Contest Winners: Everybody
The island was very small, very beautiful, and very quiet.
It was beautiful because of the staggering expanse of cloudless blue sky that stood over it like the cover on a gargantuan pie-plate, and because of the sunshine that sparkled on the still, turquoise-blue waters of the lagoon separating its shore from the coral reef that surrounded it, and because of its broad smooth beach of sparkling pewter-colored sand, and because of the almost painfully bright green of the grass that waved around the middle part of the island between stands of graceful palms and thickets of colorful fragrant flowers.
It was quiet because nobody lived there. No human foot had ever disturbed its soft sandy soil. No human hand had ever plucked its sweet succulent fruit. No human nose had ever sneezed upon its highly pollinated flowers. No human eye had ever watered with agony after the previously mentioned foot was stung by the spines of its venomous burrowing crustaceans. No human ear had ever heard the squawk of its cheerfully colored (but not very talkative) local species of parrot, nor the buzz of its viciously biting swarms of insects, nor the croaking battle-cry of the indigenous iguana relative whose vermin-infested bite guaranteed a slow, hideous death to anyone whose foot disturbed the island's soft sandy soil, or whose hand pl-... You get the picture.
It was small because... Well, it had always been small. But these days the island was even smaller than it ought to have been, at least if one counted as part of the island the smaller teardrop-shaped hump of sand connected to the main part of it by a slender shoal that was only above water at low tide. For the past little while--long enough for the iguanas to forget, but little enough for the parrots to remember--this stretch of land had been under water. Under water in a most unusual way. A way that threatened the parrots with extinction, because they could not resist their old insect-hunting grounds, even though visiting them meant diving horizontally through a vertical surface of water behind which swam the first sharks in the south seas to have developed a taste for parrot.
Today the parrots, iguanas, and stinging crustaceans of the littler-than-ever island were nonplussed by the arrival of three creatures the likes of which they had never seen. The trio arrived with a pop like a cork exiting a champagne bottle. One was a tall, broad-shouldered wizard whose flowing dark robes brushed the sand, and the hood of whose cloak overshadowed his face. The second was a pale, shapely witch who wore her pointed hat and broomstick-trimmed robes with an indescribable blend of demure domesticity and lively flamboyance, as though she wanted to make up for not being visible for a rather long time. The third was a seven-foot-tall, scruffy dump of a djinn who, although he was already weaving on his feet, risked leaning backward to finish the dregs of an enormous bottle of wine. With a loud hic the djinn sat down hard, crushing an iguana that had been sneaking up in the hope of biting him.
"What the devil is this?" the hooded wizard demanded, gesturing toward the wall of water that surrounded the smaller portion of the island.
"It'th an ishfthsmush," said the djinn, patting his pockets in search of another bottle. "An ithsthmuth. Itshthsmus. Isthmuff. Just a mo, I've got it: iffsmus."
"Not this," the wizard bellowed, kicking at the narrow shoal of damp sand that, at that moment, just cleared the surface of the lagoon. He gesticulated hugely toward the water wall: "This!"
"Dunno," said the djinn, squinting blearily at a paper umbrella he had discovered about his person. "Pimple on face of t'ocean? I say, yer couldn't poss'bly fetch a feller drop ter drink, could yer?"
The wizard turned toward the djinn, but was forced to retreat backwards by a long, rich belch whose odor providentially killed a swarm of bloodthirsty insects that had gathered around the three.
"Awk," the witch gagged, gathering several folds of her robes in front of her face.
"Parrot, I should think," said the djinn, though his pointing arm was just a bit too slow to follow the flight path of a gaily colored bird that, a moment later, perished in the jaws of a shark that jumped the isthmus and returned to the lagoon, all without leaving the water.
The wizard dipped his fingers in the sideways lagoon, pulled them out, and gave a low whistle. "Must be some kind of water-weave charm," he mused aloud.
"Powered by a waterspout spell," the witch added.
"Oi!" the djinn shouted. "Dyin' o' thirst, here!"
The wizard sighed, flicked his wand toward the top of a nearby palm, and caught a coconut as it sailed down into his hands. Then he drew a long, silver knife; hesitated, with a shake of his head perceptible in spite of the hood; and drove it through the shell of the coconut with an ease that made the djinn's eyes go wide. Another wave of the wand and the smell of piña colada brought moisture back to the djinn's dry mouth. Sober as he suddenly was, the djinn's hand shook slightly as he accepted the fruit from the wizard's hand. The umbrella went in, and for a while the only sound that came from behind it was a slow, steady slurp.
"That's him sorted," the witch said, the Romanian lilt in her voice contrasting with her British turn of phrase. She held out her right hand palm-up, balanced her wand on it, and chanted: "Annulus invenio." The wand began to spin like the needle of a compass, only it didn't stop until the witch muttered, "Finite."
"It has to be through here," the wizard said, gesturing with his head toward the wall of water. "I would hate to waste a wish on a broom only to find out that it forms a dome over the entire peninsula."
The djinn snickered behind its paper umbrella.
"What?" the wizard demanded. "What's funny?"
"You said penim- ...er. Penum... Pessinoola..." Slurp. "Wicked 'ot, it is. Wot wuz I sayin'?"
"Your drink is evaporating," the witch warned, and that silenced the djinn for another while.
"Bubble-head might get us through," the wizard mumbled, thinking aloud again. "That's if we can move fast enough to get to the other side before the sharks get us. And I can't tell how thick this water-weave is..."
"This would be a great place to bring the kids," the witch said, gazing in the opposite direction to where a lithe, beautiful skink lay sunning itself on the silvery beach. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a huge pair of jaws rose up from beneath the sand and closed around the unsuspecting reptile. "Maybe when they're a bit bigger, though," she added, shaken.
"An animagus transformation would help about now," the wizard said, continuing his previous train of thought and oblivious to what the witch was saying. "Only it would have to be to some type of aquatic creature. But those spells take ages to learn. And the sharks could still be a problem."
"Maybe a divination spell can get through their defenses," the witch speculated, squatting down before a tiny, reflective puddle of water. As she held the tip of her wand above the surface, a long black tongue darted out of the water, wrapped itself around the wand, and pulled hard. The witch barely managed to hold on as she engaged the creature in the pool in a fierce tug-of-war. Meanwhile, she couldn't spare the effort of calling for help, so the wizard had no idea this was happening. The djinn watched from under his paper umbrella, but did nothing to cheer her on except to continue slurping on his piña colada.
"Maybe a freezing hex?" the wizard thought aloud. "In this climate, it might not last long enough to kill anything, but it might give us time to break through to the other side... Only, it could be a meter thick. How would we get through it then?"
The witch finally wrestled her wand free of the grip of the submerged creature's prehensile tongue. She sat back on the sand, panting, until something stung her hand and she leapt up with a cry.
"Be quiet, will you?" the wizard snapped without looking over. He had begun to pace up and down before the wall of water. "One of us is trying to think here."
The witchground her teeth in frustration, cradling her stung hand as it swelled and turned red.
"Give us a butcher's," the djinn said, considerately setting his coconut aside and offering the witch a helpful hand.
Dubiously, the witch let the djinn check out her wounds.
"Hmm," he said, after holding the swollen limb close to his bleary eyes, sniffing the wound, and giving the swelling a gentle squeeze. "Ah," he said knowledgeably. "Nuffink a wee wish wouldn't sort" was his diagnosis.
The witch yanked her hand away from the djinn's inebriated caress. "I can wait for it to mend on its own," she sniffed.
"Meanwhile," the djinn said, shaking his empty coconut sadly, "P'raps yer'd make me five or six more o' these while yer 'ave time. Would hate ter get thirsty watchin' yer writhe in t'agathas... er, agronomies... angernees..."
"Don't you wish you had this fellow's way with words?" the witch called to the wizard behind her.
"Yes, dear," the wizard said absentmindedly.
Suddenly there was another "pop" as of a champagne cork going. The djinn hiccoughed and fell backward onto the sand, groaning, "Coo, but me 'ead 'urts!"
At the same moment, the wizard exclaimed: "I think I've got it, now!"
The witch, meanwhile, had realized her mistake and tried to stop her partner before he did something they would all regret. "Spanky! Wait!"
Spanky did not hear her. Flourishing his wand, he was already halfway through an elaborate incantation that began with Congelato! and was supposed to end with Reducto! As a result of the djinn's magic, it came out otherwise than as planned. He said "Congelato," all right; and a shield of frozen water spread before him from a center point directly opposite the tip of his wand. But instead of "Reducto," he said "Radix toe!" Then he stared dumbly at the ice shield before him, which was not blasted open by his second spell as expected. Instead, it continued spreading, though more slowly every moment; then stopped and began shrinking again, until all the ice was gone and the water-weave was back to normal.
When he tried to turn around to appeal to Ilona for help, he found himself stuck fast. Looking down, Spanky discovered a long tap-root growing out of his big toe. It had ripped a hole in his right boot and was busily burrowing into the sand when Spanky caught it. In wrestling it free of the sand, he fell over backward and had a good roll in the sand before he caught the waving root under control and, finally, singed it off with a silent blast of flame from his wand.
"Bovver," he said as he rose to his feet, examining his wand with concern. "Wot could've gorn wrong? Oi! Why am I talkin' like..."
Spanky finally paused and looked at the witch, who had stopped trying to get his attention and now seemed to wish she could become invisible.
"Ilona, luv," he said, grimacing at the words he heard coming out of his mouth, "what've yer done?"
"Actually, you did it," Ilona replied evasively.
"Did wot, luv?"
"Wished to talk like the djinn does."
"Did I?" Spanky looked severely dubious.
"A technicality," said the djinn, lifting one hand, index finger raised, from his otherwise supine repose.
"He tricked me," Ilona added.
"You tricked him," the djinn countered.
Ilona rolled her eyes and said, rather to Spanky than to the djinn, "Give him another drink and we can wish it all right back."
Spanky covered his face with both hands.
"She knows 'ow yer feel, mate," said the djinn.
"I wish," said Spanky.
"Aargh!" yowled the djinn, simultaneous to the popping of an invisible champagne cork. The magical creature clutched his head with one hand and his belly with another. "The mornin' after is comin' early, an' no mistake..."
"Oh, Ilona," the wizard groaned.
She turned away from him, her lips white. "Yer meant ter do that," she accused, wincing at the sound of her own voice.
"Get the poor sick child a hair o' the dog," the djinn begged. "I can 'ardly stand it."
Spanky produced three more coconuts, swiftly and efficiently cutting them open for the djinn's convenience.
"There's the problem," he said informatively, as he cleaned his silver knife. "Djinn need lurbi-... loobi... lurbrication ter work proper. Lee."
"Lee who?" Ilona said, rubbing her forehead.
"Proper-like," Spanky corrected himself. Sort of. "Look, there's a way ter get through this weave fing. We just 'ave to say the spell careful-like."
The djinn scowled. "Do I soun' like that fer real?"
"Shut yer gob," the witch-wizard couple said in unison.
"Let's try putting shark ter sleep," Ilona suggested.
"Good idea," said Spanky. They approached the water wall together.
While Ilona pointed her wand at the wall, Spanky stuck his arm into it and splashed it around. The shark jumped at him so quickly that he almost didn't have time to pull his arm back. Luckily, Ilona hit it with what was meant to be a Morpheus spell. Somehow it came out "Morphequus." Instead of falling asleep, the shark turned into a horse and leaped, neighing, out of the water weave.
As the sound of galloping hooves receded into the stand of palm trees, Ilona hung her head in humiliation. The djinn, however, laughed so hard that piña colada came out of his nose.
"This makes the aeons spent squeezed int' a dusty bottle worthwhile," he chortled as he wiped the moisture off his face. Then, after licking his fingers, he returned to his drinking.
"We'd best do this fast," said Ilona, observing that the once-towering djinn would now stand shorter than herself. "If 'e keeps drinkin' at this rate, we won' be able ter find him ter wish our way home."
After several more attempts to put the waiting sharks to sleep had the same effect, the island was home to a large herd of wild horses, all noisily whinnying, cropping the tropical grass, and running along the shore while the sun baked the seawater out of their coats. At last, using his arm as bait, Spanky was unable to attract any more predators. So, bracing themselves with a long look into each other's loving eyes, the witch and wizard held their breath and dove through the vertical lagoon.
A moment later they found themselves standing, drenched, on a flat, teardrop-shaped island under a dome of clear water, lit by the sun beyond. Amid the rippling, dancing patterns of light and shadow, they spotted a long, low, barn-like building, half-buried in a dune at the far end of the island.
"It must be here," breathed Ilona.
Spanky seemed preoccupied. His eyes closed, his nostrils flared...
"What is it?"
"Don't you smell them?"
"I smell something," Ilona whispered. "I thought it might be from having the sea all around us."
"No," he said.
If either of them noticed that they had their own accents back, neither remarked on it. Ilona strained her senses toward the building at the far end of the peninsula.
"Listen," said Spanky in a voice so low that Ilona more felt than heard it. "Listen. You must hear them."
For a moment he did not seem to hear her. Then, just as she separated a sound in the background from the muffled hum of the surf--just as she realized that it reminded her of the growling of a wild beast--a lonely voice, almost human, raised itself in a blood-chilling howl. Then another. Then several others... All of them coming from that slow, sand-swept shack.
The howling of wolves. No... The howling of werewolves.
"What is that djinn playing at?" Ilona trembled.
"Wishes are dangerous things," Spanky replied, unsheathing his dagger for the third time that day.
"Put that up," said a voice to their left. Ilona jumped. Spanky whirled, but not before two spells hit him, one blasting his knife out of his hand, the other taking his wand.
"Expelliarmus!" Ilona hissed, disarming the smaller of the two cloaked figures that had crept up on them from behind the dunes.
The larger of the two, however, took her wand. Doing the math, Spanky and Ilona held up their empty hands.
The wizard Ilona had disarmed picked up the weapons that had been dropped. The one who had overcome them wriggled the tip of his wand in Spanky's direction. "Where's the other barrel?"
The double-barreled wizard gently pulled out his second wand, grimacing in chagrin, and handed it over to his captor.
"Very good. Now I know the both of you, and you probably know me..." Harvey put back his hood.
"Did you like my wall? Family specialty, one of the premium items in our catalogue. No? Well, here you are. I regret that I can't say, 'Welcome to my home from home,' but you didn't choose the best time to pay a call."
To punctuate this remark, the werewolves in the barn--the not-very-distant-at-all barn--renewed their chorus of mournful howling.
"A full moon is going to be rising soon," said Harvey. "Your arrival at this of all times--most particularly, the scent of your blood--could have a most interesting effect on our breeding and training programme."
"Ours?" Spanky asked. "Yours and who else's?"
"Surely you recognize the man who took your knife," said Harvey, gesturing toward his smaller, hooded partner. "Why, he's the man who gave it you."
Another hood fell back, and so sharp was Spanky's shock that as he sucked air through his teeth, it made a whistling sound.
"Zophar," Ilona croaked. "Zophar Good!"
"Alive and well," said the twisted little man; and he gave a slight bow.
"How are you alive?" Spanky asked, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with sudden anger, he demanded: "What would possess you to breed an army of werewolves?"
"The usual motives," said Zophar Goode. "Money, revenge, and..."
"Shush!" said Harvey, but a moment later the need to conceal his last secret was moot. A loud, rubbery snap echoed deafeningly within the water-weave dome. As the echoes died, all eyes looked up at the top of the nearby dune, behind which someone had begun to play a recorder. A furry hump emerged above the top of the dune, followed by the rest of a harnessed yak. Leading it were two servants, while a third played the recorder and, walking beside the animal with her hand on its snout, a witch with a sort of motor-veil wrapped around the brim of her hat came into view. She raised a hand to wave at the party on the beach, releasing the end of the veil so that the wind caught it and let it trail behind her like a flag.
"Yoo-hoo!" cried Madam Solfeggia as her party picked its way over the top of the dune. She beamed at everyone as she came closer, most especially Ilona and Spanky.
"If it isn't the very people I was hoping to see before feeding-time," said the wolf-woman as her entourage brought the yak to a halt. "I was starting to worry that my clues were too subtle. But here you are!" Ilona was too nonplussed to resist having her cheeks air-kissed. "Has Harvey been a gracious host and shown you the puppies? They're just wolves at the moment, but wait until dusk and I daresay you'll be impressed! Shall we refresh ourselves?"
Harvey and Zophar Goode exchanged a look of bewilderment that mirrored the way Spanky and Ilona were feeling.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," said Ilona. "We're not here about the yak killing. We've come to ask Harvey to turn over an heirloom of my family which he has been, er, minding for me..."
"Don't be silly," said Madam Solfeggia, preening her robes while the recorder-player tootled on. "We both know Harvey isn't to be trusted with such an object. There are simply too many of him. No, dear, I've been holding the ring for you. But first, I have a teensy favor to ask of you. I would ordinarily be ashamed of the imposition, but since you can hardly resist my written request, I think the two of you could be of great service to me."
"To do what?" Spanky growled. "To set yourself up as the next dark lord?"
"Oh, no!" Madam Solfeggia laughed musically. She took Ilona's hand and handed it to Harvey, then put her hand on Spanky's elbow. "Nothing remotely like that. I only wish to lift the stigma that my kind must live under." She kept talking as she, Harvey, and the ever-present recorder-player led the Spankisons back over the dune from which she had come, while Zophar Goode and the other two servants led the yak away toward the barn. "The ostracism, the shunning. The persecution, even to the point of hunting and killing. It all has to be stopped. The time has long since come, but now at last the means has come as well."
"And how do you propose to do that?" said Spanky, as a roof of a smaller building--a house, perhaps--came into view behind the next dune but one. "I mean, if it were as simple as writing a letter, sealed with the Ring of Count Matthias, telling everyone who reads the Daily Prophet to accept werewolves as equal members of society..."
"I would already have done it?" Madam Solfeggia agreed. "But surely you see that it can't be that simple. I mean to say, what would happen after I returned the Ring to you? You would have it in your power to reverse everything I had accomplished. No, our solution must be more permanent. I only took the ring because I needed you, the two most trusted agents in the Rogue Magic Bureau."
Their musically-enhanced walk came to an end below the front porch of a modestly-proportioned but strongly-built house. "Do have a seat," Madam Solfeggia said, gesturing toward a row of driftwood chairs on the porch. "Dinty will be here presently with refreshments."
"I won't make myself comfortable," said Spanky, pulling his arm out of the wolf-lady's grip, "until you tell me how you mean to use me."
"Use you?" The lady's eyes softened. "I should think you would assist me willingly. Surely you can sense the injustice of the way my people are treated!"
"I simply can't see what all this"--Spanky gestured toward the barn, now hidden behind a dune, but easy enough to locate by the renewed howling that must have been triggered by the yak's arrival--"what all this is going to accomplish, in terms of gaining the sympathy of the wizarding world."
"The answer is simple, Mr. Spankison: We propose to have more people bitten. Many, many more."
"Merlin's beard," Spanky gasped. Ilona squeezed his hand, looking sick.
Madam Solfeggia, meanwhile, kept talking, gazing out upon the beach below and the base of the water-weave dome that enclosed it, oblivious to their horror. "Soon nearly every magical family will understand the trial that all too few of us now bear. People hate what they fear, and they fear what they do not understand. So doesn't it stand to reason that if they come to understand--really understand..."
+++ A NOTE FROM ROBBIE +++
Thanks for your patience, as this chapter took a record 3 months to pull together. My prognostication, back in September, that it was going to come out in record time, goes to show that I probably have Trelawney blood! I am fairly confident that the time-management crisis that curtailed my creative writing for a few months is now behind me (more or less), so I hope you can expect a few more Quills in 2011!
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #179 +++
You can help decide what happens next in The Magic Quill! Simply leave a brief comment (up to 150 words) answering the following Survey and Contest. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest answer that Robbie likes best, will turn up in the chapter after next.
SURVEY: Which Magic Quill hero holds the ultimate key to putting the pieces of Harvey back together? A) Spanky with his djinn. B) Joe Albuquerque with his hag. C) Sadie with her waveform collapser. D) Endora with the potion described below. E) Your write-in candidate--the more radical the suggestion, the better!
CONTEST: Our Endora hasn't had much to do for a while. What exciting potion has she been working on? Feel free not only to name the potion, but to describe how it's made, what it's supposed to do, and what happens if it isn't made quite right. The winning entry will be the most entertaining idea.
Showing posts with label Goode Bros.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Goode Bros.. Show all posts
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Saturday, December 27, 2008
142. Madam Solfeggia
Contest winner: TWZRD
Concept contributed by: greyniffler
The Snookerfield Quartet were in the full fury of a Beethoven fugue when the knock came. At first, nobody heard it. When it was repeated, rather louder, the quartet played on without missing a beat; but the lady of the house noticed. "Fifi," she shouted over the music. "Fifi, there! Yoo-hoo!"
