by Gail Dayton
"I'll monitor his condition," Amanusa said, sinking into that light trance that meant she was "riding the blood."
Elinor would never understand sorcery. Not how it worked nor why anyone would want to use it. Good thing she was a wizard. She went back for more ointment. "Spread it thin," she murmured to Rosato. "It's all there is till I make more."
"Si."
"His system is suffering a great deal of shock," Amanusa said from her distance inside Cranshaw's body.
"Ah. Yes." Rosato held his hands in midair, shiny with salve and other things best not thought on. "Signora Carteret, if you might open my bag for me?"
Pearl obliged. She had shared Elinor's flat during her very short apprenticeship, before achieving master's status and then marrying Grey on Boxing Day a few weeks ago. Elinor considered her a good friend.
"There." Rosato pointed at a jar in the bag. "That one, in the blue bottle--"
Pearl pointed for confirmation and the dottore nodded. "Try to get it down him," he said. "All of it. It will sustain him."
Five more minutes passed, or perhaps ten. Elinor didn't know. Between them, Pearl and Amanusa managed to pour most of Rosato's potion down the unconscious wizard while Elinor and the Italian labored over his burns.
"That's helping," Amanusa said a little while later. "So is what you're doing. He is in less pain, which puts less strain on his heart and other organs."
"It needs more magic in it." Elinor looked in her quiver, but it was empty. Had they fallen out? Or maybe she dropped them.
"This wot you're hunting?" Harry held out a trio of wands. Maple, ash and pine.
Elinor took up the pine wand. She'd left it empty, ready to fill with whatever magic she needed, since pine was a soft wood and took up magic quickly. It was also slightly astringent. Well-suited to healing magic, since it had cleansing and healing properties of its own.
Elinor called those properties out of the wood, shaped it for her purposes, adjusted the magic to match the healing ointment, and sent it back through the wand into the ointment glistening on Cranshaw's blackened and blistering body.
"The burns are healing." Rosato's quiet words held awe. He said it again, louder. "The burns are healing. You can watch them heal. The ointment made by Signorina Elinor Tavis is master-level work. So I, Antonio Rosato, master wizard, do say."
"Challenger Tavis defended herself." Norwood's booming Northern accent echoed through the room. "She defended herself and unarmed noncombatants from a sneaking, cheating, cowardly attack. That attack alone, using illegal magic not created by the contender, disqualifies Nigel Cranshaw from membership in the Magician's Council of Great Britain." His statement brought a burst of noise from the crowd, who had been moved back behind the rails by the Briganti. Gathmann started back toward the dais.
"Bravo, Thom," Harry said quietly, clapping Norwood on the shoulder.
"Only fair, sir. I've never seen a braver lass," Norwood muttered, color staining his cheeks. "Not that I think she should have been at risk."
"She wasn't, though, was she? Not with that magic. Throwing the wands--who'd 'ave thought?"
"Silence!" Gathmann had to impose his magic over the rising babble of shouting and argument again, as he climbed back onto the platform. "First--" He pointed his gavel at the knot of healers around Cranshaw, releasing the spell on them.
Elinor and Rosato both were sitting back on their heels, holding their ointment-sticky hands up where they wouldn't touch anything, watching Cranshaw heal. Now they looked up toward the dais. Amanusa still bent over the burned man's head, touching a pair of fingertips lightly to his temple.
"Will Cranshaw survive his burns?" Gathmann asked.
"He'll live," Amanusa murmured.
Elinor looked at Dr. Rosato, who raised an eyebrow at her. "He is your patient, signorina," he said.
Oh. Right. If she wanted women to be leaders, she had to be willing to speak in public from time to time. Harry took her rather squishy hand and assisted her to her feet.
"Yes, Herr Gathmann," Elinor called out, using magic to be heard through the whole room. "Mr. Cranshaw will live. His burns will heal. He may even be able to use his hand again some day." She took the handkerchief Harry gave her and began cleaning off her hands.
A rustle of silenced movement flowed around the room at that announcement.
"Thank you, Fraulein Tavis, for offering your talents to heal him." Gathmann gave one of his stiff little heel-clicking bows.
