Ten Little Wizards: A Lord Darcy Novel (15 page)

The stentorian bellow of the majordomo suddenly silenced the hall. “His Most Serene Majesty, John the Fourth,” the majordomo announced, “by the Grace of God King of England, Ireland, Scotland, and France; Emperor of the Romans and Germans; Premier Chief of the Moqtessumid Clan; Son of the Sun; Count of Anjou and Maine; Donator of the Sovereign Order of Saint John of Jerusalem; Sovereign of the Most Ancient Order of the Round Table, of the Order of the Leopard, of the Order of the Lily, of the Order of the Three Crowns, and of the Order of Saint Andrew; Lord and Protector of the Western Continents of New England and New France; Defender of the Faith. God save the King!”

“God save the King!” three hundred voices echoed.

“Her Most Gracious and Noble Majesty Marie,” the majordomo went on, “Queen Consort of John the Fourth, Princess of Roumania, Duchess of Sark and Guernsey, and Lady Commander of His Majesty’s Winchester Guards. All Stand.”

Any who were not already standing rose as the King and Queen entered the ballroom. By tradition they were an hour late in arriving, and by tradition the ball proper would shortly begin.

“Major von Jonn,” Mary of Cumberland said, picking up the thread where it had been dropped, “my lords, Lady Marta, may I present Lord Darcy, the Chief Investigator for the Court of Chivalry.”

“A pleasure,” von Jonn said, coming to an exaggerated posture of attention and bowing stiffly in a distinctly Germanic military greeting. “A true and distinct pleasure, it is. I have heard of your exploits, my lord, and have been desirous of meeting you for some time. Particularly since I returned from the northern continent of the New World. I was planning to look,you up in London after the coronation.”

“And why is that, Major?” Lord Darcy asked.

Mary of Cumberland was staring at Lord Darcy and mouthing the words “on the list!” behind the Major’s back, Lord Darcy caught her eye and nodded slightly to show that he knew. He had memorized the list of names forwarded by Chief Henri, and Major von Jonn was among them. As was Lady Marta’s name, and Sir Darryl Longuert. Her Grace of Cumberland had indeed been busy in the few minutes she had been at the ball.

“I have always admired criminal investigation,” the Major explained. “It strikes me as something that is important to do—that is worth doing for itself. I have been thinking of trying to go into that field, if it can be determined that I have the ability. If you assume any sort of structured society, whether this one or one drastically different, it must have laws to define and protect itself. And the men who enforce those laws are the men who hold the society together.”

“Well, you have the philosophy, if not the ability,” Lord Darcy said, chuckling.

Master Dandro, a plump little sorcerer in his mid-forties, with protruding teeth and a slight chin, raised a protesting finger. “It is the Church that holds society together,” he pronounced. “Religion and magic—faith and practice—the two cornerstones of Angevin society. And the Crown, of course, is the key block in the arch, if I may be permitted to extend my metaphor.”

The Duchess of Cumberland smiled at the little sorcerer. “Really, Master Dandro,” she said. “That’s certainly an orthodox view.”

Master Dandro turned to her and smiled a rabbity smile. “Orthodoxy is my only doxy,” he said. He bowed slightly, chuckling at his own wit, and swiveled to face Master Sir Darryl Longuert. “I must congratulate you on your ascension to the laureateship, Sir Darryl,” he said. “Who would have thought—But then, you always did have the knack for being at the right place at the right time.”

“That must have been it,” Sir Darryl agreed mildly.

“The last time we met—was it two years ago?—such a thing was furthest from your mind, as I recall. You remember, Sir Darryl; it was at the thrumming.”

“Thrumming?” Lady Marta asked. “Is that an event?”

“In some places,” Lord Darcy said.

“It is a sorcerer’s term,” Sir Darryl explained. “It’s our expression for the ceremony of removing a sorcerer’s, ah, powers. It is done very rarely, and then only for extreme cause.”

“I know of what you speak,” Lord Darcy told him.

“It’s the aristocracy that holds society together,” said Lord Brummel, an old man with too much white hair and a high rasping voice. He looked around for approval, and not getting it, went “hah, hum,” and stared at the floor.

“Isn’t that what you were doing out there in the wilderness?” Lord Darcy asked Major von Jonn. “Enforcing the rules of society in a place where they’re still new?”

