The True Queen

by Zen Cho

  To be sure, Mr. Wythe could not suspect her true object. Since the English did not know where Sakti was, none of them could have any inkling of Muna’s ultimate destination. She intended nothing less than to storm the gates of the Palace of the Unseen.

  Muna meant to keep her promise to Rollo, but once she had seen to it that this was discharged, she would abandon the party and make her way to the Palace of the Queen of the Djinns. She did not expect it would be easy. Perhaps it was impossible. From all Mak Genggang and the lamiae had said of the Unseen, it was at least as vast as the mortal world, containing lands and seas beyond her conception. She had no notion what distance lay between Threlfall and the Palace of the Unseen. But it would—must be—easier to close than the gap that lay between her and Sakti now, while they were divided by the veil between the seen and unseen worlds.

  She must try any path that was open to her. Muna could not remain in safety in England while her sister was subjected to unknown torments in the abode of the spirits. But she could not allow Mr. Wythe to suspect the truth, or he would prevent her from going, and take Rollo’s scale from her.

  “I will do what I am told,” said Muna. “You need not fear that I shall run wild in the Unseen Realm!” She allowed her fear to make her voice quaver. “But Mak Genggang has always attached a great deal of significance to dreams. I am sure there is a reason Mr. Threlfall appeared in mine. Since he came to me, I should go to him, and . . . it is unlikely, I know, but if I go, perhaps I will hear news of my sister.”

  She paused. Zacharias looked troubled, but at least she had been sufficiently convincing that she could discern no suspicion in his countenance.

  “I fear you will be disappointed,” he said. “You risk paying a heavy price for such a slim hope.”

  “Perhaps,” said Muna. “But I have no alternative. Sir, do not forbid me! I could not live with myself if I did not try.”

  “No,” said Zacharias, after a long pause. “I will not forbid you.”

  “Then that is decided,” said Henrietta. She rose, as though she meant to go at once.

  “We have agreed Miss Muna will go, but we have not said you would be allowed,” said Prunella.

  Henrietta bridled in a manner that was already wearisomely familiar to Muna. Muna found herself meeting Zacharias’s eyes. They were full of fellow feeling—evidently Mr. Wythe was no stranger to the disagreements between his wife and her oldest friend.

  “I know you are wont to forget this, Prunella,” said Henrietta. “But you can claim no authority over me! Besides, you have not thought of what it will mean for me. How can I be worthy of being called a magicienne if I do not perform magic?”

  “You do perform magic,” Prunella objected. “What do you call your effigy, that you use to persuade your family you are with them?”

  “Oh yes! Cheap trickery and parlour games!” said Henrietta in disgust. “You will not tell me that that is all I may expect to do? You founded this Academy to equip magical females to serve their nation. How long must we wait till we begin?”

  “Miss Stapleton speaks a great deal of sense,” said Zacharias. His tone was mild, but Prunella glared at him.

  “The truth of the matter, Zacharias, is that you think it a very good notion!”

  Zacharias inclined his head. “We have agreed you cannot go, but someone must—duty as well as friendship demands it. England can ill afford to lose a sorcerer like Damerell, and if he were to fall into the Fairy Queen’s clutches, her magic would be amplified, making her a greater threat than ever. Miss Stapleton is England’s best magicienne bar one; we can repose absolute confidence in her—and she wishes to go.”

  “But anything could happen!” said Prunella. “I wonder you are willing to risk it.”

  Mr. Wythe said, half-smiling, “If I did not believe in the occasional gamble, my love, I would not have surrendered the staff of the Sorcerer Royal to you!”

  “And you have not heard my plan, Prunella,” said Henrietta. “I have the French, you know, for my nurse was a Belgian lady. Even if I were caught there is no reason why Britain should be blamed.”

  Zacharias’s brow furrowed, but the Sorceress Royal was quicker—or perhaps it was just that the suggestion was perfectly adapted to her manner of thinking.

  “So if you are discovered you can persuade Threlfall it is the French that sought to kidnap Damerell,” she said. “Oh, you cunning creature! I wish I’d thought of that. I would make a wonderful French spy.”

