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]
Showing posts with label illustrated wizard. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illustrated wizard. Show all posts
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
105. What's the Rest of Me Doing There?
Contest winners: lupa and Celairiel
Miles O’Roughage scratched his head. He still could not help but wonder what Harvey’s mysterious experiment had been about. Whatever potion he had poured on the roots of that old alder tree dying in the back of his greenhouse, it had made a world of difference.
No longer was the tree dying. Still more perplexing, it was no longer an alder. Each day the tree had grown straighter, taller, thicker, stronger. Its bark now swathed it like folds of a soft, gray robe. Its foliage cast a deep shadow around the trunk and roots, a shadow that nevertheless glittered as if the leaves were covered with tiny, reflective crystals.
Moss had rapidly grown round the tree, until it draped from the limbs like long, gray beards. And when the wind blew through its branches, each day during the scheduled rainy spell – a very special spell O’Roughage had spent the best part of thirty years perfecting – the tree muttered to itself, like an old man muttering in his sleep.
Miles O’Roughage shook his head, wondering why the phrase “Merlin tree” kept crossing his mind...but his musings were interrupted by an unexplained rustle of leaves and a few furtive giggles, coming from the far corner of the greenhouse, near his office. O’Roughage stalked quietly, but quickly, through the paths of his indoor garden, scarcely pausing even to slap away a mischievous bogeyvillain vine that was trying to sneak down the back of his shirt.
It was all for nothing. By the time he reached his office, the last of the green fire was dying out on his hearth. Someone had gotten in and out again, using the Floo network. Alarmed, O’Roughage prowled through the nearby flowerbeds until he found signs that cuttings had been clumsily taken. He sighed and began to dress his wounded plant friends, shaking his head again at the folly of young wizards these days.
Meanwhile, a boy wizard, far too young to attend Hogwarts, sat pouting on a bench outside the head’s office at Dr. Wrigley’s Center for Pre-thaumatic Formation.
Wrigley’s, as you may know, is a cross between a primary school and a latchkey program for the children of witches and wizards whose careers make it impossible to homeschool their offspring. So while Mum and Dad work, their little ones get the discipline and basic education they need to prepare for Hogwarts – and to keep out of trouble. The tuition at Wrigley’s costs a fortune, so it is most used by the wealthy; but the RMB subsidizes the children of its agents, so that (for example) Marmaduke Spankison might find himself pouting on a bench outside Dr. Wrigley’s study.
His brow wrinkled even more, and his lip stuck out still further, as he relived his most recent disappointment. Stung by the memory, he glared balefully at his own right hand.
As he had often done in the past, Marmaduke had tried to play a small prank, relying on his lifelong ability to turn half of his body invisible. While hiding in a cubicle in the girl’s toilet, he had willed the upper half of his body to go invisible, and had started to crawl under the side of the cubicle, where Marjory Sudbom stood in front of one of the sinks, checking her hair in the mirror.
He had only meant to put a spider on her sock, and perhaps tie her shoes together, but Marjory had shrieked. “Aargh! Is that you, Marmaduke Ethelbaldricson? I knew it was you all those other times. For shame!” And then, standing on his inexplicably visible fingers, she had screamed for Matron. And so, give or take a bruised earlobe and a scolding that made him wince even in memory, Marmaduke sat and waited for his sentence.
But the worst memory of all was the moment when Marmaduke had recognized that he was no longer the only person who could see the body parts that he had willed invisible. His thought at the time, as he gazed reproachfully at the hand that had betrayed him, was: “What’s the rest of me doing there?”
Marmaduke’s father came out of the head’s office, wearing a sad but calm expression that made the boy tremble. He trembled because he believed, as boys of his character often believe of their soft-spoken-hero fathers, that under the sad, calm surface was a fury waiting to be unleashed. But all Spanky did was beckon to the boy with a tilt of his head. Marmaduke stood up and put his hand in his father’s firm grip. A pop – a moment of crushing darkness – and the pair of them squirted out into the parlor of their house.
“If you’re as clever as you should be,” said Spanky before letting go Maramaduke’s hand, “you’ll have worked out what your mistake was, and avoid repeating it in future.” That was all he said. Then, he simply went into his study and closed the door, leaving the boy to find out for himself what to do with the balance of the day.
Spanky tossed a handful of Floo powder into the small, woodburning stove in the corner of his study. Then, when the flames turned green, he poked his head into them and said, “Ilona’s office.” A dizzy moment later, he was looking up out of the grate in a stone chamber, part of an old castle that had been taken over by the RMB. Directly opposite the grate was a desk where Spanky’s wife, newly reinstated after years of being nonexistent to everyone except her husband, was debriefing a young female operative.
“Another time,” Ilona said, beginning to wrap up the conversation when she spotted Spanky’s head in the fire, “don’t be so quick to conclude that the stage magician is using real magic in front of Muggles, even if he is a wizard. There are proper tests for that, you know. What with all the Memory Charms that we needed to put on the audience, you would have had a solid week’s worth of paperwork even if you had been right. As it is – well, I trust that these forms will teach you to be more circumspect.”
The younger witch nodded, looking chastised, and accepted a roll of parchment the size of a side drum, tied up with several lengths of twine.
As soon as the younger witch had Disapparated, Ilona went over to the fire and knelt next to her husband’s waiting head. “Well?” she said.
“He’s suspended for the rest of the week,” Spanky sighed. “The children are still learning all the implications of your being freed from that djinn curse.”
“It’s for the best,” said Ilona decisively. “And I have an idea as to how to keep Marmy occupied and out of trouble. Why don’t you take...”
Her suggestion was interrupted by a burst of smoke, ash, and even brighter green flame.
“Uh-oh,” said Ilona. “I have another incoming call.”
That was all the warning Spanky had before someone stepped on his head, crushing his chin against the warm coals. A laughing couple stumbled out of the fireplace, trailing ash onto the hearthrug. Spanky did not recognize them at first, because he was busy spitting out ash and coughing. Then he saw that it was a veiled witch and a burly wizard with tattoos writhing over his bare arms.
“Beg pardon,” said Sadie in a, for her, uncharacteristically cheerful voice. “We don’t mean to intrude – well, yes we do. We’re having a double date with another couple, and we decided to try a scavenger hunt.”
“Isn’t it a bit early to be out on a date?” Ilona asked, glancing toward the mantle clock, whose hour-hand was still several inches removed from the inscription that said “Quitting Time!”
“We had to get an early start,” said Sadie, while her not-very-talkative partner nodded and grinned. “We have to meet up and compare our findings with the other couple, before going to a show together.” In spite of the veil, one could see how Sadie wrinkled her nose at the mention of “going to a show.”
“Then what do you need from me?” Ilona asked brusquely, while Spanky tried to blink soot out of his right eye.
“We didn’t know where else to go,” gushed Sadie. “One of the things on our list is ‘a weapon that was used to vanquish an undead creature.’”
