The Royal Sorceress (3 page)

“David Kendrick,” Master Thomas said. He pointed at one of the portraits with his cane. “The very first magician to enter the service of the British Empire.”

Gwen halted in front of the picture, studying it. Kendrick had been thin, almost painfully so; his eyes seemed sharp as knives within a pinched, almost unhealthy face. And he’d been a magician...judging from what she knew, Kendrick would have seen service at New York, helping to coordinate the attack on the city that had destroyed the American rebels. She wondered, just for a second, what he would have made of her. Who knew what sort of man Kendrick had really been?

A thought struck her. “I thought that Professor Cavendish was the first magician.”

“The Professor had no magical talents of his own,” Master Thomas said. He seemed content to wait for her to finish studying the portrait before leading her onwards. “He was merely the person who discovered the first magicians and outlined their powers in terms...that would be accepted by the King and the Church. There may well have been others before Kendrick, but they passed unnoticed.”

“Or were burned at the stake,” Gwen said, remembering some of the horror stories from Spain. The Inquisition had developed a nasty habit of burning witches, who were often lonely old ladies whom no one liked very much. It was impossible to defend oneself against a charge of witchcraft – and anyone could denounce a person and be believed. Even the worst excesses of Bloody Mary’s reign had never come close to matching the horror birthed in Spain.

“True,” Master Thomas agreed. “One thing you will learn as you study magic is that most of what the common herd knows about magic is actually untrue.”

Gwen wanted him to expound upon that, but instead he strode off down the corridor and she had to move swiftly to keep up with him. They walked past hundreds of paintings, ranging from the surrender of George Washington to a group portrait of the first magicians, until they reached a flight of stairs heading down into the basement. Master Thomas strode down the stairs, which narrowed until they were barely wide enough for two people walking abreast. The door at the bottom was locked, yet there was no keyhole. Master Thomas placed his hand on the handle, closed his eyes for a long moment and the door clicked open. Inside, there was a dark tunnel leading into the distance.

Master Thomas grinned at her, held one hand in the air and generated a ball of light. Gwen watched, entranced. She’d had some success generating light herself, but it had never been as steady as the light he produced from nowhere. A silvery glow illuminated the bare walls of a passageway that seemed to lead on for miles, deep under London. She looked up at him and saw him smiling. It struck her that he loved showing off – and as Royal Sorcerer, he was not supposed to show off his powers. Gwen wanted to tell him that she didn’t mind, but she couldn’t find the words. Instead, she watched as the ball of light wandered away from his hand and led them down the corridor. It was, she realised, a simple defence against intruders. Only a magician could light his path down the passageway.

“Or someone with a lantern,” Master Thomas pointed out, when she asked him. Gwen flushed. She ought to know that magic wasn’t everything. “But no ordinary locksmith could get through the door.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “I want you to concentrate here,” he said, as they left Cavendish Hall behind. “Tell me what you feel.”

Gwen screwed up her face in concentration. There was nothing, beyond a slightly musty atmosphere and a tingle in the air from the ball of light. She kept walking...and felt it, suddenly. An urge to turn and run, a sense that something was badly wrong, a sense that she could barely take another step forward...she pushed forward, gritting her teeth, but she slowly came to a halt. An invisible field hung in the air, mocking her. She couldn’t go any further forward.

“I can’t go any further,” she said. Her emotions seemed to be spinning out of control. She couldn’t tell if there was something blocking her way, or if she was suddenly too terrified to go any further forward. Only sheer bloody-mindedness kept her from running – that, and her reluctance to show weakness in front of Master Thomas. She didn’t want to convince him that she was just another weak female, someone who needed a man to hold her hand at all times. “What is it?”

“A complex zone of emotional repulsion, infused into the tunnel,” Master Thomas said. He took her hand and the sensation vanished instantly. “Only twenty people have permission to enter the tunnel network. Anyone who broke in without permission would find himself frozen and held until we discovered him. Someone with powerful magic – like you – might be able to escape, but they wouldn’t be able to actually break into the network.”

