The Eyes of a King (20 page)

“There is no time for this,” the butler said suddenly. “I am telling you the truth. There is no time to argue about it.”

“Explain what you mean, then,” said Raymond, suddenly uneasy. “Tell me what magic means in your country. You mean that you learned witchcraft, casting spells and suchlike? I can’t believe that. It’s a fairy tale, Field.”

“The great ones do not cast spells,” said the butler. “There are no magic spells; there is only willpower. You can do anything you want if you have enough strength of mind.”

“Magicians cast spells, in all the stories,” said Raymond.

“Call them magicians if you like,” said Aldebaran. “Those with powers do what appears to be magic. Impossible, superhuman feats. But everyone has willpower.”

“So anyone can do magic? Is that what you are saying?”

“Not anyone. There is a sort of spirit required. It is hard to explain.”

“Try,” said Raymond. “If you are going to tell me this story, Field, I will have to understand.”

“Very well. Suppose someone has willpower, and a talent for music, and good training. That person might become a musician. With a great one it is the same. Different people have the spirit—or talent—to do different things. The spirit of a magician is an absolute belief that when you apply the force of your mind to something, it will obey. You believe it is possible to do what other people would think impossible. You do not lose your nerve.”

“So why are there no real magicians here in England? If that was true, there would be.”

“There are. You just do not see them. There are people in England with the right traits to train in magic, even if they do not have the training itself.”

“So nothing is really magic?” said Raymond. “It is just willpower.”

“You could say that. Or you could say everything is magic. I’ll tell you what is magic, though: what is magic is the human spirit. It is what gives us the power to do great things. I prefer to say that everything is magic.”

“Perhaps you are right, Field.”

“It is just what I think.”

The fire shifted in the grate and the old man started. The butler got up and turned the coals over. It was summer, but the old house was still cold at nights, and the butler always lit the fires. Raymond watched the back of his head, frowning. “Field?” he said then. “If you really had powers, as you say, you would be able to prove it. You could show me a trick.”

The butler placed a coal in the closest flame. “I don’t want to give you another heart attack, sir.”

Raymond smiled. “I see.”

“I can do it if I want to; do not mistake my meaning.”

“Then do one of these impossible feats, Field, if you can.”

“Are you challenging me?” said Aldebaran.

“Yes.” Raymond laughed. “Yes, I am.”

The butler turned and stood up, brushing the coal dust off the knees of his trousers. “What would you have me do?”

Raymond glanced out at the clear sunset over the lake. “Start a thunderstorm.”

“I am too tired for that. Think of something smaller.”

“Why not the thunderstorm?” said Raymond. “Can’t you just say a word and wave your hand?”

“No,” said the butler. “You have to be careful. Talitha, the head of the secret service, is the greatest magician in my country, but there are things that even she could not do. She tried once to create a permanent doorway into England. It had never been attempted before, but she thought she could do it. It was too much. She nearly died.”

“Field …,” Raymond said. “Fascinating as this is …”

“I still have not shown you any magic.” The butler sat down again. “So what shall I do?”

“Make that book on the table there lift into the air.”

“Very well, sir.” The butler frowned at the book and it lifted.

It did not look magic; there was nothing special about it except that it was defying gravity—no aura of light about it, no puff of smoke, no sudden bang. Raymond had to look at it twice to see that there was anything different, and then realized that it
was several inches above the table. He leaned over and passed his hand under the book. It did not fall.

“You are not impressed,” said the butler with a faint smile, letting the book drop back to the table.

“Doubtful,” Raymond muttered, staring at Field. “But this is a very elaborate setup, if it is one. That gave me quite a turn.” He pressed his hand to his heart; it was suddenly beating fast.

“Sit still for a moment sir, and you will feel better.”

Raymond went on staring at the butler. “Do you know how strange it is when you suddenly realize that nothing is like it used to be?”

“Everything is exactly what it used to be,” said the butler. “Only you did not know before what it was.” He laughed. “That was an obvious trick. You could have asked me to do anything at all. It is not even my area of expertise, manipulation of forces.”

“What is your area?” said Raymond weakly.

“Prophecy,” said the butler. “Even when I was a young boy, the future would come to me in dreams. Once I predicted a storm that would have ruined our harvest. And when I was thirteen, I saw myself as a middle-aged man, tortured and banished. That came true, unfortunately. Everything I’ve ever predicted has.”

“Predict the future, then,” said Raymond. “Tell me what you see in my future.” He thought for a moment. “Tell me the day I’m going to die.”

“No,” said the butler, serious again. “I think I should go on with the story. This is not a game. None of this.”

Raymond was suddenly frightened, though he could not have said exactly why. “Yes, go on, Field,” he said.

“Prophecy was my main role in the secret service,” said the butler. “At least at first. I moved up the ranks and became very famous. The people would read in the newspapers that Aldebaran had uncovered a plot against the king or broken up a chain of arms dealers, and so ‘Aldebaran’ became a familiar name. There was an old prophecy about a great one who would come from the west of the country. People began to connect it with me. But it was only my taken name that was famous—the name I took on after my training. In the secret service, you remain anonymous. No one knew my face.”

“Aldebaran?” said Raymond. “That was the name you took after you trained in magic?”

