The Lady Maria Wythe Academy for the Instruction of Females in Practical Thaumaturgy, England
HENRIETTA AND MUNA’S arrival in England was attended by as much fuss and rejoicing as can be imagined. Perhaps it was Zacharias Wythe who was made happiest by their reappearance, for Mrs. Wythe’s wild plans for rescuing them from Fairy’s clutches had been the cause of domestic discord since Damerell and Rollo had returned from Threlfall, bringing the news of what Georgiana intended.
But Prunella, too, overflowed with delight. She was so glad to have Henrietta back, and to be relieved of the need to report Muna’s disappearance to Mak Genggang, that it troubled her not at all when Georgiana declared her intention of remaining in England for the next few days:
“For Rollo and I have a great deal to discuss,” she said, with a gleam in her eye that made Mr. Threlfall shudder.
“Certainly!” cried Prunella. “You must stay with us—or no”—she corrected herself at a look from Zacharias—“we have the Duke with us, of course. It might occasion some awkwardness if he knew you were in England. You will not mind staying at the Academy?”
“Best you do, aunt,” said Rollo eagerly. “Far more comfortable for you!”
At once the Academy was plunged into the business of making Georgiana comfortable. Servants and scholars rushed around, their arms full of linens and spells respectively, for the Sorceress Royal thought it wise to fortify the wards around the Academy. Fortunately, accommodating Georgiana was an easier task than it would have been before the Fairy Queen had got to her—the journey to England had exhausted the remaining magic in Rollo’s scale, and Georgiana had reverted to the size of a civet upon arrival.
The bustle passed over Muna as a wave of inconsequential noise. Later she would have little recollection of the evening, save the pressure of Henrietta’s hand on hers, and Henrietta’s voice, repeating patiently but with immovable firmness:
“Miss Muna is tired. She must be allowed to rest. We will talk tomorrow.”
By some alchemy Henrietta contrived to detach herself and Muna from the Sorceress Royal well before Prunella was done feeding and exclaiming over them. She brought Muna to her bedchamber, lingering even as Muna sat heavily on the bed.
“I am sorry, Muna!” said Henrietta.
Muna only nodded. “Thank you.”
Henrietta must have seen that Muna had nothing left to give. She said no more, but touched Muna’s hand and—thankfully—went.
Muna ached all over. Her eyes were dry and burning. She longed for nothing so much as to collapse and forget everything, but instead she reached under the bed.
She felt a flicker of relief when her fumbling hand grasped the bottle—who knew if some conscientious servant might not have found it? She held it up to the light.
As ever there was no sign of the polong. Muna saw only her own face reflected in the glass. It looked young and unformed, but the expression was as old and tired as Muna felt.
“Kur, soul!” she whispered.
Though she had surrendered the magic she had borrowed from Rollo, somehow she did not doubt that the polong would appear.
Perhaps great need was a form of magic in itself. Red smoke billowed from the mouth of the bottle, coalescing into the polong’s trim figure.
“Now what do you want?” she snapped, but then she saw Muna’s face. “Child! What has happened?”
“I went to the Palace of the Unseen,” said Muna. “My sister was there. My sister—she—”
But this was as far as she could go.
The polong clicked her tongue, half in sympathy and half censure, as Muna wept. “There, did not I tell you not to go to that wicked place? Now you are sorry, but the rice has turned to gruel, so what is the good of tears?”
It was just the same scolding tone Mak Genggang adopted when she wished to comfort anyone, but Muna was beyond being consoled by such small familiarities. When she continued to cry, the polong said, “What has become of your sister?”
“She was taken by the spirits in the Palace of the Unseen,” said Muna. She scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve. She must not be diverted by useless emotion. “I must save her, if I can.”
If there is anything left to save, thought Muna, but she could not attend to the counsels of despair, or she did not know what she would do.
“I need your assistance, kak,” she said.
The polong looked alarmed. “It is a pity about your sister, but I told you I would not start any quarrels with the Queen of the Djinns!”
“I would not ask so much of you,” said Muna. “It is a task you will not mind, I think. It is the sort of thing Mak Genggang would never command you to do.”
A spark of interest flashed across the polong’s countenance.
“Indeed?” she said guardedly.
“Tell me, kak,” said Muna. “Would not you like to commit a larceny?”
MUNA would not have believed that she could sleep that night. She had planned to wait for the polong to return from her assignment, which the spirit had accepted with a ready will. But England was colder than Muna had remembered. Waiting in an armchair by the dying embers of the fire, she began to shiver, and to keep warm she climbed into her bed.
Once she was there, weariness did the rest. She slept, and for a few hours forgot her troubles.
Golden sunlight was streaming through the window when Muna woke. For a fleeting moment she did not remember where she was. She lay gazing at the rectangle of sunshine on the floor, wondering that her heart did not rise at the sight, for it seemed to her that it had been some time since she had seen the sun.
