Contest winner: greyniffler
Merlin rocked on his feet impatiently. As if the queue to turn in his room key hadn't been moving slowly enough, now it seemed an Elvis impersonator was having fisticuffs with somebody disguised as Einstein. The wizard-of-fortune rolled his eyes, fingering the last of the probability-magic-proof chits with which the Aladdin's Cave Consortium had paid him for his work.
It wasn't enough, he reflected, that he had lost all the money he had earned testing the casino's security system; but now that they had recouped everything they had paid him, the Consortium was threatening to cancel his exemption from the Do Not Pass binding unless he started paying for his room and board.
Merlin gritted his teeth, wondering for the eleventh time what it would have felt like simply to break out of the vault and take everything with him when he had the chance, rather than reporting to the Consortium how he had gotten through their spelltraps. It was just as well that he was on the list of people prevented, by a magical binding, from crossing the threshold of Aladdin's Cave. It would be too easy, he knew now, to get away with millions - and after the way the Consortium had treated him, he had more motives than money for doing it. He didn't need that kind of temptation. It was time to leave.
Someone nearby cleared his throat. Merlin looked over and saw three men watching him: a large, bald man in an expensive suit, leaning on a silver-capped cane, and flanked by two obvious flunkies - one tall, skeletally thin, with huge expressive eyes and a sensitive face; the other very short, scarcely taller than a goblin, but stoutly built and animated by a fidgety, restless energy. Something about the three men struck Merlin as familiar. Had they been watching him as he moved about the casino?
The fat wizard beckoned Merlin toward him with a slight twist of his head. Merlin hesitated, glancing toward the front of the line, where Elvis was now being arrested by the casino police. He turned back toward the three men and saw them walking away through the crowd. With a groan of frustration, Merlin abandoned his place in the queue and hurried after them.
Their trail led him past the Lizard Lounge, around the far end of the Roc Concert Hall, up several flights of steps, and down a hallway lit by glowing stars on the doors. The three men came to a door that had three stars stuck to it, opened it and walked through without another glance in Merlin's direction. He followed them through the door, and heard it close behind him.
The room beyond the three-star door contained three dressing tables, placed in a row beneath a single mirror. On another wall hung a large, silver horn, hung above a brightly painted carousel horse with a hinged door built into its side. The tables were covered with jars of paint, sponges, brushes, pencils, and wigs - Merlin only saw them for a moment before the thin wizard waved his hand, clearing all these things away and conjuring a plain, white cloth in their place. The short wizard vanished with a pop, then reappeared carrying a tray full of demitasses, a pitcher of steamed milk, a bowl of sugar, and the powerful aroma of espresso. The fat wizard sketched four chairs out of thin air with the tip of his cane: four papasan chairs, covered with tasseled rugs, one sized to fit each of the men in the room. No one said a word until all were seated and slurping strong coffee out of tiny cups that never fell below half-full.
Tall-and-thin mutely offered Merlin a mouthwatering, chocolate-shaving-covered canole. Shaking his head, Merlin broke the silence to ask if they might have a plain digestive instead. "No offense meant," he added. "I promised my wife. She swears she can smell my weight, and if I gain much more she'll have her own bedroom. Her nose is that sensitive."
The fat wizard tutted sympathetically, but his mouth was too full of pastry and cream to comment.
It was, finally, the short wizard who spoke in a thick accent Merlin had never heard before. For the first time, Merlin began to doubt the sense of familiarity he had felt since he had first spotted the three men. Perhaps he hadn't met them before, after all.
"We would like to engage your services," said short-and-stout. "It is a dangerous business. We understand you are one of the best for this kind of work."
"I have references, if you need to see them," said Merlin, dipping his biscuit in the coffee.
"No need," said the short wizard. "We already know your abilities. We are currently in funds, thanks to a fifty-show contract at this casino, so money is no object. We know you are between jobs. The only question that remains is whether you will accept this very difficult mission."
"Name it," said Merlin.
The fat, bald wizard spoke up with an Italian accent Merlin instantly recognized: "We wish you to teach Maledicto di Bestemmia what it is like to feel ashamed."
"Pagliai?" Merlin exclaimed, almost choking on his coffee. "Are these two - ?"
"Excuse us for appearing out of character," said the leader of the clown wizards, with a gracious smile. "We thought that, with our make-up, wigs, and squeaky shoes on, it would be harder to impress on you the serious nature of our mission."
Merlin almost laughed with relief. "I was afraid you were hiring me to rob the casino," he confessed. "Or maybe, to track down someone who had robbed it."
"But that is exactly what we are hiring you to do," cried the short wizard (who was, in fact, Signor Subito). The thin man, whom Merlin now easily recognized as Boccachiusa, nodded firmly.
"Which one?" asked Merlin. "The robbery, or - ?"
"Both," said Subito and Pagliai together.
"You must remove an item Maledicto keeps in the vault," said Subito.
"Something he keeps here because he fears what would happen if the goblins knew he possessed it," added Pagliai.
"And then you must make sure the goblins catch him in possession of it," Subito concluded.
Merlin chewed thoughtfully on a bland mouthful of digestive. He swallowed, sipped his coffee, thought a moment longer, then shook his head. "I don't see how it can be done," he said regretfully.
"But you have already proved more than a match for the Consortium's security!" Pagliai cried. "That's half of your task as good as done already!"
"Be that as it may," said Merlin, "though it may not, since I will not be able to return to the casino after I leave. If I don't clear out by sunset, the Consortium will put a lien on my Gringott's account until I settle my bill. And I won't be able to leave without setting off a Do Not Pass alert. They will search me and take away anything that doesn't belong to me."
"Yes, yes," said Pagliai. "But there is a simple solution. You don't leave; we will pay your full bill when you check out; and before you leave, you will give Il Comte's little toy to Signor Boccachiusa here. Then you can walk out of the casino" - here the clown wizard whistled - "clean as guess-what."
"That leaves the really impossible part," said Merlin. "Not only do I have to lure Il Comte out of his lair with all its defenses, but then I have to..."
"Name your fee," Subito insisted.
Merlin suppressed a laugh. "All this, just to bring that old loony to justice!"
"On the contrary," said Pagliai. "We do not expect Il Comte to come to justice. Men with his means and powers are beyond the reach of law, and unfortunately he knows it and uses this knowledge shamelessly. We only want him to taste a bit of the humiliation he inflicted on us for so many years. We want him to feel regret over his own actions, just once."
Now it was Merlin's turn to whistle. "Gentlemen, I don't know how to begin - "
"Name your fee," Subito repeated; then he added, "We will double it."
Merlin shook his head. "What I need for this is not a promise of great reward. I have been a victim of Il Comte's evil myself, remember? But how can I even approach the man? He is so slippery, so resilient. He has survived things no one should survive, escaped from every binding and imprisonment man has devised, recovered from Lilly Grate faster than anyone thought possible - even the laws of magic seem to bend out of his way. He can be momentarily thwarted. You can run from him, hide from him, and eventually recover from the curses he puts on you. But he just doesn't stop. He may be a fool, and his powers may not be great, but he seems to have - if I may risk sounding silly - a charmed life!"
"That is what you must change," said Pagliai. "Il Comte seems to be surrounded by some magic-dampening shield. While it doesn't stop curses, potions, or magical objects from taking effect, it lessens their effect, going in both directions. Take that shield away and he will be more vulnerable to - let us say, justice."
"But then, he will also be more dangerous," Subito murmured, by way of full disclosure.
"And the key to doing all that," Merlin said, "is in the vault."
"A talisman Il Comte obtained from the goblins by deceit," said Subito, "many, many years ago. Its influence over him will only end if he returns it to its rightful owners."
"This sounds like the kind of thing that can only be given, not taken," Merlin observed.
"Exactly," said Subito.
"How could Il Comte steal it, then?"
"He did not. They loaned it to him, but he broke his word. He was supposed to use the talisman to do something for the goblins, and return it afterward. We are not sure what he was supposed to do, or how he explained his failure to return the talisman. All we know is that, if the goblins can ever prove that he kept it, he will regret his bad faith. We heard him speak of this long ago. When he worries about anything, it is this."
Merlin stood up and paced. After several lengths of the dressing-room, he faced the clown-wizards again. "So what you're asking," he said, "is to do the very thing against which Il Comte is most on guard; to provoke the two parties in the world that have the best reasons to hate me; and to get them to turn on each other without suspecting that I set up the whole thing."
As he finished this summary, he found himself looking at Boccachiusa. The mute clown nodded.
"I'll never survive," he concluded.
Pagliai said, "Pish," a second time, then went over to the painted, carved horse and tapped one of its eyes with his left ring-finger. The door in the horse's side sprang open. Silk handkerchiefs, arm-length gloves, and mountains of garish clothing spilled out on the floor as Pagliai rummaged.
"What do you think of our clothes-horse?" Subito asked conversationally.
"Does it clean and press your costumes, as well as store them?"
"Only if we give it food, water, and exercise. These days we don't have the time, but the concert hall has a couple of house-elves who are happy to do the washing for us, when they're not busy clearing up spilled drinks and cigarette butts."
"All right, I've found it," said Pagliai. "We thought it might come to this, so we had our old friends put together a survival kit for you - "
" - should you choose to accept this mission," Subito added.
Subito vanished the coffee things, enabling Pagliai to set his find on the table. It was a leather satchel with a shoulder strap. There seemed to be no way to open it. Pagliai explained: "The bag itself is a gift from our friend Karl, the survival wizard. It will resist fire, water, sharp objects, corrosive substances, most spells, and the vacuum of outer space. Its interior is exactly as big as the contents require. You could hide inside it, if the need arose."
"How does it open?" Merlin asked, intrigued.
"Only you can open it," said Subito.
Pagliai added: "After it was closed, Karl tuned it to respond to your body, using a lock of hair that your wife provided."
Merlin stroked the bag. A simple, flap closure became visible. He pulled it back, revealing a collection of bottles and other objects within.
Pagliai pulled out a smooth, flat, round stone with a hole in its center. Uncut by human hand, it was threaded on a thick, coarse string. "This is Slavik's gift," he explained solemnly. "While you wear it, neither claw nor fang can penetrate your skin. I believe he found it during his childhood in Transylvania."
"I can see how that would be handy against dark creatures."
"And the undead," Subito agreed.
"This," announced Pagliai, pulling out a slender, tapering stick at least thirty inches long, "is a wand our friend Jaan designed specially for you. Its core is the nose hair of a cave troll."
"A what?" Merlin dropped the wand. Boccachiusa gracefully caught it.
"Its chief virtue," said Pagliai, "is that, if you are ever confined indoors or underground, a Four-Points spell will cause it to point toward the route of quickest escape."
"Wow," said Merlin, gingerly plucking the wand out of Boccachiusa's fingers. "I could have used this years ago."
"Evidently Jaan thought so, too," said Subito.
Pagliai proffered a small, tight roll of parchment. As Merlin took it, the fat clown explained: "This is the gift of Anatoly. Write on the scroll the names of the six curses you fear the most. Draw a line through the name of one of them. Then place the written-on side of the parchment against your bare skin. Anatoly has infused the paper with a special type of ink he invented. It print seven tattoos on your skin, magical defense tattoos. Each tattoo will protect you, once only, against one of the curses you wrote down."
Merlin had already decided what he was going to write - Crucio, Sectumsempra, Petrificus totalis, Legilimens, Obliviate, and with a line through it, Imperius. The six curses he feared most, in ascending order.
"Why seven tattoos, if I only wrote down six curses?"
"You will have a double protection from the curse you strike through. Unfortunately, the Killing Curse cannot be on your list. No spell can protect you from that."
Merlin squinted into the bag. There were still several glass vials in it. Who could they be from?
Pagliai held up a single earring. "This is half of a matching pair," he said. "Your protégé Rigel designed them, and he has sworn to wear the other one until you return."
"That's touching," said Merlin, rubbing his earlobe, which had never been pierced.
"If, while wearing this, you say 'Rigel help,' he will hear you through the pin in his ear. Five seconds later, it will become a portkey, transporting him to wherever your half of the set happens to be."
"Could be useful," Merlin said grudgingly. He was beginning to feel like nothing could stand in his way now. "What's with the potions?"
"We were going to save those for last," said Pagliai, looking a bit put out. "We haven't gotten to our own gifts yet."
"I'm dying to know what's in those bottles," Merlin insisted.
The fat clown shrugged. "All right. This is your wife's gift. Endora invented it herself. There are only seven doses of it in existence, and four of them are here."
Merlin was growing impatient. "What is it, then?"
"Endora calls it Liquid Skill," said Subito.
Merlin frowned.
"It is a working title," Pagliai added hastily. "Once it is approved by the magical patent office, it will no doubt receive a much more evocative trade-name. For now, all you need to know is that each vial contains one dose, each dose lasts twenty-four hours. Think of a skill as you drink it, and that skill will be yours while the effects last. But only once per skill. If you drink it wishing to be a master carpenter, you will have twenty-four hours to build your masterpiece; after that, the skill will be gone. Then you will have to choose a different skill with each dose of the liquor."
"So I could be a circus acrobat, or an opera singer, or - "
Boccachiusa brightened up and pointed at himself.
" - or a mime," Merlin added.
"Anything you want," said Subito. "But only once, and only for a night and a day. But look here, you get to experience four different things."
"You need only be clever enough to recognize what skills you will need to complete your mission," said Pagliai.
"Or to get out of trouble," Merlin agreed.
"This little pouch thing is from Harvey. Once you open it, you'll never get it back in again. It's a rapidly-inflating, portable wall that will camouflage itself like part of the background. Its usefulness might be somewhat limited - once somebody bumps into it, they'll be onto you - but it might just buy you a moment to make good your escape. If you're the first person to touch it when the pouch opens, it will erase you from the picture, basically making you invisible to anyone standing on the other side."
"The rest of these things are from us," said Subito. "The Turbo Gum is from me."
Pagliai nodded, holding up a small tin of chewing-gum lozenges. "While you chew one of these, you'll be able to run so fast that most people will only see a blur. You'll have five minutes of super speed, while only five seconds pass for the rest of the world. Be careful, though. The effects wear off quite suddenly, and bad things can happen - "
"Like being hit by a train you were trying to outrun," Subito said sadly. "It happened to my cousin Veloce."
"Family recipe," Pagliai whispered to Merlin, aside.
"The Peekaboo Kit is from Boccachiusa," Subito explained eagerly, passing Pagliai a handkerchief folded into a perfect, but lumpy, square. "If you put on the blindfold and hold very still, no one will be able to see you, even if they are searching right in front of you."
Pagliai caressed the kit fondly. "It comes with ear plugs. While they're in, you can sneeze, cough, or even burst into tears, and no one will hear you."
"Is that everything?" Merlin asked. Somehow, all these helpful gimmicks had convinced him that he had a job to do, a job he could do, and he had better start soon.
"Just one more gift," said Pagliai, drawing a final item out of the depths of the bag.
It was a round, red clown nose.
"Wear this," he said reverently, "and His Pestilency will be unable to look at you without going into fits of laughter. It's almost as good as a paralyzing spell. Without it, I wouldn't have survived my years of service to him. I used it sparingly, but even so, it will only fool him once. After that, he won't be able to aim accurately, not daring to look straight at you, so you may be able to dodge his spells. So it's not much; but as I said, once he loses the talisman he will become a very dangerous customer. Even a slight advantage may be a matter of life and death."
In Merlin's hands the clown nose felt like some kind of leather. He didn't know whether it was magical or, simply, something Il Comte found irresistably funny. With a fitting display of respect, he passed it back to Pagliai.
