by Zen Cho
“The command of the familiar Leofric has been a precondition of the office since the time of Roger Hayes,” said Mr. Plimpton. “The staff is not sufficient.”
“It was sufficient with me,” said Zacharias. He was wrinkling his forehead in a manner that signified he had a headache, but did not intend to let anyone else know it. It was a look with which Prunella had grown all too familiar.
Mr. Plimpton glanced at Lord Burrow, who coughed.
“We had received confirmation from the Fairy Court that Leofric had submitted to your control,” he said. “They would not be drawn on the details, but they were unwavering on that point. We could scarcely have permitted your accession to the office without that assurance.”
“I cannot see what is so terribly special about this old dragon,” said Prunella. “My familiars could match him any day, I am sure.”
“Admittedly a practitioner that has the benefit of three familiars must be reckoned an extraordinary force,” said Lord Burrow, not quite addressing her.
The Presiding Committee had not made up its mind as to how it stood on Prunella, and had fallen into two camps: one that glared at her, and another that pretended she was not there. Prunella found both equally diverting.
“But the office of Sorcerer Royal is not merely reserved for the magician that can prove himself most powerful,” said Lord Burrow. “One of its purposes is to preserve our traditions of magic, and the Sorcerer Royal’s familiar is not the least of these. The Sorcerer Royal must have Leofric as well as the staff. Since it appears Mr. Wythe retains Leofric as his familiar, he cannot simply relinquish the staff and expect to be divested of his office.”
“I assure you,” said Zacharias wearily, “if I could be free of Leofric, I would.”
Prunella was not particularly interested in the discussion. It was clear to her that she was Sorceress Royal, and if the Society wished to quarrel with the fact now, they would soon think better of it. Leofric, however, was a subject in which she had considerable interest, and she felt no compunction in interrupting the Committee’s ditherings for this.
“Have not you tried persuading Leofric to leave you, Zacharias?” she said. “I think we ought to have it out with him, ought we not? He seems a wretched inconvenience. I am sure we could find you a better familiar.”
“There is nothing to have out,” said Zacharias shortly. “Our agreement was clear. In any case, even I am unable to converse with Leofric. Our communication takes place by other means.”
“I suppose you mean your midnight visitations!” said Prunella. “It all sounds very unpleasant. I think we ought to speak to him by ordinary means.”
Zacharias opened his mouth, doubtless to object, but Prunella’s familiars had explained his arrangement with Leofric, and it did not seem to her that it would be difficult to extract the dragon. The procedure might cause Zacharias some discomfort, but if she acted quickly enough, he would scarcely notice it. Since his mouth was already open, she decided to take time by the forelock, and plunged her arm down his throat.
“Good God!” cried Damerell.
Zacharias was choking around Prunella’s arm—a horrible sensation—but she resolutely ignored it, and rummaged about. Leofric did not, of course, occupy Zacharias’s physical insides, much though it might feel like it to Zacharias. He inhabited instead a magical space that happened to overlap with Zacharias’s vitals. Fortunately Leofric was the only inhabitant, and Prunella soon found what she was after: a bony limb, covered with scales. She grasped hold of it.
Prunella withdrew her arm in triumph. Zacharias was clutching at his chest, his face twisted in a grimace. He bent over, his hand pressed to his heart, and let loose an enormous sneeze.
“Is this he?” said Prunella.
A dragon sat on the floor, looking astonished. It was far smaller than Rollo, and not half as attractive, for its skin was leathery with age, and its amber eyes had a hardened, cynical look.
“Good day, Leofric,” said Zacharias. He looked somewhat dazed. “May I present to you the Sorceress Royal?”
Leofric had clearly not been attending to the goings-on outside Zacharias, for he said:
“A Sorceress Royal? I agreed to serve you only upon the condition that you held the staff.”
“Your agreement is precisely what I wished to speak to you about,” said Prunella. “What good does your bond do Zacharias, if you are forever gnawing away at his insides and making him indisposed?”