“Then take this,” said Ilona, pulling out one of several items, like wooden chopsticks, that she had twisted into her hair.
“What is it?” the tattooed wizard asked, in halting English.
“Kougai,” said Ilona.
“Yes, isn’t he?” Sadie giggled. “But what do you call this thing?”
Ilona rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I once had no choice but to stake a vampire, and I happened to be wearing it when no other wooden stake was within reach. It saved my life.”
“How do you know it was this one and not one of those others?” Sadie asked, peering nervously at the array of kougai piercing the knot of hair atop Ilona’s head.
“Does it really matter?” said Ilona. “All I know is that I haven’t been without at least one or two of them since that incident. One never knows.”
“She was cleared in the investigation that followed,” Spanky mentioned. Sadie and her companion jumped, only now noticing his head in the fire for the first time. “The Bureau agreed that she was in imminent danger of being bitten, so they determined the staking to be an act of self-defense.”
“That’s the life of an RMB agent,” Ilona agreed, beaming at Sadie. “You know, you might consider a career...”
“We shouldn’t keep you any longer,” Sadie blurted hastily. “Besides, we have to stay ahead of the other couple. Bye!” Then, tugging firmly on her friend’s bicep, which was currently flashing the name of a Polish scriptorium, she stepped carefully over Spanky’s head, shouted "St. Broccoli’s Cemetery Chapel," and disappeared with a loud pop.
“Now that we have a moment of privacy,” Spanky said, “you were saying...?”
“Ah! yes,” said Ilona. “You should take Marmaduke to...”
This time, when Spanky heard the popping noise, he ducked to the side and almost escaped injury as another couple staggered onto the hearthrug in a cloud of dust. Somebody’s boot clipped Spanky’s left ear, and he ended up having a sneezing fit, but other than that he fared better than the last time.
“Sorry,” said Endora and Merlin in unison. They were wearing matched pairs of fake eyeglasses, with attached fake noses, eyebrows, and moustaches. They were also holding hands and giggling like teenagers.
“Honey, it’s the other couple,” said Ilona.
“Oh, they beat us to it, did they?” said Merlin.
“Don’t worry, I have several others,” said Ilona, indicating the bristle of kougai in her hair.
Merlin and Endora gave her a blank look. They clearly did not know what Ilona was talking about.
“Aren’t you here to get...?”
“...your husband’s silver knife, yes,” said Endora. “The one that unzipped a werewolf all those years ago. Your son told us Spanky’s body was at home, but his head would be here, so we popped in to ask if we might borrow it.”
“The knife, that is,” Merlin explained to Spanky. “Borrow the knife, not your head.”
“Feel free to pick my pocket on your way back through my home,” said Spanky, torn between laughing and looking irritated and managing, by a heroic effort, to do neither. “You’ll find it in a sheath belted around my left thigh, just below my left wand holster.”
“The knife, not our home,” Ilona explained. “You’ll find his knife belted to his leg.”
“We understand,” Merlin assured her.
“And please,” Spanky added, “take care not to cut yourself with it.”
“It being the knife, not the leg,” Endora explained, in case anyone was still having trouble tracing pronouns to their antecedent.
“Cheers,” said Endora. “We’d best be going then. We’re to meet up with Sadie and her fellow, so we can all go to the formation flying show at McNutt’s Fairy Farm.” She rubbed her hands eagerly, looking very pleased about their plans for the evening. “We’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
“It being the knife, not the fairy farm, I take it,” said Spanky. “Yes, see that you do.”
“And have a good time!” Ilona shouted as the pair Disapparated.
Spanky looked up at his wife and let his eyes ask the question this time: “What were you saying?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Ilona, biting her lip thoughtfully. “Do you know, I think the best thing to keep Marmaduke busy would be a scavenger hunt....”
+++ 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: True or False: In today’s environment-friendly society, witches and wizards should pay a tax on the use of magical power.
CONTEST: Come up with an original name for a Gringotts goblin. (Examples to follow include: Griphook, Dewclaw, Nailspike, Chokechain, Undergrim, Bilejug, Sawtooth, Spleengraft, Jugshard, Bashmace, and Ripsnarl. Of course, you need not follow any examples at all!)
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #107. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 10/17/06]
Miles O’Roughage scratched his head. He still could not help but wonder what Harvey’s mysterious experiment had been about. Whatever potion he had poured on the roots of that old alder tree dying in the back of his greenhouse, it had made a world of difference.
No longer was the tree dying. Still more perplexing, it was no longer an alder. Each day the tree had grown straighter, taller, thicker, stronger. Its bark now swathed it like folds of a soft, gray robe. Its foliage cast a deep shadow around the trunk and roots, a shadow that nevertheless glittered as if the leaves were covered with tiny, reflective crystals.
Moss had rapidly grown round the tree, until it draped from the limbs like long, gray beards. And when the wind blew through its branches, each day during the scheduled rainy spell – a very special spell O’Roughage had spent the best part of thirty years perfecting – the tree muttered to itself, like an old man muttering in his sleep.
Miles O’Roughage shook his head, wondering why the phrase “Merlin tree” kept crossing his mind...but his musings were interrupted by an unexplained rustle of leaves and a few furtive giggles, coming from the far corner of the greenhouse, near his office. O’Roughage stalked quietly, but quickly, through the paths of his indoor garden, scarcely pausing even to slap away a mischievous bogeyvillain vine that was trying to sneak down the back of his shirt.
It was all for nothing. By the time he reached his office, the last of the green fire was dying out on his hearth. Someone had gotten in and out again, using the Floo network. Alarmed, O’Roughage prowled through the nearby flowerbeds until he found signs that cuttings had been clumsily taken. He sighed and began to dress his wounded plant friends, shaking his head again at the folly of young wizards these days.
Meanwhile, a boy wizard, far too young to attend Hogwarts, sat pouting on a bench outside the head’s office at Dr. Wrigley’s Center for Pre-thaumatic Formation.
Wrigley’s, as you may know, is a cross between a primary school and a latchkey program for the children of witches and wizards whose careers make it impossible to homeschool their offspring. So while Mum and Dad work, their little ones get the discipline and basic education they need to prepare for Hogwarts – and to keep out of trouble. The tuition at Wrigley’s costs a fortune, so it is most used by the wealthy; but the RMB subsidizes the children of its agents, so that (for example) Marmaduke Spankison might find himself pouting on a bench outside Dr. Wrigley’s study.
His brow wrinkled even more, and his lip stuck out still further, as he relived his most recent disappointment. Stung by the memory, he glared balefully at his own right hand.
As he had often done in the past, Marmaduke had tried to play a small prank, relying on his lifelong ability to turn half of his body invisible. While hiding in a cubicle in the girl’s toilet, he had willed the upper half of his body to go invisible, and had started to crawl under the side of the cubicle, where Marjory Sudbom stood in front of one of the sinks, checking her hair in the mirror.
