Modern Magick

The Fifth Britain: 15

'You made it!' said Jay, smiling, once we had finally crawled our way to the top of the cliff.

Fortunately for him, I was a bit too out of breath from the climb to make any immediate reply. I occupied myself instead with gazing out over the water. A town was distantly visible on the horizon, but I was insufficiently familiar with Scarborough to be able to tell whether or not it looked the same.

'Uh huh!' said Zareen brightly and added, with deceptive casualness, 'And where exactly have we made it to?'

'Oh, the fifth Britain. This is Whitmore, centre of magickal government for the North.' He eyed me in my slinky evening gown and added, 'Nice dress.'

Faced as he was with four identically pole-axed expressions, I suppose he could be forgiven the smug smile. 'There's lots to tell,' he conceded.

'Wait,' said Baron Alban. 'The fifth Britain? Five?'

'Yes,' said Jay. 'There are —'

'Five?' Zareen and I yelped in concert.

'Well—' said Jay.

'Five worlds like ours,' I said, and folded my arms. 'You cannot be serious, Jay.'

'I'm not,' he said, and folded his arms right back at me. 'There are nine.'

Nine that are known, came Melmidoc's voice. The door to the Starstone Spire stood open, and we had all paused only a few feet away. Many scholars believe that there are more yet to be discovered.

Zareen threw up her hands and took a step back, signalling her incapacity to cope with the conversation just then. I didn't blame her. George Mercer hadn't said a word; he stood a little apart from the rest of us, stony-faced and silent. From the look of him, I suspected his behaviour was prompted in large part by simple exhaustion. Zareen's too, probably.

'Which scholars?' said Alban.

Whitmore is also a centre of learning, said Melmidoc. Academics from more than one of the nine have gathered here. Even one or two from your Britain, Baron.

'Well, this is...' Alban left the sentence unfinished, and looked helplessly at me.

'How many did you know about?' I said shrewdly, for he alone had been little surprised by the general substance of Fenella's speech.

'Three are known to the Court. Not, I think, including this one.'

Considering the unique obstacles posed by your particular Britain, that is a respectable achievement, Melmidoc remarked.

'Thank you.' The Baron's voice was wintry.

'How are there nine?' I put in, my mind reeling. 'Are they all the same? Did they all come into being at the same time? How did you get here — what is this island — what became of the Whitmore of our Britain — what did you mean about the magickal government for the North — the North? Is there a separate one for the South? Why? Is that the fifth Scarborough over there? I—'

Peace, interrupted Melmidoc, and I stopped gabbling with a gulp.

'Sorry. But when we've finished with those questions I have about two thousand more.'

Melmidoc gave a dry chuckle. Questions are the product of an enquiring mind, and should never be apologised for. Let me begin with the first. How are there nine? Multiple theories upon that point have been proposed, but none have yet been proved beyond all doubt. They are not thought to have come into being all together, but that, too, is the subject of debate. Melmidoc's dry voice warmed with enthusiasm as he continued. I will be happy to hold a more detailed discourse with you upon those topics, should you like to hear about the leading theories. Now then, how do we get here? It is a sideways step, nothing more. Simple in explanation, difficult in practice, for your young friend here has not yet contrived to master the ability despite two days of practice. Perhaps, in your Britain — ours, I should say — it is by now a lost art. I should be sorry to think so. The Whitmore of your Britain sank, I am afraid. Rather an inconvenience to us at the time, but our removal here has turned out very well indeed, for we have been able to build the kind of magickal government in the North of this Britain of which we could only dream under the conditions prevailing in the sixth.