Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (48 page)

“I do,” Pentandra agreed.  “So what do these funds entail?  If I am to hire these people, what am I allowed to pay them?”

“For the officers, the customary wage is a half-ounce of silver a week, plus livery and maintenance.” Livery was the right to eat meals at the palace, a coveted perquisite.  Maintenance traditionally included a room or room allowance, coin enough for a suit of clothing each year, and use of the palace’s facilities.  It also included, Birsei explained, legal protection for the employees of the office.  Under feudal law her employees were essentially unlanded vassals, and their employ by the Court Wizard put them under her auspices as part of the Ducal household.  And her protection. 

“For the assistant, a half-ounce and sixpence, and for your deputy a full two ounces of silver, livery and maintenance.  Of course my lady is free to dictate a slightly higher or lower wage, within reason,” Birsei continued.  “Any remainder left in the office’s coffers is, of course, left to the discretion of the Court Wizard.” 

“So whatever I don’t spend on staff, I get to keep?” she asked, surprised.

“That is the custom,” Birsei affirmed.  “You, yourself, are paid a stipend of an ounce of gold a week, as a minister.  But you have discretionary power over your entire budget.  Should you decide you need it,” he stressed.

It dawned on Pentandra that the practice explained why the offices of the Ducal court wizards, across the duchies, were so notoriously inefficient and understaffed.  The Court Wizards were cheese-paring bastards who were lining their own pockets.

The money didn’t bother Pentandra, much – she had a fair-sized personal treasury, accounts at goldsmiths and moneylenders in Remere, and access to family funds, at need.  She had been fortunate enough to go through life without having to be concerned for her expenses.  That didn’t make her a wastrel – while she enjoyed shopping, she didn’t feel the need to be extravagant, the way her mother and sister were.  But she also felt no need to profit from her office beyond her token payment.  Power, not riches, were what motivated Pentandra.

The office was freshly-cleaned, but that merely revealed the decay underneath. The spellbindings on the doors to the vault and the records chamber were still intact.  But the place epitomized shabbiness. 

It seemed even worse when Pentandra conjured a magelight to hover over the table in the center of the room, illuminating the farthest corner far better than the light from the windows. The polished planks were scrubbed, but scuffed and tattered.  The plaster on the walls was brushed, but cracking and crumbling in places.  The furnishings were well-built but ancient.

The central office was decorated with faded tapestries featuring great Court Wizards in Alshari history, as well as the banner of the office: a yellow hand bearing a wand with a mage’s green five-pointed star in the palm.  All of the palace officers’ badges were yellow hands, save a few specialized officials.  That was her new heraldry, she realized.

Birsei showed her the small rooms set aside for her secretary, her assistant, and the former Censorate representative – a post that was, thankfully, forever vacant. 
She
was solely in charge of regulating the magical affairs for the Duchy now.  That was both liberating and terrifying.  Sitting back at the Order’s headquarters in Castabriel and issuing regulations was one thing – now she was in charge of implementing them.  And enforcing them.

“And my quarters?”

“Upstairs,” admitted Birsei, reluctantly.  “But they are not done being cleaned.”

“I would like to see them anyway,” Pentandra insisted.  “I need to arrange for furnishings and such.”

“Of course, my lady – you even have a small allowance for that. Follow me.”

The personal quarters were both more and less than Pentandra had hoped, and they were still, indeed, in need of a thorough cleaning.  The room at the head of the stairs was a kind of sitting room, with two small tables and some benches near the elaborately carved, soot-stained fireplace.  The room had a homey feel, in a ragged sort of way, and the timber floors were scraped and scarred from much use.  The tapestries were threadbare, and there were banners and trophies she didn’t recognized hanging from the horns of an ancient and moth-eaten stag’s head. The room was musty with smoke and mildew.

Beyond the other door in the room was the buttery, as well as a small locker for foodstuffs.  A common guarderobe stood to one side, and a large wardrobe stood to the other.  Three small rooms, no bigger than monk’s cells, lay beyond.

“You have three rooming spaces, here,” Birsei explained.  “An excellent perquisite for those who find rents in town prohibitive.  But you are also permitted two rental allowances, should your staff already have accommodations.  Your office has an account with the Lord of the Halls’ Master of Provision, at the palace storehouse.  You are entitled to four bottles of wine a week, six loaves of bread or equivalent, a quarter bushel of fruit, and three pounds of meat or sausage.  That’s in addition to livery,” he reminded her.

“And my chamber?” she asked, looking at the state of the buttery and hoping the drudges were thorough.

“Here, my lady,” he said, opening a slightly grander door.

It was . . . disappointing.

It was grand enough, for a rustic palace court official, she supposed – or at least it had been when it was built.  And before the lifting of the Bans that expanded the role of magic in the land.

“Remember, my lady, that these were intended as temporary summer quarters,” Birsei said, sympathetically, as he watched Pentandra’s reaction.  “The, uh, official residence of the Alshari Court Wizard is the Tower Arcane, an urban estate in Enultramar.  I hear it’s quite grand. One of the famous sights of the capital,” he said.  He didn’t mention it was also controlled by rebels and forever denied her.  He didn’t need to.  For good or ill, the duchy she was responsible for was confined to the Wilderlands.  “This was just the summer

The bed was decent enough.  Wide enough for four, with tree-like pillars that held the canopy overhead.   But the wool tick needed to be replaced, desperately, and the linens . . . she didn’t want to think about the linens.  They hadn’t been changed since before the room was occupied by a rowdy band of knights for two months.  They needed to be burned A few old chests and presses lined the walls, open and empty.

But it was small – half the size of the draughty chamber she lived in now.  There was a small door that led out to one of the ubiquitous balconies designed into the palace – another Southern touch, and influenced by Remeran architecture – which afforded her a little more usable space, but it was still . . . tiny.