Leofric gave her an incredulous look.
“Zacharias has access to the profoundest depths and most exalted heights of magic,” he said. “I have bestowed upon him the gift of an ageless wisdom, and an understanding of the mysteries of sorcery surpassing the ken of ordinary mortals.”
“If ordinary mortals can do without, I cannot see why Zacharias should not be content with a comprehension only of those mysteries that fall within their ken,” said Prunella. “Would not you consider terminating the agreement? You could return to Fairyland. I am told it is a prodigiously agreeable place.”
“The agreement will only be terminated when I have received my payment,” said Leofric, with hauteur. “I accepted Zacharias’s soul in exchange for Stephen’s, on the understanding that I could begin to exact payment while he was still alive. As matters stand, I have rendered service to two sorcerers, and have enjoyed the benefit of only a portion of one soul.”
“But,” argued Prunella, “if Zacharias were to live till he were seventy—which let us say he will, because the Bible says so, though it would be no surprise were he to be killed off earlier, living as he does in a nest of snakes and scorpions in human form—if, as I said, he were to live to a ripe old age, defying assassins, and being Sorcerer Royal all that time, that would require of you forty-six years of bondage. You have only rendered Zacharias a few months of service. Even if we were to be generous and allow it to be a year, you would only be entitled to one sorcerer, in compensation for your service to Sir Stephen, and two percent of another.”
Prunella was delighted with this calculation, which she had invented as she spoke, and thought rather clever. Leofric seemed less pleased.
“I am not sure I like your purported successor, Zacharias,” he said.
“Nor do any of us,” said Mr. Plimpton.
“You will have to recover the staff,” said Leofric to Zacharias—speaking as though Prunella were not there at all! “It was shockingly careless of you to have lost it.”
Prunella saw that she was losing her audience’s attention. She had hoped to avoid what she must do—what she had planned since she had heard Zacharias’s account of how he had come to be Sorcerer Royal—but there was nothing for it. The alternative was to permit Leofric to continue tormenting Zacharias, with the certain result that Zacharias would be bound for an early grave, and that was not to be thought of.
“You have not heard me out, Leofric, but I think you ought,” said Prunella. She must be calm, and keep her mind clear as glass, or the familiars would begin to suspect her intentions. “Zacharias promised you one mortal in exchange for two. But what if I were to offer you something else entirely? Another type of feast, far better, far finer, not to be compared with mortal flesh or spirit? Would not that settle the balance?”
A gleam of interest lit Leofric’s eyes.
“Speak further,” he said—but then her meaning struck him. He reared back, squealing, a noise that startled the thaumaturges, and sent Tjandra fluttering up to the ceiling.
Prunella did not take her eyes off the dragon.
“Which would you offer me?” growled Leofric.
“The oldest. It is best,” said Prunella. Her hands were trembling. She clenched them into fists. She would need them soon. She would need to act at once, quicker than thought. “But you must release Zacharias from his bond. Say it now.”
“Yes,” said Leofric, and Prunella’s hand flashed ou
t. She seized Nidget by the scruff of its neck, and, with a strength she had not thought she possessed, threw the elvet at Leofric.
Leofric darted forward. A snap of his jaws, a heartrending wail from Nidget, and Nidget vanished.
Zacharias sat down abruptly. The other magicians were pale with shock.
Prunella observed that the trembling in her hands had spread to the rest of her person. She felt as though she had been hollowed out.
But it had had to be done, and she had her mother’s own capacity for ruthlessness. The daughter of a Grand Sorceress—the heir to the Seven Spirits—could not hesitate to act for fear of any consequence.
“Tjandra, Youko—to me,” said Prunella quietly.
There was a moment of doubt, when it was not clear what the simurgh and the unicorn would choose: loyalty, or rebellion. Out of the corner of her eye, Prunella saw Zacharias reach for his staff, before he recollected that it was no longer his.
