The True Queen Page 6

  A girl lurched out of the dark pool of the summoning circle, startling the magiciennes. She stumbled and would have fallen if Prunella had not leapt forward, steadying her.

  “Here you are!” said Prunella. “I am Mrs. Wythe, and this is Miss Stapleton, who teaches the scholars here at the Academy—” She broke off, saying in quite a different tone, “Oh, but you are hurt!”

  The new arrival was panting and dishevelled, with leaves tangled in her hair and scratches all over her brown arms. Her square face bore the signs of recent tears; her eyes were red; and her jacket and skirt of woven cloth were both the worse for wear. Altogether she made a piteous sight.

  She formed a striking contrast to Prunella, who looked as charming as ever. Though Prunella’s skirts were somewhat disordered from close contact with the floor, still the wine red dress set off her rich colouring remarkably—her mother had been Indian and Prunella was darker than the common run of Englishwomen. Yet she seemed to disappoint their guest.

  “You are the Sorceress Royal?” she exclaimed. “But you are only a girl!” Her English was perfectly intelligible, though it was evident that she spoke with the aid of a translation spell.

  Prunella shot Henrietta a puzzled look—it was certainly odd that she should be reproached for her youth by a girl who could not have been more than eighteen. Henrietta only pursed her lips, but theirs was an intimacy that rendered speech unnecessary for mutual understanding. She knew Prunella had caught her meaning, as much as if Henrietta had said aloud, “It is beyond me!”

  “I am one-and-twenty, and Miss Stapleton has recently attained her nineteenth year,” said Prunella to their guest. “You cannot be much older than that, surely!”

  Colour rose in the visitor’s dusky cheeks.

  “I beg your pardon,” she stammered. “I did not mean any discourtesy. It is only that I thought you must be a contemporary of Mak Genggang’s.”

  Prunella bowed. “Pray think nothing of it, Miss . . . oh, but how absurd! Mak Genggang did not tell me your name. Would you be so good as to introduce yourself? And I believe there was a code you were to give me?”

  “Yes, of course,” said the girl. She seemed distracted, so that conversation demanded unusual exertion on her part, but she collected herself with a visible effort. “I am called Muna. The witch charged me to say: the sky’s pink dress, the basket, the secret in your blood.”

  “Quite right,” said Prunella. She had agreed with Mak Genggang a test by which the guests were to prove themselves—for, Mak Genggang had said darkly, who knew what strange creatures might seek to take advantage of the path she opened for her apprentices?

  Muna had passed, for not many knew that Mak Genggang had once made a gift to Prunella of a pink dress on the sky’s advice; that Prunella had extricated the witch from an awkward situation by means of a basket; or that it was Mak Genggang who had taught Prunella what secrets might be unlocked by her blood.

  “I am afraid you have had trouble on your way here,” said Henrietta, looking at Muna in concern.

  “But stay,” said Prunella, “were not there to be two of you? I am sure Mak Genggang said she would be sending two. A witch and her companion.”

  Their guest’s large dark eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away impatiently, saying in a trembling voice:

  “Madam, she did. Two of us set out from Janda Baik. But as we were walking through Fairy, we were struck by misfortune—my sister vanished, snatched away by black magic! Though I searched, I could not find her. I do not know what has become of her, but I fear the worst!”

  “Good heavens!” said Henrietta, appalled.

  Muna fixed a pleading gaze upon the Sorceress Royal, but before she could say anything else, they were interrupted. A maid burst into the room, pink and agitated.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wythe!” she gasped. “Mr. Stapleton insists upon seeing you. I said you were not at home, but he would not be put off on any account.”

  Though she addressed the Sorceress Royal, it was Henrietta she looked at with stricken eyes.

  Henrietta blanched, seizing the Sorceress Royal’s arm in a cold hand. “Papa! Oh, Prunella, what is to be done? He thinks I am with my mother.”

  “I don’t see that there is any call to disabuse him of the belief,” said Prunella, with unruffled calm. “Thank you, Sarah. I suppose those are Mr. Stapleton’s footsteps? (I told you we should be glad of those creaking floorboards, Henny!) Would you be so good as to shut the doors, Sarah, and stand with your back against them? That ought to detain him for a moment.”

