by Zen Cho
“Yes, it will all be perfectly aboveboard, I am sure,” said Damerell, eyeing him. “You certainly do not lack perseverance, Midsomer. I would not have expected less than that, having failed in all your attempts to assassinate Wythe, you should resort to knocking on his door and demanding that he put his neck in your noose.”
“You call me an assassin, sir?” said Midsomer. He tried to smile. “But the Hallett is a legal device, as I think you will find, and one of great antiquity.”
“Oh no,” said Damerell, his eyes gleaming. “I call you a sad incompetent, and your toad-eaters a pack of cowards, to seek to murder a man by committee.”
Midsomer’s face grew stormy. Cullip leapt forward, unholstering a wand from beneath his coat. Behind him an angry chant rose, many-voiced.
Damerell held up his hands. The sky grew dark, though it was morning. The lamps lining the street took on a lurid purple glow. Every man was haloed with green light, and the thick smell of magic washed into the nostrils with every breath.
“Gentlemen, I beg you will be calm,” said Zacharias, but he was already scrabbling for the counter-formula.
It was by pure chance that he looked up while searching his memory for the right syllables, and saw Prunella in the sky, speeding towards them upon a cloud.
She was shouting as she came, and when she leapt off her cloud he saw that she was soaking wet, her hair plastered to her head and her dress clinging to her form.
“She has run away,” she gasped. “She has hid herself in the sea, the coward, and she will not come out whatever names I call her. I had her—oh, I had her by the tail! I have searched an age, but the longer she is hidden, the more likely it is that we shall never find her. It is her realm, you know, so she will know all the best places to hide. You must come directly and find her out. There is not a moment to lose!”
“Prunella, my dear, you are soaked through!” cried Lady Wythe. She burst forth to the startlement of the assembled thaumaturges, who had not observed her lurking behind the door. “Where on earth have you been? But let us have no explanations now. We must get you dry as soon as we can. Oh—how do you do, sirs?”
The ominous chanting had fallen silent upon Lady Wythe’s appearance. Cullip stuck his wand back into his coat and muttered:
“Very well, ma’am, how d’you do? Ahem! I regret the necessity of disrupting your morning with Society business.”
“Not at all,” said Lady Wythe, smiling. “But you will forgive me if I ask whether the Society’s business could not be transacted somewhere other than my doorstep? I have here a young lady who will catch cold if swift measures are not taken, and Zacharias has not yet had his breakfast. These domestic contretemps will seem of little consequence to you, sirs, but you will humour a mere female, I know.”
The thaumaturges wavered. Lady Wythe had a great deal of natural authority; she was still held in considerable esteem by the Society; and she knew how to handle magicians. She had resisted the temptation to rush out and make a scene, showing herself at precisely that moment upon good advisement, and she would have brought it off if not for Prunella.
“Zacharias will have to delay his breakfast, ma’am,” Prunella said firmly. “We must go and kill the fairy who has been trying to murder him.”
Midsomer had begun to speak, but he clamped his mouth shut. Zacharias stared at Prunella, taken aback.
“The fairy?” he said.
“We have had it all wrong, Zacharias,” said Prunella. “It is not Mr. Midsomer who set those horrid traps for you, but his familiar! I saw the orb at the party, you see—the curse, I mean—so I went to his house, thinking I might discover if it was the same. But there Mrs. Midsomer attacked me! I routed her, however, I and my fa—” Prunella broke off, glancing at the thaumaturges. “That is to say, I suppose her guilt overcame her, for she turned into a mermaid and fled to the sea. I pursued her, but when I could not find her I thought I ought to return and seek assistance.”
“Where is Midsomer?” said Damerell abruptly.
The man was nowhere to be seen. His accomplices appeared no less bewildered than Damerell.
“Oh, was he here?” said Prunella, looking around. “You might have said. He will have gone to help her, of course. I should not be surprised if the creature were halfway across the Channel by now, with her husband in tow.”
“Where did you leave her?” said Damerell.
