Duncan started. He hadn’t heard that little titbit. “Innocent?”
“They were interrogated thoroughly,” Deferens assured him. “Truth spells, mental probes, truth potions ... everything was tried. They were found innocent and released.”
He smiled, briefly. It didn’t touch his eyes. “What that means,” he explained, “is that the real perpetrators have escaped justice. My source in the Watchtower tells me that there are no leads.”
“I can work that out for myself,” Duncan said. He allowed some of his irritation to slip into his voice. “What do you want from me?”
“This ... Leveller movement poses a threat to our way of life,” Deferens said. He sounded as though he genuinely believed what he was saying, although Duncan knew better than to take anything for granted. Deferens was a practiced politician, after all, even if he was eccentric by normal standards. “I believe that it should be banned.”
“The Grand Sorceress disagrees,” Duncan pointed out.
“I am building a coalition of opinion that proposes that we ban it,” Deferens said. “If a sufficient majority of the Privy Council agrees, she will fall in line.”
Duncan considered it. The hell of it was that Deferens was right. Light Spinner might be the most powerful magician in the Empire – at least officially – but she wasn’t all-powerful. The last Grand Sorcerer had had years to tighten his grip on the reins of power; Light Spinner had had barely six months. And there were question marks over her rise to power. If the Privy Council as a body voted against her, she would have to back down.
“And you want my support,” he said, silently weighing up the votes. The Head Librarian was a cipher, perhaps Light Spinner’s puppet. That left eleven others ... how many others did Deferens have on his side? “What are you prepared to offer in exchange?”
“Your son is imprisoned,” Deferens said. “I can arrange for him to be released into your custody.”
Duncan felt a flash of hope. If he had Jamal back, he could at least try to knock some sense into his eldest son. And maybe he could marry Marina, which would make it harder for the Inquisitors to re-arrest him. There would be other powerful figures speaking in his support.
“I would like proof that you can arrange this,” Duncan said, slowly. The Grand Sorceress had taken a personal interest in the case, which made it harder for things to slip by without being noticed. “What can you offer me?”
Deferens smiled. “Have you even been able to visit your son?”
Duncan shook his head, wordlessly. He hadn’t – and nor had the lawyers he’d hired to defend Jamal when the case finally came to trial. As annoyed as he was with his eldest son, he still wanted to see him and make sure that he was safe.
“Here,” Deferens said. He pulled a piece of paper out of his robes and passed it to Duncan. “A visiting permit. You can see him for up to an hour. And then ... you can join me in pressing for a quick trial.”
Clever bastard, Duncan thought, sourly. He’d underestimated Deferens; the man might look like an overcompensating fool, but there was a sharp mind hiding under the ridiculous beard. Right now, with the magical community furious over Graham’s death, there would be little enthusiasm for convicting Jamal’s band of terrorists. They’d be seen as heroes ...
... Which would encourage the Privy Council not to send them to the headsman.
“Very well,” he said. “If this permit works, you will have my support.”
He stood up, ignoring the waiter, and marched out of the bar, heading up the long road towards the Watchtower. It was a longer walk than normal, but it allowed him time to clear his mind and think. Deferens seemed to have a workable plan, yet Duncan wasn’t entirely sure that he trusted the younger man. There was something about the whole affair that bothered him.
The watchtower rose up in front of him and he paused, gasping for breath. Behind him, the Golden City lay within the hollow, surrounded by the Four Peaks. He turned to stare as he fought to calm his heartbeat, marvelling at how far he’d come. It still awed him to see the city’s multitude of buildings, a strange jumble of designs that somehow worked together very well. But then, it was the capital of a planet-wide Empire. There were representatives from all over the world gathered in the city’s embrace.
No wonder the best and brightest come here to learn, he told himself. By the time they go home, they think of themselves as citizens of the Empire.