  Prunella turned to the foreign visitor. “I hope you don’t dislike animals, Miss Muna?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I don’t mean wild beasts, you know,” said Prunella, “or even horses, which are liable to frighten some ladies. But smaller, peaceable creatures—do you have any objection to them? Would you mind a chicken, say, or a rabbit?”

  “No,” said Muna, bemused. “There is no harm in a rabbit.”

  “Excellent,” said Prunella. “Then we will take the liberty of imposing upon your good nature, Miss Muna.”

  “Prunella, what are you doing?” said Henrietta in an urgent whisper, as a knocking started at the doors.

  “Sh!” said Prunella, frowning in concentration as she wove a spell.

  Sarah shrieked, leaping out of the way just in time before the doors at the end of the saloon burst open. Prunella opened her hand, gabbling a formula.

  Smoke rose in the air, engulfing them all, and for the second time that day Muna saw a person vanish before her eyes. The yellow-haired Englishwoman disappeared, leaving in her place a small light-furred beast, with long twitching ears and a startled expression.

  6

  PRUNELLA

  WHAT WITH COUGHING and swearing, it was some time before the caller was able to make himself understood. Prunella apologised, but her professions of remorse were not at all convincing.

  “Sarah did tell you I was occupied with spell work,” she said. “You know, I am sure, Mr. Stapleton, how liable enchantery is to go awry when interrupted! Otherwise I should have been delighted to receive you, though you will allow me to observe that it is rather early for paying calls.”

  Mr. Stapleton did not return her smile. Henrietta and her father were not much alike to look at, save in colouring. He was just as fair, with the same grey eyes—eyes that fixed a decidedly wintry look upon Prunella.

  “I came,” he said, “because I received this.” He brandished a crumpled sheet of paper at Prunella. “It is the notice of an application to eject a certain person from the Royal Society of Unnatural Philosophers. Signed by you, ma’am!”

  Prunella examined the sheet.

  “Why, this is my petition for Edmund Hobday to be struck off,” she said, pleased. “So the Presiding Committee has published it after all! I had feared it might be conveniently forgotten.”

  Mr. Stapleton took the paper back, smoothing it out. A trace of embarrassment entered his manner. He cleared his throat, but despite the boldness of his entrance, he seemed at a loss for how to begin.

  Prunella waited, allowing herself a furtive glance at the other two occupants of the room. Behind her Muna huddled on a settee, trying to shield the burden in her arms from view.

  Mr. Stapleton was so taken up with the object of his visit that he did not seem to have noticed Muna or what she held. Perhaps he would go away without seeing them at all, and there would be no trouble. Prunella shifted slightly so as to block his line of sight.

  “Perhaps you are wondering why I have taken it upon myself to address you on this subject, Mrs. Wythe,” Mr. Stapleton said finally. “You may not know that Mr. Hobday is shortly to stand in such a relation to my family that any insult to him is likely to reflect upon my daughter Henrietta. In short, we hope soon to announce their engagement.”

  Prunella stared.<
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  “Surely not!” she said, with more candour than tact. “He is a wholly indifferent thaumaturge—and forty if he is a day!”

  Mr. Stapleton stiffened. “I would have thought Mr. Hobday’s position in the world was deserving of more respect, even from the Sorceress Royal.”

  “I believe I value a large fortune as I ought,” said Prunella. “But that counts for little when joined to a person who persecutes females for practising magic.”

  Mr. Stapleton snorted. “We come to the reason for this petition! Do you call it persecution for a gentleman to make a few trifling remarks?”

  “I am told Mr. Hobday harangued the scholars of this Academy for a full half-hour on the street, and would not let them get away till he had reduced them to tears,” said Prunella. “You may call that what you like, but I call it intolerable. Thaumaturges must learn they cannot ill-use the ladies under my protection. If they cannot be civil, I am pleased to teach them manners!”

  Prunella had been outraged by the incident when she had first heard of it, and recounting the details vexed her afresh. She glared at Mr. Stapleton, as though she had half a mind to begin by educating him in proper behaviour.