Major von Jonn shook his head. “The Twelve Nations, which is what the confederation of tribes around the northeast coast calls itself, has a civilization as old and as, ah, civilized as our own. We merely have superior guns and superior magic. Were it the other way around, they would have their colonies here, and call them ‘New Seneca’ or ‘East Iroquois.’”

“An interesting observation,” interjected a short, haughty-looking noble in a bright green court costume, who had just walked over and was standing to the left of Mary of Cumberland. He lifted his chin and peered through his quizzing-glass at the Major. “You think the savage aborigines of New England to be our cultural equals? I understand they paint their skins red and white and scalp their enemies.”

“Some do,” Major von Jonn agreed. “And in the principality of Hesse, where I come from, we cut the heads off thieves and hang them on pike staves in the village square. But we don’t paint ourselves red and white. Therein must lie the civilizing difference.”

“But they are immoral heathens, sir!” the nobleman snapped, looking annoyed.

“Not according to His Holiness, Pope Charles the Fourth,” Major von Jonn reminded him. “The Papal Inquisition of the New Lands determined that the natives have a well-defined religion, whose moral boundaries are acceptable to Christianity. Heathens, yes; immoral, no.”

Lord Darcy nodded. In the middle of the last century the Papal Inquiry had been set in motion over the question of the morality of the native religions of New England—the northern continent of the New World—and New France, the southern. After twenty years of study it had decided that, while certainly heathen—that is, un-Christian—most of the religions of the New World were clearly morally sound. The study was mostly of the quality of the magic practiced by the various peoples and religions. While in some cases—notably the war gods of the southern continent and up through the Duchy of Mechicoe—the reek of ancient evil was so strong that sensitives could not approach within a hundred yards of those temples, in most cases the rituals were as untainted with black magic as anything a Christian sorcerer or priest could ask for. And, of course, one of the tenets of modern religion was that the use of white magic was God’s gift to mankind, just as black magic came from the Devil. Therefore it must follow that if a religion could use white magic, it must be at least moral, even if misled in matters of faith.

Of course, this did not mean that, as it became possible, the natives would not be converted to the True Faith, it just meant that there wasn’t a dreadful hurry about it.

“Well!” said the nobleman, twirling his quizzing-glass at the end of its ribbon and glaring at the Major. “If you choose to make no distinction between the habits of a bunch of savages and the behavior of civilized men, so be it, sir.”

“Major von Jonn, may I present Baron Hepplethong,” the Duchess of Cumberland said smoothly.

“Ah!” Major von Jonn said. “A pleasure, Baron. That’s a British name, isn’t it? From the Pict, I believe. It was only a few hundred years ago when your ancestors were painting themselves blue, wasn’t it?”

“Humph!” Baron Hepplethong said, and turned away.

“That man is a fool,” Lady Marta said, her dark eyes staring at Baron Hepplethong’s retreating back. “Most men are fools, but he carries it to unnatural extremes. I have the misfortune to be distantly related to him. He believes in the natural superiority of the white race, the noble class, and the male sex. He also feels that people who wear green are morally superior to those who wear red or brown. I do not jest.”

“We all are subject to the prejudices of our class and our time, my dear Lady Marta,” Master Darryl said firmly. “Some of us more than others. You must learn to suffer fools, there are so many of them.”

“I try, Master Darryl,” Lady Marta said, turning back to him with a rustle of her skirts. “And I find that an occasional outburst helps.”

“Why, so it does,” Master Darryl admitted.

“An interesting theory you have,” Lord Darcy told the Major. “Is it that you hold with the nobility of the savage, or the savagery of European civilization?”

Major von Jonn thought it over for a second. “Yes,” he said finally. “I hold that there is no difference ethically, morally, or spiritually between us; only materially, the last and weakest of the four.”

“No difference, Major?” Master Sorcerer Dandro Bittman asked. “Surely—”

“I apologize, Master Dandro,” Major von Jonn said, bowing slightly to the sorcerer. “I did not mean no distinction. Several of their practices are quite different from ours in all of these ways. I meant no qualitative difference. Neither is superior to the other, given the basic differences between the two cultures.”