She was not afraid. And her lack of fear—her certainty that her familiars would come to her—communicated itself to them. The familiars valued fidelity, but above all, they esteemed power.
They came to her hand, as she had never doubted they would: first Youko, bowing her head to be stroked, and then Tjandra, perching on her shoulder, and burying his face meekly in her hair.
Lord Burrow collapsed into his chair. Damerell swore in a low voice.
Prunella raised her head and looked at Leofric.
“It suffices?” Her voice was rough, as if she had been weeping, though she had not made a sound. She touched her cheek, and saw that her hand was wet. She had not noticed the tears rolling down her face.
Leofric swallowed and let out a contented sigh.
“The debt is discharged,” he said.
Damerell was clearly shaken, but he said:
“It strikes me that a fairy, in return for one and a bit of a mortal, goes far beyond an equal exchange. Indeed, it seems to me that you are somewhat in Miss Gentleman’s debt.”
“The agreement—” began Leofric.
“Oh, leave off your rules-lawyering, pray,” said Damerell. “Rollo always said this was why you were so disliked at Court. You may call it a fair bargain, and perhaps it will suit Miss Gentleman to agree, but how will the Fairy Court view your devouring one of its subjects?”
“You would never tell the Court. It would make Miss Gentleman too unpopular,” said Leofric—but this line of talk seemed to make him nervous.
“The honour of mortals is not much esteemed in Fairyland anyway,” said Damerell. “It may even be said that a fairy that submits itself to the indignities of mortal service deserves whatever it gets. But the Court is likely to take a very different view of a dragon who eats its own kin.”
He lowered his quizzing-glass and began to polish it.
“Of course,” he continued, “if the, ah, devourer in question were a familiar of Miss Gentleman’s, I should not dream of breathing a word to anyone. Miss Gentleman is a friend of mine. A ravening dragon to whom one has no connection may be criminal, but the familiar of a friend can only be eccentric.”
“I am at Miss Gentleman’s service, of course,” said Leofric, bowing his head towards Prunella. “Now that the debt is paid, and the staff has acknowledged her its mistress.”
“I am obliged to you,” said Prunella, “but I do not want your service. Tjandra and Youko are enough for me—and without intending any offence, I could not bear to replace Nidget with its devourer. Why do not you return to Fairyland? I expect you have not seen your friends there in ever so long.”
“It does not seem to have occurred to you that there is a reason for that,” said Leofric grimly. “However, if that is your wish, I shall abide by it. I am at your disposal—summon me as you wish—so long as our agreement subsists.”
“I shall be silent as the grave,” Prunella assured him. “And so will these other gentlemen be, if they know what is good for them.”
“Am I correct, then, in understanding that you have acknowledged your subservience to Miss Gentleman?” said Damerell.
Leofric was poised at the open window, but he paused to say, “Oh yes, if that is how you wish to put it,” before he leapt out into the air.
“Gentlemen,” said Damerell to the room, “I think that addresses the last of your concerns. May I be the first to congratulate our nation’s first Sorceress Royal?”
Prunella curtsied and managed to smile, though she hardly felt like it. She was already learning the price of power. For that moment at least it was small comfort that she knew herself capable of paying it.
• • •
I do not know that I have ever been more shocked,” said Sir Stephen.
“Yes,” said Zacharias. “Prunella has a gift for occasioning shock.”
They were walking in the Society gardens. The Presiding Committee had disbanded in confusion, and Damerell had escorted Prunella home.
“It is because she lacks any scruples whatsoever,” added Zacharias. “She will make a good Sorceress Royal—far better than I ever was.”
“And is Leofric truly gone?” said Sir Stephen. There was a trace of wistfulness in his voice. “He had his faults, I know. He was determined he should be acquitted according to his merits. But who is to say he was not entitled to his reward? He rendered faithful service for many years, and to me, at least, he was a true friend.”
