ZACHARIAS ESCORTED PRUNELLA back to his lodgings after the close of the Ball, adjuring her sternly not to go anywhere, nor do anything whatsoever, while he attempted to resolve the difficulties in which Mak Genggang had mired them all.
It was late and Prunella was weary, but she could not avoid the orb any longer. Part of her longed to know more, even as another part shrank in indistinct fear from learning anything further of her history. Alone in her bedchamber, she took the orb off its chain and looked at it, glinting upon her palm.
“But what is there to be afraid of?” she said aloud. Despite Mrs. Daubeney’s attempts to gilt his memory, her father was a suicide who had died in miserable obscurity, and achieved nothing of what he had hoped for. Surely she could not discover anything worse than that.
She shook the eggs out of their pouch, spreading them out upon a directoire so positioned that she could observe them while she worked with the orb.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Prunella bit her lip until the coppery taste of her own blood filled her mouth. She fumbled for the orb, and pressed it against her lips. She opened her eyes, and flung the silver ball in the air.
It hung suspended, shining as before, and the woman’s voice issued from the orb—unsteady at first, but gaining strength as she sang.
She might have been singing in Greek for all Prunella understood of the words, but she listened, half-entranced, as though by close attention she might decipher the meaning of the song, and divine some quality in the voice that marked it as possessing a connection to her own.
She was so engrossed that for a brief time she forgot all about the treasures, and was only reminded of them when one of the stones rattled off the directoire and fell on the floor. Prunella leapt forward and scooped it up.
The egg felt as hard as ever, no different from any dull stone, she thought—but then she felt something move within it.
She rose and looked at the treasures. Some of the stones were vibrating, though the directoire itself was still. To her mingled delight and alarm she saw that one of the eggs was beginning to crack. The finest fissure could be discerned upon its surface, growing as she watched.
Magic infused the air; her every breath was haloed with green mist. Prunella felt as though she were standing at the brink of a sea of magic, watching a swelling wave gather force before it crashed upon the shore.
The very walls seemed to grow thin and insubstantial, scarcely capable of holding out against a fearsome world outside. The black shadows in the corners of the room took on a life of their own; they peeled off the floor and danced around her, holding hands. Ordinary things—the grate, the bed, the directoire, the curtains—all took on a dreadful significance.
Prunella found her head hurt badly. The light from the fire was too bright. It was hard to move, for she felt as though with every step she pushed back a great load—a veritable boulder of magic. But she reached for the orb and somehow contrived to grasp it.
Fortunately there was a basin of water not far from her. She dropped the orb into it, heard it splash—for Prunella could hardly see now; her vision was so crowded with lights and vivid colours—and rubbed it with her fingers till it was clean. Her task was hindered by the violent shaking of her hands, but the song began to fade, and finally the voice went silent.
The egg in her hand was no longer anything but a stone. She placed it gently upon the directoire, and took stock of her treasures. Only one had that crack across it, which now looked like a mere fault in the stone—though not a minute ago she had seen a green light shining from it, and known that whatever it was that was locked within the stone was emerging.
A stray line from the monograph she had read that morning returned to her—its only reference to familiars’ eggs:
It is clear that familiars hatched from the egg have nothing to do with the true, angelic paredrus. Indeed, from the effects of such hatchings as we have seen, there is some ground for asserting that the former are rather creatures of the diabolical kind, but though the argument presents a rich vein worthy of further investigation, it falls without the scope of this work.
Prunella had dismissed this earlier as nonsense. But she saw the author’s meaning now. He meant that familiars’ eggs were dangerous, and never more so than when they hatched. She knew this with a bone-deep certainty. She had known, when she saw the egg begin to crack, that she was not capable of controlling the spirit it contained, nor of predicting the fury it might unleash.
