Heart's Magic (30 page)

"He actually wasn't that
bad," Fillmore chided gently over the growls of the others. "Up to
the last few months, he was a decent magister. It's just--creature
comforts and building repair weren't important to him."

"With the result that
everything is on the verge of immediate collapse and will therefore
cost twice as much." Elinor sighed and turned to exit the archives.
She had to wait for the Briganti to clear a path.

That was not good. She
didn't need to be bringing armed alchemists with her every time she
wanted to enter the guild hall. And she wanted places for the
female bachelor wizards to live without fearing for their health or
virtue. Of course, the Covent Garden area wasn't the best location
for that, but with the Royal Theater nearby, a better class of
people did frequent the area. She needed to root these wizards out
of their entrenched holes.

The leaks gave her the
perfect means to do it. Elinor clapped her hands with glee, the
sound echoing in the huge entrance hall. "We shall do it all at
once. The roof, the dry rot repair--everything. We can put in
modern plumbing. And heating. Fix the drafts. Remodel the
residences, make them larger. We could make room for more living
quarters if we empty out all the rooms storing things."

"We don't need more
residences," Allsup sneered.

"Of course you do." Elinor
beamed happily at him. "The ladies will need a place to live when
they graduate. Everyone will have to move out for the renovations,
of course."

"But--the stillroom!"
Jenkins cried, appalled.

"The
conservatory.
" Moreman was
horrified.

The conservatory was
actually the single well-organized and maintained part of the
entire guild hall and Elinor told him so. "It won't need to be
disturbed. We'll do whatever is necessary to make sure it
isn't."

Moreman was appeased,
perhaps even gratified. The conservatory was apparently his pet
project. He was one of the younger wizards, in his early 30s, and
an obvious dandy with his tousled curls and gold-embroidered
waistcoat.

"We can leave the stillroom
for last," she appeased Jenkins in turn. "The guild has funds
enough to lease an alternate location if you all still want to work
in the same quarters. Or you can find your own workspace. You will
have to find your own lodgings. Will three weeks be enough time?
Yes? Good."

The roar of protest
followed Elinor out the front door.

"You look pleased with
yourself." Harry fell into step beside her.

"I am." She grinned at him.
She might not have solved all her problems with her recalcitrant
guild, but she'd made a start of it.

She thanked Mr. Norwood and
his Briganti for their assistance and they departed. After that,
the four magisters collected Pearl at the academy and went to
Brown's for a congenial luncheon.

By Monday, the magicians of
the British council were in a froth of speculation. Notices had
been sent a week ahead of time to inform them of the meeting of the
full council on that day, and inviting their attendance. Those who
knew the reason for the meeting, which by Sunday included a stunned
Thomas Norwood, kept quiet.

Gossip ran rampant as to
the business to be discussed, especially since the newspapers had
been quickly twigged to the meeting. The speculation ranged across
everything from the announcement of a new dead zone
breakthrough--Harry only wished--to the transformation of the
academy into a brothel. Apparently rumors about sorcery's sex magic
had escaped.

Several of the magicians
who had come to London for the wizard's guild challenges had gone
home again. Most of them seemed to have returned, though a few had
refused, complaining loudly that "those London bureaucrats should
manage all their business at once." Most of those who hadn't
bothered to come earlier, proclaiming that a wizard's challenge was
wizard's business, packed themselves up and came to London now. So
the Great Hall was again full when the four magisters and Sir
William mounted the dais.

Harry looked over the crowd
of men dressed in black, gray, or navy blue, leavened only slightly
by the eleven men in green or brown and the lone white dot near the
dais that was Pearl Carteret. This meeting was for master magicians
only. None of the apprentices or students had been admitted. The
few representatives of the International Conclave who were still in
town were present, however.

The mood was one of worried
curiosity but Harry knew it could turn in an instant and that
concerned him. Norwood had called out all of the Briganti
Enforcers, reinforced by all of Grey's I-Branch, in case the
meeting blew up. The men would attend anyway, so they brought them
in officially. Colonel Simmons was not one of them, was not even in
town, having left for Bath or Bristol or somewhere to seek relief
from his gout. He was someone else to be encouraged into
retirement, Harry thought. Norwood had clustered several of his
best men near Pearl, beside the dais.

Sir William stepped up to
the podium and banged the gavel a few times to begin the meeting.
The room quieted quickly. Everyone wanted to know what this was
about.

"The world as we have known
it has undergone an astonishing number of changes in recent
months," Sir William began.

Good,
Harry thought.
Build up to the big
news.

"First, there was the
discovery of the dead zones and their growth into the menace they
have become today. Then, the discovery last summer that sorcery was
not dead after all, that it has been returned to us in the person
of Amanusa Whitcomb Greyson. We have struggled with the realization
that if we are to have the magic of sorcery, we will have to admit
women as full members of the council."

A low rumble of noise rose
from the crowd and Sir William gaveled them into silence again.
"After the battle at Waterloo Station where women--including a
sixteen-year-old girl--showed incredible courage, strength, and
magic ability in facing down that terrible foe, I find myself
unable to say that women do not deserve to be members of the
council. They proved in that moment that they do have the ability
to practice magic and that they will not wilt under its
demands."

The rumbling moved across
the crowd again but it was subdued. Harry watched and listened, but
he couldn't tell if there was anger in it.

"The changes have been
rapid," Sir William said, "and will only become more so as we
battle against the dead zones. You will have heard of the machine
creatures armored in animal bone that can live outside the zones,
though we cannot survive inside them. The enemy adapts. We
must
adapt or we will
become as extinct as the dodo bird. However--" He broke off to
survey the room. Harry turned to watch Sir William.