Prunella was already climbing back upon her cloud.
“She was just off the coast at Lyme when I left,” said Prunella. “It is a great distance to traverse even by cloud, but we—that is to say, I have worked out a modification of Mr. Hsiang’s spell that closes the leagues with singular speed.”
“We will follow by another method,” said Zacharias, who disliked heights. “Damerell, do you think it wise, perhaps, to call—?”
“It is already done,” said Damerell. “Gentlemen, we will take our leave of you.”
Cullip spluttered: “The Committee’s summons—!” But before he could complete his protest, Zacharias and Damerell had vanished.
“If you are so concerned about what the Presiding Committee will think, may I suggest that you summon a conclave to discuss the matter?” said Lady Wythe. A dangerous light shone in her eye. “I shall have something to say to the Committee myself, for it seems to me there has been a great deal of impropriety in these proceedings, which would never have been permitted in Sir Stephen’s day.”
• • •
EVEN if Cullip had wished to comply with Lady Wythe’s suggestion, he would have struggled to assemble an adequate quorum for a Committee meeting. Zacharias was received at Lyme Regis by a group of thaumaturges assembled upon the Cobb, comprising Lord Burrow, most of the members of the Presiding Committee—and Geoffrey Midsomer.
“Mr. Wythe,” said Midsomer portentously. “The Presiding Committee has been summoned here to witness, in person, your many breaches of your duties as Sorcerer Royal.”
“This is most irregular,” said Damerell. “Could not this have waited for a proper trial at the Society?”
Lord Burrow glanced at Midsomer. The Chairman of the Presiding Committee was generally esteemed for his integrity, though he had never much liked Zacharias.
“It is unusual,” he said, “but not unprovided for by the Charter. We were informed that we would receive evidence of Mr. Wythe’s alleged misdeeds here.”
“It is just as well,” said Zacharias before Damerell could respond. “For I have an allegation of my own to put to the Committee.”
It was clear he could no longer wait for the evidence he had hoped for, which Sir Stephen was still struggling to unearth. Zacharias must put his case, and hope the public and unusual setting would compel an admission from Midsomer.
“I should have preferred to discuss this with you privately, before putting in action the formal machinery of the Society,” he said to Midsomer. “But you have left me with no alternative. Do you deny that two months ago you performed an unlawful summoning, thereby depleting London’s atmospheric magic, and acquiring a familiar—a mermaid who until recently you have passed off as your wife?”
Midsomer’s eyes widened. Lord Burrow looked from Zacharias to his nephew, frowning. Whatever Midsomer had told his supporters, it seemed his uncle had not heard of this.
“Is this true, sir?” said Lord Burrow to Midsomer.
“Oh, why fixate upon such a trifle?” said Damerell maliciously. “Who among us has not dreamt of summoning himself a familiar? Midsomer is to be congratulated upon having become, in one stroke, a husband and a sorcerer. Let us not condemn him for his inattention to such a minor detail as the law.”
Midsomer seemed to lose his head at being so transformed from accuser to accused. He said, wild-eyed:
“Will you take the word of a bastard and a negro over that of your own nephew, sir?”
“Why, if th
ey tell the truth, yes,” said Lord Burrow, but his voice was drowned out by a growling roar from above.
“Dash it, you contemptible mountebank! You are not to speak so to Poggs. You are not to call him such names!”
A vast shadow had fallen upon the roiling seas. In the sky a golden dragon came arrowing towards them, his wings spread wide and smoke rising from his jaws.
A groan of recognition rose from the Committee. Lord Burrow, looking quite human in his trepidation, turned to Damerell and said:
“Pray tell me that is not Robert of Threlfall.”
“Am I not to be permitted the assistance of my own familiar?” said Damerell haughtily. “I am a sorcerer, if I am a bastard. If the Society wishes me to forget it, it ought not to insist on sending me so many circulars.”
To Rollo, wheeling in the sky, he called: “Do not lose your temper, Rollo. It is foolish to expect a Midsomer to conduct himself like a gentleman. Never mind him, but see if you can find this mermaid Prunella has told us about. She is hid within the waters.”