He had only meant to put a spider on her sock, and perhaps tie her shoes together, but Marjory had shrieked. “Aargh! Is that you, Marmaduke Ethelbaldricson? I knew it was you all those other times. For shame!” And then, standing on his inexplicably visible fingers, she had screamed for Matron. And so, give or take a bruised earlobe and a scolding that made him wince even in memory, Marmaduke sat and waited for his sentence.
But the worst memory of all was the moment when Marmaduke had recognized that he was no longer the only person who could see the body parts that he had willed invisible. His thought at the time, as he gazed reproachfully at the hand that had betrayed him, was: “What’s the rest of me doing there?”
Marmaduke’s father came out of the head’s office, wearing a sad but calm expression that made the boy tremble. He trembled because he believed, as boys of his character often believe of their soft-spoken-hero fathers, that under the sad, calm surface was a fury waiting to be unleashed. But all Spanky did was beckon to the boy with a tilt of his head. Marmaduke stood up and put his hand in his father’s firm grip. A pop – a moment of crushing darkness – and the pair of them squirted out into the parlor of their house.
“If you’re as clever as you should be,” said Spanky before letting go Maramaduke’s hand, “you’ll have worked out what your mistake was, and avoid repeating it in future.” That was all he said. Then, he simply went into his study and closed the door, leaving the boy to find out for himself what to do with the balance of the day.
Spanky tossed a handful of Floo powder into the small, woodburning stove in the corner of his study. Then, when the flames turned green, he poked his head into them and said, “Ilona’s office.” A dizzy moment later, he was looking up out of the grate in a stone chamber, part of an old castle that had been taken over by the RMB. Directly opposite the grate was a desk where Spanky’s wife, newly reinstated after years of being nonexistent to everyone except her husband, was debriefing a young female operative.
“Another time,” Ilona said, beginning to wrap up the conversation when she spotted Spanky’s head in the fire, “don’t be so quick to conclude that the stage magician is using real magic in front of Muggles, even if he is a wizard. There are proper tests for that, you know. What with all the Memory Charms that we needed to put on the audience, you would have had a solid week’s worth of paperwork even if you had been right. As it is – well, I trust that these forms will teach you to be more circumspect.”
The younger witch nodded, looking chastised, and accepted a roll of parchment the size of a side drum, tied up with several lengths of twine.
As soon as the younger witch had Disapparated, Ilona went over to the fire and knelt next to her husband’s waiting head. “Well?” she said.
“He’s suspended for the rest of the week,” Spanky sighed. “The children are still learning all the implications of your being freed from that djinn curse.”
“It’s for the best,” said Ilona decisively. “And I have an idea as to how to keep Marmy occupied and out of trouble. Why don’t you take...”
Her suggestion was interrupted by a burst of smoke, ash, and even brighter green flame.
“Uh-oh,” said Ilona. “I have another incoming call.”
That was all the warning Spanky had before someone stepped on his head, crushing his chin against the warm coals. A laughing couple stumbled out of the fireplace, trailing ash onto the hearthrug. Spanky did not recognize them at first, because he was busy spitting out ash and coughing. Then he saw that it was a veiled witch and a burly wizard with tattoos writhing over his bare arms.
“Beg pardon,” said Sadie in a, for her, uncharacteristically cheerful voice. “We don’t mean to intrude – well, yes we do. We’re having a double date with another couple, and we decided to try a scavenger hunt.”
“Isn’t it a bit early to be out on a date?” Ilona asked, glancing toward the mantle clock, whose hour-hand was still several inches removed from the inscription that said “Quitting Time!”
“We had to get an early start,” said Sadie, while her not-very-talkative partner nodded and grinned. “We have to meet up and compare our findings with the other couple, before going to a show together.” In spite of the veil, one could see how Sadie wrinkled her nose at the mention of “going to a show.”
“Then what do you need from me?” Ilona asked brusquely, while Spanky tried to blink soot out of his right eye.
“We didn’t know where else to go,” gushed Sadie. “One of the things on our list is ‘a weapon that was used to vanquish an undead creature.’”
“Then take this,” said Ilona, pulling out one of several items, like wooden chopsticks, that she had twisted into her hair.
“What is it?” the tattooed wizard asked, in halting English.
“Kougai,” said Ilona.
“Yes, isn’t he?” Sadie giggled. “But what do you call this thing?”
Ilona rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I once had no choice but to stake a vampire, and I happened to be wearing it when no other wooden stake was within reach. It saved my life.”
“How do you know it was this one and not one of those others?” Sadie asked, peering nervously at the array of kougai piercing the knot of hair atop Ilona’s head.
“Does it really matter?” said Ilona. “All I know is that I haven’t been without at least one or two of them since that incident. One never knows.”
“She was cleared in the investigation that followed,” Spanky mentioned. Sadie and her companion jumped, only now noticing his head in the fire for the first time. “The Bureau agreed that she was in imminent danger of being bitten, so they determined the staking to be an act of self-defense.”
“That’s the life of an RMB agent,” Ilona agreed, beaming at Sadie. “You know, you might consider a career...”
“We shouldn’t keep you any longer,” Sadie blurted hastily. “Besides, we have to stay ahead of the other couple. Bye!” Then, tugging firmly on her friend’s bicep, which was currently flashing the name of a Polish scriptorium, she stepped carefully over Spanky’s head, shouted "St. Broccoli’s Cemetery Chapel," and disappeared with a loud pop.
“Now that we have a moment of privacy,” Spanky said, “you were saying...?”
“Ah! yes,” said Ilona. “You should take Marmaduke to...”
This time, when Spanky heard the popping noise, he ducked to the side and almost escaped injury as another couple staggered onto the hearthrug in a cloud of dust. Somebody’s boot clipped Spanky’s left ear, and he ended up having a sneezing fit, but other than that he fared better than the last time.
“Sorry,” said Endora and Merlin in unison. They were wearing matched pairs of fake eyeglasses, with attached fake noses, eyebrows, and moustaches. They were also holding hands and giggling like teenagers.
“Honey, it’s the other couple,” said Ilona.
“Oh, they beat us to it, did they?” said Merlin.
“Don’t worry, I have several others,” said Ilona, indicating the bristle of kougai in her hair.
Merlin and Endora gave her a blank look. They clearly did not know what Ilona was talking about.
“Aren’t you here to get...?”
“...your husband’s silver knife, yes,” said Endora. “The one that unzipped a werewolf all those years ago. Your son told us Spanky’s body was at home, but his head would be here, so we popped in to ask if we might borrow it.”
“The knife, that is,” Merlin explained to Spanky. “Borrow the knife, not your head.”
“Feel free to pick my pocket on your way back through my home,” said Spanky, torn between laughing and looking irritated and managing, by a heroic effort, to do neither. “You’ll find it in a sheath belted around my left thigh, just below my left wand holster.”
“The knife, not our home,” Ilona explained. “You’ll find his knife belted to his leg.”
