Contest winner: Quercitron
Mrs. Ahmed scouted ahead (by sticking her head through the outer door of Harvey's flat) and reported: "It's a jungle in there."
"That many of them?" Joe Albuquerque growled in his disguise as General Patton. "It won't take them long to wreck the place."
"No," said Mrs. Ahmed, her vague form flickering with irritation. "I meant, everything has been taken over by vines. Grape, by the look of it."
"Oh," said Joe, suspending his mental calculations about potential casualties on both sides. "That's a hippogriff of a different color. What about people? Did you see anything going on?"
The see-through lady shrugged. "Just one bloke, it looked like, pulling down vines and rifling through the cupboards."
The word was passed, and Harvey came forward. "Well?" he said.
"I think a frontal assault will do," said the general, pitching his whisper so it could be heard all the way down the hallway - the recently constructed hallway off the back of the lobby of the high-rise apartment building known as the Drains - the hallway where each door led to a different floor, so that stairs and elevators were no longer needed. The people at the back of the line, near the street door, could hear Joe Albuquerque's rasping voice as he announced: "People! Bear in mind that your job is not to be cursed for your country, but to curse some other poor wizard for his. On my signal...CHARGE!"
The door imploded into the flat. A monocled wizard with a frowning moustache, a walking-stick topped by a silver cat's head, and a silk ascot fashionably printed with an illusion of cascading water in motion, glanced up from his business with very little concern, then resumed pulling vines off the wall above the fireplace. As Mrs. Ahmed had reported, the walls, ceiling, floors, and furniture were nearly invisible under a carpet of Vitis Leprosa, except in areas where the ascot-wearing interloper had done his work - areas that looked bare and scarred. The vines kept going into a rather small sack that hovered in front of the wizard, holding its mouth wide open as he stuffed more and more vines into it; the sack never seemed to grow full.
All this Harvey took in as the wave of his supporters swept him toward the intruder. The monocled man seemed little concerned by the approaching mob. The reason for his unconcern became clear a moment later, when Harvey, Joe, and Spanky - all at the front of the line - tried to tackle the man, and missed.
After several frustrating passes, Harvey stood back and watched what was happening. Every time someone surged toward the monocled man from one side, he suddenly came out on the other side without seeming to pass through the middle, where the stranger continued calmly stealing the fruits of Harvey's long journey through time.
Harvey tried to call everyone off, then tugged on Joe's shoulder - just before the latter dived back into the assault line - and got him to bellow, "STAND DOWN!" Then he approached what he took to be the edge of the stranger's invisible bubble of invulnerability, and said: "A word with you, sir."
Monocle gave him a slow look with one lifted eyebrow, then nodded and offered his hand to Harvey. Harvey took it, and was suddenly in another place - a gentleman's study paneled in dark wood and crammed with trophies. Not stuffed bears and mounted fish; no, a different kind of trophy - shiny, complicated machines that gyred and gimbaled and hummed; potions that bubbled and frothed inside sealed jars; a clock with two pendula swinging at right angles, passing through the same point at the bottom of their swing, yet never touching each other; an incandescent dark-bulb standing next to a prism that refracted its plain, radiant darkness into an anti-rainbow of unimaginable hues; and standing on one small table, an autographed photo showing a portly, bearded man (somewhat similar to Hagrid), whose signature read: "To one character who never let me put one over him - all the best, Robbie Fischer."
"Who are you?" Harvey asked, feeling himself on thinner ice than ever.
"I am the Reality Sorcerer," said Monocle Man. "The Magistrate of the Laws of Nature. The Judge of the Intangible, the Jury of the Illogical, the Executioner of the Impossible. I am the Counter of Contradictions, the Midwife of the Inconceivable, the Spell-Checker of the Inexpressible . I am the Censor of the Ineffable and the Squeezer of the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. I am the Plumber of Paradoxes - you would be surprised how often they get stopped up. I am He Who Assays the Iron Content of Irony. I am He Who Checks the Thread Count of the Fabric of the Universe. I am the Warlock of Wisdom, the Sage Mage, the Popinjay of Punctiliousness, the Lifetime Honorary Recorder of the Islington 'Are You There, Moriarty' Society, and the Number One Supporter of Pride of Portree (annually since 1982). Those are merely my official titles, however. My real name is Robertus Magnus Carolus Johannes etc. etc. etc. de Quipthorne-Westbrookfieldstonehillcrestwoodsmillburyington the Sixth times Two to the Eighth Power, K.B.E., Ph.D., Order of Merlin, First Class. You may call me Bobs."
Harvey blinked. "Is that all?" he asked.
"Well," said Bobs, "My schoolfellows once voted me 'Most Likely to Become a Mystical Hermit,' and I am listed in the Who's Who of Wizardry in the Lower Thames Valley, but I don't like to boast."
"Well, I'm Mr. H. Harvey of the Harvey & Sons' Wall Magic Harveys. I would like to know what business..."
"Have a seat," Bobs interrupted, with the casual air of one not used to listening to others. He conjured up a tray crammed with cups, pots, spoons, a sugar bowl, a milk boat, and a plate of biscuits. "Coffee or tea?"
"Coffee, if you please. I was saying, what right have you..."
"Please forgive me," said Bobs, before dropping what looked like a couple of ice cubes into Harvey's coffee. "It's my house-elf's half-day off, so the pot has gone lukewarm. Hopefully these will help." Clink, clink.
"That's quite all right," Harvey lied. "But may I ask..."
"Milk?" the other man cut in. "Sugar? Perhaps a dash of Irish whisky?"
"None of the above, thank you. But perhaps you could tell me..."
"I hope you don't mind that the biscuits have flaxseed in them," said Bobs. "I find they aid my digestion. Do try your coffee before it gets cold again!"
Harvey, perplexed, sipped his coffee and found it piping hot. "But I don't understand," he said. "If it was lukewarm before you put ice in it..."
"Hot ice," said the Reality Sorcerer with an airy smugness. "When one is charged with stopping the magical world disrupting the Laws of the Universe, one confisc-... that is to say, one comes across some truly amazing things. I don't know what I would do without cold fire during the summer, for example. And this hot ice - so handy, melting in cold liquid, giving off heat as it does so - was invented by the same wizard. Pity I had to destroy him. If more people found out how to make these things, the laws of thermodynamics would be in jeopardy - and all life on this planet with it."
Harvey swallowed discreetly, then blurted out: "What business have you in my flat, and what gives you the right to tear down my vineyard?"
"I should think that would be perfectly obvious," said Bobs. "You have already risked enough with your foolish Draught of Merlin..."
"I was about to destroy every trace of it," Harvey snapped. "I understand the danger, and I have it well in hand."
"I am not interested in your silly potion," Bobs said, almost laughing (but not quite smiling). "It is this thousand-year grape that you planted at the far end of your round trip through time. I cannot allow you to make wine with it."
"What could happen?" Harvey cried. "Could it be worse than a time paradox?"
"As falling off a cliff is worse than stubbing your toe," Bobs assured him. "But you can hardly know what you are working with; nor can you formulate the Essence of Merlin on your own. Both potions belong to the lost art of Yves the Leper. So, if you do as you planned and destroy the Essence, and, if you turn over every twig, leaf, and berry of your cultivar for secure disposal and study, I may not have to destroy you."
"You forget where I've been - and when I've been," said Harvey. "I've learned a great deal in the matter of not being destroyed."
"Don't make this hard," said Bobs, with a pained expression. "I so hate to be forced to threaten large groups of relatively innocent people. Though, to be sure, I spotted one Miles O'Roughage back there, among your little army. One of these days I may be forced to come for him as well. It would be rather like killing two augureys with..."
"I have put a substantial investment on the line," said Harvey. "You can't just go around confiscating things on which so much depends. I must have some kind of compensation."
"Compensation!" the Sage Mage's monocle fogged up. His moustache bristled. "Don't you know who I am?"
"You made that quite clear," said Harvey. "So clear that I suspect you know what has gone into this project, and what depends on it. We are discussing a major portion of the wizarding economy - several large fortunes, the assets of some important businesses - besides the trials and travails of the people who have carried it this far. Did you know some of my people spent years escaping from Gringotts to prepare for this? And knowing as much as you seem to know of things, you must perceive the broken state of health - physical, mental, and magical health - in so many of my supporters..."
"All right!" groaned Robertus Magnus. "I shall restore full value. Merlin knows I can afford it, what with my formula to turn plastic poker chips into galleons. And when we return to your flat, you will find all your friends restored to their, shall we say, 'baseline' condition, mad though they may be in that natural state. Do you have a personal goblin at Gringotts? Very well, have him write to my goblin and they will settle the financial side of the deal. Spit and shake on it?"
And so a magical contract was sealed, and within a few hours Harvey and his party had taken over the entire Hog's Head. Mrs. Ahmed, once back to her fully visible form, had beaten everybody in Spanky's therapy group in an armwrestling tournament. Mr. O'Hare had lost his orange fuzz and looked glum and sheepish until Mrs. Yenta offered to dance with him. Rigel grew up quite suddenly into a disreputable-looking man of about 30, and was now slow-dancing with Sadie while Miles O'Roughage, Anatoly, and the illustrated wizard from Minsk looked on glumly. Siobhan was singing with the band, head thrown back and mouth open wide, while her father Niall wished (to no avail) that she weren't quite so tone-deaf. Mr. Surdo sat next to him, wincing, and trying to stuff napkins into his ears, while Mr. Sphaeris slouched over his firewhisky, not feeling like doing anything in particular. This made a striking contrast to Mrs. Sedulus, who had gone behind the bar (much to the innkeeper's annoyance) and was cleaning everything from the mugs to the floor with grim determination. "This place is disgusting!" she was frequently heard to say.