There was no guard on the Watchtower’s exterior door, but he felt the powerful wards as soon as he stepped inside. Any use of magic would draw an immediate response, he realised, as he walked slowly towards the desk. A bored-looking young man in grey robes sat there, dealing with a handful of people who were trying to file complaints. Normally, an Inquisitor would have taken the desk, but with the Inquisition so short-staffed they’d been forced to hire outsiders. They were nowhere near as honest as the full-fledged Inquisitors.
“I have a permit,” he said, passing it to the young man. How had Deferens obtained it? “Where do I go?”
The receptionist waved to another man in grey robes, who took the permit, inspected it, then beckoned for Duncan to follow him through a solid stone door. It led to a stairwell that plunged down into the depths of the mountain, surrounded by dangerous flickers of magic. If someone tried to escape, Duncan realised, they might bring down the ceiling on top of them. After Hawthorne’s escape, the Inquisitors were clearly not taking any chances. And Jamal was nowhere near as powerful – or insane – as the Dark Wizard.
They entered a darkened corridor and reached a series of doors, set into the rock. “You may speak to him for one hour,” his escort said. “I must inform you that the interior of the room is constantly monitored. Should you attempt to draw your wand or any other weapon, you will face arrest and possible detention. If you are taken hostage, your life will not be considered a priority.”
Duncan stared at the man, whose face was half-hidden in the gloom. “He’s my son!”
“Everyone else in these cells is also someone’s son,” his escort said. “That does not make them nice. Or safe.”
The door clicked open. Duncan braced himself, then stepped inside. The cell was tiny, illuminated only by a flickering lamp hanging from the ceiling. Jamal sat on a bunk, his hands chained together and one leg chained to the bed. Duncan saw the faint shape of a chamber pot under the bed and shuddered. His eldest son shouldn’t have to live in a place like this.
“Father,” Jamal said. His voice was a whisper, although Duncan couldn’t tell if it was through disuse or through a reluctance to speak too loudly for fear it would be overhead. “You came.”
“Finally,” Duncan admitted. “How ... how are you?”
Jamal laughed, harshly. “I have been interrogated, at length,” he said. “I told them I could tell them nothing and they still interrogated me ...”
Duncan felt his temper snap. “What in the name of all the gods were you thinking?”
He could understand the other idiots who had joined Jamal’s gang. None of them could have expected to inherit much, beyond their family names and a sense of entitlement. But Jamal ... Jamal had been the Prime Heir. He would have inherited everything Duncan and his ancestors had built up over the years. And he’d risked everything just to lash out at the Levellers. How could he have been so stupid?
“It needed to be done, father,” Jamal said. “Someone had to take the lead.”
“And you fancied yourself a leader,” Duncan finished.
He wanted to scream at his son. But memories intruded. He remembered the day when Jamal, barely three years old, had produced his first spark of magic. It had been fantastic to look at it and know that his eldest son would be powerful indeed. And he’d seen the exam results from the Peerless School ... whatever Johan might believe, Jamal had proved himself academically as well. Duncan was proud of him, even when he was angry. It had led him to be softer with his eldest son than, perhaps, he should have been.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered
, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. There would be time enough to convince Jamal to behave himself in future. For now, all that mattered was securing his release. He should have pushed harder, he told himself. The family’s influence would have been enough to get Jamal moved to a better cell, at the very least. “I’ll get you out of here. Whatever it takes, I’ll get you out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Is there anything better,” Johan asked himself, “than messing around in boats?”
It had taken him several days to learn how to row properly, but once he had picked it up he’d discovered that it was surprisingly relaxing. The lake bordered a cliff that actually hid a handful of little caves and passageways, some of which he had even tried to explore, while the lake itself held dozens of fish which eyed the boat curiously. Sooner or later, Johan suspected, they would have to actually learn to fish, but until then he was content to merely watch them swimming under the water.