  “No, you would not,” said Henrietta firmly. “You could not pass two minutes in Fairy without everyone’s knowing who you were at once. But I am quite a different matter.”

  Prunella folded her arms, trying to frown, but she was so beguiled by the idea of cheating the French that the frown kept sliding off her face. She turned to Muna.

  “Will you mind being accompanied by a French spy, Miss Muna?” she said. “I don’t know what it will do for Janda Baik’s credit with the world.”

  Muna would have agreed to any companion, so long as she was not prevented from going to the Unseen. “I should be honoured to travel with Miss Stapleton.”

  “Well, then!” said the Sorceress Royal. “Zacharias is so cautious upon the whole, I suppose we had best attend when he counsels recklessness. You have always spoke the most elegant French, Henny—Boney could not do better.”

  “Oh, Prunella!” cried Henrietta, transfigured. She flung her arms around Prunella. “I promise you will not regret this.”

  Prunella returned her embrace, but her mind was already on the practicalities of the undertaking.

  “You can hardly walk into Threlfall as yourselves,” she said. “Nor even as Frenchwomen, for no French spy would declare herself for what she was. How ought we to disguise them, do you think, Zacharias?”

  15

  Three days later

  The Draconic Province of Threlfall, Fairyland

  ROLLO

  THRELFALL’S INTERNAL CONFLICTS were as bitterly fought as might be expected of such a warlike clan, but unlike its battles with outsiders, these private campaigns were waged with an intense and rancorous courtesy. The Code of Threlfall decreed that all should appear to be well between the various members of the family, no matter what bitter enmity reigned in their bosoms.

  Every dragon in Threlfall’s vast network of caverns therefore colluded in the pretence that there was nothing disquieting in the departure of Rollo’s aunt Georgiana on a visit to the Fairy Court. They were even civil to Rollo, the wretched source of the trouble.

  The only member of the clan who failed to exert himself was Rollo. No one ever saw a longer face on a dragon. It was generally agreed that this was shocking ingratitude, for it was not as though Rollo had been punished for his misconduct. To be sure, his magic had been suppressed, but no other restriction was placed upon him; he might fly around Threlfall as he wished. There was no fear that he might seek to escape while his soft-shelled bondmate was immured in Georgiana’s spare bedroom.

  That bondmate served as a salutary contrast to Rollo, for Damerell behaved with unimpeachable propriety, mere mortal though he was. He never complained of the stench, and his only request was for a desk to be installed inside his cage. Nor would he stand for any tragic airs from Rollo.

  “If you think it amuses me to have you striking melancholy attitudes and asking if I am hungry a dozen times a day, you are mistaken,” he said. “I beg you will take yourself off—go hunting, or terrorize a village, or do whatever it is dragons do for diversion. Since one of us has been allowed his liberty, you ought to make the most of it!”

  Consequently Rollo went on long flights, though he was scarcely in the humour to enjoy them. When he could be sure of avoiding detection by his relations, he had drawn upon his last stores of magic to make a door to England, hoping to plead with Prunella and Zacharias for help. But the wards around the Sorceress Royal’s quarters proved to
o much for him in his weakened state: the closest he had contrived to get was the Academy, and he had only succeeded in terrifying a stranger.

  At least he had had the chance to apologise, reflected Rollo, for he was unlike most of his relations in that he derived no pleasure from persecuting human maidens. A nice girl, Miss Muna, though Rollo was beginning to think his trust in her had been misplaced. According to his reckoning, three days had passed in the mortal realm since he had entrusted his message to her, and still no one had come.

  Rollo had not been able to dreamwalk again since the night he had spoken to Muna. Perhaps as a precaution, his brother Bartholomew had begun sleeping next to him, and Bartholomew’s dreams were so loud and bloody as to drown out Rollo’s own. All Rollo could do was wait.

  He had never been overly fond of the usual draconic pursuits and in the circumstances they lost all their savour. He could not bring himself to harry the unwary imps and spirits who strayed into Threlfall after dusk. At most he might dutifully pick off a unicorn that had wandered away from its herd, but he had not the heart to finish devouring the carcass before his appetite failed him.