"Thank you," he said. "I accept the mission."
"Well done," said a voice with a lilting, Italian accent. It wasn't one of the clown wizards. Merlin looked up and saw, looming over him, the huge, handsome face of a middle-aged man. He trembled, thinking: What have I done?
"Well done," Il Comte said again. "I knew you would make a fine addition to my mews." He cut the heart out of the lark Merlin had brought him and held it toward Merlin's beak. The wizard-of-fortune darted forward and devoured the heart while the count laughed.
"What a fine merlin you are," the evil count gloated, stroking Merlin's feet, or rather claws, as they gripped the padded gauntlet on Il Comte's arm. "That rascally falconer was a fool even to try keeping you from me. Come, my feathered friend. Let's introduce you to your housemates, or rather rivals."
As Il Comte strode back toward his manor, Merlin gripped his outstretched arm, fighting hard to concentrate on who he was and how he had gotten there. Liquid Skill, he thought. I've become an animagus. For some reason he felt concerned about how long he had been in this form. He couldn't remember why it mattered, though...his mind was increasingly clouded by the exhiliration of flying, which he had just experienced, and the hunger for flesh which that morsel of lark had stirred up.
"Ah, here we are, Master Merlin," Maledicto purred, and suddenly he was engulfed by darkness, the smell of feathers, and the sound of strange birds shuffling nervously around. A door slammed, a lock clicked... Merlin was trapped.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
You can help decide what happens next in The Magic Quill! First, go to the forums, or send Robbie feedback. Then, in 250 words or less, answer the following Survey and Contest. The survey answer with the most votes, and the contest answer that Robbie likes best, will turn up in the chapter after next. [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
SURVEY: greyniffler suggested (in the discussion thread for TMQ #139) a grudge match between Il Comte and Uncle or Aunt Leslie. What do you think? A) Yes, that would be a great fight to witness! B) No, they're both evil, so they should work together. C) No, let's keep their storylines separate.
CONTEST: Describe a historical person or incident that would be even more interesting if we only knew the "untold story" (involving witches or wizards from Harry Potter's world).
[Originally posted 8/17/08]
Showing posts with label clown wizards. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clown wizards. Show all posts
Saturday, December 27, 2008
118. Laughing Matter
Contest winner: rory86
PARAPHYSICIST ATTENDS WEDDING IN HOGSMEADE
Part 5 in a 7-part Special Report
Bo Dwyer, our top correspondent, continues the report of his week following Professor Algernon Swerve, the Magic theorist whose recent discovery of magically generated states of matter would have won him the Nobel Prize for Paraphysics, except there isn’t one.
During breakfast on Saturday, Dr. Swerve suddenly announced that he was going to a wedding in Hogsmeade. The invitation had come by owl that very morning, and it entitled him to bring one guest: me.
I soon understood that the wedding would be a newsworthy event in its own right. There are not many couples who choose to have their nuptials performed at the Hog’s Head pub. In fact, the last one on record was the marriage of Richard Pellamonter and Elizabeth Polkenhorne in April of 1565 or 1566 (depending on which set of records you go by), a day which saw dozens of Britain’s best wizards lose control of their magic due to a bowl of contaminated punch. This is why all the buildings in Hogsmeade had polka-dotted walls until 1611, and weddings within village boundaries were banned until 1865. When I first heard that Saturday’s wedding was to be the Hog’s Head’s first since 1566, I was moved by the progress and enlightenment of our wizarding community. Then I smelled and, rather later, saw the Hog’s Head and such notions were dashed. It was clearly the only place the couple could afford; which is too bad, because the proprietor should be the one who pays the rest of us to drink his swill.
At least the punch was unpolluted. After about one o’clock Sunday afternoon, at any rate, the buildings and streets of Hogsmeade seemed to be their usual color again.
By coincidence, the bride and groom were both people I had interviewed before. Erastus “Merlin” Sidwell made an unexpectedly strong showing (12th place) in an Iwixarod broom race some years ago, and he was quoted in my report of that race. His exact words were: “I prefer bundimun grease, myself.” And his intended, Miss Doreen Pinch (known as “Endora” to her friends) had guided my tour of the Bertie Botts Flavor Lab, where she was a taste-tester at the time. I remember her as a remarkable woman who was able to tell a great deal about me by smell alone. During the day I learned that Merlin now works as a “special consultant” — I’m not sure what that means — while Endora has moved up the career ladder to Senior Potion Designer. Bride and groom wore matching carnival masks, as a nod to Hog’s Head tradition (all the guests were furnished with masks as well).
I didn’t see very much of my subject that day, but I did encounter a surprising range of people considering the caliber of the establishment. I met a married couple of highly decorated RMB agents who were also once Owlympic medalists (I had interviewed them too), an American agent who specializes in quick-change disguises (I believe he was at least five of the people I shook hands with), and a dodgy looking couple covered in animated tattoos (which posed witty remarks to passersby, in ornate handwriting). I met a wandwright from Finland, an Austrian couple who run a survival school for wizards, a Ukrainian art-wizard (who, by the way his eyes lingered on the tattooed couple, must have been responsible for their body art), several Italian clown-wizards, and a couple of Durmstrang professors. A former member of Nasal Drip gave a solo musical performance that was at least as loud and obnoxious as anything his old band could do. A wizard rich enough to keep his name out of the paper stood near me through the whole song, stoically enduring it in order to keep an eye on his teenage son, who has enough mischief in him to make the name-out-of-paper thing more expensive every year. Sir Lionel Niblet and Dr. Miles O’Roughage were also on hand, holding a soft yet animated conversation in a corner throughout the wedding.
After the ceremony came a meal which I would rather not recall in detail; the punch helped in that respect. At the climax of the banquet, toasts were made and gifts were given to the newly wedded couple.
The RMB agents gave the Sidwells a stoppered flask of some blood-red potion which, they warned, was not to be unstoppered except in the gravest emergency, and only then when Mrs. Sidwell was wearing nose-plugs. It was difficult to follow the explanation of this potion, owing perhaps to some shared background between the agents and the Sidwells, but I gathered that the potion came from a variety of orchid bred by Sir Lionel, and was brewed by Dr. O’Roughage. “It smells like rotting flesh, and it evaporates instantly when struck a violent, physical blow,” they announced. “But until then, a few drops of it shield the wearer against all magic directed against a conscious, living person.”
The next noteworthy gift, following a set of wands, some gag gifts from the clowns, a flask of “eyedropper banquet,” chits for free body art, and similar items, was a large box delivered by two house-elves. I knew the elves at once. Their master, a portable-wall magnate, has been very reclusive lately, and I was curious to know what gift he might have sent to a wedding without appearing himself to give it. It turned out that the box was empty, but it came with a cryptic message which Merlin read aloud: “If this is empty when you receive it, don’t be distressed. My calculations have a wide margin for error. Keep the box, and look inside it now and again, until you find a token of my very personal affection and esteem for both of you. Eventually, the day will come when I will have put something in this box before it was going to be delivered.”
One of the last gifts was presented by Professor Swerve. The couple smiled politely as he handed them an ingot of some dull-brown metal. And this was where I was repaid for all my difficulty in following him at this wedding. As Merlin Sidwell hefted the heavy bar of not-very-precious-looking material, the paraphysicist explained:
“For your special day, and for all your days together, I give you the gift of laughter. As you know, I have spent the last two decades studying the effects of magic on molecules, atoms, and subatomic particles. Last year, I finally published my discoveries, including several new states of matter that can only exist under the influence of magic. This bar may seem to contain nothing but a blend of ordinary minerals. But I have charmed it into a state that I like to call ‘laughing matter.’ Whether there is a lot of it or a little; whether it is precious or common; whether solid, liquid, or gas, laughing matter is held together by the energy of pure joy. Touch it when you are angry or frustrated, and you will see the absurdity in your situation and your frown will become a chuckle. Touch it in a time of grief or pain, and you will suddenly remember the good things you still have to be happy about. Touch it when you are terrified and hopeless, and that which you dread may reveal desirable aspects. Touch it at a joyful time, like today, and you add to its stored energy, and to the good memories that will return to you at a time of need.
“Touch it together,” Professor Swerve continued, “and it fosters trust and contentment. Break it in half” – here Merlin effortlessly snapped the ingot in two, causing a stir throughout the pub – “when you cannot be together, and when you both hold it at the same time, you will feel closer to each other. Put the pieces back together” – Merlin did this – “and it sticks in one piece, as if you had never broken it. It also makes an excellent doorstop, for few things are as friendly as an open door; and, when used as a bookend, laughing matter causes nearby books to seem more entertaining the next time you open them. Tonight, I suggest that you tuck it under the...”
“What a lovely gift,” said Merlin, loudly interrupting the professor’s speech, while his bride reddened to the tip of her rather impressive nose.
After taking the Floo network back to Professor Swerve’s study, I told him how impressed I was with what he had said and done at the Sidwell wedding. He shrugged, smiling mysteriously, and said, “You don’t think I would really give such a priceless specimen – moreover, one that neither science nor magic has yet fully explained – to a couple of risk-takers like them? It would be murder. Or, worse, it would be a methodological blunder. I had forgotten to bring a gift, but I found a pile of those bricks out behind the Hog’s Head and checked to make sure there wasn’t anything dodgy about them before choosing one. I put a breaking-and-rejoining charm on it – a little trick on which I often dined out in my salad days. The rest of it was pure codswallop.”
Seeing my shocked expression, Professor Swerve laughed kindly and added, “I also applied a bit of magic in my speech. The magic of psychology. If those youngsters took me even a wee bit seriously, that brick will be a symbol to them, a symbol whose meaning they will pull out of themselves. I mean, really! To give them, actually give them, what I described would be meddling in things where I have no business. It is better this way.”
“So,” I asked, ashamed to notice a tone of childish disappointment in my own voice, “so is there no such thing as ‘laughing matter’ at all?”
“Oh, to be sure, there is! I’ve got some of it right here,” said Professor Swerve, getting up to fetch a waxy looking lump, encased in crystal, out of a locked cupboard. “And if they knew anything about it, they would thank me for not giving it them. Real ‘laughing matter’ is terrible, chaotic stuff; absolutely insane.”
He handed the crystal to me and I turned it over in my hands. “What does it do?” I asked.
“Oh! It is the stuff that moves things around when your back is turned. It hides your keys, causes your toilet to overflow, and stops nearby timepieces just when you are waiting for a certain hour to strike. I once observed a lump of ‘laughing matter’ to re-tune a piano so that, no matter what keys you played, the only thing you could get out of it was the ‘Tristan chord.’ Whenever you feel that someone, somewhere, must be laughing at you, you might have a bit of this stuff stuck to your shoe. With a brick of real laughing matter, the Sidwell’s marriage wouldn’t have lasted a week!
“Promise you won’t print any of this?” Professor Swerve added meekly.
“On my honor as a journalist,” I said, handing the crystal-encased lump back to him.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #120 +++
SURVEY: How does the angel-faced villain from TMQ #117 combine magic with golf? (A) He uses magic to create a self-maintaining, perfect golf course. (B) He uses magical plants, beasts, and other hazards to make his links the most difficult and dangerous course in the world. (C) He plays a wizarding variant of golf involving balls that go up but do not come down (unless played in that direction); players must be able to fly and, on occasion, play underwater. (D) He uses magic to enhance his performance in order to collect huge winnings on ordinary golf tours. (E) Other...
CONTEST: Describe a magical piece of jewelry and its properties.
Special thanks are due to the Cornwall County Council for inspiration provided by their Silly Names List [EDIT: Alas, this webpage no longer exists]. ANOTHER EDIT: What a pity that Blogger has a 200-character limit for labels. The list below should also include Algernon Swerve, Harvey, Dinty, Heidi Svendanna, Tatyana, and Owlympics.
[Originally posted 5/16/07]
PARAPHYSICIST ATTENDS WEDDING IN HOGSMEADE
Part 5 in a 7-part Special Report
Bo Dwyer, our top correspondent, continues the report of his week following Professor Algernon Swerve, the Magic theorist whose recent discovery of magically generated states of matter would have won him the Nobel Prize for Paraphysics, except there isn’t one.
During breakfast on Saturday, Dr. Swerve suddenly announced that he was going to a wedding in Hogsmeade. The invitation had come by owl that very morning, and it entitled him to bring one guest: me.
I soon understood that the wedding would be a newsworthy event in its own right. There are not many couples who choose to have their nuptials performed at the Hog’s Head pub. In fact, the last one on record was the marriage of Richard Pellamonter and Elizabeth Polkenhorne in April of 1565 or 1566 (depending on which set of records you go by), a day which saw dozens of Britain’s best wizards lose control of their magic due to a bowl of contaminated punch. This is why all the buildings in Hogsmeade had polka-dotted walls until 1611, and weddings within village boundaries were banned until 1865. When I first heard that Saturday’s wedding was to be the Hog’s Head’s first since 1566, I was moved by the progress and enlightenment of our wizarding community. Then I smelled and, rather later, saw the Hog’s Head and such notions were dashed. It was clearly the only place the couple could afford; which is too bad, because the proprietor should be the one who pays the rest of us to drink his swill.
At least the punch was unpolluted. After about one o’clock Sunday afternoon, at any rate, the buildings and streets of Hogsmeade seemed to be their usual color again.
By coincidence, the bride and groom were both people I had interviewed before. Erastus “Merlin” Sidwell made an unexpectedly strong showing (12th place) in an Iwixarod broom race some years ago, and he was quoted in my report of that race. His exact words were: “I prefer bundimun grease, myself.” And his intended, Miss Doreen Pinch (known as “Endora” to her friends) had guided my tour of the Bertie Botts Flavor Lab, where she was a taste-tester at the time. I remember her as a remarkable woman who was able to tell a great deal about me by smell alone. During the day I learned that Merlin now works as a “special consultant” — I’m not sure what that means — while Endora has moved up the career ladder to Senior Potion Designer. Bride and groom wore matching carnival masks, as a nod to Hog’s Head tradition (all the guests were furnished with masks as well).
I didn’t see very much of my subject that day, but I did encounter a surprising range of people considering the caliber of the establishment. I met a married couple of highly decorated RMB agents who were also once Owlympic medalists (I had interviewed them too), an American agent who specializes in quick-change disguises (I believe he was at least five of the people I shook hands with), and a dodgy looking couple covered in animated tattoos (which posed witty remarks to passersby, in ornate handwriting). I met a wandwright from Finland, an Austrian couple who run a survival school for wizards, a Ukrainian art-wizard (who, by the way his eyes lingered on the tattooed couple, must have been responsible for their body art), several Italian clown-wizards, and a couple of Durmstrang professors. A former member of Nasal Drip gave a solo musical performance that was at least as loud and obnoxious as anything his old band could do. A wizard rich enough to keep his name out of the paper stood near me through the whole song, stoically enduring it in order to keep an eye on his teenage son, who has enough mischief in him to make the name-out-of-paper thing more expensive every year. Sir Lionel Niblet and Dr. Miles O’Roughage were also on hand, holding a soft yet animated conversation in a corner throughout the wedding.
After the ceremony came a meal which I would rather not recall in detail; the punch helped in that respect. At the climax of the banquet, toasts were made and gifts were given to the newly wedded couple.