Among the happiest members of the party was Ilona Spankison, who beamed at her husband, her eyes brimming with tears, as he spell-sparred with Joe Albuquerque and Merlin, deftly defending himself with a wand in each hand. But no one watched these goings-on with greater satisfaction than Harvey, who sat between Ilona and Endora at the corner table, complacent with the success of his plan. As he had hoped, Robertus Magnus had paid off every knut that the Vitis Leprosa adventure had cost him and everyone else - going all the way back to Orion Olmandson's standing debt toward Merlin, whom he had retained to look after his son before their first Gringotts caper; to say nothing of the money he had invested in Spanky's education, channeled through his cousin Lionel Niblet, whom Spanky still believed to be his benefactor. And at last, Harvey was rid of all the receipts he had collected during his 3,000-year trek up and down the mountain of time, which had been reimbursed with interest.
In short, he was the wealthiest wizard in the world, though much of his wealth was already held in trust for the people who had helped him. Some day they would find out how very, very rich they were... but not until Harvey had extracted one more favor from them. For now he could finally afford to carry out his most ambitious plan... He smiled, and seeing his look of satisfaction, Endora and Ilona widened their grins and hugged him from both sides.
"It turned out all right!" said Endora, who for once was not ashamed to show her remarkable nose in public.
"Everything is as it should be," Ilona sighed.
Harvey nodded, and added in a softer voice: "So far, so good."
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR #136 +++
Don't worry. We're not skipping #135 (as if...!). In order to get things back on track, I am going to use some "leftover" ideas from the incredible discussion on TMQ #133 to generate the magic of #135. So this "Double Challenge" isn't for the next chapter, but the one after that. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: Which female character of The Magic Quill should feature in the next big plot line?
CONTEST: Come up with a brief joke such as one might find in a wizarding joke book. Anything on the order of "Knock, knock?" or "How many house-elves does it take to change a light bulb?" or even "A hag walks into a bar" is welcome, but PLEASE keep it clean - and PRETTY-PLEASE keep it short. More than one winner may be selected.
[Originally posted 4/6/08]
Showing posts with label Yves the Leper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yves the Leper. Show all posts
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
96. Britannin
Inspired by contest winners: jatibbal, Shiri and _houdini
“Yves the Leper,” Endora said knowledgeably, lecturing Spanky and the party of goblins that were gathered in Vault 1,066, “was not only the greatest potionier since the Norman Conquest, but also a giant among apothecaries and herbalists. In fact, much of the English lore in those disciplines descends from him. Yet some of Yves’ most powerful discoveries are all but forgotten today, surviving only as vague legends or rumors – and perhaps, in the contents of this vault. It is possible that this vault contains, or until the break-in did contain, some potion or potion ingredient that exists no where else in the world today.”
“What would it be worth?” said an oily goblin at the front of the class.
Endora suppressed a sigh of disgust and replied, “We can hardly know until we learn what is – or was – here.”
“What’s here is not your concern,” snapped another goblin. “We only want to know what’s gone.”
“I can’t very well find that out without studying what’s still here,” said an irritated Endora. “I may have a great nose, but it can only smell what is here to be smelled. But I may be able to fill in the gaps by deduction...”
“Then get on with it,” the second goblin bristled.
Endora got on with it. Spanky stood by and took notes while she moved along the shelves of flasks and jars. She temporarily vanished each lead cork and wax seal, gently wafting the scent of the ancient potions toward her rather large nose. Then the seal and cork were replaced, intact, and Endora described what she had smelled. Spanky scribbled: twice-distilled falcon feather – crushed, desiccated stag beetle wings – pickled spoonbill tongue – great auk toes in an infusion of arrow root – the list went on and on.
By and by, the observing goblins grew bored. Some of them went outside the vault to play a game like quoits with what appeared to be human hyoid bones, tied together in pairs. Spanky tried not to think about it. Others became disgusted and left altogether. The two or three goblins who remained, stayed near the door muttering among themselves, keeping an eye or perhaps half an eye on their human guests.
“So let me get this straight,” Endora whispered to Spanky, while pretending to identify the contents of a row of dusty flasks. “That huge heist that we planned and executed was only a trick, to get the goblins to let us in – and this is where we actually steal what it’s all been about? And all those people’s skills were needed, more or less, to create a deception?”
“From what Harvey has told me,” said Spanky, “that isn’t entirely true, but it’s not entirely false. What we stole the other night was, after all, something that Harvey needs.”
“All those flasks of something that smelled like essence of human being? I would be seriously nauseated, if I didn’t know for certain that Yves the Leper had a potion for extracting the essence of any living thing from a fragment of tissue, like a hair follicle. I wrote an essay on it for NEWT potions, you know. I believe the essence-extractor potion was an ancestor of Polyjuice...erm...silk spun from the hairs on poplar seeds...is he gone? All right, now that potion, the essence-extractor, could be worth something. Only I wouldn’t know how to identify it without trying every potion in this vault; and that, clearly, is not what we’ve come for.”
“What was that again?” Spanky said loudly, as another goblin paced near them.
“I said, concentrated milkweed juice...all right, the coast is clear. The trouble with what we stole is that there’s no way of knowing which human being’s essence is in each flask. They’ll all have died 1,000 years ago, and unless Harvey has someone who knows a lot more about ancient runes than I do...”
“Did you say grated satsuma bark?”
“Not bark – peel.”
Another goblin sauntered by while Spanky and Endora pretended to ignore him.
“The other thing I don’t understand is why we had to nick a thousand-year-old cask of sack from this vault, when your team was pinching a bottle of 1922 Bouché-Leclercq from Il Comte’s vault. I mean, really! There’s no question which wine I’d rather drink.”
Spanky looked sheepish. “Actually,” he said, “that was my personal business. The Bouché-Leclercq, I mean.”
“Oh,” said Endora, with wide eyes and lifted brows. “I see.”
After another hour or so of poking through potions and ingredients, Endora brushed the dust off the front of her robes and made an announcement to the goblins. Patting an enormous rack of ancient, oak barrels, she declared, “All of these will have to go to my laboratory for analysis.”
Several goblins tried to speak at once, some of them stammering. A spokesman finally came forward, quieted them, and said, “We regret that what you request is not possible.”
Endora met the goblin’s stare with steeliness to spare. “Nevertheless,” she said, “it is necessary.”
“I was assured that the RMB would have your full cooperation,” Spanky said tragically. “Surely, the bank wants this crime solved as much as we do, if not more. I mean, what would the wizarding public think if the bank that they trust did not prosecute a break-in like this to the utmost of the...”
“Can you at least explain,” sighed the spokesgoblin, “what twenty-eight barrels of dragon bogeys have to do with solving the burglary?”
Endora inhaled deeply. Most of the goblins winced, realizing that another lecture was about to begin. Endora held forth on the uses of dragon’s blood, dragon dung, dragon scales, crushed dragon claw, and even the fragments of dragon eggshells. At last she got round to adding, “Though all of these dragon-related substances have multiple uses, there is one that has but a single known use: dragon phlegm, reknowned since ancient times as a powerful preservative.
“Of course, the market for dragon phlegm has fallen off a bit since it was proven to cause one to have Squib children and gradually to lose control of one’s magical powers, also known as Lynde’s Syndrome. But they weren’t to know that in the eleventh century, were they? Now if the burglars’ potions expert analyzed these barrels to determine what they contained – as I am sure they did – then some trace of the burglars may have gotten preserved in the dragon phlegm, where it is just waiting for us to track it down. But if you would rather...”
“One barrel only,” the goblin said doggedly.
“But that’s ridiculous,” said Endora. “How can we tell which one, if any, contains a clue? Except by opening all of them, that is.”
The goblin ground his teeth, then turned toward his associates and held a short, rapid discussion with them in Gobbledygook.
As they sat in the first of a long row of carts, loaded with barrels of dragon phlegm, racing towards the ground level of Gringotts, Spanky wondered aloud, “Why dragon phlegm, really?”
“I believe I have it all worked out,” said Endora with a small, smug smile. “I myself was wondering, why a thousand-year-old cask of sack wine? It was only when I recognized the rune Harvey made me memorize that I put it together. Well, actually, since he forbade me to open the barrels, it really needed the goblin to tell me what the rune meant – dragon phlegm.”
“I’m no more enlightened than I was before you answered my question,” said Spanky.
“No ordinary wine could stay drinkable for a thousand years,” said Endora, after making sure no goblins were listening in. “But I had forgotten what a great herbalist Yves the Leper was. He was one of William the Conqueror’s household wizards. He specialized in creating varietals and potions that had power or grandeur befitting the first true king of all England. Power to help in the conquest, grandeur to solidify the king’s power, to impress people with a sense of durability, legitimacy, destiny...”
“I hope your theory is going somewhere,” said Spanky. “Because this cart certainly is, and it will be arriving shortly.”
“Then shush,” said Endora. “What I’m trying to say is – think about it – why would there be wine in the Vault of Yves the Leper? Unless – unless he was not only a herbalist, apothecary, and potionier, but also a vintner! Suppose Yves cultivated a kind of grape containing a magical sort of tannin – a supertannin – something befitting the power and grandeur of the new English kingdom, which was to last at least a thousand years...”
“Britannin,” Spanky whispered with awe.
“That’s good,” said Endora. “Yes, Britannin. A preservative nearly as strong as dragon phlegm – breaking down slowly as the wine aged – taking perhaps a thousand years for the vintage to reach its peak...”