  Mr. Stapleton seemed to sense that he must alter his approach if he wished to win over the Sorceress Royal.

  “I beg you will not mistake me,” he said, abandoning his former peremptory tone. “I do not by any means commend Mr. Hobday’s conduct. But he very handsomely acknowledges his error. He was in his cups when he encountered the”—he coughed—“the young ladies, and he did not expect decent females to be abroad at that time of night.”

  “They had been working lunar magics,” said Prunella coldly.

  “To ruin Mr. Hobday for a mere slip is surely disproportionate to his crime,” said Mr. Stapleton. “If you will not consider his career, consider yours, Mrs. Wythe. You cannot be unaware of how your petition will appear to the Society. It will be said that you are venting your rancour for a petty offence.”

  “Yes, Mr. Wythe said the same,” said Prunella. “When my husband was Sorcerer Royal, he always sought to conciliate the Society. But I am cast in a different mould! I do have a vindictive temper when provoked, and I am fond of getting my revenge. So there can be no harm in my gaining a reputation for being vengeful.”

  Mr. Stapleton gave her a look of disgust.

  “I had hoped to make you see reason, Mrs. Wythe,” he began, “but there is a most unwomanly spirit of independence in you, which—good God! What is that?”

  Mr. Stapleton had been aware of the young woman on the settee behind Prunella, a native of some description, but he had paid her little mind, supposing she was a maidservant. It was not she who drew his gaze now, but the creature in her arms, whose high-pitched squeak had interrupted his tirade.

  The beast’s head and legs were covered with fur the colour of sand, while its body bore a gay pattern of flowers and leaves, recalling sprig muslin. Most extraordinary of all, its round, alarmed eyes were precisely the same shade of grey as Mr. Stapleton’s—but it was not to be expected that Mr. Stapleton would notice this, with so much else to marvel at.

  “It is a rabbit,” said the Sorceress Royal.

  “It resembles no rabbit I have ever seen,” said Mr. Stapleton, staring. “What is that on its head?”

  “Well,” said Prunella, hesitating. She had just noticed the blond curls clustering around the animal’s ears, and she was dreadfully afraid that if she spoke she would burst into laughter. Fortunately her guest proved more resourceful than Prunella might have expected from the girl’s youthful appearance.

  “That is only the mark of its true nature, sir,” said Muna. “This is no ordinary rabbit, but a spirit.”

  Mr. Stapleton started; he evidently had not expected to be understood by the native girl. Muna misinterpreted his reaction.

  “You need not fear it will do you any harm,” she said kindly. “It is a tame spirit and abides by my every command.”

  Collecting herself, Prunella said, “I ought to have presented you to our guest, sir. Miss Muna hails from the Malay archipelago and is to study thaumaturgy with us at the Academy. She has brought the—er—rabbit with her from her native shores.”

  She cast a look of appeal at Muna, who rose nobly to the occasion.

  “Yes,” she said. “My grandmother saved this spirit’s life when she was a girl, and it swore eternal loyalty to her lineage. It is a family heirloom.”

  It was clear that Mr. Stapleton felt himself to be at a disadvantage. As the possessor of one of the largest fortunes in thaumaturgy, he was accustomed to far more deference than he had received from the Sorceress Royal. He gave Muna a look of resentment but did not lower himself so far as to address her.

  “Your scholars keep fine society, Mrs. Wythe,” he remarked. “As though it were not enough that gently bred females should be educated alongside kitchenmaids, they must now consort with natives! But this is all of a piece with what I have heard of this establishment.”

  The two years Prunella had passed as Sorceress Royal had accustomed her to being abused by her colleagues, and she had learnt to endure their incivility with a tolerable appearance of complaisance. There was only the slightest edge to her voice as she said:

  “We count ourselves fortunate to consort with the witches of Janda Baik, you know! Their friendship is particularly valuable to Britain, for they are closely connected with Fairy. Miss Muna travelled through Fairy to honour us with her presence—a journey few English magicians now living can claim to have made. We hope to learn a great deal from her.”

