“Ha!” said Rollo’s voice from the watery deeps. He rose from the sea, liberally sprinkling the magicians arrayed upon the Cobb.
He held something within his jaws. Rearing up, he dropped it gently on the ground, where it lay gasping like a beached fish.
It was Mrs. Midsomer.
23
ITWASNOTa situation in which even the most elegant woman would have appeared to advantage. Laura Midsomer (néeLee,aliasLorelei) suffered further from having had insufficient notice of her marine excursion. She was still clad in the everyday attire of a mortal woman, dressed in expectation of encountering nothing wetter than the British spring. Her top half was clothed in a spencer, whose hardier material hid the curves her sodden dress could not fail to display. The whole shining, sinuous length of her tail emerged from her dress below.
The men soon thought better of staring, however. This was Mrs. Midsomer’s native environment, and her anger rendered her incandescent with power.
“Blackguards!” she spat. “Fools! Weaklings! Is this how you defend me, Geoffrey, your wife whom you promised to protect, your familiar who pledged you her service? Are these your friends indeed the finest magicians in England, who have permitted a jumped-up chit and her pet beast to manhandle me?”
The pet beast in question peered over the side of the Cobb. An expression of astonishment overspread his countenance.
“Why, what’s this?” cried Rollo, but no one paid any mind to him.
Prunella was haloed in green light, the remnants of the power she had expended in her spell still clinging to her frame. The glow reflected in her eyes made them appear lightless and deep, giving her the remote look of a vengeful goddess.
She held out her hand, and a metal ball floated out of the wreck of Mrs. Midsomer’s dress. It was wreathed in the same eldritch light that outlined Prunella’s form. Within the depths of the orb was reflected an image of the sea, small but wonderfully vivid. Waves crashed against the shore, and white flecks of seagulls wheeled around the grey curve of a minute sky, their lonesome cries echoing in counterpoint to the voices of the birds in the skies above.
“Our conversation was interrupted, Mrs. Midsomer,” she said. “This is yours, I think.”
“You know perfectly well it is,” snarled Mrs. Midsomer. “What business had you to take it?”
“Oh, I am always poking my nose into things that are not my business,” said Prunella. “But on this occasion, I had better grounds than usual for doing so. I exercised the rights of an apprentice—” She lifted her eyes to Zacharias, and smiled. “The rights of a friend. Are you the author of the attacks upon Mr. Wythe? That is all I wish to hear from you.”
“This is beyond anything,” cried Midsomer. “Gentlemen, do you mean to stand by and permit my wife to be interrogated by this—this—”
“Chit?” said Prunella helpfully.
“Magicienne,”said Zacharias.
The Presiding Committee stared at him.
“Do you require any further evidence of her abilities?” said Zacharias. “As you have witnessed yourselves, Miss Gentleman has beentrained in the strictest principles of thaumaturgical practise, and can justly be called no witch, but amagicienne. Though indeed I hope we can one day overcome this unreasoning dislike of witches—fine craftsmen and women, on the whole—no worse, taken as a body, than any illusion of thaumaturges.”
“Really, Zacharias, this is not the time to be lecturing the gentlemen,” exclaimed Prunella. “Cannot you tell that we are on the brink of extracting a confession from Mrs. Midsomer that she has been conspiring to murder you?”
“These accusations are baseless,” said Midsomer, crimson. “I admit I moved for the Hallett when it became evident that Mr. Wythe was unfit to hold his office. That seemed to be my clear duty. However, the notion that I or my wife should have made any attempt upon a brother thaumaturge’s life is ludicrous!”
“I say nothing as toyourinvolvement. I can well believe you had little to do with it,” said Prunella graciously. “Your wife, however, is certainly a murderess.”
“You had better say: not a murderess yet!” said Mrs. Midsomer. “If my efforts to kill Zacharias Wythe have failed, it is only because I could not draw upon my full powers. My puling master insisted I refrain from wonder-working, lest I reveal my nature. Now I am in my true form, however—!”
“There, you see,” said Prunella to Midsomer. “Shehasbeen endeavouring to kill Mr. Wythe. She says so herself.”
To Midsomer’s credit, he looked as astonished as everyone else.
“I knew nothing of this, Laura,” he said.
“That is because you do not attend,” said Mrs. Midsomer waspishly. “If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times. I did not come to your realm for my health. I came with one motive: to discover the sorcerer who murdered my beloved, and avenge his death. Once I am done we shall return to my home—to the glorious caverns my aunt the Queen has bequeathed to me, and their mysterious undergroundseas—so there was no need for you to be in such a pother about your silly Society. Even if you did become Sorcerer Royal you could not remain one for long.”
“But I had no notion your beloved had anything to do with Zacharias Wythe,” protested Midsomer.
“You would know if you had only listened!” snapped Mrs. Midsomer. “My beloved was not called Leofric when I knew him. A mortal gave him the name—the first Sorcerer Royal. How he loved that mortal! ’Twas for his sake that he went away from me, and lived out his life in exile from Fairyland. To serve the Sorcerer Royal was the only desire of his heart, and Zacharias Wythe killed him, the traitor—the villain—the murderer!”
Her voice rose to a shrill pitch that blended with the wind, whipping the waves into a frenzy. The magicians clapped their hands over their ears. Mrs. Midsomer planted her palms on the ground and flipped herself backwards off the Cobb with effortless strength, splashing into the water.