The RMB agents gave the Sidwells a stoppered flask of some blood-red potion which, they warned, was not to be unstoppered except in the gravest emergency, and only then when Mrs. Sidwell was wearing nose-plugs. It was difficult to follow the explanation of this potion, owing perhaps to some shared background between the agents and the Sidwells, but I gathered that the potion came from a variety of orchid bred by Sir Lionel, and was brewed by Dr. O’Roughage. “It smells like rotting flesh, and it evaporates instantly when struck a violent, physical blow,” they announced. “But until then, a few drops of it shield the wearer against all magic directed against a conscious, living person.”
The next noteworthy gift, following a set of wands, some gag gifts from the clowns, a flask of “eyedropper banquet,” chits for free body art, and similar items, was a large box delivered by two house-elves. I knew the elves at once. Their master, a portable-wall magnate, has been very reclusive lately, and I was curious to know what gift he might have sent to a wedding without appearing himself to give it. It turned out that the box was empty, but it came with a cryptic message which Merlin read aloud: “If this is empty when you receive it, don’t be distressed. My calculations have a wide margin for error. Keep the box, and look inside it now and again, until you find a token of my very personal affection and esteem for both of you. Eventually, the day will come when I will have put something in this box before it was going to be delivered.”
One of the last gifts was presented by Professor Swerve. The couple smiled politely as he handed them an ingot of some dull-brown metal. And this was where I was repaid for all my difficulty in following him at this wedding. As Merlin Sidwell hefted the heavy bar of not-very-precious-looking material, the paraphysicist explained:
“For your special day, and for all your days together, I give you the gift of laughter. As you know, I have spent the last two decades studying the effects of magic on molecules, atoms, and subatomic particles. Last year, I finally published my discoveries, including several new states of matter that can only exist under the influence of magic. This bar may seem to contain nothing but a blend of ordinary minerals. But I have charmed it into a state that I like to call ‘laughing matter.’ Whether there is a lot of it or a little; whether it is precious or common; whether solid, liquid, or gas, laughing matter is held together by the energy of pure joy. Touch it when you are angry or frustrated, and you will see the absurdity in your situation and your frown will become a chuckle. Touch it in a time of grief or pain, and you will suddenly remember the good things you still have to be happy about. Touch it when you are terrified and hopeless, and that which you dread may reveal desirable aspects. Touch it at a joyful time, like today, and you add to its stored energy, and to the good memories that will return to you at a time of need.
“Touch it together,” Professor Swerve continued, “and it fosters trust and contentment. Break it in half” – here Merlin effortlessly snapped the ingot in two, causing a stir throughout the pub – “when you cannot be together, and when you both hold it at the same time, you will feel closer to each other. Put the pieces back together” – Merlin did this – “and it sticks in one piece, as if you had never broken it. It also makes an excellent doorstop, for few things are as friendly as an open door; and, when used as a bookend, laughing matter causes nearby books to seem more entertaining the next time you open them. Tonight, I suggest that you tuck it under the...”
“What a lovely gift,” said Merlin, loudly interrupting the professor’s speech, while his bride reddened to the tip of her rather impressive nose.
After taking the Floo network back to Professor Swerve’s study, I told him how impressed I was with what he had said and done at the Sidwell wedding. He shrugged, smiling mysteriously, and said, “You don’t think I would really give such a priceless specimen – moreover, one that neither science nor magic has yet fully explained – to a couple of risk-takers like them? It would be murder. Or, worse, it would be a methodological blunder. I had forgotten to bring a gift, but I found a pile of those bricks out behind the Hog’s Head and checked to make sure there wasn’t anything dodgy about them before choosing one. I put a breaking-and-rejoining charm on it – a little trick on which I often dined out in my salad days. The rest of it was pure codswallop.”
Seeing my shocked expression, Professor Swerve laughed kindly and added, “I also applied a bit of magic in my speech. The magic of psychology. If those youngsters took me even a wee bit seriously, that brick will be a symbol to them, a symbol whose meaning they will pull out of themselves. I mean, really! To give them, actually give them, what I described would be meddling in things where I have no business. It is better this way.”
“So,” I asked, ashamed to notice a tone of childish disappointment in my own voice, “so is there no such thing as ‘laughing matter’ at all?”
“Oh, to be sure, there is! I’ve got some of it right here,” said Professor Swerve, getting up to fetch a waxy looking lump, encased in crystal, out of a locked cupboard. “And if they knew anything about it, they would thank me for not giving it them. Real ‘laughing matter’ is terrible, chaotic stuff; absolutely insane.”
He handed the crystal to me and I turned it over in my hands. “What does it do?” I asked.
“Oh! It is the stuff that moves things around when your back is turned. It hides your keys, causes your toilet to overflow, and stops nearby timepieces just when you are waiting for a certain hour to strike. I once observed a lump of ‘laughing matter’ to re-tune a piano so that, no matter what keys you played, the only thing you could get out of it was the ‘Tristan chord.’ Whenever you feel that someone, somewhere, must be laughing at you, you might have a bit of this stuff stuck to your shoe. With a brick of real laughing matter, the Sidwell’s marriage wouldn’t have lasted a week!
“Promise you won’t print any of this?” Professor Swerve added meekly.
“On my honor as a journalist,” I said, handing the crystal-encased lump back to him.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE FOR TMQ #120 +++
SURVEY: How does the angel-faced villain from TMQ #117 combine magic with golf? (A) He uses magic to create a self-maintaining, perfect golf course. (B) He uses magical plants, beasts, and other hazards to make his links the most difficult and dangerous course in the world. (C) He plays a wizarding variant of golf involving balls that go up but do not come down (unless played in that direction); players must be able to fly and, on occasion, play underwater. (D) He uses magic to enhance his performance in order to collect huge winnings on ordinary golf tours. (E) Other...
CONTEST: Describe a magical piece of jewelry and its properties.
Special thanks are due to the Cornwall County Council for inspiration provided by their Silly Names List [EDIT: Alas, this webpage no longer exists]. ANOTHER EDIT: What a pity that Blogger has a 200-character limit for labels. The list below should also include Algernon Swerve, Harvey, Dinty, Heidi Svendanna, Tatyana, and Owlympics.
[Originally posted 5/16/07]
Friday, December 26, 2008
109. Murder on the Hogwarts Express
Concept contributed by Dragonic
Contest winners: _houdini and pdhorner
The silence that awaited the end of Merlin’s story was so complete, it hardly seemed that anyone could be breathing. It didn’t last long. After squeezing Endora’s hand and taking a sip of firewhisky, Merlin carried on:
“As we dashed across the ground-level chambers and offices at Gringotts, naked except for Anatoly’s animated skin camoflage, the next few moments are blurred together in my memory. I remember feelings of confusion, panic, embarrassment, and above all such desperation that I might have killed any goblin who tried to stand in my way. Whatever happened, whether it took thirty seconds or thirty minutes, my next clear memory is of running down Diagon Alley on a bitterly cold January morning. Somehow I had got Rigel riding me pig-a-back. Signor Subito was doing the same on Signor Boccachiusa’s back. Another thing that mildly surprised me was that we had all stuck together.
“It was too cold to stay out in that weather, even for long enough to make the hike up to the Leaky Cauldron. So I yelled, ‘This way!’ and crashed through the front door of Madam Malkin’s robe shop, only a few doors down from the bank. It didn’t take Madam Malkin or her assistant, Miss Nickleby, long to understand our distress. We were herded into a back room with a cozy fire and a lot of warm blankets. New robes and cloaks were purchased for all, on Orion Oldmanson’s account. We had several visitors over the next few hours, including Mr. Olivander, who set us up with replacement wands. Someone else furnished us with bowls of hot soup and tankards of butterbeer. I missed a lot of what went on, since the combination of exhaustion and the lovely feeling of something in my stomach sent me right into a deep sleep.
“In my moments of consciousness I picked up an idea that Madam Malkin was hooked into some kind of underground railroad...er, figuratively speaking. We had seen enough of the literal kind. The next day some trolls carried us all in a closed litter to the back door of the Leaky Cauldron, where we stayed for about a week. No one took our pictures or asked us for our story. No Ministry agents interrogated us. Even when we sat in the saloon at mealtimes, no one bothered us or even seemed to look at us.
“Then one day, a car came for us. It was one of those little German cars with room in the backseat for all nine of us, plus Don Pagliai’s hair, which almost counted as a tenth passenger. The driver wore the hood of his cloak up so we never saw his face. He drove us to King’s Cross and put us on the Hogwarts Express. The train would have had two or three other passengers that day, but the bloke in the hood talked the other lot into postponing their trip to Hogsmeade, so we had the whole train to ourselves, except for the cloak bloke.
“We all woke up when the train whistle blew, coming into Hogsmeade station. I heard the Durmstrang lads open their door, just down the train from the compartment Rigel and I were sharing. Someone yelled out. I sprang out of my seat and into the corridor, where all the clowns and Durmstrang lads were already standing over a dead body.”
Joe Albuquerque choked on a mouthful of Butterbeer and coughed, “Whose dead body?”
“A pale, blond, blue-eyed man with a ferocious expression frozen on his features. A huge, silver-bladed dagger stuck out of his chest. The oddest thing was that he was naked, his skin looking waxy in the moonlight that came through the carriage windows. And the man in the hooded cloak had gone.”
“Maybe the naked fellow WAS the hooded cloak bloke,” Sadie suggested, her words slightly garbled by the pipe stem held between her teeth.
Spanky sighed impatiently, but said nothing.
“But where did the cloak go?” asked Merlin. “We searched up and down the train. The only other people on board were the driver and the beverage cart lady, whom we found sleeping with earplugs in and a mask over her eyes. By this time we had stopped in Hogsmeade, and the local law wizards were interrogating everybody. Apparently they were satisfied that none of us had done the murder, but they didn’t like the vagueness of the rest of our story — who we were, where we had come from, what we were planning to do in Hogsmeade, and so forth. Luckily, before they could pry the whole story out of us, Orion Oldmanson showed up and whisked us all off. We never found out who the dead blonde fellow was, or what he was doing on the train naked with a knife sticking out of him. And of course, we had no idea how the cloak bloke was connected. What’s more, we never read a word about the murder, or heard about it from anyone. It was as if it never happened.”
“So it really had nothing to do with your escape from Gringotts,” growled Spanky, unexpectedly.
Merlin flinched a bit, then said, “No, I suppose not. It just seemed interesting, that’s all.”
“Then stick to your story,” Spanky advised, a bit less testily.
“All-all right,” Merlin stammered. “Well, Old Man Oldmanson took us round to his house and nursed us all back to health. We were shockingly malnourished, you know, and our nerves were completely shot. The quiet country life was just the therapy we needed. After a little while of having nothing to do but play croquet with a set of Quidditch balls, we couldn’t wait to get back to a life of sheer terror.
“Orion gave the clowns and the Durmstrang lads some traveling money — and I rather think, more than just traveling money — and they all left to begin their new lives. I stayed on a bit longer, helping Orion make a few arrangements for raising Rigel all over again. I engaged a private tutor named Professor Biddle, who sent his head to the Floo in Rigel’s day-nursery promptly at 9 a.m. every day, not to teach him a lot of stuff he had already learned during his first childhood, but all the things he had missed: manners, ethics, philosophy, stories of heroic halfbloods and Muggleborns to counteract all the Dark stuff his mother had drilled into him. I also stocked up on a new line of parental discipline aids from the Purple Papoose.”
Spanky had pulled out a quill and parchment and was adding a third line under the name “Biddle” when he asked, “What kinds of aids?”
Merlin scratched his head, not having expected his audience’s interest to lean this way. “Er. Let me see. There was the Nag, sort of a disembodied voice that follows the brat around, lecturing him about proper behavior. Saves you a lot of breath, does the Nag. Then there was the MagiBANd, a sort of charm bracelet that squelches a child’s magical powers until Mum or Dad says the magic word that takes it off. Force the kid to live like a Muggle for a while, and he won’t forget the lesson.
“My favorite, of course, was the self-spanking paddle, which could be programmed to swat a little bum whenever it did anything on a customized list of crimes. While those things lasted, Rigel had a bit of discipline, without Old Man Orion having to run himself to death chasing the child. Actually, though, I bought these things on my own initiative. I don’t think Orion would have thought of disciplining Rigel the second time around, any more than he had done the first time.
“The old man wanted me to settle down on his estate, help him raise the lad, but I was dying to get back to London and catch up on all the people and jobs I had lost track of. Did a lot of cross-country broomstick racing, cockatrice hunting, Hippogriff handling, anything I could do out of doors. And that was what I was doing when Harvey...er, where did Harvey go?”
Everyone glanced around and shrugged. Sadie suggested the loo.
“Hmm,” Merlin said.
“Hmm, indeed,” said Spanky, exchanging a worried glance with Endora.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE for TMQ 111! +++
Next time, The Magic Quill will share some of the responses readers sent to the latest challenge, as to whether TMQ should continue. The week after that — at the risk of giving away the results of the previous challenge - theMagic Quill will feature the winning entries to the Survey and Contest below. Robbie picks the Contest entry he likes best; the Survey answer that gets the most votes wins.
SURVEY: Now that Merlin’s tale is complete, what should be the next “top priority” tale from the back parlor of the Hog’s Head? (A) How the murder on the Hogwarts Express is connected with Spanky’s unfinished tale about a werewolf. (B) How Sadie made and lost each of her successive fortunes. (C) What happens to Harvey after he takes a drink of his Live-Backward-In-Time potion? (D) Other: _____ (write in your own idea, or vote for someone else’s write-in idea).
CONTEST: What unusual things might you find in a well-to-do witch or wizard’s garden?
Please, don’t wait for inspiration to strike: come as you are to the TMQ discussion forum, and add your “off the cuff” Survey & Contest answers to help Robbie (and the Quill) come up with ideas for the chapter after next! [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
[Originally posted 12/28/06]
Contest winners: _houdini and pdhorner
The silence that awaited the end of Merlin’s story was so complete, it hardly seemed that anyone could be breathing. It didn’t last long. After squeezing Endora’s hand and taking a sip of firewhisky, Merlin carried on:
“As we dashed across the ground-level chambers and offices at Gringotts, naked except for Anatoly’s animated skin camoflage, the next few moments are blurred together in my memory. I remember feelings of confusion, panic, embarrassment, and above all such desperation that I might have killed any goblin who tried to stand in my way. Whatever happened, whether it took thirty seconds or thirty minutes, my next clear memory is of running down Diagon Alley on a bitterly cold January morning. Somehow I had got Rigel riding me pig-a-back. Signor Subito was doing the same on Signor Boccachiusa’s back. Another thing that mildly surprised me was that we had all stuck together.
“It was too cold to stay out in that weather, even for long enough to make the hike up to the Leaky Cauldron. So I yelled, ‘This way!’ and crashed through the front door of Madam Malkin’s robe shop, only a few doors down from the bank. It didn’t take Madam Malkin or her assistant, Miss Nickleby, long to understand our distress. We were herded into a back room with a cozy fire and a lot of warm blankets. New robes and cloaks were purchased for all, on Orion Oldmanson’s account. We had several visitors over the next few hours, including Mr. Olivander, who set us up with replacement wands. Someone else furnished us with bowls of hot soup and tankards of butterbeer. I missed a lot of what went on, since the combination of exhaustion and the lovely feeling of something in my stomach sent me right into a deep sleep.
“In my moments of consciousness I picked up an idea that Madam Malkin was hooked into some kind of underground railroad...er, figuratively speaking. We had seen enough of the literal kind. The next day some trolls carried us all in a closed litter to the back door of the Leaky Cauldron, where we stayed for about a week. No one took our pictures or asked us for our story. No Ministry agents interrogated us. Even when we sat in the saloon at mealtimes, no one bothered us or even seemed to look at us.
