“We’re closed,” a quavering voice said. “Come back tomorrow.”
Elaine had to bite her lip to keep from snickering. “I need to establish a link to the Golden City, now,” she said. She reached into her pocket and produced a handful of gold coins. “This is enough to pay for it, isn’t it?”
The staffer stared at her, nervously. “I ... we’re closed,” he protested. “I ...”
What would Dread do? Elaine asked herself. The answer was obvious; he would bulldoze his way through any objections until he got what he wanted. But Dread was a trained Inquisitor, with a voice that could compel obedience from even the most hardened of criminals. He’d once told her that it using the right tone was more effective than any charm. But Elaine didn’t quite have the nerve ...
She put the coins on the table. “I would take it as a personal favour,” she said, quietly. “Call the remainder of the coins your tip.”
The young man staggered to his feet. “I can’t,” he said. For a moment, Elaine was surprised; a civil servant refusing a bribe? That was as unprecedented as Johan’s powers. “The balls have been smashed.”
Elaine blinked in surprise. “Someone has smashed your balls?”
“They shattered, just before the first big explosions began,” the young man said. “I ... I can’t put them back together.”
“No, I suppose you can’t,” Elaine said. She searched her mind for options. “Do you have any inactive spares?”
The young man shook his head. Elaine glared down at the table, cursing under her breath. Crystal balls were fantastically complex pieces of art, each one produced by a trained enchanter; she knew the spells to make them work, but she couldn’t hope to put one together herself, certainly not from destroyed balls. But what had happened to them? Had the first pulse she’d sensed disabled them or had someone managed to work out a spell to take them out? If so ... the results could be disastrous.
Magic communications held the Empire together. Light Spinner would hear, instantly, of a revolt on the other side of the world and be able to take corrective measures. Without magic, it would take months to get word from one side of the Empire to the other. If the network shattered, the Empire would shatter with it. At the very least, it would take years to put the network back together again.
And chaos suits the Witch-King, she thought. It would make it far harder for Light Spinner and her few allies who knew about the Witch-King to track him down if the Empire was coming apart around them. All of a sudden, she felt torn; she wanted to go after Johan, but at the same time she knew that she had to warn Light Spinner. They needed to put contingency plans in place for dealing with a mass communications breakdown.
“Right,” she said, trying to sound like Dread. The look on the clerk’s face suggested that he was not entirely convinced. “What other options are there?”
The clerk swallowed. “You can hire a horseman to carry dispatches, or you can put them on the Iron Dragon and have them taken to the city ...”
Elaine passed him twenty gold coins. “I am going to write a letter,” she said. “You are going to take it to the Golden City, right to the Palace. I strongly advise you” – she tapped her wand meaningfully – “not to try to open the letter. The results would be unpleasant.”
The clerk stared at the money, his eyes going wide. Like the farmer, it was probably more money than he’d ever seen in his life.
“I will,” he said. He coughed. “I mean, I won’t open the letter.”
Elaine smiled. “Good,” she said.
She picked up a piece of paper and an envelope, then scribbled out a quick explanation. Light Spinner – and Dread – could extrapolate the rest, she suspected. The magic pulses she’d sensed might well have reached the Golden City. She sealed the letter, tapped it with her wand to make sure that no one could open it apart from the intended recipient, and passed it to him.
Once he took the letter – and the coins – Elaine strode out of the door. Whatever else happened, she had to track Johan down. The gods alone knew what he thought he was doing.
Chapter Thirty-One
Urgent summons to the Privy Council are becoming more common, Duncan thought, as he followed the others into the meeting room. One of his predecessors – who hadn’t kept his seat under Light Spinner – had told him that the last Grand Sorcerer had summoned his council as rarely as possible, but then he’d been Grand Sorcerer long enough for everyone to have got into the habit of obedience. Light Spinner was just beginning her reign. Maybe, just maybe, some of her councillors believed that they could wrestle power from her while she was still finding her feet.