Then she remembered. Her fingers curled on the sheet.
“Oh,” said Muna. She turned her face into the pillow.
She only raised her head when the knock came at the door.
It was Henrietta. “May I speak with you?”
Muna looked back at the windows, still fogged by sleep and grief. With a sun so bright, the day must be considerably advanced. “Will not we be late for breakfast?”
“It is almost noon,” said Henrietta. “We did not like to wake you. How do you feel? Would you like to take a sup of something?”
She was not asking about the state of Muna’s appetite alone, but Muna was in no humour to talk about how she felt. She shook her head. “I am not hungry. What did you wish to speak of?”
Henrietta waited till Muna had shut the door to begin.
“I have spent the morning rowing with Prunella,” she said. “But I have won my point—and she will be in a better mood presently. Once she has calmed down she will see it is all for the best.”
“Is Mrs. Wythe quarrelling with you already?” said Muna in disapproval. “One might think she would be better pleased to have the friend of her childhood restored to her!”
“Oh, it is my fault,” said Henrietta. “I ought to have waited to tell her what I intended. Mornings don’t agree with Prunella. But I didn’t wish to put it off, for I mean to leave as soon as I can get away.”
“Leave?” cried Muna, briefly forgetting her various preoccupations.
Henrietta looked pale but resolute. “Yes. I promised I should not implicate Britain if I was discovered in Fairy, and I mean to keep my word. The Fairy Queen is bound to pursue us here. If she finds us in England, it will confirm her belief in England’s guilt—so I must do what I can to direct her attention elsewhere.”
“Where will you go?” said Muna. “Not France?” She knew nothing of France save that it was at war with Britain. Confused images rose before her, of grim-faced soldiers bearing guns and spears, people fleeing from burning villages . . .
“No. Lady Wythe has a friend in Scotland; I shall go to her first,” said Henrietta. “But we shall put about a story that I have run away to France with a Comte—that will fit with what I told the Fairy Queen. Then the news will follow that I was abandoned by my”—she cleared her throat, blushing—“by my lover, and Prunella will tell everyone I flung myself into the Seine!”
“Good gracious!”
“I thought a body should be found,” said Henrietta. “I could create a simulacrum of myself for the purpose. But Prunella thinks it unnecessary. She says she would rather not see my corpse—it would distress her, even if she knew it was not real.”
“But how will you return?” said Muna, wishing her wits were not so muddled. Things were moving altogether too fast. “If it is given out that you are dead . . .”
“It will make a return awkward,” agreed Henrietta. “That was what made Prunella so cross. But I brought her around in time. She could not deny it is awkward for her to have us on her hands, with an irate Fairy Queen in hot pursuit. For myself, I shall not mind being in hiding. I shall assume a new name and disguise my features, and I mean to travel. I should like to learn more of foreign magics.”
She glanced shyly at Muna, but Muna was still digesting the implications of the scheme.
“What of your relations?” said Muna. “It will give them a great deal of distress to believe you dead.” This came too near matters she would rather avoid thinking of. Her heart contracted painfully, and she put her hand to her chest.
The light in Henrietta’s face dimmed.
“Yes,” she said soberly. “And if I run away, my engagement with Mr. Hobday will be broken. I believe Papa has already borrowed a considerable sum from him. But”—she clasped her hands—“it cannot be helped! I have thought and thought about it all night, and I believe my first duty is to my country. After all, my family would suffer as much as everyone else if Fairy were to declare war on us. Besides . . .”
She fell silent.
“Besides?” echoed Muna.
“It will sound strange!” said Henrietta. She had a distant look in her eyes. “It is not as though I liked being gaoled by the Fairy Queen. But visiting Fairy, tasting its magic and speaking with dragons on terms of near equality . . . it brought home to me the meanness of my existence here. If I remained in England with my family, still I should be obliged to live in hiding all my life. I could never call myself a magicienne, nor publish a spell in the Gazette under my own name. Why, I am good at devising spells! Better even than Prunella, for when she has done something new she can never tell you how she did it.”
Henrietta paused.
“And if I stayed,” she said, “I should have to marry.”
There was something in her voice—the hopelessness of one speaking of a certain doom—that gave Muna a pang. She said:
“You need not marry Mr. Hobday if you do not like him.”
Henrietta shook her head. “If it is not him, it must be another gentleman. And there is none I would marry.”
Save Mr. Wythe, thought Muna. This gave her a worse pang, but before Muna could decide what to say, Henrietta went on, more cheerfully:
“But my own wishes are of little account. Duty requires me to leave Britain, so depart I shall. I only wondered whether you would be so good as to help me?”
“I will do all I can,” said Muna. “What do you need?”
Henrietta hesitated. “Have you given any thought to what you wish to do now? You will be welcome here for as long as you should like to stay,” she added quickly. “Prunella will come and tell you so herself, but she insisted upon my saying it too.”