Gwen looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

“There’s enough magic infused into this part of the network to repel almost anyone,” Master Thomas said. “Even I would have great difficulty in escaping.”

They walked onwards, into the network. The walls were no longer bare; they were lined with different paintings, some explicit enough to make Gwen blush. Master Thomas ignored them magnificently as they reached a door set into the walls . He tapped it with his cane. A long moment passed and then the door slid open, revealing another flight of stairs. Gwen rolled her eyes behind Master Thomas as he led the way up and through another door. This one opened into a richly decorated living room. A set of gold-edged chairs dominated the room, along with the inevitable portrait of the King. This one looked to have been painted during the period when he’d been the Prince Regent, wearing a blonde wig and looking surprisingly thin. The opposite wall held a painting of a rosebush. Gwen wondered absently if it was the rosebush George III had attempted to put on the Privy Council. It hadn’t been long after that that his son had effectively assumed his powers.

She looked up at Master Thomas. “Where are we?”

He smiled. “Haven’t you guessed?”

The double doors at the far end of the room opened, revealing a dark-haired butler with a faintly contemptuous sneer on his face. His brown eyes were surprisingly intelligent; they glanced once over Gwen, and then met Master Thomas’s eyes. They exchanged a long look of wordless communication, and then the butler beckoned for them to follow him into the next room. It was even more richly decorated than the last room, but it wasn’t the decorations that caught her eye. The man climbing to his feet was King George IV.

Gwen gaped at him, and then remembered her manners and went down on one knee. She knew she wasn’t supposed to look directly at the King – it had only been a few years since her coming out at the Palace, where she’d been introduced to High Society – but she couldn’t help it. King George was alarmingly fat, his hair – half-concealed by yet another wig – was thinning out, and his eyes lingered for several seconds too long on Gwen’s bodice. His relationship with Queen Caroline hadn’t been good before the Queen had died, Gwen recalled; Lady Mary had happily shared rumours about the King’s many illegitimate children and affairs, even though properly brought up young women weren’t supposed to know anything about such matters.

“You may rise,” the King said. His voice was surprisingly deep; Gwen recalled hearing that George IV was clever and could be remarkably well-informed on any subject, but he preferred to leave politics to his ministers and spend his time enjoying himself. His ministers, many of whom would remember George’s father, probably preferred it that way. “We welcome you into Our presence.”

He returned to his seat as Gwen rose, feeling oddly flustered. The last time she’d seen the King had been when she’d been presented at Court. There had been an entire ritual to learn, one that marked both her entry into High Society and her position as a potential bride. Nothing had ever come of it, not when Gwen’s magic had been the subject of rumours long before she’d grown into a young woman. She had never been taught how one should address the King in private. The thought of a private interview with him would have sent her mother into hysterics. Gwen wouldn’t have been able to leave the house until her mother had briefed her on all aspects of Royal Protocol.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Master Thomas said, gravely. Behind him, Gwen was suddenly aware of the butler’s presence, ready to advise his master if necessary. “I am happy to report that Lady Gwen has accepted the offer we made to her.”

The King studied Gwen for a long moment. Gwen almost flushed under his steady gaze. “It is necessary that We have a Royal Sorcerer to handle the affairs of magic,” he said. “The post requires qualifications and abilities beyond that of any normal magician. Master Thomas has served Us well in this post for the last ten years and it is Our dearest wish that he should continue to serve Us in that manner for many years to come.”

Gwen said nothing. She honestly didn’t know what to say.

Master Thomas stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I have no intention of dying in the very near future,” he said. “However, Lady Gwen’s education in matters magical is sadly deficient and she will have to study hard to make up for lost time. And then there is the danger of the French or Spanish raising their own corps of magicians. They have not forgiven us for the sound thrashing we gave them over the last century.”

“Very true,” the King agreed. “Lady Gwen – are you prepared to accept the responsibilities that go with the position of Royal Sorcerer? You may find that you assume the position far sooner than anyone expected.”

Gwen swallowed, hard. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. She couldn’t help feeling that she was in over her head, but it was too late to back out now. “I am.”

