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]
Showing posts with label Madam Hunsicker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Madam Hunsicker. Show all posts
Saturday, December 27, 2008
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]
116. Home Wiccanomics
Contest winners: greyniffler & woot
MADAM HUNSICKER’S FINISHING ACADEMY FOR YOUNG HAGS
In 1942, Madam Ariadne Hunsicker, disguised as the rear end of a horse, infiltrated a German munitions factory, with the result that a large-scale bombing mission over the Southeast of England dropped shells full of soft cheese and fruit compote, instead of explosive ordnance, in the battle remembered today as Blintzkrieg. The most amazing part of her feat was that the Italian clown in the front half of the horse costume knew nothing of Madam Hunsicker’s mission.
Madam Hunsicker was awarded the Order of the Brazen Brassiere in recognition of this mission and her many other valiant contributions to the wizarding war effort — an honor only six other witches earned in the last century, most of them posthumously (e.g., Lily Potter).
Following the war, Madam Hunsicker was reduced to mending robes and hats in a sweatshop on Wizard’s Wharf. Most of her coworkers were destitute hags with a hopeless addiction to eating children. Moved with pity, Madam Hunsicker pawned her Brazen Brassiere in 1948 to make the first payment on her finishing academy for young hags. Since then, the academy has grown and flourished, bringing hope, refinement, vocational skills, and heavy cosmetics to generation after generation of hags. Many of her graduates currently hold careers in civil service, theatre, education (mainly the sport department), and the military, and a few have married quite successfully.
COURSES OF STUDY:
HOME WICCANOMICS:
Here young hags learn skills that will enable them to keep a decent, well-appointed home within reasonable means, and that may also lead to a regular job with a living wage.
Cooking classes provide recipes for family dining, as well as entertaining guests, all of them tasty and nutritious alternatives to eating children. Students progress from sculpting onions, sharp cheese, and turnips into child-shaped tortes, to such creative classics as: mock-urchin soup; gingerbread tykes; fish fingers, wrists, and elbows; piggies in blankets; boneless-flour bread; steak and kid-knee pudding; littlest-angel-food cake; and roast lamb (really lamb, mind) with baby corn, baby carrots, and baby onions.
Sewing classes teach young hags to mend clothes and to create a unique look for themselves and, perhaps, for others. Some of the often-used designs include bouncy shoes (providing anything from a spring in one’s step to the ability to clear tall buildings with a single bound); backscratching smallclothes; shapechanging robes (just in case someone else shows up wearing the same design); pockets that seal themselves against anyone but the wearer; and much, much more. Special emphasis is placed on alternatives to wearing skins stolen from living people.
Then there are basic housekeeping classes, covering such topics as: “How to visit your vault at Gringotts without having an irresistable urge to bite a goblin”; “How to keep your floor clean without falling back on the old house-built-on-chicken-feet tactic”; “Entertaining banshees without causing the neighbors to complain”; “Dental hygiene for hags, or People want to see your smile, not smell it”; and “Understanding the Estate Market, or Why Live in a Hole in the Side of a Cliff When Your Realtor Can Find Something Convenient to Tesco’s.”
SPORT TOPICS:
In addition to Home Wiccanomics, Madam Hunsicker’s Academy provides a second emphasis on refining the physical grace and coordination of young hags. Topics include: “How to enjoy a moonlight swim without forcibly drowning other people”; “Fly on that broom and leave the mortar and pestle at home”; “Gliding is all very well, but dancing is another thing altogether”; “Sports you can play without breaking bones,” and “Riding is for horses, not sleeping people.”
THE HUMANITIES:
Finally, no young hag’s education can be truly finished without at least a taste of some the cultural heritage they share with other beings. Here the topics include: “Not just hagiography: significant hag contributions to history”; “Reading the Baba Yaga Codex in its original language”; “Black Annis, Peg Powler, and Jenny Greenteeth: Freudian interpretations”; “Cailleach and the hag’s positive contributions to religion and literature”; “Elocution and Conversation: how veiled cursing can be just as much fun as the literal kind, but not as socially isolating”; “Penmanship and composition: the hemoglobin content of your ink isn’t the only key to powerful writing”; “Coloratura banshees: hag music can be beautiful”; and “Socially acceptable art: maximizing the clothes and minimizing the naughty bits.”
ACCOMODATIONS:
Students are housed in clean, fireproof dormitory with arrow-slit windows and a heavily barred door. Uniforms, materials, and nutritious (people-free) meals are provided at a reasonable cost. Next of kin will be notified in the event that your bunkmate kills you. By applying to Madam Hunsicker’s Academy, you indemnify said Academy against all damages including loss of life, limb, sanity, or one or more eyeballs.
HOW TO APPLY:
Send an owl to Madam Hunsicker, stating in writing what you hope to accomplish with a finishing-school education. Remember to write your name and address on the letter. And please realize that if you pull the owl’s feathers, your message will not be delivered. Tuition will be negotiated upon acceptance of your application. A term of custodial or clerical service may be accepted in lieu of financial remuneration.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #118 +++
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.
SURVEY: What couple of Magic Quill characters should get married?
CONTEST: Why did Sid Shmedly smell so bad when he duelled with Spanky in TMQ #112?