“That is good of her,” said Muna. “I shall take advantage of Mrs. Wythe’s hospitality for a little longer, if I may. But I don’t mean to impose on her for long.”
It was difficult to conceive of a future. Even when Muna put her mind to it, as she did now, striving to pierce through the darkness that pressed in on all sides, there was only her great intention—the charge she had entrusted to the polong. Beyond that, she could not tell what might happen.
If she lived, however . . . if she lived . . . what would she choose?
It was a question she had not asked herself before, but the answer came readily. Muna saw a substantial wooden house—a house sitting nearer the jungle than was quite comfortable, haunted by more than its fair share of ghosts, yet promising absolute safety to those admitted to its shelter. As she thought of Mak Genggang’s house, its very smell came back to her—the scent of sun-warmed timbers, spices frying in the kitchen, and Mak Genggang herself, clean flesh and freshly laundered cotton.
“I should like to go home,” said Muna. “To Janda Baik, I mean.”
Henrietta nodded. “I thought you might. Prunella and I think it would be wise for you to take precautions, if so. You would not wish the Fairy Queen to turn her attention to your home.”
“No, indeed!” said Muna. “What would you recommend?”
“We must account for you, you see,” said Henrietta. “It is no good putting about a story that explains only my disappearance, when the Fairy Queen knows there were two of us. We thought we might say that I took you with me when I ran away. You would stay here as long as you liked, and go on to Janda Baik when you were ready, under a false name. Since you have no family here, and no one knows you, that misdirection should suffice. There is a spell we could use to give you a new face, for a time. You could put it off, of course, once the Queen had forgot us.”
“That sounds sensible,” said Muna. It was unlikely the Queen would soon forget her, or that Muna would ever be able to go home, but Henrietta did not need to know that. She was leaving soon, and would be spared the consequences of Muna’s plan. “So I go with you to France, do I? But what do I do when you die?”
“Oh!” said Henrietta: it seemed her invention had not extended so far. “Perhaps you remain in France. You spied on Britain on their behalf, after all, and are entitled to their gratitude.”
“No,” decided Muna. “I think I had better dive into the river with you! I should not wish to be parted from you, since we had gone so far together.”
This made Henrietta laugh, as Muna had intended. For a moment they sat smiling at each other.
“There is another favour I should like to ask,” said Henrietta. “I know it would gratify my mother extremely—and I should like to give her pleasure while I can. But you must feel at liberty to decline if you do not like the notion.”
“What is it?”
“My mother is hosting a ball tomorrow evening for my sister Amelia’s coming-out,” said Henrietta. “I know it would please her if you were to attend. She was very much struck with you.”
“I remember,” said Muna. The Sorceress Royal’s ball seemed long ago now. She felt as though she had aged centuries since that evening; it was impossible to hold any grudge about Mrs. Stapleton’s conduct then, or do anything but what would please Henrietta. “I should like to attend the ball, if you are sure I would be wanted.”
“Oh, you will be a sensation!” said Henrietta. “I do not know why society should abhor an English magicienne but fall into raptures over a foreign sorceress—but there it is! I am very much obliged to you. It will not make up for all I mean to do, but my mother will be delighted, and that is something. And,” she added, brightening, “I shall like you to meet my sisters!”
But then Henrietta seemed to realise this might be an unhappy reference. She flushed. “That is to say, if you would not mind my presenting them to you.”
“I should be honoured to meet your sisters,” said Muna gently. “Will you tell me about them?”
This was a well-advised question, for Henrietta forgot all awkwardness at once in the pleasure of describing her sisters. There were three: “None has magic, thank goodness! We have always been the greatest of friends, though I was sent away to school. Charlotte is the drollest, for she is not yet thirteen and still very much the child. Louisa is second youngest; she has the most sense, but it is Amelia people notice—she is the prettiest, and has the most go. I have not made up my mind which you will like best.”
“That is easy enough,” said Muna. “I shall like you best. What ought I to wear to your mother’s party?”
A grave look came over Henrietta’s face, for this was a delicate matter. “It must be something befitting an exotic, but not anything Mamma would deem improper. I believe . . .”
But Henrietta never had the chance to explain what Muna should wear, for then the polong reappeared, with none of the discretion Muna had asked for. The door burst open and red smoke poured in, making the women cough.
Henrietta leapt to her feet, whisking out a handkerchief and putting it to her nose.
“Do not breathe it in, Muna!” she cried in a muffled voice. “It may be poison!”
But Muna had heard what Henrietta had not—the clatter of an object dropping on the floor. Muna flung herself down and saw the gleam of red gems, set in a coil of bluish-green stones. She laid her hand on it just as the polong’s voice boomed:
“Here is my gift to you, child—the Queen’s Virtu and the heart of Saktimuna, restored to wholeness!”