“By now, that wine would be well worth drinking,” said Spanky.
“And suppose,” said Endora, “that there was more to this Britannin than giving King William’s wine the richest, smoothest flavor in the history of wine. Perhaps it had other magical properties, such as making the drinker feel very good without all the poisonous side effects...”
“...impaired judgment, loss of motor control...”
“...sickness, hangover...”
“...addiction, liver disease...”
“You get the picture,” said Endora. “In fact, such a magical vintage could change the whole world for the better.”
“But is it likely?” Spanky asked doubtfully.
“I think it is,” said Endora. “Otherwise, we would only be nicking a bit of wine, for our private enjoyment. But if it turns out to have the magical properties that I think it has – and that, surely, Harvey suspects it to have – then he would want more than just a taste of this wine. He would want to be able to make more of it.”
“And how would he do that?” said Spanky. “And what, for the love of magic, does it have to do with dragon bogeys?”
Endora’s smirk was nearing the point of becoming a criminal offense. “Who put up all these barrels of dragon bogeys?”
“Yves the Leper, presumably.”
“And if Yves the Leper was also a viniculturist, what do you suppose might have gotten into these barrels of highly preservative dragon phlegm?”
“Er...grapes?”
“Or pips, or pollen, or little fragments of grape vine, or what have you. Perhaps enough to start a new culture of Britannin-bearing grapes...with a bit of magical help, of course.”
“Doesn’t our Sadie have a friend who specializes in helping things like that along?” Spanky said with a look of growing comprehension.
“Miles O’Roughage,” Endora affirmed. “Won’t Harvey act surprised when I don’t act surprised to find old Miles waiting with him at my laboratory.”
The two of them were occupied with their own thoughts for a while. Then, as the turns of the cart track grew more familiar and better lit – signalling their approach to the ground level of the bank – Spanky muttered, “I still don’t get one thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Endora.
“If it’s going to take a thousand years to make the next batch of this stuff,” said Spanky, “why would Harvey bother? It’s not just that none of us will live to taste it. We’ll be ancient history by then.”
Endora frowned. “That’s a good one,” she said. “Can’t say. I suppose that destroys my Britannin theory.”
“That’s all right,” said Spanky. “It was interesting while it lasted.”
+++ THIS WEEK’S DOUBLE CHALLENGE! +++
Because #99 will be a “Who’s Who” edition of the Magic Quill, and #100 will be a “What’s What” retrospective of the chapters since #50, this will be the last “Double Challenge” before the Magic Quill turns 100.
To send Robbie your personal feedback or original ideas, visit the Feedback Form [EDIT: Rather, leave a Comment]. To vote in the Survey and Contest to determine what happens in the Chapter-After-Next, visit the Discussion Forum [EDIT: This discussion is closed].
SURVEY: More than any other character in the Magic Quill, which one: (A) Rocks your world? (B) Leaves you completely cold? (C) Would you like to know more about? [Hint: you can choose a different person for each part.]
CONTEST: Describe a really stupid magical blunder – and, if possible, the counterspell to fix it.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #98. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 7/30/06]
“Yves the Leper,” Endora said knowledgeably, lecturing Spanky and the party of goblins that were gathered in Vault 1,066, “was not only the greatest potionier since the Norman Conquest, but also a giant among apothecaries and herbalists. In fact, much of the English lore in those disciplines descends from him. Yet some of Yves’ most powerful discoveries are all but forgotten today, surviving only as vague legends or rumors – and perhaps, in the contents of this vault. It is possible that this vault contains, or until the break-in did contain, some potion or potion ingredient that exists no where else in the world today.”
“What would it be worth?” said an oily goblin at the front of the class.
Endora suppressed a sigh of disgust and replied, “We can hardly know until we learn what is – or was – here.”
“What’s here is not your concern,” snapped another goblin. “We only want to know what’s gone.”
“I can’t very well find that out without studying what’s still here,” said an irritated Endora. “I may have a great nose, but it can only smell what is here to be smelled. But I may be able to fill in the gaps by deduction...”
“Then get on with it,” the second goblin bristled.
Endora got on with it. Spanky stood by and took notes while she moved along the shelves of flasks and jars. She temporarily vanished each lead cork and wax seal, gently wafting the scent of the ancient potions toward her rather large nose. Then the seal and cork were replaced, intact, and Endora described what she had smelled. Spanky scribbled: twice-distilled falcon feather – crushed, desiccated stag beetle wings – pickled spoonbill tongue – great auk toes in an infusion of arrow root – the list went on and on.
By and by, the observing goblins grew bored. Some of them went outside the vault to play a game like quoits with what appeared to be human hyoid bones, tied together in pairs. Spanky tried not to think about it. Others became disgusted and left altogether. The two or three goblins who remained, stayed near the door muttering among themselves, keeping an eye or perhaps half an eye on their human guests.
“So let me get this straight,” Endora whispered to Spanky, while pretending to identify the contents of a row of dusty flasks. “That huge heist that we planned and executed was only a trick, to get the goblins to let us in – and this is where we actually steal what it’s all been about? And all those people’s skills were needed, more or less, to create a deception?”
“From what Harvey has told me,” said Spanky, “that isn’t entirely true, but it’s not entirely false. What we stole the other night was, after all, something that Harvey needs.”
“All those flasks of something that smelled like essence of human being? I would be seriously nauseated, if I didn’t know for certain that Yves the Leper had a potion for extracting the essence of any living thing from a fragment of tissue, like a hair follicle. I wrote an essay on it for NEWT potions, you know. I believe the essence-extractor potion was an ancestor of Polyjuice...erm...silk spun from the hairs on poplar seeds...is he gone? All right, now that potion, the essence-extractor, could be worth something. Only I wouldn’t know how to identify it without trying every potion in this vault; and that, clearly, is not what we’ve come for.”
“What was that again?” Spanky said loudly, as another goblin paced near them.
“I said, concentrated milkweed juice...all right, the coast is clear. The trouble with what we stole is that there’s no way of knowing which human being’s essence is in each flask. They’ll all have died 1,000 years ago, and unless Harvey has someone who knows a lot more about ancient runes than I do...”
“Did you say grated satsuma bark?”
“Not bark – peel.”
Another goblin sauntered by while Spanky and Endora pretended to ignore him.
“The other thing I don’t understand is why we had to nick a thousand-year-old cask of sack from this vault, when your team was pinching a bottle of 1922 Bouché-Leclercq from Il Comte’s vault. I mean, really! There’s no question which wine I’d rather drink.”
Spanky looked sheepish. “Actually,” he said, “that was my personal business. The Bouché-Leclercq, I mean.”
“Oh,” said Endora, with wide eyes and lifted brows. “I see.”
After another hour or so of poking through potions and ingredients, Endora brushed the dust off the front of her robes and made an announcement to the goblins. Patting an enormous rack of ancient, oak barrels, she declared, “All of these will have to go to my laboratory for analysis.”
Several goblins tried to speak at once, some of them stammering. A spokesman finally came forward, quieted them, and said, “We regret that what you request is not possible.”
Endora met the goblin’s stare with steeliness to spare. “Nevertheless,” she said, “it is necessary.”
“I was assured that the RMB would have your full cooperation,” Spanky said tragically. “Surely, the bank wants this crime solved as much as we do, if not more. I mean, what would the wizarding public think if the bank that they trust did not prosecute a break-in like this to the utmost of the...”
“Can you at least explain,” sighed the spokesgoblin, “what twenty-eight barrels of dragon bogeys have to do with solving the burglary?”
Endora inhaled deeply. Most of the goblins winced, realizing that another lecture was about to begin. Endora held forth on the uses of dragon’s blood, dragon dung, dragon scales, crushed dragon claw, and even the fragments of dragon eggshells. At last she got round to adding, “Though all of these dragon-related substances have multiple uses, there is one that has but a single known use: dragon phlegm, reknowned since ancient times as a powerful preservative.
“Of course, the market for dragon phlegm has fallen off a bit since it was proven to cause one to have Squib children and gradually to lose control of one’s magical powers, also known as Lynde’s Syndrome. But they weren’t to know that in the eleventh century, were they? Now if the burglars’ potions expert analyzed these barrels to determine what they contained – as I am sure they did – then some trace of the burglars may have gotten preserved in the dragon phlegm, where it is just waiting for us to track it down. But if you would rather...”
“One barrel only,” the goblin said doggedly.
“But that’s ridiculous,” said Endora. “How can we tell which one, if any, contains a clue? Except by opening all of them, that is.”
The goblin ground his teeth, then turned toward his associates and held a short, rapid discussion with them in Gobbledygook.
As they sat in the first of a long row of carts, loaded with barrels of dragon phlegm, racing towards the ground level of Gringotts, Spanky wondered aloud, “Why dragon phlegm, really?”
“I believe I have it all worked out,” said Endora with a small, smug smile. “I myself was wondering, why a thousand-year-old cask of sack wine? It was only when I recognized the rune Harvey made me memorize that I put it together. Well, actually, since he forbade me to open the barrels, it really needed the goblin to tell me what the rune meant – dragon phlegm.”
“I’m no more enlightened than I was before you answered my question,” said Spanky.
“No ordinary wine could stay drinkable for a thousand years,” said Endora, after making sure no goblins were listening in. “But I had forgotten what a great herbalist Yves the Leper was. He was one of William the Conqueror’s household wizards. He specialized in creating varietals and potions that had power or grandeur befitting the first true king of all England. Power to help in the conquest, grandeur to solidify the king’s power, to impress people with a sense of durability, legitimacy, destiny...”
