Bookworm II: The Very Ugly Duckling (38 page)

“There are ways to deal with the Levellers that do not require torture and humiliation,” Lord Falcate said. “Let the oaths be such that those who break them will suffer terribly.”

“I was going to propose that they no longer used magic on mundanes unless engaged in direct self-defence,” Duncan said. “Such an oath would be sufficiently binding, without making it impossible to do their studies.”

“So it would seem,” Lord Falcate said. “But oaths have been broken before.”

“The
prisoners
can swear oaths too,” Light Spinner said. “Let them be enchained by oaths sworn on their magic.”

Duncan winced. He had wanted to spare Jamal that, but Deferens had told him that it was unlikely that it could be avoided. An oath on his part was one thing; Jamal, if he remained Prime Heir, should be as unencumbered by oaths as possible. But there was no way to avoid it.

And it won’t stop him from using magic altogether
, he reminded himself.
It will just keep him out of trouble
.

“Agreed,” he said.

“The oaths must be written carefully,” Lord Falcate said, crossly. “Very carefully.”

Light Spinner nodded. “All in favour?”

Eight hands rose into the air. Lord Falcate and Lady Erving had both abstained. Or perhaps they wanted to vote against ... not that it would matter. Eight votes was enough to force the issue, even against the Grand Sorceress.

“This is not a pardon,” Light Spinner said, quietly. She knew it too. “This is not forgiveness, nor shall we forget what they did. If they act badly again, they will go back to the Watchtower, even if they don’t break their oaths openly.”

And if they do
, Duncan thought,
it will kill them
.

He was torn between relief and fear for his eldest son as he walked up to the Watchtower, accompanied by Deferens. The younger man kept smirking, but said nothing, not even trying to demand a price for his help. Duncan was sure that there
would
be a price, sooner or later, yet he was too relieved to care. Maybe Deferens had his eye on the Grand Sorceress’s position. It was against protocol to try to unseat one directly, but Deferens was ambitious enough to try.

The Inquisitors seemed to be out in force, he noted, as they entered the Watchtower and were shown into a single small room. They eyed the newcomers suspiciously, watching them as they waited for Jamal and his guards. Duncan almost felt his heart break when Jamal finally shuffled in, heavy iron chains attached to his feet and nasty-looking handcuffs binding his hands behind his back. Only a handful of magicians could cast spells while bound by iron, for reasons that escaped him; oddly, he found himself wondering if
Johan
could cast such spells. Duncan knew that
he
certainly couldn’t.

“This is the text of an oath,” an Inquisitor said. She was young, surprisingly so, with long blonde hair that dangled out of her hood. Definitely pretty enough to attract his attention ... but if she was an Inquisitor, she would be far too dangerous for him to toy with. “You will swear it upon your magic or you will not be allowed to leave the Watchtower. Do you understand the oath?”

She held the piece of paper up in front of Jamal’s eyes.
Someone
had clearly been in touch from the palace; the oath was simple, direct, and covered all the points that had been discussed in the meeting. The charms on the parchment, he sensed, would provide a gentle reminder at first, followed by something more lethal. At worst, he knew, direct deliberate disobedience would mean death.

Forcing a magician to swear an oath was insulting, a cause for a duel. Every so often, someone suggested using oaths to bind the magic of newcomers to the Peerless School; equally often, such oaths were rejected. Magic was the gift of the gods; it was not for humans to bind ... or so he had been told. The real reason, he suspected, was that magicians simply didn’t like bowing to authority, even their own.

“I understand,” Jamal said, weakly.

The Inquisitor scowled. Somehow, she still managed to look beautiful. “And will you swear?”

Jamal bowed his head. “I will,” he said. The Inquisitors unlocked the cuffs, allowing him to take the piece of paper in his hand. “I, Jamal of House Conidian, swear that I will not use my magic on mundanes except in direct self-defence. So it shall be.”

The magic field altered, slightly, as the oath shimmered into existence. Jamal was bound now, by a force that was woven into his very soul. If he broke the oath, Duncan knew, he would die. But there was another oath that had to be sworn.