Fifi had her ear-plugs in, so she heard none of this. She only noticed that her mistress wanted her attention when a stream of sparks arced over her shoulder, spouting from the lady's wand and very nearly igniting the feather duster Fifi was running over the piano. She turned, pulled out one wax ball, and screeched: "Your pardon, ma'am?"
Ma'am waved both hands toward the front hall, where the knocking had been replaced by a magically magnified voice booming, "Queen's business! Is anyone at home?" while the quartet sawed away, oblivious. "The door, girl!" the lady yelled. "Answer the door!"
A moment later Fifi returned to the parlor door and shrieked: "Agent Dalrymple and Agent Spankison of the R.M.B., if you please!"
Two wizards strode in with their pointy hats in their hands. One was tall, thin, and dangerous-looking. The other, stout and puffy under the eyes, had a harrassed look, and he flinched slightly when he saw that all the noise came from a live string quartet. The players glanced suspiciously at the two agents, whenever they had a chance to look up from their scores.
"You couldn't turn it down at all?" bellowed Dalrymple, the shorter wizard.
The lady snapped her fingers twice. The players looked up at her, though the music continued. "Roger, Tim, Barry, run along to the kitchen and tell Cook you're to have tea until I send for you. Herbert will stay and improvise quietly. Chop, chop!"
Three of the players broke off and hurried out of the room, leaving their instruments behind. Only the viola player remained; with hardly a pause, he launched into a set of variations on a tooth powder advertising jingle. "I could have guessed Herbert would be the viola player," Dalrymple sniffed inwardly.
Meanwhile, Spanky made the introductions. "Madam Solfeggia, I presume?"
The lady nodded.
"I'm Spankison, and my colleague here is Dalrymple."
"How pleased I am to meet you," she replied, with apparent sincerity. "I have read so many of your exploits in the Daily Prophet. To what do I owe this honor?"
She was a small, delicately-shaped woman with a deathly pale complexion, like one wasted away by illness; yet her cheeks had a flush of vitality, and her hands had a strong, sinewy look. She closed the book in which she had been writing and set it aside, smoothing the lap of her snug, floor-length black skirt. Over this she wore a cream-colored blouse with loose sleeves down to her wrists and a floral-printed scarf knotted firmly around her neck. She did not rise as the vistors entered, but Dalrymple spotted an ivory walking-stick leaning against the wall within reach of her chair. Perhaps she needed its support to stand up, he thought while Spanky answered her question.
"We're investigating the murder of a Himalayan ruminant, and a certain piece of evidence has led us to you. Do you have time to answer a few questions?"
"By all means, gentlemen. Have a seat. Be careful of the instruments. I'm afraid I can't be very helpful. I don't know any Tibetan monks."
"I was referring to a yak, actually."
"Well, that's another matter. We have a yak around here somewhere."
"Have, or had?" asked Dalrymple.
"Have, I think. But I couldn't say for certain. I never see it."
"Why do you have it, then?"
"Oh, dear!" Madam Solfeggia laughed musically. "You won't believe this. It was sent by mistake when I ordered a nightingale."
Dalrymple licked the tip of a quill and scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment. "Do you collect exotic pets, then?"
"Not really," said the lady. "I was trying something new. I have two string quartets and a wind quintet serving me, turn and turn about, twenty-four hours a day. Except on weekends and holidays, when I use two pianists and a ballad-singer. I thought perhaps a little nature music would make a nice change, give the lads a breather now and then. I can't bear to be without music, even for a moment. So when I saw a nightingale advertised in an owl-order catalog, I sent for it.
"Imagine my surprise when I saw the crate it came in, flying over the treetops under probably every third owl in Britain. They literally darkened the sky. At first I thought: How silly of me not to realize a nightingale would be so big! Then my staff opened the crate, and there it was. I've written to the dealer to ask if I can return the yak for a refund, but they haven't responded."
"Do you recall the address of this yak dealer?" asked Spanky.
"No. You'll have to ask Roger. He's my secretary, when he isn't playing in the quartet. He handles all of that. Everyone on my staff wears two hats. Fifi, the girl who let you in, is one of the pianists who serenades me on weekends. Herbert here keeps my accounts."
"I thought he would," Dalrymple muttered to himself.
"You'll find Roger in the kitchen," said Madam Solfeggia. "Will that be all, then?"
"Beg pardon," said Spanky, "but no. It actually wasn't the yak that led us here. Though we would like to see your yak, er..."
"To eliminate it as a suspect?" The lady appeared to be stifling a laugh.
"To eliminate it as a victim," Dalrymple corrected her.
"Who is in charge of keeping the beast?" asked Spanky. "Is it Tim or Barry, perhaps?"
"No, it's a member of the other quartet, Sam Hill by name. He is not in at the moment. It's his morning off, and his next shift doesn't start till three o'clock."
The agents' eyes touched in a significant look.
"Perhaps we can come back then," Dalrymple suggested, speaking slowly, "and Mr. Hill can show us your yak."
Madam Solfeggia smiled. "As you wish. Once you see it, I am sure you will find that any connection between this house and your crime is but a red herring. Or yak, rather."
"That leaves only one other matter," said Spanky. "Do you own a knife like this?" He pulled out his Zichri Goode ounce-of-prevention and showed it to her, blade sideways.
The lady's reaction was the last thing the two agents expected. Simultaneously, she drew a sharp, hissing breath; pushed herself to her feet so that her chair tipped over behind her; and drew her wand. Since Spanky was holding his knife between both hands, he could not quickly reach either of his wands to defend himself. Dalrymple had scarcely reached for his wand when the lady muttered her first charm.
Fortunately, it was only a shield charm. Unfortunately, Madam Solfeggia miscalculated in her haste and panic, putting too much power into the spell. The invisible shield blew outward, swatting the knife out of Spanky's hand and sending it flying toward Herbert's viola. The musician flinched, risking his flesh to protect the instrument, and suffered a deep slash across his left arm. The viola dropped out of his nerveless hands as Herbert screamed in pain.
"No!" Madam Solfeggia screamed, covering her ears and staggering backwards. "Help! Somebody must sing at once!"
Herbert was too busy howling and wrapping a handkerchief around his bleeding arm. Spanky was occupied with leaping to retrieve his silver-bladed knife. Dalrymple faced Madam Solfeggia with his wand fully extended, unable to hear her cries over his own voice shouting, "Drop the wand!"
The lady fell backwards over her fallen chair. Suddenly everything went quiet, except for the sound of footsteps running away and a door slamming at the back of the house.
Then, from the corner behind the overturned chair, the three wizards heard a deep, hideous growl.
"Save us," Herbert whimpered. "You must play music for her. Or sing something. Otherwise she'll kill us all."
"I doubt that," said Spanky, brandishing a wand in one hand and his knife in the other.
"You don't understand," groaned the viola player. Then he began to sing - badly - making up the notes and the words to go with them: "She hasn't transformed for over sixteen years. The music holds it at bay. But the change can't be skipped, only delayed. All the hunger and fury of a hundred full moons, coming at you at once..." Herbert shuddered, nodding toward the knife. "You may kill her with that thing, but like as not she'll kill one or two of us first."
The musician subsided into panting. He was losing too much blood to keep singing. It might have been a relief to hear the end of his dreary tune, but as soon as it stopped, the growling began again.
Dalrymple whistled a couple bars of "The Girl from Ipanema." The growling stopped.
"Huh," he said. "What do you know?" The growling started again.
"Keep whistling," said Spanky.
"I don't know any songs," said Dalrymple.
"Then play Chopsticks on the piano," said Spanky.
"I can do that," said Dalrymple, and he did.
A strong, pale hand reached out from behind the toppled chair and grasped the ivory cane by the window. While Spanky kept his weapons trained in her direction, and while Dalrymple kept playing chopsticks over and over, Madam Solfeggia slowly dragged herself to her feet. She looked exhausted, ill, frightened, and savagely angry; her clothes hung on her awkwardly, as if she had taken them off and put them back on while lurking out of sight.
"So it's true, what they say about music and the savage beast." Spanky looked awkward but wary as he made the quip.
"It's breast, not beast," the lady snarled. "I will not have that thing pointed at me in my own house. And for pity's sake, go out and find somebody who can play better than this rubbish." She pointed her cane toward Dalrymple, but then lost her balance and only kept herself from falling again by catching hold of the windowsill and leaning on it. "I can heal Herbert. As long as I can hear something approximating music, no one will be in danger."
Herbert gave Spanky a look that said, "Please, don't leave me with her," but Spanky left anyway.
He came back surprisingly quickly, having found Fifi barricaded in the pantry. She slid onto the piano bench next to Dalrymple and began playing a Chopin Polonaise. Dalrymple smiled gratefully and wiped the sweat off his face, but he wasn't the only one grateful for the change.
Herbert's sleeve had been torn off. Except for a pink line across his arm and the bloodstains on his robe, there was no other sign he had been wounded at all. He was now looking over his viola, checking it for damage. Madam Solfeggia, meanwhile, was back in her chair, still shaken. She closed her eyes with relief as Fifi began playing.
"I am sorry to have caused so much trouble," she said, with a tone of humility that bordered on self-loathing. "As you can see, I am doing all that anybody can do to prevent my condition from..." She hesitated to choose her next word.
"Spreading?" Dalrymple prompted
"Causing harm?" Spanky suggested.
"Manifesting," she said. "I would a thousand times rather have been a vampire," she added. "It would be horrible, evil, and wrong, but at least it wouldn't be as..." Once again she seemed to be at a loss for words.
Dalrymple and Spanky looked at each other, but neither of them chose to help the lady this time.
"...sordid," she finally decided. "Wild, stinking, animal - I hate it. I have always hated it. I doubt that any curse could make me as miserable as this does. And now because of it I get accused of yak-slaughter and have my life threatened in my own parlor. I can't imagine falling lower than this."
Spanky hung his head. "It is I who should apologize," he said.
Dalrymple stared at him, amazed.
"How is that?" the lady asked warily.
"I did not expect my knife to have that kind of effect on you. I assumed the one we found stuck in the yak had your name on it because it belonged to you."
Madam Solfeggia's eyes snapped open. "It had what?"
"Your name," Spanky repeated slowly. He held up a photograph of a knife, nearly identical to his own, but with the words Solfeggia d'Arezzo engraved on the blade in an elaborate, curly script.
"I've never seen that," she said, gazing at the picture in something between shock and horror. "But why? How?"
"You know as much as we do," said Dalrymple. "The knife is what led us to you."
"Several years ago we found another body with a similar knife in it," said Spanky. "Neither the owner of the knife, nor the victim, was ever identified."
"Victim?" Madam Solfeggia murmured, clutching at the scarf around her neck. "Not a yak, I take it?"
"This man," said Dalrymple, and he produced a photo from one of his pockets. A photo whose subject did not move, unlike the subjects of most wizard photographs. He didn't move because he was dead.
"Mother of Gounod," the lady whispered, her hand now moving up to hover in front of her mouth. "That's him."
"You know him?" Dalrymple asked, his face turning as pale as hers.
"That's - that's the boy," she faltered. A puzzling series of emotions flowed across her face - perhaps rage; perhaps fear; perhaps even tenderness.
"Which boy?" Dalrymple demanded
"That's the young man who..." Again her voice gave out.
Dalrymple was at the end of his patience. He threw the photograph at her. It hit her chest edge-on as the agent shouted, "The man who what?"
As the photograph dropped into Madam Solfeggia's lap, it turned face-downward. Somehow this seemed to break the spell that held her. She looked up at Dalrymple and shouted back: "Who made me like this!" And then she covered her eyes with both hands and burst into tears.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
You can help decide what happens next in The Magic Quill! First, go to the forums, or send Robbie feedback. Then, in 250 words or less, answer the following Survey and Contest. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest answer that Robbie likes best, will turn up in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: The yak found under Penelope Spankison's bed was: (A) Madam Solfeggia's pet yak, of course! (B) A similar yak supplied by the same mysterious dealer. (C) A Tibetan animagus whose similarity to Madam Solfeggia's yak was a coincidence. (D) A random victim pulled out of some kind of magical wormhole for no other purpose than to leave a grisly message under Spanky's nose. (E) A runaway zoo animal that followed Penelope home and gave its life to protect her from a knife-wielding assassin.
CONTEST: Describe a magical procedure, creature, or object from a book outside the Harry Potter series, something that might make a nice addition to the HP magical world. You may choose any book that Robbie has already reviewed on The Book Trolley. (This will save the time it takes him to read it.)
[Originally posted 9/14/08]
Concept contributed by: greyniffler
The Snookerfield Quartet were in the full fury of a Beethoven fugue when the knock came. At first, nobody heard it. When it was repeated, rather louder, the quartet played on without missing a beat; but the lady of the house noticed. "Fifi," she shouted over the music. "Fifi, there! Yoo-hoo!"
Fifi had her ear-plugs in, so she heard none of this. She only noticed that her mistress wanted her attention when a stream of sparks arced over her shoulder, spouting from the lady's wand and very nearly igniting the feather duster Fifi was running over the piano. She turned, pulled out one wax ball, and screeched: "Your pardon, ma'am?"
Ma'am waved both hands toward the front hall, where the knocking had been replaced by a magically magnified voice booming, "Queen's business! Is anyone at home?" while the quartet sawed away, oblivious. "The door, girl!" the lady yelled. "Answer the door!"
A moment later Fifi returned to the parlor door and shrieked: "Agent Dalrymple and Agent Spankison of the R.M.B., if you please!"
Two wizards strode in with their pointy hats in their hands. One was tall, thin, and dangerous-looking. The other, stout and puffy under the eyes, had a harrassed look, and he flinched slightly when he saw that all the noise came from a live string quartet. The players glanced suspiciously at the two agents, whenever they had a chance to look up from their scores.
"You couldn't turn it down at all?" bellowed Dalrymple, the shorter wizard.
The lady snapped her fingers twice. The players looked up at her, though the music continued. "Roger, Tim, Barry, run along to the kitchen and tell Cook you're to have tea until I send for you. Herbert will stay and improvise quietly. Chop, chop!"
Three of the players broke off and hurried out of the room, leaving their instruments behind. Only the viola player remained; with hardly a pause, he launched into a set of variations on a tooth powder advertising jingle. "I could have guessed Herbert would be the viola player," Dalrymple sniffed inwardly.
Meanwhile, Spanky made the introductions. "Madam Solfeggia, I presume?"
The lady nodded.
"I'm Spankison, and my colleague here is Dalrymple."
"How pleased I am to meet you," she replied, with apparent sincerity. "I have read so many of your exploits in the Daily Prophet. To what do I owe this honor?"
She was a small, delicately-shaped woman with a deathly pale complexion, like one wasted away by illness; yet her cheeks had a flush of vitality, and her hands had a strong, sinewy look. She closed the book in which she had been writing and set it aside, smoothing the lap of her snug, floor-length black skirt. Over this she wore a cream-colored blouse with loose sleeves down to her wrists and a floral-printed scarf knotted firmly around her neck. She did not rise as the vistors entered, but Dalrymple spotted an ivory walking-stick leaning against the wall within reach of her chair. Perhaps she needed its support to stand up, he thought while Spanky answered her question.
"We're investigating the murder of a Himalayan ruminant, and a certain piece of evidence has led us to you. Do you have time to answer a few questions?"
"By all means, gentlemen. Have a seat. Be careful of the instruments. I'm afraid I can't be very helpful. I don't know any Tibetan monks."
"I was referring to a yak, actually."
"Well, that's another matter. We have a yak around here somewhere."
"Have, or had?" asked Dalrymple.
"Have, I think. But I couldn't say for certain. I never see it."
"Why do you have it, then?"
"Oh, dear!" Madam Solfeggia laughed musically. "You won't believe this. It was sent by mistake when I ordered a nightingale."
Dalrymple licked the tip of a quill and scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment. "Do you collect exotic pets, then?"
"Not really," said the lady. "I was trying something new. I have two string quartets and a wind quintet serving me, turn and turn about, twenty-four hours a day. Except on weekends and holidays, when I use two pianists and a ballad-singer. I thought perhaps a little nature music would make a nice change, give the lads a breather now and then. I can't bear to be without music, even for a moment. So when I saw a nightingale advertised in an owl-order catalog, I sent for it.
"Imagine my surprise when I saw the crate it came in, flying over the treetops under probably every third owl in Britain. They literally darkened the sky. At first I thought: How silly of me not to realize a nightingale would be so big! Then my staff opened the crate, and there it was. I've written to the dealer to ask if I can return the yak for a refund, but they haven't responded."
"Do you recall the address of this yak dealer?" asked Spanky.
"No. You'll have to ask Roger. He's my secretary, when he isn't playing in the quartet. He handles all of that. Everyone on my staff wears two hats. Fifi, the girl who let you in, is one of the pianists who serenades me on weekends. Herbert here keeps my accounts."
"I thought he would," Dalrymple muttered to himself.
"You'll find Roger in the kitchen," said Madam Solfeggia. "Will that be all, then?"
"Beg pardon," said Spanky, "but no. It actually wasn't the yak that led us here. Though we would like to see your yak, er..."
"To eliminate it as a suspect?" The lady appeared to be stifling a laugh.
"To eliminate it as a victim," Dalrymple corrected her.
"Who is in charge of keeping the beast?" asked Spanky. "Is it Tim or Barry, perhaps?"
"No, it's a member of the other quartet, Sam Hill by name. He is not in at the moment. It's his morning off, and his next shift doesn't start till three o'clock."
The agents' eyes touched in a significant look.
"Perhaps we can come back then," Dalrymple suggested, speaking slowly, "and Mr. Hill can show us your yak."
Madam Solfeggia smiled. "As you wish. Once you see it, I am sure you will find that any connection between this house and your crime is but a red herring. Or yak, rather."
"That leaves only one other matter," said Spanky. "Do you own a knife like this?" He pulled out his Zichri Goode ounce-of-prevention and showed it to her, blade sideways.
The lady's reaction was the last thing the two agents expected. Simultaneously, she drew a sharp, hissing breath; pushed herself to her feet so that her chair tipped over behind her; and drew her wand. Since Spanky was holding his knife between both hands, he could not quickly reach either of his wands to defend himself. Dalrymple had scarcely reached for his wand when the lady muttered her first charm.
Fortunately, it was only a shield charm. Unfortunately, Madam Solfeggia miscalculated in her haste and panic, putting too much power into the spell. The invisible shield blew outward, swatting the knife out of Spanky's hand and sending it flying toward Herbert's viola. The musician flinched, risking his flesh to protect the instrument, and suffered a deep slash across his left arm. The viola dropped out of his nerveless hands as Herbert screamed in pain.
"No!" Madam Solfeggia screamed, covering her ears and staggering backwards. "Help! Somebody must sing at once!"
Herbert was too busy howling and wrapping a handkerchief around his bleeding arm. Spanky was occupied with leaping to retrieve his silver-bladed knife. Dalrymple faced Madam Solfeggia with his wand fully extended, unable to hear her cries over his own voice shouting, "Drop the wand!"
The lady fell backwards over her fallen chair. Suddenly everything went quiet, except for the sound of footsteps running away and a door slamming at the back of the house.
Then, from the corner behind the overturned chair, the three wizards heard a deep, hideous growl.
"Save us," Herbert whimpered. "You must play music for her. Or sing something. Otherwise she'll kill us all."
"I doubt that," said Spanky, brandishing a wand in one hand and his knife in the other.
"You don't understand," groaned the viola player. Then he began to sing - badly - making up the notes and the words to go with them: "She hasn't transformed for over sixteen years. The music holds it at bay. But the change can't be skipped, only delayed. All the hunger and fury of a hundred full moons, coming at you at once..." Herbert shuddered, nodding toward the knife. "You may kill her with that thing, but like as not she'll kill one or two of us first."
The musician subsided into panting. He was losing too much blood to keep singing. It might have been a relief to hear the end of his dreary tune, but as soon as it stopped, the growling began again.
Dalrymple whistled a couple bars of "The Girl from Ipanema." The growling stopped.
"Huh," he said. "What do you know?" The growling started again.
"Keep whistling," said Spanky.
"I don't know any songs," said Dalrymple.
"Then play Chopsticks on the piano," said Spanky.
"I can do that," said Dalrymple, and he did.
A strong, pale hand reached out from behind the toppled chair and grasped the ivory cane by the window. While Spanky kept his weapons trained in her direction, and while Dalrymple kept playing chopsticks over and over, Madam Solfeggia slowly dragged herself to her feet. She looked exhausted, ill, frightened, and savagely angry; her clothes hung on her awkwardly, as if she had taken them off and put them back on while lurking out of sight.
"So it's true, what they say about music and the savage beast." Spanky looked awkward but wary as he made the quip.