“We understand,” Merlin assured her.
“And please,” Spanky added, “take care not to cut yourself with it.”
“It being the knife, not the leg,” Endora explained, in case anyone was still having trouble tracing pronouns to their antecedent.
“Cheers,” said Endora. “We’d best be going then. We’re to meet up with Sadie and her fellow, so we can all go to the formation flying show at McNutt’s Fairy Farm.” She rubbed her hands eagerly, looking very pleased about their plans for the evening. “We’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
“It being the knife, not the fairy farm, I take it,” said Spanky. “Yes, see that you do.”
“And have a good time!” Ilona shouted as the pair Disapparated.
Spanky looked up at his wife and let his eyes ask the question this time: “What were you saying?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Ilona, biting her lip thoughtfully. “Do you know, I think the best thing to keep Marmaduke busy would be a scavenger hunt....”
+++ 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: True or False: In today’s environment-friendly society, witches and wizards should pay a tax on the use of magical power.
CONTEST: Come up with an original name for a Gringotts goblin. (Examples to follow include: Griphook, Dewclaw, Nailspike, Chokechain, Undergrim, Bilejug, Sawtooth, Spleengraft, Jugshard, Bashmace, and Ripsnarl. Of course, you need not follow any examples at all!)
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #107. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 10/17/06]
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
92. The Last Recruit
Contest winners: DeatheaterJ, zanaboo, and Linda Carrig
The new headmistress sat in the back of the classroom, seemingly absorbed in the Journal of Early Wizardry Development, Vol. 937, No. 6, while the brand new Defensive Magic teacher carried on with his lecture. She sighed as she listened, reminding herself once again that no one would have expected it easy to introduce the new curriculum at Durmstrang. Old ways – like teaching the flat-out Dark Arts – were hard to put aside. It was no wonder that she was the third head of Durmstrang to be appointed since the disappearance of Igor Karkaroff. Still, there was something about this new teacher...if anyone could make it work, he could.
“...It wasn’t hard for me to hop from on top of one giant, glass eyeball to another, all the way across the dungeon – though, to be sure, if I had fallen between them, they would have rolled over me and crushed me to death. After that, it was a simple matter of sawing through two iron bars, squeezing through the window, and crawling along a low-hanging tree branch over the Inferi-infested moat. Then I had all afternoon, until the sun went down, to run for my life across miles of swampy waste. It was actually the most fun I had had all summer. Nevertheless, that was the last time my parents allowed me to spend the holidays with my vampire aunt and uncle. The End.”
The young witch nodded politely, acknowledging the other students’ applause, and returned to her seat.
“Very good, excellent work,” said the new teacher, wiping sweat off his pasty brow. “We will continue hearing your compositions about your experiences with the Dark Arts next week. Now, let’s see how many of you read the chapter that was assigned for today. Pavel, how would you define the word ‘munchkinesis’?”
“Er...munchkinesis...” One of the boys in the front row got a strained look on his face. “Is that a curse that causes you to grow a second stomach, so that you have to ruminate like a...”
“No,” said the professor. “Who knows this? Samirah?”
A girl cleared her throat nervously, then said, “Munchkinesis: a security spell, often triggered by stepping on a trick stair, that causes the victim to become about two feet tall with a squeaky voice and adorable, rosy cheeks.”
Several of the children in the classroom shuddered.
“Fair warning,” said the teacher. “The trunk that contains the answers to this year’s quizzes is protected by the munchkinesis spell. Now, Alexandra, perhaps you can tell us one advantage, and one disadvantage, of the Albinusmentis spell.”
A very quiet girl turned very red and seemed, for a moment, unable to say anything. Then a couple of students giggled and the girl shot a piercing glare in their direction. “All right,” said Alexandra. “The advantage of Albinusmentis is that it wipes your adversary’s mind blank, giving you time to decide what to do with him. The disadvantage is that it only lasts about a minute.”
“Then you obviously can’t use that as an excuse for failing a whole exam,” the professor pointed out.
Some of the students chuckled briefly. The moment of levity showed that the students were starting to warm to the new subject, but the children seemed confused – some of them ashamed, some angry – after it happened. The headmistress stifled another sigh and turned a page in her magazine.
“We just have time for one more question,” said the teacher. “What is another name for the Tonabrix Trap?”
Several hands went up. The teacher called on a student named Laszlo, who said, “Unwelcome Mat.”
“Very good. It’s an effective deterrent against unwelcome guests knocking on your door – but remember, it leaves an awful mess to clean up, and it can go off unintentionally. Read chapter two for next time!”
This last bit was shouted over the sound of the bell ringing, students gathering up their things, and a general rush for the door.
Once the last student had left the room, the teacher went and sat down next to the headmistress, who was stuffing her magazine into a pocket of her robes.
“Well, Tatyana, how do you think that went?” he said.
“I warned you that it would be difficult, Slavik,” she replied, looking directly at him for the first time all day. He was a pale, bespectacled man – fairly young – a bit on the portly side, with a good-sized bald-spot above his forehead and a wary look in his eyes that some people had mistaken for a sign of weak nerves. Actually, Tatyana knew that Slavik was a very brave wizard, and dangerous when crossed. He had saved her life once. That was why he was the first teacher she had thought to hire for this difficult, new job. Seeing a shadow of discouragement fall across his face, Tatyana added, “But if you keep on as you have begun, I think you will succeed.”
“Good,” said Slavik. “Then perhaps you are in a good enough mood to grant me one small, tiny favor.”
“Name it.”
“I need to take a leave of absence.”
Tatyana laughed aloud. Then she realized it wasn’t a joke, and scowled instead. “Slavik, this is hardly the time. We have so much to do, and we have to do it fast, before the school governors lose their nerve.”
“Only for a week, I promise. I’ve received an urgent plea for help from an old friend.”
Actually, Slavik had received nothing of the sort. Rigel had contacted him through the matched pair of magic mirrors they shared, to warn him that Il Comte was coming after them. Slavik knew that he was safer at Durmstrang than most anywhere else. But he also knew that Rigel was about to try another Gringotts heist, and he had an idea about how he could help...without getting trapped for years and years.
“All right,” said Tatyana. “I will teach your class for one week, no more.”
“Thank you. I will leave tonight.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
When he Apparated in the back parlor at the Hog’s Head several hours later, the room was empty except for a burly tattooed wizard being aggressively kissed by a veiled witch -- what little of her face Slavik could see was quite nice -- plus a thinner, haunted-looking wizard who was watching the amorous couple with a gloomy air. The loud popping sound of Slavik’s arrival startled the couple, who loudly fell under the table. The third wizard hopped to his feet, his gloom suddenly replaced by a beaming smile.
“Slavik, my old friend!” he cried, shaking the teacher’s hand vigorously in a two-handed grip.
“Is it really Anatoly?” Slavik exclaimed.