“I hope your theory is going somewhere,” said Spanky. “Because this cart certainly is, and it will be arriving shortly.”
“Then shush,” said Endora. “What I’m trying to say is – think about it – why would there be wine in the Vault of Yves the Leper? Unless – unless he was not only a herbalist, apothecary, and potionier, but also a vintner! Suppose Yves cultivated a kind of grape containing a magical sort of tannin – a supertannin – something befitting the power and grandeur of the new English kingdom, which was to last at least a thousand years...”
“Britannin,” Spanky whispered with awe.
“That’s good,” said Endora. “Yes, Britannin. A preservative nearly as strong as dragon phlegm – breaking down slowly as the wine aged – taking perhaps a thousand years for the vintage to reach its peak...”
“By now, that wine would be well worth drinking,” said Spanky.
“And suppose,” said Endora, “that there was more to this Britannin than giving King William’s wine the richest, smoothest flavor in the history of wine. Perhaps it had other magical properties, such as making the drinker feel very good without all the poisonous side effects...”
“...impaired judgment, loss of motor control...”
“...sickness, hangover...”
“...addiction, liver disease...”
“You get the picture,” said Endora. “In fact, such a magical vintage could change the whole world for the better.”
“But is it likely?” Spanky asked doubtfully.
“I think it is,” said Endora. “Otherwise, we would only be nicking a bit of wine, for our private enjoyment. But if it turns out to have the magical properties that I think it has – and that, surely, Harvey suspects it to have – then he would want more than just a taste of this wine. He would want to be able to make more of it.”
“And how would he do that?” said Spanky. “And what, for the love of magic, does it have to do with dragon bogeys?”
Endora’s smirk was nearing the point of becoming a criminal offense. “Who put up all these barrels of dragon bogeys?”
“Yves the Leper, presumably.”
“And if Yves the Leper was also a viniculturist, what do you suppose might have gotten into these barrels of highly preservative dragon phlegm?”
“Er...grapes?”
“Or pips, or pollen, or little fragments of grape vine, or what have you. Perhaps enough to start a new culture of Britannin-bearing grapes...with a bit of magical help, of course.”
“Doesn’t our Sadie have a friend who specializes in helping things like that along?” Spanky said with a look of growing comprehension.
“Miles O’Roughage,” Endora affirmed. “Won’t Harvey act surprised when I don’t act surprised to find old Miles waiting with him at my laboratory.”
The two of them were occupied with their own thoughts for a while. Then, as the turns of the cart track grew more familiar and better lit – signalling their approach to the ground level of the bank – Spanky muttered, “I still don’t get one thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Endora.
“If it’s going to take a thousand years to make the next batch of this stuff,” said Spanky, “why would Harvey bother? It’s not just that none of us will live to taste it. We’ll be ancient history by then.”
Endora frowned. “That’s a good one,” she said. “Can’t say. I suppose that destroys my Britannin theory.”
“That’s all right,” said Spanky. “It was interesting while it lasted.”
+++ THIS WEEK’S DOUBLE CHALLENGE! +++
Because #99 will be a “Who’s Who” edition of the Magic Quill, and #100 will be a “What’s What” retrospective of the chapters since #50, this will be the last “Double Challenge” before the Magic Quill turns 100.
To send Robbie your personal feedback or original ideas, visit the Feedback Form [EDIT: Rather, leave a Comment]. To vote in the Survey and Contest to determine what happens in the Chapter-After-Next, visit the Discussion Forum [EDIT: This discussion is closed].
SURVEY: More than any other character in the Magic Quill, which one: (A) Rocks your world? (B) Leaves you completely cold? (C) Would you like to know more about? [Hint: you can choose a different person for each part.]
CONTEST: Describe a really stupid magical blunder – and, if possible, the counterspell to fix it.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #98. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 7/30/06]
94. How to Break into Gringotts
Concept contributed by: Angelbot
Contest winners: Cady, Linda Carrig, jatibbal, Xantha, Shadow Phoenix, TWZRD, Celairiel, _houdini and amylynn91403
My dear goblins, undergoblins, security trolls, curse-breakers, and other beings and creatures of Gringotts Bank:
I have no doubt that every one of you has been deeply concerned since it was discovered Gringotts was successfully broken into, and broken out of again, and treasure taken from one of our deepest vaults. I am sure your concern hasn’t been entirely due to the fact that you were all mercilessly interrogated in order to, ahem, eliminate the possibility that the break-in was an “inside job.” For this break-in has been a crushing blow to the pride and prestige of a bank that has long been deemed an absolutely secure place to hide stuff. For the first time in generations, it means that we must re-evaluate our security protocols and make serious changes where they are needed.
For a thousand years, Dark wizards and witches have been trying to break into Gringotts to steal goblin gold and other treasures. For nearly all of them, this has proved an elusive goal. Of those few who have succeeded in breaking in, only a handful have managed to break out again. But with the right planning, personnel, and materials, it can be done. It was done several years ago by a group of wizards and clowns, though it took them several years to get out and they did not actually steal anything of value. It was done again, a year or two later, by the Dark Lord or one of his servants, but again – and purely by chance – nothing was taken.
Each time, we were consoled by the fact that the property held in Gringotts' vaults remained safe – and that we had sealed the routes in and out of the bank that had been exploited by the intruders. Nevertheless, we must now face the shameful fact that a coordinated band of Dark wizards and witches has not only entered the bank, but also promptly escaped with several priceless items from the vault of Yves the Leper.
This, in itself, would almost be acceptable – after all, the client affected by this robbery is merely a trust fund, supposely set up to keep the vault paid for until the owner’s return – who, incidentally, has been dead for hundreds of years. Only, we have just lately found out that another vault was also plundered, belonging to our distinguished and very-much-alive customer, Il Comte di Bestemmia. Il Comte will be very displeased when he is restored to consciousness and human form. So it behooves us to answer three questions before that time comes:
So far we have found out this much about the gang responsible for this crime: First, one or both of the criminals who attempted to break into vault 1,066 all those years ago – they were among the group of clowns and wizards who escaped empty-handed – must have been involved in the conspiracy. Otherwise, they could not have found the vault in question.
Second, the crime was masterminded, or at least financially backed, by someone very rich. I say this because of the sheer number of people and amount of hard-to-get magical equipment needed to bring it off. A third member of the party has an expert knowledge of portable holes and magical walls – including the location and properties of certain magical walls that have served Gringotts for many years. Fourth, they needed someone who could identify rare potions held in crocks that have not been opened since the days of Undergrim. Fifth, they needed an expert burglar who could disarm the most sophisticated trip-curses, jinx-traps, alarm hexes, and locking spells known to goblin or wizard. Sixth, they used three masters of diguise – probably Metamorphmagi – to create a diversion covering their entrance; plus Shredtripe knows who or what was in that crate labeled “Rheosaurus.”
And then there was a considerable amount of muscle involved. I estimate they had at least half a dozen wizards, expert duelers to a man, whose sole task was to provide cover for the burglars’ retreat. These powerful fighters neutralized a dragon, nearly three dozen nifflers, two squads of undergoblins, a troll, a water serpent, a very courageous house-elf, and of course Il Comte himself. In spite of the number of witnesses, only three goblins are currently in any shape to describe the wizards who attacked them. From their confused and contradictory statements, we can only gather that these hit-wizards used untraceable, contraband wands with unusual cores, to cast unusual spells that are proving difficult to analyze or reverse.
We have also learned that one of the hit-wizards used two wands simultaneously. This is a significant clue that we intend to follow up on, though at present the only known double-barreled wizard in England is the RMB liaison who has done much to help us with this case.
Finally, there is a strong likelihood that there were two teams of vault-crackers, since both vaults were plundered very quickly, and vault 1,066 should have taken the whole time by itself. It is possible that Il Comte’s vault was cracked merely as a diversion, to throw us off the trail. Until Il Comte awakens and can enlighten us about the contents of his vault, we have only the manifest of his vault’s contents to go on. And right now, the only property missing from Il Comte’s vault is a bottle of wine – of good vintage, but hardly worth the risk of breaking into a Gringotts vault!
The only positive suspects are those who have broken into Gringotts before. One of them is dead, the servant of the Dark Lord who broke into vault 713 that one time. The three clown wizards have an alibi; they were performing at the birthday party of a niece of Sir Lionel Niblet, whose services to this bank put his word above question. Rigel Oldmanson’s father swears that he was at home, puttering around with his Godfather Clock, during the time of the break-in; and Old Man Oldmanson is another loyal friend of the bank. Of the four foreign wizards, two were teaching and two were keeping shop in faraway countries, according to reliable witnesses. That leaves only a wizard of fortune, whose name I forget, but who when last seen was recovering from fox pox. No one with fox pox was near Gringotts that day; the nifflers did not sniff out a single fox hair.
Let’s leave aside the difficult question of who done it, for the moment. Now, how did they do it? Much of that has already been told. Three conspirators used disguises to set up a diversion in the upper levels, then attacked and subdued an entire squad of goblins before escaping undetected – probably through the front door of the bank! The rest of the burglars, meanwhile, penetrated a magical wall in one of the deepest, least-trafficked parts of the bank. One group apparently set up a chain of portable holes to reach vault 1,066, while a second group went to Il Comte’s vault. The first group disarmed a lot of traps and alarms, then analyzed the potions of Yves the Leper before selecting one to take with them. The second group pinched a bottle of wine, then both groups met up just as a second squad of undergoblins arrived, with backup. They fought a valiant retreat, inflicting numerous casualties on us without sustaining even one on their side. Then they disappeared.
