest in foreign sorceresses, I should have told you about Miss Muna. But I thought you disapproved of magiciennes.”
“Why, magic-making does not do for Englishwomen,” said Mrs. Stapleton. “But I understand these affairs are conducted along different lines in foreign parts.”
To Muna’s relief, Mr. Wythe intervened, clearing his throat. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Stapleton, but there are several people in attendance tonight whom I should like to present to Miss Muna.” He said to Muna, “The Chairman of the Presiding Committee would very much like to meet you.”
“Oh, is Lord Burrow here?” said Mrs. Stapleton. “You will be busy this evening, Mr. Wythe—nothing so wearisome as hosting a ball. You will be glad to have the sorceress—Miss Muna, is it?—taken off your hands. I should be pleased to present Lord Burrow to her. Come with me, my dear. You will not mind the liberty from a woman old enough to be your mother!”
“Mrs. Stapleton!” cried the Sorceress Royal, but Henrietta’s mother was a match even for her. Muna found herself being hurried away before she knew what was happening. Behind her she heard Prunella whisper:
“Henny, if we leave Miss Muna in your mamma’s clutches, we shall have Janda Baik declaring war upon us before we know what we are about!”
Mrs. Stapleton cleaved through the crowded room like a galleon in full sail. Muna tried to wriggle out of her grasp, for she did not in the least desire to be forced upon the attention of strangers by a madwoman, but Mrs. Stapleton was stronger than she looked. Her hand on Muna’s arm was like a vise.
When smoke started to billow from the other end of the room, Muna’s first thought was that the Sorceress Royal and Henrietta must have resorted to magic to create a distraction. It was like the smoke that had attended the polong’s emergence from its bottle, save that that had been red, while this smoke was of various colours—the spectacular greens, yellows and purples of a bruise.
Mrs. Stapleton came to an abrupt stop, her grip loosening in surprise. Slipping away from her, Muna saw Prunella snatch up her staff, and knew the smoke was no hoax.
As it dissipated, it revealed a figure suspended in mid-air. The figure floated to the ground, landing as lightly as a leaf borne on a breeze.
The spirit—for it could be nothing else—stood a full head taller than anyone else in the room, with skin of a sable hue darker than Mr. Wythe’s and a great quantity of long silver hair. He wore a robe of green velvet, stitched all over with tiny gleams of light like miniature stars.
He looked around the room with a quizzical smile, taking in the fainting ladies and red-faced gentlemen.
“So this is England!” he remarked. His gaze fell upon Prunella. “And you, madam, must be England’s Sorceress Royal. You match her description exactly—the only tolerable-looking woman in the room, they said.”
“I am the Sorceress Royal,” said Prunella. She held her staff at the ready, her head raised and eyes alight. “But I do not believe we are acquainted, sir. May I know whom it is I have the honour of addressing?”
The spirit made a courtly bow.
“I am called the Duke of the Navel of the Seas,” he said. “My mistress the Fairy Queen has sent me with a message for you—for Britain and all her friends are in terrible danger!”