"It's breast, not beast," the lady snarled. "I will not have that thing pointed at me in my own house. And for pity's sake, go out and find somebody who can play better than this rubbish." She pointed her cane toward Dalrymple, but then lost her balance and only kept herself from falling again by catching hold of the windowsill and leaning on it. "I can heal Herbert. As long as I can hear something approximating music, no one will be in danger."
Herbert gave Spanky a look that said, "Please, don't leave me with her," but Spanky left anyway.
He came back surprisingly quickly, having found Fifi barricaded in the pantry. She slid onto the piano bench next to Dalrymple and began playing a Chopin Polonaise. Dalrymple smiled gratefully and wiped the sweat off his face, but he wasn't the only one grateful for the change.
Herbert's sleeve had been torn off. Except for a pink line across his arm and the bloodstains on his robe, there was no other sign he had been wounded at all. He was now looking over his viola, checking it for damage. Madam Solfeggia, meanwhile, was back in her chair, still shaken. She closed her eyes with relief as Fifi began playing.
"I am sorry to have caused so much trouble," she said, with a tone of humility that bordered on self-loathing. "As you can see, I am doing all that anybody can do to prevent my condition from..." She hesitated to choose her next word.
"Spreading?" Dalrymple prompted
"Causing harm?" Spanky suggested.
"Manifesting," she said. "I would a thousand times rather have been a vampire," she added. "It would be horrible, evil, and wrong, but at least it wouldn't be as..." Once again she seemed to be at a loss for words.
Dalrymple and Spanky looked at each other, but neither of them chose to help the lady this time.
"...sordid," she finally decided. "Wild, stinking, animal - I hate it. I have always hated it. I doubt that any curse could make me as miserable as this does. And now because of it I get accused of yak-slaughter and have my life threatened in my own parlor. I can't imagine falling lower than this."
Spanky hung his head. "It is I who should apologize," he said.
Dalrymple stared at him, amazed.
"How is that?" the lady asked warily.
"I did not expect my knife to have that kind of effect on you. I assumed the one we found stuck in the yak had your name on it because it belonged to you."
Madam Solfeggia's eyes snapped open. "It had what?"
"Your name," Spanky repeated slowly. He held up a photograph of a knife, nearly identical to his own, but with the words Solfeggia d'Arezzo engraved on the blade in an elaborate, curly script.
"I've never seen that," she said, gazing at the picture in something between shock and horror. "But why? How?"
"You know as much as we do," said Dalrymple. "The knife is what led us to you."
"Several years ago we found another body with a similar knife in it," said Spanky. "Neither the owner of the knife, nor the victim, was ever identified."
"Victim?" Madam Solfeggia murmured, clutching at the scarf around her neck. "Not a yak, I take it?"
"This man," said Dalrymple, and he produced a photo from one of his pockets. A photo whose subject did not move, unlike the subjects of most wizard photographs. He didn't move because he was dead.
"Mother of Gounod," the lady whispered, her hand now moving up to hover in front of her mouth. "That's him."
"You know him?" Dalrymple asked, his face turning as pale as hers.
"That's - that's the boy," she faltered. A puzzling series of emotions flowed across her face - perhaps rage; perhaps fear; perhaps even tenderness.
"Which boy?" Dalrymple demanded
"That's the young man who..." Again her voice gave out.
Dalrymple was at the end of his patience. He threw the photograph at her. It hit her chest edge-on as the agent shouted, "The man who what?"
As the photograph dropped into Madam Solfeggia's lap, it turned face-downward. Somehow this seemed to break the spell that held her. She looked up at Dalrymple and shouted back: "Who made me like this!" And then she covered her eyes with both hands and burst into tears.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
You can help decide what happens next in The Magic Quill! First, go to the forums, or send Robbie feedback. Then, in 250 words or less, answer the following Survey and Contest. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest answer that Robbie likes best, will turn up in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: The yak found under Penelope Spankison's bed was: (A) Madam Solfeggia's pet yak, of course! (B) A similar yak supplied by the same mysterious dealer. (C) A Tibetan animagus whose similarity to Madam Solfeggia's yak was a coincidence. (D) A random victim pulled out of some kind of magical wormhole for no other purpose than to leave a grisly message under Spanky's nose. (E) A runaway zoo animal that followed Penelope home and gave its life to protect her from a knife-wielding assassin.
CONTEST: Describe a magical procedure, creature, or object from a book outside the Harry Potter series, something that might make a nice addition to the HP magical world. You may choose any book that Robbie has already reviewed on The Book Trolley. (This will save the time it takes him to read it.)
[Originally posted 9/14/08]
140. Persephone's Yak
Contest winner: Quercitron
"Dad, there's a yak under my bed."
"Very good, dear. Go back to bed."
"I said there's a yak under my bed!"
"I heard you. Since it's not on top of your bed, you should still fit. See you tomorrow."
"I can't sleep with a yak under me!"
"Persephone, yaks live at high altitudes and extreme cold. I'm sure he is no happier about this situation than you. Do I see him coming in here to complain?"
"Mum! Dad says I have to sleep with a yak!"
"Spanky, I'm sorry that I must do this, but..."
ZAP!
"Yow! What happened? Who's on fire?"
"You were, dear. I've put you out."
"Is that Persephone there? What do you want, girl?"
"I've already told you, there's a yak under my bed."
"Well, let's have a look at it, then. Let me lean on your shoulder. My whole leg is pins and needles."
(Long pause.)
"Persephone, there's a yak under your bed."
"I know, Dad."
"It's awfully big. How did it get there?"
"I don't know. I didn't do it!"
"I'm not saying you did, but...did you have a fight with that Tibetan kid at school?"
"What Tibetan kid? Stop kidding around, Dad. There's a yak in my room and I don't know why and the smell is incredible and I'm scared!"
"There, there, girl. Not to worry. I think it's dead."
"Eurgh! Daaaad!"
"Er, why don't you sleep next to Mum tonight? Dad'll have this sorted by first light."
PUFF!
"Desk of Agent Dalrymple, RMB. Oi, Caspar!"
"Agent on du-... Oh, it's you, Spankison. What gives?"
"A dead yak under my daughter's bed, that's what."
"Good! It's been a boring night till now."
"Happy to serve. I need the body transferred to forensic augury right away. Also, I could use your help tracing the spells that brought it here."
"Spellprinting in a witch's bedroom?"
"She's underage, and a good girl. There shouldn't be too many latents in the room. Oh -- and here's something that should give us a push in the right direction."
"What is it, then?"
"It's the knife sticking out of the yak's throat. It's the same design as my knife."
"But it isn't yours, I collect?"
"No, I've got mine right here in the pocket of my pajamas. It's not a common design, though. I knew the man who made them - long dead - custom-designed for fighting werewolves - "
"Ah, yes. Zichri Goode's 'Ounce of Prevention.'"
"The very same."
"It so happens I have an open case involving one of his knives. Hard to forget. Unknown male, mid-twenties, found naked with an Ounce of Prevention stuck in him. Might have been a werewolf, since the only wound on him was the deathblow. Rather the pound of cure, what?"
(Silence.)
"Well, I thought it was a good..."
"The crime scene wasn't a train?"
"No less than the Hogwarts Express. How did you know?"
"Get your team out here immediately. I have another call to make."
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
You can help decide what happens next in The Magic Quill! First, go to the forums, or send Robbie feedback. Then, in 250 words or less, answer the following Survey and Contest. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest answer that Robbie likes best, will turn up in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is closed.]
SURVEY: Persephone's yak is a message of some kind - but from whom? A) The person who committed the Murder on the Hogwarts Express (see Chapter 109). B) Someone who blames Spanky for the murder. C) Somebody who blames the RMB for not solving the murder. D) A werewolf or werewolves. E) ________ (write-in candidate).
CONTEST: Describe a magical use for music.
[Originally posted 7/23/08]
"Dad, there's a yak under my bed."
"Very good, dear. Go back to bed."
"I said there's a yak under my bed!"
"I heard you. Since it's not on top of your bed, you should still fit. See you tomorrow."
"I can't sleep with a yak under me!"
"Persephone, yaks live at high altitudes and extreme cold. I'm sure he is no happier about this situation than you. Do I see him coming in here to complain?"
"Mum! Dad says I have to sleep with a yak!"
"Spanky, I'm sorry that I must do this, but..."
ZAP!
"Yow! What happened? Who's on fire?"
"You were, dear. I've put you out."
"Is that Persephone there? What do you want, girl?"
"I've already told you, there's a yak under my bed."
"Well, let's have a look at it, then. Let me lean on your shoulder. My whole leg is pins and needles."
(Long pause.)
"Persephone, there's a yak under your bed."
"I know, Dad."
"It's awfully big. How did it get there?"
"I don't know. I didn't do it!"
"I'm not saying you did, but...did you have a fight with that Tibetan kid at school?"
"What Tibetan kid? Stop kidding around, Dad. There's a yak in my room and I don't know why and the smell is incredible and I'm scared!"
"There, there, girl. Not to worry. I think it's dead."
"Eurgh! Daaaad!"
"Er, why don't you sleep next to Mum tonight? Dad'll have this sorted by first light."
PUFF!
"Desk of Agent Dalrymple, RMB. Oi, Caspar!"
"Agent on du-... Oh, it's you, Spankison. What gives?"
"A dead yak under my daughter's bed, that's what."
"Good! It's been a boring night till now."
"Happy to serve. I need the body transferred to forensic augury right away. Also, I could use your help tracing the spells that brought it here."
"Spellprinting in a witch's bedroom?"
"She's underage, and a good girl. There shouldn't be too many latents in the room. Oh -- and here's something that should give us a push in the right direction."
"What is it, then?"
"It's the knife sticking out of the yak's throat. It's the same design as my knife."
"But it isn't yours, I collect?"
"No, I've got mine right here in the pocket of my pajamas. It's not a common design, though. I knew the man who made them - long dead - custom-designed for fighting werewolves - "
"Ah, yes. Zichri Goode's 'Ounce of Prevention.'"
"The very same."
"It so happens I have an open case involving one of his knives. Hard to forget. Unknown male, mid-twenties, found naked with an Ounce of Prevention stuck in him. Might have been a werewolf, since the only wound on him was the deathblow. Rather the pound of cure, what?"
(Silence.)
"Well, I thought it was a good..."
"The crime scene wasn't a train?"
"No less than the Hogwarts Express. How did you know?"
"Get your team out here immediately. I have another call to make."
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
You can help decide what happens next in The Magic Quill! First, go to the forums, or send Robbie feedback. Then, in 250 words or less, answer the following Survey and Contest. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest answer that Robbie likes best, will turn up in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is closed.]
SURVEY: Persephone's yak is a message of some kind - but from whom? A) The person who committed the Murder on the Hogwarts Express (see Chapter 109). B) Someone who blames Spanky for the murder. C) Somebody who blames the RMB for not solving the murder. D) A werewolf or werewolves. E) ________ (write-in candidate).
CONTEST: Describe a magical use for music.
[Originally posted 7/23/08]
121. Madrigal Unchained
Contest winner: greyniffler
Concept contributed by ralucacoldea
Spanky’s tale continued...
“While Mulligan the house-elf kept my wand pointed at me, Ilona went behind him and untied the hagmaid and Zichri Goode. She also checked the condition of the surviving RMB agents, but everyone was unconscious, perhaps in an enchanted sleep.
“I kept the house-elf’s attention on myself by staring him in the eye. I had learned this trick during one of my earliest RMB cases, something to do with a gargoyle guarding a doorway, a gargoyle that could move and attack you, except it was frozen as long as you looked it in the eye. I held Mulligan’s eyes in an unblinking stare; he could not look away. After a minute of this he started to shake slightly, either from fury or from weakness. I have seen people faint after a minute of my basilisk stare.
“When Ilona was done, I told Mulligan I wanted a plate of grapes and cheese cubes. He took advantage of being freed from my gaze, and used my wand to conjure up an enormous spiderweb to keep me pinned to my chaise longue. Then he went away to fetch the food.
“Ilona knelt beside me and started to pick through the strands of spiderweb. She still hadn’t said anything since Minimilian had gone off to play golf. I finally broke the silence.
“’What is this artifact, then?’ I asked. ‘The one your old boyfriend keeps going on about.’
“Ilona glared at me for a moment, then snorted. ‘Boyfriend indeed,’ she said. ‘We are distant cousins. Our families have never agreed. We knew each other at school, where I learned never to turn my back on him.’
“’Sweet school-days,’ I said bitterly. ‘What memories you must share!’
“’He was Professor Lukavij’s star pupil,’ she said, ‘because of his interest in dark magic. It wasn’t an altogether scholarly interest, either. He used his knowledge to fill the school with curse-traps, poisoned pajamas, and cruel illusions. He encouraged the ghosts and poltergeists to reach for higher levels of disruptiveness, and kept letting dangerous plants, creatures, and magical objects fall in the way of unsuspecting students and even teachers. No one blamed him because he seemed so sweet and cheerful and honest, and because his family gave a lot of money to the school.’
“’I know the type,’ I growled, glancing with a pang at the corpse of Sid Shmedly.
“Ilona nodded and went on: ‘Minimilian takes pleasure in other people’s discomfort. Everything he did was meant to cause either pain or chaos. He broke up friendships. He gave people bad dreams. His pranks caused injuries that, in one or two cases, led students to withdraw from the school. The teachers complained, but Lukavij did nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Merlin’s friends from Durmstrang hadn’t become lost in Gringotts because of misleading directions Minimilian gave them – though they weren’t in school at the same time.’
“’This is all very interesting,’ I said, struggling against the cobweb but unable to move my arms. ‘But...’
“’The artifact,’ Ilona said, still picking at the web. ‘Yes. I was getting to that. His family and my family both have claims to the castle where you lived during your Moldovan Worm Control assignment. The castle used to belong to a great nobleman who served the king of Moldova, Stephen the Great and Holy, Stephen the Third. This nobleman was also a wizard, and an ancestor of both Minimilian and me. Mind you, this was in the fifteenth century, so that makes us very distant relatives...’
“’Point taken,’ I said. ‘Go on.’
“’Who are you talking to?’ squeaked a gravelly, and heavily accented, voice at my elbow. I flinched, painfully hitting the edge of a silver tray with my elbow. Grapes and cheese cubes flew up in the air and rained down on my head, becoming stuck in the spiderweb, which (fortunately) helped to conceal the progress Ilona had made in unpicking it.
“’Excellent,’ I said evasively. ‘Now, since I’m all tied up here, perhaps you would be so kind as to feed me.’
“For the next little while, the house-elf picked grapes and cheese cubes out of the cobweb and stuck them in my mouth with his dirty little fingers. I chewed silently, listening to Ilona’s story which, I knew, only I could hear.
“’This wizard nobleman, whose name was Matthias, had a signet ring that he kept hidden somewhere in his castle. It was the type of wing used to make an impression in wafer seals, the kind that nobility and royalty used to sign important documents. Matthias had ensorcelled his seal so that anyone receiving a letter from him must obey what the letter said.’
“’A ring of power,’ I said around a mouthful of cheese.
“The house-elf raised his eyebrows inquiringly. I told him I needed something to drink, and he went away to fetch it.
“Hurriedly resuming her unpicking of the spiderweb, Ilona continued: ‘A ring of royal power, yes, and it was meant for King Stephen. But Matthias kept it for himself, and used it to incite conflicts among his rivals, and to build up his own power. But in the year 1499, Matthias was thrown from his horse and died. His twin sons did not agree as to which of them should inherit. In the resulting battle the castle was burned, the ring lost, and the family divided down to this day. Minimilian thinks the ring belongs to him, and if he gets it, he could use it to turn countless people into his willing or unwilling slaves.’
“’He also thinks you have it,’ I added. ‘He thinks I helped you steal it from “his” castle.’
“Ilona’s face darkened with anger. ‘The ring has a spell on it. Only the rightful owner can touch it. It cannot be stolen, only given freely. However, the castle ruin also has a spell on it; no descendant of Count Matthias the Second can enter it uninvited. The second count’s brother, who considered himself Count Stephen, saw to that.’
“’So you,’ I said, ‘are descended from...’
“’Count Matthias II,’ Ilona said. ‘Minimilian descends from Stephen, Matthias’s twin brother.’
“’And Matthias was the rightful owner of the ring?’
“’His father had given it to him shortly before he died. But somehow it was returned to its hiding place, which only the father knew. The story told in my family is that Matthias II tied it up in a handkerchief and gave it back to his father for safekeeping. No one knew where Matthias I hid it after that.’
“’So you,’ I said, ‘are the rightful heir.’
“Ilona nodded. ‘Unfortunately, Count Stephen was the older of the twins. The family’s castle, lands, and title rightfully belonged to him. He wanted the signet ring as well, but Matthias II did not want him to have it. Matthias was no better; he wanted the title and wealth and power for himself, as well as the ring to help him get more. But Stephen wouldn’t let him come within a mile of the castle, where the ring was hidden. They negotiated and argued and published pamphlets of propaganda, and finally they met in battle. Both brothers were killed, the castle was burned down, and the surviving forces ended up in a stalemate.
“’Finally a truce was called, the king intervened, and the family property was divided down the middle. Stephen’s children inherited all the family’s holdings on the east side of the Prut River, Matthias’s on the west. The king was probably wise to do this, though no one liked him for it at the time. In practice, it meant that nobody could use the ring to develop absolute power. Stephen’s heirs were left with a ruined castle containing a magic ring they could not touch. If Minimilian has killed enough of his cousins, he may be the last surviving heir to the castle. Meanwhile Matthias II’s heirs, including me, are entitled to the ring but can’t enter the castle to get it. I am the oldest child in my generation of the family, so...’
“I choked. By now Mulligan had returned, and was trying to drown me by pouring a jug of wine down my throat. Some of it went down the wrong pipe, so I went into a fit of coughing and turned my face away. The wine continued to pour from the jug and ran down my shirt. Mulligan laughed, shaking the last drops out of the jug. His laughter turned into a growl when, controlling my cough reflex enough to croak out one word, I said: ‘More.’ The house-elf narrowed his eyes at me, then took the jug and stomped off.
“’So you took advantage of me,’ I said hoarsely.
“’I didn’t even know you lived in the castle until you invited me there,’ Ilona said vehemently. ‘I already loved you by then. Finding myself inside the forbidden castle, finding the ring, were like a sign from heaven. It was meant to happen.’
“’And yet you kept this secret from me,’ I said, trying to speak louder but only getting hoarser in the process. I had another fit of coughing.
“In spite of my obvious anger at her, Ilona kept picking me free of the spiderweb. ‘I gave the ring to my Uncle Radu, who is the oldest living heir of Matthias II. It will probably come back to me some day. Until then, I didn’t want to concern you with it. I intend never to use it.’
“’So you couldn’t give the ring to this Minimilian fellow, even if you wanted to,’ I said, more calmly.
“’Nor is it that I would if I could,’ she agreed. ‘My aim, and that of my uncle and most other members of my family, is to keep this ring from being used by people like Minimilian. And I think anyone who uses it would, in time, become like Minimilian. So we hide it, and do not use it.’
“’Your uncle could write to this midget and tell him to let us go,’ I suggested.
“’I would never ask it of him,’ said Ilona. ‘It would be better for us both to die.’
“’And what about these people?’ I asked, gesturing toward the slumbering survivors of Silver’s party, as well as Goode and the hagmaid. ‘Are you prepared to pay with their lives, as well?’
“Ilona looked like she wanted to slap me. ‘Are you saying I should...?’
“’No,’ I said, catching her hands in mine — which, I now noticed, were at last free of the giant cobweb. ‘I am only asking if you are prepared.’
“Ilona swallowed heavily. Before she could respond, the house-elf reappeared, waddling under the weight of a wooden keg over half the length of his body. His eyes grew to the size of saucers when he saw that my hands were free. He dropped the keg and reached for my wand, which he had tucked into the string he wore as a belt. Before he could reach it, Ilona tackled him. The house-elf shrieked and went down, hitting his head on the wine cask and instantly going limp.
“Using my wand, Ilona blasted the remaining spiderwebs off me. Then I took the wand and began to revive my people, pausing sadly over the bodies of the dead. I tied up the house-elf, overcoming my fury just enough to dress the wound on his head. Then I sat down again and waited for my reviving spells to take full effect. Zichri Goode was already starting to wake up.
“Before my reinforcements were ready, however, Minimilian returned — unexpectedly soon, for someone who was supposed to be playing eighteen holes. He limped into view from behind a box hedge, his robes torn and burnt, dragging his own bag, which was missing several clubs.
“’Dashed inconvenient,’ he said, cheerfully enough. ‘The dragon under the sixth green ate my caddy. Tried to eat me, too. Seems to have lost a few teeth in the...’ He dropped the bag as the scene before him registered in his mind. ‘I say,’ he said, but he didn’t get a chance to say what he was saying before I stunned him with my wand.
“’Your tonic seems to have worn off,’ I said as Minimilian fell back into the box hedge. The branches caught him and held him upright. I resumed trying to revive my friends, who had started falling asleep again. I wondered just what this little angel-devil-man had done to them. A potion? A spell?
