“If I take up the staff, you will leave Sir Stephen be?” he said.
“He will be left to go his own way, to salvation, or damnation—whichever he merits,” said Leofric. “And I will serve you as familiar until the end of your life, whenever that may be, by the terms of this new Exchange.”
“Well,” said Zacharias. “You cannot say fairer than that.”
He stepped across the room and took up the staff.
Leofric vanished, and the room filled with thick black smoke. Zacharias choked on it, coughed, and struggled to breathe, but he could only draw in lungfuls of smoke, which coalesced into a deadweight within his chest. Power ran through his limbs. His vision became suddenly, almost painfully keen.
Sir Stephen’s body lay limp and undisturbed in his chair. Sir Stephen rose from it, his ghostly countenance drawn with horror. He said:
“Zacharias, what have you done?”
Zacharias did not answer.
The pain had begun—an agony that clutched his stomach like a vise, and gnawed unbearably at his vitals. It would not always be so bad, for he was usually granted a remittance during the day. Wishing, probably, to prolong his feast, Leofric reserved the worst attacks for midnight. At times Zacharias could almost believe himself unaffected, save for the feeling that dogged him, that he had lost something the night Sir Stephen died, and would never recover it.
He did not see Leofric again, for Leofric was always with him. The dragon had only spoken the truth. Zacharias was never wholly himself again.
25
WHETHERITWASthe exertion of battling Mrs. Midsomer that had worn him out, or whether disclosing the burden he had borne since Sir Stephen’s death had imparted some much-needed peace, Zacharias slept soundly that night. He roused at the first knock and lay for a moment gazing at the rays of morning’s first light stealing past the drapes. He felt perfectly relaxed, and the accustomed headache was notable for its absence.
Prunella was at the door when he opened it. Zacharias was so used to tempests and disasters that he did not even recoil at this breach of etiquette, but said:
“I shall get my staff.”
“Do, for we may need it,” said Prunella. She was dressed, though it was early, and her face was unwontedly grave. “It is no emergency, but with this meeting at the Society today I do not know when we shall next have the chance to speak alone, and I could not endure the mystery for much longer.”
She refused to say any more till they were in her sitting room, and she had secured the door.
“Are you in great pain at the moment, Zacharias?” she said abruptly.
“Not at all. I am very well,” said Zacharias automatically, but then he recalled that she knew—indeed, everyone knew. It felt unnatural to say more, but Prunella would assume he was dissembling if he did not. He added, with difficulty:
“Leofric tends to feed at midnight. He knows I must have energy for the day. In any case, he did not trouble me last night. He is not unreasonable.”
“I think he is disgusting,” said Prunella. “You need not frown at me so, Zacharias. I hope he hears me! It is only the truth. My familiars will want their reward in time, but they would never hurt me while I was capable of feeling it.”
“It is the nature of the Exchange. We struck a bargain, and he has abided by it,” said Zacharias. He would have liked to abandon the unhappy subject of bargains and exchanges altogether, but it was his duty as her instructor to discuss it with Prunella. “That is why I would have prevented you from bonding with so many familiars, if I could. You benefit from it now, but at the end of your life...”
“Never mind about the end of my life,” said Prunella briskly. “We have sorted it out amongst ourselves. Nidget is to have my head, and Youko and Tjandra will have the rest of me, divided equally, and whoever is fastest may have my soul—though I doubt I have much of one. There will not be much left for a funeral, but when I am dead that will not worry me, and I plan to make old bones. But we must not be distracted, Zacharias; we have not much time. Did not you wonder that I knew Mrs. Midsomer’s orb for what it was?”
The question had not occurred to Zacharias. It struck him that this was a shocking oversight. He said, embarrassed: “There was so much else to worry about that I did not think to be surprised.”
Prunella nodded. “I had seen something like it before, you see.”
She held out a small silver ball, very similar to Mrs. Midsomer’s orb, save that it was wrought of a paler metal, and etched with different carvings. It was attached to a long silver chain.
“I wear it always,” said Prunella. She was still for a long moment, gazing down at the orb. “I found it in the attic at the school, along with the eggs. They were among my father’s effects. I believe they belonged to my mother.”
“I thought you did not remember your mother.”
“Nor do I.” Prunella looked up at Zacharias, her eyes luminous with unshed tears. “But she remembered me.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and continued:
“Mak Genggang showed me how to awaken the orb. I might have told you of it before, but there was not time—and I suppose, Zacharias, I did not altogether trust you. I have been so much in your power that I thought it wisest to reserve a secret or two to myself, in case I should need it. And you are so conscientious, I thought you were bound to report it to the Society. I had no notion you were as capable of keeping a secret as you have shown yourself to be.”