  If this goes on for much longer, I shall have to have my breeches taken in, he reflected on one such flight, glancing at his haunches. The thought was followed by a dreadful pang, for breeches could only be sported by a human form. In England Rollo wore both breeches and a human form regularly; after so many years he found the human body, with its compact size and convenient thumbs, almost more comfortable than his original draconic form. It was impossible for Rollo to assume the appearance of a mere mortal in Threlfall, however. Who knew when he might wear it—or breeches—again?

  He was so engrossed in sorrowful thoughts that he did not even notice the clouds veiling the entrance to Aunt Georgiana’s cavern. Threlfall was a dry country, composed mostly of desert; outside the brief rainy season it was unusual to see clouds in the sky, much less so close to the ground. They were peculiar clouds, too—denser-looking than clouds generally are, and striped with all the vivid hues of sunset: pink and orange and yellow.

  It was only when Rollo had entered the cavern and cleaned the blood off his jaws with the scraper provided for the purpose that he realised they had company.

  Rollo’s brother Bartholomew sat before the narrow tunnel leading to the chamber that was Damerell’s prison. Two smaller figures, colourfully attired, stood by him.

  “There you are, Rollo!” said Bartholomew crossly. They had never been on intimate terms even before Bartholomew assumed the role of Damerell’s gaoler—the eldest of a dragon’s litter traditionally ate its youngest sibling in the egg, and Bartholomew had never forgiven Rollo for hatching before he could be devoured. “Here is a pair of celestial fairies to call upon your bondmate. What does he mean by it? Don’t he know visitors ain’t allowed?”

  “Celestial fairies?” said Rollo.

  In common with most draconic residences, the Threlfall caverns were ill-lit, for darkness interspersed with only the occasional dramatic shaft of light was considered the best setting for a hoard of gold. Rollo was obliged to stoop closer to the new arrivals so that he could study their features. The visitors remained studiously immobile, but Rollo was less well prepared, and he recoiled.

  “Those are never—!” But he swallowed the words just in time.

  “One would think you had never seen our kind before,” said the shorter of the two visitors disdainfully. “I am surprised to find such ignorance in Threlfall!”

  Rollo only contrived to keep his countenance by a heroic exertion of will when he recognised the Miss Muna whose dream he had entered. The other fairy was Henrietta Stapleton—but a Henrietta Stapleton with hair so fantastically dressed and a person so swathed in layers of embroidered silk as to be wholly transformed.

  “Those are never any acquaintances of Damerell’s,” said Rollo, gulping down his astonishment. “I did not think he knew any—any celestial fairies.”

  Surely it was evident even to a blockhead like Barty that the girls were mortal! But of course, like most members of the clan, Barty had spent hardly any time outside Fairy. Rollo’s family thought him mad for choosing to reside in Britain. Even Georgiana was accounted eccentric for being fond of visiting the mortal realm.

  Acting on instinct, Rollo lowered his head and glared at the visitors in feigned suspicion.

  “Come to that,” he said, “how d’you know they are celestial fairies? They look rum ’uns to me.”

  “Why, they rode into Threlfall upon clouds,” said Bartholomew. “Did not you see their mounts outside?”

  Here was another thing Rollo knew which his brother could not. Prunella Wythe was a proficient in cloud-riding, having been trained in the art by an archimage of the Orient, a friend of Zacharias’s named Mr. Hsiang. She considered it such a useful skill that she instructed all her magiciennes in it.

  “Even so, what can they have to do with Poggs?” Rollo demanded. “You never met anyone less celestial.”

  “That shows how little you know of it!” said Muna. She jabbed Henrietta in the side.

  It had been agreed that Muna would hold her tongue and Henrietta do most of the talking, since Henrietta was better acquainted with Robert of Threlfall. But Henrietta had not said a word since they had arrived. Muna’s worry was beginning to shade into panic.