Sir William took that moment to come forward and murmur in the Prussian's ear. Gathmann turned the gavel over to him.
"I have the results of the vote on the sorcery guild." Sir William waved a sheaf of papers in all sizes.
CHAPTER FOUR
The two sorcerers exchanged glances and stood with the aid of their husbands to hear the results, coming to join Elinor. This vote could have significance in her own situation as well and her hands twisted together in Harry's handkerchief. Too many men did not like the idea of women in their hallowed halls. Even though women had helped to build them in the centuries before Cromwell and his extremes.
"Votes in favor of the retention of the sorcery guild in the council--" Sir William checked the tally. "One hundred seventy-four."
Elinor grimaced. That wasn't even half of the magicians present. Did they really mean to expel sorcery from their ranks? To split the council into male and female?
"Votes against keeping sorcery in the council--" Sir William checked the sheet again and looked out over the gathered crowd. "Forty-seven. Three hundred ninety-two ballots were blank."
What did that mean?
"The motion passes. Sorcery is still a guild within the British Magician's Council."
Harry whooped silently, catching Grey in a hug, then shaking hands with everyone nearby, even those who obviously did not agree with the vote.
Sir William passed the gavel back to Gathmann, who couldn't find anything to bang it on. He started speaking without waiting for the silent commotion to die down.
"Is there a contender standing?" he called out in words that reeked of ritual to Elinor.
"There is," Dr. Rosato called back. "The wizard Elinor Tavis has drunk the potion of Nigel Cranshaw and still stands."
"Did Cranshaw drink the potion of Elinor Tavis?" Gathmann asked. Elinor supposed he had to, even if everyone already knew the answer.
Thomas Norwood took a step forward and raised the goblet he still held, prompting the Prussian to remove the silencing on him. "He did not, sir. The potion remains."
"Did the contenders restrict themselves to magic of their own calling and creation?"
"Wizard Tavis did, sir." Norwood spoke again. His voice filled with disgust and scorn as he went on. "Magister Cranshaw resorted to illegal alchemical spells, though he is a member of the wizard's guild."
Gathmann paused here. Elinor thought he must have run out of traditional questions. Contenders who cheated with other people's magic must be rare. "And what was the result?" he finally asked. "How did Contender Tavis respond to this action?"
"She used her own magic, sir," Norwood said, his voice now admiring. "She acted quickly and comprehensively, first damping the effects of the illegal fireballs, then containing Cranshaw. His injuries were caused by his own actions. Whereupon Wizard Tavis used more of her own magic to treat the results of Cranshaw's dishonorable behavior."
"This magic she used," Dr. Rosato spoke up, "from the challenge potion to the healing ointment to her innovative use of wands--it is--"
"Sir William will hear that," Gathmann interrupted. "I deal with the challenge only." He paused, scowling out across the great hall with its crowd of spectators. He waved his borrowed gavel, releasing the silence on everyone, but the only sounds were the rustle of clothing, the shuffle of feet, and a few scattered coughs. "Does anyone deny that Elinor Tavis has honorably defeated Nigel Cranshaw in this challenge of wizards?"
More feet shuffled, throats were cleared, but no one spoke.
"T
hen Elinor Tavis is declared the victor."
Shouting erupted across the chamber, some jubilant, some outraged, but the outrage was much less than Elinor would have suspected. Dr. Rosato hugged her first because he stood closest. He planted a kiss on her cheek--only because she turned her head quickly enough it landed there, rather than on her mouth where he aimed it, the unregenerate flirt.
Elinor hugged her sorcerer friends and was swept up in a whirling bear hug by Harry. He spun around once, then set her abruptly on her feet and backed up a step, his lips curving in a crookedly rueful smile. What did that mean? Anything?
With a last suspicious look, she turned away to shake Grey's hand and that of Jax Greyson, Amanusa's husband. Both men were also sorcerer's familiars, assisting in their wives' magic. Elinor didn't understand that either.
"I'd have thought there would be more objection than this," Amanusa said, looking around at the spectators, mostly back behind their railings again, conversing in low voices. "There certainly was in Paris, when the Conclave recognized sorcery."