"I am 68 years old." He
leaned wearily on the podium. "I have served as head of the British
Magician's Council since I was 34, and I am tired. I also took part
in the Waterloo Station battle, fighting side by side with Thomas
Norwood, Reginald Loring, and the young Miss Katriona Farquhar. And
while I do not and cannot regret that experience, it brought home
to me the fact that the fight that lies ahead of us must be led by
someone younger and more vigorous than I."

Interesting,
Harry thought. Sir Billy said "someone," not "a
man." He knew who they'd chosen. The four of them had called on him
last week and told him so. He'd even agreed with their choice.
Maybe the old fox was giving a subtle warning to the objectors that
things could be worse, raising their fears so that when they
learned who the new council head was, they'd be relieved it wasn't
Amanusa or Elinor.

"Therefore," Sir William
said into the taut silence, "I am announcing my resignation as head
of the Magician's Council of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales,
effective immediately, and--"

The crowd burst into an
uproar, many leaping to their feet to shout and shake their fists.
Sir William banged the gavel again and again. Harry drew his wand,
preparing to cast Herr Gathmann's silencing spell. He'd practiced
it several times after the German taught it to him before returning
to Prussia, but hadn't ever tried it on such a large scale. It was
overdoing he worried about more, since he tended to pour in more
power than necessary if he was uncertain about a big spell. He
didn't want to suffocate anyone.

Sir William motioned for
Harry to wait, while he pounded on the podium a few times more. The
noise began to subside. The fist-shaking stopped but those on their
feet remained there, save for a few near the front.

"
And,
" Sir William shouted, in his
magic-enhanced voice. "I will turn my position over to the man
selected by the magisters of the four guilds--Henry George
Tomlinson."

That was his cue. Harry
stepped forward to take the gavel from Sir William. The retiring
chief lifted the seal on its wide ribbon, striped in black, green,
red, and white for the four guilds, from his own neck and lowered
it over Harry's bent head.

Harry invoked a voice
amplification spell on himself and stepped to the podium. He banged
a few times and quiet fell again with gratifying speed. "Thank you,
Sir William, for all your years of exemplary service."

He bowed. Sir William
bowed. The ladies on the dais curtsied and Grey bowed. On cue,
Norwood stepped forward and shouted, "Huzzah for Sir William!" The
echoing huzzahs, led by the Briganti, rattled the
windows.

Harry let the shouting die
away naturally. Before the cheering had quite gone, he spoke again.
"Now, since I have been chosen head of the Magician's Council--the
first alchemist to serve in the post since Sir Mervin Twitchell in
1804--it seems we need a new magister for the alchemist's guild.
Given my previous post, I know a bit about the strengths and
abilities of our alchemists, so there should be no question when I
name Thomas Alwynn Norwood as alchemist's magister."

He had come prepared. While
Norwood mounted the steps of the dais to more cheering, Harry moved
to the back where he had set the alchemy guild's symbol of service.
Thank God the magisters had stopped carrying it everywhere a
century or two ago. The thing was heavy. He lifted the
velvet-wrapped package and untied the gold cords to reveal the
ancient
Reginshammer,
supposedly the hammer of the old Daneland blacksmith god,
Regin.

The blunt, heavy hammer
head, about the size of both of Harry's fists together, dated from
long before the Danes' kingdom in the northern half of England. The
magic in it could be felt through the entirety of the Great Hall.
Harry had felt it clear in the back, where he'd witnessed his first
transfer of power not long after he'd entered the academy. He'd
become more closely acquainted with it when the previous magister
had passed it to Harry some twelve years later. Gerard Fox was dead
now. He'd never been robust. And now, it was Harry's turn to pass
the hammer on to Thom Norwood.

He grasped the wooden
handle, replaced before he'd received it and still in good shape.
It wasn't the handle that was the hammer, after all. Harry swung it
up and held it high over his head.

All of the alchemists in the
hall shouted when the hammer reached its highest point,
"
Regin's!
"

Harry brought the hammer
down, miming the swing of a smith, and the alchemists roared even
louder. "
Hammer!
"

As he swung the hammer back
up again, he let go and Norwood caught it on the fly. They'd had to
practice this bit some. Harry had deep pits in his back garden
where they'd missed the toss and catch a time or two, which seemed
a tad disrespectful, given what it was. This time, Thom caught it
perfectly and carried the heavy hammer high over his head and down
again while the alchemists shouted "Regin's!" and "Hammer!" once
more.

One more time Norwood swung
it up and down, and this time the deep-voiced shouts were,
"Thomas!" and "Norwood!" And it was done.

No one protested. No one
argued. After that first uproar, no one seemed too surprised. The
process to transfer power was the same as it had been from the
council's beginning. While Thom rewrapped the hammer--it was his
responsibility now and wasn't Harry glad for that--magicians
crowded the front of the dais to congratulate Harry, Thom, and even
Sir William on his upcoming retirement.

The old boy had promised he
wouldn't disappear entirely. Elinor had twisted his arm and
obtained a promise to teach one or two wizardry classes per term,
which would drop his workload to perhaps a tenth of what it had
been. All of those other responsibilities now rested on Harry's
shoulders.
Joy.

It wasn't that he didn't
want them. He did. He had ideas for things he thought needed doing.
Things he could start putting into place. But it did mean a great
deal more work.

"First thing," he said to
Norwood as he helped the new magister tighten the cords tying the
wrapping around the
Reginshammer.
"We got to get somebody to take your place in the
Briganti."