That she would—must—hatch the eggs, however, she knew without a shadow of a doubt. Her headache was nearly gone, but she would have endured far worse for such a return—such a sense of limitless glory! She could not bear the thought that she might never again stand on that shore, looking out across that vast ocean of wonder. If this was how thaumaturges felt, little wonder they were so jealous of their magic, and begrudged women the most trifling spell! So too should she hoard magic if she had experienced that sensation and feared losing it.
Still, it is unjust of them, she thought. If Mak Genggang is right, there is no reason a female cannot command a familiar’s powers as well as a man. It is shockingly ungallant of men to withhold from us our fair share of magic!
Zacharias would have warned Prunella to proceed with caution if he had heard her thoughts. Strong magic was not unlike wine in its effect upon the heads of those unused to it, and the intoxication of a first encounter with the powers of a familiar had led more than one thaumaturge into folly. Zacharias might have said that given what one surrendered in the Exchange, no one in his right mind would become a sorcerer if not for that exhilaration—or unless he had some other potent incentive.
But Zacharias was not present to give a lecture Prunella would have found dull. She had not quite made up her mind to become a sorceress herself, but she longed to make another trial with the eggs, if only to experience again that heady taste of power.
Even if she possessed the secret of awakening the eggs, however—even if her mother (if it was truly her mother) had left her the song that would unlock their spell—she could not use it till she knew what was needed to pacify the familiars that emerged.
After all, whatever I do with the treasures, I must know how they are to be hatched safely. I could scarcely sell familiars’ eggs that do nothing but give their owners headaches! Perhaps—the disturbing thought would occur—perhaps what the Society says is true, and I only suffered from the treasures because I am too weak to endure their magic, being a mere female. But there is one person who will know if that is true—one who will tell me what I must do to govern the treasures, if I am capable of it.
She would go now, before anything occurred to prevent her asking the questions for which she craved answers. Mr. Wythe’s lodgings were near the Society, and it would be a short walk, shorter than the one she had taken from the school to surprise Mr. Wythe at the Blue Boar.
If it were ancient, secret wisdom Prunella sought, she must consult that mistress of secrets, that revealer of mysteries, that unparalleled witch, defier of sorcerers and sultans alike—Mak Genggang herself.
• • •
DAWN had begun to unfold its silver light over the Society gardens when Zacharias passed through the gate. He was not surprised to see the figure waiting for him by the doors, though he had told no one of his intentions.
“I had thought I would see you here,” said Midsomer.
Zacharias bowed, though he was chilled by a premonition of disaster. He did not remark upon the curious circumstance of both his and Midsomer’s being abroad so early. Midsomer knew that Zacharias had travelled under darkness in hope of having the chance of speaking to Mak Genggang undisturbed. Zacharias knew Midsomer had hoped to catch him out. It was so unnatural a situation as not to require comment.
“I hope Mrs. Midsomer is recovered from the shock she received yesterday,” said Zacharias. “I am glad she came to no lasting harm from the altercation.”
“God grant that may be the case. It is too early for anyone who has my wife’s welfare at heart to trust that she has indeed suffered no harm,” said Midsomer coldly. “I am not here to discuss my wife, however. I had hoped to have the opportunity to speak to you in private.”
“I have not much time, I am afraid,” said Zacharias. “But perhaps if you came to my rooms later—”
“There is no need. What I have to say will not take much time,” said Midsomer. “I intend to propose to the Committee today that the Society take steps to subdue the witches of Janda Baik, whence came the hag Mak Genggang. Will you support this motion, or not?”
Zacharias’s sense of foreboding grew stronger. “What steps do you propose?”
“Whatever is necessary to ensure they can no longer pursue their evil magics,” said Midsomer. He smiled without mirth. “I admit I have not yet sketched out a plan of attack, but I am sure your imagination can supply any gaps.”
“You mean military action,” said Zacharias. “Have you forgotten our agreement with the French, sir? The sorcieres watch our movements too closely ever to miss such a flagrant breach.”