He took the piece of paper the Inquisitor offered him and scowled down at the words. Subtle magic crawled over the parchment, warning him of the dread consequences of swearing the oath. Jamal might have thought little of it, or had just been desperate to leave the Watchtower, but Duncan could not afford to be so blasé. He gathered up his resolve, forcing the words out of his mouth. It had to be done.

“I, Duncan, Patriarch of House Conidian, swear that I will take responsibility for my son, Jamal Conidian, and that I will ensure that his behaviour is free of all criminal activity,” he said. “So it shall be.”

The world seemed to grow dim around him for a long second as the magic took hold, binding him to his word. Duncan ground his teeth and waited for the sensation to fade. It wasn’t the first oath he’d sworn, but it seemed to be harder than the one he’d sworn to always uphold the family’s interests. Maybe, he told himself, as the world slowly returned to normal, it was a reflection of his doubts about Jamal. Oath or no oath, making a proper human being out of him would be a hard task.

“Very good,” the Inquisitor said. Jamal was now Duncan’s problem – in all ways. Failure would mean death. “You may take your son from the Watchtower.”

Jamal waited until the chains were removed, then stumbled out of the room. Duncan followed him, after nodding goodbye to Deferens; the younger magician seemed inclined to stay and watch the other families as their children were released. It struck Duncan, suddenly, that Deferens had earned favours from seven other families, not just Duncan’s family ... he would be very well rewarded for his work. Some of those families were among the most powerful in the city.

There were a handful of carriages waiting by the gates. Duncan motioned for Jamal to get into one, then followed him, passing the driver a coin and their address. The carriage rattled to life; Duncan tapped his lips when Jamal opened his mouth and started to speak; who knew who might be listening to their conversation? Besides, what he wanted to say could wait until they got back home.

Their family – minus Johan – met them at the door. Duncan felt his heart sink when he saw that Charity and the rest of Jamal’s siblings seemed unenthusiastic about seeing him again, even after a long stay in prison. But then, it had only really been a week ... Jamal looked as though he had been in the Watchtower for months, if not years. He muttered orders to the menservants, telling them to wash Jamal, then dress him and escort him back down to Duncan’s study. Jamal would not have a chance to get comfortable before Duncan laid down the law.

“Thank you,” he said, when the menservants finally helped Jamal into the study. He had been washed and dressed in clean clothes, but he still looked subdued. Duncan could only hope that would last. “You may leave us.”

He glared at his eldest son as Jamal slumped into a chair. “I owe you an apology,” he said, simply. It was hard to keep the disgust out of his voice. “I really should have thrashed you more as a child. But I was so proud of how clever and powerful you are that I closed my eyes to a great many things. In hindsight, that was a dangerous mistake.”

Jamal started, but said nothing.

“I covered for you,” Duncan added. “I paid off the maids, or told everyone that they were lies. I ignored what you did to Johan and Charity and your other siblings. I told myself that they needed such treatment to help boost their powers ... well, the cost of my carelessness has been staggering. I will not be careless again.

“I have already altered the house wards,” he snapped. “You will not leave without my permission. You will not use magic without my permission. You will not have your fun with the maids or anyone else. You will be kind and polite to your family, particularly Johan when he returns to us. And if you break any of those rules, the menservants I hired have my full permission to thrash you. If
that
proves too little to force you to change your ways, I will take other steps. Your status as Prime Heir hangs by a thread.”

That
produced a reaction. Jamal jerked upwards, staring at him.

“If Charity was a year or two older, or a boy, I would have made her Prime Heir,” Duncan informed him, icily. “As it is, I cannot afford to remove you from the line of succession. Not
yet
. But if you are still unworthy of the position by the time Charity reaches the Age of Maturity, you will be removed and Charity will be Prime Heir. And I will
disinherit
you completely.”

“You can’t,” Jamal protested. “I ...”

“The powers of a Patriarch are vast,” Duncan snapped. “I cannot disinherit you if you are suitable for the position you would inherit, but it is my considered judgement that you are
not
suitable. If you do not shape up in two years, you will be removed from the family. Do you understand me?”