“He held you in esteem, I know,” said Zacharias gently. “Do not think that I resent him. Magical creatures live by a different code. He did me a favour in accepting the substitution I offered—though I cannot say I regret him.”
“The pain is quite gone?”
“It ceased the moment he ate Nidget,” said Zacharias. “If nothing else, Leofric is a dragon of his word.”
“So he always was,” said Sir Stephen.
They passed under rustling canopies of pale green leaves, their measured tread bringing them along the shrubbery which screened off the outside world.
“Well, there is no need to explain anything to you, Zacharias,” said Sir Stephen. “You always knew me and Maria as well as we did ourselves. Never was there such an observant child. Your nurse said she never knew such a feeling little creature. Why, you will not recollect this, but when you were quite a little boy, no more than three or four years old, you used to take my hand when I visited the nursery, and ask if I were very tired, in such a solicitous manner as, combined with your imperfect pronunciation, was quite absurdly moving.”
Zacharias did, in fact, remember this. He had been instructed to ask the question by his nurse, who considered that, as a charity case, he should make special efforts to win his guardian’s affections.
“It stands to reason they will find it harder to love a little black creature like you, than if you had dear Lady Wythe’s blue eyes and golden hair,” Martha had said.
She had meant to be kind. Martha had been attached to him notwithstanding his blackness, and had wept to leave him when she went away to be married. It had all happened long ago, in any case, and there was little purpose in disillusioning Sir Stephen now.
“May I hope, sir, that you are finally acting in accordance with my wish that you should move on to your final home?” said Zacharias. “You know it was never any part of my intention to bind you to this world.”
“Then you should not have sacrificed yourself for the good of my immortal soul,” said Sir Stephen. “You are not the only one capable of feeling beholden to his friends.”
“If we are to enter into the question of which of us owes the greatest debt to the other—” Zacharias began.
“I beg we will not,” said Sir Stephen mildly. “I chose to take you on, you know. Since the decision to become a parent is invariably self-interested, it is my belief that a parent’s obligation is to the child, and the child’s obligation is to itself. However, let us avoid such old grou
nd, or we will fall to quarrelling again. I have always said I would consider myself at liberty only once you were relieved of the burden you assumed upon my death. Now you are free, it is clear that my duty no longer calls me to tarry. I have known for a while that I am awaited elsewhere, and have only delayed because you had the better claim upon me.”
Zacharias could not speak. Sir Stephen’s continued presence had not always been convenient, but he had, Zacharias now realised, come to rely upon the certainty that Sir Stephen would appear when he was needed. It was curious to think that he had been present at Sir Stephen’s death, but was the only person for whom his death had not been real—until now.
“Whatever they have in the worlds beyond this one, I will miss these gardens,” said Sir Stephen, looking around. “So many memories are associated with them. Still, memory is not enough to linger on. Maria may eventually succumb to the attentions of that impudent fellow Barbary, and then where would I be? Better to pass on—to leave you mortals to the business of living, and concern myself with the business of dying.”
Rather shocked, Zacharias said: “I cannot conceive that Lady Wythe would dream of entertaining inappropriate attentions so soon after your death.”
“Oh, they are not inappropriate,” said Sir Stephen. “Daniel Barbary would never do anything inappropriate, damn him. He has vouchsafed only the most delicate civilities—the kindest consideration. He would make an excellent husband if Maria were inclined to risk marriage again. It would doubtless be for the best if she did: she was not made for a solitary existence, and though I know you would do what you could, you could not provide anything like the companionship of a husband. It would be greatly to Maria’s advantage to contract another union—and so I had better move on. Doubtless these matters will seem of little consequence in the next life.”
“You have been very good to me, Sir Stephen,” said Zacharias unsteadily. Now that the loss approached, it seemed to him that it came too soon. There still remained far too much to say—far too much left undone, to permit of their parting.