Modern Magick

Royalty and Ruin: 17

'Farringale destroyed by its own king,' said Jay, and whistled. 'That would be reason enough to expel him from Mandridore, certainly.'

'And to cover the whole thing up afterwards,' I agreed. 'I'm sure Hrruna wouldn't have wanted her husband to be remembered that way.'

'So they went off into the Vales of Wonder looking for a new source,' said Rob. 'And the excess of magick attracted the ortherex, who feed off some derivative of it; and they're still here. It fits, Ves, but do you have any evidence for it?'

'We're working on that.'

Indira was shaking her head, though she did not speak.

'What's on your mind?' I prompted.

'Surely...' she said. 'Surely no king would ever make such destructive decisions. And Torvaston is spoken of as a wise leader.'

'I don't imagine he made any such decision consciously, or rationally. But who decides to become an alcoholic? It is the kind of thing that happens by slow degrees, usually driven by some other factor. Perhaps Torvaston was feeling the pressures of leadership. Farringale was, after all, the most powerful and famous of the Fae Courts at the time. He might find himself turning more and more to something that eased the pressure, made him feel better. Some of his courtiers might follow suit.' I knew my ideas bordered upon treasonous, or they might be if I was a subject of Their Majesties myself. It's why I had opted not to mention any of my thoughts to Alban. Nor would I, until I had sound evidence to support them. 'Or it may have been unintentional. If I could turn myself into a pancake and Indira could fly, what else could you do with that much magick? What if they were trying to achieve something truly stupendous, and it got out of hand?'

'But how?' said Jay. 'How does a magick-drunk king flood an entire city?'

'Right. Top question. We need to find the source of magick for Farringale Dell and get a good look at it. I'm thinking it might be possible to draw on it, in some way, or to goose it — I don't know. Magick is too weak in modern Britain to pose any such problems. I doubt anyone's been magick-drunk in decades, if not centuries.'

'If they have,' said Jay, 'it's been as adroitly covered up as Torvaston's fall.'

A sobering thought. The Hidden Ministry was, after all, dedicated to keeping magickal secrets — besides being rather a secret itself. Had something like this happened more recently? I should call Mabyn, at the Forbidden Magick department. If it had, maybe she would know.

But, priorities. 'Mauf,' I said. 'Lady Tregawny's memoirs. This is why I brought them. Does she speak of anything that sounds like it might be the magickal heart of Farringale Dell?'

'Not as such,' said Mauf, but he spoke hesitantly. 'She was writing a little before Torvaston's day, of course, but she writes of a festival at midsummer. It was held only once every five or so years. We processed out of the City and into the Dell, my fellowes and I, garbed in festive raiment and all of a tumult, with our Gaiety and our Song. Their Majesties went ahead of us, as is Their Wont, and equally Their Right; and we of the Lesser Court did not reach the summit for some hours. When at last our moment came, so spongy was I that forward I went, hugger-mugger, and swounded quite away. 'Gramercy,' said I when once more I was myself, for despite my unseemly weakness they had allotted me a fair draught...'

'Spongy?' I said, befuddled.

'Drunk,' Mauf supplied.

'Perhaps she meant inebriated in the ordinary sense,' said Jay. 'But if she did, what is the "fair draught"? It hardly makes sense for it to be some kind of beverage, or why did they go out into the Dell for it?'