Of the twelve councillors, two seemed to be missing. The Head Librarian was away somewhere with Johan – Duncan’s spies had been unable to locate either of them – but Lady Lakeside seemed to have absented herself too. Duncan puzzled over her absence, then looked over at Deferens and knew the answer. Lady Lakeside might not be willing to vote to liberate Jamal and the other terrorists, but if she wasn’t there she couldn’t vote against it.
Politics, Duncan thought, rolling his eyes as he took his seat. But politics had taken his family far and would take it still further, if they kept working away at it. Who knew? Jamal’s child might even have a chance to become Grand Sorcerer. We need politics to live and rule. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“As of now,” Light Spinner said, without bothering with the formalities, “the murderer of Graham of House Arndell remains unknown. The Inquisitors have followed up every possible lead – they were far from gentle – but none of those they interrogated knew who was responsible for the killing. Nor have we been able to identify the magician or magicians who assisted them.”
The table seemed to shiver with indignation. It was fiendishly difficult for a non-magician to escape magicians who were hunting him, at least without magical assistance of his own. The Privy Council would vote to hang the killer, when they caught him, but they would want the magician who had aided him tortured to death slowly and painfully. How could he turn against his own kind?
Money, probably, Duncan thought, ruefully. In his experience, principles only lasted so long; everyone had their price. A few thousand gold coins would tempt a magician to do anything, even kill a fellow magician. Or maybe there had been a grudge against House Arndell that had nothing to do with the young idiot currently locked up in the Watchtower. As far as he knew, the Inquisitors weren’t following up that angle of approach. But it wasn’t something he could mention at the table. The gods knew who that would offend.
“So we have a mundane who has killed a magician and got away with it,” Deferens said, into the silence. “I fear that the Levellers are already moving on to the next stage of their campaign.”
“There is no proof that the Levellers were behind the murder,” Light Spinner pointed out, a hint of exasperation clear in her tone. “All of their leaders were interrogated, thoroughly. If one of them carried out the murder, they never informed their senior leadership.”
“So we go through them all, one by one,” Deferens said. “And then we send them all off to a penal colony somewhere, if they are no good as slaves.”
Light Spinner’s face was invisible, but Duncan was sure that he detected more than just irritation in the way she carried herself. Lady Lakeside would have argued with Deferens; Light Spinner couldn’t, not without compromising her dignity. And, as perception was almost as important as reality, compromising her dignity would also compromise her position.
“That is not the issue here,” Light Spinner said, finally. “There has been a petition” – she looked at Duncan – “filed for the release of Jamal Conidian and the other terrorists held within the Watchtower. We are, in fact, obliged to try them now.”
“I move to dismiss all charges,” Deferens said, quickly. “Let them be released at once.”
“Seconded,” Lord Ahlstrom said. “We need such young men to maintain our society.”
Light Spinner was unmoving for a long sec
ond – probably, Duncan reflected, regretting the absence of magicians who could present the opposing point of view. Lady Lakeside would not have agreed to let them go free without a fight; whatever Deferens had offered her to secure her absence, he decided, had been well worth it. And then there was the missing Head Librarian ... but as long as nine seats were filled, they had a quorum. They could vote ...
“The charges against them are serious,” Lord Falcate said, flatly. He was known for being tough on everyone, including himself. “We should not just release them without some form of ... punishment. Maybe they should be publicly whipped.”
“They are not mundanes,” Duncan said, sharply. Public floggings were common for mundane criminals, particularly the ones not worth the effort of jailing or enslaving, but magicians were spared such indignities. “To have them whipped in public would suggest that we were desperate to prove that we took their crimes seriously.”
“We do take their crimes seriously,” Lord Falcate snapped. “They are responsible for the death of nineteen mundanes, vast amounts of pain and suffering and the appearance of a whole new kind of magician. Punishment is clearly indicated.”