"Cranshaw's behavior has shamed them," Grey said. "He's been perhaps more extreme in expressing himself, but most of them agreed with the core of his objection, which is that women have no place in magic. Now that he has been shown to be not only a madman, but a dishonorable cheat and a coward as well, they know that their own dishonor and cowardice has been exposed."
"I would have thought one of you alchemists would have stepped in to extinguish things," Elinor said, "when Cranshaw started throwing fireballs. Why didn't you? Why did you leave me hanging there alone?" She glared at Harry. His abandonment hurt the most.
"You were still in the challenge, weren't ya?" he said, his eyes begging her to understand. "As long as the challenger is 'andling what comes at 'em, even if it's cheating, they 'ave to get the chance to do it. It's in the rules. We did step in when Cranshaw set himself ablaze, didn't we?" His eyes shone with pride now. "And you took everything the bast--the blaggart threw at ya and came out shinin'."
Appeased by the praise, Elinor nodded. "All right then, since it's in the rules..."
Motion on the dais caught her eye and she turned to see Gathmann pass the gavel to Sir William again. The Prussian remained on the dais, taking a few steps back. Probably to be ready to impose his silence again, should the council head require it.
"How did he do it?" Elinor asked Harry from the side of her mouth. "The silence? The gavel is wood and he is an alchemist."
"Wasn't the gavel 'e used," Harry replied. "It's a tricky spell, but 'e used the air--'cause it carries the sound--an' the stone in the walls and roof to contain it. Can't work this spell outside. Air moves too much, an' for quiet, you got to stop it moving." He looked sideways at her, touching his finger to his lips in admonishment. As if he wasn't the one always talking out of turn. She rolled her eyes at him, before turning her attention forward.
Sir William had apparently tired of waiting for the conversation to quiet. "Gentlemen," he said in his booming, magic-enhanced voice. "And ladies."
He bowed to the tiny cluster of white and green-gowned women amidst all the sober black, gray and brown. "Elinor Tavis challenged Nigel Cranshaw as magister of the wizard's guild and has defeated him in that challenge, as witnessed by everyone present here. Magister Tavis, come and take your seat in the magister's chair."
Wait--magister's chair? What was he talking about?
"She's not a member of the guild!" one of the wizards shouted. Elinor couldn't see who. Allsup probably. He was that sort.
Sir William scowled down at the protester. Antonio Rosato strode down the center area cleared by Briganti, his frock coat and his silky black hair blowing a little with the breeze of his passage.
"Were you not here?" he demanded. "Did you not see?" With one hand, he caught the collar of--yes, Allsup--and dragged him back across the open floor to where Cranshaw lay, watched over now by his second, Dodd. "Look. Do you not see him heal? Are you so blind?"
He shook Allsup before releasing him with a shove and turned in a circle as he addressed the crowd. "I am Dottore Antonio Rosato. You know me, at least by rumor and reputation, if not personally. Is there any man--or woman--present who will say that I am not master wizard?"
He looked hard at the British wizards one by one, until finally one of them spoke. "We know you, Rosato. We know you're a master."
Elinor knew that wizard. From the battle? His name was Fillmore.
"Then why will you not believe me when I tell you this ointment--" Rosato rubbed his still shiny fingers together, "this magic is pure genius? I am not sure I could recreate what Signorina Tavis has done in making this salve." He sniffed it, and his eyes went distant, his voice pensive. "Perhaps. There is--"
He shook himself. "Non importa. The ointment is only one part of her genius. Wizards, you all have wands, veramente? One, or perhaps two for stirring and infusing magic. Am I correct? Did it ever occur to you--to any of us--to use a wizard's wand in the manner of an alchimisto? And yet it was not used as they do, but in a unique, wizard's fashion.
"Signorina Tavis used wizard's magic to defend herself and others from physical and magical attack. She has produced master level work. I, Antonio Rosato, master wizard, so declare."
"I am William Stanwyck," her godfather said. "Master wizard. I concur. Elinor Tavis is named master wizard and a member of the British wizard's guild."