Anatoly kicked someone under the table, and the couple resurfaced, looking quite rumpled. “The meeting will begin soon. These two came with me.” He introduced them to Slavik, a bit of his sullenness returning at the sight of them.
The introductions had scarcely ended when they had to start again – and again, and again – as more of the would-be bank robbers Apparated in the small parlor. Somehow, there was always just room enough for all of them, including a chair next to Spanky that seemed to be empty whenever Slavik looked right at it, though at other times the table seemed fully occupied. Drinks were ordered all around, amid a continuous flow of friendly chatter.
Last to arrive was Harvey, who opened the official meeting with a bit of good news: “I have found a way through a magical wall that leads to the underground river, near the Pit under Gringotts.”
The conspirators cheered, then listened intently to his detailed explanation, then cheered again. “It only wants something to divert the goblins’ attention,” Harvey finished, “and our plan will be complete.”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Slavik. “I have an idea – but I will need your master of disguise to help me...”
“Gladly,” said Joe Albuquerque.
“...And,” Slavik continued, “We have to do the break-in within the week.”
Suddenly, the crowded room became so silent that it seemed the breathing had stopped. Harvey’s friends, Spanky’s children, the clown wizards, Rigel and Mr. Oldmanson, the Durmstrang lads and even the tattooed wizard stared at Slavik like so many wax figures. It was one of those moments when the wary look in Slavik’s eyes proved, beyond any doubt, not to be a sign of a nervous disposition. Setting his jaw firmly, Slavik said, “Here’s what I suggest...”
+++ THIS WEEK’S 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: Will Jaan change his mind and join the party before they break into Gringotts?
CONTEST: Describe a real-life creature that has something kind of magical about it.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #94. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 6/11/06]
The new headmistress sat in the back of the classroom, seemingly absorbed in the Journal of Early Wizardry Development, Vol. 937, No. 6, while the brand new Defensive Magic teacher carried on with his lecture. She sighed as she listened, reminding herself once again that no one would have expected it easy to introduce the new curriculum at Durmstrang. Old ways – like teaching the flat-out Dark Arts – were hard to put aside. It was no wonder that she was the third head of Durmstrang to be appointed since the disappearance of Igor Karkaroff. Still, there was something about this new teacher...if anyone could make it work, he could.
“...It wasn’t hard for me to hop from on top of one giant, glass eyeball to another, all the way across the dungeon – though, to be sure, if I had fallen between them, they would have rolled over me and crushed me to death. After that, it was a simple matter of sawing through two iron bars, squeezing through the window, and crawling along a low-hanging tree branch over the Inferi-infested moat. Then I had all afternoon, until the sun went down, to run for my life across miles of swampy waste. It was actually the most fun I had had all summer. Nevertheless, that was the last time my parents allowed me to spend the holidays with my vampire aunt and uncle. The End.”
The young witch nodded politely, acknowledging the other students’ applause, and returned to her seat.
“Very good, excellent work,” said the new teacher, wiping sweat off his pasty brow. “We will continue hearing your compositions about your experiences with the Dark Arts next week. Now, let’s see how many of you read the chapter that was assigned for today. Pavel, how would you define the word ‘munchkinesis’?”
“Er...munchkinesis...” One of the boys in the front row got a strained look on his face. “Is that a curse that causes you to grow a second stomach, so that you have to ruminate like a...”
“No,” said the professor. “Who knows this? Samirah?”
A girl cleared her throat nervously, then said, “Munchkinesis: a security spell, often triggered by stepping on a trick stair, that causes the victim to become about two feet tall with a squeaky voice and adorable, rosy cheeks.”
Several of the children in the classroom shuddered.
“Fair warning,” said the teacher. “The trunk that contains the answers to this year’s quizzes is protected by the munchkinesis spell. Now, Alexandra, perhaps you can tell us one advantage, and one disadvantage, of the Albinusmentis spell.”
A very quiet girl turned very red and seemed, for a moment, unable to say anything. Then a couple of students giggled and the girl shot a piercing glare in their direction. “All right,” said Alexandra. “The advantage of Albinusmentis is that it wipes your adversary’s mind blank, giving you time to decide what to do with him. The disadvantage is that it only lasts about a minute.”
“Then you obviously can’t use that as an excuse for failing a whole exam,” the professor pointed out.
Some of the students chuckled briefly. The moment of levity showed that the students were starting to warm to the new subject, but the children seemed confused – some of them ashamed, some angry – after it happened. The headmistress stifled another sigh and turned a page in her magazine.
“We just have time for one more question,” said the teacher. “What is another name for the Tonabrix Trap?”
Several hands went up. The teacher called on a student named Laszlo, who said, “Unwelcome Mat.”
“Very good. It’s an effective deterrent against unwelcome guests knocking on your door – but remember, it leaves an awful mess to clean up, and it can go off unintentionally. Read chapter two for next time!”
This last bit was shouted over the sound of the bell ringing, students gathering up their things, and a general rush for the door.
Once the last student had left the room, the teacher went and sat down next to the headmistress, who was stuffing her magazine into a pocket of her robes.
“Well, Tatyana, how do you think that went?” he said.
“I warned you that it would be difficult, Slavik,” she replied, looking directly at him for the first time all day. He was a pale, bespectacled man – fairly young – a bit on the portly side, with a good-sized bald-spot above his forehead and a wary look in his eyes that some people had mistaken for a sign of weak nerves. Actually, Tatyana knew that Slavik was a very brave wizard, and dangerous when crossed. He had saved her life once. That was why he was the first teacher she had thought to hire for this difficult, new job. Seeing a shadow of discouragement fall across his face, Tatyana added, “But if you keep on as you have begun, I think you will succeed.”
“Good,” said Slavik. “Then perhaps you are in a good enough mood to grant me one small, tiny favor.”
“Name it.”
“I need to take a leave of absence.”
Tatyana laughed aloud. Then she realized it wasn’t a joke, and scowled instead. “Slavik, this is hardly the time. We have so much to do, and we have to do it fast, before the school governors lose their nerve.”
“Only for a week, I promise. I’ve received an urgent plea for help from an old friend.”
Actually, Slavik had received nothing of the sort. Rigel had contacted him through the matched pair of magic mirrors they shared, to warn him that Il Comte was coming after them. Slavik knew that he was safer at Durmstrang than most anywhere else. But he also knew that Rigel was about to try another Gringotts heist, and he had an idea about how he could help...without getting trapped for years and years.
“All right,” said Tatyana. “I will teach your class for one week, no more.”
“Thank you. I will leave tonight.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
When he Apparated in the back parlor at the Hog’s Head several hours later, the room was empty except for a burly tattooed wizard being aggressively kissed by a veiled witch -- what little of her face Slavik could see was quite nice -- plus a thinner, haunted-looking wizard who was watching the amorous couple with a gloomy air. The loud popping sound of Slavik’s arrival startled the couple, who loudly fell under the table. The third wizard hopped to his feet, his gloom suddenly replaced by a beaming smile.