Midsomer looked pleased at this response, though he sought to conceal it, affecting a frown.
“It is as I thought,” he said. “You may be so anxious to treat with our enemies that you will swallow any outrage, but I assure you such meekness is not universal. I believe that English thaumaturgy possesses a bolder temper, that will not brook insults to its women, and I intend to test my hypothesis today.”
“I believe the Society knows its duty,” said Zacharias, though he felt little enough conviction on the point. “It knows, as you should, that we have not the magical resource to contend with France’s sorcieres, were they to engage us upon the battlefield. The addition of magic to his arsenal could well turn the tide in Bonaparte’s favour. Consider, sir, what horrors would await every woman in Britain in consequence. It would be imprudent in the extreme to risk so much for an accident that has given Mrs. Midsomer no more than a passing fright.”
But Midsomer was not listening. He had heard what he desired from Zacharias, and had no interest in continuing the argument, but hurried on to his main point:
“So you mean to oppose my motion, sir?”
Zacharias had never liked Midsomer, but he had not thought him so willing to subordinate everything—the good of his country, every dictate of common sense—to his ambition.
“I would consider it my duty to do so,” he said.
“Then, sir,” said Midsomer in triumph, “I must advise you to resign the office of Sorcerer Royal, and forswear the staff.”
Zacharias stared at him, taken aback. Midsomer continued:
“Consider how much trouble your resignation would save. I would refrain from demanding punishment for your failure to prevent the shameful events of last night, and you could hold aloof from our retaliation against Janda Baik, since you hold the hag in such friendship.”
“I will certainly not resign, and I am surprised you should ask it of me,” said Zacharias, swallowing his fury with difficulty. Would Midsomer have treated with such high-handedness a Sorcerer Royal who was an Englishman? There was no need to ask the question. The answer had been made clear to Zacharias, in a multitude of ways, his entire life.
Midsomer shrugged.
“I had little hope you would agree,” he said, with an air of resignation. “I knew we should be obliged to take the staff from you by force, but I had hoped we might be able to resolve the matter peaceably, for everyone’s sake.”
“And am I to accept that my being replaced by you would be for my own good?” said Zacharias contemptuously.
Midsomer blinked. Zacharias had thought it obvious that his own civility was a polite fiction, disguising very different feelings, but he saw that Midsomer had not recognised this. Midsomer had not thought to receive anything but unwavering courtesy from a Sorcerer Royal he had repeatedly insulted. He had no more expected such plain speech from Zacharias than he would have accepted a pert answer from his black footman.
“Say, rather, for the common good!” said Midsomer, flushing. “What did you do to defend Englishwomen from that hag? As much as you have done to prevent our public humiliation by the Government, and the removal of our privileges!
“Yes,” he added, at the alteration in Zacharias’s countenance, “you believed you had concealed that! It is fortunate I discovered the Government’s intention before the Spring Ball, and did the little required to appease it. That you could not even do so much speaks volumes of your vaunted ability.”
“I never laid claim to any extraordinary ability,” said Zacharias. He was trembling with anger. “But that I refused to stoop to bribery, or bend to illegitimate pressures, I believe speaks for itself.”
Midsomer stepped back, his lip curling.
“I should call you out for that if you were an Englishman,” he said. “But I would not lower myself by fighting the likes of you. I have given you fair warning. If you will not give up the staff, you will have to bear the consequence of your obstinacy.”
“I do not make out your meaning, sir,” said Zacharias, his voice dangerously quiet. “I beg you will explain yourself.”
Midsomer met his eye, unblushing. He said:
“Recall that Cecil Hallett was asked to surrender the staff, and refused.”
The hairs rose on the back of Zacharias’s neck. Every thaumaturge knew of the manner of Cecil Hallett’s demise. It had been such a death as was not easily forgot.
“That procedure was outlawed by the Charter,” he said.
“The Charter can be amended,” said Midsomer. “Good day to you, sir. I would think upon what I have said if I were you.”