“As Ilona checked under Zichri Goode’s eyelids, and I pinched the leg of a first-year RMB agent who responded by kicking in his sleep, the tables turned again. I paused in the middle of a particularly vicious pinch when I felt the tip of a wand at the back of my neck.
“’No,’ said a familiar, sweet voice. ‘I am not out of my tonic. I am always careful to reapply the Mr. Shmedly’s nectar when it wears off. Drop your wand, raise your hands, and turn around.’
“I did as I was told. But when I turned to face Minimilian, he looked worried for the first time.
“’Why are you smiling?’ he demanded.
“’Look behind you,’ I said.
“’I’m not as stupid as...’ Minimilian froze in mid-sentence.
“The hagmaid had risen to her feet behind him, and was now stroking his beautiful, golden hair. With each touch of her hand, the serenity of the little man’s face turned more and more into horror.
“’Pretty little baby,’ the hagmaid cooed. ‘Scrumptious little baby! Madrigal is so hungry! Madrigal is on a low-child diet but...oh, if only...just this once...’
“I plucked the wand out of Minimilian’s trembling hands and said, ‘Go for it, Madrigal. No one here will tell.’
“Minimilian screamed and ran, tumbling over his own golf sack and rolling to his feet again. The last time I saw him, he was running flat-out toward the sixth hole of his golf course, dragon or no, with Madrigal the hagmaid pounding along behind him.”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #123 +++
To help choose the direction of the next few chapters of The Magic Quill, visit the Discussion Forum, or send Robbie feedback. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest entry (or entries) Robbie likes best, will be featured in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: What character, concept, or storyline from a past edition of The Magic Quill should be revived or revisited?
CONTEST: Describe a magical weather occurrence.
[Originally posted 7/1/07]
Concept contributed by ralucacoldea
Spanky’s tale continued...
“While Mulligan the house-elf kept my wand pointed at me, Ilona went behind him and untied the hagmaid and Zichri Goode. She also checked the condition of the surviving RMB agents, but everyone was unconscious, perhaps in an enchanted sleep.
“I kept the house-elf’s attention on myself by staring him in the eye. I had learned this trick during one of my earliest RMB cases, something to do with a gargoyle guarding a doorway, a gargoyle that could move and attack you, except it was frozen as long as you looked it in the eye. I held Mulligan’s eyes in an unblinking stare; he could not look away. After a minute of this he started to shake slightly, either from fury or from weakness. I have seen people faint after a minute of my basilisk stare.
“When Ilona was done, I told Mulligan I wanted a plate of grapes and cheese cubes. He took advantage of being freed from my gaze, and used my wand to conjure up an enormous spiderweb to keep me pinned to my chaise longue. Then he went away to fetch the food.
“Ilona knelt beside me and started to pick through the strands of spiderweb. She still hadn’t said anything since Minimilian had gone off to play golf. I finally broke the silence.
“’What is this artifact, then?’ I asked. ‘The one your old boyfriend keeps going on about.’
“Ilona glared at me for a moment, then snorted. ‘Boyfriend indeed,’ she said. ‘We are distant cousins. Our families have never agreed. We knew each other at school, where I learned never to turn my back on him.’
“’Sweet school-days,’ I said bitterly. ‘What memories you must share!’
“’He was Professor Lukavij’s star pupil,’ she said, ‘because of his interest in dark magic. It wasn’t an altogether scholarly interest, either. He used his knowledge to fill the school with curse-traps, poisoned pajamas, and cruel illusions. He encouraged the ghosts and poltergeists to reach for higher levels of disruptiveness, and kept letting dangerous plants, creatures, and magical objects fall in the way of unsuspecting students and even teachers. No one blamed him because he seemed so sweet and cheerful and honest, and because his family gave a lot of money to the school.’
“’I know the type,’ I growled, glancing with a pang at the corpse of Sid Shmedly.
“Ilona nodded and went on: ‘Minimilian takes pleasure in other people’s discomfort. Everything he did was meant to cause either pain or chaos. He broke up friendships. He gave people bad dreams. His pranks caused injuries that, in one or two cases, led students to withdraw from the school. The teachers complained, but Lukavij did nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Merlin’s friends from Durmstrang hadn’t become lost in Gringotts because of misleading directions Minimilian gave them – though they weren’t in school at the same time.’
“’This is all very interesting,’ I said, struggling against the cobweb but unable to move my arms. ‘But...’
“’The artifact,’ Ilona said, still picking at the web. ‘Yes. I was getting to that. His family and my family both have claims to the castle where you lived during your Moldovan Worm Control assignment. The castle used to belong to a great nobleman who served the king of Moldova, Stephen the Great and Holy, Stephen the Third. This nobleman was also a wizard, and an ancestor of both Minimilian and me. Mind you, this was in the fifteenth century, so that makes us very distant relatives...’
“’Point taken,’ I said. ‘Go on.’
“’Who are you talking to?’ squeaked a gravelly, and heavily accented, voice at my elbow. I flinched, painfully hitting the edge of a silver tray with my elbow. Grapes and cheese cubes flew up in the air and rained down on my head, becoming stuck in the spiderweb, which (fortunately) helped to conceal the progress Ilona had made in unpicking it.
“’Excellent,’ I said evasively. ‘Now, since I’m all tied up here, perhaps you would be so kind as to feed me.’
“For the next little while, the house-elf picked grapes and cheese cubes out of the cobweb and stuck them in my mouth with his dirty little fingers. I chewed silently, listening to Ilona’s story which, I knew, only I could hear.
“’This wizard nobleman, whose name was Matthias, had a signet ring that he kept hidden somewhere in his castle. It was the type of wing used to make an impression in wafer seals, the kind that nobility and royalty used to sign important documents. Matthias had ensorcelled his seal so that anyone receiving a letter from him must obey what the letter said.’
“’A ring of power,’ I said around a mouthful of cheese.
“The house-elf raised his eyebrows inquiringly. I told him I needed something to drink, and he went away to fetch it.
“Hurriedly resuming her unpicking of the spiderweb, Ilona continued: ‘A ring of royal power, yes, and it was meant for King Stephen. But Matthias kept it for himself, and used it to incite conflicts among his rivals, and to build up his own power. But in the year 1499, Matthias was thrown from his horse and died. His twin sons did not agree as to which of them should inherit. In the resulting battle the castle was burned, the ring lost, and the family divided down to this day. Minimilian thinks the ring belongs to him, and if he gets it, he could use it to turn countless people into his willing or unwilling slaves.’
“’He also thinks you have it,’ I added. ‘He thinks I helped you steal it from “his” castle.’
“Ilona’s face darkened with anger. ‘The ring has a spell on it. Only the rightful owner can touch it. It cannot be stolen, only given freely. However, the castle ruin also has a spell on it; no descendant of Count Matthias the Second can enter it uninvited. The second count’s brother, who considered himself Count Stephen, saw to that.’
“’So you,’ I said, ‘are descended from...’
“’Count Matthias II,’ Ilona said. ‘Minimilian descends from Stephen, Matthias’s twin brother.’
“’And Matthias was the rightful owner of the ring?’
“’His father had given it to him shortly before he died. But somehow it was returned to its hiding place, which only the father knew. The story told in my family is that Matthias II tied it up in a handkerchief and gave it back to his father for safekeeping. No one knew where Matthias I hid it after that.’
“’So you,’ I said, ‘are the rightful heir.’
“Ilona nodded. ‘Unfortunately, Count Stephen was the older of the twins. The family’s castle, lands, and title rightfully belonged to him. He wanted the signet ring as well, but Matthias II did not want him to have it. Matthias was no better; he wanted the title and wealth and power for himself, as well as the ring to help him get more. But Stephen wouldn’t let him come within a mile of the castle, where the ring was hidden. They negotiated and argued and published pamphlets of propaganda, and finally they met in battle. Both brothers were killed, the castle was burned down, and the surviving forces ended up in a stalemate.
“’Finally a truce was called, the king intervened, and the family property was divided down the middle. Stephen’s children inherited all the family’s holdings on the east side of the Prut River, Matthias’s on the west. The king was probably wise to do this, though no one liked him for it at the time. In practice, it meant that nobody could use the ring to develop absolute power. Stephen’s heirs were left with a ruined castle containing a magic ring they could not touch. If Minimilian has killed enough of his cousins, he may be the last surviving heir to the castle. Meanwhile Matthias II’s heirs, including me, are entitled to the ring but can’t enter the castle to get it. I am the oldest child in my generation of the family, so...’
“I choked. By now Mulligan had returned, and was trying to drown me by pouring a jug of wine down my throat. Some of it went down the wrong pipe, so I went into a fit of coughing and turned my face away. The wine continued to pour from the jug and ran down my shirt. Mulligan laughed, shaking the last drops out of the jug. His laughter turned into a growl when, controlling my cough reflex enough to croak out one word, I said: ‘More.’ The house-elf narrowed his eyes at me, then took the jug and stomped off.
“’So you took advantage of me,’ I said hoarsely.
“’I didn’t even know you lived in the castle until you invited me there,’ Ilona said vehemently. ‘I already loved you by then. Finding myself inside the forbidden castle, finding the ring, were like a sign from heaven. It was meant to happen.’
“’And yet you kept this secret from me,’ I said, trying to speak louder but only getting hoarser in the process. I had another fit of coughing.
“In spite of my obvious anger at her, Ilona kept picking me free of the spiderweb. ‘I gave the ring to my Uncle Radu, who is the oldest living heir of Matthias II. It will probably come back to me some day. Until then, I didn’t want to concern you with it. I intend never to use it.’
“’So you couldn’t give the ring to this Minimilian fellow, even if you wanted to,’ I said, more calmly.
“’Nor is it that I would if I could,’ she agreed. ‘My aim, and that of my uncle and most other members of my family, is to keep this ring from being used by people like Minimilian. And I think anyone who uses it would, in time, become like Minimilian. So we hide it, and do not use it.’
“’Your uncle could write to this midget and tell him to let us go,’ I suggested.
“’I would never ask it of him,’ said Ilona. ‘It would be better for us both to die.’
“’And what about these people?’ I asked, gesturing toward the slumbering survivors of Silver’s party, as well as Goode and the hagmaid. ‘Are you prepared to pay with their lives, as well?’
“Ilona looked like she wanted to slap me. ‘Are you saying I should...?’
“’No,’ I said, catching her hands in mine — which, I now noticed, were at last free of the giant cobweb. ‘I am only asking if you are prepared.’
“Ilona swallowed heavily. Before she could respond, the house-elf reappeared, waddling under the weight of a wooden keg over half the length of his body. His eyes grew to the size of saucers when he saw that my hands were free. He dropped the keg and reached for my wand, which he had tucked into the string he wore as a belt. Before he could reach it, Ilona tackled him. The house-elf shrieked and went down, hitting his head on the wine cask and instantly going limp.
“Using my wand, Ilona blasted the remaining spiderwebs off me. Then I took the wand and began to revive my people, pausing sadly over the bodies of the dead. I tied up the house-elf, overcoming my fury just enough to dress the wound on his head. Then I sat down again and waited for my reviving spells to take full effect. Zichri Goode was already starting to wake up.
“Before my reinforcements were ready, however, Minimilian returned — unexpectedly soon, for someone who was supposed to be playing eighteen holes. He limped into view from behind a box hedge, his robes torn and burnt, dragging his own bag, which was missing several clubs.
“’Dashed inconvenient,’ he said, cheerfully enough. ‘The dragon under the sixth green ate my caddy. Tried to eat me, too. Seems to have lost a few teeth in the...’ He dropped the bag as the scene before him registered in his mind. ‘I say,’ he said, but he didn’t get a chance to say what he was saying before I stunned him with my wand.
“’Your tonic seems to have worn off,’ I said as Minimilian fell back into the box hedge. The branches caught him and held him upright. I resumed trying to revive my friends, who had started falling asleep again. I wondered just what this little angel-devil-man had done to them. A potion? A spell?
“As Ilona checked under Zichri Goode’s eyelids, and I pinched the leg of a first-year RMB agent who responded by kicking in his sleep, the tables turned again. I paused in the middle of a particularly vicious pinch when I felt the tip of a wand at the back of my neck.
“’No,’ said a familiar, sweet voice. ‘I am not out of my tonic. I am always careful to reapply the Mr. Shmedly’s nectar when it wears off. Drop your wand, raise your hands, and turn around.’
“I did as I was told. But when I turned to face Minimilian, he looked worried for the first time.
“’Why are you smiling?’ he demanded.
“’Look behind you,’ I said.
“’I’m not as stupid as...’ Minimilian froze in mid-sentence.
“The hagmaid had risen to her feet behind him, and was now stroking his beautiful, golden hair. With each touch of her hand, the serenity of the little man’s face turned more and more into horror.
“’Pretty little baby,’ the hagmaid cooed. ‘Scrumptious little baby! Madrigal is so hungry! Madrigal is on a low-child diet but...oh, if only...just this once...’
“I plucked the wand out of Minimilian’s trembling hands and said, ‘Go for it, Madrigal. No one here will tell.’
“Minimilian screamed and ran, tumbling over his own golf sack and rolling to his feet again. The last time I saw him, he was running flat-out toward the sixth hole of his golf course, dragon or no, with Madrigal the hagmaid pounding along behind him.”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #123 +++
To help choose the direction of the next few chapters of The Magic Quill, visit the Discussion Forum, or send Robbie feedback. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest entry (or entries) Robbie likes best, will be featured in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: What character, concept, or storyline from a past edition of The Magic Quill should be revived or revisited?
CONTEST: Describe a magical weather occurrence.
[Originally posted 7/1/07]
120. The Safety Pin
Contest winner: i6uuaq
Spanky’s tale continued...
“Ilona’s stunner spell had no effect on Iulianescu, except that he shivered, and a frown passed briefly over his boyish face. ‘How interesting,’ he said, already smiling again. ‘It seems that ghost has followed us from Madam Hunsicker’s parlor. Which means it isn’t a ghost after all. I know hauntings, and long-range travel isn’t in the picture at all.’
“My wife stood by, shaking with fury and helplessness, as this miniature angel of death teased me with the tip of his wand. As if sensing her presence—though that was impossible—he turned his head to one side and spoke to the air: ‘I’m not as stupid as I look, my dear. I took the precaution of reapplying the late Mr. Shmedly’s nectar before I returned here. I knew it would be wise to have its protection against hostile spells restored, after that blow from the teapot wiped it out.
“Ilona set her jaw and began walking toward the bag of golf clubs that the house-elves had put down in order to tie up Zichri Goode and the hagmaid. But she stopped short when Minimilian added: ‘I also put on a little talisman I should have remembered to wear in the first place.’ He fondled a diamond tie-pin that I hadn’t noticed before. It was shaped like a golf ball on a silver tee. ‘I call it my Safety Pin. As long as it is fully charged with magic, you can hurl any number of teapots at me, but they will all bounce off. It’s stronger than a shield charm, and it requires no effort on my part, except an occasional round of golf to bring it back up to full strength.’
“‘I was wondering about your interest in golf,’ I said, not bothering to disguise me contempt for a wizard who cared for any sport besides Quidditch. ‘I take it the pin was made for some rich but accident-prone golfer.’
“‘It was made for me,’ Minimilian said, with a distinctness that was as close as he ever came to snarling. ‘Rich, yes; accident prone, no. Merely prudent. Any exercise activity will do, but I particularly enjoy the gentlemen’s sport. And unless you give me what I want, you may soon see the kind of golf course a rich, prudent wizard builds for his own exercise. It begins only a few steps from here. I should warn you, though: it has hazards one usually does not find on the links. Without a Safety Pin of your own, I should be very concerned for your well-being.’
“I felt paralyzed. I was out of options. The cavalry apparently wasn’t going to ride over the hill this time. And the worst part of my helplessness was that I honestly didn’t know anything about this artifact Minimilian was looking for. For a moment he studied the expressions on my face with an infuriatingly calm look on his own. Then he said something that made all the fear I had felt until then seem like a mere flutter in the stomach.
“‘I am beginning to form a new theory,’ he said, with a beaming smile of ecstatic discovery. ‘And, oh, yes! It holds together very well, so far. First I asked myself if this mysterious, movable haunting might not be connected with you. And who would haunt you except your one true love, who was banished into oblivion in front of the entire wizarding world! Second, I supposed to myself that she had found some way to communicate with you, and only you. This would explain this feeling I have had, throughout our time together, that someone I cannot see is looking at you over my shoulder. Or rather, that you are signaling her. This would also explain how, like a ghost, she might be able to bash my head in with a teapot, or tie up my servants, without being seen or felt. And how, unlike a ghost, she could travel by Portkey. How do you like my theory, Mr. Spankison?’
“‘It’s very amusing,’ I said, praying for the ability to look composed.
“‘But I haven’t reached the punchline yet,’ Minimilian grinned. ‘You see, I remember your beloved very well. In fact, I have known her longer than you have. I knew her even before she worked for the Romanian Ministry of Magic. It’s a very long story, so I will spare you the sordid details; but now it occurs to me that she may have plundered my family’s property while the two of you were patrolling the same border. She may even have used your friendship as an opportunity to enter my castle, even though it had long been sealed against unwelcome visitors of her family. I should have guessed all this before, but until just now I had never imagined Agent Ilonera was still at large.
“‘It all fits together, doesn’t it?’ he said triumphantly. ‘She used you to steal my birthright. And whether or not you know anything about it, she is still using you to keep me from it.’
“He paused to enjoy whatever show my face was putting on as these very disturbing ideas sank in. I didn’t want to think any of it was true, but it did fit together. I looked pleadingly at Ilona, but she stood like a puppet hanging on its strings, her face disclosing nothing.
“Finally Minimilian chirped, ‘I have a new bargain for you, Mr. Spankison.’
“‘I would rather see that golf course of yours,’ I said bitterly.
“‘Maybe later,’ he said smoothly. ‘First, however, I propose that Agent Ilonera tell you, and you tell me, precisely what she has done with...you know what. Once I have it in my hands again, I will send you to join your foolish friend Sid in the only rest a cuckold can ever know. I imagine that will be a death sentence for Agent Ilonera, too; since you seem to be her only life-line to the world of the living. Perhaps you will take comfort in that thought as you prepare for the end.’
“‘If that’s your idea of a bargain,’ I began to say.
“‘I haven’t gotten to the important part yet,’ Minimilian added quickly. ‘If you hold up your side of the bargain, I will let your friends live—though, perhaps, with some memory modifications. If, however, you refuse my terms, I will let you watch them die before I kill you. And it won’t end quickly for any of you. Is that better?’
“Suddenly I broke through my fear into pure, searing-hot anger. It took all my strength to control the shaking of my limbs and voice as I said, ‘I’ll need to think about it.’
“‘All right,’ Minimilian said. ‘I want to play a round of golf, anyway. Divot will come with me, but I will leave you Mulligan to make sure you are comfortable and provided with any refreshment you desire. That gives you a few hours to confer with your immaterial beloved.’
“He then handed my wand to the uglier of the two house-elves, muttering to it, ‘Don’t use it any more than you have to. I don’t want any mess like the last time.’ After one last look to make sure all of his prisoners, living and dead, were where they belonged, he followed the other, golf-bag-bearing house-elf out of sight.”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #122 +++
To help choose the direction of the next few chapters of The Magic Quill, visit the Discussion Forum, or send Robbie feedback. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest entry (or entries) Robbie likes best, will be featured in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: It feels like time for Spanky to take a break in storytelling. Whose story should we hear about next? (A) Joe Albuquerque. (B) Sadie. (C) Harvey. (D) Endora. (E) Merlin. (F) You’re wrong! Spanky should keep going!
CONTEST: What non-magical creature may be completely resistant to magic?
[Originally posted 6/25/07]
Spanky’s tale continued...
“Ilona’s stunner spell had no effect on Iulianescu, except that he shivered, and a frown passed briefly over his boyish face. ‘How interesting,’ he said, already smiling again. ‘It seems that ghost has followed us from Madam Hunsicker’s parlor. Which means it isn’t a ghost after all. I know hauntings, and long-range travel isn’t in the picture at all.’
“My wife stood by, shaking with fury and helplessness, as this miniature angel of death teased me with the tip of his wand. As if sensing her presence—though that was impossible—he turned his head to one side and spoke to the air: ‘I’m not as stupid as I look, my dear. I took the precaution of reapplying the late Mr. Shmedly’s nectar before I returned here. I knew it would be wise to have its protection against hostile spells restored, after that blow from the teapot wiped it out.
“Ilona set her jaw and began walking toward the bag of golf clubs that the house-elves had put down in order to tie up Zichri Goode and the hagmaid. But she stopped short when Minimilian added: ‘I also put on a little talisman I should have remembered to wear in the first place.’ He fondled a diamond tie-pin that I hadn’t noticed before. It was shaped like a golf ball on a silver tee. ‘I call it my Safety Pin. As long as it is fully charged with magic, you can hurl any number of teapots at me, but they will all bounce off. It’s stronger than a shield charm, and it requires no effort on my part, except an occasional round of golf to bring it back up to full strength.’
