“Nidget!” cried Prunella.
The unicorn reentered the waters, though it looked none too pleased to do it. It had hardly taken two steps, however, when Nidget leapt out of the water, clinging again to the clock like a bald white monkey.
“I have it,” it said.
It held a metal ball, in which shifted hues of green, blue and grey. Water was still dripping from it, but Nidget gave it a shake:
“Now stop that, wicked curse!”
The water began to drain from the hallway. Zacharias lowered his staff, and saw Lady Wythe standing at the top of the stairs.
“Good gracious,” she said.
•••
ZACHARIASand Prunella had just been settled before a roaring fire, each with an ample portion of negus to finish, when they were interrupted by an incursion—Damerell, looking for once harassed, and trailed by an apologetic Rollo.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am, to have broken in upon such acharming family scene,” said Damerell, making his leg to Lady Wythe. “However, we have received such news as I thought you would wish to hear at once.”
He looked expectantly at Rollo, who said:
“I am sorry to be the bearer of such wretched news, Zacharias, but I walked Midsomer’s dreams, and he means to move for the Hallett to be undertaken tomorrow. They intend voting upon the motion in the morning, and going straight from the Society to take you up. They have already set up the table at the Society, and the pots.”
“Pots?” said Prunella.
“For the blood,” said Zacharias. He was keenly conscious of Lady Wythe’s dismayed gaze, and he exerted so much effort to conceal his anxiety in consequence that his tone was peculiarly flat, as though he spoke of something that did not concern him at all.
He had known this was coming, of course, but he had thought he would have more time. Perhaps, too, some part of him had thought it would not really happen—had denied, despite all evidence, that his colleagues could bring themselves to carry out such an atrocity. Did he loom so large in their hatreds? Or was it the reverse—did they account him of so little value, that they thought nothing of treating him as they would not treat a dog? What was the death of a black man, after all, against Midsomer’s elevation?
“You had best leave town as soon as you can, Zacharias,” said Lady Wythe. She rose, composed despite her pallor. “Indeed, I do not know that there is any reason why you should not go now. Lucy can pack what clothes you have here, and you may travel in my carriage. Prewitt is the soul of discretion, and will take you as far as you need.”
Her voice steadied Zacharias: it was so calm, so familiar and beloved. He did not respond at once, however, but sat with his head bowed.
He could flee, but he would be easily pursued. Even if he were to disguise himself it was impossible for him to be inconspicuousanywhere in Britain. And it stuck in his craw to think of running from Midsomer: whatever familiars he had summoned, the man was not half the sorcerer Zacharias was, and all his schemes and conspiracies could not alter that fact.
But worthier than pride, and weightier than pragmatism, was duty. Duty required that Zacharias stand his ground. He had too much work to do, and too many promises to keep, for him to give up being Sorcerer Royal quite yet.
“I am sensible of your goodness,” he said finally. “But I shall not go anywhere. I have assured Mak Genggang that I will resolve her dispute with our nation, and I would leave far too much else unsettled were I to flee. I do not think the circumstances so very desperate. Midsomer has yet to succeed in getting rid of me, and there is no reason why his endeavours should begin to bear fruit now.”
“I commend your courage, Zacharias, but I beg you will not be foolhardy,” said Damerell. “Midsomer’s supporters are not all of the Society, but they are numerous, and he has chosen for his allies those most irrational, most furious, most immovably opposed to your existence. You may find yourself facing down a mob.”
“I still have sufficient resource to face even a mob of irate thaumaturges, I believe,” said Zacharias. He picked up his staff, and inspected it as though to check its sturdiness.
“It all seems a vast deal of pother for a position you dislike,” remarked Rollo. “Of course Midsomer is a scrub, but if he is so eager to be Sorcerer Royal, why not let him? I thought you never liked it.”
Zacharias hesitated, glancing at Lady Wythe. He might have spoken more frankly to Damerell and Rollo, who knew his true feelings regarding his office. But he was loath to expand upon his dislike of it in Lady Wythe’s presence, since it had been Sir Stephen’s dearest wish for Zacharias to succeed him.
“I would not surrender the staff to Midsomer,” said Zacharias. “His conduct has given me no confidence in his suitability for the office. Iwould not be worthy of my title if I conceded so readily to the loss of my staff to him.”
“It all seems perfectly absurd to me,” said Prunella. “To think of enduring hexes and floods and politics for a staff, when your only reward is to labour unendingly, and be abused by the Society for it!”
“Floods?” said Damerell.
“Did not you see the state of the hallway when you arrived?” said Prunella. She hesitated, then opened her palm, showing the orb Nidget had found. “It was caused by this.”
“Oh, we did not come by the hallway,” said Rollo, but Damerell let out a long low whistle.
“What is it?” said Lady Wythe.