“Slavik, my old friend!” he cried, shaking the teacher’s hand vigorously in a two-handed grip.
“Is it really Anatoly?” Slavik exclaimed.
Anatoly kicked someone under the table, and the couple resurfaced, looking quite rumpled. “The meeting will begin soon. These two came with me.” He introduced them to Slavik, a bit of his sullenness returning at the sight of them.
The introductions had scarcely ended when they had to start again – and again, and again – as more of the would-be bank robbers Apparated in the small parlor. Somehow, there was always just room enough for all of them, including a chair next to Spanky that seemed to be empty whenever Slavik looked right at it, though at other times the table seemed fully occupied. Drinks were ordered all around, amid a continuous flow of friendly chatter.
Last to arrive was Harvey, who opened the official meeting with a bit of good news: “I have found a way through a magical wall that leads to the underground river, near the Pit under Gringotts.”
The conspirators cheered, then listened intently to his detailed explanation, then cheered again. “It only wants something to divert the goblins’ attention,” Harvey finished, “and our plan will be complete.”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Slavik. “I have an idea – but I will need your master of disguise to help me...”
“Gladly,” said Joe Albuquerque.
“...And,” Slavik continued, “We have to do the break-in within the week.”
Suddenly, the crowded room became so silent that it seemed the breathing had stopped. Harvey’s friends, Spanky’s children, the clown wizards, Rigel and Mr. Oldmanson, the Durmstrang lads and even the tattooed wizard stared at Slavik like so many wax figures. It was one of those moments when the wary look in Slavik’s eyes proved, beyond any doubt, not to be a sign of a nervous disposition. Setting his jaw firmly, Slavik said, “Here’s what I suggest...”
+++ THIS WEEK’S 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: Will Jaan change his mind and join the party before they break into Gringotts?
CONTEST: Describe a real-life creature that has something kind of magical about it.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most, will be featured in Magic Quill #94. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 6/11/06]
90. Grim Prospekt
Contest #1 winners: Linda Carrig, zanaboo, Shadow Phoenix, and TWZRD
Contest #2 winner: _houdini
Sadie had all but given up finding the Wizard Quarter of the city, not to mention Anatoly’s shop. But then a careening taxi forced her to flatten herself against a wall – and instead of meeting the wall’s resistance, she went straight through it as if through a bead curtain. On the other side was another street that seemingly ran parallel to the one Sadie had been on.
It might as well have belonged to another world. Instead of chilly wind, mud and intermittent rain showers like the rest of the city, this new street was filled with sunlight, warmth, and gleaming surfaces. Spicy aromas drifted out of a tea-shop across the street. There were a lot of people walking to and fro on foot, but no one seemed to be in a great hurry. There were no cars, buses, or even bicycles to endanger the pedestrian. Sadie sighed with relief. She had never been here before, but already she felt at home.
The phrasebook was no use. Sadie could not read the alphabet the local phrases were written in. So she settled for asking for directions the simple way. She grabbed a passerby and asked, “Grim Prospekt?” The passerby looked alarmed and suspicious, and hurried away without saying a word.
That feeling of being right at home didn’t last long. After trying the same thing on several other pedestrians, Sadie decided just to walk along until she stumbled upon Grim Prospekt. She was certain that wasn’t the name of this street; it just didn’t sound right. She had in mind something more like Knockturn Alley in London. But it didn’t help that she couldn’t speak with anyone, or read the signs.
Then she saw something that made her do a double-take.
In a wide spot in the street ahead, a powerfully built young wizard was standing on a wheelbarrow, its wheels chocked with bricks. The wizard was stripped to the waist and covered, front and back, with tattoos. The tattoos, naturally, moved around and even changed from time to time, while the wizard turned this way and that to make sure everyone passing him saw both sides. Sadie’s first thought was (gulp) that the wizard was very impressive, especially when he flexed. Her second thought was that the unintelligible words written all over him seemed to be changing every few moments, like adverts on a magical marquee. Her third thought was, “Blimey. That looks like English on his left bicep.”
The adverts on the left arm were, indeed, in English. Sadie stepped closer and stared. The wizard winked at her, and she blushed under her veil. She tossed a few knuts into the hat at his feet. Whenever his left arm came into view, she read it. First it said, “Snake cakes! Feel them slither down into your tummy...yummy!” Then it changed to, “Colleen’s Charmed Clothing: Enchanting transfigurations for the fashionable witch. Inch-vanishing waistlines, self-levitating busts, and self-fit gowns on request.” A moment later it read, “Maglar: Protective robes for the extreme sports wizard. Made from 100% acromantula silk – as strong as dragon skin at half the weight!” And finally, “Foofaraw's Dancing Shoes – 2 Finic Alley – Fitting wizards with two left feet since 1483.” Then the adverts started to repeat.
Sadie shook her head firmly, then spoke to the human billboard. “I say,” she said. “Did you get those tattoos done in Grim Prospekt?”
The illustrated wizard did not seem to understand. He replied with a stream of language that seemed to have an impossibly high ratio of consonants to vowels. Sadie gulped again, then grabbed the wizard’s wrist and jabbed her finger at the writhing letters advertising snake cakes. Then she said, very loudly and slowly, “Grim Prospekt?”
The wizard grinned and nodded.
Sadie made a vague, round-and-round gesture that was meant to say, “Where is it?”
Cheerfully, the wizard pulled his robes on and dumped a hatful of change into one of the pockets. Then he grabbed Sadie’s hand and led her down the street at a nearly running pace. Soon Sadie felt winded, but she was too breathless to complain and the wizard dragged her onward. Then, suddenly, they turned a corner and the sunlight vanished, like a blown-out candle.
Grim Prospekt looked just as the name had led Sadie to expect. Roofs sagged, doors and shutters hung crooked. Windows were missing panes. The bricks in the walls and the roadway were crumbling and crooked. Painted signs hanging over the pavement had faded almost beyond recognition. Everything was coated with a layer of sooty grime. Smoke from numerous chimneys seemed to gather just above the rooftops. In doorways they passed, Sadie spotted women with tear-streaked faces, and emaciated children dressed in rags.
It was not, however, a Knockturn Alley type of place; not at all. As their running pace slowed to a brisk walk, and as the muscle wizard moved alongside Sadie in a vaguely protective way, she saw that it was simply a place of desperation. That such places could exist in the magical world did not seem right, but it saddened rather than surprised her. The shops bore witness to the way of life in Grim Prospekt. One window displayed a stuffed image of a goblin hanging by its neck. Another place seemed to specialize in mending tea-towels worn by house elves. Still another storefront appeared to house a recovery program for billywig addicts. A restorer of derelict brooms crouched over a pathetic tangle of twigs and splinters, chewing on his filthy thumbnail. A small booth offered a variety of fried morsels – of what kind of meat, Sadie did not care to ask.
