Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (47 page)

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After the maddeningly mundane world of politics and diplomacy, Pentandra found herself eager to return to the life of a clandestine crimelord.  The work of Sir Vemas and the Woodsman was starting to bear fruit. 

The aborted Briga’s Day riots and the steady attrition of Opilio’s crew to the vicious swords of the Woodsman put the Knife in a defensive posture.  Now that they had seeded the idea in Bloodfinger’s mind that Opilio was desperate enough to try to unseat his biggest rival no matter the cost, she looked forward to how relations between the two crews of the gang developed. 

Matters were helped by the compulsion spell Pentandra had laid upon Bloodfinger before he was released to the wild.  It focused his attention on threats, potential threats, and possible threats, and drove his paranoia to unhealthy levels.  While she was not adept at Blue Magic, such an elementary thing as invoking Bloodfinger’s psychological threat response at every opportunity was not difficult.  By the time Pentandra’s charm took hold, Bloodfinger’s subconscious was convinced that not even Master Luthar could be trusted,  spell emphasized.  Every Rat around him was a potential foe.

It didn’t take particularly long for the effect of the spell had an effect on the Docks crew and their leadership.  Two bodies of Bloodfinger’s most trusted lieutenants were discovered in the river two days after the fire festival, their eardrums punctured, and rumors began flying that Bloodfinger was considering wiping out the Knife once and for all.  Three bodies of Opilio’s men, newly hired to replace their predecessors, were also discovered tied together and tortured in a warehouse in Bloodfinger’s territory.  Their plan was working, as bloody as it was.  The Rats were turning on each other, not lashing out at the population at large.

Pentandra wondered whether or not she had neatly handled a matter of national security with her spellwork . . . or released a violent psychopath on the town she was trying to protect.  At any time either Bloodfinger or the Knife could turn their anger and frustration on their clients and the common folk instead of each other.  On the one hand, a town with fewer Rats in it was the goal.  On the other, she didn’t want to wake up to more corpses in her cellar if she could help it. 

But this was the commission her duke had given her, and this was what she was going to accomplish. 

Some days life as a Court Wizard just wasn’t as cushy as she was led to believe.

Chapter Sixteen

The Office Of The Court Wizard

The next morning found Pentandra struggling to waken herself, and even her morning cup of tea didn’t bring relief from the excesses of the previous evening.  It had been long past midnight before she had quit the palace and made the short - but exceedingly tiresome - walk back to Northside.  She was not eager to repeat the journey this morning.

But today was professionally important to her, she knew, and she needed to get to the palace.  Now that the Orphans had departed, their quarters could be used to house the many adherents to the Duke’s cause . . . like the households who had been using the office of the Court Wizard as a residence for the last few weeks. The transition had been anticipated; the gentlemen of the court had been relocated as swiftly as possible by the castellans of the palace, and the offices they lived in were being hurriedly cleaned in preparation for returning them to order 

Today was when Pentandra would have to start acting like a real Court Wizard for the first time, and she discovered that she was dreading it.

Chasing criminals through the misty streets and using her powers to master the intrigues of court were minor concerns, compared to the task of organizing and administering to the magi of northern Alshar.  Magelord Thinradel was full of advice, as he lingered after the holiday, and was always available mind-to-mind, when emergencies arose.  The former Court Wizard was only too happy to consult – but the responsibility for overseeing the important office was hers, alone.

Nor was it the same office as it was in Thinradel’s day.  He had served under the last of the Censors of Magic, who handled much of the enforcement of the Bans.  Now that the Bans had been overturned and the Censorate exiled, all of that fell to her.

And that wasn’t all.  Thinradel had not had to supervise the installation and operation of the Mirror Array that allowed news and communications between the far-flung corners of the Kingdom.  Vorone had little need or desire of the service, before the Restoration, but now keeping tabs on the rest of the world was vital . . . as was the ability to send messages on behalf of His Grace.  Pentandra was responsible for hiring and running the operation, as Court Wizard.

Then there was the need to select special officers and officials.  The Arcane Orders had allowed for a magical official, to be known as the Spellwarden, a kind of arcane reeve, to monitor the magic in a given district.  As Vorone was a ducal city, that task fell to her, and she had to find someone to delegate it to, quickly.  Clandestine magic was not yet a problem in Vorone, but with the number of itinerant wizards in the region, it was only a matter of time.  That was on top of the officials she needed to hire to run the Examinations department and the Enforcement division. 

All told the Court Wizard’s office usually had a staff of ten to twelve, Thinradel informed her, to be paid out of her assigned annual budget. 

Which had yet to be approved or disbursed by Viscountess Threanas and Sister Saltia.

Yet the business went on regardless of whether or not there were officials hired to conduct it.  Despite the chaotic nature of the Alshari Wilderlands at the moment there were still scores of letters and scrolls in her office concerning urgent matters of the arcane.  There were still apprentices who needed their examinations run, complaints against magi to investigate, and a thousand other minor details to attend to.  Just because there was no functional government in Alshar at the moment did not mean there wasn’t a
need
for a functional government.  And a functional Court Wizard. 

So when she showed up that morning to inspect her recently-vacated office, she wasn’t anticipating the small crowd of people who had also gathered for the occasion . . . people who thought they had business with her.

There were seven of them, all mingling outside the small suite of chambers in the lower half of the palace.  Not counting the assistant castellan who was – apparently – assigned to her office. 

His name proved to be Bircei, a slight man with narrow shoulders, not much taller than Pentandra, a native Wilderland fellow who seemed terribly eager to help.  He produced the key to the suite, a big brass thing with the wand-and-star badge of the Ducal Court Wizard’s office on the end, and placed it in her hand with some ceremony. 