“Yours is a minority opinion, Major, as I suppose you know,” Lord Darcy told him. “But it is one which should be heard more often. It is a question that deserves to be debated and discussed, and not simply have the answers assumed by those in authority.”

“So I have often said, my lord,” Major von Jonn said.

“I don’t suppose that your outspoken notions regarding the native New Englanders had anything to do with your return home or your desire to get into another line of work?” Lord Darcy asked.

“Actually not,” Major von Jonn told him. “I have returned because I completed my five-year tour. I now have a six-month leave before I get reassigned. As to my change in interest—I cannot say that being a career soldier has ever truly appealed to me. It was the best route for advancement and education open to a young commoner from Hesse, so I took it. As I gained the education, I discovered that I disliked the career.”

“Fascinating discussion, fascinating,” Master Dandro said to the group at large. “But I must leave now. A matter of importance to discuss with His Majesty. You’ll excuse me, I’m sure.” And, smiling and bowing, he backed away from the group and into the surrounding throng.

“Why would His Majesty want to see Master Dandro Bittman?” Lady Marta asked.

“I fear that his description of the coming event might not tally with His Majesty’s,” Sir Darryl said. “When Master Dandro lies dying he will excuse himself, saying that there’s a small matter he wants to take up with the Lord.”

“A strange little man,” Mary of Cumberland said.

“But a fine sorcerer for all of that,” Sir Darryl told her. “His mind is rigid and not receptive to new ideas. But the ideas he holds are, ah, orthodox.”

“Soldiering is a noble calling, young man,” General Lord Halifax said. Looking like a brightly plumaged bird of prey, the tall, skinny general leaned forward and tapped the major on the shoulder. His two rows of medals clanked together on his chest. “It’s soldiering that has built this empire, and that keeps it together. You young chaps from the principalities would have little chance for advancement at all were it not for the profession of soldiering that is open to you all. It’s the hand that feeds you, young man, don’t bite it!”

“I’m not, sir. Not at all,” Major von Jonn protested. “As history has shown too clearly, any country that ceases to pay attention to soldiering soon ceases to exist. So it has been, and so it shall be into the foreseeable future. But personally, I’ve put in my ten years and I think it’s time for a change. And it could be that some would say that those of us from the provinces should have other opportunity for advancement besides the chance to die for our country.”

“Sir!” General Lord Halifax snorted.

Major von Jonn raised his hand. “Not I, General, I assure you.”

From the front of the room the ballmaster, who was the president of the Honorable Guild of Glassblowers, and therefore had mighty lungs and a powerful voice, announced the commencement of the first dance. It was to be a cotillon, with His Majesty and Her Majesty leading.

The talk died down to a murmur and the assembled mass moved aside, and the King and Queen of England and France, Emperor and Empress of the Angevin Empire, took their place in the center of the ballroom. Flanking them were their sons, the Prince of Britain and the Duke of Lancaster (soon to be Prince of Gaul) and their wives. And then, in order of precedence, the aristocracy of the Angevin Empire and the leaders of its most powerful guilds.

Lord Darcy noticed that Richard, Duke of Normandy, was not there. When he took his place with Mary of Cumberland on the dance floor, he understood why. On the three sides of the overhead balcony not used by the orchestra, spaced evenly around the room, were a squad of men. They were in the uniform of the Household Guard, and indeed they were of the guard, but they were a picked group. Lord Darcy recognized the figure of Richard of Normandy in guard’s officer’s uniform at one end of the balcony, and Coronel Lord Waybusch at the other.

Mary of Cumberland saw where Lord Darcy was looking and looked up. “Guards?” she asked. “What good can they do from up there?”

“Archers,” Lord Darcy told her. “Trained, practiced long-bowmen. The English archer has been defending the Empire for eight hundred years, and he’s still at it. A bow is still the best weapon for a medium distance in an enclosed space. More accurate and much quieter than a handgun. It must be Duke Richard’s idea. He is determined that nothing is going to happen to his brother.”

Lord Darcy looked grave, and Mary of Cumberland squeezed his arm. She knew what he was thinking. “So are we all,” she said.

The music started, and King John and Queen Marie, and the three hundred people around them, began the stately cotillon. Lord Darcy put his arm around the Duchess of Cumberland’s waist and held her perhaps a bit more firmly than was called for. “Let’s dance,” he whispered.