At a bend in the alley, the tattooed wizard stopped, pointed dramatically, and said, “Tak!”
And there, in a stall just large enough for a camp bed and a short, three-legged stool, was Anatoly. He was seated on the stool, pressing the glowing tip of his wand against a shaved spot on the back of an overweight wizard, who was biting down on his own wand in pain. Now and then, sparks flew out of the side of the fat wizard’s mouth. Sadie knew the tattoo artist was Anatoly, one of the ex-Durmstrang runaways who had shared Merlin’s ordeal in Gringotts. Perhaps it was because of the haunted yet determined look on the man’s face as he bent over his wand, sweat dripping from his brow. Or perhaps it was the fact that the words “Anatoly’s Wizard Tattoos” flashed on his bare forearm, in English and three other languages, successively.
A moment later, the job was done. The fat man got up, wincing. Anatoly handed him a small tin of cream and refused an offer of what seemed to be the fat wizard’s last few coins. The obese wizard turned his back to the window and tried, gingerly, to put his robes on. Now Sadie could see that the tattoo was a slowly blinking portrait of Harry Potter, looking sad and wise beyond his years and a little dangerous at the same time. Under the portrait was a title that scrolled by in a succession of languages. Just before the robes covered it, Sadie caught part of the English version: “Potter for Chief Mugw-“
The fat customer came out. Sadie smacked her guide’s shoulder gratefully, then went into the shop rubbing the pain out of her hand.
Anatoly was polishing his wand with a rag and a jar of bat earwax. He said something to Sadie in a voice that sounded almost too weary to pronounce the difficult-sounding words of his language. Sadie told him, “I’ve come from Merlin.”
“In that case, I’ll give you five percent discount,” said Anatoly, without showing a bit of surprise. “But I need to see picture you want me to draw, and then we will set appointment. I need at least one or two days to practice. Otherwise you get bad tattoo. Advertiser will not be happy.”
“The tattoo will have to wait till some other time,” Sadie said, glancing out the window to where her guide was still waiting. “I’ve actually come to warn you that...”
The window facing the street shattered as Sadie’s muscle-bound friend barreled through it. He hit the camp-bed rolling and crushed it to splinters. Through what was left of the window, Sadie saw a figure with shiny hair and gorgeous robes advancing from across Grim Prospekt with his wand outstretched. She threw herself at Anatoly, yelling, “Down!” A moment later, the shop wall where Anatoly had been standing turned into a giant, wobbling pudding, and then collapsed.
On the floor, half immersed in pudding, the illustrated wizard gurgled. On top of him, but under Sadie, Anatoly groaned. Time was running out. Il Comte about to step through the window, wand aimed at the three figures piled on the floor, a demonic gleam in his eye. Sadie grabbed one arm of each of the wizards under her and Disapparated.
It was re-Apparating that proved to be tricky. For what seemed like several minutes, but that could have been hours, she felt herself struggling in a tight, dark, airless place. The walls gripped her like elastic sheets, pulling this way and then that, rippling, squeezing, crushing. Each of her arms seemed to be carrying the weight of an elephant, two elephants walking away in opposite directions. She thought she might be torn in two. She tried to scream, but couldn’t. Then she thought about that sunny street whose name she couldn’t pronounce. The warmth beckoned to her. She focused on it, and willed herself toward it. She wrapped her mouth around the name of that fabled street, and as if stealing the sound of it from a tightly sealed room she repeated it in her mind: Mayna Solntsevorota...
Something went SNAP! and Sadie materialized on top of warm cobblestones, with two half-conscious wizards piled on top of her.
“Does anybody have a pinch of Floo powder handy?” she yelled at the startled passersby, while trying to poke Anatoly awake.
“What a coincidence,” said a suave voice. A hem of those silky robes emerged from the gathering crowd. Sadie could not see much around Anatoly’s shoulder, but she knew Il Comte had his wand raised. The voice purred, “I would so love to send you all on your way.”
Anatoly muttered something that didn’t sound like Latin, but it still sounded like a spell. Il Comte backed off a step and demanded, though with a bit of a quaver in his voice, “What is this?” All that Sadie could see what something like paint dripping off the fingers of the illustrated wizard on top of the pile. Then she saw images – pictures, letters – not only moving, but racing across the cobbled street towards Il Comte’s feet.
“Stop it!” Il Comte screamed. “I demand...!” But before he could give voice to his demand, the migrating tattoos were almost on top of him. He tried to blast them with a curse, but they only swarmed around the burnt hole in the street. “No,” Il Comte sobbed; then he barked, “Out of my way!” and vanished into the crowd at top speed.
“That will keep him busy until we can get out of here,” Anatoly said, practically right into Sadie’s ear.
“We’d better work on that quickly,” groaned Sadie, almost unable to breathe under the weight of both wizards. “Is what’s-his-name coming round? He’ll want to come with us. Knowing Il Comte, he’ll be a target now, too.”
“I agree,” said Anatoly, then he yelled for help in the local language. It took several people to drag the formerly tattooed wizard off them, and a couple more to help Anatoly and Sadie to their feet. Anatoly dug in his pockets and found a pouch of Floo powder. He looked up at Sadie with those same haunted, yet determined, eyes – only now, there was something more in them: a dancing light.
“Where to, then?” he asked her.
“Hogsmeade,” she replied.
+++ THIS WEEK’S 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: Who will Sadie end up romantically involved with? (A) Anatoly. (B) What’s-his-name, with the tattoos. (C) Il Comte. (D) Someone else. (E) Nobody.
CONTEST: Describe a gruesome magical booby-trap, or a nasty curse used for security purposes.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most will be featured in Magic Quill #92. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 5/30/06]
Contest #2 winner: _houdini
Sadie had all but given up finding the Wizard Quarter of the city, not to mention Anatoly’s shop. But then a careening taxi forced her to flatten herself against a wall – and instead of meeting the wall’s resistance, she went straight through it as if through a bead curtain. On the other side was another street that seemingly ran parallel to the one Sadie had been on.
It might as well have belonged to another world. Instead of chilly wind, mud and intermittent rain showers like the rest of the city, this new street was filled with sunlight, warmth, and gleaming surfaces. Spicy aromas drifted out of a tea-shop across the street. There were a lot of people walking to and fro on foot, but no one seemed to be in a great hurry. There were no cars, buses, or even bicycles to endanger the pedestrian. Sadie sighed with relief. She had never been here before, but already she felt at home.
The phrasebook was no use. Sadie could not read the alphabet the local phrases were written in. So she settled for asking for directions the simple way. She grabbed a passerby and asked, “Grim Prospekt?” The passerby looked alarmed and suspicious, and hurried away without saying a word.
That feeling of being right at home didn’t last long. After trying the same thing on several other pedestrians, Sadie decided just to walk along until she stumbled upon Grim Prospekt. She was certain that wasn’t the name of this street; it just didn’t sound right. She had in mind something more like Knockturn Alley in London. But it didn’t help that she couldn’t speak with anyone, or read the signs.