  Muna had been smiling politely at the Englishman. At this reference to Fairy she winced, her smile breaking, but neither Mr. Stapleton nor the Sorceress Royal took notice of this.

  A happy thought had struck Prunella. She said, “Would you be so good as to oblige us with a magical demonstration, Miss Muna?”

  Muna gaped. “Me, do a demonstration?”

  “You see, I know very little of Asiatic enchantery,” explained Prunella, “and I am sure Mr. Stapleton has never seen an Asiatic spell. We should be delighted to see your magic.

  “Miss Muna is an apprentice of Mak Genggang, a very great witch and a particular friend of mine,” Prunella added to Mr. Stapleton. “Oh, but perhaps you will recall Mak Genggang, sir? She attended the Society’s Spring Ball two years ago.”

  “I recollect the lady,” said Mr. Stapleton grimly. He folded the sheet of paper bearing Prunella’s petition, tucking it away in his coat. “I must not detain you, madam.”

  “Oh, are you going, sir? Will not you stay to see Miss Muna’s demonstration?” said Prunella. “From what little I know of Malay magic, it is truly fascinating!”

  “I saw quite enough of Malay magic at the Spring Ball,” said Mr. Stapleton. “As I recall, the witch Mak Genggang employed it to threaten her own king, and caused Mrs. Geoffrey Midsomer to fall down in a swoon. I had never witnessed a more disgraceful scene—and in the Society’s halls! No, thank you. English thaumaturgy suffices for my needs.”

  He picked up his hat, giving Prunella a severe look.

  “I refrained from comment, Mrs. Wythe, when you were appointed the head of my profession,” said Mr. Stapleton. “I knew my daughter Henrietta had an affection for you as her old schoolfellow. I thought it right to reserve my judgment till we had seen how you conducted yourself as Sorceress Royal. Well, you have had your chance. You have shown what you are—a mere headstrong girl, caring for nothing but her own way!”

  Prunella opened her mouth, but Mr. Stapleton shook his head, forestalling her with a raised hand.

  “I don’t propose to impose upon you any longer,” he said. “I shall address myself to the Presiding Committee, for I know that a thaumaturge and a gentleman may expect a fair hearing from them. I beg you will reflect upon what I have said, however. In time you may come to consider the matter rationally
.”

  But his tone suggested that he had little hope of this. Jamming his hat upon his head, he swept off in high dudgeon, leaving the women staring after him.

  * * *

  • • •

  THE door had scarcely shut behind Mr. Stapleton when the rabbit leapt from Muna’s arms. It transformed in mid-air, the hind legs elongating and the fur melting into the flesh.

  Henrietta landed on the floor, panting.

  “Oh, Prunella, how could you?” she gasped in tones of reproach. But then she looked down at herself and gave a stifled shriek—for, of course, when she had been metamorphosed into a rabbit it had been necessary to whisk away her clothes. Now that she had reverted to her own form, she wore nothing at all.

  Muna averted her eyes, blushing, but the Sorceress Royal had less delicacy.

  “Why, Henny, there is nothing to be ashamed of. It is not as though there were any gentlemen present, and I have seen you in far worse circumstances,” she said. “Do not you recall the Countess’s visit to Mrs. Daubeney’s school, when you brought up your dinner over her shoes? How vexed she was!”

  This reminiscence was not designed to allay Henrietta’s distress. Muna ventured to suggest that perhaps Miss Stapleton would like to be dressed.

  “She must be cold,” she said, though Henrietta’s brilliant colour rather suggested otherwise.

  “Yes,” said Henrietta, with feeling.

  The maidservant Sarah had retreated while the Sorceress Royal entertained Mr. Stapleton, but the promptness with which she responded to a summons indicated that she had not gone very far. All conversation was suspended till she returned with a robe for Henrietta. While Henrietta restored herself to decency, Prunella turned to their guest.

  “I am very much obliged to you,” she said to Muna. “I thought Mr. Stapleton would never leave! It was a happy thought to propose that you demonstrate your magic. Mr. Stapleton disapproves of both women and foreigners having anything to do with thaumaturgy. I thought the prospect of seeing the magic of a woman and a foreigner would send him packing.”