“Then one day, a car came for us. It was one of those little German cars with room in the backseat for all nine of us, plus Don Pagliai’s hair, which almost counted as a tenth passenger. The driver wore the hood of his cloak up so we never saw his face. He drove us to King’s Cross and put us on the Hogwarts Express. The train would have had two or three other passengers that day, but the bloke in the hood talked the other lot into postponing their trip to Hogsmeade, so we had the whole train to ourselves, except for the cloak bloke.
“We all woke up when the train whistle blew, coming into Hogsmeade station. I heard the Durmstrang lads open their door, just down the train from the compartment Rigel and I were sharing. Someone yelled out. I sprang out of my seat and into the corridor, where all the clowns and Durmstrang lads were already standing over a dead body.”
Joe Albuquerque choked on a mouthful of Butterbeer and coughed, “Whose dead body?”
“A pale, blond, blue-eyed man with a ferocious expression frozen on his features. A huge, silver-bladed dagger stuck out of his chest. The oddest thing was that he was naked, his skin looking waxy in the moonlight that came through the carriage windows. And the man in the hooded cloak had gone.”
“Maybe the naked fellow WAS the hooded cloak bloke,” Sadie suggested, her words slightly garbled by the pipe stem held between her teeth.
Spanky sighed impatiently, but said nothing.
“But where did the cloak go?” asked Merlin. “We searched up and down the train. The only other people on board were the driver and the beverage cart lady, whom we found sleeping with earplugs in and a mask over her eyes. By this time we had stopped in Hogsmeade, and the local law wizards were interrogating everybody. Apparently they were satisfied that none of us had done the murder, but they didn’t like the vagueness of the rest of our story — who we were, where we had come from, what we were planning to do in Hogsmeade, and so forth. Luckily, before they could pry the whole story out of us, Orion Oldmanson showed up and whisked us all off. We never found out who the dead blonde fellow was, or what he was doing on the train naked with a knife sticking out of him. And of course, we had no idea how the cloak bloke was connected. What’s more, we never read a word about the murder, or heard about it from anyone. It was as if it never happened.”
“So it really had nothing to do with your escape from Gringotts,” growled Spanky, unexpectedly.
Merlin flinched a bit, then said, “No, I suppose not. It just seemed interesting, that’s all.”
“Then stick to your story,” Spanky advised, a bit less testily.
“All-all right,” Merlin stammered. “Well, Old Man Oldmanson took us round to his house and nursed us all back to health. We were shockingly malnourished, you know, and our nerves were completely shot. The quiet country life was just the therapy we needed. After a little while of having nothing to do but play croquet with a set of Quidditch balls, we couldn’t wait to get back to a life of sheer terror.
“Orion gave the clowns and the Durmstrang lads some traveling money — and I rather think, more than just traveling money — and they all left to begin their new lives. I stayed on a bit longer, helping Orion make a few arrangements for raising Rigel all over again. I engaged a private tutor named Professor Biddle, who sent his head to the Floo in Rigel’s day-nursery promptly at 9 a.m. every day, not to teach him a lot of stuff he had already learned during his first childhood, but all the things he had missed: manners, ethics, philosophy, stories of heroic halfbloods and Muggleborns to counteract all the Dark stuff his mother had drilled into him. I also stocked up on a new line of parental discipline aids from the Purple Papoose.”
Spanky had pulled out a quill and parchment and was adding a third line under the name “Biddle” when he asked, “What kinds of aids?”
Merlin scratched his head, not having expected his audience’s interest to lean this way. “Er. Let me see. There was the Nag, sort of a disembodied voice that follows the brat around, lecturing him about proper behavior. Saves you a lot of breath, does the Nag. Then there was the MagiBANd, a sort of charm bracelet that squelches a child’s magical powers until Mum or Dad says the magic word that takes it off. Force the kid to live like a Muggle for a while, and he won’t forget the lesson.
“My favorite, of course, was the self-spanking paddle, which could be programmed to swat a little bum whenever it did anything on a customized list of crimes. While those things lasted, Rigel had a bit of discipline, without Old Man Orion having to run himself to death chasing the child. Actually, though, I bought these things on my own initiative. I don’t think Orion would have thought of disciplining Rigel the second time around, any more than he had done the first time.
“The old man wanted me to settle down on his estate, help him raise the lad, but I was dying to get back to London and catch up on all the people and jobs I had lost track of. Did a lot of cross-country broomstick racing, cockatrice hunting, Hippogriff handling, anything I could do out of doors. And that was what I was doing when Harvey...er, where did Harvey go?”
Everyone glanced around and shrugged. Sadie suggested the loo.
“Hmm,” Merlin said.
“Hmm, indeed,” said Spanky, exchanging a worried glance with Endora.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE for TMQ 111! +++
Next time, The Magic Quill will share some of the responses readers sent to the latest challenge, as to whether TMQ should continue. The week after that — at the risk of giving away the results of the previous challenge - theMagic Quill will feature the winning entries to the Survey and Contest below. Robbie picks the Contest entry he likes best; the Survey answer that gets the most votes wins.
SURVEY: Now that Merlin’s tale is complete, what should be the next “top priority” tale from the back parlor of the Hog’s Head? (A) How the murder on the Hogwarts Express is connected with Spanky’s unfinished tale about a werewolf. (B) How Sadie made and lost each of her successive fortunes. (C) What happens to Harvey after he takes a drink of his Live-Backward-In-Time potion? (D) Other: _____ (write in your own idea, or vote for someone else’s write-in idea).
CONTEST: What unusual things might you find in a well-to-do witch or wizard’s garden?
Please, don’t wait for inspiration to strike: come as you are to the TMQ discussion forum, and add your “off the cuff” Survey & Contest answers to help Robbie (and the Quill) come up with ideas for the chapter after next! [EDIT: This discussion is now closed.]
[Originally posted 12/28/06]
108. The Final Causeway
Contest winner: TWZRD
Merlin paused to drain a smoking goblet before continuing with his tale. The others in the small parlor waited restlessly: one wearing a veil, one a fake mustache and glasses, another’s face concealed by the hood of his cloak, still another’s by a handkerchief, and the last disguised as a shapely young woman, though a shadow of a beard was starting to show on his face. At last, Merlin resumed speaking...
“Naturally, we all followed Rigel down the stairs that were revealed under the tomb of the goblin twins. By the light from the cloak of visibility, which it was Signor Boccachiusa’s turn to wear, we saw that the stairs descended onto a wide, smooth, stone causeway. The walls curved over our heads, no more than six feet up from the floor, so we had to stay near the center of the causeway – and some of us had to stoop a bit.
“The causeway curved to the right, quite sharply at first, but less so as we moved along. Young Karl observed that we were moving along a spiral, and on a gradual upward slope. There wasn’t much else to be observed – no doors, no steps, no features on the walls. Not much, that is, for the first few miles. Then Don Pagliai pointed out something shiny on the edge of the causeway ahead of us. As Signor Subito hopped forward to fetch it, Slavik screamed at him to stop. It was Rigel who saved him, by tackling the little clown before he could reach the pile of coins that appeared to have been left carelessly on the ground.
“’Explain why you have done this,’ snarled Don Pagliai, as he inspected his friend’s scraped elbows and torn trousers.
“’I just saved Subito’s life,’ Rigel snarled right back, and he marched off into the darkness – not far, by the sound of his dragging feet, but far enough to be able to pout in privacy. Even having once been a grown-up didn’t change the fact that he was a small child, after all.
“’He’s right,’ said Slavik, as Subito filled his lungs for what looked like another tremendous display of swearing. The small clown bit his tongue while Slavik explained. ‘Rigel must have realized at the same time I did – and it just shows that it pays to listen in magical history class – what this place is, and knowing that, we also know that you must never touch anything in here that looks like treasure.
“’This,’ Slavik continued, ‘is almost certainly the Final Causeway.’
“He beamed round at the rest of us, no doubt expecting loud exclamations of wonder and incredulity. When he saw nothing but blank faces, he rolled his eyes at us and said, ‘Have none of you heard of the Four Causeways?’ None of us had. ‘Everyone knows there are Four Causeways at Gringotts — four pathways that run directly from the surface level to the deepest heart of the bank. No one but goblins are ever meant to see them and live. Each one is connected with a certain, secret goblin ritual.
“’First, there’s the Material Causeway, whose location is most coveted by would-be thieves. It is said to lead to a huge vault containing the richest treasures the goblins possess. Guarding it, and even visiting it, are very special privileges even for goblins. Next is the Formal Causeway, leading to the Chamber of Avarice where the goblins’ governing board meets. Disputes are settled there, sentences passed, treaties ratified. Then there is the Efficient Causeway, which connects the bank to a sort of goblin Hogwarts – a place where young goblins learn whatever the old goblins want them to know. Business practices, maybe. Or the arts of war, maybe.’
“’Don’t bother telling us where the Final Causeway leads,’ I said. ‘We’ve just come from there. So this is the path they use for their funeral processions, right?’
“’Right,’ said Slavik. ‘The goblins are very clever. They have to be, in order to loot ancient tombs and temples without having their pointy ears blasted off by the security curses. And being clever, the goblins have picked up a lot of ideas from the places they plundered. Ideas they then applied to their own security. So unless Rigel and I are both quite mistaken...’
“’The booty in the goblin place of the dead will be protected by some serious curses,’ I guessed.
“Subito shuddered as we walked past another glimmering pile of jewels and gold. Then he squeaked as we approached a pile of bones — human bones — mixed with a few other things like a knife and a silver ring.
“’That narrows down the type of curse we’re faced with,’ Slavik said. ‘I believe that all this treasure is protected by the Somnium Cogo curse. Pick up one coin, and you’ll fall into an everlasting sleep. Or at least, the sleep will last until you starve to death. The bones we see there — and look! There is another pile of bones — mean that occasionally, a foolish burglar is allowed to find his way in here.’
“’Allowed?’ Don Pagliai asked, looking nauseous.
“’Why not?’ said Slavik. ‘They never get away with anything, do they? In fact, by leaving behind whatever they brought with them, they rather increase the amount of treasure collected here.’
“By now, we were far past being shocked by any horrid thing the goblins might do. Nevertheless, looking round at the other Durmstrang lads, I saw faces white with anxiety.
“Rigel rejoined the circle of light around Signor Boccachiusa, though he hadn’t quite finished with pouting. Karl persuaded Rigel to dig into his pocket-universe storage unit, where he found a basket of fresh fruit and some hard-boiled eggs. We stopped to rest and eat, then continued walking up the gentle slope, round the gently spiraling curve of the goblins’ Final Causeway.
“After several more rest stops of increasing length, including a bit of sleep, Karl spoke up again. ‘I belieff ve are getting close to the surface. Ve need to plan vhat to do vhen ve get to the end of this Causevay. Once ve are out in the open, ve von’t have much time to escape from the bank.’
“’They will catch us again,’ Don Pagliai wailed. ‘I can’t stand it!’
“’Ve need a diversion,’ Karl declared.
“’What good is diversion unless we know layout of place where we come out?’ Anatoly countered.
“’They are too many for us,’ said Don Pagliai. ‘We are big, slow, and weak.’
“’We can take them by surprise,’ said Slavik.
“I said, ’Haven’t you learned by now that there is no way to surprise the goblins?’
“’Where does that leave us?’ said Slavik. ‘We have to escape. We have to at least try.’
“’They vill try to stop us,’ said Karl. ‘And they are qvite good at it.’
“’Let them try,’ Rigel said, determination ringing in his high childish voice. ‘Nothing is going to stop me now.’
“A second later, Rigel was stopped in mid-stride with a sudden smacking sound. He fell flat on his back, yelling, with a nick on his chin, a bruise on his forehead, and a bite-mark on his tongue.
“’Well, that’s that,’ Don Pagliai said bitterly as his hands felt around in what looked like empty air. ‘It’s as solid as stone. In fact, I would swear it was stone. Must be another of those invisible walls.’
“Karl came forward and made his own survey of the blockage ahead of us. ‘No, feel here,’ he said. ‘Here is a door. The knob turns...’
“A sliver of light flooded into the tunnel. Jaan threw himself against the concealed door and pressed it shut, hurling curses at Karl that I couldn’t pronounce if I tried.
“’Don’t be a fool,’ Slavik translated. ‘If you open that door, goblins might notice us before we have a chance to do anything. They could attack while our eyes are adjusting to the light.’
“’I have idea,’ said Anatoly, who by now was taking his turn at caressing the disguised wall. ‘This is ordinary wall, painted to look like corridor goes on. But is not ordinary paint. See — perspective holds even up close, from every angle. Is magical paint, camouflage.’
“’That really helpth a lot,’ Rigel sneered. He was understandably in a bad mood; his tongue was swollen where he had bitten it.
“’What if we disguised ourselves same way?’ Anatoly said, ignoring Rigel’s remark. He looked more eager each minute. ‘I used to draw and paint well. With wand, perhaps I can copy type of coloring spell used on this wall.’
“’That would be a good idea,’ said Slavik, ‘if only we had a wand.’”
“Jaan smacked himself on the forehead, then tried a few halting sentences in English, before giving up and pouring out a stream of rapid words in a language he shared with the others. By now I could actually understand about a tenth of what he said at his usual speed, but this time he was talking so fast that I couldn’t make out a word.
“’Of course!’ Slavik cried. ‘Rigel has the last wand in his pocket locker! It’s been there since he was — er...’
“’Reborn,’ Don Pagliai suggested.
“Rigel turned red and fumed, but his tongue was too swollen to say anything we could understand. All the same, he dug out the wand Jaan had made ages ago, and which had never been used before Rigel’s little mistake with the Yesterday Pills. The next part was a bit ticklish and embarrassing. Each of us took his robes off, one after another, so Anatoly could cover every inch of our bodies with a camouflage spell. It didn’t help that, after tinting Rigel and the clowns, the wand started shooting ice pellets at three-second intervals.
“’One more thing that comes of using an Augurey feather as a wand core,’ Jaan said ruefully, with Slavik translating.
“’At last we were all covered with animated tattoos that made us blend in with the walls and floor. The effect was less than invisibility but more than Disillusionment. If you looked directly at one of us, you could see his general shape because of the way his movements distorted the image on his skin. Our eyes, the insides of our mouths, and our hair were still visible. In addition, the Durmstrang lads and I were covered in welts from the ice pellets, and shivering from the cold as well. It felt insane; we were about to walk out into some unknown part of Gringotts, completely naked, and all we could discuss was whether or not to use the wand one more time to make our hair go away.
“Stay close to the walls until you see a door that leads outside,’ Karl instructed us. ‘Then run like your life depends on it.’
“’It does,’ said Don Pagliai.
“We were leaving everything behind now. Rigel’s robes with the pocket locker and all the handy things in it. The cloak of visibility. The silken ladder. The portable hole...all of it would be left behind in the Final Causeway, to tempt future treasure hunters to their doom. We all knew that if we were caught again, we would not survive long without these things. No one had to say anything about it as we looked at each other’s eyes, strangely floating along with disembodied heads of hair and an occasional glimpse of teeth and tongue.
“’Night of the flying hairpieces,’ Rigel joked. Some of us laughed nervously.
“Then Karl gave us a count of three, and threw open the concealed door...”
