Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8)

by Terry Mancour

  There were seven of them, all mingling outside the small suite of chambers in the lower half of the palace. Not counting the assistant castellan who was – apparently – assigned to her office.

  His name proved to be Bircei, a slight man with narrow shoulders, not much taller than Pentandra, a native Wilderland fellow who seemed terribly eager to help. He produced the key to the suite, a big brass thing with the wand-and-star badge of the Ducal Court Wizard’s office on the end, and placed it in her hand with some ceremony.

  “The upper chambers – your personal chambers – are still due to be properly cleaned, my lady,” the soft-spoken young man assured her confidently. “That should be attended to tonight, after normal hours, when I can get a team of drudges dedicated to the task. You should be able to pick out furniture and fittings tomorrow. We have a considerable store at the moment – Baron Edmarin may have had his faults, but he purchased many household goods from fleeing Wilderlords at great bargains and had them stored in the palace stockpile.”

  “I look forward to seeing the possibilities,” Pentandra said, evenly as she cradled the key in her hand and stared at the front of the Ducal Court Wizard’s offices. On the one hand she was looking forward to more spacious, less-crowded quarters. As homey as Min’s hall was, the traffic from the Woodsmen and Kasari at all hours made it far from perfect as either a lover’s abode or a wizard’s lab. Pentandra was looking forward to having both, now . . . once Arborn returned.

  On the other hand, she’d heard Thinradel moaning about the unsuitable state of the place since she took the job, and she did not relish moving. But it made sense to be closer to the court and the center of power, living here. As much as she usually enjoyed the twenty-minute walk through the city every morning, the prospect of merely going downstairs and being at work had an appeal.

  She was also looking forward to having an actual office, and not working from her bedchamber. Not that the requirements of her position had been arduous, thus far, but there was parchment involved in even a nominal position at court; for a senior position, there seemed no end of it. She often wondered how illiterate members of court handled their duties.

  They have highly literate professionals to support them, she replied to herself. And you do not.

  She realized that the small crowd of people in front of her door were staring at her.

  “Who . . . who are these people?” she asked the young castellan, in a voice just above a whisper. “Do you have any idea?”

  “Actually, my lady, I do,” Bircei nodded. “Most of them were here yesterday, or the day before, or even longer.”

  “What do they want?” she asked, mystified.

  “Jobs, mostly,” Bircei answered. “Some have problems that they feel need to be brought to the attention of the Court Wizard, but most are magi seeking employment. Indeed, some have already been in the employ of the office and seek to resume their duties – subject to your approval, of course.”

  “Some of these people know how to run this office?” she asked, surprised.

  “Oh, certainly, my lady,” Bircei agreed. “In particular, Master Dirmar, there, was one of Master Thinradel’s aids, I believe – that was before my time here,” he added, apologetically. “Similarly, Mistress Sastine was in charge of the office’s records. Both continued working right up to the . . . unfortunate events,” he said, using the phrase the palace servants had chosen to refer to the previous regime’s assassination. “Baron Edmarin unofficially closed down their office about six months after he was appointed, here. He said it was a waste of the Duchy’s livery and resources in a time of war.” The irony of a man totally unsuited for making that judgment closing her office was powerful.

  “So what have they been doing since then?” she asked, curious.

  “Oh, you would have to ask them, my lady . . . but I assume they’ve been doing what every other Voroni has been doing for the last few years. Awaiting better times.”

  “Is there . . . someplace private I could interview them?” she asked, unsure of how the suite was laid out.

  “Oh, of course – this is just the reception area! Let me give you a brief tour, which we will conclude in your private office,” Bircei said, pleasantly.

  It didn’t take long. The lower level of the suite was a series of small chambers connecting to the reception room, one for examinations, one for records, one for the use of the Censorate, and one for general purposes. Two small storerooms, locked with both key and simple spellbindings Pentandra had placed on the very first night in the palace, had been undisturbed since the last Court Wizard left, he explained.