• • •
ZACHARIAS mounted the stairs to Mak Genggang’s room in considerable agitation of spirits. He was so distrait that he would not have noticed the servant girl hurrying down in the opposite direction if she did not brush against him in her haste.
He was almost at the door to Mak Genggang’s room when he recalled that the Society employed no female servants.
He caught up with Prunella outside the building. She was walking briskly towards the gate, a basket tucked under her arm, for all the world as though she were going to market to buy a fish.
Prunella was in cheerful spirits, though she had slept little the night before. A minor enchantment had sufficed to lead her to the room where Mak Genggang had been imprisoned within the Society. Though the Committee had hedged the room about with wards to prevent the witch’s getting out, no one had thought to institute any measure to prevent others from getting in.
They had stayed up half the night talking, and very profitable the conversation had been too. Even after Mak Genggang had nodded off, halfway through a rambling story about a weretiger of her acquaintance, Prunella had been too excited to sleep. She had paced the room, making great plans, till dawn’s pale light shone through the window.
They had agreed they would make their escape once it was light: “Else I shall be bumping into things, and like as not be eaten by an owl,” said Mak Genggang. Prunella could not help feeling they had contrived it very neatly, till she saw Zacharias on the stairs.
There was just a chance they might still get away, she thought, for it was clear his attention was elsewhere. When she heard determined footsteps behind her, Prunella quickened her pace.
“If your hope is that I will forget having seen you provided you only walk fast enough, I am afraid you will be disappointed,” said Mr. Wythe. Amusement and irritation mingled in his voice in equal measure. “Surely you do not think to escape me so easily?”
Prunella resigned herself to discovery. Still, Mr. Wythe need not know everything yet.
“You have an unfair advantage; being such a wretched long creature, you need only take one stride to my two,” she retorted, tugging the gingham cloth over the top of her basket. Unfortunately its inmate possessed less discretion.
“He is right, you know,” piped a tiny voice. “We ought to have disguised you with a spell. I cannot conceive why I did not think of it before. My wits must still be in disorder from last night’s hullaballoo.”
Zacharias’s eyes widened. Before Prunella could stop him, he pulled away the cloth, revealing what she had hid inside the basket.
The basket itself was a product of magic. It had originally been Mak Genggang’s shawl, and had been transformed because Prunella thought a basket looked servant-like. Nestled within it was Mak Genggang, exactly as she had always been, save that she was no larger than a mouse—a cat could have eaten her, if it was so foolish as to try. She sat cross-legged with her palms braced against the bottom of the basket.
“Good day, Sorcerer,” she said. “It is a fine house your magicians have, but far too cold. You ought to waste less magic on warding poor old females, and spend more on warming your feet. Mine are as cold as the sultan’s heart!”
“What are you doing?” gasped Zacharias.
“She is hiding,” said Prunella crossly. “You know we talked about the importance of discretion, Mak Genggang!” She turned down the cloth. “You need not stare at me. It is shocking that the Society should have been so disrespectful as to imprison Mak Genggang for a misunderstanding, when that silly turbanned creature was not even hurt.”
“I can see that it seems disproportionate,” said Zacharias, striving to keep his calm. “But you cannot simply smuggle out a prisoner of the Society!”
“Oh, but I have,” said Prunella. “It was the easiest thing in the world, and it needed to be done, you know, for Mak Genggang could not escape herself. I have never seen such an extravagance of magic, and all to prevent her flight! Now I have seen the Society’s profligacy, I am hardly surprised the nation suffers from a lack of magical resource. I only wonder that we have any magic left.”
“Are you truly unaware of the extreme delicacy of the situation?” said Zacharias. “The Society was all for meting out immediate punishment. It was all I could do to persuade my colleagues to wait for a formal investigation. They have been uncommonly patient, according to their lights, but any wrong movement now may cause an explosion. You must return her.”