+++ A MESSAGE FROM ROBBIE +++
In the last few months, demands on my time have increased, while response from readers has dropped off. So the “Challenge” for this time is: Go to the Feedback Form and tell me if you think it is worth our while (yours AND mine) to continue “The Magic Quill.” Frankly, when I only hear from a handful of readers on a regular basis, I wonder whether anyone would notice if TMQ quietly went away. So, if you want this column to continue, please shoot me some feedback on it! [EDIT: Needless to say, these instructions are ancient history.]
Whatever happens, I plan to continue writing reviews for “The Book Trolley.” I don’t plan to end my involvement with MuggleNet. Plus, after nearly 110 chapters, I think everyone who has been involved in writing this column has plenty to be proud of. But the time I spend on “The Magic Quill” comes at a higher cost these days, so I would like to know if it’s still worth it. I hope to hear from you!
[Originally posted 12/17/06]
Merlin paused to drain a smoking goblet before continuing with his tale. The others in the small parlor waited restlessly: one wearing a veil, one a fake mustache and glasses, another’s face concealed by the hood of his cloak, still another’s by a handkerchief, and the last disguised as a shapely young woman, though a shadow of a beard was starting to show on his face. At last, Merlin resumed speaking...
“Naturally, we all followed Rigel down the stairs that were revealed under the tomb of the goblin twins. By the light from the cloak of visibility, which it was Signor Boccachiusa’s turn to wear, we saw that the stairs descended onto a wide, smooth, stone causeway. The walls curved over our heads, no more than six feet up from the floor, so we had to stay near the center of the causeway – and some of us had to stoop a bit.
“The causeway curved to the right, quite sharply at first, but less so as we moved along. Young Karl observed that we were moving along a spiral, and on a gradual upward slope. There wasn’t much else to be observed – no doors, no steps, no features on the walls. Not much, that is, for the first few miles. Then Don Pagliai pointed out something shiny on the edge of the causeway ahead of us. As Signor Subito hopped forward to fetch it, Slavik screamed at him to stop. It was Rigel who saved him, by tackling the little clown before he could reach the pile of coins that appeared to have been left carelessly on the ground.
“’Explain why you have done this,’ snarled Don Pagliai, as he inspected his friend’s scraped elbows and torn trousers.
“’I just saved Subito’s life,’ Rigel snarled right back, and he marched off into the darkness – not far, by the sound of his dragging feet, but far enough to be able to pout in privacy. Even having once been a grown-up didn’t change the fact that he was a small child, after all.
“’He’s right,’ said Slavik, as Subito filled his lungs for what looked like another tremendous display of swearing. The small clown bit his tongue while Slavik explained. ‘Rigel must have realized at the same time I did – and it just shows that it pays to listen in magical history class – what this place is, and knowing that, we also know that you must never touch anything in here that looks like treasure.
“’This,’ Slavik continued, ‘is almost certainly the Final Causeway.’
“He beamed round at the rest of us, no doubt expecting loud exclamations of wonder and incredulity. When he saw nothing but blank faces, he rolled his eyes at us and said, ‘Have none of you heard of the Four Causeways?’ None of us had. ‘Everyone knows there are Four Causeways at Gringotts — four pathways that run directly from the surface level to the deepest heart of the bank. No one but goblins are ever meant to see them and live. Each one is connected with a certain, secret goblin ritual.
“’First, there’s the Material Causeway, whose location is most coveted by would-be thieves. It is said to lead to a huge vault containing the richest treasures the goblins possess. Guarding it, and even visiting it, are very special privileges even for goblins. Next is the Formal Causeway, leading to the Chamber of Avarice where the goblins’ governing board meets. Disputes are settled there, sentences passed, treaties ratified. Then there is the Efficient Causeway, which connects the bank to a sort of goblin Hogwarts – a place where young goblins learn whatever the old goblins want them to know. Business practices, maybe. Or the arts of war, maybe.’
“’Don’t bother telling us where the Final Causeway leads,’ I said. ‘We’ve just come from there. So this is the path they use for their funeral processions, right?’
“’Right,’ said Slavik. ‘The goblins are very clever. They have to be, in order to loot ancient tombs and temples without having their pointy ears blasted off by the security curses. And being clever, the goblins have picked up a lot of ideas from the places they plundered. Ideas they then applied to their own security. So unless Rigel and I are both quite mistaken...’
“’The booty in the goblin place of the dead will be protected by some serious curses,’ I guessed.
“Subito shuddered as we walked past another glimmering pile of jewels and gold. Then he squeaked as we approached a pile of bones — human bones — mixed with a few other things like a knife and a silver ring.
“’That narrows down the type of curse we’re faced with,’ Slavik said. ‘I believe that all this treasure is protected by the Somnium Cogo curse. Pick up one coin, and you’ll fall into an everlasting sleep. Or at least, the sleep will last until you starve to death. The bones we see there — and look! There is another pile of bones — mean that occasionally, a foolish burglar is allowed to find his way in here.’
“’Allowed?’ Don Pagliai asked, looking nauseous.
“’Why not?’ said Slavik. ‘They never get away with anything, do they? In fact, by leaving behind whatever they brought with them, they rather increase the amount of treasure collected here.’
“By now, we were far past being shocked by any horrid thing the goblins might do. Nevertheless, looking round at the other Durmstrang lads, I saw faces white with anxiety.
“Rigel rejoined the circle of light around Signor Boccachiusa, though he hadn’t quite finished with pouting. Karl persuaded Rigel to dig into his pocket-universe storage unit, where he found a basket of fresh fruit and some hard-boiled eggs. We stopped to rest and eat, then continued walking up the gentle slope, round the gently spiraling curve of the goblins’ Final Causeway.
“After several more rest stops of increasing length, including a bit of sleep, Karl spoke up again. ‘I belieff ve are getting close to the surface. Ve need to plan vhat to do vhen ve get to the end of this Causevay. Once ve are out in the open, ve von’t have much time to escape from the bank.’
“’They will catch us again,’ Don Pagliai wailed. ‘I can’t stand it!’
“’Ve need a diversion,’ Karl declared.
“’What good is diversion unless we know layout of place where we come out?’ Anatoly countered.
“’They are too many for us,’ said Don Pagliai. ‘We are big, slow, and weak.’
“’We can take them by surprise,’ said Slavik.
“I said, ’Haven’t you learned by now that there is no way to surprise the goblins?’
“’Where does that leave us?’ said Slavik. ‘We have to escape. We have to at least try.’
“’They vill try to stop us,’ said Karl. ‘And they are qvite good at it.’
“’Let them try,’ Rigel said, determination ringing in his high childish voice. ‘Nothing is going to stop me now.’
“A second later, Rigel was stopped in mid-stride with a sudden smacking sound. He fell flat on his back, yelling, with a nick on his chin, a bruise on his forehead, and a bite-mark on his tongue.
“’Well, that’s that,’ Don Pagliai said bitterly as his hands felt around in what looked like empty air. ‘It’s as solid as stone. In fact, I would swear it was stone. Must be another of those invisible walls.’
“Karl came forward and made his own survey of the blockage ahead of us. ‘No, feel here,’ he said. ‘Here is a door. The knob turns...’
“A sliver of light flooded into the tunnel. Jaan threw himself against the concealed door and pressed it shut, hurling curses at Karl that I couldn’t pronounce if I tried.
“’Don’t be a fool,’ Slavik translated. ‘If you open that door, goblins might notice us before we have a chance to do anything. They could attack while our eyes are adjusting to the light.’
“’I have idea,’ said Anatoly, who by now was taking his turn at caressing the disguised wall. ‘This is ordinary wall, painted to look like corridor goes on. But is not ordinary paint. See — perspective holds even up close, from every angle. Is magical paint, camouflage.’
“’That really helpth a lot,’ Rigel sneered. He was understandably in a bad mood; his tongue was swollen where he had bitten it.
“’What if we disguised ourselves same way?’ Anatoly said, ignoring Rigel’s remark. He looked more eager each minute. ‘I used to draw and paint well. With wand, perhaps I can copy type of coloring spell used on this wall.’
“’That would be a good idea,’ said Slavik, ‘if only we had a wand.’”
“Jaan smacked himself on the forehead, then tried a few halting sentences in English, before giving up and pouring out a stream of rapid words in a language he shared with the others. By now I could actually understand about a tenth of what he said at his usual speed, but this time he was talking so fast that I couldn’t make out a word.
“’Of course!’ Slavik cried. ‘Rigel has the last wand in his pocket locker! It’s been there since he was — er...’
“’Reborn,’ Don Pagliai suggested.
“Rigel turned red and fumed, but his tongue was too swollen to say anything we could understand. All the same, he dug out the wand Jaan had made ages ago, and which had never been used before Rigel’s little mistake with the Yesterday Pills. The next part was a bit ticklish and embarrassing. Each of us took his robes off, one after another, so Anatoly could cover every inch of our bodies with a camouflage spell. It didn’t help that, after tinting Rigel and the clowns, the wand started shooting ice pellets at three-second intervals.
“’One more thing that comes of using an Augurey feather as a wand core,’ Jaan said ruefully, with Slavik translating.
“’At last we were all covered with animated tattoos that made us blend in with the walls and floor. The effect was less than invisibility but more than Disillusionment. If you looked directly at one of us, you could see his general shape because of the way his movements distorted the image on his skin. Our eyes, the insides of our mouths, and our hair were still visible. In addition, the Durmstrang lads and I were covered in welts from the ice pellets, and shivering from the cold as well. It felt insane; we were about to walk out into some unknown part of Gringotts, completely naked, and all we could discuss was whether or not to use the wand one more time to make our hair go away.
“Stay close to the walls until you see a door that leads outside,’ Karl instructed us. ‘Then run like your life depends on it.’
“’It does,’ said Don Pagliai.
“We were leaving everything behind now. Rigel’s robes with the pocket locker and all the handy things in it. The cloak of visibility. The silken ladder. The portable hole...all of it would be left behind in the Final Causeway, to tempt future treasure hunters to their doom. We all knew that if we were caught again, we would not survive long without these things. No one had to say anything about it as we looked at each other’s eyes, strangely floating along with disembodied heads of hair and an occasional glimpse of teeth and tongue.
“’Night of the flying hairpieces,’ Rigel joked. Some of us laughed nervously.
“Then Karl gave us a count of three, and threw open the concealed door...”
+++ A MESSAGE FROM ROBBIE +++
In the last few months, demands on my time have increased, while response from readers has dropped off. So the “Challenge” for this time is: Go to the Feedback Form and tell me if you think it is worth our while (yours AND mine) to continue “The Magic Quill.” Frankly, when I only hear from a handful of readers on a regular basis, I wonder whether anyone would notice if TMQ quietly went away. So, if you want this column to continue, please shoot me some feedback on it! [EDIT: Needless to say, these instructions are ancient history.]
Whatever happens, I plan to continue writing reviews for “The Book Trolley.” I don’t plan to end my involvement with MuggleNet. Plus, after nearly 110 chapters, I think everyone who has been involved in writing this column has plenty to be proud of. But the time I spend on “The Magic Quill” comes at a higher cost these days, so I would like to know if it’s still worth it. I hope to hear from you!
[Originally posted 12/17/06]
107. The Ossuaries
Contest winners: Potterpig, Norman Greene, zanaboo, jatibbal, Linda Carrig, rory86, Dragonic, _houdini, and Elizabeth
“So we went back downstream again. We had to find a way through that wall; that was our best chance. But after trying quite a few ideas that didn’t work, and having many arguments, each worse than the last, it began to look as if our group would break up and go separate ways. It was Rigel who finally saved us. We had landed him on one of the side-tunnels, where he had toddled off by himself...”
The silvery head of Merlin sank back into the Pensieve as the faces round the parlor table watched. Harvey pulled a handkerchief off his face (leaving it covered with another handkerchief, as per his custom at the Hog’s Head), and draped it over the Pensieve. The handkerchief fell flat against the table as the Pensieve vanished.
Sadie puffed on her pipe. Spanky used his great silver knife to carve a twist of lemon. Endora sipped at a smoking goblet. Joe Albuquerque continued to buff his nails, resplendent in his current disguise as a vivacious blonde in a knee-length skirt and a fuzzy pink pullover. All eyes were on Merlin.
Merlin sighed, torn between relief and wistfulness. “So it’s back to business as usual, then.”
“For now,” said Harvey. “Even though we’ve used your information to plan and execute our strike upon Gringotts, parts of your story remain untold. We burn with curiosity as to how one man could do the impossible not once, but twice. So you simply must tell us the rest of the tale of your first escape from Gringotts. Is everyone agreed?”
A chorus of “Certainly!” and “Not half!” or such expressions came from the corners of the table, where the original members of Harvey’s circle had finally reunited after many wild excursions.
“So then,” said Harvey, “after you abandoned the attempt to escape by the underground river, what happened next?”
“Well,” said Merlin, after pausing for a deep breath and an even deeper drink from his goblet, “I followed Rigel down the passage from the boat landing, and the others followed me. After several twists and turns, ups and downs, we suddenly came to a great vaulted chamber all done up in polished marble and gold flake. Set on pedestals all through the place, and in recesses in the walls, were small chests.
“We were just about to start prying the lids off some of the chests when Slavik screamed at us in four languages to stop. He knew exactly where we were somehow – scholarly chap, was Slavik. The chests didn’t contain magical items or even gold. They were ossuaries, said Slavik. The final resting places of the bones of dead goblins – and very important goblins too. I would rather not imagine what kind of curses would have come out if we had opened one of those chests.
“Each ossuary was made of smooth, polished stone, carved with glyphs and runes in some archaic dialect of Gobbledygook, and adorned at one end with a relief of a goblin’s head. Even in life they weren’t the handsomest or friendliest faces, and now in death they seemed to look out at us in baleful judgment, or perhaps a kind of chilling irony. The whole atmosphere of the room seemed to grow colder and creepier the more I looked around. I couldn’t help thinking that we were in a tomb – and wondering if it was going to be our tomb. There didn’t seem to be any way out but the way we had come, and we were out of options.
“I sat down on a bare pedestal, facing a corner of the room that didn’t have many ossuaries in it, and began composing a speech in my mind – conceding defeat, and accepting our doom then and there. Slavik and the clowns went around the room, prodding the walls and the floor for signs of a secret passage. The other Durmstrang lads huddled near the entrance, too unnerved to come in any farther. With a corner of my eye, out of habit, I kept a watch on young Rigel as he skipped around, pausing now and then to run his fingers over a stone goblin’s face.
“I said before that he toddled, but now that I think of it, he had grown a good bit past toddling, and was rather at the stage where they never stop asking questions. Only now he wasn’t asking anything. If I hadn’t been so busy preparing a grim summation, I would have wondered what he was up to. As it turns out, Rigel was remembering things he had learned in his first childhood by listening – actually listening! – to Professor Binns in History of Magic.
“'Crookchin,' he said, very insistently. I realized that he had said it five or six times while I wasn’t listening. He came over to me and tugged on my sleeve until I followed him round the opposite end of a particularly ornate ossuary. He pointed at the face carved in relief in the stone. ‘Crookchin,’ he repeated again.
“'That’s lovely,' I said in a patient voice, and patted his head. As far as I knew, he was describing the goblin’s facial features, or making up names for the carved heads. ‘Yes, Crookchin indeed,’ I said indulgently. ‘I seem to recall he was involved in that scandal about spinning straw into gold.’
“'Don’t be stupid,' piped Rigel. ‘Crookchin was a pioneer in the dragon-spotting school of treasure gathering. Thanks to his reforms, Gringotts achieved solvency for the first time since the Goblin Rebellion of 1438.’