  “From what I understand they merely hold the ceremonial regalia, some small gifts, a few supplies, and some old records,” Bircei told her as they ended the tour in her private office. Thinradel left a small library and a basic workbench, but little else of use. The empty chamber echoed with their voices as Bircei prepared a fire in the fireplace. “As your castellan, I can supply your office with whatever you need in terms of furnishings and common supplies. Just prepare me a list,” he said, as he withdrew a flint and steel striker from a pouch.

  “You can read?” Pentandra asked as she manifested her silver baculus from her ring. “Allow me,” she added, sending a powerful burst of heat into the fireplace with a mere thought. The paraclete in the baculus helpfully made her wishes reality, and the logs and kindling obligingly ignited.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Birsei said, clearly impressed by the simple show of magic. “Aye, I can read. I spent three years at the monastery at Mostel, in the north, and learned the art there before the war. I nearly took holy orders, too,” he added, with a wistful tone in his voice.

  “Why didn’t you? Did you feel a burning desire to fetch other people’s sheets and towels?” she joked.

  “I had a burning desire, indeed, my lady – but her name was Brindine. A village girl. The allure of flesh was greater than the allure of scholarly study. Much to the dismay of the monks, I chose a woman. Fetching other people’s sheets and towels is not so bad,” he considered.

  “So how did things work out with Brindine? Did the allure of the flesh bear fruit?”

  “Oh, we’ve been wed four years, now,” Birsei reported, matter-of-factly. “Two children. Never regretted giving up the books . . . much. And there’s a lot more flesh now,” he added, with a look of resignation.

  “But enough about me, my lady. I am the castellan assigned to your office,” he repeated, as he led her to the reception table. “Every office in the working wing of the palace is assigned a castellan to see to its needs and oversee its housekeeping. The Office of the Court Wizard,” he said, taking a scroll out of his sleeve and referring to it, “is allotted funds for two drudges, which I will hire, if my lady has no preference, to clean and maintain the premises. In addition there are funds for four to five senior officers, currently, to conduct the business of the office. You are also allotted funds for one primary assistant and one deputy. If you find these resources inadequate, you may appeal your allotment to the Office of the Treasury. I believe you know the ladies in question,” he added, diplomatically.

  “I do,” Pentandra agreed. “So what do these funds entail? If I am to hire these people, what am I allowed to pay them?”

  “For the officers, the customary wage is a half-ounce of silver a week, plus livery and maintenance.” Livery was the right to eat meals at the palace, a coveted perquisite. Maintenance traditionally included a room or room allowance, coin enough for a suit of clothing each year, and use of the palace’s facilities. It also included, Birsei explained, legal protection for the employees of the office. Under feudal law her employees were essentially unlanded vassals, and their employ by the Court Wizard put them under her auspices as part of the Ducal household. And her protection.

  “For the assistant, a half-ounce and sixpence, and for your deputy a full two ounces of silver, livery and maintenance. Of course my lady is free to dictate a slightly higher or lower wage, within reaso
n,” Birsei continued. “Any remainder left in the office’s coffers is, of course, left to the discretion of the Court Wizard.”

  “So whatever I don’t spend on staff, I get to keep?” she asked, surprised.

  “That is the custom,” Birsei affirmed. “You, yourself, are paid a stipend of an ounce of gold a week, as a minister. But you have discretionary power over your entire budget. Should you decide you need it,” he stressed.

  It dawned on Pentandra that the practice explained why the offices of the Ducal court wizards, across the duchies, were so notoriously inefficient and understaffed. The Court Wizards were cheese-paring bastards who were lining their own pockets.

  The money didn’t bother Pentandra, much – she had a fair-sized personal treasury, accounts at goldsmiths and moneylenders in Remere, and access to family funds, at need. She had been fortunate enough to go through life without having to be concerned for her expenses. That didn’t make her a wastrel – while she enjoyed shopping, she didn’t feel the need to be extravagant, the way her mother and sister were. But she also felt no need to profit from her office beyond her token payment. Power, not riches, were what motivated Pentandra.