“The upper chambers – your
personal
chambers – are still due to be properly cleaned, my lady,” the soft-spoken young man assured her confidently.  “That should be attended to tonight, after normal hours, when I can get a team of drudges dedicated to the task.  You
should
be able to pick out furniture and fittings tomorrow.  We have a considerable store at the moment – Baron Edmarin may have had his faults, but he purchased many household goods from fleeing Wilderlords at great bargains and had them stored in the palace stockpile.”

“I look forward to seeing the possibilities,” Pentandra said, evenly as she cradled the key in her hand and stared at the front of the Ducal Court Wizard’s offices.  On the one hand she was looking forward to more spacious, less-crowded quarters.  As homey as Min’s hall was, the traffic from the Woodsmen and Kasari at all hours made it far from perfect as either a lover’s abode or a wizard’s lab.  Pentandra was looking forward to having both, now . . . once Arborn returned.

On the other hand, she’d heard Thinradel moaning about the unsuitable state of the place since she took the job, and she did not relish moving.  But it made sense to be closer to the court and the center of power, living here.  As much as she usually enjoyed the twenty-minute walk through the city every morning, the prospect of merely going downstairs and being at work had an appeal.

She was also looking forward to having an actual office, and not working from her bedchamber.  Not that the requirements of her position had been arduous, thus far, but there was parchment involved in even a nominal position at court; for a senior position, there seemed no end of it.  She often wondered how illiterate members of court handled their duties.

They have highly literate professionals to support them,
she replied to herself. 
And you do not. 

She realized that the small crowd of people in front of her door were staring at her.

“Who . . . who
are
these people?” she asked the young castellan, in a voice just above a whisper.  “Do you have any idea?”

“Actually, my lady, I do,” Bircei nodded.  “Most of them were here yesterday, or the day before, or even longer.”

“What do they
want?
” she asked, mystified.

“Jobs, mostly,” Bircei answered.  “Some have problems that they feel need to be brought to the attention of the Court Wizard, but most are magi seeking employment.  Indeed, some have already been in the employ of the office and seek to resume their duties – subject to your approval, of course.”

“Some of these people know how to run this office?” she asked, surprised. 

“Oh, certainly, my lady,” Bircei agreed.  “In particular, Master Dirmar, there, was one of Master Thinradel’s aids, I believe – that was before my time here,” he added, apologetically.  “Similarly, Mistress Sastine was in charge of the office’s records.  Both continued working right up to the . . . unfortunate events,” he said, using the phrase the palace servants had chosen to refer to the previous regime’s assassination.  “Baron Edmarin
un
officially closed down their office about six months after he was appointed, here.  He said it was a waste of the Duchy’s livery and resources in a time of war.”  The irony of a man totally unsuited for making that judgment closing her office was powerful.

“So what have they been doing since then?” she asked, curious.

“Oh, you would have to ask them, my lady . . . but I assume they’ve been doing what every other Voroni has been doing for the last few years.  Awaiting better times.”

“Is there . . . someplace
private
I could interview them?” she asked, unsure of how the suite was laid out.

“Oh, of course – this is just the reception area!  Let me give you a brief tour, which we will conclude in your private office,” Bircei said, pleasantly. 

It didn’t take long.  The lower level of the suite was a series of small chambers connecting to the reception room, one for examinations, one for records, one for the use of the Censorate, and one for general purposes.  Two small storerooms, locked with both key and simple spellbindings Pentandra had placed on the very first night in the palace, had been undisturbed since the last Court Wizard left, he explained.

“From what I understand they merely hold the ceremonial regalia, some small gifts, a few supplies, and some old records,” Bircei told her as they ended the tour in her private office.  Thinradel left a small library and a basic workbench, but little else of use.  The empty chamber echoed with their voices as Bircei prepared a fire in the fireplace.  “As your castellan, I can supply your office with whatever you need in terms of furnishings and common supplies.  Just prepare me a list,” he said, as he withdrew a flint and steel striker from a pouch.

“You can read?” Pentandra asked as she manifested her silver baculus from her ring.  “Allow me,” she added, sending a powerful burst of heat into the fireplace with a mere thought.  The paraclete in the baculus helpfully made her wishes reality, and the logs and kindling obligingly ignited.

“Thank you, my lady,” Birsei said, clearly impressed by the simple show of magic.  “Aye, I can read.  I spent three years at the monastery at Mostel, in the north, and learned the art there before the war.  I nearly took holy orders, too,” he added, with a wistful tone in his voice.

“Why didn’t you?  Did you feel a burning desire to fetch other people’s sheets and towels?” she joked.

“I had a burning desire, indeed, my lady – but her name was Brindine.  A village girl.  The allure of flesh was greater than the allure of scholarly study.  Much to the dismay of the monks, I chose a woman.  Fetching other people’s sheets and towels is not so bad,” he considered.

“So how did things work out with Brindine?  Did the allure of the flesh bear fruit?”

“Oh, we’ve been wed four years, now,” Birsei reported, matter-of-factly.  “Two children.  Never regretted giving up the books . . . much.  And there’s a lot more flesh now,” he added, with a look of resignation. 

“But enough about me, my lady.  I am the castellan assigned to your office,” he repeated, as he led her to the reception table.  “Every office in the working wing of the palace is assigned a castellan to see to its needs and oversee its housekeeping.  The Office of the Court Wizard,” he said, taking a scroll out of his sleeve and referring to it, “is allotted funds for two drudges, which I will hire, if my lady has no preference, to clean and maintain the premises.  In addition there are funds for four to five senior officers, currently, to conduct the business of the office.  You are also allotted funds for one primary assistant and one deputy.  If you find these resources inadequate, you may appeal your allotment to the Office of the Treasury.  I believe you know the ladies in question,” he added, diplomatically.