That’s the how. Now for the what: What did they steal? Our current guess – meaning mine and that of Agent Spankison of the RMB – is that Il Comte’s wine bottle contained a djinn, presumably one discovered by the previous party of burglars that spent time trapped in that vault. This could explain why nothing more valuable was taken; the djinn would then be commanded to make all the burglars filthy rich. So we need only look for a sudden spate of large deposits; those making the deposits may be involved in the crime.
As for what was taken from the vault of Yves the Leper, we are stymied at the moment. No one with the security clearance needed to enter that vault has the ability to analyze its contents. Agent Spankison has suggested we deputize a certain master confectioner, named Endora something-or-other, who is said to have an extraordinary nose for potions. The Security Committee and the Trust Fund Subcommittee are still debating the question.
However, we did notice that dust had been disturbed around the seals of several of the potions. This may indicate that the seals were magically removed and then reapplied, perhaps in order to give the burglars’ potions expert a chance to analyze the contents. It is interesting to note that all of the disturbed potions have one thing in common: each one, according to the runes carved into the crocks, is based on the concentrated essence of a non-magical creature. Apparently, in Yves the Leper’s time, many creatures that are now considered non-magical were held in such awe that their essence was supposed to have a magical effect. So perhaps the firefly essence was used to make things glow; the spider essence, to lend steely strength to the finest thread. Hummingbird essence may have been used for hovering, bat essence for navigating in the dark, cat essence for stealth, cockroach essence for invulnerability, owl essence for seeing behind you, and so on. Can’t quite imagine what the seahorse essence would be good for, but I digress.
Since the “usual suspects” all seem to have reasonable alibis, and since no one with the skills needed for this burglary has been identified, I believe it is fundamental to the solving of this crime that we cooperate with Agent Spankison and his team of RMB-approved investigators. Besides, we can also use their protection, what with two squads of undergoblins on the injured list. Therefore, I ask for a motion to extend full trust to the RMB agents assigned to this case, and to direct the Security Committee and Trust Fund Subcommittee to open the crime scene to them for thorough analysis. Thank you, Spleengraft. Is there a second? Sawtooth – excellent. Discussion? No? Are you ready for the question then? All in favor...”
+++ THIS WEEK’S TRIPLE CHALLENGE +++
This week we have not a double, but a TRIPLE challenge – 2 Surveys and a Contest!
To send Robbie your personal feedback or original ideas, visit the Feedback Form [EDIT: Rather, leave a Comment]. To vote in the Surveys and Contest to determine what happens in the Chapter-After-Next, visit the Discussion Forum here [EDIT: This discussion is closed].
SURVEY #1: Remember, even though the goblins think Joe, Rigel, and the Spankison kids escaped, they are still in Gringotts somewhere. Are they (A) trying to find their way down to the Pit so they can escape the way the rest of the burglars came in? (B) still disguised and trying to blend in with the goblins until they get a chance to make a run for it? (C) being held hostage by someone or something previously encountered in the Magic Quill?
SURVEY #2: Spanky’s ploy to get into vault 1,066 as an RMB investigator is: (D) really just a diversion so he and his friends can rescue Joe and the kids. (E) actually part of their plan to get something out of the vault, and the “break-in” was only a trick to make the real heist possible. (F) an attempt to fix a mistake the burglars made when they broke into the vault, such as stealing the wrong item. (G) a clever way to cover any trail the burglars may have left behind.
CONTEST: Describe the potion that Harvey REALLY wants to steal from the Vault of Yves the Leper.
The Survey answers that get the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #96. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 7/16/06]
Contest winners: Cady, Linda Carrig, jatibbal, Xantha, Shadow Phoenix, TWZRD, Celairiel, _houdini and amylynn91403
My dear goblins, undergoblins, security trolls, curse-breakers, and other beings and creatures of Gringotts Bank:
I have no doubt that every one of you has been deeply concerned since it was discovered Gringotts was successfully broken into, and broken out of again, and treasure taken from one of our deepest vaults. I am sure your concern hasn’t been entirely due to the fact that you were all mercilessly interrogated in order to, ahem, eliminate the possibility that the break-in was an “inside job.” For this break-in has been a crushing blow to the pride and prestige of a bank that has long been deemed an absolutely secure place to hide stuff. For the first time in generations, it means that we must re-evaluate our security protocols and make serious changes where they are needed.
For a thousand years, Dark wizards and witches have been trying to break into Gringotts to steal goblin gold and other treasures. For nearly all of them, this has proved an elusive goal. Of those few who have succeeded in breaking in, only a handful have managed to break out again. But with the right planning, personnel, and materials, it can be done. It was done several years ago by a group of wizards and clowns, though it took them several years to get out and they did not actually steal anything of value. It was done again, a year or two later, by the Dark Lord or one of his servants, but again – and purely by chance – nothing was taken.
Each time, we were consoled by the fact that the property held in Gringotts' vaults remained safe – and that we had sealed the routes in and out of the bank that had been exploited by the intruders. Nevertheless, we must now face the shameful fact that a coordinated band of Dark wizards and witches has not only entered the bank, but also promptly escaped with several priceless items from the vault of Yves the Leper.
This, in itself, would almost be acceptable – after all, the client affected by this robbery is merely a trust fund, supposely set up to keep the vault paid for until the owner’s return – who, incidentally, has been dead for hundreds of years. Only, we have just lately found out that another vault was also plundered, belonging to our distinguished and very-much-alive customer, Il Comte di Bestemmia. Il Comte will be very displeased when he is restored to consciousness and human form. So it behooves us to answer three questions before that time comes:
- Who did the break-in?
- How did they do it?
- What exactly did they take from the two plundered vaults?
So far we have found out this much about the gang responsible for this crime: First, one or both of the criminals who attempted to break into vault 1,066 all those years ago – they were among the group of clowns and wizards who escaped empty-handed – must have been involved in the conspiracy. Otherwise, they could not have found the vault in question.
Second, the crime was masterminded, or at least financially backed, by someone very rich. I say this because of the sheer number of people and amount of hard-to-get magical equipment needed to bring it off. A third member of the party has an expert knowledge of portable holes and magical walls – including the location and properties of certain magical walls that have served Gringotts for many years. Fourth, they needed someone who could identify rare potions held in crocks that have not been opened since the days of Undergrim. Fifth, they needed an expert burglar who could disarm the most sophisticated trip-curses, jinx-traps, alarm hexes, and locking spells known to goblin or wizard. Sixth, they used three masters of diguise – probably Metamorphmagi – to create a diversion covering their entrance; plus Shredtripe knows who or what was in that crate labeled “Rheosaurus.”
And then there was a considerable amount of muscle involved. I estimate they had at least half a dozen wizards, expert duelers to a man, whose sole task was to provide cover for the burglars’ retreat. These powerful fighters neutralized a dragon, nearly three dozen nifflers, two squads of undergoblins, a troll, a water serpent, a very courageous house-elf, and of course Il Comte himself. In spite of the number of witnesses, only three goblins are currently in any shape to describe the wizards who attacked them. From their confused and contradictory statements, we can only gather that these hit-wizards used untraceable, contraband wands with unusual cores, to cast unusual spells that are proving difficult to analyze or reverse.
We have also learned that one of the hit-wizards used two wands simultaneously. This is a significant clue that we intend to follow up on, though at present the only known double-barreled wizard in England is the RMB liaison who has done much to help us with this case.
Finally, there is a strong likelihood that there were two teams of vault-crackers, since both vaults were plundered very quickly, and vault 1,066 should have taken the whole time by itself. It is possible that Il Comte’s vault was cracked merely as a diversion, to throw us off the trail. Until Il Comte awakens and can enlighten us about the contents of his vault, we have only the manifest of his vault’s contents to go on. And right now, the only property missing from Il Comte’s vault is a bottle of wine – of good vintage, but hardly worth the risk of breaking into a Gringotts vault!
The only positive suspects are those who have broken into Gringotts before. One of them is dead, the servant of the Dark Lord who broke into vault 713 that one time. The three clown wizards have an alibi; they were performing at the birthday party of a niece of Sir Lionel Niblet, whose services to this bank put his word above question. Rigel Oldmanson’s father swears that he was at home, puttering around with his Godfather Clock, during the time of the break-in; and Old Man Oldmanson is another loyal friend of the bank. Of the four foreign wizards, two were teaching and two were keeping shop in faraway countries, according to reliable witnesses. That leaves only a wizard of fortune, whose name I forget, but who when last seen was recovering from fox pox. No one with fox pox was near Gringotts that day; the nifflers did not sniff out a single fox hair.
Let’s leave aside the difficult question of who done it, for the moment. Now, how did they do it? Much of that has already been told. Three conspirators used disguises to set up a diversion in the upper levels, then attacked and subdued an entire squad of goblins before escaping undetected – probably through the front door of the bank! The rest of the burglars, meanwhile, penetrated a magical wall in one of the deepest, least-trafficked parts of the bank. One group apparently set up a chain of portable holes to reach vault 1,066, while a second group went to Il Comte’s vault. The first group disarmed a lot of traps and alarms, then analyzed the potions of Yves the Leper before selecting one to take with them. The second group pinched a bottle of wine, then both groups met up just as a second squad of undergoblins arrived, with backup. They fought a valiant retreat, inflicting numerous casualties on us without sustaining even one on their side. Then they disappeared.