  The office was freshly-cleaned, but that merely revealed the decay underneath. The spellbindings on the doors to the vault and the records chamber were still intact. But the place epitomized shabbiness.

  It seemed even worse when Pentandra conjured a magelight to hover over the table in the center of the room, illuminating the farthest corner far better than the light from the windows. The polished planks were scrubbed, but scuffed and tattered. The plaster on the walls was brushed, but cracking and crumbling in places. The furnishings were well-built but ancient.

  The central office was decorated with faded tapestries featuring great Court Wizards in Alshari history, as well as the banner of the office: a yellow hand bearing a wand with a mage’s green five-pointed star in the palm. All of the palace officers’ badges were yellow hands, save a few specialized officials. That was her new heraldry, she realized.

  Birsei showed her the small rooms set aside for her secretary, her assistant, and the former Censorate representative – a post that was, thankfully, forever vacant. She was solely in charge of regulating the magical affairs for the Duchy now. That was both liberating and terrifying. Sitting back at the Order’s headquarters in Castabriel and issuing regulations was one thing – now she was in charge of implementing them. And enforcing them.

  “And my quarters?”

  “Upstairs,” admitted Birsei, reluctantly. “But they are not done being cleaned.”

  “I would like to see them anyway,” Pentandra insisted. “I need to arrange for furnishings and such.”

  “Of course, my lady – you even have a small allowance for that. Follow me.”

  The personal quarters were both more and less than Pentandra had hoped, and they were still, indeed, in need of a thorough cleaning. The room at the head of the stairs was a kind of sitting room, with two small tables and some benches near the elaborately carved, soot-stained fireplace. The room had a homey feel, in a ragged sort of way, and the timber floors were scraped and scarred from much use. The tapestries were threadbare, and there were banners and trophies she didn’t recognized hanging from the horns of an ancient and moth-eaten stag’s head. The room was musty with smoke and mildew.

  Beyond the other door in the room was the buttery, as well as a small locker for foodstuffs. A common guarderobe stood to one side, and a large wardrobe stood to the other. Three small rooms, no bigger than monk’s cells, lay beyond.

  “You have three rooming spaces, here,” Birsei explained. “An excellent perquisite for those who find rents in town prohibitive. But you are also permitted two rental allowances, should your staff already have accommodations. Your office has an account with the Lord of the Halls’ Master of Provision, at the palace storehouse. You are entitled to four bottles of wine a week, six loaves of bread or equivalent, a quarter bushel of fruit, and three pounds of meat or sausage. That’s in addition to livery,” he reminded her.

  “And my chamber?” she asked, looking at the state of the buttery and hoping the drudges were thorough.

  “Here, my lady,” he said, opening a slightly grander door.

  It was . . . disappointing.

  It was grand enough, for a rustic palace court official, she supposed – or at least it had been when it was built. And before the lifting of the Bans that expanded the role of magic in the land.

  “Remember, my lady, that these were intended as temporary summer quarters,” Birsei said, sympathetically, as he watched Pentandra’s reaction. “The, uh, official residence of the Alshari Court Wizard is the Tower Arcane, an urban estate in Enultramar. I hear it’s quite grand. One of the famous sights of the capital,” he said. He didn’t mention it was also controlled by rebels and forever denied her. He didn’t need to. For good or ill, the duchy she was responsible for was confined to the Wilderlands. “This was just the summer

  The bed was decent enough. Wide enough for four, with tree-like pillars that held the canopy overhead. But the wool tick needed to be replaced, desperately, and the linens . . . she didn’t want to think about the linens. They hadn’t been changed since before the room was occupied by a rowdy band of knights for two months. They needed to be burned A few old chests and presses lined the walls, open and empty.

