The young sultana leant over to whisper in the interpreter’s ear. Mr. Othman cleared his throat and said:
“The French approached us with an offer of support, but we declined. We hate that tyrant Bonaparte, and our loyalty to our friends could not permit of our accepting aid from their enemies. We knew that the British would not fail to help us!”
“His Highness knows Britain is a friend to Janda Baik,” said Edgeworth. “Our man Raffles made the introduction, and I assured the sultan we should do everything in our power to help.”
“Certainly,” said Zacharias, after a pause. Addressing the sultan, he said:
“I hope you will forgive my ignorance, sir, but Oriental lamiae are a species of magical creature of which I have had no experience. I have read Du Plessis’s monograph, and understand them to be a type of ghoul—the vengeful spirits of mortal women wronged in life—but though his is the best exposition we have of the subject, Du Plessis says nothing of how they may be dealt with. If you would be so good as to explain, what form of assistance is it that you seek?”
His sentence had scarcely been conveyed to the royals when the sultana sat up and let out an urgent stream of words. This was translated succinctly.
“Guns!” said Mr. Othman.
“That is out of the question, of course,” Edgeworth said hastily. “As your Highness knows, mere artillery would be nothing to witches and vampiresses. We discussed that yesterday, if you recall.”
Zacharias wondered, not without a touch of irony, whether they had also discussed the fact that the Government was nearly as overstretched as the Society. The long war had drained the nation’s resources. Britain was pressed so hard that it was very unlikely it couldspare either troops or ships for a squabble over a remote island, however commanding its position.
“Mr. Edgeworth is in the right of it,” he said. “Lamiae being already dead, guns would not frighten them.” Before he could wonder aloud whether cannon might nonetheless be efficacious in blowing the lamiae apart, Edgeworth cried:
“We are of one mind! I have already told His Highness that you will be only too happy to oblige with some thundering piece of magic—some fearsome hex, vastly better than any number of guns, which will put these vampires in their places. Sultan Ahmad was delighted. His Highness understands that the Sorcerer Royal is an enchanter of considerable powers.”
Zacharias was so taken aback that he scarcely knew what to say, or how to look. This, then, was the reason Edgeworth had given him no forewarning of what would be asked of him. Edgeworth knew how little likely Zacharias was to agree to any involvement in a foreign dispute. The Society’s policy of non-interference in affairs of state was of long standing, and the history of the vexed relations of England’s thaumaturgy to its sovereigns had proved its necessity.
But Edgeworth meant to back Zacharias into a corner. He knew Zacharias could not easily object in the sultan’s presence, or express his indignation at Edgeworth’s high-handedness. No one would have dared play such a trick on Sir Stephen, but Zacharias was untried. Perhaps Edgeworth thought the new Sorcerer Royal might be more docile than an Englishman—or ought to be.
Zacharias went to the window, turning his back to his guests. He was in such a state of cold anger that he could not trust himself to speak. It was tempting to leave both Britain and Janda Baik to resolve their own difficulties.
But Zacharias’s was a changed world. Unlike the sorcerers before him, he could not retire to a tower and spin curses in splendid isolation.Like England herself, Zacharias ignored the world beyond at his own peril.
He turned, swallowing his indignation, and began, “I should counsel against rushing into any sort of violent action—” when Felix Longmire toppled off the windowsill.
A faint persistent magic lingered in everything to do with a sorcerer, and the skull fortuitously avoided collision with anything that might cause it injury. It dropped onto a cushion that had fallen off an armchair, where it was forgotten by the living—for their attention was engrossed by the crystal ball vibrating upon the sill.
Zacharias made occasional use of the shewstone for scrying, and to commune with fellow magicians in distant lands. When it was not in use he covered it with a black velvet cloth, partly to shield it from dust, but also to preserve the sensibility of any unmagical guests. Shewstones collected traces of atmospheric magic, resulting in the appearance of disturbing images upon their surface: horrid impish faces, mystic letters, tiny desperate figures running from some lurking doom.
Seizing his staff, Zacharias snatched the cloth away, and caught the crystal ball when it juddered off the windowsill. Within the glass loomed two giant dark orbs, and a harsh, ancient voice bellowed:
“Raja Ahmad!”
The sultan sat up, his eyes starting from his head. The sultana clasped his hand, her face pale.
“What—whatis that?” cried the interpreter.
All at once the shewstone became as hot as a poker taken off the fire, scalding Zacharias’s fingers. He dropped it with a cry, and the crystal ball rolled across the room, catching up at Sultan Ahmad’s feet.
The dark orbs within the crystal resolved into ordinary eyes, set in the face of an elderly female. She was a foreigner, like the sultan and his companions, with skin several shades lighter than Zacharias’s own. Hergrey hair was partly concealed by a scarf, her face wrinkled and sere. Despite her scowl there was little in her appearance to inspire fear, but Sultan Ahmad jumped out of his seat as though he had seen a snake.
“Who is that woman? What is she saying?” hissed Edgeworth, grasping Zacharias’s arm. Zacharias drew a quick symbol in the air, murmuring a formula. The woman’s speech sprang into clarity.
“You thought you would escape without anyone’s discovering your purpose, but you ought to have known you could not evade Mak Genggang so easily!” she said. “I know what you have been about! Pleading with the British King for cannons and blunderbusses, the better to attack your own people with. Is this the reason the Achinese restored you to us, Raja Ahmad? Better that you had never come home, if so!”
The sultan was crimson with fury and embarrassment. He swept Zacharias and Edgeworth with a raging look, crying:
“I am betrayed! Damn you all for traitors and villains!”
He stormed out of the room, followed by the sultana. The interpreter only paused at the door to snap in a trembling voice:
“That is a poor attempt at a translation spell, for you ought to know that he called you ablack-faced villain, and I quite agree!”