“'Oh,' I said. It was becoming one of those increasingly frequent, bemusing moments when the old, grown-up Rigel seemed to be speaking through his new, tiny self. ‘Well, that’s nice to know,’ I added, recovering my self-possession. ‘Why don’t you take a look around, and when you’re done, you can tell me all about...’
“'This one over here is Hangnail the Putrid,' Rigel cut in, dragging me over to another ossuary. ‘His attempt to levy a tax on wizards’ and witches’ use of magic resulted in a boycott that lasted until Hangnail was killed by a falling piano. They say it wasn’t an accident.’
“’Whoever they are, they’re probably right,’ I said.
“’It didn’t happen soon enough to stop 8,500 goblins going bankrupt. They had to go into slavery, like house-elves. Over here is Vaultpawl the Sticky, who ended the goblin slave trade in 1765 by paying off all the owners. He ended up falling into a vat of molten silver and being struck into coins. Definitely not an accident; a disgruntled stockholder was seen giving him a push...’
“’Look, Rigel,’ I said, ‘This is all terribly interesting, but just now I have to think about something. Can we continue this history lesson another time?’
“He ignored me – or rather, he tightened his grip on my sleeve and forced me to view the graven image of Winzebind, who was celebrated for his charity work – for instance, he donated huge piles of gold for building St. Roz’s Parish Church in Leicester Square, the one that famously disappeared when its Secret Keeper absconded, as well as Our Lady of the Levitating Pulpit in Diagon Alley. His stockholders loved him because the donations were deductible from the Reparation Payments the Wizengamot demanded after the biting-knuts incident of 1511.
“I had only the vaguest notion of Professor Binns having talked about this stuff when I was at Hogwarts. Rigel rattled it all off as if it was his most vivid memory, and his enthusiasm was infectious. Instead of thinking about giving up and dying, I followed him around the tomb. He showed me the ossuary of Kreakjoint, who instituted the tradition of eating roasted niffler on the Sundays in Lent; Mokosh, Fachtna, and Cascrak, the far-sighted estate goblins who bought loads of land surrounded by hedges, which the bank sold generations later when we wizards ran out of well-hidden places to live; Bloodknot and Boulderfist, whose security measures in the 12th century resulted in the capture of Robin Steele, the last wizard to carry off a successful series of Gringotts burglaries.
“Finally we came to the ossuary of the conjoined twin goblins, Scythefinger and Screwfoot, who designed many of the miles of confusing tunnels, ghastly chambers, and deadly traps we had already been through. Their ossuary was bigger and more elaborate than most of the others. It actually showed the goblin brothers from head to toe, one of them with a twisted foot, the other with a long curved finger pointing out of the stone. Rigel reached out and gingerly touched the stone finger – and it moved.
“’Look out,’ I said, but he touched it again – pulled it downward, even – and without even a whisper of sound, the large ossuary slid sideways and revealed a set of stairs, lit by torches that suddenly flaired up.
“’Hey! Over here!’ I yelled, and the clowns and Durmstrang lads came running. ‘There’s a way out of here!’
“’But vhere does it lead?’ Karl asked, holding Slavik back from rushing down the stairs.
“’There is only one way to find out,’ said Don Pagliai. ‘We must go down these steps.’
“’But that is insanity,’ said Karl. ‘Haffen’t ve fallen into enough traps to learn not to...’
“’Scythefinger and Screwfoot were architects,’ Rigel yelled, so as to drown out any other discussion. He had been doing a great deal of this sort of thing, lately. ‘This must be how they got in and out while they were building this place.’
“’Nonsense,’ scoffed Karl. ‘They could have used the river, at least until that invisible wall was put up.’
“’They may have done that with the materials and the workers,’ Don Pagliai reasoned. ‘But surely, there had to be a quicker way in and out, while all this was being built?’
“’Let’s go down it,’ Slavik said restlessly.
“’Let’s stay,’ said Karl.
“’We’ll die here,’ said Don Pagliai.
“’Ve can go back to the vand tree preserve,’ said Karl.
“’I don’t want to live in a bloody bird sanctuary!’ Rigel screamed, and after kicking as many shins as he could reach, he took advantage of the lot of us being doubled over in pain and ran down the steps.”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
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: Do some wizards and witches get any formal education after Hogwarts? If so, where? (A) Trade school or on-the-job training only. (B) A magical college tucked away in a major university. (C) Mainly private research. (D) Other—please describe.
CONTEST: Describe a way a wizarding parent might discipline a naughty, wizarding child.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #109. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 11/12/06]
“So we went back downstream again. We had to find a way through that wall; that was our best chance. But after trying quite a few ideas that didn’t work, and having many arguments, each worse than the last, it began to look as if our group would break up and go separate ways. It was Rigel who finally saved us. We had landed him on one of the side-tunnels, where he had toddled off by himself...”
The silvery head of Merlin sank back into the Pensieve as the faces round the parlor table watched. Harvey pulled a handkerchief off his face (leaving it covered with another handkerchief, as per his custom at the Hog’s Head), and draped it over the Pensieve. The handkerchief fell flat against the table as the Pensieve vanished.
Sadie puffed on her pipe. Spanky used his great silver knife to carve a twist of lemon. Endora sipped at a smoking goblet. Joe Albuquerque continued to buff his nails, resplendent in his current disguise as a vivacious blonde in a knee-length skirt and a fuzzy pink pullover. All eyes were on Merlin.
Merlin sighed, torn between relief and wistfulness. “So it’s back to business as usual, then.”
“For now,” said Harvey. “Even though we’ve used your information to plan and execute our strike upon Gringotts, parts of your story remain untold. We burn with curiosity as to how one man could do the impossible not once, but twice. So you simply must tell us the rest of the tale of your first escape from Gringotts. Is everyone agreed?”
A chorus of “Certainly!” and “Not half!” or such expressions came from the corners of the table, where the original members of Harvey’s circle had finally reunited after many wild excursions.
“So then,” said Harvey, “after you abandoned the attempt to escape by the underground river, what happened next?”
“Well,” said Merlin, after pausing for a deep breath and an even deeper drink from his goblet, “I followed Rigel down the passage from the boat landing, and the others followed me. After several twists and turns, ups and downs, we suddenly came to a great vaulted chamber all done up in polished marble and gold flake. Set on pedestals all through the place, and in recesses in the walls, were small chests.
“We were just about to start prying the lids off some of the chests when Slavik screamed at us in four languages to stop. He knew exactly where we were somehow – scholarly chap, was Slavik. The chests didn’t contain magical items or even gold. They were ossuaries, said Slavik. The final resting places of the bones of dead goblins – and very important goblins too. I would rather not imagine what kind of curses would have come out if we had opened one of those chests.
“Each ossuary was made of smooth, polished stone, carved with glyphs and runes in some archaic dialect of Gobbledygook, and adorned at one end with a relief of a goblin’s head. Even in life they weren’t the handsomest or friendliest faces, and now in death they seemed to look out at us in baleful judgment, or perhaps a kind of chilling irony. The whole atmosphere of the room seemed to grow colder and creepier the more I looked around. I couldn’t help thinking that we were in a tomb – and wondering if it was going to be our tomb. There didn’t seem to be any way out but the way we had come, and we were out of options.
“I sat down on a bare pedestal, facing a corner of the room that didn’t have many ossuaries in it, and began composing a speech in my mind – conceding defeat, and accepting our doom then and there. Slavik and the clowns went around the room, prodding the walls and the floor for signs of a secret passage. The other Durmstrang lads huddled near the entrance, too unnerved to come in any farther. With a corner of my eye, out of habit, I kept a watch on young Rigel as he skipped around, pausing now and then to run his fingers over a stone goblin’s face.
“I said before that he toddled, but now that I think of it, he had grown a good bit past toddling, and was rather at the stage where they never stop asking questions. Only now he wasn’t asking anything. If I hadn’t been so busy preparing a grim summation, I would have wondered what he was up to. As it turns out, Rigel was remembering things he had learned in his first childhood by listening – actually listening! – to Professor Binns in History of Magic.
“'Crookchin,' he said, very insistently. I realized that he had said it five or six times while I wasn’t listening. He came over to me and tugged on my sleeve until I followed him round the opposite end of a particularly ornate ossuary. He pointed at the face carved in relief in the stone. ‘Crookchin,’ he repeated again.
“'That’s lovely,' I said in a patient voice, and patted his head. As far as I knew, he was describing the goblin’s facial features, or making up names for the carved heads. ‘Yes, Crookchin indeed,’ I said indulgently. ‘I seem to recall he was involved in that scandal about spinning straw into gold.’
“'Don’t be stupid,' piped Rigel. ‘Crookchin was a pioneer in the dragon-spotting school of treasure gathering. Thanks to his reforms, Gringotts achieved solvency for the first time since the Goblin Rebellion of 1438.’
“'Oh,' I said. It was becoming one of those increasingly frequent, bemusing moments when the old, grown-up Rigel seemed to be speaking through his new, tiny self. ‘Well, that’s nice to know,’ I added, recovering my self-possession. ‘Why don’t you take a look around, and when you’re done, you can tell me all about...’
“'This one over here is Hangnail the Putrid,' Rigel cut in, dragging me over to another ossuary. ‘His attempt to levy a tax on wizards’ and witches’ use of magic resulted in a boycott that lasted until Hangnail was killed by a falling piano. They say it wasn’t an accident.’
“’Whoever they are, they’re probably right,’ I said.
“’It didn’t happen soon enough to stop 8,500 goblins going bankrupt. They had to go into slavery, like house-elves. Over here is Vaultpawl the Sticky, who ended the goblin slave trade in 1765 by paying off all the owners. He ended up falling into a vat of molten silver and being struck into coins. Definitely not an accident; a disgruntled stockholder was seen giving him a push...’
“’Look, Rigel,’ I said, ‘This is all terribly interesting, but just now I have to think about something. Can we continue this history lesson another time?’
“He ignored me – or rather, he tightened his grip on my sleeve and forced me to view the graven image of Winzebind, who was celebrated for his charity work – for instance, he donated huge piles of gold for building St. Roz’s Parish Church in Leicester Square, the one that famously disappeared when its Secret Keeper absconded, as well as Our Lady of the Levitating Pulpit in Diagon Alley. His stockholders loved him because the donations were deductible from the Reparation Payments the Wizengamot demanded after the biting-knuts incident of 1511.
“I had only the vaguest notion of Professor Binns having talked about this stuff when I was at Hogwarts. Rigel rattled it all off as if it was his most vivid memory, and his enthusiasm was infectious. Instead of thinking about giving up and dying, I followed him around the tomb. He showed me the ossuary of Kreakjoint, who instituted the tradition of eating roasted niffler on the Sundays in Lent; Mokosh, Fachtna, and Cascrak, the far-sighted estate goblins who bought loads of land surrounded by hedges, which the bank sold generations later when we wizards ran out of well-hidden places to live; Bloodknot and Boulderfist, whose security measures in the 12th century resulted in the capture of Robin Steele, the last wizard to carry off a successful series of Gringotts burglaries.
“Finally we came to the ossuary of the conjoined twin goblins, Scythefinger and Screwfoot, who designed many of the miles of confusing tunnels, ghastly chambers, and deadly traps we had already been through. Their ossuary was bigger and more elaborate than most of the others. It actually showed the goblin brothers from head to toe, one of them with a twisted foot, the other with a long curved finger pointing out of the stone. Rigel reached out and gingerly touched the stone finger – and it moved.
“’Look out,’ I said, but he touched it again – pulled it downward, even – and without even a whisper of sound, the large ossuary slid sideways and revealed a set of stairs, lit by torches that suddenly flaired up.
“’Hey! Over here!’ I yelled, and the clowns and Durmstrang lads came running. ‘There’s a way out of here!’
“’But vhere does it lead?’ Karl asked, holding Slavik back from rushing down the stairs.
“’There is only one way to find out,’ said Don Pagliai. ‘We must go down these steps.’
“’But that is insanity,’ said Karl. ‘Haffen’t ve fallen into enough traps to learn not to...’
“’Scythefinger and Screwfoot were architects,’ Rigel yelled, so as to drown out any other discussion. He had been doing a great deal of this sort of thing, lately. ‘This must be how they got in and out while they were building this place.’
“’Nonsense,’ scoffed Karl. ‘They could have used the river, at least until that invisible wall was put up.’
“’They may have done that with the materials and the workers,’ Don Pagliai reasoned. ‘But surely, there had to be a quicker way in and out, while all this was being built?’
“’Let’s go down it,’ Slavik said restlessly.
“’Let’s stay,’ said Karl.
“’We’ll die here,’ said Don Pagliai.
“’Ve can go back to the vand tree preserve,’ said Karl.
“’I don’t want to live in a bloody bird sanctuary!’ Rigel screamed, and after kicking as many shins as he could reach, he took advantage of the lot of us being doubled over in pain and ran down the steps.”
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
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: Do some wizards and witches get any formal education after Hogwarts? If so, where? (A) Trade school or on-the-job training only. (B) A magical college tucked away in a major university. (C) Mainly private research. (D) Other—please describe.
CONTEST: Describe a way a wizarding parent might discipline a naughty, wizarding child.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #109. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 11/12/06]
106. Tea with Il Comte
Contest winners: TWZRD, Linda Carrig and rory86
Harvey was lifting the steaming beaker of Essence of Merlin to his lips when the doorbell rang, playing the chorus of Hebrew slaves from Nabucco in full harmony.
“Blast,” Harvey muttered. “Who could be calling at this hour? From Italy, no less?”
He set the beaker down and went out of his study, crossed the enormous front hall of his penthouse apartment, and opened the door. The carillon music stopped instantly.
“May I help you?” Harvey asked the well-dressed, shiny-haired man standing outside. He took care to seem polite but cold.
“I should like to speak with the gentleman of the house,” said the visitor, with a faint trace of an accent.
“I am he,” said Harvey. “But I regret that this is not a convenient time for me to entertain guests.”
“Oh, it won’t take long,” said the visitor, marveling slightly that a man of Harvey’s position would answer his own door. “I only wish to pull your nose; then I shall inconvenience you no further.”
Harvey stifled a sigh. “If an affair of honor is what you’re after, I beg you to come in, Signore...”
“Maledicto,” said Il Comte, handing his cape to a house-elf who trailed him into the apartment. He looked around at the entrance hall with one eyebrow cocked in a jaded fashion. “Ombra here is my second. And yours?”
Harvey snapped his fingers and Dinty crept out from behind a cockatrice-foot umbrella stand.
“The Hildebrand rules?” Harvey asked mildly.
“If you please,” said Il Comte. “Our seconds will negotiate the time and place of our engagement.”
“Actually, if it’s all right with you,” said Harvey, “perhaps we could have the duel here and now. I was just on the point of setting out on a long trip, and I fear that if we wait, you may never be satisfied.”
Il Comte cast another chilly gaze around the hall, then nodded.
“Wands at twenty paces, then,” said Harvey.
The two wizards stood back to back at the center of the hall, then walked in opposite directions, ten paces each. There was little more than an armspan to spare at each end.
“On three,” said Dinty, fidgeting slightly.
“Three!” screamed Ombra, following it up with a fiendish snicker while the two wizards cast simultaneous disarming spells. Both wands jerked out of their owners’ hands and ended up jammed into a crystal chandelier that hovered, unsupported, above the center of the hall.
“How annoying,” said Il Comte.
“Not very sporting, that elf of yours,” Harvey grumbled.
“I find that you weren’t unprepared for it,” Il Comte returned. “What shall we do now?”