The King rose to his feet. “Then kneel,” he commanded, “and give me your hand.”

Gwen held out her hand and the King took it in a surprisingly strong grip. “Do you, Lady Gwendolyn Crichton swear to serve Us all your days, to uphold the laws of Our Kingdom and defend it against Our enemies, whoever they may be? Do you accept the position of Apprentice to the Royal Sorcerer, to do him honour and obey him in all matters, to learn from him and eventually take his place when God calls him home?”

“I do,” Gwen said. It struck her suddenly that it reassembled a marriage ceremony and she had to fight down an insane urge to giggle. “I swear before God.”

The King held her eyes for a long moment, and then he stepped back, releasing Gwen’s hand. Gwen, unsure of what to do, remained on her knees. There was a long pause and then Master Thomas stepped forward. His large hand took Gwen’s and shook it, firmly.

“I accept you as my apprentice,” he said. “I vow before God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost that I will educate you, clothe you and prepare you for the day when you take my place.”

He released Gwen and motioned her to her feet. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. “We will begin training tomorrow.”

The King motioned Gwen forward and removed a ring from his finger. “We hereby invest you with Our ring,” he said. Gwen took the ring and held it. It was too large to fit on her fingers. “Should any question your fitness for the position, you may show them Our ring as an expression of the confidence We place in you.”

Gwen found herself unable to move until Master Thomas nudged her, gently. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “I will do you honour.”

“See that you do,” the King said. “You are dismissed.”

Outside, Gwen found herself almost dizzy on her feet. She had been rushed forward, without any time to think. Master Thomas caught her and steadied her before she could fall over. “If you wish some refreshments,” he said, “we can find something to drink in the Palace before we return to Cavendish Hall...”

“No, thank you,” Gwen said. What she really wanted was a chance to sit down and reflect on the day’s events, but she had no idea how she could say that out loud. The butler’s constant presence behind them was a reminder that anything they said would be reported back to the King. Her mind caught up with him and she stopped. “The Palace is connected to Cavendish Hall through the tunnels?”

“There are always broadsheet writers outside the gates,” Master Thomas said. He sounded vaguely disgusted. “We bring people in through the tunnel network if we don’t want them noticed and written up in the newspapers.”

He looked up as the butler passed him a sheaf of papers. “Thank you, Edmund,” he said. He led Gwen back to the stairwell and paused at the edge of the steps. “Please advise your master that we will keep him informed of progress.”

Gwen said nothing until they were back in Cavendish Hall. The magical barrier seemed to have vanished, or perhaps it only affected people who were trying to break
into
the Palace. Master Thomas led her up four flights of stairs and into a large set of rooms. One of them was dominated by a four-poster bed; the others with empty bookshelves, empty tables and one of the largest bathtubs Gwen had ever seen. A maid who was busy cleaning was unceremoniously invited to leave the room. Gwen stopped dead as she saw a set of familiar suitcases. Her mother had already packed for her – or, more accurately, she’d ordered the family’s maids to pack for her.

“These are your rooms, Lady Gwen,” Master Thomas said. “I suggest you spend some time resting and preparing yourself, then you can join us for dinner at six and then catch an early night. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.”

“Yes, Master,” Gwen said. It struck her suddenly that she’d sworn to obey him in all matters. He had effectively taken her father’s authority over her for himself, simply by taking her as his apprentice. It was far from uncommon among the lower orders, but for a nobly-born woman? “Are we going to start learning about magic?”

“You have a great deal to learn,” Master Thomas said. “But you’re very bright. I’m sure you will pick it up in no time.”

Gwen could only hope that he was right.

Chapter Three

G
wen’s first lesson on magic began early the next morning.

She hadn’t been sure of what to expect, so she’d dressed herself as simply as she could, wearing the dress she’d worn when running outside in the country. Breakfast had been a subdued affair, with a handful of magicians staring at her and wondering – clearly – what she’d done to deserve the position of apprentice to Master Thomas. They’d all been male, she’d noted, all young. She was going to be more isolated than she had thought.