That’s the how. Now for the what: What did they steal? Our current guess – meaning mine and that of Agent Spankison of the RMB – is that Il Comte’s wine bottle contained a djinn, presumably one discovered by the previous party of burglars that spent time trapped in that vault. This could explain why nothing more valuable was taken; the djinn would then be commanded to make all the burglars filthy rich. So we need only look for a sudden spate of large deposits; those making the deposits may be involved in the crime.
As for what was taken from the vault of Yves the Leper, we are stymied at the moment. No one with the security clearance needed to enter that vault has the ability to analyze its contents. Agent Spankison has suggested we deputize a certain master confectioner, named Endora something-or-other, who is said to have an extraordinary nose for potions. The Security Committee and the Trust Fund Subcommittee are still debating the question.
However, we did notice that dust had been disturbed around the seals of several of the potions. This may indicate that the seals were magically removed and then reapplied, perhaps in order to give the burglars’ potions expert a chance to analyze the contents. It is interesting to note that all of the disturbed potions have one thing in common: each one, according to the runes carved into the crocks, is based on the concentrated essence of a non-magical creature. Apparently, in Yves the Leper’s time, many creatures that are now considered non-magical were held in such awe that their essence was supposed to have a magical effect. So perhaps the firefly essence was used to make things glow; the spider essence, to lend steely strength to the finest thread. Hummingbird essence may have been used for hovering, bat essence for navigating in the dark, cat essence for stealth, cockroach essence for invulnerability, owl essence for seeing behind you, and so on. Can’t quite imagine what the seahorse essence would be good for, but I digress.
Since the “usual suspects” all seem to have reasonable alibis, and since no one with the skills needed for this burglary has been identified, I believe it is fundamental to the solving of this crime that we cooperate with Agent Spankison and his team of RMB-approved investigators. Besides, we can also use their protection, what with two squads of undergoblins on the injured list. Therefore, I ask for a motion to extend full trust to the RMB agents assigned to this case, and to direct the Security Committee and Trust Fund Subcommittee to open the crime scene to them for thorough analysis. Thank you, Spleengraft. Is there a second? Sawtooth – excellent. Discussion? No? Are you ready for the question then? All in favor...”
+++ THIS WEEK’S TRIPLE CHALLENGE +++
This week we have not a double, but a TRIPLE challenge – 2 Surveys and a Contest!
To send Robbie your personal feedback or original ideas, visit the Feedback Form [EDIT: Rather, leave a Comment]. To vote in the Surveys and Contest to determine what happens in the Chapter-After-Next, visit the Discussion Forum here [EDIT: This discussion is closed].
SURVEY #1: Remember, even though the goblins think Joe, Rigel, and the Spankison kids escaped, they are still in Gringotts somewhere. Are they (A) trying to find their way down to the Pit so they can escape the way the rest of the burglars came in? (B) still disguised and trying to blend in with the goblins until they get a chance to make a run for it? (C) being held hostage by someone or something previously encountered in the Magic Quill?
SURVEY #2: Spanky’s ploy to get into vault 1,066 as an RMB investigator is: (D) really just a diversion so he and his friends can rescue Joe and the kids. (E) actually part of their plan to get something out of the vault, and the “break-in” was only a trick to make the real heist possible. (F) an attempt to fix a mistake the burglars made when they broke into the vault, such as stealing the wrong item. (G) a clever way to cover any trail the burglars may have left behind.
CONTEST: Describe the potion that Harvey REALLY wants to steal from the Vault of Yves the Leper.
The Survey answers that get the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #96. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 7/16/06]
Monday, December 22, 2008
33. The Vault of Yves the Leper
Concepts contributed by: Jade & Angelbot
The witches and wizards listening to Merlin's tale were becoming restive. At one point, Sadie pulled an hourglass out of her pocket, glared at it through her veil, and shook it next to her ear. A few minutes later, Spanky shined his wandlight on a sundial strapped to his wrist. Even Joe Albuquerque sneaked a look at a complicated pocket watch that had seven hands moving at different speeds, and in different directions.
"I know, I know," said Merlin. "It's growing late."
"On the contrary," said the voice of the invisible witch Endora, "it's growing early."
"All right, I'll make a long story short," Merlin said bitterly.
"Patience, my friends," said Harvey, who alone showed no concern for the time. "We are getting to the part that makes it all worthwhile. As you were saying, Merlin?"
"Well, obviously," said Merlin, in a grumpy tone of voice, "the old man--Rigel's father, that is--refused to accept my resignation. He took me out in his walled garden for a little talk and a little bludger practice. It was strenuous exercise, and I sensed a veiled threat in the way he kept batting those bludgers at me. I was finally so exhausted from defending myself that I agreed to keep a tail on Rigel, just so I could get away and have some peace.
"During the next week or two, I followed Rigel every hour of every day. He didn't do much except spend his father's money, though. He bought one of those expensive pen-knives that opens locks and undoes knots at a place in Diagon Alley whose door only opens to someone who has at least a hundred galleons in his pocket. He had a spell upgrade installed in his wand at Tappert's, which, unlike Ollivander's, would probably not send an owl to dear old Dad telling him what his pup was up to. At the Out of This World Surplus Outfitters he bought a holocaust cloak, a pair of infra-octarine spectacles, a set of phials full of mysterious powders with labels like Dens Drac. and Noct. Vest., a radiation-shielded thermos locker for storing supplies in a pocket universe, and a brace of kerbango charges with improbability-driven detonators. Also, at Bourgin and Burkes, he bought a hand of glory. And he made a purchase of some kind at the shop of a black marketeer called Jude the Insecure, a very shifty fellow who had two magical eyes, like the one our Mad-Eye has. I didn't dare come within a dozen yards of his place, with or without my invisibility cloak, so at the time I didn't know what Rigel had got from him.
"I had almost made up my mind that Rigel had given up hope, and was simply binge-spending his way through what he expected to be the last six weeks of his life. But at the end of the second week, instead of going to another shop with loads of galleons, he packed everything in his thermos locker, stuffed the locker into his pocket (which must have been amazingly roomy), and broke into a boarded-up shop in Open Close, that dark little alley behind Gringotts. I won't bore you with the details, seein' as how you're all glancing at your timepieces again, but let's just say that after using everything he had bought in one clever way or another, Rigel managed to dig through miles of rock and rubble, a net of befuddling charms and a lake of acid; he eluded a very hungry, pent-up dragon and got through its tightly packed tresure trove; and he even--since you're so uninterested, I won't bother to tell you how--got into the locked vault that even the goblins themselves could not open. I found myself admiring Rigel's unexpected resourcefulness and bravery. He would have made a spectacular colleague if he hadn't been a twisted little slimeball. It was all I could do to keep up with him, protected only by my invisibility cloak and a bubble-head charm that I had managed to stretch over my entire body.
"And then we were there. Inside Vault 1,066 in a long-abandoned branch of the Gringotts caverns. Surrounded by chests, cauldrons, racks full of rolled-up parchments, and shelf upon shelf of dusty stone jars. Each jar contained a different, long-lost formula of great power. Each was labeled with runes that seemed to refer to a master list somewhere, but there wasn't time to find the list and figure out what each potion could do. Rigel simply pulled out his pocket-universe storage locker and began stuffing things into it.
"Unfortunately, clever as his break-in was, Rigel did not realize how many alarms his entry had tripped, or how swiftly the goblins would respond. Before Rigel had touched a hundredth part of the stone jars, a crack squad of twenty goblins, backed up by several security trolls, turned up and took him into custody. There was nothing I could do but hover among the racks of scrolls and try to be as silent as I was invisible. After all, I was only hired to keep an eye on the brat, not to sell my life to the goblins for him. But it was no use. One of the goblins waved a silver thingummy, somewhat like an egg beater, then pointed at me and shouted: 'There!' In two steps, a troll bounded to my side and grabbed my wand arm in such a grip that I dropped my wand.
"One of the goblins, who seemed to be second in command, said to the leader of the squad, 'There! You see? I told you it would happen. We had better kill them, or it will happen oftener and oftener!'
"'Hold your tongue, Sawtooth!' yelled the leader. 'Have you no discretion? Look what has happened! No one has ever penetrated as deeply as these wizards have done. Do you know what that makes them, Sawtooth?'
"'Dangerous!' squealed the second goblin.
"'No, you nitwit! They are resources! And a goblin never wastes resources. Haven't you learned that?'
"'But Chokechain, sir!' cried a third goblin, while Sawtooth writhed in humiliation. 'You can't mean they are to go unpunished? After the outrage they have committed!?'
"'Ah, I did not say that, did I, Spleengraft? Although I certainly would like to shove them both into their own miserable storage locker and let them drift in a pocket universe for all eternity, I follow the goblin code! Profit ahead of vengeance! Duty ahead of gratification! Take them. We have a use for them. And perhaps they will suffer enough, in serving us, to pay them back for their trespass!'
"'I say,' Rigel cut in, with a quivering voice. 'I don't know why I should be a part of any of this. I only came with him because he forced me to.' With these words, he gestured toward me with a tilt of his head, for his arms were pinned to his sides by the grip of a security troll.
"'That's nonsense,' I shouted back. 'I'm only here because his father paid me to follow him and keep him out of trouble!'
"'Either way, you are both fools,' said Chokechain. 'Trolls, take them up to the bridge over the labyrinth, and drop them into the very center of it. Give them anything they ask for--food, drink, anything they can think of that will help them escape. Let them try. If they succeed, so be it. Then we can recapture them and set them another challenge. So we will learn from them how we must strengthen our security. And they will spend the rest of their miserable lives dodging dragons, trolls, and booby traps. Is that not a splendid punishment, gentlegoblins? Away with them!'"