"You're her godfather." Dodd climbed to his feet. "You're--"
"Stubble it, Dodd," Fillmore said. "It's master level work and you know it. We've never objected before to masters declaring their relatives' work. But if you want to, then fine. I, John Fillmore, concur in the matter as well. That makes it all moot, doesn't it?"
A stir went around the room. Sir William stood to attention. "Magister Tavis." He bowed, gesturing at the four magister's chairs as he rose.
Elinor stared at Sir William. Surely he didn't mean she--
"Where is the Black Cauldron?" Sir William inquired in a clarion voice. "Who's in charge of the cauldron?"
Several of the wizards exchanged rather defiant looks. "We didn't bring it," Dodd said. "It's in the Guildhall."
Sir William frowned. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Eleanor Tavis is still magister of the wizard's guild, cauldron or not."
Wait-- What? Elinor looked at the people surrounding her, utterly bewildered. What did a cauldron have to do with anything?
Harry nudged her arm. "Go on. You won it fair an' square. You're magister now."
But she didn't want to be magister. She just wanted Nigel Cranshaw not to be.
Amanusa took one of Elinor's arms, Harry took the other, and together they guided her across the room to the dais. Grey lined up at Amanusa's end of the procession and took her arm. Probably so they looked like they were presenting a united front rather than dragging Elinor along, she decided when her mind stopped panicking and started trying to think.
They climbed onto the platform where, with pomp and ceremony and another four tolls of the Great Bell, one for each of the four great magics, Elinor was seated as the new magister of the wizard's guild.
"It ain't so bad," Harry muttered at her from the side of his mouth as he sat in the next chair over. "Magisterin', I mean. You can delegate the paperwork. That's the worst of it, an' there ain't so many wizards as to make that a big job. I'll 'elp all I can."
Harry's mutters didn't ease Elinor's mind overmuch.
"What's all this business about the cauldron?" she asked, grasping onto the one thing she could just now.
"It's the wizards' great cauldron, like the alchemists' hammer. Don't suppose the conjurers or sorcerers have anything like, but the cauldron's supposed to stir up the greatest potions. And be in the custody of the magister."
And it wasn't here. Oh, joy.
The last dregs of the afternoon's formalities wrapped up while she was still trying to think. Harry had to nudge her to her feet for the dismissal, the final bow and curtsy to the gathered council. The spectator'
s railings were swiftly disassembled by assorted Briganti and bystanders, and the crowd spread to fill the room with bodies and loud conversation.
"I suggest--" Grey Carteret stepped off the dais to join his wife as he spoke, "that you make a preemptive strike and go lay claim to the magister's office immediately, before anything important is carried off."
"Excellent idea." Harry signaled to a couple of the nearest Briganti--Norwood was again one of them--and used them to clear a path out of the chamber, practically dragging Elinor along behind him.
When had she lost control of her life? She didn't know how to stop the landslide--that was mostly Harry--now that it had started sliding down what appeared a very steep slope, knocking over all the trees in the way.
The other magisters came along too, with their spouses and a few hangers-on from the international set visiting London. It made for quite a procession through the halls of power.
The wizard's guild office in the council building was a small adjunct of the offices in the guild hall, a building not far from Covent Garden.
"'Ere we go," Harry said, thumping a heavy ledger on the desk in the wizards' council office. The ledger itself gave off a tiny poof of dust, but the council's charwomen kept the desk and its surrounds clean. Cranshaw's desk was disturbingly well-ordered, Elinor thought, the blotter perfectly aligned, a single paper centered upon it, with pens arranged in rigid rows beside the ink bottle.
"Your list of wizards." Harry nudged her, opening the enormous book. It was fully as tall and wide as the ancient Book of Wizardry, though not as thick.
"We already know who all the wizards are," Elinor said. "There are only twelve."
"Thirteen. You're not in here, are ya?" He raised an eyebrow at her. Amanusa handed her a pen and Pearl opened the ink bottle.
Oh. Elinor took the pen, dipped it, and wrote her name in the next section under...Simon Little, apprentice. The only wizardry student in the academy. "Should I write in the rest?" she asked the crowd. "It doesn't feel right to be proclaiming myself master wizard."