He looked over at Elaine, who was sitting on the shore reading a book. After one disastrous trip out on the water, she’d decided not to go out again. Johan hadn’t given any thought to the dangers of drowning – he swam fairly well - but he hadn’t realised that Elaine couldn’t swim until it was almost too late. As it was, he was far too aware that if she’d been wearing her normal robes, she would have drowned before he could reach her.
Smiling to himself, he turned and rowed back towards where she was waiting. He had tried to use his magic to push the boat, but the results had been mixed. One experiment had tipped the boat over and flung him into the water, the other had pushed the boat into the rocky cliff face so hard that he was sure that he’d damaged the hull. It had taken him several hours of careful inspection to be sure that the boat hadn’t sprung a leak.
“Hey,” he called, as the boat neared shore. “A little help here?”
Elaine looked up, then raised her wand. An invisible force caught the boat and pulled it up onto the shore, allowing Johan to scramble out and pull it right out of the water. It was surprising just how heavy the boat was on dry land, even though it was light on the water, but Elaine had flatly refused to help him secure it the first time. If he couldn’t do it for himself, she’d said, there was no point in doing it at all. Johan had felt like sulking, before reminding himself that he wasn’t Jamal. He needed to know how to do things for himself.
“Thank you,” he said, when he was done. Tipping the boat over, at least, was easier on dry land. “Do you think it’s going to rain again?”
“Probably,” Elaine said, looking up at the sky. It was the middle of the day, but it was already growing darker as clouds formed high overhead. “Make sure the boat is secure, then we will walk back to the cabin.”
Johan smiled. In the last few days, he’d explored the area; sometimes with Elaine, sometimes on his own. Climbing the mountains had been trickier than he’d expected, but the views had been worth it ... and it was something Jamal had never done. The sense of being completely isolated had only grown stronger, even though he’d spotted a number of other cabins in the distance. If there were other people around they gave the Inquisitor’s cabin a wide berth.
“Coming,” he said, once he’d checked the boat again. “What are we having for dinner?”
Food seemed to taste better in the mountains. Elaine was an indifferent cook at best – Johan hadn’t even been allowed to help the cooks at home – but it didn’t seem to matter. It always tasted good after a long day of practicing magic, then walking or rowing to burn off energy.
“Bread, meat and cheese,” Elaine said. She looked tired, even though she hadn’t done anything more strenuous than sitting on a chair she’d dragged down from the cabin. “I think we both need to rest.”
Johan scowled. Elaine could become exhausted by working magic, but he seemed to be largely immune to such problems. Walking, rowing and swimming made him tired; magic didn’t seem to cost him anything at all. It was worrying, Elaine had told him; his magic was either thoroughly weird, because the energy had to be coming from somewhere, or he just had vast power reserves, well in excess of any other recorded magician.
Thunder rolled in the sky as they walked up the path, followed by the first splashes of rain. Elaine waved her wand in the air, trying to shield them, but her protective charm wasn’t perfect. As the wind changed, it blew raindrops into their faces and sent streams of water gushing down their clothes. By the time they reached the cabin, they were both dripping wet and thoroughly miserable.
Elaine’s shirt was so wet that it was clinging to her skin, revealing the shape of her breasts and nipples. Johan stared, then looked away, embarrassed. Elaine, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice as she cast a warming charm, drying both Johan and herself. Johan kept his gaze fixed on the stove until they were both dry, then started to load it up with firewood and pinecones. It had been surprisingly fun to collect them, knowing that they were to be burnt.
“I’ll light it,” Elaine said, sharply. She pointed her wand at the stove; a moment later, the pinecones caught fire, burning brightly in the darkened stove. “I think we’ll be staying in tonight.”
Johan couldn’t disagree, he decided as he looked out of the window. Visibility was down to a few metres at best, thanks to the rain – and he knew from experience that mist often followed a major rainstorm. Even if it was still technically daylight when the rain stopped, they might still get lost. Or run right into the bog.
“Agreed,” he said, watching as the rain dripped down the window. “How safe is this cabin?”