“I suppose we should have tea while our seconds get on with the duel,” said Harvey.
Ombra blanched. Dinty grinned, rubbing his knuckles.
“All right, then,” said Il Comte. “Though I should prefer an espresso.”
“Done. Let’s just duck into the library and let the elves carry on,” Harvey suggested, and Il Comte followed him through a doorway into a very cluttered and lived-in room full of books and magical paraphernalia. It also had a table where a tea tray was already sitting, with cups and saucers, spoons, milk jug, sugar bowl, and steaming pot of tea, a plate of sandwiches, a plate of cakes, and a tiny cup of espresso so strong that the flowers in the nearby glass flute were leaning emphatically in the other direction. The two men sat down amiably and began to eat and drink as greedily as good breeding permitted.
“Excellent,” said Il Comte, not only because the espresso tasted good, but also because the cup always seemed to be as full and as hot as when he first picked it up.
“I do my best to please,” said Harvey, as the two house-elves danced past the open door, pulling savagely on each other’s ears. “By the way, I am dying of curiosity. How did I offend you?”
“By meddling in my private affairs,” said Il Comte lightly. “You know, that business with the clowns and their accomplices.”
“Ah, well. I imagine that men in our position have so many affairs, as you say, that it would be remarkable if they never crossed each other.”
“Just so,” said Il Comte, hardly reacting at the series of crashes that accompanied the whoosh of large pieces of furniture flying past the hall door.
“So how goes the evil-doing business?” Harvey asked courteously.
“It grows boring, frankly,” said Il Comte. “After so many years of crushing the same people underfoot, I begin to feel as though nothing I do, however monstrous, even gets their attention. I begin to feel as one who needs new victims.”
“There, there,” said Harvey, mentally filing this information under Il Comte’s constant need to be noticed and admired – or at least, feared. “Have you ever considered moving?”
“To another city or country?” Il Comte came as close to snorting as gentility allowed. “In today’s world, one finds that things are the same everywhere. Now if only one could move to another era...I say, are you all right?”
Harvey patted his chin with a silk napkin, coughed wetly, and said “All right” in a hoarse voice. Meanwhile, Ombra scuttled past the door, ducking under the blows of a wooden spoon that hovered about his head and shoulders, attacking him of its own accord. The next moment a crock smashed somewhere out of sight, and Dinty uttered a dismayed cry.
Fortunately, the combined distractions were enough to move Il Comte off the subject of time control. “And how is your business?” he asked with perfect solicitude.
“Quite absorbing,” said Harvey. “If I had any more to do, I would be meeting myself coming and going.”
At the picture this created in his mind, Il Comte’s eyes took on a dreamly look. “I should like that, I think.”
They paused to sip their drinks, contemplating a little dance that Dinty was doing in the hall outside, while a coarse brush scrubbed him into a prodigious lather of deep-cleansing suds.
“I can’t help but admire your house-elf’s cleaning spells,” Harvey remarked.
“Yes, he’s very efficient,” Il Comte replied immodestly. “But you see, he has such a large house to manage....”
“I perfectly understand,” said Harvey.
Over the next few moments, the hall was filled with a bewildering series of popping sounds as the two house-elves vanished and reappeared again and again, trying to outmaneuver each other. With a triumphant cry, Dinty yanked Ombra’s tea-towel off and ran for it, waving the tea-towel like a triumphal banner while his outraged foe pursued him, using a calling-card tray as temporary cover.
“That’ll be for the laundry,” Harvey observed.
“Then it seems the affair is concluded,” said Il Comte, “in your favor. In which case, I will bid you good day. Do not show me out, I beg you.”
Il Comte took one last fortifying sip of espresso, then stood calmly, brushed some invisible crumbs off his robe, and then whipped out his concealed wand and pointed it at Harvey.
“I can’t begin to express how disappointed this makes me,” Harvey said reproachfully.
Il Comte answered with a hollow laugh. “You yourself called me an evil-doer. Evil is as evil does. I can’t go around playing fair. No one would know whether or when to fear me.”
“I don’t fear you in the slightest,” said Harvey, folding his hands in his lap and sitting back comfortably in his leather armchair.
“The more fool thou,” Il Comte returned.
“On the contrary,” said the other Harvey from over Il Comte’s shoulder. Then, as Il Comte began to turn toward him, he hit him over the head with a round of cheese.
“I say,” said the first Harvey, dismayed to see the cheese broken in pieces and slimed with Il Comte’s hair oil. “I was going to take that cheese on my trip. Couldn’t you have used something less useful, like this bronze thing that Sadie gave us for our last birthday?”
“Daumier’s Le Confident?” said the other Harvey. “We will have returned it to its rightful owner by the time we take the Essence. Unless you change your mind – it’s really up to you from here. I’ll be getting on now—oh, and by the way, don’t drink the Essence until Christmas. Take care of ourself now.” And with that, the second Harvey disapparated.
The seated Harvey sighed, nudged Il Comte with his toe, and waited while the sounds of struggle in the hall died down, confident that Dinty would bring in a very subdued Ombra before long.
“Delays, delays,” he muttered peevishly, and picked up a thin sandwich.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
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: Out of Merlin’s companions during his escape from Gringotts – the clowns, the Durmstrang lads, and Rigel – which character should get a “starring role” in the next episode of Merlin’s memories?
CONTEST: Describe an ancient curse and the magic-related object it protects from being stolen.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #108. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 11/1/06]
Harvey was lifting the steaming beaker of Essence of Merlin to his lips when the doorbell rang, playing the chorus of Hebrew slaves from Nabucco in full harmony.
“Blast,” Harvey muttered. “Who could be calling at this hour? From Italy, no less?”
He set the beaker down and went out of his study, crossed the enormous front hall of his penthouse apartment, and opened the door. The carillon music stopped instantly.
“May I help you?” Harvey asked the well-dressed, shiny-haired man standing outside. He took care to seem polite but cold.
“I should like to speak with the gentleman of the house,” said the visitor, with a faint trace of an accent.
“I am he,” said Harvey. “But I regret that this is not a convenient time for me to entertain guests.”
“Oh, it won’t take long,” said the visitor, marveling slightly that a man of Harvey’s position would answer his own door. “I only wish to pull your nose; then I shall inconvenience you no further.”
Harvey stifled a sigh. “If an affair of honor is what you’re after, I beg you to come in, Signore...”
“Maledicto,” said Il Comte, handing his cape to a house-elf who trailed him into the apartment. He looked around at the entrance hall with one eyebrow cocked in a jaded fashion. “Ombra here is my second. And yours?”
Harvey snapped his fingers and Dinty crept out from behind a cockatrice-foot umbrella stand.
“The Hildebrand rules?” Harvey asked mildly.
“If you please,” said Il Comte. “Our seconds will negotiate the time and place of our engagement.”
“Actually, if it’s all right with you,” said Harvey, “perhaps we could have the duel here and now. I was just on the point of setting out on a long trip, and I fear that if we wait, you may never be satisfied.”
Il Comte cast another chilly gaze around the hall, then nodded.
“Wands at twenty paces, then,” said Harvey.
The two wizards stood back to back at the center of the hall, then walked in opposite directions, ten paces each. There was little more than an armspan to spare at each end.
“On three,” said Dinty, fidgeting slightly.
“Three!” screamed Ombra, following it up with a fiendish snicker while the two wizards cast simultaneous disarming spells. Both wands jerked out of their owners’ hands and ended up jammed into a crystal chandelier that hovered, unsupported, above the center of the hall.
“How annoying,” said Il Comte.
“Not very sporting, that elf of yours,” Harvey grumbled.
“I find that you weren’t unprepared for it,” Il Comte returned. “What shall we do now?”
“I suppose we should have tea while our seconds get on with the duel,” said Harvey.
Ombra blanched. Dinty grinned, rubbing his knuckles.
“All right, then,” said Il Comte. “Though I should prefer an espresso.”
“Done. Let’s just duck into the library and let the elves carry on,” Harvey suggested, and Il Comte followed him through a doorway into a very cluttered and lived-in room full of books and magical paraphernalia. It also had a table where a tea tray was already sitting, with cups and saucers, spoons, milk jug, sugar bowl, and steaming pot of tea, a plate of sandwiches, a plate of cakes, and a tiny cup of espresso so strong that the flowers in the nearby glass flute were leaning emphatically in the other direction. The two men sat down amiably and began to eat and drink as greedily as good breeding permitted.
“Excellent,” said Il Comte, not only because the espresso tasted good, but also because the cup always seemed to be as full and as hot as when he first picked it up.
“I do my best to please,” said Harvey, as the two house-elves danced past the open door, pulling savagely on each other’s ears. “By the way, I am dying of curiosity. How did I offend you?”
“By meddling in my private affairs,” said Il Comte lightly. “You know, that business with the clowns and their accomplices.”
“Ah, well. I imagine that men in our position have so many affairs, as you say, that it would be remarkable if they never crossed each other.”
“Just so,” said Il Comte, hardly reacting at the series of crashes that accompanied the whoosh of large pieces of furniture flying past the hall door.
“So how goes the evil-doing business?” Harvey asked courteously.
“It grows boring, frankly,” said Il Comte. “After so many years of crushing the same people underfoot, I begin to feel as though nothing I do, however monstrous, even gets their attention. I begin to feel as one who needs new victims.”
“There, there,” said Harvey, mentally filing this information under Il Comte’s constant need to be noticed and admired – or at least, feared. “Have you ever considered moving?”
“To another city or country?” Il Comte came as close to snorting as gentility allowed. “In today’s world, one finds that things are the same everywhere. Now if only one could move to another era...I say, are you all right?”
Harvey patted his chin with a silk napkin, coughed wetly, and said “All right” in a hoarse voice. Meanwhile, Ombra scuttled past the door, ducking under the blows of a wooden spoon that hovered about his head and shoulders, attacking him of its own accord. The next moment a crock smashed somewhere out of sight, and Dinty uttered a dismayed cry.
Fortunately, the combined distractions were enough to move Il Comte off the subject of time control. “And how is your business?” he asked with perfect solicitude.
“Quite absorbing,” said Harvey. “If I had any more to do, I would be meeting myself coming and going.”
At the picture this created in his mind, Il Comte’s eyes took on a dreamly look. “I should like that, I think.”
They paused to sip their drinks, contemplating a little dance that Dinty was doing in the hall outside, while a coarse brush scrubbed him into a prodigious lather of deep-cleansing suds.
“I can’t help but admire your house-elf’s cleaning spells,” Harvey remarked.
“Yes, he’s very efficient,” Il Comte replied immodestly. “But you see, he has such a large house to manage....”
“I perfectly understand,” said Harvey.
Over the next few moments, the hall was filled with a bewildering series of popping sounds as the two house-elves vanished and reappeared again and again, trying to outmaneuver each other. With a triumphant cry, Dinty yanked Ombra’s tea-towel off and ran for it, waving the tea-towel like a triumphal banner while his outraged foe pursued him, using a calling-card tray as temporary cover.
“That’ll be for the laundry,” Harvey observed.
“Then it seems the affair is concluded,” said Il Comte, “in your favor. In which case, I will bid you good day. Do not show me out, I beg you.”
Il Comte took one last fortifying sip of espresso, then stood calmly, brushed some invisible crumbs off his robe, and then whipped out his concealed wand and pointed it at Harvey.
“I can’t begin to express how disappointed this makes me,” Harvey said reproachfully.
Il Comte answered with a hollow laugh. “You yourself called me an evil-doer. Evil is as evil does. I can’t go around playing fair. No one would know whether or when to fear me.”
“I don’t fear you in the slightest,” said Harvey, folding his hands in his lap and sitting back comfortably in his leather armchair.
“The more fool thou,” Il Comte returned.
“On the contrary,” said the other Harvey from over Il Comte’s shoulder. Then, as Il Comte began to turn toward him, he hit him over the head with a round of cheese.
“I say,” said the first Harvey, dismayed to see the cheese broken in pieces and slimed with Il Comte’s hair oil. “I was going to take that cheese on my trip. Couldn’t you have used something less useful, like this bronze thing that Sadie gave us for our last birthday?”
“Daumier’s Le Confident?” said the other Harvey. “We will have returned it to its rightful owner by the time we take the Essence. Unless you change your mind – it’s really up to you from here. I’ll be getting on now—oh, and by the way, don’t drink the Essence until Christmas. Take care of ourself now.” And with that, the second Harvey disapparated.
The seated Harvey sighed, nudged Il Comte with his toe, and waited while the sounds of struggle in the hall died down, confident that Dinty would bring in a very subdued Ombra before long.
“Delays, delays,” he muttered peevishly, and picked up a thin sandwich.
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
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: Out of Merlin’s companions during his escape from Gringotts – the clowns, the Durmstrang lads, and Rigel – which character should get a “starring role” in the next episode of Merlin’s memories?
CONTEST: Describe an ancient curse and the magic-related object it protects from being stolen.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #108. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 11/1/06]
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
102. The Drains
Contest winners: _houdini, myndon, jatibbal and floribunda
A 9-foot cargo van veered to a halt, with one tire on the pavement in front of a tall residential hotel. The van had the words “Warehouse on Wheels: Home Removals Made a ‘Wiz’! For daily rates, pop your head in the Floo and ask for Manny” painted on it in Muggleblind colors.
The hotel had an awning with the words “The Drains” painted on it for all to see. Under the awning stood a doorman, who quickly tucked the employment page of The Daily Prophet inside his waistcoat, and a charcoal pencil under his cap. He held the door open and stood at attention as Harvey, Spanky, Joe, and Merlin piled out of the front left door of the van, followed (impossibly, one would think) by Tip, all three clown wizards, Anatoly, and the burly, illustrated wizard who had come along with Anatoly. The doorman managed not to look surprised by the van’s front-seat passenger complement.
“Well, here is my humble abode,” Harvey said, waving his hands modestly at the huge building.
“This little thing?” said Joe, who today was disguised as Quasimodo. Due to the angle of his spine, he had to struggle to get a view of the building’s great height. “Phew,” he panted. “I don’t suppose it has above two dozen gargoyles.”
“You can play with them later,” said Harvey, going round to open the back doors of the van. “And really, I only live in the top two or three floors.”
“Ah,” said Anatoly, knowledgeably. “Is called Pentacle, yes?”
“In some societies, I daresay,” Harvey grunted. He and Tip had one end of a large barrel, and together they were tugging it out the rear door of the van so that Spanky and Merlin could grab the other end. The doorman looked on in boredom, even though the barrel seemed larger than the cargo area of the van.
“You couldn’t help a bit, could you?” Spanky snapped at Joe, as the four men huffed and puffed under the weight of the barrel.
“You’re doing fine,” said Joe, rubbing his hump. “Besides, I’ve got a bad back.”
With the help of Anatoly and his friend, the wizards got the first barrel onto the magic carpet, which the clown wizards had spread out on the pavement meanwhile. “Window’s open,” Harvey panted. Don Pagliai nodded, and the carpet began its ascent up the front of the building, bulging dangerously at the bottom while the three clowns struggled to balance the barrel on it.
“I could have levitated it the whole way, sir,” the doorman volunteered smugly.
“Let me know before you try that,” Harvey replied. “Give me plenty of time to move out of range, too. I wouldn’t aim my wand at that stuff – ignites too easily.”
Merlin stretched his arms, sniffed the air, and asked, “Why is your building called The Drains?”
“It used to be the Fitz-Fritz,” said Harvey. “But estate agents and rich Muggles kept coming round. I thought about doing some kind of magic to keep them away, but I decided that changing the name would be easier.”