“I certainly shall not!”
“I should like to see her do it!” said Mak Genggang beneath the cloth.
Squaring her shoulders, Prunella marched off down the street. There could be no thought of abandoning Mak Genggang to the Society now, when the witch had taught her so much. She would stand by Mak Genggang, and she did not mean to look back.
And Prunella would have held to her resolve, if there had not been a great thud behind her, and if Zacharias had not let out such a horrible scream.
• • •
ZACHARIAS did not mean to make a play for Prunella’s sympathy. He had slipped and fallen: it had rained during the night, and the ground was still wet. He thought nothing of it, but when he sought to rise he found he could not.
He reached out to steady himself, and put his hand down in a puddle of rainwater. He did not mind this either—until claws sank into his hand.
Zacharias screamed. The pain was excruciating, and when he tried to tear his hand away it felt as though his arm would sooner be pulled out of its joint. The puddle grew and transformed.
Zacharias saw a gaping maw made of brown water, with translucent fangs, and leaves swirling down its throat. He took a deep breath despite the prickling of magic in his nostrils, knowing that one inhalation would need to last him a while, and then the monster gulped him down.
Prunella, turning reluctantly around, saw a mass of water consume Zacharias’s person. She shrieked.
“What is it?” cried Mak Genggang.
“Mr. Wythe is being murdered!” said Prunella. She thought of the fire at the Blue Boar, and clenched her fists. “Oh, the villain! What shall we do?”
Mak Genggang peered over the side of the basket. Zacharias was fumbling blindly at his coat, perhaps seeking his staff, but he seemed to be fighting against a great force to move at all. His eyes and mouth were screwed shut, and his face wore a look of grim resolve.
“If the water does not hold him long enough to suffocate him, it will poison him first,” said Mak Genggang, in the judicious manner of an expert. “Look at how his face twitches—the water is acid, and eats at his skin. It is a clever hex. Must we save him?”
“Mak Genggang! He persuaded his wicked magicians to preserve your life.”
“And threw me into gaol!” said Mak Genggang. “Very well, child, I will do it, so you need not make faces at me. He is a well-bred young man, after all. I like a young man who shows a proper respect to his elders.”
She held out her arms, and now it could be seen that Mak Genggang was not merely a tiny replica of her former self, for there was a singular new addition: a pair of wings growing out of her back. Mak Genggang had invented these to ease her escape. They were of thin, leathery skin, spread over delicate cartilage, and looked nearly translucent as Mak Genggang took to the air.
She hovered for a moment above the devouring mass of water, then dived into it, alighting upon Zacharias’s shoulder.
Zacharias felt a tiny weight settle upon him. He moved his shoulder to try to dislodge it, but then for the first time since he had been devoured, there was an intermission of pain. A cooling protection flowed down his arm, shielding his flesh from the acid sting of the water—extraordinary blessing!
There was a buzzing at his ear, blurred by the water, and Zacharias heard indistinctly the words:
“Listen to the spell, Sorcerer. I am too small to cover you entirely, but you may do it yourself if you attend.”
The relief of the pain seemed to return to Zacharias some of his own mind. He focused on Mak Genggang’s voice, and though all noise was blunted underwater he discerned the syllables of an enchantment, repeated over and over again. The words were foreign, of course, but one did not always need to understand the words of a charm to cast it: as a youth Zacharias had amused himself by casting spells in Sanskrit to tolerable effect, though he had made only a brief study of the language.
It required an effort of will to open his mouth to speak, for he knew he must swallow the burning water in consequence—but he did it.
As he murmured the enchantment, speaking slowly despite the fiery agony from the water sliding down his throat, the relief began to envelop him. It spread from his arm down his left side, along his leg, and then the effect of the spell began to communicate itself across to the right side of his person. Provided he kept repeating the spell he could preserve himself from this distracting pain, but how would he get himself out of this fix? No exertion of mere physical strength would extricate him from the grasp of the water. Besides, he was beginning to feel faint from lack of air.