[Originally posted 4/1/07]
MADAM HUNSICKER’S FINISHING ACADEMY FOR YOUNG HAGS
“Les araignées vous observent” -- Est. 1948HISTORY OF THE SCHOOL:
In 1942, Madam Ariadne Hunsicker, disguised as the rear end of a horse, infiltrated a German munitions factory, with the result that a large-scale bombing mission over the Southeast of England dropped shells full of soft cheese and fruit compote, instead of explosive ordnance, in the battle remembered today as Blintzkrieg. The most amazing part of her feat was that the Italian clown in the front half of the horse costume knew nothing of Madam Hunsicker’s mission.
Madam Hunsicker was awarded the Order of the Brazen Brassiere in recognition of this mission and her many other valiant contributions to the wizarding war effort — an honor only six other witches earned in the last century, most of them posthumously (e.g., Lily Potter).
Following the war, Madam Hunsicker was reduced to mending robes and hats in a sweatshop on Wizard’s Wharf. Most of her coworkers were destitute hags with a hopeless addiction to eating children. Moved with pity, Madam Hunsicker pawned her Brazen Brassiere in 1948 to make the first payment on her finishing academy for young hags. Since then, the academy has grown and flourished, bringing hope, refinement, vocational skills, and heavy cosmetics to generation after generation of hags. Many of her graduates currently hold careers in civil service, theatre, education (mainly the sport department), and the military, and a few have married quite successfully.
COURSES OF STUDY:
HOME WICCANOMICS:
Here young hags learn skills that will enable them to keep a decent, well-appointed home within reasonable means, and that may also lead to a regular job with a living wage.
Cooking classes provide recipes for family dining, as well as entertaining guests, all of them tasty and nutritious alternatives to eating children. Students progress from sculpting onions, sharp cheese, and turnips into child-shaped tortes, to such creative classics as: mock-urchin soup; gingerbread tykes; fish fingers, wrists, and elbows; piggies in blankets; boneless-flour bread; steak and kid-knee pudding; littlest-angel-food cake; and roast lamb (really lamb, mind) with baby corn, baby carrots, and baby onions.
Sewing classes teach young hags to mend clothes and to create a unique look for themselves and, perhaps, for others. Some of the often-used designs include bouncy shoes (providing anything from a spring in one’s step to the ability to clear tall buildings with a single bound); backscratching smallclothes; shapechanging robes (just in case someone else shows up wearing the same design); pockets that seal themselves against anyone but the wearer; and much, much more. Special emphasis is placed on alternatives to wearing skins stolen from living people.
Then there are basic housekeeping classes, covering such topics as: “How to visit your vault at Gringotts without having an irresistable urge to bite a goblin”; “How to keep your floor clean without falling back on the old house-built-on-chicken-feet tactic”; “Entertaining banshees without causing the neighbors to complain”; “Dental hygiene for hags, or People want to see your smile, not smell it”; and “Understanding the Estate Market, or Why Live in a Hole in the Side of a Cliff When Your Realtor Can Find Something Convenient to Tesco’s.”
SPORT TOPICS:
In addition to Home Wiccanomics, Madam Hunsicker’s Academy provides a second emphasis on refining the physical grace and coordination of young hags. Topics include: “How to enjoy a moonlight swim without forcibly drowning other people”; “Fly on that broom and leave the mortar and pestle at home”; “Gliding is all very well, but dancing is another thing altogether”; “Sports you can play without breaking bones,” and “Riding is for horses, not sleeping people.”
THE HUMANITIES:
Finally, no young hag’s education can be truly finished without at least a taste of some the cultural heritage they share with other beings. Here the topics include: “Not just hagiography: significant hag contributions to history”; “Reading the Baba Yaga Codex in its original language”; “Black Annis, Peg Powler, and Jenny Greenteeth: Freudian interpretations”; “Cailleach and the hag’s positive contributions to religion and literature”; “Elocution and Conversation: how veiled cursing can be just as much fun as the literal kind, but not as socially isolating”; “Penmanship and composition: the hemoglobin content of your ink isn’t the only key to powerful writing”; “Coloratura banshees: hag music can be beautiful”; and “Socially acceptable art: maximizing the clothes and minimizing the naughty bits.”
ACCOMODATIONS:
Students are housed in clean, fireproof dormitory with arrow-slit windows and a heavily barred door. Uniforms, materials, and nutritious (people-free) meals are provided at a reasonable cost. Next of kin will be notified in the event that your bunkmate kills you. By applying to Madam Hunsicker’s Academy, you indemnify said Academy against all damages including loss of life, limb, sanity, or one or more eyeballs.
HOW TO APPLY:
Send an owl to Madam Hunsicker, stating in writing what you hope to accomplish with a finishing-school education. Remember to write your name and address on the letter. And please realize that if you pull the owl’s feathers, your message will not be delivered. Tuition will be negotiated upon acceptance of your application. A term of custodial or clerical service may be accepted in lieu of financial remuneration.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #118 +++
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.
SURVEY: What couple of Magic Quill characters should get married?
CONTEST: Why did Sid Shmedly smell so bad when he duelled with Spanky in TMQ #112?
[Originally posted 4/1/07]
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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