“I’m going to need more space,” she blurted out, despite herself. 

“My lady, there just isn’t—”

“I know, I know,” she sighed.

“This was never designed to—”

“I know!” Pentandra burst out.  “We will just have to make do.  For now.  But this is . . . inadequate for long-term use of this office, Birsei.”

“I understand, my lady.  You are not the first to suggest that.  Master Thinradel – magelord Thinradel,” he corrected, fastidiously, “was particularly upset about it.”

“I will discuss the matter with His Grace,” Pentandra decided.  “This will have to do for now.”

Birsei left the most important part of the tour for last when they returned downstairs.  “And this is
your
office,” the castellan announced, proudly, opening the thick oaken door to the largest chamber she’d seen yet.  A magnificent old desk of some unknown dark wood dominated the windowless room.  Shelves lined the walls, shelves filled with books. A handsome scroll rack stood in the far corner, next to a small side table laden with a charming crystal decanter and cups of silver.  “It’s known as the Summer Office, of course, due to the temporary nature of its use.  For three months a year, this is where the Court Wizard heard cases and made policy for the Wilderlands magi.”

Now she was in the seat of power, technically the head of all of the Duchy of Alshar’s magi . . . and she was beginning to feel the dreadful weight of the responsibility before she had even exercised her power. 

She remembered what Thinradel had told her:
“I’ve never fought so hard for a job I hated so much.”

It wasn’t the bureaucracy that concerned her.  She’d built a decent organization out of nothing, when she had been the Steward of the Arcane Orders.  Nor was it the politics.  She was as adept at political manipulation as she was thaumaturgy. 

But in the Arcane Orders she had designed the organization according to her own insights about efficiency and effectiveness.  Here, as Court Wizard, she had inherited generations of messes of her predecessors, compounded by invasion, assassination, rebellion, stagnation, neglect, and technical revolution.  All that was missing were the caprices of the gods, Pentandra mused, darkly, as she took a seat in her office behind her desk for the first time. 

“I suppose I should start hiring some people,” she said, aloud, after a few moments’ thought.  Birsei nodded elegantly.  “So . . . I need to interview for the other officials . . .”

“Until you can hire a receptionist, I can serve,” Birsei volunteered.  “And I would recommend essential staff be hired as soon as possible.”

“Yes, thank you,” she answered, taking the chair behind the big wooden.  She cast two small magelights to hover overhead and tried to compose herself.  “Give me a few moments, and then send in the first applicant.”  Birsei nodded, and closed the door behind him.

Pentandra closed her eyes and reached out to her predecessor, mind-to-mind.

Yes?
Thinradel asked.

Am I catching you at a good time?

Just walking over to the stables.  What is on your mind?

I’m preparing to interview staff,
she said,
and I wanted your recommendations.

If you can get any of my old staff, do it – except for the churl named Barasei, he was useless.

Everyone else was competent?

Career bureaucrats, good at what they do,
he agreed.
  How do you like the quarters?
  She could tell by the tone in his mental voice that he suspected the answer already.

I move in today and I just saw them up close for the first time.  I’m considering burning them down and starting from scratch,
she admitted.

The entire palace was falling apart,
he reminded her. 
And that was back when there was a functioning government.  They spruce it up every summer to get through the season – if the Duke even deigns to travel north – and then once he’s gone, it goes back to its shabby splendor.  The Tower Arcane is much nicer.
That was the official residence of the Court Wizard, in Enultramar.  It was a miniature palace in its own right, over three hundred years old, and filled with the residue of dozens of Court Wizards.

So I hear.  But I don’t think I’ll ever find out for myself.  But thanks for your help.

That simplified her first three interviews dramatically.  They were all previous office holders, and thankfully Barasei, whoever he was, was not among them.  The three were all impressed and relieved at how quickly they were re-hired for their old jobs, and genuinely grateful when she handed over their livery tokens. 

Two men and a woman each accepted their positions as secretary, archivist, and minister of examinations and promised good and faithful service.  None of them looked particularly well-fed. There was not a lot of work available for unemployed magi without witchstones in Vorone.  Pentandra dismissed them to allow them to move back into their palace rooms upstairs and prepare for tomorrow’s business.

After that, however, the applicants were strangers to Thinradel, and she had to rely on her own intuition.  And her baculus.

She conjured the pretty silver rod before the fourth applicant came in.  It immediately seemed to investigate the room and assess Pentandra’s own mood in an arcane flash, before it settled down.  That was surprising, Pentandra thought to herself.  But the magical tool seemed to behave after that.

Having an imposing symbol of your office that doubled as a potent magical engine sitting casually on your desk helped simplify the interviewing process, she quickly discovered. 

The next applicant was a journeyman spellmonger from north of Tudry named Harrel who was desperate for any sort of job he could get.  The baculus quickly assessed the man’s Talent for Pentandra, as well as a lot of information she did not think to inquire about.  She hired him to man the Mirror Array station, as he had a facility for scrying.

The woman she interviewed after that was far less capable, a hedgewitch who all but insisted on a position.  Pentandra’s baculus revealed the woman did have a whiff of Talent, but it seemed to be involved more in persuasion than anything else.  She failed the few simple tests Pentandra provided for her.  She didn’t quite call her a fraud as she escorted her from the room, but she came as close as she dared.  “Lady” Darsta was volatile.

The next applicant was more congenial, a middle-aged former Censor named Thanguin, who had taken off the checkered cloak at the invitation of Minalan, himself.  He was no fanatic.  Originally an apprentice with a court wizard in Gilmora, he had joined the Censorate for lack of a better job at the time.  He had been among the few of his order in the Wilderlands to do so, and while he had not gained a witchstone for it, he had gained freedom.