The Song of the Quarkbeast

and he always left me with the impression that he was an iron fist in a kid-leather glove. Pleasant on the surface, but too smart and savvy for it to be possible to get much past him, and loyal to the Crown through and through – and not averse to making a few sacks of cash on the side.

‘My Gracious Lord,’ exclaimed Tenbury in an exasperated tone. ‘What did we say about stamping things when I’m out of the room?’

‘Sorry,’ said the Useless Brother, looking bored, ‘but she seemed so nice and that person there has the same name as his last name.’

‘Perkins,’ said Perkins helpfully.

‘I see,’ said Tenbury, looking at us both suspiciously. ‘And why are you here before your allotted time?’

‘We were invited in,’ I said.

‘That’s true,’ said the Useless Brother. ‘It gets very lonely in here sometimes with no stamping to do.’

‘You could always look out of the window.’

‘Of course I can’t, silly,’ scolded the Useless Brother. ‘If I did that all morning I’d have nothing to do in the afternoon.’

‘Very well,’ said Tenbury with a sigh, ‘have we seen the mandatory magic demonstrations or heard opposition statements?’

The Useless Brother frowned.

‘Opposition . . . what?’

‘Have we?’ asked Tenbury, looking at me.

‘No, sir, although we did ask. His Uselessness waived the normal procedure—’

‘Then I must with all haste reinstate it,’ interrupted Tenbury. ‘I am sure you appreciate the importance of protocol and procedure, not to mention the possibility of falling foul of King Snodd’s “No Hoodwinking of Simpletons” Law, specifically enacted for his brother?’

‘My apologies, sir,’ I said bowing low, ‘I meant no disrespect.’

Tenbury smiled, and did so with considerable charm. It would be easy to trust him, and that would be one’s first and last mistake. Unlike King Snodd and his mediocre dignitaries with their false charm, Tenbury was actually quite good at it. I could imagine him saying ‘terribly sorry about this, old boy’ as he put someone on the rack.

‘But first,’ he continued, ‘pleasantries. Good afternoon, Miss Strange.’

I bobbed politely.

‘Good afternoon, your Grace. May I present Cadet Perkins Perkins, here to apply for a licence to perform magic? Cadet Perkins, this is Lord Tenbury, the King’s Chief Adviser.’

‘Good afternoon,’ said Tenbury with a smile, shaking Perkins’ hands, ‘so good of you to come. I expect you know this much-respected citizen?’

He indicated the man who had walked in with him. He was dressed all in black. Not the long flowing gowns of old wizidrical tradition, but a sharply tailored suit complete with black shirt, black tie, socks, shoes and, if the rumours were correct, underwear. He was a lean man in his early fifties with greying hair dyed black, a carefully coiffured goatee and upswept eyebrows that he had trained to work independently of one another for increased dramatic effect. He also had the annoying habit of keeping his chin high, so he had the appearance – if you were shorter, which most people were – of someone looking down his nose at you.

It was the Amazing Conrad Blix, chief wizard and managing director of iMagic.

We looked at one another coldly. The disdain wasn’t just mine, it was universal. Blix thought it was because his grandfather had been the much-hated Blix the Hideously Barbarous and we were being needlessly prejudiced over his power-mad descendant, but the truth was more prosaic: he just wasn’t very likeable.

‘Have trouble with a spell this morning?’ he asked.

I hoped my consternation didn’t show.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Several blips on the Shandargraph that were centred on Zambini Towers,’ he said, ‘One large dip at eleven fifteen that you kindly warned me about, several more ten minutes later, a pause and then a massive drain that almost flatlined the trace. It looked suspiciously like somebody got into trouble, and another tried to reverse it. They failed and then everyone tried together. Yes?’

He was entirely correct.

‘Not at all,’ I replied, ‘we were simply limbering up for the bridge gig on Friday. There’ll be some heavy lifting to do, and Patrick of Ludlow can’t be expected to shoulder all the work on his own.’

I could see Blix didn’t believe me, but I had other things on my mind. Not least, why was Blix buddying up with Lord Tenbury? I smelled a rat, and suspected it would not be long in making an appearance.

‘We haven’t met,’ said Blix to Perkins, so I apologised and introduced them.

‘I humble myself in your presence, sire,’ said Perkins politely, for irrespective of how you viewed him, Blix was still a skilled practitioner. ‘I saw you a few years back levijuggling[23] thirty- two billiard balls. Each in entirely separate orbits and speeds. It was quite something.’

‘Too kind,’ replied Blix with a bow.

‘That’s enough preamble,’ said Lord Tenbury, ‘and with His Eminence Ruprecht Sawduzt Snodd’s approval, we should look at Mr Perkins’ application.’

‘Who?’ asked Blix and I, almost at the same time, and Tenbury pointed at the King’s Useless Brother, who was doodling absently on the blotter.

‘Oh,’ we said, not considering that he even had a name.

Lord Tenbury pressed a button on the intercom and asked for Miss Smith to be sent in. I saw Blix stiffen when Tenbury mentioned her name, and I felt my pulse quicken, too. The door opened and an upright woman in early middle age with a shock of white hair walked in. Her eyes were so dark they seemed empty, and an undefinable damp silence of the sort you get in caves moved in with her.

‘Thank you – um – for joining us, Miss Smith,’ said Tenbury, shivering as he spoke.

‘Right,’ she replied, glaring at Blix with her dark eyes so savagely I saw the colour drain from his cheeks.

This was Miss Boolean Smith, once known as ‘the Magnificent Boo’ and a powerful independent sorceress of considerable talents until kidnapped by anti-magic extremists. She had never practised again following her release, nor revealed why. The only time she did anything related to magic was in her usual job as Beastmaster, and at times like this: she was Infernal Affairs’ nominated adjudicator, and would ensure that no trickery influenced Perkins’ practical demonstrations. It would be simplicity itself to have another wizard outside doing spells on Perkins’ account, or even a disgruntled wizard attempting to thwart Perkins with a jam, and Boo was there to detect any chicanery.

‘It is with much pleasure that I meet you again,’ I said, since we had spoken occasionally on the subject of Quarkbeasts, on which she was an expert. ‘May I present Cadet Perkins?’

The Once Magnificent Boo glared at Cadet Perkins but did not shake his outstretched hand. She never did – not with anyone.

‘I am much honoured,’ said Perkins, trying to avoid her jet-black eyes.

‘Then you honour too easily,’ she replied before turning to Blix. ‘Still drowning puppies, Conrad?’

‘That was never proved,’ replied Blix as the temperature in the room lowered another two degrees.

‘Pleasantries are over,’ said Tenbury nervously, ‘The paperwork, if you please, Miss Strange.’

I presented the paperwork to Ruprecht, who stared at it absently for a few seconds before Tenbury checked it and then passed it to Once Magnificent Boo, who grunted her approval.

‘You may proceed,’ said Tenbury.

‘This is my chosen spell from Group “A”,’ announced Perkins, as the Useless Brother and the chair he was sitting in elevated several feet, rotated once slowly, and then settled back down again.

‘Gosh,’ said the Useless Brother.

‘Accepted,’ said Boo.

Over the next twenty minutes, Perkins undertook several other acts of enchantment, which by their variety and scope demonstrated his understanding of the arts. He changed the colour of water in a jug to blue, made a light bulb glow without wires, and took off his own T-shirt without removing his shirt, which, while sounding easy, is actually one of the hardest to do in Group ‘C’. In fact, he managed all of the tasks without a problem and to Boo’s approval, and after several more assorted enchantments we were ready to hear any arguments opposing his