The dregs of the night's last goblet of firewhisky went down Sadie's throat with a gulp.
"So," Joe Albuquerque said after a goodly pause, "how long were you there?"
"Seven years, four months, twenty-two days," said Merlin, miserably.
Joe rounded on Harvey, aghast. "That is where you want us to go? You expect us to break into Gringotts? Into the vault of Yves the Leper?"
"Of course I expect you to break in," said Harvey, evenly. "Into Vault 1,066, indeed. I merely hope you can break out again. That will be the tricky part."
"I'll say," said Merlin.
"Yes, you will," said Harvey. "But that's a tale for another time. Well, friends! Let us meet here again in one week's time. We will need to draw on the experience of everyone here as we begin to lay our plans. But for now, go home; get some rest; and speak to no one about what we have discussed this night. Until then, farewell!"
With a loud pop, Harvey disapparated.
[Originally posted 12/17/04]
The witches and wizards listening to Merlin's tale were becoming restive. At one point, Sadie pulled an hourglass out of her pocket, glared at it through her veil, and shook it next to her ear. A few minutes later, Spanky shined his wandlight on a sundial strapped to his wrist. Even Joe Albuquerque sneaked a look at a complicated pocket watch that had seven hands moving at different speeds, and in different directions.
"I know, I know," said Merlin. "It's growing late."
"On the contrary," said the voice of the invisible witch Endora, "it's growing early."
"All right, I'll make a long story short," Merlin said bitterly.
"Patience, my friends," said Harvey, who alone showed no concern for the time. "We are getting to the part that makes it all worthwhile. As you were saying, Merlin?"
"Well, obviously," said Merlin, in a grumpy tone of voice, "the old man--Rigel's father, that is--refused to accept my resignation. He took me out in his walled garden for a little talk and a little bludger practice. It was strenuous exercise, and I sensed a veiled threat in the way he kept batting those bludgers at me. I was finally so exhausted from defending myself that I agreed to keep a tail on Rigel, just so I could get away and have some peace.
"During the next week or two, I followed Rigel every hour of every day. He didn't do much except spend his father's money, though. He bought one of those expensive pen-knives that opens locks and undoes knots at a place in Diagon Alley whose door only opens to someone who has at least a hundred galleons in his pocket. He had a spell upgrade installed in his wand at Tappert's, which, unlike Ollivander's, would probably not send an owl to dear old Dad telling him what his pup was up to. At the Out of This World Surplus Outfitters he bought a holocaust cloak, a pair of infra-octarine spectacles, a set of phials full of mysterious powders with labels like Dens Drac. and Noct. Vest., a radiation-shielded thermos locker for storing supplies in a pocket universe, and a brace of kerbango charges with improbability-driven detonators. Also, at Bourgin and Burkes, he bought a hand of glory. And he made a purchase of some kind at the shop of a black marketeer called Jude the Insecure, a very shifty fellow who had two magical eyes, like the one our Mad-Eye has. I didn't dare come within a dozen yards of his place, with or without my invisibility cloak, so at the time I didn't know what Rigel had got from him.
"I had almost made up my mind that Rigel had given up hope, and was simply binge-spending his way through what he expected to be the last six weeks of his life. But at the end of the second week, instead of going to another shop with loads of galleons, he packed everything in his thermos locker, stuffed the locker into his pocket (which must have been amazingly roomy), and broke into a boarded-up shop in Open Close, that dark little alley behind Gringotts. I won't bore you with the details, seein' as how you're all glancing at your timepieces again, but let's just say that after using everything he had bought in one clever way or another, Rigel managed to dig through miles of rock and rubble, a net of befuddling charms and a lake of acid; he eluded a very hungry, pent-up dragon and got through its tightly packed tresure trove; and he even--since you're so uninterested, I won't bother to tell you how--got into the locked vault that even the goblins themselves could not open. I found myself admiring Rigel's unexpected resourcefulness and bravery. He would have made a spectacular colleague if he hadn't been a twisted little slimeball. It was all I could do to keep up with him, protected only by my invisibility cloak and a bubble-head charm that I had managed to stretch over my entire body.
"And then we were there. Inside Vault 1,066 in a long-abandoned branch of the Gringotts caverns. Surrounded by chests, cauldrons, racks full of rolled-up parchments, and shelf upon shelf of dusty stone jars. Each jar contained a different, long-lost formula of great power. Each was labeled with runes that seemed to refer to a master list somewhere, but there wasn't time to find the list and figure out what each potion could do. Rigel simply pulled out his pocket-universe storage locker and began stuffing things into it.
"Unfortunately, clever as his break-in was, Rigel did not realize how many alarms his entry had tripped, or how swiftly the goblins would respond. Before Rigel had touched a hundredth part of the stone jars, a crack squad of twenty goblins, backed up by several security trolls, turned up and took him into custody. There was nothing I could do but hover among the racks of scrolls and try to be as silent as I was invisible. After all, I was only hired to keep an eye on the brat, not to sell my life to the goblins for him. But it was no use. One of the goblins waved a silver thingummy, somewhat like an egg beater, then pointed at me and shouted: 'There!' In two steps, a troll bounded to my side and grabbed my wand arm in such a grip that I dropped my wand.
"One of the goblins, who seemed to be second in command, said to the leader of the squad, 'There! You see? I told you it would happen. We had better kill them, or it will happen oftener and oftener!'
"'Hold your tongue, Sawtooth!' yelled the leader. 'Have you no discretion? Look what has happened! No one has ever penetrated as deeply as these wizards have done. Do you know what that makes them, Sawtooth?'
"'Dangerous!' squealed the second goblin.
"'No, you nitwit! They are resources! And a goblin never wastes resources. Haven't you learned that?'
"'But Chokechain, sir!' cried a third goblin, while Sawtooth writhed in humiliation. 'You can't mean they are to go unpunished? After the outrage they have committed!?'
"'Ah, I did not say that, did I, Spleengraft? Although I certainly would like to shove them both into their own miserable storage locker and let them drift in a pocket universe for all eternity, I follow the goblin code! Profit ahead of vengeance! Duty ahead of gratification! Take them. We have a use for them. And perhaps they will suffer enough, in serving us, to pay them back for their trespass!'
"'I say,' Rigel cut in, with a quivering voice. 'I don't know why I should be a part of any of this. I only came with him because he forced me to.' With these words, he gestured toward me with a tilt of his head, for his arms were pinned to his sides by the grip of a security troll.
"'That's nonsense,' I shouted back. 'I'm only here because his father paid me to follow him and keep him out of trouble!'
"'Either way, you are both fools,' said Chokechain. 'Trolls, take them up to the bridge over the labyrinth, and drop them into the very center of it. Give them anything they ask for--food, drink, anything they can think of that will help them escape. Let them try. If they succeed, so be it. Then we can recapture them and set them another challenge. So we will learn from them how we must strengthen our security. And they will spend the rest of their miserable lives dodging dragons, trolls, and booby traps. Is that not a splendid punishment, gentlegoblins? Away with them!'"
The dregs of the night's last goblet of firewhisky went down Sadie's throat with a gulp.
"So," Joe Albuquerque said after a goodly pause, "how long were you there?"
"Seven years, four months, twenty-two days," said Merlin, miserably.
Joe rounded on Harvey, aghast. "That is where you want us to go? You expect us to break into Gringotts? Into the vault of Yves the Leper?"
"Of course I expect you to break in," said Harvey, evenly. "Into Vault 1,066, indeed. I merely hope you can break out again. That will be the tricky part."
"I'll say," said Merlin.
"Yes, you will," said Harvey. "But that's a tale for another time. Well, friends! Let us meet here again in one week's time. We will need to draw on the experience of everyone here as we begin to lay our plans. But for now, go home; get some rest; and speak to no one about what we have discussed this night. Until then, farewell!"
With a loud pop, Harvey disapparated.
[Originally posted 12/17/04]
32. Uncle or Aunt Leslie
Concepts contributed by: Jade & Angelbot
Merlin's story continued:
"Rigel was handed from one hooded, masked figure to another. They were so heavily cloaked that I couldn't tell witch from wizard. I followed as nimbly as I could, dodging through the bustle of the castle corridors, past doorways marked with signs like 'Curse R & D,' 'Store-Brand Poisons,' and 'Glamours, Illusions & Hypnopropaganda.' Through some of those doorways I could hear chains rattling, winches straining, and far-off moans or screams. It was difficult to keep Rigel in sight, but I just managed it.
"Finally, he was shown into the presence of an extremely obese wizard or witch--who did not bother to mask his or her face--but sat with its hood thrown back on an enormous, sagging chair in the middle of a firelit room. All around him or her were tables loaded with pies and pasties, and his or her fingers and jowls were stained with juices of many colors. The walls were covered, not with family portraits, but with sentimental photos and paintings of food: bowls of fruit, baskets of fried chicken, loaves peeping out of linen napkins, mounds of sweets. I suppressed a shudder as I faced the gigantic glutton who seemed to be in charge of Vold-Mart.
"The wizard who had led Rigel into the room bowed low and addressed the seated witch or wizard, who went on eating as if no one was there. 'Hail, Uncle or Auntie Leslie,' said the wizard, sounding amazingly unembarrassed by the fact that even he did not know whether that mountain of fat was male or female. And in a voice thick with half-eaten food, yet neither particularly high-pitched nor particularly deep, the butterball replied: 'Well met, Number Seventy-Three. What morsel have you brought me today?' I must say, it pleased me to see the breath catch in Rigel's throat.