“There you are!” cried Midsomer, with such triumph that Zacharias and Damerell stared. “There is the evidence I promised you, sirs. Mr. Wythe has sought to deprive Britain’s thaumaturges of their birthright of magic, and to pass that power to the undeserving. To this end, in secret, he has been educating a female in the unnatural science of thaumaturgy. And here she comes—the witch he has been training!”
Prunella dismounted from her cloud, seeming not to notice the startled gaze of the Committee.
“Have you still not found her?” she said disapprovingly. “Really, I have no notion how you managed before we met. It seems as though nothing can be done without me.”
Rollo’s massive scaly head appeared above the waters. He was paddling in the sea, looking for all the world like a gigantic dog.
“The mermaid is here somewhere, for I can sense her,” he panted. “But I believe she has made herself invisible. Oh, have you arrived, Miss Gentleman?”
“How do you do, Rollo?” said Prunella.
Prunella and Rollo had become fast friends in the course of Damerell’s shepherding of Prunella through ton society, but as far as Zacharias knew, Rollo had never appeared before her in his true shape. He preferred the human form, it being better suited for such pursuits as inspecting the horseflesh at Tattersall’s and playing whist at White’s. Yet Prunella did not seem disconcerted by encountering a dragon in the place of the dandy she had known.
“If you would have the kindness to continue searching beneath the waters,” she said, “I shall see what I can do to assist.”
She spread her hands, and lightnings flashed between them. The waves rose like children in a schoolroom, shoving and grumbling as they came to their feet. Prunella’s dark hair streamed out behind her on the salt wind blowing off the sea, and she spoke in a clarion voice.
“Bring her to me,” said Prunella. “The siren-singer; the murderous mermaid, fish-tailed and silver-eyed; she of the scale-feet and webbed fingers; she of the many names—Lorelei—Laura Lee—she who is called Mrs. Midsomer!”
“Ha!” said Rollo’s voice from the watery deeps. He rose from the sea, liberally sprinkling the magicians arrayed upon the Cobb.
He held something within his jaws. Rearing up, he dropped it gently on the ground, where it lay gasping like a beached fish.
It was Mrs. Midsomer.
23
IT WAS NOT a situation in which even the most elegant woman would have appeared to advantage. Laura Midsomer (née Lee, alias Lorelei) suffered further from having had insufficient notice of her marine excursion. She was still clad in the everyday attire of a mortal woman, dressed in expectation of encountering nothing wetter than the British spring. Her top half was clothed in a spencer, whose hardier material hid the curves her sodden dress could not fail to display. The whole shining, sinuous length of her tail emerged from her dress below.
The men soon thought better of staring, however. This was Mrs. Midsomer’s native environment, and her anger rendered her incandescent with power.
“Blackguards!” she spat. “Fools! Weaklings! Is this how you defend me, Geoffrey, your wife whom you promised to protect, your familiar who pledged you her service? Are these your friends indeed the finest magicians in England, who have permitted a jumped-up chit and her pet beast to manhandle me?”
The pet beast in question peered over the side of the Cobb. An expression of astonishment overspread his countenance.
“Why, what’s this?” cried Rollo, but no one paid any mind to him.
Prunella was haloed in green light, the remnants of the power she had expended in her spell still clinging to her frame. The glow reflected in her eyes made them appear lightless and deep, giving her the remote look of a vengeful goddess.
She held out her hand, and a metal ball floated out of the wreck of Mrs. Midsomer’s dress. It was wreathed in the same eldritch light that outlined Prunella’s form. Within the depths of the orb was reflected an image of the sea, small but wonderfully vivid. Waves crashed against the shore, and white flecks of seagulls wheeled around the grey curve of a minute sky, their lonesome cries echoing in counterpoint to the voices of the birds in the skies above.
“Our conversation was interrupted, Mrs. Midsomer,” she said. “This is yours, I think.”