  What Muna did not know, and Prunella had not calculated upon, was that Henrietta did not recognise Rollo, for she had only ever seen him in the guise of a fair-haired young gentleman with better tailoring than brains. The golden dragon looming over her caused her to quake in her shoes—unlikely creations with a vertiginous wooden heel, on which she could hardly keep her balance. These, like the remainder of the ladies’ disguise, were on loan from the cloud-riding master Mr. Hsiang: being a gentleman, he had not thought to supply foot-gear that would enable them to run should they need to beat a hasty retreat.

  Fortunately Muna’s nudge recalled Henrietta to herself. She flung back her shoulders, lifting her chin.

  “Stand not in our way, Lord Dragon!” she said imperiously. “We bear a message of great importance for the mortal Paget Damerell, as he is named in this life.”

  “Eh?” said Bartholomew, directing a look of accusation at his brother.

  Those who loved Rollo best owned that he would never win any prizes for wit, but few had seen him in his native habitat. It had required cunning and perseverance for Rollo to escape Threlfall for his peaceful existence in England, undisturbed in the main by his relations or their notion of draconic duties. He drew on these unsuspected reserves now.

  “I don’t know that we ought to let these creatures trouble Poggs,” he said with an air of doubt. “He has enough to worry him—and Aunt Georgiana would not like it.

  “Of course,” he added, “if I thought callers might do Poggs any good, I should allow it, and hang the consequences! But you will wish to think of your own neck, Barty. You won’t wish to provoke Aunt Georgiana. I don’t know that I wouldn’t do the same in your position.”

  Bartholomew rose to the bait, just as Rollo had hoped.

  “Oh, Aunt Georgiana don’t worry me,” he said loftily. “What she don’t know won’t hurt her. I have half a mind to let them in. I ha’n’t had any sport since I was set to watch your wretched bondmate. The First Dragon knows some entertainment would not go amiss!”

  He turned to the putative fairies. “This message you have got for the mortal, what is it?”

  “I am not about to tell you,” said Henrietta, looking down her nose at him—an impressive feat, given how Bartholomew towered over her. “It is a secret, and I was charged to convey it to Paget Damerell and no one else. Even he has no suspicion of what it is!”

  “But it is terribly interesting,” added Muna.

  Her comment hit its mark. Bartholomew was growing heartily bored of his charge. Damerell passed his time in confinement in reading
and writing (“One never has a spare moment for study in London”). He would not be drawn into conversation, saying courteously that he would be remiss to distract Bartholomew from his duties. Nor was Damerell worried by jests about his likely fate on a banqueting table: “If I were not prepared for a future as someone’s dinner, I should not have submitted to being bonded with a dragon. I never believe in crying over spilt milk.”

  In short, he had provided far less diversion than Bartholomew felt he had a right to expect. Bartholomew was not about to miss out on any fun to be extracted from the prisoner.

  “You may have five minutes,” said Bartholomew. “Mind you speak up when you deliver your message, and you need not think I shall hesitate to snap you up if I do not like what I hear!”

  “I wish you would all let poor old Poggs alone!” cried Rollo. He followed the others, lifting his voice in conscientious complaint, while his heart beat fast beneath his ribs.

  * * *

  • • •

  DAMERELL’S cage was as pleasant as a cage could be which had once contained the decomposing remains of princesses, for he had exerted himself to clean it. He was sitting at his bureau, swearing under his breath, when the party entered. He looked up, taking off his spectacles.

  “Ah!” he said. If Henrietta Stapleton’s presence had not given the game away, a glance at Rollo’s countenance would have sufficed. Damerell knew what was afoot at once, but he betrayed it by neither look nor word. “To what do I owe this honour?”

  “These fairies have a message for you, they say,” said Bartholomew, adding with irony, “I hope we have not interrupted your work!” He glanced at the papers scattered upon the bureau.

  “Not at all,” said Damerell graciously. “I am grateful for the interruption.” He turned to the two women. “I’m afraid to own I have succumbed to writing poetry to while away the hours. I am reconciled to producing poor stuff, but there are some depths to which no gentleman should descend. I was on the verge of rhyming dragon with wagon when you appeared.”