Jamal nodded, wordlessly.

Duncan scowled. He hated to berate his eldest son ... which, he knew now, had helped make Jamal the man he was today. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d punished the younger children, but Jamal had always been spared the worst of his fury. In hindsight, it had been a mistake. But it was one he was going to correct.

“You have done no end of damage to the family name,” Duncan hissed. “I will see that corrected or you out. Go.”

He pointed at the door. Jamal stared at him for a long moment, then stood up and slunk towards the door. Duncan knew better than to assume that the lesson had already sunk in, but it was a start. A few weeks of being treated like a child would hopefully make a man out of his eldest son. And if it didn’t ...

Duncan sighed, reached into one of his locked drawers and pulled out the marriage contract. Once signed, Johan would be legally betrothed to Jayne. Even if the marriage was never consummated, it would make it harder for Jayne to spy on him ...if, of course, that was what she
was
doing.

And if they liked each other, he told himself, so much the better.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Johan was cursing his decision to walk within a mile, but somehow he forced himself to keep going, pushing through trees and climbing hills as he walked onwards. It had never really dawned on him, even after a week in the mountain cabin, just how far one might have to walk to catch up with someone else outside the city. The Golden City could be walked from one side to the other in less than an hour; outside the Four Peaks, the land sprawled on for hundreds of miles. Only stubborn pride kept him going – pride and a determination to show everyone what he could do. The pencil he’d charmed kept wavering slightly, but the direction never changed. It was nearly two hours before he saw the building.

It was hidden in the forest; he wouldn’t have seen it at all, he realised, if he hadn’t been following the pencil. It was a long low building, just like the warehouses on the edge of the Golden City; like them, it was probably larger on the inside than on the outside. He circled the structure, only to feel the pencil twisting in his hand. His target, he realised mutely, was
inside
the building. Johan hesitated, unsure of how best to proceed, then found the door. It was hanging off its hinges, as if someone had broken them to break into the building itself. Carefully, he stepped into the giant warehouse.

The interior was crammed with strange machinery, he saw, as he crept inside. None of it made any sense to him, even though he had always taken an interest in non-magical technology. One piece of machinery looked big enough to be part of an Iron Dragon, another seemed designed to be small enough to hold in one hand. A faint scent caught his nostrils and he looked around, seeing a body lying on the ground. Johan crouched down beside the body, but it was clearly far too late to save his life. The expression on his face suggested that he had died in screaming agony.

“That’s the trouble with mundanes,” a high-pitched voice said. “They die
so
easily.”

Johan started, then looked around. The speaker was hidden behind the machinery, but his voice carried easily to where Johan was standing. There was something about the voice that chilled him to the bone, something that suggested that the speaker was more than a little insane. The pencil jerked in his hand as the Dark Wizard moved, then came into view. A chill ran down Johan’s spine as he saw him for the first time.

“I am Hawthorne,” the Dark Wizard said. The sneer on his face rivalled Jamal’s at his worst. “Are you unhappy that your little friends are dead?”

Johan stared at him, then scowled inwardly. Hawthorne had clearly taken him for a mundane, something that was insulting .... but useful.
Let him think that
, his thoughts whispered, as he stared at Hawthorne.
It might be useful to have him underestimate you
.

Hawthorne was tall, almost painfully thin, with a long angular nose and unkempt dark hair that fell down over his shoulders. His eyes were black as night, with neither pupils nor irises; his hands showed the telltale signs of too many dark spells. They were long, thin and twisted, as if he had aged prematurely. Johan had no idea how old the wizard was, but he would have been surprised if he was any older than his father. But dark wizardry took its toll on a person’s body and soul.

“I can see that you are,” Hawthorne said, when Johan said nothing. “But I’m afraid they had to die.”

He wants to gloat
, Johan thought. He recognised the symptoms from Jamal, although Jamal had never killed ... at least before the riot in front of the palace.
Let him. See what he tells you
.

“It’s really quite simple,” Hawthorne continued, in a light and airy voice. “They thought they could challenge the gods. For this, they had to be punished.”