“Mak Genggang,” he said, or thought—he was not sure which—“if you can but make a hole through the water, and if Miss Gentleman will assist—”
Mak Genggang did not reply, but a gap opened in the water, and Zacharias thrust out a wet hand. Prunella grasped it at once, though she winced at the sting of the poisoned water.
“What can I do?” she said.
“Give me your magic,” gasped Zacharias. That meant a gulp of too much water. He coughed, struggling for air, but Prunella’s small hand was solid and warm in his. He cast out his drowning consciousness like a net, and drew in magic through her.
Prunella had never experienced such a peculiar sensation. The world was brilliant with colour and light, and everything looked strange, but truer than it had ever been. The monstrous bulk of water turned into a furious woman, with trailing green hair, a lashing serpent’s tail and long-nailed fingers throttling Zacharias. Zacharias himself was a silvery salmon thrashing in her coils. Mak Genggang, hovering above the fray, looked exactly the same.
She saw all this in a flash. Then there was no more Prunella: she was one with all the fleeting imps of the air. Magic rushed through her, like water through a pipe, into Zacharias’s hand.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the salmon wriggle out of the woman’s grasp. All at once Prunella’s bones and muscles seemed to turn to jelly. She collapsed, and Zacharias fell on his knees beside her, brown water showering down on them. He was free.
“A spell for untangling,” he gasped. “The water had me in a binding charm. The counter-formula is no more difficult than untying a knot, but it requires force. I could not have done it without your aid.”
“I feel very odd indeed,” said Prunella.
She no longer saw salmon or water-women, but the world had acquired an ugly patina. The trees stood too close, their branches raised like a threat, and the water upon the road shone like oil.
“It is the reaction to the spell,” said Zacharias, looking at her anxiously. “The absorption and release of so much magic is unpleasant for any mortal who is not accustomed to working with a familiar. The ill effects ought not to be lasting, however—”
“I am going to be sick,” announced Prunella.
Whereupon she was, at length. When she was done she rolled away from the result and gazed up at the sky, feeling that life was too grim to be borne. Voices spoke above her, but they did not trouble her.
“Don’t stand there staring, man,” snapped Mak Genggang. “Help the girl up and get her home! Prunella, I am sorry to abandon you when you are so ill, poor child! But my women need me, and you have Mr. Wythe, whereas they have only a poor old woman to rely upon. Remember what I have told you.”
Prunella’s thoughts were hazy, but she remembered the core of what Mak Genggang had taught her. It was so simple as to be impossible to forget.
“It comes down to blood,” she whispered.
“Did you speak, Miss Gentleman?” said Zacharias. His worried countenance hove into view. “Mak Genggang has flown, I am afraid. If she stayed she would have been caught, for the Fellows will be arriving soon. However, I have sent a zephyr for a hackney coach, and we shall be gone before anyone sees us. I should have arranged for transport by magic, save that you ought not to have too much to do with magic till you have recovered. How do you feel?”
“It stings a little,” said Prunella. This was an understatement, hardly capturing the overwhelming sense of disillusionment that had swamped her the moment the magic was gone. “Are you hurt?”
Zacharias smiled. “You need not worry about me.”
As she lay upon the street, furious, impotent and distressingly inelegant, Prunella discovered two things about herself.
She liked Zacharias very, very much—perhaps better than she had ever liked anyone in her life.
She loathed being weak with a passion. She had always known that she could not endure a fool, but it was not till this moment that Prunella realised how much less she liked weakness in herself.
It could not be just, she thought, that Zacharias should be so good, and so persecuted. And that she should be exposed to such peril and discomfort was not to be borne. But why should a possessor of seven familiars’ eggs have any anxiety about defending herself, and those she . . . liked very much?
The situation could not continue. Something must be done. And who better than Prunella Gentleman to do it?