  But it was small – half the size of the draughty chamber she lived in now. There was a small door that led out to one of the ubiquitous balconies designed into the palace – another Southern touch, and influenced by Remeran architecture – which afforded her a little more usable space, but it was still . . . tiny.

  “I’m going to need more space,” she blurted out, despite herself.

  “My lady, there just isn’t—”

  “I know, I know,” she sighed.

  “This was never designed to—”

  “I know!” Pentandra burst out. “We will just have to make do. For now. But this is . . . inadequate for long-term use of this office, Birsei.”

  “I understand, my lady. You are not the first to suggest that. Master Thinradel – magelord Thinradel,” he corrected, fastidiously, “was particularly upset about it.”

  “I will discuss the matter with His Grace,” Pentandra decided. “This will have to do for now.”

  Birsei left the most important part of the tour for last when they returned downstairs. “And this is your office,” the castellan announced, proudly, opening the thick oaken door to the largest chamber she’d seen yet. A magnificent old desk of some unknown dark wood dominated the windowless room. Shelves lined the walls, shelves filled with books. A handsome scroll rack stood in the far corner, next to a small side table laden with a charming crystal decanter and cups of silver. “It’s known as the Summer Office, of course, due to the temporary nature of its use. For three months a year, this is where the Court Wizard heard cases and made policy for the Wilderlands magi.”

  Now she was in the seat of power, technically the head of all of the Duchy of Alshar’s magi . . . and she was beginning to feel the dreadful weight of the responsibility before she had even exercised her power.

  She remembered what Thinradel had told her: “I’ve never fought so hard for a job I hated so much.”

  It wasn’t the bureaucracy that concerned her. She’d built a decent organization out of nothing, when she had been the Steward of the Arcane Orders. Nor was it the politics. She was as adept at political manipulation as she was thaumaturgy.

  But in the Arcane Orders she had designed the organization according to her own insights about efficiency and effectiveness. Here, as Court Wizard, she had inherited generations of messes of her predecessors, compounded by invasion, assassination, rebellion, stagnation, neglect, and technical revolution. All that was missing were the caprices of the gods, Pentandra mused, darkly, as she took a seat in her office behind her desk for the first time.

  “I suppose I should start hiring some people,” she s
aid, aloud, after a few moments’ thought. Birsei nodded elegantly. “So . . . I need to interview for the other officials . . .”

  “Until you can hire a receptionist, I can serve,” Birsei volunteered. “And I would recommend essential staff be hired as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she answered, taking the chair behind the big wooden. She cast two small magelights to hover overhead and tried to compose herself. “Give me a few moments, and then send in the first applicant.” Birsei nodded, and closed the door behind him.

  Pentandra closed her eyes and reached out to her predecessor, mind-to-mind.

  Yes? Thinradel asked.

  Am I catching you at a good time?

  Just walking over to the stables. What is on your mind?

  I’m preparing to interview staff, she said, and I wanted your recommendations.

  If you can get any of my old staff, do it – except for the churl named Barasei, he was useless.

  Everyone else was competent?

  Career bureaucrats, good at what they do, he agreed. How do you like the quarters? She could tell by the tone in his mental voice that he suspected the answer already.

  I move in today and I just saw them up close for the first time. I’m considering burning them down and starting from scratch, she admitted.

  The entire palace was falling apart, he reminded her. And that was back when there was a functioning government. They spruce it up every summer to get through the season – if the Duke even deigns to travel north – and then once he’s gone, it goes back to its shabby splendor. The Tower Arcane is much nicer. That was the official residence of the Court Wizard, in Enultramar. It was a miniature palace in its own right, over three hundred years old, and filled with the residue of dozens of Court Wizards.

  So I hear. But I don’t think I’ll ever find out for myself. But thanks for your help.

  That simplified her first three interviews dramatically. They were all previous office holders, and thankfully Barasei, whoever he was, was not among them. The three were all impressed and relieved at how quickly they were re-hired for their old jobs, and genuinely grateful when she handed over their livery tokens.