“For punishing mundanes who dared to suggest that our society be upended,” Deferens reminded him, smoothly. “Do we really, after the death of young Graham, wish to buy the support of the mob?”
Duncan settled backwards, preparing himself. He suspected that six or seven of the ten Privy Councillors would definitely vote to free them, particularly if he proposed his compromise. The others ... might join them or abstain. Apart from Lord Falcate, there weren’t any others who might vote against. That would leave Light Spinner effectively isolated at the table. If she vetoed their decision, she would face the combined opposition of the entire council.
He tapped the table as the argument grew louder. “I wish to propose a compromise,” he said, softly. “The prisoners come from good families, of decent stock.”
There were nods, although he knew that some of them would definitely consider his family to be of lower stock than families who had spent their entire existence in the Golden City. But they would listen long enough to let him make his point.
“Let the families take responsibility for them,” he said. “Whatever else can be said of my son, he has disgraced the family name. I will ensure that he cleans up his behaviour or goes straight back to the Watchtower. The families who wish their sons back can swear an oath to ensure that they no longer commit such crimes.”
“But we may require them to commit such crimes,” Deferens pointed out, as planned. “Who knows what the Levellers will do next?”
“There are ways to deal with the Levellers that do not require torture and humiliation,” Lord Falcate said. “Let the oaths be such that those who break them will suffer terribly.”
“I was going to propose that they no longer used magic on mundanes unless engaged in direct self-defence,” Duncan said. “Such an oath would be sufficiently binding, without making it impossible to do their studies.”
“So it would seem,” Lord Falcate said. “But oaths have been broken before.”
“The prisoners can swear oaths too,” Light Spinner said. “Let them be enchained by oaths sworn on their magic.”
Duncan winced. He had wanted to spare Jamal that, but Deferens had told him that it was unlikely that it could be avoided. An oath on his part was one thing; Jamal, if he remained Prime Heir, should be as unencumbered by oaths as possible. But there was no way to avoid it.
And it won’t stop him from using magic altogether, he reminded himself. It will just keep him out of trouble.
“Agreed,” he said.
“The oaths must be written carefully,” Lord Falcate said, crossly. “Very carefully.”
Light Spinner nodded. “All in favour?”
Eight hands rose into the air. Lord Falcate and Lady Erving had both abstained. Or perhaps they wanted to vote against ... not that it would matter. Eight votes was enough to force the issue, even against the Grand Sorceress.
“This is not a pardon,” Light Spinner said, quietly. She knew it too. “This is not forgiveness, nor shall we forget what they did. If they act badly again, they will go back to the Watchtower, even if they don’t break their oaths openly.”
And if they do, Duncan thought, it will kill them.
He was torn between relief and fear for his eldest son as he walked up to the Watchtower, accompanied by Deferens. The younger man kept smirking, but said nothing, not even trying to demand a price for his help. Duncan was sure that there would be a price, sooner or later, yet he was too relieved to care. Maybe Deferens had his eye on the Grand Sorceress’s position. It was against protocol to try to unseat one directly, but Deferens was ambitious enough to try.
The Inquisitors seemed to be out in force, he noted, as they entered the Watchtower and were shown into a single small room. They eyed the newcomers suspiciously, watching them as they waited for Jamal and his guards. Duncan almost felt his heart break when Jamal finally shuffled in, heavy iron chains attached to his feet and nasty-looking handcuffs binding his hands behind his back. Only a handful of magicians could cast spells while bound by iron, for reasons that escaped him; oddly, he found himself wondering if Johan could cast such spells. Duncan knew that he certainly couldn’t.
“This is the text of an oath,” an Inquisitor said. She was young, surprisingly so, with long blonde hair that dangled out of her hood. Definitely pretty enough to attract his attention ... but if she was an Inquisitor, she would be far too dangerous for him to toy with. “You will swear it upon your magic or you will not be allowed to leave the Watchtower. Do you understand the oath?”