“Aldebaran is my name, yes. After a star. That is the custom—to name the great men and women after stars, constellations, planets—you know.”

“Are there enough?” said Raymond, glancing out at the first stars that were appearing over the mountains.

“They haven’t run out yet,” said Aldebaran.

“So your name never was Arthur Field?” said Raymond.

“It was Arthur Field once,” said the butler. “But all those years in the secret service I was just Aldebaran.”

“Go on with the story,” said Raymond, leaning forward in his chair.

“There were very distinguished men and women in the secret service,” Aldebaran went on. “Most of them had powers; I was no one extraordinary there. Talitha was the greatest. She was the same age as me, but she always undertook the most serious and dangerous missions. She was far more powerful than I ever was. She had more raw talent to begin with, and more ambition. She
was head of the entire Malonian secret service by the time I was in my late forties. But I was just as famous by that time. Perhaps more so after that, because now I was gaining glory on the most difficult missions while she was directing operations from the city.

“Anyway, one day a task came up that Talitha nominated me for. The king, Cassius the First, had died the year before, and his son, aged only ten, had suddenly had to take up the throne. As a result of this, security was tightened, for fear of revolution. For a long while, the Kalitz family on Holy Island had been suspected of plotting an uprising; Marcus Kalitz had been an advisor to King Cassius the First, and had been fired in a mystery that no one quite understood.

“Now Mr. Kalitz was advertising for a tutor for his children. The plan was for me to infiltrate the family and keep a close watch on them. I thought that I was far too well-known for such a job. But for some reason Talitha had fixed it in her head that I was the only one to go. I suppose it was logical. I am a native of Holy Island myself. It is a separate state, ruled by the Kalitz family rather than the monarch, and the accent and the customs are very distinctive. I had that accent and I knew those customs. It was my home, which I loved, and though I did not admit it, I thought that I would prefer teaching a couple of children to negotiating politics. Those were the wrong reasons, perhaps. But I agreed.”

I put down the book. There was a silence. Then Stirling whispered, “He is Aldebaran.”

“Yes,” I said. “ We were right.”

“And Margaret is Grandmother, and baby Harold is Great-uncle Harold,” Stirling continued. “His family, that he was talking about at the beginning.”

I turned back to that page. I remembered Grandmother telling us once about the three of them growing up on Holy Island—a long time ago, before she stopped talking about Aldebaran. She had told us about how they used to sit in front of the fire with the baby, just as Aldebaran had told the old man. It was strange to read it again here.

“He must miss her,” said Stirling. “Aldebaran must miss Grandmother. She’s the same to him as I am to you.”

“I suppose she is.” I had never thought before about Aldebaran being Grandmother’s elder brother, and how they probably walked to school together and argued and talked for hours like Stirling and me. Aldebaran seemed too much of a legend for that. “Shall I read on?” I said. Stirling nodded. We had half an hour before Grandmother would be back from church, and there were several pages left.

O
utside the window it had grown quite dark, but Raymond made no move to turn on the lamp. “Go on with the story,” he said. “Tell me about Holy Island.”

The butler gazed out over the lake again. “This was what I was going to explain about. This mission that went wrong.” He seemed to be thinking for a moment, then began again. “Talitha ordered me to leave at once. I went to the harbor and boarded a ship that was going south to the coast, then northwest to Holy Island. All the time I traveled, my heart was lifting, because I was going home. The roads grew familiar as I neared Valacia.”

“What is Valacia?” said Raymond.

“The capital. The Kalitz mansion was outside it a short
way, not ten miles from where my parents used to farm. But I would not be able to communicate with my family. I knew that I would be as good as a prisoner in that place; I could not go out and risk being recognized, and besides, the Kalitz family lived set apart, behind high fences. They had an army of servants too, half of them guards. They were all lined up along the drive as I approached, just for show, even though I was only the children’s new tutor.”

“Did you say they were royalty?” asked Raymond.

“Not exactly. They are nobles. But they are royalty as far as Holy Island is concerned, and they expected to be treated as such. Anyway, the only one I could stand was Anneline, the little girl. Mr. Kalitz did not even come down to greet me when I arrived, and barely spoke to me in the weeks that followed. Most of the time he maintained a sullen silence. The only one he really spoke to was his son, Lucien. He would lecture him for hours. He preached to him against the monarchy as if he was a priest proclaiming the gospel.”

“Why did he hate the monarchy?” said Raymond.

“He hated the royal family—the Donahue family—mainly because of the argument between him and King Cassius the First. The king said that Kalitz had tried to assassinate him, and Kalitz said it was a misunderstanding. But the Kalitz family all hated the royal family.”

“What about the others?” said Raymond.

“Celine was just as irritating as her husband. She spent all her time comparing others to herself and finding them inferior. The servants were considered a lower race.”

“Surely you were not a servant?” said Raymond.

“I was counted a servant in that house. Not by Anneline, but by everyone else. Even the boy, Lucien, would order me about. He
was eleven when I arrived, and as ambitious as his father. Often it happens that a child so pressured by a parent will rebel against this with all his strength. I have noticed that here in your country too. But Marcus Kalitz could not have wished for a better firstborn in Lucien. He was even more ferociously antiroyalist than his father.”