“‘I was wondering about your interest in golf,’ I said, not bothering to disguise me contempt for a wizard who cared for any sport besides Quidditch. ‘I take it the pin was made for some rich but accident-prone golfer.’
“‘It was made for me,’ Minimilian said, with a distinctness that was as close as he ever came to snarling. ‘Rich, yes; accident prone, no. Merely prudent. Any exercise activity will do, but I particularly enjoy the gentlemen’s sport. And unless you give me what I want, you may soon see the kind of golf course a rich, prudent wizard builds for his own exercise. It begins only a few steps from here. I should warn you, though: it has hazards one usually does not find on the links. Without a Safety Pin of your own, I should be very concerned for your well-being.’
“I felt paralyzed. I was out of options. The cavalry apparently wasn’t going to ride over the hill this time. And the worst part of my helplessness was that I honestly didn’t know anything about this artifact Minimilian was looking for. For a moment he studied the expressions on my face with an infuriatingly calm look on his own. Then he said something that made all the fear I had felt until then seem like a mere flutter in the stomach.
“‘I am beginning to form a new theory,’ he said, with a beaming smile of ecstatic discovery. ‘And, oh, yes! It holds together very well, so far. First I asked myself if this mysterious, movable haunting might not be connected with you. And who would haunt you except your one true love, who was banished into oblivion in front of the entire wizarding world! Second, I supposed to myself that she had found some way to communicate with you, and only you. This would explain this feeling I have had, throughout our time together, that someone I cannot see is looking at you over my shoulder. Or rather, that you are signaling her. This would also explain how, like a ghost, she might be able to bash my head in with a teapot, or tie up my servants, without being seen or felt. And how, unlike a ghost, she could travel by Portkey. How do you like my theory, Mr. Spankison?’
“‘It’s very amusing,’ I said, praying for the ability to look composed.
“‘But I haven’t reached the punchline yet,’ Minimilian grinned. ‘You see, I remember your beloved very well. In fact, I have known her longer than you have. I knew her even before she worked for the Romanian Ministry of Magic. It’s a very long story, so I will spare you the sordid details; but now it occurs to me that she may have plundered my family’s property while the two of you were patrolling the same border. She may even have used your friendship as an opportunity to enter my castle, even though it had long been sealed against unwelcome visitors of her family. I should have guessed all this before, but until just now I had never imagined Agent Ilonera was still at large.
“‘It all fits together, doesn’t it?’ he said triumphantly. ‘She used you to steal my birthright. And whether or not you know anything about it, she is still using you to keep me from it.’
“He paused to enjoy whatever show my face was putting on as these very disturbing ideas sank in. I didn’t want to think any of it was true, but it did fit together. I looked pleadingly at Ilona, but she stood like a puppet hanging on its strings, her face disclosing nothing.
“Finally Minimilian chirped, ‘I have a new bargain for you, Mr. Spankison.’
“‘I would rather see that golf course of yours,’ I said bitterly.
“‘Maybe later,’ he said smoothly. ‘First, however, I propose that Agent Ilonera tell you, and you tell me, precisely what she has done with...you know what. Once I have it in my hands again, I will send you to join your foolish friend Sid in the only rest a cuckold can ever know. I imagine that will be a death sentence for Agent Ilonera, too; since you seem to be her only life-line to the world of the living. Perhaps you will take comfort in that thought as you prepare for the end.’
“‘If that’s your idea of a bargain,’ I began to say.
“‘I haven’t gotten to the important part yet,’ Minimilian added quickly. ‘If you hold up your side of the bargain, I will let your friends live—though, perhaps, with some memory modifications. If, however, you refuse my terms, I will let you watch them die before I kill you. And it won’t end quickly for any of you. Is that better?’
“Suddenly I broke through my fear into pure, searing-hot anger. It took all my strength to control the shaking of my limbs and voice as I said, ‘I’ll need to think about it.’
“‘All right,’ Minimilian said. ‘I want to play a round of golf, anyway. Divot will come with me, but I will leave you Mulligan to make sure you are comfortable and provided with any refreshment you desire. That gives you a few hours to confer with your immaterial beloved.’
“He then handed my wand to the uglier of the two house-elves, muttering to it, ‘Don’t use it any more than you have to. I don’t want any mess like the last time.’ After one last look to make sure all of his prisoners, living and dead, were where they belonged, he followed the other, golf-bag-bearing house-elf out of sight.”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #122 +++
To help choose the direction of the next few chapters of The Magic Quill, visit the Discussion Forum, or send Robbie feedback. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest entry (or entries) Robbie likes best, will be featured in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: It feels like time for Spanky to take a break in storytelling. Whose story should we hear about next? (A) Joe Albuquerque. (B) Sadie. (C) Harvey. (D) Endora. (E) Merlin. (F) You’re wrong! Spanky should keep going!
CONTEST: What non-magical creature may be completely resistant to magic?
[Originally posted 6/25/07]
119. Farewell to Shmedly
Contest winners: Linda Carrig and dele
After supper at the Sidwells’ spotless -- and conspicuously odorless -- attic flat, Spanky settled into the sofa next to Ilona and patted his belly. “Excellent supper, Endora,” he said. “Beautifully seasoned.”
“It wasn’t too bland?” Endora said, anxiously glancing over her shoulder at the crockery and pewter as it washed and dried itself and arranged itself in the kitchen dresser. “I often err on the side of blandness. I can be a wee bit oversensitive to subtleties in flavor.”
“No, I think you compensated quite well,” Spanky assured her. Ilona seconded this with a nod of her head.
“Me, I can’t taste anything these days,” Sadie admitted before biting the tip off a cigar and spitting it with practiced precision out the open window on the other side of the room. Somewhere in the street below, a woman screamed, a dog barked, a car horn bellowed, and something made of glass shattered loudly. Unconcerned, Sadie continued moistening the end of her cigar.
Joe Albuquerque, disguised as an off-duty guard from Buckingham Palace, had flinched slightly as the spit wad of paper and tobacco sailed over his shoulder. He stroked the beaver hat on his knee, fussy and slightly offended. “Watch it,” he snapped. “I go on duty in three hours, and this all has to look just so.”
Sadie regarded him coldly, lit her cigar with a spark from her wand, then blew a smoke ring at him.
“It feels weird to be sitting here without our masks and such on,” Merlin said loudly as he squeezed into the same armchair as Endora. “Almost doesn’t seem right to be getting together anywhere but the Hog’s Head. It has the only atmosphere for the tales we tell each other.”
“I’ll tell you what atmosphere it has,” said Endora, rolling her eyes. “It stinks!”
“Too true,” said Sadie from out of a thick cloud of smoke.
Endora looked pleadingly at her husband. He sighed and waved his wand toward Sadie. The smoke began to flow toward the open window. Joe coughed meaningfully, so Merlin added another wand-twirl and the trail of smoke made a sharp turn in front of him and went up the chimney instead.
“Well, there’s always next time,” said Merlin. “After all, we do want to stop at the Hog’s Head now and then, in case Harvey tries to get in touch. But maybe, for now, we can turn down the lamps a bit, help set the mood for Spanky’s story.”
“I would rather have them on,” Ilona said, shivering. She seemed about to add: Or talk about something else.
“Very well,” said Spanky. He sipped from a smoking glass of amber liquid, set it down, and continued his tale...
“I heard the voice of the little, angel-faced man from behind me, saying: ‘Easily lured, easily caught.’ But I didn’t turn to face him. I held my hands up to show that I was unarmed, but I kept my eyes fixed on Shmedly. He seemed to shrink under my gaze. I said, ‘I ought to have realized you two were connected. You both have the same tendency to shrug off perfectly sound curses.’
“A bit of color came back into Shmedly’s face then, and he almost grinned. ‘We have your precious patron, Sir Whatsit, to thank for that.’
“I felt a cold thrust of pain at these words, as if Shmedly had run me through with an ice dagger. Just then, when I was almost sure Sir Lionel had betrayed me, may have been the lowest moment in my life – or at least, since locating Ilona. But Shmedly, seeing the look on my face, couldn’t resist twisting the dagger. As the short wizard behind me checked my robes for wands and other weapons, Shmedly gleefully added: ‘What? Didn’t he tell you about the magic-proof orchid he illegally bred in his hothouse? Hmmm? Reeks like a charnel house, but when you rub its nectar on your skin, you become invincible to any kind of magical attack. Only stops working if you break the skin...’
“‘Oh, you fool!’ angel-face sighed sorrowfully, though Shmedly flinched as if he had been screamed at. ‘You poor, dear, fool! Will you never learn when to stop?’
“I was overjoyed. I could have kissed Shmedly just then, as I turned to face my captor, hands clasped behind my head. ‘How did you get around the smell, then?’ I asked him, noting the trickle of blood that had tried on angel-face’s neck after Ilona had hit him with the teapot.
“‘I cannot answer your questions,’ angel-face said regretfully. ‘We only have time for you to answer mine. If you weren’t so secretive, if you had boasted to your colleagues here’ — he indicated the unconscious and dead RMB agents laid out around us on chaises longues — ‘I might have gotten the information without having to trouble you.’
“‘I see,’ said I. ‘This is all my fault, then.’ I darted a glance, out the corner of my eye, to see the ugly house-elves tying up Zichri Goode and the hagmaiden who had come with us. Ilona stood a few paces behind angel-face, aiming her wand at him. Its tip trembled so much that I reckoned any spell she tried might hit me just as easily as him. I stared at her over the top of angel-face’s head, trying to send confidence at her, though I still had no idea why this little wizard frightened her so much.
“‘Have a seat,’ said angel-face. With a flick of his wand he blasted me backward onto a chaise lounge. Straps attached to the seat’s frame wound themselves firmly around my legs. One of the house-elves brought forth a small, cushioned stool, and my captor sat down beside me, beaming benevolently at me, like a kindly doctor visiting a favored patient. ‘Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Minimilian Iulianescu. We have never met, though you were a guest in my home for several months.’
“I told him that I doubted it. He smiled even more sweetly and asked, ‘Do you not remember an old castle on the Prut River?’
“‘That ruin?’ I snorted. ‘It hasn’t been anyone’s home for centuries.’
“‘It was your home, albeit a borrowed one,’ Iulianescu pointed out. ‘And it belongs to me, by right of Salic primogeniture. It and everything in it.’ He said this last bit very slowly, to emphasize it.
“‘There was nothing in it except what I brought with me,’ I said. ‘And I took that away with me as well, so I don’t see why it interests you.’
“‘Don’t you?’ purred the little man. ‘I have read your record. You were, even then, one of the RMB’s cleverest and most resourceful agents.’
“‘That’s news to me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t join the RMB until after that assignment.’
“Iulianescu sighed and rolled his eyes. I stole a momentary glance at Ilona, who looked more undecided than ever. I was with her by now; I wanted to know what this wizard wanted. I could worry about escaping later. ‘So you say,’ the little man said with an air of infinite patience. ‘There’s really no need to keep up the charade, now that I’ve read the whole case file. Yes, you were in the pay of the Dragon Squad, Southeast Zone. Yes, you were on loan to the Moldovan Bureau of Worm Control. Yes, your assignment was ostensibly to patrol the Romanian border for signs of dragon-egg smuggling. But it was only a cover for your actual work for the Rogue Magic Bureau — pray, don’t act surprised!’
“The madman laughed sweetly at the look on my face, and raved on: ‘The case file wasn’t even particularly difficult to steal, and you’re mentioned on fully two-thirds of its pages. So let’s dispense with the subterfuge. The RMB has been hoping to pick up a little artifact that my great-great-great-great-grandfather secreted in the castle walls. They want it almost as much as I do. To my certain knowledge, it was still there when you began your border patrol, and it was not there when I went looking for it shortly after you left. The RMB hasn’t given up looking for it. So I can only conclude that you found it, moved it elsewhere, and prudently refrained from mentioning it in your report. I have hoped all these years that you would seek me out and strike a bargain with me...’
“‘Well, for starters,’ I snarled at him, ‘I haven’t the first clue who you are. And for finishers, I wasn’t undercover then; I didn’t work for the RMB; and I don’t know what artifact...’
“‘I’m sorry,’ Iulianescu said in a gentle voice that somehow chilled me to the marrow. ‘I should have mentioned that I don’t suffer fools. For example: Avada Kedavra!’
“He said the Killing Curse in a conversational tone, with his wand pointed casually toward Sid Shmedly, who was still holding the tip of his knife against Silver Conkling’s throat. A hideous, green bolt of light hit Shmedly in the chest before he could even scream. He crumpled, landing half on top of Silver, and pulling her chair over sideways. Silver made a horrible, wet gasping noise, twitched several times, and lay still. I was so stunned by this sudden and heartless murder, both of my oldest enemy and one of my friends, that I forgot to breathe. A minute later, the little monster gave me a gentle slap and brought me round, gasping, staring at him in horror.
“He continued speaking exactly as before. ‘I might have understood your concealment before this, but now that I have revealed what I know, there is no sense in continuing to pretend. It is simply foolish. You are not a fool, are you, Agent Spankison?’
“I swallowed something that might have been either a scream or a sob, and said, ‘No.’
“‘Good,’ said Iulianescu, shining on me with a smile so bright that it should have given me sunburn, though it made me feel colder than ever. Over his shoulder I saw Ilona square her hips and aim her wand at him. Bless her, just as I was falling apart, her hand became steady.
“‘Are you ready to make a deal, then?’ Iulianescu asked, while Ilona looked at me questioningly.
“I looked into her eyes and said: ‘Yes.’”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #121 +++
SURVEY: Spanky’s stay at Minimilian’s castle was previously mentioned in TMQ #11. He clearly doesn’t remember working for the RMB at that time. So which of the following is true? (A) Spanky was so deep undercover that he himself didn’t know he was working for the RMB. (B) Someone tampered with the records to make it look like Spanky was working for the RMB. (C) Spanky had nothing to do with the RMB, but he was mentioned in their report because his investigation crossed paths with theirs. (D) Spanky is mentioned in the RMB reports because they were considering whether to hire him. (E) The RMB believed Spanky was their informant, but it was actually Ilona (who, you may recall, was stationed just across the river).
CONTEST: What sort of “artifact” might lie hidden in a wizard’s castle for seven generations, and what magical power might it have?
[Originally posted 5/29/07]
After supper at the Sidwells’ spotless -- and conspicuously odorless -- attic flat, Spanky settled into the sofa next to Ilona and patted his belly. “Excellent supper, Endora,” he said. “Beautifully seasoned.”
“It wasn’t too bland?” Endora said, anxiously glancing over her shoulder at the crockery and pewter as it washed and dried itself and arranged itself in the kitchen dresser. “I often err on the side of blandness. I can be a wee bit oversensitive to subtleties in flavor.”
“No, I think you compensated quite well,” Spanky assured her. Ilona seconded this with a nod of her head.
“Me, I can’t taste anything these days,” Sadie admitted before biting the tip off a cigar and spitting it with practiced precision out the open window on the other side of the room. Somewhere in the street below, a woman screamed, a dog barked, a car horn bellowed, and something made of glass shattered loudly. Unconcerned, Sadie continued moistening the end of her cigar.
Joe Albuquerque, disguised as an off-duty guard from Buckingham Palace, had flinched slightly as the spit wad of paper and tobacco sailed over his shoulder. He stroked the beaver hat on his knee, fussy and slightly offended. “Watch it,” he snapped. “I go on duty in three hours, and this all has to look just so.”
Sadie regarded him coldly, lit her cigar with a spark from her wand, then blew a smoke ring at him.
“It feels weird to be sitting here without our masks and such on,” Merlin said loudly as he squeezed into the same armchair as Endora. “Almost doesn’t seem right to be getting together anywhere but the Hog’s Head. It has the only atmosphere for the tales we tell each other.”
“I’ll tell you what atmosphere it has,” said Endora, rolling her eyes. “It stinks!”
“Too true,” said Sadie from out of a thick cloud of smoke.
Endora looked pleadingly at her husband. He sighed and waved his wand toward Sadie. The smoke began to flow toward the open window. Joe coughed meaningfully, so Merlin added another wand-twirl and the trail of smoke made a sharp turn in front of him and went up the chimney instead.
“Well, there’s always next time,” said Merlin. “After all, we do want to stop at the Hog’s Head now and then, in case Harvey tries to get in touch. But maybe, for now, we can turn down the lamps a bit, help set the mood for Spanky’s story.”
“I would rather have them on,” Ilona said, shivering. She seemed about to add: Or talk about something else.
“Very well,” said Spanky. He sipped from a smoking glass of amber liquid, set it down, and continued his tale...
“I heard the voice of the little, angel-faced man from behind me, saying: ‘Easily lured, easily caught.’ But I didn’t turn to face him. I held my hands up to show that I was unarmed, but I kept my eyes fixed on Shmedly. He seemed to shrink under my gaze. I said, ‘I ought to have realized you two were connected. You both have the same tendency to shrug off perfectly sound curses.’
“A bit of color came back into Shmedly’s face then, and he almost grinned. ‘We have your precious patron, Sir Whatsit, to thank for that.’
“I felt a cold thrust of pain at these words, as if Shmedly had run me through with an ice dagger. Just then, when I was almost sure Sir Lionel had betrayed me, may have been the lowest moment in my life – or at least, since locating Ilona. But Shmedly, seeing the look on my face, couldn’t resist twisting the dagger. As the short wizard behind me checked my robes for wands and other weapons, Shmedly gleefully added: ‘What? Didn’t he tell you about the magic-proof orchid he illegally bred in his hothouse? Hmmm? Reeks like a charnel house, but when you rub its nectar on your skin, you become invincible to any kind of magical attack. Only stops working if you break the skin...’
“‘Oh, you fool!’ angel-face sighed sorrowfully, though Shmedly flinched as if he had been screamed at. ‘You poor, dear, fool! Will you never learn when to stop?’
“I was overjoyed. I could have kissed Shmedly just then, as I turned to face my captor, hands clasped behind my head. ‘How did you get around the smell, then?’ I asked him, noting the trickle of blood that had tried on angel-face’s neck after Ilona had hit him with the teapot.
“‘I cannot answer your questions,’ angel-face said regretfully. ‘We only have time for you to answer mine. If you weren’t so secretive, if you had boasted to your colleagues here’ — he indicated the unconscious and dead RMB agents laid out around us on chaises longues — ‘I might have gotten the information without having to trouble you.’
“‘I see,’ said I. ‘This is all my fault, then.’ I darted a glance, out the corner of my eye, to see the ugly house-elves tying up Zichri Goode and the hagmaiden who had come with us. Ilona stood a few paces behind angel-face, aiming her wand at him. Its tip trembled so much that I reckoned any spell she tried might hit me just as easily as him. I stared at her over the top of angel-face’s head, trying to send confidence at her, though I still had no idea why this little wizard frightened her so much.
“‘Have a seat,’ said angel-face. With a flick of his wand he blasted me backward onto a chaise lounge. Straps attached to the seat’s frame wound themselves firmly around my legs. One of the house-elves brought forth a small, cushioned stool, and my captor sat down beside me, beaming benevolently at me, like a kindly doctor visiting a favored patient. ‘Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Minimilian Iulianescu. We have never met, though you were a guest in my home for several months.’
“I told him that I doubted it. He smiled even more sweetly and asked, ‘Do you not remember an old castle on the Prut River?’
“‘That ruin?’ I snorted. ‘It hasn’t been anyone’s home for centuries.’
“‘It was your home, albeit a borrowed one,’ Iulianescu pointed out. ‘And it belongs to me, by right of Salic primogeniture. It and everything in it.’ He said this last bit very slowly, to emphasize it.
“‘There was nothing in it except what I brought with me,’ I said. ‘And I took that away with me as well, so I don’t see why it interests you.’
“‘Don’t you?’ purred the little man. ‘I have read your record. You were, even then, one of the RMB’s cleverest and most resourceful agents.’
“‘That’s news to me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t join the RMB until after that assignment.’
“Iulianescu sighed and rolled his eyes. I stole a momentary glance at Ilona, who looked more undecided than ever. I was with her by now; I wanted to know what this wizard wanted. I could worry about escaping later. ‘So you say,’ the little man said with an air of infinite patience. ‘There’s really no need to keep up the charade, now that I’ve read the whole case file. Yes, you were in the pay of the Dragon Squad, Southeast Zone. Yes, you were on loan to the Moldovan Bureau of Worm Control. Yes, your assignment was ostensibly to patrol the Romanian border for signs of dragon-egg smuggling. But it was only a cover for your actual work for the Rogue Magic Bureau — pray, don’t act surprised!’
