With all of this to worry him, Zacharias arrived at the Society in his best silk stockings poorly equipped to take any pleasure in the Ball.But he was not alone in this. There was a note of unease in the gathering that sat oddly with the gaiety and bustle.
The first Spring Ball had been hosted by the Society at its new buildings in 1376, in celebration of the grant of the lease by the Crown. More than four hundred years later, it remained the prime opportunity of the year for magicians and Ministers to mingle, though the attitude of each body of men to the opportunity had undergone a considerable change within the intervening period.
When the tradition of the Ball had first begun, it had been considered a coup for the Crown that it should have contrived to persuade the intransigent sorcerers to accept its liberality. Now the position was reversed: there were very few English magicians who could claim the title of sorcerer, and the Society was much less sure of its status than it had been in former times.
Zacharias discerned this uncertainty in the strained faces of his blue-coated colleagues and the patient titters of their wives. Everyone was merry, but he doubted anyone was at their ease. No doubt the news of the Government’s plans had got out. But the Society’s imminent embarrassment seemed to recede in importance compared to what he had learnt at the border.
“What areyoudoing here?” said a voice behind him, in tones of unutterable disgust.
“I could not have stayed away forever, you know,” said Zacharias mildly.
“If you think a week is sufficient for your enemies to forget you—!” exclaimed Damerell. “Sir Stephen never had the least regard for his own security, and he has imparted the same recklessness to you, I see.”
“I thought I might as well return, since Hampshire seemed no safer than London,” said Zacharias.
Damerell eyed Zacharias through his quizzing-glass, then said, “Let us walk on. There is a good spot for confidences up the hall.”
They stopped by an alcove in which hung a painting by a pastSorcerer Royal’s sister. Eliza Hamersham must have had more than asoupçonof the gift her brother had turned to such advantage in his career, for her portrait of a beloved niece and her terrier had an effect out of all proportion to its innocuous subject. Eliza’s way of rendering her subjects’ eyes slightly larger than was lifelike, and of imparting to their skin a deathly bluish tint, made any person of sensibility so uncomfortable that few chose to linger there. The other guests gave them a wide berth.
“Now what has Hampshire done to you, that London would not?” said Damerell.
Zacharias gave him a brief summary of the attack at the Blue Boar, though he said nothing of Prunella’s part in it. “Since running away did not seem to improve my position, I thought I might see how standing my ground would serve. What is the feeling here? Has there been talk of what the Government is planning this evening?”
Zacharias had confided in Damerell regarding his encounter with Edgeworth: he trusted Damerell as much as he could trust any fellow thaumaturge, and he needed a pair of eyes and ears to attend to what occurred while he was gone.
Damerell shook his head, appearing to examine Miss Hamersham’s work closely. “Not one peep from the Government have I heard, though the Society has been a hive of activity in your absence. The object of that is your removal from office. Fortunately, as you know, it requires an Herculean effort to convince thaumaturges to agree. They have just come to a consensus on your successor, but deciding upon a means of unseating you, and installing him, will require a great deal more bickering.”
Zacharias observed to his relief that there seemed to be limitations to the concern a man could feel at the burdens loaded upon him. His organ of anxiety was already so exercised that this new complication only provoked irritation.
“I hope that will not interfere with my reform,” he said absently. “Though I suppose it will—I suppose it will interfere with everything. Bother! Who is to be my successor?”
“I am glad you take it so coolly,” said Damerell. “Your successor is to be the prodigal son, of course. Who else could it be? Geoffrey Midsomer’s return has been so neatly timed, it would be a positive waste for him not to be put forward.”
Zacharias heard this without surprise. The younger Midsomer was, as Damerell said, a natural choice for those Fellows of the Society who disliked a mere African’s wielding the staff of the Sorcerer Royal. Midsomer Senior was more a magician by reason of his birth and connections than for any native ability, but his son was undeniably gifted. Geoffrey Midsomer had invented several ingenious spells in his youth, and of course he possessed the unusual distinction of having sojourned in Fairyland.
It was a bold move to play for the staff of the Sorcerer Royal, but then, why should not Geoffrey Midsomer be ambitious? He basked in the glory of having escaped the Fairy Court; his uncle was Lord Burrow, who chaired the Presiding Committee of the Society; and he could only benefit from having such a rival as Zacharias. He provided a convenient focus for the hopes thwarted by Zacharias’s investiture, and so could not want for support.
Zacharias could only think of one thing Midsomer lacked. “He is not a sorcerer.”
Damerell nodded. “But neither were you, you know, before you took up the staff.”
“Oh, I am a sorcerer,” said Zacharias wearily. “Would that I could forget it!”
The silence that ensued then might have been very awkward, for Damerell knew no more than anyone else of what had happened the night Zacharias had been made Sorcerer Royal. The PresidingCommittee had conferred for long, secret hours when Zacharias had emerged the master of the staff, whom none but the Sorcerer Royal could use.
The staff, being famously fastidious, was generally acknowledged to be the ultimate arbiter on the question of who should be deemed the Sorcerer Royal. Still, it was irregular in the extreme for a Sorcerer Royal to lack a familiar. Zacharias himself had been so distressed by Sir Stephen’s death (or pretended to be, said his enemies), as to be unable to offer any explanation for the circumstance. It was whispered that the Committee had been compelled to consult the Fairy Court by shewstone in order to reach its decision. But the decision was made: Zacharias was declared the true Sorcerer Royal, the acknowledged successor of Sir Stephen.
Damerell was an intimate not only of Zacharias but of Sir Stephen, and he might justly have expected to be told more. But Zacharias had not confided in anyone. He had assumed his new responsibilities quietly, as though the abuse and suspicion heaped upon him did not exist. Damerell could scarcely ask, since Zacharias had not offered to explain, and he was possessed of too much true delicacy to probe further. He said serenely:
“Very natural, I am sure! I should feel the same in your position. Though I do not much envy your adversaries either. Their difficulty is that you are a most gentlemanlike fellow, leaving aside your colour. Of course, that can’t be left aside, but it all makes matters rather awkward for those that would persecute you.”
“I cannot say I feel any pity for them,” said Zacharias.
“All things considered, you may be the worse off,” Damerell allowed. Despite the lightness of his tone, the look he gave Zacharias was worried, and he added abruptly, with unwonted seriousness, “What a predicament you are in, Zacharias! What do you propose to do?”
Zacharias had glimpsed John Edgeworth among the milling crowds.
“No more than what I have been trying to do all along,” he said. “My duty. I beg you will excuse me for a moment.”