She held the piece of paper up in front of Jamal’s eyes. Someone had clearly been in touch from the palace; the oath was simple, direct, and covered all the points that had been discussed in the meeting. The charms on the parchment, he sensed, would provide a gentle reminder at first, followed by something more lethal. At worst, he knew, direct deliberate disobedience would mean death.
Forcing a magician to swear an oath was insulting, a cause for a duel. Every so often, someone suggested using oaths to bind the magic of newcomers to the Peerless School; equally often, such oaths were rejected. Magic was the gift of the gods; it was not for humans to bind ... or so he had been told. The real reason, he suspected, was that magicians simply didn’t like bowing to authority, even their own.
“I understand,” Jamal said, weakly.
The Inquisitor scowled. Somehow, she still managed to look beautiful. “And will you swear?”
Jamal bowed his head. “I will,” he said. The Inquisitors unlocked the cuffs, allowing him to take the piece of paper in his hand. “I, Jamal of House Conidian, swear that I will not use my magic on mundanes except in direct self-defence. So it shall be.”
The magic field altered, slightly, as the oath shimmered into existence. Jamal was bound now, by a force that was woven into his very soul. If he broke the oath, Duncan knew, he would die. But there was another oath that had to be sworn.
He took the piece of paper the Inquisitor offered him and scowled down at the words. Subtle magic crawled over the parchment, warning him of the dread consequences of swearing the oath. Jamal might have thought little of it, or had just been desperate to leave the Watchtower, but Duncan could not afford to be so blasé. He gathered up his resolve, forcing the words out of his mouth. It had to be done.
“I, Duncan, Patriarch of House Conidian, swear that I will take responsibility for my son, Jamal Conidian, and that I will ensure that his behaviour is free of all criminal activity,” he said. “So it shall be.”
The world seemed to grow dim around him for a long second as the magic took hold, binding him to his word. Duncan ground his teeth and waited for the sensation to fade. It wasn’t the first oath he’d sworn, but it seemed to be harder than the one he’d sworn to always uphold the family’s interests. Maybe, he told himself, as the world slowly returned to normal, it was a reflection
of his doubts about Jamal. Oath or no oath, making a proper human being out of him would be a hard task.
“Very good,” the Inquisitor said. Jamal was now Duncan’s problem – in all ways. Failure would mean death. “You may take your son from the Watchtower.”
Jamal waited until the chains were removed, then stumbled out of the room. Duncan followed him, after nodding goodbye to Deferens; the younger magician seemed inclined to stay and watch the other families as their children were released. It struck Duncan, suddenly, that Deferens had earned favours from seven other families, not just Duncan’s family ... he would be very well rewarded for his work. Some of those families were among the most powerful in the city.
There were a handful of carriages waiting by the gates. Duncan motioned for Jamal to get into one, then followed him, passing the driver a coin and their address. The carriage rattled to life; Duncan tapped his lips when Jamal opened his mouth and started to speak; who knew who might be listening to their conversation? Besides, what he wanted to say could wait until they got back home.
Their family – minus Johan – met them at the door. Duncan felt his heart sink when he saw that Charity and the rest of Jamal’s siblings seemed unenthusiastic about seeing him again, even after a long stay in prison. But then, it had only really been a week ... Jamal looked as though he had been in the Watchtower for months, if not years. He muttered orders to the menservants, telling them to wash Jamal, then dress him and escort him back down to Duncan’s study. Jamal would not have a chance to get comfortable before Duncan laid down the law.
“Thank you,” he said, when the menservants finally helped Jamal into the study. He had been washed and dressed in clean clothes, but he still looked subdued. Duncan could only hope that would last. “You may leave us.”
He glared at his eldest son as Jamal slumped into a chair. “I owe you an apology,” he said, simply. It was hard to keep the disgust out of his voice. “I really should have thrashed you more as a child. But I was so proud of how clever and powerful you are that I closed my eyes to a great many things. In hindsight, that was a dangerous mistake.”
Bookworm II: The Very Ugly Duckling Page 29