“You know perfectly well it is,” snarled Mrs. Midsomer. “What business had you to take it?”
“Oh, I am always poking my nose into things that are not my business,” said Prunella. “But on this occasion, I had better grounds than usual for doing so. I exercised the rights of an apprentice—” She lifted her eyes to Zacharias, and smiled. “The rights of a friend. Are you the author of the attacks upon Mr. Wythe? That is all I wish to hear from you.”
“This is beyond anything,” cried Midsomer. “Gentlemen, do you mean to stand by and permit my wife to be interrogated by this—this—”
“Chit?” said Prunella helpfully.
“Magicienne,” said Zacharias.
The Presiding Committee stared at him.
“Do you require any further evidence of her abilities?” said Zacharias. “As you have witnessed yourselves, Miss Gentleman has been trained in the strictest principles of thaumaturgical practise, and can justly be called no witch, but a magicienne. Though indeed I hope we can one day overcome this unreasoning dislike of witches—fine craftsmen and women, on the whole—no worse, taken as a body, than any illusion of thaumaturges.”
“Really, Zacharias, this is not the time to be lecturing the gentlemen,” exclaimed Prunella. “Cannot you tell that we are on the brink of extracting a confession from Mrs. Midsomer that she has been conspiring to murder you?”
“These accusations are baseless,” said Midsomer, crimson. “I admit I moved for the Hallett when it became evident that Mr. Wythe was unfit to hold his office. That seemed to be my clear duty. However, the notion that I or my wife should have made any attempt upon a brother thaumaturge’s life is ludicrous!”
“I say nothing as to your involvement. I can well believe you had little to do with it,” said Prunella graciously. “Your wife, however, is certainly a murderess.”
“You had better say: not a murderess yet!” said Mrs. Midsomer. “If my efforts to kill Zacharias Wythe have failed, it is only because I could not draw upon my full powers. My puling master insisted I refrain from wonder-working, lest I reveal my nature. Now I am in my true form, however—!”
“There, you see,” said Prunella to Midsomer. “She has been endeavouring to kill Mr. Wythe. She says so herself.”
To Midsomer’s credit, he looked as astonished as everyone else.
“I knew nothing of this, Laura,” he said.
“That is because you do not attend,” said Mrs. Midsomer waspishly. “If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times. I did not come to your realm for my health. I came with
one motive: to discover the sorcerer who murdered my beloved, and avenge his death. Once I am done we shall return to my home—to the glorious caverns my aunt the Queen has bequeathed to me, and their mysterious underground seas—so there was no need for you to be in such a pother about your silly Society. Even if you did become Sorcerer Royal you could not remain one for long.”
“But I had no notion your beloved had anything to do with Zacharias Wythe,” protested Midsomer.
“You would know if you had only listened!” snapped Mrs. Midsomer. “My beloved was not called Leofric when I knew him. A mortal gave him the name—the first Sorcerer Royal. How he loved that mortal! ’Twas for his sake that he went away from me, and lived out his life in exile from Fairyland. To serve the Sorcerer Royal was the only desire of his heart, and Zacharias Wythe killed him, the traitor—the villain—the murderer!”
Her voice rose to a shrill pitch that blended with the wind, whipping the waves into a frenzy. The magicians clapped their hands over their ears. Mrs. Midsomer planted her palms on the ground and flipped herself backwards off the Cobb with effortless strength, splashing into the water.
Midsomer shouted, “Laura, what will you be at?”
“She is growing,” said Zacharias, as the wind howled, and thunder cracked the heavens open. It began to rain, big fat drops falling out of a darkening sky.
“I think she has lost her temper,” said Prunella composedly: her aura was keeping her dry.
• • •
FOR a brief period after Mrs. Midsomer vanished, there was nothing to be seen amid the surging steel-grey waves. Rollo hauled himself onto the rocky end of the Cobb, and thrust his head over the wall, seeming to have something of great importance to communicate.
“I say—” he said, but he was not permitted to finish his sentence.