"Number Seventy-Three explained that Rigel had responded to the call for volunteers for a very sensitive project. Uncle or Auntie Leslie smacked his or her lips and said, 'Very good. Have you explained to it what we shall require it to do?'
"'No, Uncle or Auntie,' said Wizard Seventy-Three, graciously.
"'Every morsel that is brought to me,' the monstrous creature said to Wizard Seventy-Three between mouthfuls of pudding, 'is given one opportunity to prove that it is a person, worthy of being addressed as a person, and entrusted with duties and invited to feast with us. Those who fail to prove their worthiness may still prove useful, either as test subjects in one of the product-development areas, or as food for the hungry things that live in our dungeons. Though, heaven knows, we try to keep them hungry, we must feed them from time to time or they will become useless to us. Now let us see. Shall we ask it to remove one of its own kidneys with a grapefruit spoon, and then eat it raw?'
"Wizard Number Seventy-Three watched Rigel closely, as did I. Rigel trembled, his eyes darting here or there, like the eyes of a trapped animal that knows it cannot escape, yet seeks an escape route all the same. Otherwise he remained still.
"'No, I believe that was how Number Fifty-Eight proved herself to me.' Uncle or Auntie Leslie began to gnaw on the roasted leg of some enormous bird which, I felt certain, was not a turkey. 'I do find repetition tiresome. But that is neither here nor there. I have a truly inspired idea. It shall break into a vault at Gringotts for me. Vault 1,066 to be precise. A vault that contains potions preserved since the time of Yves the Leper, who was William the Conqueror's magical adviser.
"'Yves is said to have made potions that were essential to the conquest of this island but too dangerous to remain in use, too alluring to be entrusted to the care of Muggles and mortals and corruptible wizards. Some say there was a potion that made the drinker immune to criticism; or that a certain cream, when rubbed on the tips of Norman spears, made them speed toward the hearts of the Saxon enemy. But the most charming anecdotes concern a Draught of Amorality, which, when taken before doing anything messy or morally complicated, could quiet the drinker's conscience and make him get on with it. I daresay that would be an invaluable asset in our efforts to raise an army for--ahem. I seem to have gone off topic.
"'The greatest potion-master since the Norman invasion, as I was saying, took great pride in his work, and so he could not bear to dispose of what was left over when its purpose was fulfilled. Yet, strange as it may sound, he scrupled against allowing it to be kept in continual use, or selling his brewings to some other likely fellow. As soon as William had conquered, his wizard seems to have lost his kidney--to turn a phrase--for the finer things in life, like inflicting fear and pain, becoming rich and powerful, and getting untold thousands to do his will unquestioningly. The poor man lost his nerve and decided that, dear as his potions were to him, he did not want anyone to use them. Anyone!
"'So Yves locked his treasures in one of the deepest vaults in Gringotts Bank and threw away the keys. Even the goblins cannot open the vault, because it is buried under the hoard of an ancient dragon, who in turn is buried under the rubble of a collapsed tunnel, a close-woven network of befuddling charms, and a lake of acid that would reduce a man's body to a quivering blob of jelly as soon as look at him. However, I am interested in what may be in that vault. The morsel will get it for me in six weeks or less, or die trying. If it does either thing, I will honor it as a colleague. If neither, I will tear it limb from limb. Now send it away, Number Seventy-Three, there's a dove.'
"Number Seventy-Three marched Rigel out of the room. The poor lad looked as if his life had already been forfeit, walking with heavy limbs and bowed head. Down several flights of stairs to a large hall in which fires burned in a dozen hearths the masked wizard led him. Someone tossed a fistful of Floo Powder into one enormous fireplace and shouted, '____ Manor,' the name of the place where Rigel lived. I hopped into the swirling green flames beside the boy as the masked wizard pushed him in. I knew it would be hard to find another way out of the castle. And besides, it was imperative that I see Rigel's father instantly and offer him my resignation. For if I was to follow Rigel to the depths of Gringotts Bank, it wasn't only his life that was forfeit..."
[Originally posted 12/10/04]
Merlin's story continued:
"Rigel was handed from one hooded, masked figure to another. They were so heavily cloaked that I couldn't tell witch from wizard. I followed as nimbly as I could, dodging through the bustle of the castle corridors, past doorways marked with signs like 'Curse R & D,' 'Store-Brand Poisons,' and 'Glamours, Illusions & Hypnopropaganda.' Through some of those doorways I could hear chains rattling, winches straining, and far-off moans or screams. It was difficult to keep Rigel in sight, but I just managed it.
"Finally, he was shown into the presence of an extremely obese wizard or witch--who did not bother to mask his or her face--but sat with its hood thrown back on an enormous, sagging chair in the middle of a firelit room. All around him or her were tables loaded with pies and pasties, and his or her fingers and jowls were stained with juices of many colors. The walls were covered, not with family portraits, but with sentimental photos and paintings of food: bowls of fruit, baskets of fried chicken, loaves peeping out of linen napkins, mounds of sweets. I suppressed a shudder as I faced the gigantic glutton who seemed to be in charge of Vold-Mart.
"The wizard who had led Rigel into the room bowed low and addressed the seated witch or wizard, who went on eating as if no one was there. 'Hail, Uncle or Auntie Leslie,' said the wizard, sounding amazingly unembarrassed by the fact that even he did not know whether that mountain of fat was male or female. And in a voice thick with half-eaten food, yet neither particularly high-pitched nor particularly deep, the butterball replied: 'Well met, Number Seventy-Three. What morsel have you brought me today?' I must say, it pleased me to see the breath catch in Rigel's throat.
"Number Seventy-Three explained that Rigel had responded to the call for volunteers for a very sensitive project. Uncle or Auntie Leslie smacked his or her lips and said, 'Very good. Have you explained to it what we shall require it to do?'
"'No, Uncle or Auntie,' said Wizard Seventy-Three, graciously.
"'Every morsel that is brought to me,' the monstrous creature said to Wizard Seventy-Three between mouthfuls of pudding, 'is given one opportunity to prove that it is a person, worthy of being addressed as a person, and entrusted with duties and invited to feast with us. Those who fail to prove their worthiness may still prove useful, either as test subjects in one of the product-development areas, or as food for the hungry things that live in our dungeons. Though, heaven knows, we try to keep them hungry, we must feed them from time to time or they will become useless to us. Now let us see. Shall we ask it to remove one of its own kidneys with a grapefruit spoon, and then eat it raw?'
"Wizard Number Seventy-Three watched Rigel closely, as did I. Rigel trembled, his eyes darting here or there, like the eyes of a trapped animal that knows it cannot escape, yet seeks an escape route all the same. Otherwise he remained still.
"'No, I believe that was how Number Fifty-Eight proved herself to me.' Uncle or Auntie Leslie began to gnaw on the roasted leg of some enormous bird which, I felt certain, was not a turkey. 'I do find repetition tiresome. But that is neither here nor there. I have a truly inspired idea. It shall break into a vault at Gringotts for me. Vault 1,066 to be precise. A vault that contains potions preserved since the time of Yves the Leper, who was William the Conqueror's magical adviser.
"'Yves is said to have made potions that were essential to the conquest of this island but too dangerous to remain in use, too alluring to be entrusted to the care of Muggles and mortals and corruptible wizards. Some say there was a potion that made the drinker immune to criticism; or that a certain cream, when rubbed on the tips of Norman spears, made them speed toward the hearts of the Saxon enemy. But the most charming anecdotes concern a Draught of Amorality, which, when taken before doing anything messy or morally complicated, could quiet the drinker's conscience and make him get on with it. I daresay that would be an invaluable asset in our efforts to raise an army for--ahem. I seem to have gone off topic.
"'The greatest potion-master since the Norman invasion, as I was saying, took great pride in his work, and so he could not bear to dispose of what was left over when its purpose was fulfilled. Yet, strange as it may sound, he scrupled against allowing it to be kept in continual use, or selling his brewings to some other likely fellow. As soon as William had conquered, his wizard seems to have lost his kidney--to turn a phrase--for the finer things in life, like inflicting fear and pain, becoming rich and powerful, and getting untold thousands to do his will unquestioningly. The poor man lost his nerve and decided that, dear as his potions were to him, he did not want anyone to use them. Anyone!
"'So Yves locked his treasures in one of the deepest vaults in Gringotts Bank and threw away the keys. Even the goblins cannot open the vault, because it is buried under the hoard of an ancient dragon, who in turn is buried under the rubble of a collapsed tunnel, a close-woven network of befuddling charms, and a lake of acid that would reduce a man's body to a quivering blob of jelly as soon as look at him. However, I am interested in what may be in that vault. The morsel will get it for me in six weeks or less, or die trying. If it does either thing, I will honor it as a colleague. If neither, I will tear it limb from limb. Now send it away, Number Seventy-Three, there's a dove.'
"Number Seventy-Three marched Rigel out of the room. The poor lad looked as if his life had already been forfeit, walking with heavy limbs and bowed head. Down several flights of stairs to a large hall in which fires burned in a dozen hearths the masked wizard led him. Someone tossed a fistful of Floo Powder into one enormous fireplace and shouted, '____ Manor,' the name of the place where Rigel lived. I hopped into the swirling green flames beside the boy as the masked wizard pushed him in. I knew it would be hard to find another way out of the castle. And besides, it was imperative that I see Rigel's father instantly and offer him my resignation. For if I was to follow Rigel to the depths of Gringotts Bank, it wasn't only his life that was forfeit..."
[Originally posted 12/10/04]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