“The madman laughed sweetly at the look on my face, and raved on: ‘The case file wasn’t even particularly difficult to steal, and you’re mentioned on fully two-thirds of its pages. So let’s dispense with the subterfuge. The RMB has been hoping to pick up a little artifact that my great-great-great-great-grandfather secreted in the castle walls. They want it almost as much as I do. To my certain knowledge, it was still there when you began your border patrol, and it was not there when I went looking for it shortly after you left. The RMB hasn’t given up looking for it. So I can only conclude that you found it, moved it elsewhere, and prudently refrained from mentioning it in your report. I have hoped all these years that you would seek me out and strike a bargain with me...’
“‘Well, for starters,’ I snarled at him, ‘I haven’t the first clue who you are. And for finishers, I wasn’t undercover then; I didn’t work for the RMB; and I don’t know what artifact...’
“‘I’m sorry,’ Iulianescu said in a gentle voice that somehow chilled me to the marrow. ‘I should have mentioned that I don’t suffer fools. For example: Avada Kedavra!’
“He said the Killing Curse in a conversational tone, with his wand pointed casually toward Sid Shmedly, who was still holding the tip of his knife against Silver Conkling’s throat. A hideous, green bolt of light hit Shmedly in the chest before he could even scream. He crumpled, landing half on top of Silver, and pulling her chair over sideways. Silver made a horrible, wet gasping noise, twitched several times, and lay still. I was so stunned by this sudden and heartless murder, both of my oldest enemy and one of my friends, that I forgot to breathe. A minute later, the little monster gave me a gentle slap and brought me round, gasping, staring at him in horror.
“He continued speaking exactly as before. ‘I might have understood your concealment before this, but now that I have revealed what I know, there is no sense in continuing to pretend. It is simply foolish. You are not a fool, are you, Agent Spankison?’
“I swallowed something that might have been either a scream or a sob, and said, ‘No.’
“‘Good,’ said Iulianescu, shining on me with a smile so bright that it should have given me sunburn, though it made me feel colder than ever. Over his shoulder I saw Ilona square her hips and aim her wand at him. Bless her, just as I was falling apart, her hand became steady.
“‘Are you ready to make a deal, then?’ Iulianescu asked, while Ilona looked at me questioningly.
“I looked into her eyes and said: ‘Yes.’”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #121 +++
SURVEY: Spanky’s stay at Minimilian’s castle was previously mentioned in TMQ #11. He clearly doesn’t remember working for the RMB at that time. So which of the following is true? (A) Spanky was so deep undercover that he himself didn’t know he was working for the RMB. (B) Someone tampered with the records to make it look like Spanky was working for the RMB. (C) Spanky had nothing to do with the RMB, but he was mentioned in their report because his investigation crossed paths with theirs. (D) Spanky is mentioned in the RMB reports because they were considering whether to hire him. (E) The RMB believed Spanky was their informant, but it was actually Ilona (who, you may recall, was stationed just across the river).
CONTEST: What sort of “artifact” might lie hidden in a wizard’s castle for seven generations, and what magical power might it have?
[Originally posted 5/29/07]
117. Two If By Biscuit
Contest winner: greyniffler
Spanky’s tale continued...
“I felt like I was nine years old again, half-strangled in the dress robes without which I would never be admitted to Madam Hunsicker’s parlor, trying not to fidget, inwardly shuddering at the flirtatious looks the hagservant kept fluttering at me as she led me down the passage. It was all the worse, knowing that my bride was watching all this from the vantage point of functional invisibility. I was afraid that Madam Hunsicker might still make me tremble when I saw her, as she always had done when I was a boy. I remembered her as a terrible woman with the shoulders of a rugby player, wiry eyebrows that protruded so far from her face that they cast her eyes in shadow, a jaw strong enough to crack walnuts, long sinewy fingers that could pinch a child’s ears black and blue, and a voice like the roar of a wounded rhinocerous, which I had once recognized in the midst of a cheering crowd at the Owlympics.
“The hagservant pulled aside a pocket door and announced us: ‘Young Mr. Spankison of Mangeford, and friend.’ Then she stepped aside and we entered the parlor, where Madam Hunsicker was sitting stiffly on the edge of a wing-backed armchair draped with Shetland lace. A tea table was laid out in front of her, also decorated with Shetland lace, as were the sofa, the mantel, a nearby dresser, the wall-sconces on which oil lamps glowed, and the curtains around the window. ‘Please, sit,’ Madam Hunsicker said in a surprisingly gentle voice.
“I sat on the end of the sofa closest to the schoolmistress. Zichri Goode remained standing behind me, holding his hat in one hand and now mine in the other. Madam Hunsicker gave him a severe stare over the top of my head, but I could imagine him staring straight ahead, noticing nothing.
“She had changed a great deal since I had last seen her. Madam Hunsicker was thinner, hollow-cheeked, a bit stooped. Her rugby shoulders were hunched under a Shetland lace shawl, and her fingers were twisted and frozen in place by rheumatism. But she still had the same hard, black eyes that glittered at me from the shadows of her eyebrows.
“For a while she said nothing while seemingly sizing me up. Then, while still facing me, she said, ‘Madrigal, pour the dear gentleman a cup of tea.’ The hagservant hastened to comply, getting nearly as much tea in the saucer as in the cup. She seemed reluctant to let it go as I took it from her. Ilona, sitting undetectably on the sofa beside me, snickered.
“I had scarcely lifted the cup off the saucer when Madam Hunsicker ordered Madrigal to offer me a biscuit. ‘I really shouldn’t,’ I said politely.
“'I insist,' Madam Hunsicker replied. I did my best to nibble and sip with the best possible manners, inwardly squirming under the pressure of the old witch’s appraising stare. ‘I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to discuss the reason for your visit on an empty stomach. It would be inhospitable.’ She seemed to be saying this for someone else’s benefit rather than to me — but whether that other person was Madrigal, or Zichri Goode, or someone else, I could not tell.
“When I got to the center of the biscuit, I noticed an odd feeling in my mouth. I chewed and sucked for a moment, then found a handkerchief and coughed politely into it. Madam Hunsicker looked away as I studied the tiny slip of paper that had come out of my mouth. It said: ‘Danger. Leave At Once.’
“’Did that hit the spot?’ Madam Hunsicker asked as I finished the last bit of biscuit. She was still gazing at the small side-table, where I now noticed a row of spiders busily sewing lace out of their own silk. What Madam Hunsicker really meant was: ‘Did you get my message?’
“’I wouldn’t mind another,’ I said. Meaning: ‘I’m not going anywhere at the moment.’
“Madam Hunsicker closed her eyes for a second, then looked up at Madrigal. The hagservant grinned a crook-toothed smile, batted her eyes, and handed the biscuit plate again. As I put away my handkerchief, I fingered my wand and muttered something under my breath, then added aloud, ‘Won’t you join me, Madam Hunsicker?’
“’Very well,’ she said sweetly, still not looking at me. I took a biscuit, broke it, and dipped the half that didn’t have a slip of paper sticking out of it. Madam Hunsicker did the same with her biscuit, and as we nibbled on tea-dipped biscuit, I read her message (‘We can handle this ourselves’) and she read mine (‘We need each other’s help’).
“’I wonder what Vindicta puts in these,’ Madam Hunsicker exclaimed. ‘Each time I eat one, I feel more famished than ever. I must have another. Don’t be bashful, Mr. Spankison. We have an ample supply.’
“I dabbed my lips with my handkerchief, returned it to my pocket, muttered something under my breath. Then I took a third biscuit, broke it, dipped half of it in tea, and surreptiously read the tag sticking out of the other half: ‘I don’t want a good chap like you to get hurt.’ Meanwhile, Madam Hunsicker seemed to choke on her tea as she read: ‘Lives at stake. Must move quickly.’
“’I’m stuffed, aren’t you?’ Madame Hunsicker blurted suddenly. ‘In fact, I can scarcely move. Madrigal, dear, why don’t you sing one of your songs, to speed our digestion?’
“The young hag assumed a stance that she must have thought poised and graceful, though she resembled nothing so much as an enraged bull about to charge. She took a deep breath and began to bellow in a voice that broke frequently between a shrill, nasal keening and a scratchy, atonal contralto: ‘Poor, purblind, wayward youths...’ The words seemed to be something by W.S. Gilbert, but I wouldn’t want to implicate any composer in the melody. The noise was so shattering that it was all I could do to maintain a serene expression, rather than shutting my eyes tightly and covering my ears.
“Meanwhile, Madam Hunsicker leaned forward and beckoned me to do likewise. When our heads were nearly touching, she hissed into my ear: ‘It is too late for your friends. You must flee. All this has been a trap, and you’re the one they want to catch. Flee!’
“A cold feeling poured down my body from head to foot. I just managed to check an instinct to do just what Madam Hunsicker urged. ’Where are they?’ I hissed back. ‘And who are they?’
“By now, Madrigal was adding some dance steps to her song. This had the soothing effect of putting her a little out of breath, so that she could not sing quite so loud; but the impact of her footfalls caused the dishes in the nearby dresser to rattle.
“’I only know that you don’t want to meet them,’ said Madam Hunsicker. ‘They came here yesterday and questioned me about you. They overturned the whole house, and I don’t doubt they left magical eyes and ears everywhere. Then they took some of my lace and left. They will be back soon, I am sure of it.’
“’What do you know about my people?’ I growled, as Madrigal bounded over the tea-table and nearly took the pot with her.
“But it was too late to learn any more from the old schoolmarm. The pocket door opened into the room — which was quite wrong. In the resulting commotion and rain of splinters, Madrigal dived on top of Zichri Goode and pinned him behind the couch. Madam Hunsicker cowered in her chair, covering her head with her arms. Spiders, lace doilies, and tea things we hurled in all directions. The lamps blew out, plunging the place into gloom. I drew both of my wands, but only just in time to be disarmed by a spell that I couldn’t quite hear over the last gust of wind that followed the door into the room.
“Entering the parlor behind the blast came a very short man, scarcely a meter-and-a-half from the tip of his pointed hat to the opalescent black scales of his dragonhide boots. I could immediately tell that he was a grown man, and not merely a boy, yet I can’t say exactly why. In spite of his dwarfish height, he had the shape of a well-proportioned man, an angelic face, and beautifully tailored, immaculate robes. His wand sizzled with energy, and it was pointed at my heart.
“Flanking this stranger were two fiercely ugly house-elves who actually stood a bit taller than he. One carried a bag of child-sized golf clubs hanging from his shoulder, and wielded a persimmon-headed driver. The other carried a coil of thin cord that, I suspected, had been plaited out of unpicked spider-silk lace.
“’Hello, Mr. Spankison,’ the tiny man said in a voice as sweet as his face. He spoke with a very slight accent whose origin I couldn’t place. ‘I’ve been with child to meet you. Would have done sooner if that Shmedly fellow had delivered as promised. But all’s well that ends well. Divot, prepare Mr. Spankison for his trip. Mulligan, stand by the lady and offer Mr. Spankison an incentive to cooperate.’
“The house-elf with the cord moved toward me and began tying up my hands. The other one set down his bag and stepped up to Madam Hunsicker’s chair, where he brandished the club at her while looking meaningfully at me. Their master had just started relighting the oil lamps with a flick of his wand, when under the hag, behind the couch, Zichri Goode groaned.
“’Who was that?’ the little man demanded, still standing in the doorway.
“’That was my hagservant, who was knocked out by a fragment of the door,’ Madam Hunsicker declared angrily. Mulligan the house-elf flinched backward half a step from the fury in her eyes.
“’Stay there,’ the little man told him. Then he barked at Divot to resume tying me up, as the latter had paused in his work at the sound of Goode’s groan. Drawing a iron from the golf bag, the little man walked very slowly, yet without hesitation, toward Ilona’s end of the couch.
“She was my ace in the hole. No one in the room knew of Ilona’s presence but me. I tried to make eye contact with her, to signal her somehow, but she was staring at the pretty little man as if the sight of him froze her with horror. I felt more perplexed and goose-fleshy than ever. Here was a woman who stood up to vampires and werewolves, but a four-foot-tall man armed with a toy golf club had her petrified!
“’What have you done to my team?’ I demanded, mostly to stall the small man, to give Goode more time to recover from his stunning encounter with Madrigal.
“The short gentleman did pause in his stroll toward the couch. He looked at me with a smile so affectionate that, under other circumstances, it must have warmed my heart. ‘My dear, dear Spankison,’ he said warmly. ‘You really are a simple man, after all. Easily lured; easily caught. Provided, of course, that you can be disarmed before you are ready to duel. It amazes me that the RMB puts such a high value on you. Alas, I think your stock will fall steadily from now on.’
“A wand poked the back of my leg, from under the sofa. I shifted my legs out of the way, and in so doing I kicked Divot and sent him flying right into Mulligan’s chest. As the two house-elves toppled and tangled on the carpet, Ilona came to life. She fired a stunning spell at the little man while, at virtually the same time, Zichri Goode shouted ‘Petrificus totalis!’ from under the sofa. The little man shook himself, said, ‘That tickles,’ and aimed a spell at the sofa that blasted it into a million singed splinters of wood and strands of horsehair. Luckily, Ilona had time to dive out of the way first. The reduction of the sofa exposed Zichri Goode, who was still half-pinned under an unconscious hag ballerina. Before he could fire off a second curse, the small man disarmed him as well.
“’What a shame,’ said the small man, turning back toward Madam Hunsicker. ‘You backed the wrong side, didn’t you? I’m afraid I shall have to put your academy to the torch, my dear. An example must be made.’
“’You monster!’ the old woman sobbed.
“He tsked at her. ‘Don’t fret, dear lady. I’ll let your precious hags out of the cellar before I blast the place. Now, if you’re quite recovered from your fall, Divot, please to continue tying up Mr. Spankison. Mulligan, I think you had better guard this one.’ He gestured toward Goode, who was even now trying to squirm out from under the fallen hag.
“Soon I was completely bound. Ilona, meanwhile, had tried several spells on the small man, but he merely shrugged them off with a small shudder. ‘What an interesting vibration this room has,’ he remarked at one point. ‘I dare say it’s haunted.’
“’Do it,’ I barked at Ilona, as she hesitated about whether to pick up the teapot and do some kind of mischief with it. She had learned, during her time as a virtual ghost, to be strongly disinclined to move objects around in front of observers.
“’Do what?’ the little man asked. ‘Whom are you addressing?’
“The thought of telling him the truth entered my mind. I now knew that doing this would probably destroy Madam Hunsicker’s Academy, just as it had destroyed Sir Lionel’s safehouse. While I was deciding whether this was a worthwhile risk, the little man said, ‘Never mind,’ and stooped down to stuff a club-cozy into my mouth. That’s when Ilona hit him with the teapot. Madam Hunsicker screamed. Zichri Goode invoked a number of saints, and the young hag awoke and clung to him, whimpering.
“For a moment the small man seemed not to react to the heavy blow to the back of his head. Lukewarm tea ran down his collar, and the dented teapot rolled off his shoulders and hit the floor with a dull clang, while he remained stooped over me as if completely unaffected. Then his eyes crossed and he pitched forward, his forehead knocking against mine. I saw stars and then blacked out.
“When I came to a moment later, Zichri Goode was untying my hands and explaining to a tearful hag that he was already married, terribly sorry, couldn’t be helped. The house-elves quivered in terror as Ilona finished binding their wrists and ankles behind their backs. Madam Hunsicker merely looked on with a dazed expression, muttering, ‘It’s really true. The place is haunted...’
“’What about him?’ I asked Goode, nodding toward the already-bound figure of the angel-faced man. ‘Is he alive?’
“’Amazingly, yes,’ said Goode, nervously glancing at the struggling house-elves. ‘But he’s in no condition to tell us where he came from, or where he has your people. And the house-elves have already trotted out “We keep our master’s secrets and our silence,” so that angle’s no use.’
“Ilona, meanwhile, was searching the little man’s pockets. She found something, dug it out, then dropped it on the floor with a cry of disgust. It landed only a few inches from my knee. I picked it up for a closer look, but I already knew what it was.
“’That’s a snake’s skull,’ Goode said nervously.
“’That’s not all it is,’ I said, recognizing the peculiar, slippery buzz of magic that clung to the thing. ‘It’s also a portkey. Take hold of my robe, both of you.’
“Goode and the swollen-eyed hag looked at each other quizzically, thinking I meant both of them, then they grabbed my right sleeve. Ilona grabbed the hem of my robe as I said, ‘Three...two...one...Portetis!”
“A deafening, crushing, suffocating moment later we found ourselves in the middle of a vast pleasure garden, surrounded by fountains, lawns, sculpted hedges, and flowerbeds. Of to one side, in the middle of a paved square, a carnival carousel turned slowly. Two of the golden horses on it had been replaced by live Abraxan horses, hooves clamped in place, flapping their wings in indignation and whinnying piteously. The others let go of my robes and staggered for a moment, while I turned round and saw something even more horrible.
“On the edge of a pallette-shaped pool, my missing agents were laid out on a row of chaises longues, their sumptuous upholstery ruined by dried blood. Several of them were covered with sheets, head and all. Two of the younger agents writhed feverishly, their burns and wounds undressed. And sitting wide awake—bruised, scraped, favoring one arm as if it were broken—Silver Conkling regarded me with calm eyes, in spite of the knife at her throat.
“’Well, isn’t this interesting,’ said the figure cowering behind Silver’s seat. I recognized Sid Shmedly’s voice at once. He pressed the knife blade against Silver’s throat, to make sure I took the point.
“’It’s all over, Shmedly,’ I said. ‘You had might as well let her go.’
“’Or wait until His Lordship returns,’ said Shmedly. ‘It won’t take him too long to get out of whatever restraint you put on him.’
“’How do you know he’s not dead?’ I spat.
“’Because I know you,’ he sneered. And then, for the second time that night, my blood ran cold because, for the second time, I heard the sweet voice of a sweet-faced monster — this time from behind me — saying: ‘Easily lured...easily caught....’”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #119 +++
SURVEY: Spanky’s new enemy wants to get him because of: (a) his connection with the Potters; (b) his connection with Sir Lionel; (c) his involvement in a particular RMB case; (d) other reasons [feel free to suggest].
CONTEST: Give the small, evil, angel-faced man a name. Hint: he might be from somewhere around Ilona’s part of Europe.
[Originally posted 4/29/07]
Spanky’s tale continued...
“I felt like I was nine years old again, half-strangled in the dress robes without which I would never be admitted to Madam Hunsicker’s parlor, trying not to fidget, inwardly shuddering at the flirtatious looks the hagservant kept fluttering at me as she led me down the passage. It was all the worse, knowing that my bride was watching all this from the vantage point of functional invisibility. I was afraid that Madam Hunsicker might still make me tremble when I saw her, as she always had done when I was a boy. I remembered her as a terrible woman with the shoulders of a rugby player, wiry eyebrows that protruded so far from her face that they cast her eyes in shadow, a jaw strong enough to crack walnuts, long sinewy fingers that could pinch a child’s ears black and blue, and a voice like the roar of a wounded rhinocerous, which I had once recognized in the midst of a cheering crowd at the Owlympics.
“The hagservant pulled aside a pocket door and announced us: ‘Young Mr. Spankison of Mangeford, and friend.’ Then she stepped aside and we entered the parlor, where Madam Hunsicker was sitting stiffly on the edge of a wing-backed armchair draped with Shetland lace. A tea table was laid out in front of her, also decorated with Shetland lace, as were the sofa, the mantel, a nearby dresser, the wall-sconces on which oil lamps glowed, and the curtains around the window. ‘Please, sit,’ Madam Hunsicker said in a surprisingly gentle voice.
“I sat on the end of the sofa closest to the schoolmistress. Zichri Goode remained standing behind me, holding his hat in one hand and now mine in the other. Madam Hunsicker gave him a severe stare over the top of my head, but I could imagine him staring straight ahead, noticing nothing.
“She had changed a great deal since I had last seen her. Madam Hunsicker was thinner, hollow-cheeked, a bit stooped. Her rugby shoulders were hunched under a Shetland lace shawl, and her fingers were twisted and frozen in place by rheumatism. But she still had the same hard, black eyes that glittered at me from the shadows of her eyebrows.
“For a while she said nothing while seemingly sizing me up. Then, while still facing me, she said, ‘Madrigal, pour the dear gentleman a cup of tea.’ The hagservant hastened to comply, getting nearly as much tea in the saucer as in the cup. She seemed reluctant to let it go as I took it from her. Ilona, sitting undetectably on the sofa beside me, snickered.
“I had scarcely lifted the cup off the saucer when Madam Hunsicker ordered Madrigal to offer me a biscuit. ‘I really shouldn’t,’ I said politely.
“'I insist,' Madam Hunsicker replied. I did my best to nibble and sip with the best possible manners, inwardly squirming under the pressure of the old witch’s appraising stare. ‘I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to discuss the reason for your visit on an empty stomach. It would be inhospitable.’ She seemed to be saying this for someone else’s benefit rather than to me — but whether that other person was Madrigal, or Zichri Goode, or someone else, I could not tell.