“It’s stood for hundreds of years, according to the Inquisitors,” Elaine said. “I dare say that it will survive anything other than your magic.”
Johan sighed. He hadn’t meant to scare her when he’d picked her up, but it had clearly bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Charity had shown the same reaction to Jamal more than once ... and then she’d been weirdly subdued at the disastrous family meeting, after she’d been accidentally turned into a rat. He would have almost preferred a thrashing – his father’s standard response to any misbehaviour from his younger children – than have her be worried about him. Or scared of him.
He watched as she laid bread, cheese and meat out on the table, then sat down to eat beside her. For a long moment, he ate in silence, then Elaine started to talk, telling him stories of long-gone witches and wizards and how they’d changed the world. One story focused on the very first Grand Sorcerer, the one who had won the First Necromantic War, but there was an odd edge to her voice as she spoke. And Johan couldn’t help feeling that the story was incomplete.
But it was something he’d never done with his family; he found himself enjoying it as she outlined several different stories. The King who had enchanted his Crown; the Prince who had walked away from the Throne; the Princess who lost her way ... they were all part of the Empire’s heritage, a heritage that his father had tried to deny him. What good did it do to hide those stories? Even the mundanes knew them!
“Thank you,” he said, when she had finished. “I wish ... I wish I’d heard more.”
“There will be more,” Elaine assured him. “Which one did you like best?”
“The Enchanted Crown,” Johan said, after a moment. “Is it actually real?”
“It would be possible to make a crown that judges its wearer, I suppose,” Elaine said, thoughtfully. “But what king would choose to favour a stranger over his own children?”
Johan nodded, sourly. Blood was the determining factor in families, after all; his blood still made him part of House Conidian, no matter how much he strove to deny it. He could barely imagine his father choosing to strip Jamal of his Prime Heir status; it was impossible to imagine that he would pass the family’s collected wealth and patronage network to a stranger. His children were his only real hope of immortality ...
He stood up and walked over to the sofa. Elaine’s books were sitting there; he picked one of them up and glanced at the title. Hafiz’s Protective Wards, Rituals, R
ites and Spells. The other book was far thinner, written in a purple liquid he suspected might be blood. A Guide To The Various Venomous Sprites, Faye, Fallen Gods and Demons of the Netherworlds with particular attention to the Kings of Demons. There was no author noted below the overlong title.
“Most of that book is nonsense,” Elaine said, coming over to see what he was holding. “You can generally tell the value of a book by its title. The longer and more pretentious it is, the less the practical value of whatever happens to be written inside. This writer took a few rumours, made others up out of whole cloth and wrote them down. But there are still people who take it seriously.”
Johan smiled. “What are you doing with it?”
“I’m supposed to write a rebuttal we can slip into the library’s copies,” Elaine said, shrugging. “Something to tell people that trying the rituals in this book are a waste of time at best and a sure-fire murder charge at worst. The only ritual that actually works is one that ensures that only one person can read the book ... and that is actually a fairly common spell.”
“Like Charity’s diary,” Johan said. “When I opened it, it was blank ... even though I knew that she had been writing in it.”
Elaine lifted an eyebrow. “And when did you look in it?”
“I was twelve,” Johan protested. “And I didn’t get away with it either.”
“Glad to hear it,” Elaine mused. She grinned at him. “Girls do need a little privacy.”
“I’ll remember that if I ever have children,” Johan said. He passed her the book, then picked up the other one. “Why this one?”
“You damaged my last set of wards,” Elaine reminded him. “I wanted to try some of the other protections outlined in this book.”
Johan frowned. “I thought that you had all of the knowledge stuffed into your head?”
“It sometimes helps to see the actual words and diagrams,” Elaine admitted. She opened one page and held it out to him. “Although this is really too difficult for someone like me, no matter how much insight I have.”
Bookworm II: The Very Ugly Duckling Page 26