“Ah,” said Merlin, rubbing his chin. “Yes, I suppose that would do it. So it’s all witches and wizards that live here? I’ve never heard of it.”
“People in our position – speaking on behalf of my fellow residents – don’t like our private address to be widely known. I say, here come the clowns! I take it, from the lack of dragon bogeys and wood splinters falling from the sky, that all went well?”
“Indeed, Signor Harvey,” said Don Pagliai, as Signor Boccachiusa made emphatic signs of agreement. “The house-elves are taking care of everything at that end. However, they did not take to Signor Subito as readily as I had hoped.”
The shortest of the three clowns looked furious. Whatever he was saying in his native tongue did not sound particularly friendly.
“They mistook him for one of their own, only with clothes,” Don Pagliai explained sadly. “I had to raise my voice to stop them ripping Signor Subito’s trousers off.”
Subito concluded his bout of incomprehensible swearing with an emphatic snap of his braces.
“Well, I’m sure they won’t make the same mistake another time,” said Harvey. “Ready for the second barrel, gentlemen? One down, twenty-seven to go.”
After the sixteenth barrel was removed from the van, the six heavy-lifters were resting on the pavement clutching sweat-soaked handkerchiefs when Joe decided to take an interest in the doorman. The latter was no longer concealing his search through the employment pages.
“Moving onward and upward, I take it?” Joe said slyly.
“No doubt of it,” said the doorman. “There has to be a better career than this. You know I’ve been holding this door open for fourteen months? And does any of these rich witches in their yeti-fur cloaks give me a tip? Eh? Or how about their husbands, the deputy grand warlock of so-and-so and the sub-assistant minister of what have you? Eh? Eh? Don’t even use the door, do they? Pinch of Floo powder ‘ere, Apparition there, broomstick on an overcast night. Even when they come home drunk from The Leaky Cauldron, the Knight Bus drops ‘em in their hallway upstairs...daftest job in London...”
“So what have you got circled?” asked Joe. “Let’s see there. ‘Hate Mail Wizard’? What does that one say?”
The doorman, looking flattered by the hunchback’s interest, gave the newspaper a brisk shake and began to read out loud.
"'Minister for Magic seeks personal assistant. Duties to include checking the Minister’s daily correspondence for curses, poisons, howlers, and other traps. Ear plugs and dragon-hide gloves provided; anti-jinx expertise preferred.’ See, I could do that.”
Joe scratched his deformed head. “I just wonder...”
“What?”
“I wonder why Mr. Scrimgeour should want someone to check his daily mail, when it would be so much simpler for him to stop sending things like that.”
The doorman looked puzzled.
“Nevermind,” said Joe brightly. “Read that other one.”
“Oh, yes. It says, ‘Pyromarketer needed to visit random wizarding homes via Floo powder and offer them a range of highly discounted products. Caution: While current wizarding laws and common sense forbid actually entering a wizarding home uninvited, injury can still occur while talking with one's head in the fire. Annual reports indicate that the number of Pyromarketer complaints of "being severely poked in the eye" has skyrocketed in recent years. Applicants are required to sign a liability waiver and to provide their own protective eyewear.’ I don’t know, that one doesn’t sound half as good when you read it out loud.”
“I suppose not,” Joe agreed. “How about that PortaPuffy thing?”
“’PortaPuffy Service Mage,’ it says. ‘Banshee & Sons, makers of Banishing Cream, the self-sweeping Ashwinder Broom, and other pest products, announces the launch of the PortaPuffy: A permanent portkey that you set under couches, beds, dressers -- wherever Puffskeins breed -- to port them safely away, ensuring that you never again find yourself up to your armpits in the fuzzy little darlings. Delivery and repair magicians needed urgently; allergy testing and training provided...’ I don’t know, though. That ‘permanent portkey’ bit sounds dodgy.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Joe. “Yet, it sounds a bit nicer than this spot for a Magical Manure Sample Processor.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that,” said the doorman. “I haven’t had a sense of smell since that bludger crushed my nose, last game of my seventh year at Hogwarts...”
“That’s never...!” Tip looked round, squinted, hopped to his feet and went in for a closer look. “Ted? Teddy Smith? I didn’t recognize you with the nose and all.”
The doorman turned red and mumbled something like, “I’m sure the gentleman is mistaken.”
“You were the Yule Ball King the year old Kettleburn’s fake hand fell into the punchbowl. When it turned up in your goblet, we carried you around the Great Hall on our shoulders and sang ‘All hail the three-handed wizard’! You only missed being Head Boy by a handful of votes! We voted you ‘Most Likely to Become Minister for Magic by Age 40!’ You captained the Hufflepuff side to within sixty points of...what happened to you?”
The doorman looked very uncomfortable now. Then he looked closer at Tip. “Hang on,” he said. “Now I remember you. You were the bloke that busted every instrument in the school band. Ed, or Ned, or...”
“Tip,” said Tip. “Tip Smith.”
“Right....Weren’t you in some singing group or other? After we left school, I mean.”
“Nasal Drip,” Tip said, though perhaps a bit wistfully.
The doorman grinned, feeling much better. “Yeah, I remember you now.”
Joe’s enjoyment of this conversation was interrupted when someone bumped into him – someone walking out the front door of The Drains for all that the doorman complained that no one used the door – someone walking backwards.
“Hey,” said Joe irritably.
“Excuse me,” said Harvey, continuing to walk backwards down the street and around the corner.
Joe scratched a wart on his nose in a bemused way. He looked down at the curb, where the others were still resting and wiping their sweaty faces. He hadn’t noticed that Harvey had left the group. Joe did a quick head-count – five sets of slumped shoulders. With the clowns upstairs, and Tip and himself talking with the doorman, and Harvey around the corner, there should only have been four wizards sitting there...
Harvey turned around from where he was sitting on the curb, shooting an irritated look at Joe. “What?” he asked.
“What what?” Joe asked back, nonplussed.
Harvey shrugged. “I could feel your eyes burning a hole in my back. Is something wrong?”
“No,” Joe said hastily. “Not that I know of.” But at the same time he asked himself: Am I losing my mind?
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
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: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much would you like to hear about each of the following:? (A) The rest of Merlin’s escape from Gringotts. (B) The rest of Spanky’s story about the werewolf he encountered in TMQ #2. (C) How Sadie made and lost each of her fortunes. (D) What happens to Harvey as he lives backward in time.
CONTEST: Briefly describe an historical event or situation that would seem very odd to a present-day wizard.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #104. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 9/24/06]
A 9-foot cargo van veered to a halt, with one tire on the pavement in front of a tall residential hotel. The van had the words “Warehouse on Wheels: Home Removals Made a ‘Wiz’! For daily rates, pop your head in the Floo and ask for Manny” painted on it in Muggleblind colors.
The hotel had an awning with the words “The Drains” painted on it for all to see. Under the awning stood a doorman, who quickly tucked the employment page of The Daily Prophet inside his waistcoat, and a charcoal pencil under his cap. He held the door open and stood at attention as Harvey, Spanky, Joe, and Merlin piled out of the front left door of the van, followed (impossibly, one would think) by Tip, all three clown wizards, Anatoly, and the burly, illustrated wizard who had come along with Anatoly. The doorman managed not to look surprised by the van’s front-seat passenger complement.
“Well, here is my humble abode,” Harvey said, waving his hands modestly at the huge building.
“This little thing?” said Joe, who today was disguised as Quasimodo. Due to the angle of his spine, he had to struggle to get a view of the building’s great height. “Phew,” he panted. “I don’t suppose it has above two dozen gargoyles.”
“You can play with them later,” said Harvey, going round to open the back doors of the van. “And really, I only live in the top two or three floors.”
“Ah,” said Anatoly, knowledgeably. “Is called Pentacle, yes?”
“In some societies, I daresay,” Harvey grunted. He and Tip had one end of a large barrel, and together they were tugging it out the rear door of the van so that Spanky and Merlin could grab the other end. The doorman looked on in boredom, even though the barrel seemed larger than the cargo area of the van.
“You couldn’t help a bit, could you?” Spanky snapped at Joe, as the four men huffed and puffed under the weight of the barrel.
“You’re doing fine,” said Joe, rubbing his hump. “Besides, I’ve got a bad back.”
With the help of Anatoly and his friend, the wizards got the first barrel onto the magic carpet, which the clown wizards had spread out on the pavement meanwhile. “Window’s open,” Harvey panted. Don Pagliai nodded, and the carpet began its ascent up the front of the building, bulging dangerously at the bottom while the three clowns struggled to balance the barrel on it.
“I could have levitated it the whole way, sir,” the doorman volunteered smugly.
“Let me know before you try that,” Harvey replied. “Give me plenty of time to move out of range, too. I wouldn’t aim my wand at that stuff – ignites too easily.”
Merlin stretched his arms, sniffed the air, and asked, “Why is your building called The Drains?”
“It used to be the Fitz-Fritz,” said Harvey. “But estate agents and rich Muggles kept coming round. I thought about doing some kind of magic to keep them away, but I decided that changing the name would be easier.”
“Ah,” said Merlin, rubbing his chin. “Yes, I suppose that would do it. So it’s all witches and wizards that live here? I’ve never heard of it.”
“People in our position – speaking on behalf of my fellow residents – don’t like our private address to be widely known. I say, here come the clowns! I take it, from the lack of dragon bogeys and wood splinters falling from the sky, that all went well?”
“Indeed, Signor Harvey,” said Don Pagliai, as Signor Boccachiusa made emphatic signs of agreement. “The house-elves are taking care of everything at that end. However, they did not take to Signor Subito as readily as I had hoped.”
The shortest of the three clowns looked furious. Whatever he was saying in his native tongue did not sound particularly friendly.
“They mistook him for one of their own, only with clothes,” Don Pagliai explained sadly. “I had to raise my voice to stop them ripping Signor Subito’s trousers off.”
Subito concluded his bout of incomprehensible swearing with an emphatic snap of his braces.
“Well, I’m sure they won’t make the same mistake another time,” said Harvey. “Ready for the second barrel, gentlemen? One down, twenty-seven to go.”
After the sixteenth barrel was removed from the van, the six heavy-lifters were resting on the pavement clutching sweat-soaked handkerchiefs when Joe decided to take an interest in the doorman. The latter was no longer concealing his search through the employment pages.
“Moving onward and upward, I take it?” Joe said slyly.
“No doubt of it,” said the doorman. “There has to be a better career than this. You know I’ve been holding this door open for fourteen months? And does any of these rich witches in their yeti-fur cloaks give me a tip? Eh? Or how about their husbands, the deputy grand warlock of so-and-so and the sub-assistant minister of what have you? Eh? Eh? Don’t even use the door, do they? Pinch of Floo powder ‘ere, Apparition there, broomstick on an overcast night. Even when they come home drunk from The Leaky Cauldron, the Knight Bus drops ‘em in their hallway upstairs...daftest job in London...”
“So what have you got circled?” asked Joe. “Let’s see there. ‘Hate Mail Wizard’? What does that one say?”
The doorman, looking flattered by the hunchback’s interest, gave the newspaper a brisk shake and began to read out loud.
"'Minister for Magic seeks personal assistant. Duties to include checking the Minister’s daily correspondence for curses, poisons, howlers, and other traps. Ear plugs and dragon-hide gloves provided; anti-jinx expertise preferred.’ See, I could do that.”
Joe scratched his deformed head. “I just wonder...”
“What?”
“I wonder why Mr. Scrimgeour should want someone to check his daily mail, when it would be so much simpler for him to stop sending things like that.”
The doorman looked puzzled.
“Nevermind,” said Joe brightly. “Read that other one.”
“Oh, yes. It says, ‘Pyromarketer needed to visit random wizarding homes via Floo powder and offer them a range of highly discounted products. Caution: While current wizarding laws and common sense forbid actually entering a wizarding home uninvited, injury can still occur while talking with one's head in the fire. Annual reports indicate that the number of Pyromarketer complaints of "being severely poked in the eye" has skyrocketed in recent years. Applicants are required to sign a liability waiver and to provide their own protective eyewear.’ I don’t know, that one doesn’t sound half as good when you read it out loud.”
“I suppose not,” Joe agreed. “How about that PortaPuffy thing?”
“’PortaPuffy Service Mage,’ it says. ‘Banshee & Sons, makers of Banishing Cream, the self-sweeping Ashwinder Broom, and other pest products, announces the launch of the PortaPuffy: A permanent portkey that you set under couches, beds, dressers -- wherever Puffskeins breed -- to port them safely away, ensuring that you never again find yourself up to your armpits in the fuzzy little darlings. Delivery and repair magicians needed urgently; allergy testing and training provided...’ I don’t know, though. That ‘permanent portkey’ bit sounds dodgy.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Joe. “Yet, it sounds a bit nicer than this spot for a Magical Manure Sample Processor.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind that,” said the doorman. “I haven’t had a sense of smell since that bludger crushed my nose, last game of my seventh year at Hogwarts...”
“That’s never...!” Tip looked round, squinted, hopped to his feet and went in for a closer look. “Ted? Teddy Smith? I didn’t recognize you with the nose and all.”
The doorman turned red and mumbled something like, “I’m sure the gentleman is mistaken.”
“You were the Yule Ball King the year old Kettleburn’s fake hand fell into the punchbowl. When it turned up in your goblet, we carried you around the Great Hall on our shoulders and sang ‘All hail the three-handed wizard’! You only missed being Head Boy by a handful of votes! We voted you ‘Most Likely to Become Minister for Magic by Age 40!’ You captained the Hufflepuff side to within sixty points of...what happened to you?”
The doorman looked very uncomfortable now. Then he looked closer at Tip. “Hang on,” he said. “Now I remember you. You were the bloke that busted every instrument in the school band. Ed, or Ned, or...”
“Tip,” said Tip. “Tip Smith.”
“Right....Weren’t you in some singing group or other? After we left school, I mean.”
“Nasal Drip,” Tip said, though perhaps a bit wistfully.
The doorman grinned, feeling much better. “Yeah, I remember you now.”
Joe’s enjoyment of this conversation was interrupted when someone bumped into him – someone walking out the front door of The Drains for all that the doorman complained that no one used the door – someone walking backwards.
“Hey,” said Joe irritably.
“Excuse me,” said Harvey, continuing to walk backwards down the street and around the corner.
Joe scratched a wart on his nose in a bemused way. He looked down at the curb, where the others were still resting and wiping their sweaty faces. He hadn’t noticed that Harvey had left the group. Joe did a quick head-count – five sets of slumped shoulders. With the clowns upstairs, and Tip and himself talking with the doorman, and Harvey around the corner, there should only have been four wizards sitting there...
Harvey turned around from where he was sitting on the curb, shooting an irritated look at Joe. “What?” he asked.
“What what?” Joe asked back, nonplussed.
Harvey shrugged. “I could feel your eyes burning a hole in my back. Is something wrong?”
“No,” Joe said hastily. “Not that I know of.” But at the same time he asked himself: Am I losing my mind?
+++ DOUBLE CHALLENGE +++
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: On a scale of 1 to 10, how much would you like to hear about each of the following:? (A) The rest of Merlin’s escape from Gringotts. (B) The rest of Spanky’s story about the werewolf he encountered in TMQ #2. (C) How Sadie made and lost each of her fortunes. (D) What happens to Harvey as he lives backward in time.
CONTEST: Briefly describe an historical event or situation that would seem very odd to a present-day wizard.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #104. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 9/24/06]
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
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]
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