“When I got to the center of the biscuit, I noticed an odd feeling in my mouth. I chewed and sucked for a moment, then found a handkerchief and coughed politely into it. Madam Hunsicker looked away as I studied the tiny slip of paper that had come out of my mouth. It said: ‘Danger. Leave At Once.’
“’Did that hit the spot?’ Madam Hunsicker asked as I finished the last bit of biscuit. She was still gazing at the small side-table, where I now noticed a row of spiders busily sewing lace out of their own silk. What Madam Hunsicker really meant was: ‘Did you get my message?’
“’I wouldn’t mind another,’ I said. Meaning: ‘I’m not going anywhere at the moment.’
“Madam Hunsicker closed her eyes for a second, then looked up at Madrigal. The hagservant grinned a crook-toothed smile, batted her eyes, and handed the biscuit plate again. As I put away my handkerchief, I fingered my wand and muttered something under my breath, then added aloud, ‘Won’t you join me, Madam Hunsicker?’
“’Very well,’ she said sweetly, still not looking at me. I took a biscuit, broke it, and dipped the half that didn’t have a slip of paper sticking out of it. Madam Hunsicker did the same with her biscuit, and as we nibbled on tea-dipped biscuit, I read her message (‘We can handle this ourselves’) and she read mine (‘We need each other’s help’).
“’I wonder what Vindicta puts in these,’ Madam Hunsicker exclaimed. ‘Each time I eat one, I feel more famished than ever. I must have another. Don’t be bashful, Mr. Spankison. We have an ample supply.’
“I dabbed my lips with my handkerchief, returned it to my pocket, muttered something under my breath. Then I took a third biscuit, broke it, dipped half of it in tea, and surreptiously read the tag sticking out of the other half: ‘I don’t want a good chap like you to get hurt.’ Meanwhile, Madam Hunsicker seemed to choke on her tea as she read: ‘Lives at stake. Must move quickly.’
“’I’m stuffed, aren’t you?’ Madame Hunsicker blurted suddenly. ‘In fact, I can scarcely move. Madrigal, dear, why don’t you sing one of your songs, to speed our digestion?’
“The young hag assumed a stance that she must have thought poised and graceful, though she resembled nothing so much as an enraged bull about to charge. She took a deep breath and began to bellow in a voice that broke frequently between a shrill, nasal keening and a scratchy, atonal contralto: ‘Poor, purblind, wayward youths...’ The words seemed to be something by W.S. Gilbert, but I wouldn’t want to implicate any composer in the melody. The noise was so shattering that it was all I could do to maintain a serene expression, rather than shutting my eyes tightly and covering my ears.
“Meanwhile, Madam Hunsicker leaned forward and beckoned me to do likewise. When our heads were nearly touching, she hissed into my ear: ‘It is too late for your friends. You must flee. All this has been a trap, and you’re the one they want to catch. Flee!’
“A cold feeling poured down my body from head to foot. I just managed to check an instinct to do just what Madam Hunsicker urged. ’Where are they?’ I hissed back. ‘And who are they?’
“By now, Madrigal was adding some dance steps to her song. This had the soothing effect of putting her a little out of breath, so that she could not sing quite so loud; but the impact of her footfalls caused the dishes in the nearby dresser to rattle.
“’I only know that you don’t want to meet them,’ said Madam Hunsicker. ‘They came here yesterday and questioned me about you. They overturned the whole house, and I don’t doubt they left magical eyes and ears everywhere. Then they took some of my lace and left. They will be back soon, I am sure of it.’
“’What do you know about my people?’ I growled, as Madrigal bounded over the tea-table and nearly took the pot with her.
“But it was too late to learn any more from the old schoolmarm. The pocket door opened into the room — which was quite wrong. In the resulting commotion and rain of splinters, Madrigal dived on top of Zichri Goode and pinned him behind the couch. Madam Hunsicker cowered in her chair, covering her head with her arms. Spiders, lace doilies, and tea things we hurled in all directions. The lamps blew out, plunging the place into gloom. I drew both of my wands, but only just in time to be disarmed by a spell that I couldn’t quite hear over the last gust of wind that followed the door into the room.
“Entering the parlor behind the blast came a very short man, scarcely a meter-and-a-half from the tip of his pointed hat to the opalescent black scales of his dragonhide boots. I could immediately tell that he was a grown man, and not merely a boy, yet I can’t say exactly why. In spite of his dwarfish height, he had the shape of a well-proportioned man, an angelic face, and beautifully tailored, immaculate robes. His wand sizzled with energy, and it was pointed at my heart.
“Flanking this stranger were two fiercely ugly house-elves who actually stood a bit taller than he. One carried a bag of child-sized golf clubs hanging from his shoulder, and wielded a persimmon-headed driver. The other carried a coil of thin cord that, I suspected, had been plaited out of unpicked spider-silk lace.
“’Hello, Mr. Spankison,’ the tiny man said in a voice as sweet as his face. He spoke with a very slight accent whose origin I couldn’t place. ‘I’ve been with child to meet you. Would have done sooner if that Shmedly fellow had delivered as promised. But all’s well that ends well. Divot, prepare Mr. Spankison for his trip. Mulligan, stand by the lady and offer Mr. Spankison an incentive to cooperate.’
“The house-elf with the cord moved toward me and began tying up my hands. The other one set down his bag and stepped up to Madam Hunsicker’s chair, where he brandished the club at her while looking meaningfully at me. Their master had just started relighting the oil lamps with a flick of his wand, when under the hag, behind the couch, Zichri Goode groaned.
“’Who was that?’ the little man demanded, still standing in the doorway.
“’That was my hagservant, who was knocked out by a fragment of the door,’ Madam Hunsicker declared angrily. Mulligan the house-elf flinched backward half a step from the fury in her eyes.
“’Stay there,’ the little man told him. Then he barked at Divot to resume tying me up, as the latter had paused in his work at the sound of Goode’s groan. Drawing a iron from the golf bag, the little man walked very slowly, yet without hesitation, toward Ilona’s end of the couch.
“She was my ace in the hole. No one in the room knew of Ilona’s presence but me. I tried to make eye contact with her, to signal her somehow, but she was staring at the pretty little man as if the sight of him froze her with horror. I felt more perplexed and goose-fleshy than ever. Here was a woman who stood up to vampires and werewolves, but a four-foot-tall man armed with a toy golf club had her petrified!
“’What have you done to my team?’ I demanded, mostly to stall the small man, to give Goode more time to recover from his stunning encounter with Madrigal.
“The short gentleman did pause in his stroll toward the couch. He looked at me with a smile so affectionate that, under other circumstances, it must have warmed my heart. ‘My dear, dear Spankison,’ he said warmly. ‘You really are a simple man, after all. Easily lured; easily caught. Provided, of course, that you can be disarmed before you are ready to duel. It amazes me that the RMB puts such a high value on you. Alas, I think your stock will fall steadily from now on.’
“A wand poked the back of my leg, from under the sofa. I shifted my legs out of the way, and in so doing I kicked Divot and sent him flying right into Mulligan’s chest. As the two house-elves toppled and tangled on the carpet, Ilona came to life. She fired a stunning spell at the little man while, at virtually the same time, Zichri Goode shouted ‘Petrificus totalis!’ from under the sofa. The little man shook himself, said, ‘That tickles,’ and aimed a spell at the sofa that blasted it into a million singed splinters of wood and strands of horsehair. Luckily, Ilona had time to dive out of the way first. The reduction of the sofa exposed Zichri Goode, who was still half-pinned under an unconscious hag ballerina. Before he could fire off a second curse, the small man disarmed him as well.
“’What a shame,’ said the small man, turning back toward Madam Hunsicker. ‘You backed the wrong side, didn’t you? I’m afraid I shall have to put your academy to the torch, my dear. An example must be made.’
“’You monster!’ the old woman sobbed.
“He tsked at her. ‘Don’t fret, dear lady. I’ll let your precious hags out of the cellar before I blast the place. Now, if you’re quite recovered from your fall, Divot, please to continue tying up Mr. Spankison. Mulligan, I think you had better guard this one.’ He gestured toward Goode, who was even now trying to squirm out from under the fallen hag.
“Soon I was completely bound. Ilona, meanwhile, had tried several spells on the small man, but he merely shrugged them off with a small shudder. ‘What an interesting vibration this room has,’ he remarked at one point. ‘I dare say it’s haunted.’
“’Do it,’ I barked at Ilona, as she hesitated about whether to pick up the teapot and do some kind of mischief with it. She had learned, during her time as a virtual ghost, to be strongly disinclined to move objects around in front of observers.
“’Do what?’ the little man asked. ‘Whom are you addressing?’
“The thought of telling him the truth entered my mind. I now knew that doing this would probably destroy Madam Hunsicker’s Academy, just as it had destroyed Sir Lionel’s safehouse. While I was deciding whether this was a worthwhile risk, the little man said, ‘Never mind,’ and stooped down to stuff a club-cozy into my mouth. That’s when Ilona hit him with the teapot. Madam Hunsicker screamed. Zichri Goode invoked a number of saints, and the young hag awoke and clung to him, whimpering.
“For a moment the small man seemed not to react to the heavy blow to the back of his head. Lukewarm tea ran down his collar, and the dented teapot rolled off his shoulders and hit the floor with a dull clang, while he remained stooped over me as if completely unaffected. Then his eyes crossed and he pitched forward, his forehead knocking against mine. I saw stars and then blacked out.
“When I came to a moment later, Zichri Goode was untying my hands and explaining to a tearful hag that he was already married, terribly sorry, couldn’t be helped. The house-elves quivered in terror as Ilona finished binding their wrists and ankles behind their backs. Madam Hunsicker merely looked on with a dazed expression, muttering, ‘It’s really true. The place is haunted...’
“’What about him?’ I asked Goode, nodding toward the already-bound figure of the angel-faced man. ‘Is he alive?’
“’Amazingly, yes,’ said Goode, nervously glancing at the struggling house-elves. ‘But he’s in no condition to tell us where he came from, or where he has your people. And the house-elves have already trotted out “We keep our master’s secrets and our silence,” so that angle’s no use.’
“Ilona, meanwhile, was searching the little man’s pockets. She found something, dug it out, then dropped it on the floor with a cry of disgust. It landed only a few inches from my knee. I picked it up for a closer look, but I already knew what it was.
“’That’s a snake’s skull,’ Goode said nervously.
“’That’s not all it is,’ I said, recognizing the peculiar, slippery buzz of magic that clung to the thing. ‘It’s also a portkey. Take hold of my robe, both of you.’
“Goode and the swollen-eyed hag looked at each other quizzically, thinking I meant both of them, then they grabbed my right sleeve. Ilona grabbed the hem of my robe as I said, ‘Three...two...one...Portetis!”
“A deafening, crushing, suffocating moment later we found ourselves in the middle of a vast pleasure garden, surrounded by fountains, lawns, sculpted hedges, and flowerbeds. Of to one side, in the middle of a paved square, a carnival carousel turned slowly. Two of the golden horses on it had been replaced by live Abraxan horses, hooves clamped in place, flapping their wings in indignation and whinnying piteously. The others let go of my robes and staggered for a moment, while I turned round and saw something even more horrible.
“On the edge of a pallette-shaped pool, my missing agents were laid out on a row of chaises longues, their sumptuous upholstery ruined by dried blood. Several of them were covered with sheets, head and all. Two of the younger agents writhed feverishly, their burns and wounds undressed. And sitting wide awake—bruised, scraped, favoring one arm as if it were broken—Silver Conkling regarded me with calm eyes, in spite of the knife at her throat.
“’Well, isn’t this interesting,’ said the figure cowering behind Silver’s seat. I recognized Sid Shmedly’s voice at once. He pressed the knife blade against Silver’s throat, to make sure I took the point.
“’It’s all over, Shmedly,’ I said. ‘You had might as well let her go.’
“’Or wait until His Lordship returns,’ said Shmedly. ‘It won’t take him too long to get out of whatever restraint you put on him.’
“’How do you know he’s not dead?’ I spat.
“’Because I know you,’ he sneered. And then, for the second time that night, my blood ran cold because, for the second time, I heard the sweet voice of a sweet-faced monster — this time from behind me — saying: ‘Easily lured...easily caught....’”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #119 +++
SURVEY: Spanky’s new enemy wants to get him because of: (a) his connection with the Potters; (b) his connection with Sir Lionel; (c) his involvement in a particular RMB case; (d) other reasons [feel free to suggest].
CONTEST: Give the small, evil, angel-faced man a name. Hint: he might be from somewhere around Ilona’s part of Europe.
[Originally posted 4/29/07]
Friday, December 26, 2008
115. The Day of Five Puzzles
Contest winners: i6uuaq and greyniffler
Spanky’s tale continued...
“The day after Silver Conkling saw the Potters off, I found myself spread very thin. A trainee agent woke me with urgent news that Silver’s party had not returned, and there weren’t enough agents left to change the watch. I went up to Sir Lionel’s owlery at once and sent an owl to the RMB office in Blokebury, reporting on the situation, and another to Godric’s Hollow with a note asking if the Potters were all right.
“The return owls arrived almost at once. Blokebury promised to send reinforcements to relieve the watch and ordered me to begin investigating the disappearance of Silver’s party as soon as they arrived. While I was still reading this, the Potters’ owl arrived, assuring me that they had made it home safely and without incident, and when last seen, Silver, her team, and the elf-driven carriage were headed straight back to Mangeford. James had the foresight and kindness to send a little extra with his message: a rolled-up invisibility cloak, shrunk down to the size of a handkerchief.
“Ilona and I were the only agents who had not been on watch all night, so when the relief agents arrived I sent the night watch to bed and went off in search of answers, backed up only by my undetectible wife.
“I put on James Potter’s invisibilty cloak, and Ilona and I hopped on our brooms. We quickly retraced the route to Godric’s Hollow, where Lily forced on me a tied-up napkin full of biscuits, then slowly searched the fields and woods back in the direction of Mangeford. We were flying grid patterns over a wide, dense wood when I spotted movement below. I signaled to Ilona and swooped down for a closer look, expecting Ilona to meet me on the ground.
“I landed silently behind a tall, dark, figure that appeared to be prowling through the woods. As I drew out the knife Zophar Goode had given me, the figure seemed to be sniffing the air. I was just looking round to see where Ilona had got to when the prowler turned on me and swiftly aimed a long, silvery blade at my throat. With his other hand he whipped the invisibility cloak off me – a detail that added a whole scary dimension to the accuracy of my attacker’s aim. I swallowed slowly, my Adam’s apple nearly touching the tip of his knife, and forced myself not to blink.
“I found myself looking into an oddly familiar face – worried blue eyes, a firm unshaven jaw, lined and leathery skin, and a wild wavy tangle of salt-and-pepper hair retreating from the top of a sunburnt forhead. Though he was built entirely differently from his brother, I immediately realized that I was looking at Zichri Goode.
“’Drop the knife,’ he growled. I did as told. He didn’t even seem to look down, but his face darkened as the knife sank halfway up its blade into the ground. ‘That belonged to my brother,’ he said, in a whisper even more terrifying than his growl. ‘How did you come by it?’
“’I visited him yesterday,’ I said as Goode patted my right-hand pocket and took away my wand. ‘He gave it to me.’ I watched his face, thankful that he hadn’t thought of looking for the other wand in my left-hand pocket, and wondering if I would have a chance to draw it. He watched my face, searching for any sign that I was lying.
“’What were you doing there?’ he asked after we had studied each other for a while.
“’Rogue Magic Bureau business,’ I said. I waited until he had fished my credentials out of the inside pocket of my cloak before adding, ‘I was following up on a tip. It turned out to be nothing.’
“’Aren’t there rules against RMB agents accepting gifts from a suspect?’ Zichri Goode asked, with just a hint of wry humor added to his menacing tone. I didn’t answer. I guessed he had already worked out the way Zophar had bound me to keep Full Moon Kennel a secret.
“’What are you doing here?’ I asked, breathing a bit more freely as I pushed the point of Zichri Goode’s knife away from my neck.
“’Searching,’ Goode grunted.
“’So am I,’ I said. ‘Have you seen anyone in this area? Abraxan horses, maybe? A carriage? Or a house-elf?’
“’No,’ said Goode. ‘Have you seen a short, fat man with a lame leg?’
“’No,’ I said. ‘Why are you looking for him in here?’
“’He was expected at the Kennel yesterday. He always shows up three or four days ahead of the full moon, so he can settle his nerves before the place fills up with guests. His clotheshorse showed up this morning without him – ‘
“’Sorry?’ I asked. ‘Clothes-what?’
“’Clotheshorse,’ said Zichri Goode, impatiently. ‘Trunk with legs. Old-fashioned like, so I suppose a modern government wizard like you wouldn’t be interested, but very practical for a gimpy old werewolf like Mr. Nivol. It could only have walked out of these woods without him, if it had walked into these woods with him. He might have fallen down or...’
“’Or been attacked,’ I added grimly. ‘I think whatever happened to my people may have happened to your werewolf friend.’
“’And you suspect an attack?’ Goode said, somehow managing to look twice as intense as before. He handed my wand back to me and stooped to retrieve my knife from the ground. While he was looking down, I chanced to look up and saw a fountain of red sparks rising above the treetops from a way off.
“’There’s something going on over there,’ I said as he handed me my knife. ‘I’ll fly ahead on this broom and leave a trail of smoke; you follow it and catch up as quickly as you can.’
“Goode agreed, and I flew off, landing next to Ilona just as she was about to fire off another fountain of sparks. She looked very relieved when she saw me flying toward her.
“’What is it?’ I asked. ‘Tell me quickly, because Zophar Goode’s brother will be here in a moment and – ‘
“’Didn’t you see it?’ Ilona said, smacking the back of my head. She pointed upward, toward a tree over which I had flown only moments before. From above it had looked like a typical oak tree, shrouded in green leaves. From below I saw that the limbs seemed to have seized up in a spasm of agony. Caught in the branches was the crushed wreckage of a carriage. The carriage. Sir Lionel’s fancy, Abraxan-drawn carriage: small enough on the outside to fit in a little shed, yet large enough on the inside to carry the entire student body of Mangeford’s Private School for Young Witches and Wizards on a field trip to Hogwarts without weighing an ounce more than an empty carriage. The Dark Mark was painted on the driver’s seat with what looked like dried blood.
“Just seeing the carriage, with so many fond memories attached to it, destroyed like that was almost enough to make me cry. But now I also noticed that the tree branches were sprinkled with tufts of animal fur, horsefeathers, and blood. There were scorch marks on the bark, clusters of withered leaves, and even a long shred of wool from somebody’s robe. But no bodies, alive or dead.
“’I’m going to look inside,’ I said, shaking Ilona’s hand off my elbow. I climbed on my broom, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Zichri Goode was approaching.
“There was one body inside the carriage: the house-elf driver named Mitsy. The interior, designed to look like the drawing room in Sir Lionel’s house, was full of smashed bottles and art works, singed draperies, torn cushions, and cracked plaster. The carpet looked as if a herd of swine had stampeded through it, straight out of a mud wallow. Everything was tilted at a crazy angle, and the floor felt like it might give out under my weight.
“Mitsy opened her eyes, as I knelt beside her to check for life signs. ‘I knew Young Master would come back,’ she said faintly.
“I held her tiny hand and didn’t correct her. She had me mistaken for Sir Lionel’s son, a squib who had gone into the Navy the year I got into Hogwarts. Lionel Junior had only been back once, for his mother’s funeral the following year. I realized that Mitsy was too badly injured to survive much longer, so I let her believe whatever she liked.
“’Can you tell me what happened?’ I asked instead.
“Mitsy trembled, coughed a few times, and whispered, ‘Tree attacked us.’
“’How could it?’ I asked, looking out the gaping doorway at the branches of a very ordinary, though twisted, oak.
“’Ambush,’ said Mitsy. ‘Spell. Lots of shadows closed in. Shadows with wands. Flashes of light, loud noises – bangs, screams – I tried to save the horses, but the shadows got them too...’
“That was all Mitsy was able to say before she passed out again. A moment later her breathing became labored, and then it stopped altogether. She died holding my hand.
“I broke the remaining legs off a small table and levitated Mitsy onto it, strapped her down, and floated the makeshift stretcher to the ground before coming down myself.
“’I don’t know who is alive and who is dead,’ I said to a very agitated Zichri Goode, and indirectly to Ilona, when I touched down. ‘Everyone but Mitsy seems to have been taken away by whoever did this. Even the horses! They must have been Death Eaters, trying to get at the...hem.’ I caught myself in time and didn’t say ‘the Potters’ in front of Zichri Goode.
“’We know one thing,’ said Goode, pointing up at the dark mark on the driver’s seat of the carriage. ‘Somebody didn’t survive.’
