“Either someone is so fond of Zacharias as to wish to spare him being sacrificed,” said Damerell, “or he despises Zacharias so much he cannot bear to wait for the Hallett to be carried out. That is a curse.”
“It is not a curse,” said Prunella. “That is to say, I thought it was used to convey messages—is it not, Zacharias?” She held the orb out to Zacharias, who took it.
“I have not seen anything like it before,” he said.
“I have never seen one used to convey anything but malice,” said Damerell. “They are hardly to be found in this country; we have yet to discover the secret of producing them ourselves. All those I have seen were from India.”
The orb was unexpectedly heavy in Zacharias’s hand. He inspected the pinpricks upon its surface, ordered in regular patterns.
“This is writing,” he said.
“Curses are commonly inscribed with a glorification of their owner, or a description of their intentions,” said Damerell, joining Zacharias in his study of the orb. “That looks like a Fairy language to me. The cantillation marks are very similar to those one sees in certain dialects of Banshee. Can you read it, Rollo?”
Rollo made the attempt, but was unable to make out the words.
“I had a governess who was a Banshee, and she tried to hammer it into my noggin,” he said. “The governor chased her off in one of his rages, more’s the pity. But perhaps it’s just as well. The curse brought a flood down upon you, did you say, Miss Gentleman? You may keep several spells in one of these what-d’ye-call-’ems—wesay secretkeepers in my family. Reading the inscription aloud unlocks the other secrets, and like as not all the secrets in this one are unpleasant. The best thing to do would be to get rid of the writing, would not you say, Poggs?”
“I am of your mind, Rollo.”
“Surely we ought not to remove the writing yet,” said Prunella, recovering the orb from Rollo’s loose grasp. “We ought to learn all we can of the orb’s secrets first.” She brought it close to her eye. “I do not know how we would remove the writing in any case. It is engraved upon the metal, and I am sure it is magical.”
“Oh, that is the easiest thing in the world,” said Rollo. “A jet of dragon’s flame would do it!”
22
PRUNELLAHADONCEthought life in London would be all flirting and balls and dresses, hitting attentive suitors on the shoulder with a fan, and breakfasting late upon bowls of chocolate. She sighed now for her naïveté. Little had she known life in London was in fact all hexes and murder and thaumaturgical politics, and she would always be rising early for some reason or other!
She could not help feeling a twinge of guilt as the latch clicked shut behind her. The orb that had flooded them out sat in her reticule, along with the familiars, shrunk for ease of transport.
Yet why ought she to feel guilty? She had left a note to explain her purpose. Zacharias would likely be unhappy that she had gone by herself, but he could scarcely accompany her. He had been overtaken by another of his paroxysms the evening before, and had retired, grey with suffering, at Lady Wythe’s insistence.
Prunella had recognised the strange orb at once. It was identical to the one she had seen at the Midsomers’. She thought it must be thesame, but she knew so little of singing orbs that she could not be certain. There could be no harm in going quietly to Mr. Midsomer’s house, however, and seeing if the orb she had noticed before was still there. If it was not, that was a piece of the evidence Zacharias needed to be able to accuse Mr. Midsomer of his crime.
Prunella had a mission of her own as well. She had examined her singing orb the night before, in the solitude of her bedchamber, and it was clear to her now that what she had thought to be mere ornamental carvings—the loops and swirls engraved upon the surface of her orb—were writing, though in a script so unfamiliar that she had not recognised it as such.
As for what script it was, she had her guide in the name of Seringapatam, which Mr. Hsiang had mentioned. The spectacular fall of Tipu Sultan’s court at Seringapatam had been such a victory as no one would soon forget—a victory that had secured his vast kingdom of Mysore for Britain.
It all fit together. Her father had returned to England from India, and her mother... But Prunella would soon know more of her mother. She might discover something useful about her own singing orb while she investigated the Midsomers’. Perhaps she might even have an opportunity to interrogate the sibyl, whose mysterious reference to the Grand Sorceress Prunella now understood.
When Prunella approached the Midsomers’ house, an air of stillness hung over the building. Its facade looked like a solemn white face: “Of someone rather unhappy, I think,” said Prunella to her familiars.
It was not too difficult to locate a window looking into the room where the sibyl’s painting was hung. It was on the first floor, as Prunella recalled, but this proved no obstacle. Murmuring the formula she had learnt the day before, she summoned a wisp of cloud, clambered atop it, and floated up to the window, Nidget under her arm.
A brief examination of the room through the window satisfiedPrunella that no one was there. Another minute’s spellcasting opened the window, and Prunella scrambled into the house, Nidget following her.
“Why, that was simple enough,” she said, dusting herself off. “I declare I do not know why more thaumaturges are not burglars. If I cannot find a wealthy gentleman to marry, Nidget, we could always resort to burglary for our livelihood—though I suppose Zacharias would disapprove.”
“I cannot say I disagree with him,” said a voice that was decidedly not Nidget’s.
Prunella jumped and clutched Nidget, staring. A woman rose from a sofa at the other end of the room. It was placed at such an angle that her person had been blocked from Prunella’s view when she had surveyed the room through the window.
“So you are a sorceress,” said Mrs. Midsomer sourly. “Midsomer swore there were none in England.”
Prunella straightened. It was an awkward position in which to be detected, but there was nothing for it. Denial was fruitless. She could only put a bold face on the matter, and be grateful that Tjandra and Youko had not come in with her.
“I am the first, and have not chosen to reveal my powers to the Society,” she said. She could not resist adding, “Though it is no surprise Mr. Midsomer should be mistaken. He is wrongheaded in every respect!”
“There, too, I must agree,” said Mrs. Midsomer, taking the wind out of Prunella’s sails. “If I had known he was so remarkably stupid, I would never have come away with him. However, I am sworn to his service, and since we are now bound together, I suppose I am obliged to take offence at your insult.”