“The abomination on the carriage made me seethe with anger. I remembered riding in it, with other members of the village school, to formal dances at Madame Hunsicker’s Dance Studio. Ariadne Hunsicker was a large, severe woman with long spindly arms and a habit of wearing a bustle, so that she often looked like a giant spider – a look completed by her habit of knitting lace while watching the proceedings over the rim of her pince-nez. Unfortunately, she also ran a finishing school for young hags. I still blush to think of those awkward evenings, standing in a tight, nervous group of boys around a punchbowl filled with vinegar and cod liver oil, while a group of horrid little hags preened and beckoned to us from the other side of the dance floor. Only the girls from our village had any fun, dancing the hextrot and the tarantacula all evening and taking turns leading each other. Suddenly those nightmarish, pre-Hogwarts experiences seemed like a sacred treasure that had just been desecrated. Plus, some of the best RMB agents I knew were either dead or being tortured by the Death Eaters. Four good agents, plus probably an innocent werewolf with a crooked leg and two beautiful, winged horses...
“’I need to stop at your place,’ I told Goode, when I had ground my teeth long enough to make my jaws ache, ‘so I can send an owl to Blokebury about this.’ I prepared to mount my broom again. Zichri put his hand on my arm.
“’Don’t fly angry, son,’ he said. ‘Think about this. The Death Eaters may like to inflict death and terror, but even they don’t get into a battle this big without a reason. What did they hope to get out of those people?’
“’That’s one puzzle,’ I admitted, trying unsuccessfully to shake my arm free of his grip. ‘Though I think I have a good idea about the answer.’ The Potters had just survived one attack; perhaps this one was meant for them as well.
“’You sound as if you have a few more puzzles on your mind,’ Goode said gently. His eyes bored into me, unnerving in their sharpness of perception. ‘Why don’t you tell me about them?’
“’Because I don’t have time,’ I snapped, feeling foolish as I said it.
“’But you do have time to go tearing off in the wrong direction because you haven’t thought clearly about what you’re really searching for,’ Goode said, even more gently than before. ‘If any of those people are still alive, they are depending on you to find them quickly. So think first – and I’ve found that talking things out helps you think them out.’
“I tried to pull away. Goode gripped my arm even harder. I chanced a look at Ilona, hoping I could get some time alone with her before I owled the RMB, but saw her shaking her head at me. Goode then answered another objection of mine before I even voiced it: ‘I have to trust you to keep my secrets, don’t I? Why shouldn’t you trust me?’
“’Trust me?’ I snorted. ‘Trust has nothing to do with it. Your brother put a binding on me.’
“Goode shrugged. Then, with his free hand, he held out his knife. I looked at it, shocked. He nodded his head encouragingly. So I spat on his knife blade, and he did the same. Then he loosened his hold on my arm, and I spoke. I told him everything that had happened, beginning with the walking broom tree, going right through my duel with Shmedly, the Potters’ narrow escape, and Silver’s successful mission to escort them home safely.
“’So the first puzzle,’ I said, ‘is how Shmedly got through the Fidelius charm over Sir Lionel’s safehouse. The second puzzle is how he deflected all my jinxes...’
“’Assuming this attempt to assassinate Sir Lionel is connected with the attacks on the Potters,’ Goode said pointedly.
“’But of course they’re connected!’ I cried. ‘I don’t know how, but the Romanian plot against Sir Lionel fits together somehow with the Death Eaters’ plot against Lily and James. It has to. In fact, I think the first attack on the Potters was never meant to succeed; it was to lure them into taking refuge at Sir Lionel’s safehouse, which they had also taken over...’
“I paused, suddenly struck by the nauseating thought that all this made Sir Lionel a very strong suspect.
“’But since you had already cleared them out of the safehouse,’ Goode went on, ‘they had to change their plans, hence this second attack last night...’
“’Which didn’t actually target the Potters,’ Ilona put in.
“’That’s right!’ I shouted, eagerly grasping an idea that could clear Sir Lionel of suspicion. ‘They didn’t – or couldn’t – or maybe didn’t want to – get the Potters last night. They waited until their escort was on its way back...’
“’Which gives you your third puzzle,’ said Goode, showing no sign of being confused by my outburst when he couldn’t have heard what I was agreeing to.
“’Yes,’ I said. ‘What did they want with two Abraxan horses, four RMB agents and an elderly werewolf who was just passing by? Why were they taken?’
“’They are trying to learn how to get past whatever is protecting the Potters,’ Ilona said.
“’That’s puzzle four,’ I said. Then, to help Goode follow my thinking, I hurriedly added: ‘Why don’t they just attack the Potters directly, if that’s what they’re after? What’s protecting the Potters?’
“’And the fifth puzzle,’ said Goode, ‘is: What did they mean to tell us by leaving this poor house-elf here?’
“’That’s no mystery,’ I said, glancing bitterly at Mitsy’s body. ‘To the type of wizards who would do this, house-elves don’t count as people. They probably overlooked her. In a way, she was lucky. It would have hurt her a lot more to see the Death Eaters making sport of her horses.’ I sighed.
“’Has this helped?’ Zichri asked. ‘Do you know where to start looking now?’
“As he said this, I saw something poking out of Mitsy’s tiny fist. I bent down and pulled it out. As soon as I unfolded it, I knew what it was.
“’Shetland lace,’ Zichri Goode said, looking over my shoulder. ‘My mother-in-law used to knit the stuff.’
“’Did she make it out of thread spun from cobwebs?’ I asked, testing the strength of the lacework against the edge of my knife.
“’Er, not that I’m aware of,’ said Zichri Goode.
“’Then yes,’ I said. ‘I do know where to start looking.’ I straightened up and told him, ‘Madam Hunsicker’s Finishing Academy for Young Hags.’
“While Zichri Goode looked concerned for my mental health, I thought the real fifth puzzle was: How did I just happen to think about Ariadne Hunsicker, before I saw a scrap of her lacework in a dead house-elf’s hand?”
+++DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #117+++
To help choose the direction of the next few chapters of The Magic Quill, visit the Discussion Forum, or send Robbie feedback. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest entry (or entries) Robbie likes best, will be featured in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: How many of Silver’s team will Spanky save from the Death Eaters? (A) All of them. (B) All but Silver herself. (C) One or two. (D) Only Silver. (E) None
CONTEST: Describe something spooky (but not too graphically violent) that Death Eaters would do to a couple of Abraxan horses, while interrogating their prisoners.
[Originally posted 3/18/07]
Spanky’s tale continued...
“The day after Silver Conkling saw the Potters off, I found myself spread very thin. A trainee agent woke me with urgent news that Silver’s party had not returned, and there weren’t enough agents left to change the watch. I went up to Sir Lionel’s owlery at once and sent an owl to the RMB office in Blokebury, reporting on the situation, and another to Godric’s Hollow with a note asking if the Potters were all right.
“The return owls arrived almost at once. Blokebury promised to send reinforcements to relieve the watch and ordered me to begin investigating the disappearance of Silver’s party as soon as they arrived. While I was still reading this, the Potters’ owl arrived, assuring me that they had made it home safely and without incident, and when last seen, Silver, her team, and the elf-driven carriage were headed straight back to Mangeford. James had the foresight and kindness to send a little extra with his message: a rolled-up invisibility cloak, shrunk down to the size of a handkerchief.
“Ilona and I were the only agents who had not been on watch all night, so when the relief agents arrived I sent the night watch to bed and went off in search of answers, backed up only by my undetectible wife.
“I put on James Potter’s invisibilty cloak, and Ilona and I hopped on our brooms. We quickly retraced the route to Godric’s Hollow, where Lily forced on me a tied-up napkin full of biscuits, then slowly searched the fields and woods back in the direction of Mangeford. We were flying grid patterns over a wide, dense wood when I spotted movement below. I signaled to Ilona and swooped down for a closer look, expecting Ilona to meet me on the ground.
“I landed silently behind a tall, dark, figure that appeared to be prowling through the woods. As I drew out the knife Zophar Goode had given me, the figure seemed to be sniffing the air. I was just looking round to see where Ilona had got to when the prowler turned on me and swiftly aimed a long, silvery blade at my throat. With his other hand he whipped the invisibility cloak off me – a detail that added a whole scary dimension to the accuracy of my attacker’s aim. I swallowed slowly, my Adam’s apple nearly touching the tip of his knife, and forced myself not to blink.
“I found myself looking into an oddly familiar face – worried blue eyes, a firm unshaven jaw, lined and leathery skin, and a wild wavy tangle of salt-and-pepper hair retreating from the top of a sunburnt forhead. Though he was built entirely differently from his brother, I immediately realized that I was looking at Zichri Goode.
“’Drop the knife,’ he growled. I did as told. He didn’t even seem to look down, but his face darkened as the knife sank halfway up its blade into the ground. ‘That belonged to my brother,’ he said, in a whisper even more terrifying than his growl. ‘How did you come by it?’
“’I visited him yesterday,’ I said as Goode patted my right-hand pocket and took away my wand. ‘He gave it to me.’ I watched his face, thankful that he hadn’t thought of looking for the other wand in my left-hand pocket, and wondering if I would have a chance to draw it. He watched my face, searching for any sign that I was lying.
“’What were you doing there?’ he asked after we had studied each other for a while.
“’Rogue Magic Bureau business,’ I said. I waited until he had fished my credentials out of the inside pocket of my cloak before adding, ‘I was following up on a tip. It turned out to be nothing.’
“’Aren’t there rules against RMB agents accepting gifts from a suspect?’ Zichri Goode asked, with just a hint of wry humor added to his menacing tone. I didn’t answer. I guessed he had already worked out the way Zophar had bound me to keep Full Moon Kennel a secret.
“’What are you doing here?’ I asked, breathing a bit more freely as I pushed the point of Zichri Goode’s knife away from my neck.
“’Searching,’ Goode grunted.
“’So am I,’ I said. ‘Have you seen anyone in this area? Abraxan horses, maybe? A carriage? Or a house-elf?’
“’No,’ said Goode. ‘Have you seen a short, fat man with a lame leg?’
“’No,’ I said. ‘Why are you looking for him in here?’
“’He was expected at the Kennel yesterday. He always shows up three or four days ahead of the full moon, so he can settle his nerves before the place fills up with guests. His clotheshorse showed up this morning without him – ‘
“’Sorry?’ I asked. ‘Clothes-what?’
“’Clotheshorse,’ said Zichri Goode, impatiently. ‘Trunk with legs. Old-fashioned like, so I suppose a modern government wizard like you wouldn’t be interested, but very practical for a gimpy old werewolf like Mr. Nivol. It could only have walked out of these woods without him, if it had walked into these woods with him. He might have fallen down or...’
“’Or been attacked,’ I added grimly. ‘I think whatever happened to my people may have happened to your werewolf friend.’
“’And you suspect an attack?’ Goode said, somehow managing to look twice as intense as before. He handed my wand back to me and stooped to retrieve my knife from the ground. While he was looking down, I chanced to look up and saw a fountain of red sparks rising above the treetops from a way off.
“’There’s something going on over there,’ I said as he handed me my knife. ‘I’ll fly ahead on this broom and leave a trail of smoke; you follow it and catch up as quickly as you can.’
“Goode agreed, and I flew off, landing next to Ilona just as she was about to fire off another fountain of sparks. She looked very relieved when she saw me flying toward her.
“’What is it?’ I asked. ‘Tell me quickly, because Zophar Goode’s brother will be here in a moment and – ‘
“’Didn’t you see it?’ Ilona said, smacking the back of my head. She pointed upward, toward a tree over which I had flown only moments before. From above it had looked like a typical oak tree, shrouded in green leaves. From below I saw that the limbs seemed to have seized up in a spasm of agony. Caught in the branches was the crushed wreckage of a carriage. The carriage. Sir Lionel’s fancy, Abraxan-drawn carriage: small enough on the outside to fit in a little shed, yet large enough on the inside to carry the entire student body of Mangeford’s Private School for Young Witches and Wizards on a field trip to Hogwarts without weighing an ounce more than an empty carriage. The Dark Mark was painted on the driver’s seat with what looked like dried blood.
“Just seeing the carriage, with so many fond memories attached to it, destroyed like that was almost enough to make me cry. But now I also noticed that the tree branches were sprinkled with tufts of animal fur, horsefeathers, and blood. There were scorch marks on the bark, clusters of withered leaves, and even a long shred of wool from somebody’s robe. But no bodies, alive or dead.
“’I’m going to look inside,’ I said, shaking Ilona’s hand off my elbow. I climbed on my broom, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Zichri Goode was approaching.
“There was one body inside the carriage: the house-elf driver named Mitsy. The interior, designed to look like the drawing room in Sir Lionel’s house, was full of smashed bottles and art works, singed draperies, torn cushions, and cracked plaster. The carpet looked as if a herd of swine had stampeded through it, straight out of a mud wallow. Everything was tilted at a crazy angle, and the floor felt like it might give out under my weight.
“Mitsy opened her eyes, as I knelt beside her to check for life signs. ‘I knew Young Master would come back,’ she said faintly.
“I held her tiny hand and didn’t correct her. She had me mistaken for Sir Lionel’s son, a squib who had gone into the Navy the year I got into Hogwarts. Lionel Junior had only been back once, for his mother’s funeral the following year. I realized that Mitsy was too badly injured to survive much longer, so I let her believe whatever she liked.
“’Can you tell me what happened?’ I asked instead.
“Mitsy trembled, coughed a few times, and whispered, ‘Tree attacked us.’
“’How could it?’ I asked, looking out the gaping doorway at the branches of a very ordinary, though twisted, oak.
“’Ambush,’ said Mitsy. ‘Spell. Lots of shadows closed in. Shadows with wands. Flashes of light, loud noises – bangs, screams – I tried to save the horses, but the shadows got them too...’
“That was all Mitsy was able to say before she passed out again. A moment later her breathing became labored, and then it stopped altogether. She died holding my hand.
“I broke the remaining legs off a small table and levitated Mitsy onto it, strapped her down, and floated the makeshift stretcher to the ground before coming down myself.
“’I don’t know who is alive and who is dead,’ I said to a very agitated Zichri Goode, and indirectly to Ilona, when I touched down. ‘Everyone but Mitsy seems to have been taken away by whoever did this. Even the horses! They must have been Death Eaters, trying to get at the...hem.’ I caught myself in time and didn’t say ‘the Potters’ in front of Zichri Goode.
“’We know one thing,’ said Goode, pointing up at the dark mark on the driver’s seat of the carriage. ‘Somebody didn’t survive.’
“The abomination on the carriage made me seethe with anger. I remembered riding in it, with other members of the village school, to formal dances at Madame Hunsicker’s Dance Studio. Ariadne Hunsicker was a large, severe woman with long spindly arms and a habit of wearing a bustle, so that she often looked like a giant spider – a look completed by her habit of knitting lace while watching the proceedings over the rim of her pince-nez. Unfortunately, she also ran a finishing school for young hags. I still blush to think of those awkward evenings, standing in a tight, nervous group of boys around a punchbowl filled with vinegar and cod liver oil, while a group of horrid little hags preened and beckoned to us from the other side of the dance floor. Only the girls from our village had any fun, dancing the hextrot and the tarantacula all evening and taking turns leading each other. Suddenly those nightmarish, pre-Hogwarts experiences seemed like a sacred treasure that had just been desecrated. Plus, some of the best RMB agents I knew were either dead or being tortured by the Death Eaters. Four good agents, plus probably an innocent werewolf with a crooked leg and two beautiful, winged horses...
“’I need to stop at your place,’ I told Goode, when I had ground my teeth long enough to make my jaws ache, ‘so I can send an owl to Blokebury about this.’ I prepared to mount my broom again. Zichri put his hand on my arm.
“’Don’t fly angry, son,’ he said. ‘Think about this. The Death Eaters may like to inflict death and terror, but even they don’t get into a battle this big without a reason. What did they hope to get out of those people?’
“’That’s one puzzle,’ I admitted, trying unsuccessfully to shake my arm free of his grip. ‘Though I think I have a good idea about the answer.’ The Potters had just survived one attack; perhaps this one was meant for them as well.
“’You sound as if you have a few more puzzles on your mind,’ Goode said gently. His eyes bored into me, unnerving in their sharpness of perception. ‘Why don’t you tell me about them?’
“’Because I don’t have time,’ I snapped, feeling foolish as I said it.
“’But you do have time to go tearing off in the wrong direction because you haven’t thought clearly about what you’re really searching for,’ Goode said, even more gently than before. ‘If any of those people are still alive, they are depending on you to find them quickly. So think first – and I’ve found that talking things out helps you think them out.’
“I tried to pull away. Goode gripped my arm even harder. I chanced a look at Ilona, hoping I could get some time alone with her before I owled the RMB, but saw her shaking her head at me. Goode then answered another objection of mine before I even voiced it: ‘I have to trust you to keep my secrets, don’t I? Why shouldn’t you trust me?’
“’Trust me?’ I snorted. ‘Trust has nothing to do with it. Your brother put a binding on me.’
“Goode shrugged. Then, with his free hand, he held out his knife. I looked at it, shocked. He nodded his head encouragingly. So I spat on his knife blade, and he did the same. Then he loosened his hold on my arm, and I spoke. I told him everything that had happened, beginning with the walking broom tree, going right through my duel with Shmedly, the Potters’ narrow escape, and Silver’s successful mission to escort them home safely.
“’So the first puzzle,’ I said, ‘is how Shmedly got through the Fidelius charm over Sir Lionel’s safehouse. The second puzzle is how he deflected all my jinxes...’
“’Assuming this attempt to assassinate Sir Lionel is connected with the attacks on the Potters,’ Goode said pointedly.
“’But of course they’re connected!’ I cried. ‘I don’t know how, but the Romanian plot against Sir Lionel fits together somehow with the Death Eaters’ plot against Lily and James. It has to. In fact, I think the first attack on the Potters was never meant to succeed; it was to lure them into taking refuge at Sir Lionel’s safehouse, which they had also taken over...’
“I paused, suddenly struck by the nauseating thought that all this made Sir Lionel a very strong suspect.
“’But since you had already cleared them out of the safehouse,’ Goode went on, ‘they had to change their plans, hence this second attack last night...’
“’Which didn’t actually target the Potters,’ Ilona put in.
“’That’s right!’ I shouted, eagerly grasping an idea that could clear Sir Lionel of suspicion. ‘They didn’t – or couldn’t – or maybe didn’t want to – get the Potters last night. They waited until their escort was on its way back...’
“’Which gives you your third puzzle,’ said Goode, showing no sign of being confused by my outburst when he couldn’t have heard what I was agreeing to.
“’Yes,’ I said. ‘What did they want with two Abraxan horses, four RMB agents and an elderly werewolf who was just passing by? Why were they taken?’
“’They are trying to learn how to get past whatever is protecting the Potters,’ Ilona said.
“’That’s puzzle four,’ I said. Then, to help Goode follow my thinking, I hurriedly added: ‘Why don’t they just attack the Potters directly, if that’s what they’re after? What’s protecting the Potters?’
“’And the fifth puzzle,’ said Goode, ‘is: What did they mean to tell us by leaving this poor house-elf here?’
“’That’s no mystery,’ I said, glancing bitterly at Mitsy’s body. ‘To the type of wizards who would do this, house-elves don’t count as people. They probably overlooked her. In a way, she was lucky. It would have hurt her a lot more to see the Death Eaters making sport of her horses.’ I sighed.
“’Has this helped?’ Zichri asked. ‘Do you know where to start looking now?’
“As he said this, I saw something poking out of Mitsy’s tiny fist. I bent down and pulled it out. As soon as I unfolded it, I knew what it was.
“’Shetland lace,’ Zichri Goode said, looking over my shoulder. ‘My mother-in-law used to knit the stuff.’
“’Did she make it out of thread spun from cobwebs?’ I asked, testing the strength of the lacework against the edge of my knife.
“’Er, not that I’m aware of,’ said Zichri Goode.
“’Then yes,’ I said. ‘I do know where to start looking.’ I straightened up and told him, ‘Madam Hunsicker’s Finishing Academy for Young Hags.’
“While Zichri Goode looked concerned for my mental health, I thought the real fifth puzzle was: How did I just happen to think about Ariadne Hunsicker, before I saw a scrap of her lacework in a dead house-elf’s hand?”
+++DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #117+++
To help choose the direction of the next few chapters of The Magic Quill, visit the Discussion Forum, or send Robbie feedback. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest entry (or entries) Robbie likes best, will be featured in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: How many of Silver’s team will Spanky save from the Death Eaters? (A) All of them. (B) All but Silver herself. (C) One or two. (D) Only Silver. (E) None
CONTEST: Describe something spooky (but not too graphically violent) that Death Eaters would do to a couple of Abraxan horses, while interrogating their prisoners.
[Originally posted 3/18/07]
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