Then she saw something that made her do a double-take.
In a wide spot in the street ahead, a powerfully built young wizard was standing on a wheelbarrow, its wheels chocked with bricks. The wizard was stripped to the waist and covered, front and back, with tattoos. The tattoos, naturally, moved around and even changed from time to time, while the wizard turned this way and that to make sure everyone passing him saw both sides. Sadie’s first thought was (gulp) that the wizard was very impressive, especially when he flexed. Her second thought was that the unintelligible words written all over him seemed to be changing every few moments, like adverts on a magical marquee. Her third thought was, “Blimey. That looks like English on his left bicep.”
The adverts on the left arm were, indeed, in English. Sadie stepped closer and stared. The wizard winked at her, and she blushed under her veil. She tossed a few knuts into the hat at his feet. Whenever his left arm came into view, she read it. First it said, “Snake cakes! Feel them slither down into your tummy...yummy!” Then it changed to, “Colleen’s Charmed Clothing: Enchanting transfigurations for the fashionable witch. Inch-vanishing waistlines, self-levitating busts, and self-fit gowns on request.” A moment later it read, “Maglar: Protective robes for the extreme sports wizard. Made from 100% acromantula silk – as strong as dragon skin at half the weight!” And finally, “Foofaraw's Dancing Shoes – 2 Finic Alley – Fitting wizards with two left feet since 1483.” Then the adverts started to repeat.
Sadie shook her head firmly, then spoke to the human billboard. “I say,” she said. “Did you get those tattoos done in Grim Prospekt?”
The illustrated wizard did not seem to understand. He replied with a stream of language that seemed to have an impossibly high ratio of consonants to vowels. Sadie gulped again, then grabbed the wizard’s wrist and jabbed her finger at the writhing letters advertising snake cakes. Then she said, very loudly and slowly, “Grim Prospekt?”
The wizard grinned and nodded.
Sadie made a vague, round-and-round gesture that was meant to say, “Where is it?”
Cheerfully, the wizard pulled his robes on and dumped a hatful of change into one of the pockets. Then he grabbed Sadie’s hand and led her down the street at a nearly running pace. Soon Sadie felt winded, but she was too breathless to complain and the wizard dragged her onward. Then, suddenly, they turned a corner and the sunlight vanished, like a blown-out candle.
Grim Prospekt looked just as the name had led Sadie to expect. Roofs sagged, doors and shutters hung crooked. Windows were missing panes. The bricks in the walls and the roadway were crumbling and crooked. Painted signs hanging over the pavement had faded almost beyond recognition. Everything was coated with a layer of sooty grime. Smoke from numerous chimneys seemed to gather just above the rooftops. In doorways they passed, Sadie spotted women with tear-streaked faces, and emaciated children dressed in rags.
It was not, however, a Knockturn Alley type of place; not at all. As their running pace slowed to a brisk walk, and as the muscle wizard moved alongside Sadie in a vaguely protective way, she saw that it was simply a place of desperation. That such places could exist in the magical world did not seem right, but it saddened rather than surprised her. The shops bore witness to the way of life in Grim Prospekt. One window displayed a stuffed image of a goblin hanging by its neck. Another place seemed to specialize in mending tea-towels worn by house elves. Still another storefront appeared to house a recovery program for billywig addicts. A restorer of derelict brooms crouched over a pathetic tangle of twigs and splinters, chewing on his filthy thumbnail. A small booth offered a variety of fried morsels – of what kind of meat, Sadie did not care to ask.
At a bend in the alley, the tattooed wizard stopped, pointed dramatically, and said, “Tak!”
And there, in a stall just large enough for a camp bed and a short, three-legged stool, was Anatoly. He was seated on the stool, pressing the glowing tip of his wand against a shaved spot on the back of an overweight wizard, who was biting down on his own wand in pain. Now and then, sparks flew out of the side of the fat wizard’s mouth. Sadie knew the tattoo artist was Anatoly, one of the ex-Durmstrang runaways who had shared Merlin’s ordeal in Gringotts. Perhaps it was because of the haunted yet determined look on the man’s face as he bent over his wand, sweat dripping from his brow. Or perhaps it was the fact that the words “Anatoly’s Wizard Tattoos” flashed on his bare forearm, in English and three other languages, successively.
A moment later, the job was done. The fat man got up, wincing. Anatoly handed him a small tin of cream and refused an offer of what seemed to be the fat wizard’s last few coins. The obese wizard turned his back to the window and tried, gingerly, to put his robes on. Now Sadie could see that the tattoo was a slowly blinking portrait of Harry Potter, looking sad and wise beyond his years and a little dangerous at the same time. Under the portrait was a title that scrolled by in a succession of languages. Just before the robes covered it, Sadie caught part of the English version: “Potter for Chief Mugw-“
The fat customer came out. Sadie smacked her guide’s shoulder gratefully, then went into the shop rubbing the pain out of her hand.
Anatoly was polishing his wand with a rag and a jar of bat earwax. He said something to Sadie in a voice that sounded almost too weary to pronounce the difficult-sounding words of his language. Sadie told him, “I’ve come from Merlin.”
“In that case, I’ll give you five percent discount,” said Anatoly, without showing a bit of surprise. “But I need to see picture you want me to draw, and then we will set appointment. I need at least one or two days to practice. Otherwise you get bad tattoo. Advertiser will not be happy.”
“The tattoo will have to wait till some other time,” Sadie said, glancing out the window to where her guide was still waiting. “I’ve actually come to warn you that...”
The window facing the street shattered as Sadie’s muscle-bound friend barreled through it. He hit the camp-bed rolling and crushed it to splinters. Through what was left of the window, Sadie saw a figure with shiny hair and gorgeous robes advancing from across Grim Prospekt with his wand outstretched. She threw herself at Anatoly, yelling, “Down!” A moment later, the shop wall where Anatoly had been standing turned into a giant, wobbling pudding, and then collapsed.
On the floor, half immersed in pudding, the illustrated wizard gurgled. On top of him, but under Sadie, Anatoly groaned. Time was running out. Il Comte about to step through the window, wand aimed at the three figures piled on the floor, a demonic gleam in his eye. Sadie grabbed one arm of each of the wizards under her and Disapparated.
It was re-Apparating that proved to be tricky. For what seemed like several minutes, but that could have been hours, she felt herself struggling in a tight, dark, airless place. The walls gripped her like elastic sheets, pulling this way and then that, rippling, squeezing, crushing. Each of her arms seemed to be carrying the weight of an elephant, two elephants walking away in opposite directions. She thought she might be torn in two. She tried to scream, but couldn’t. Then she thought about that sunny street whose name she couldn’t pronounce. The warmth beckoned to her. She focused on it, and willed herself toward it. She wrapped her mouth around the name of that fabled street, and as if stealing the sound of it from a tightly sealed room she repeated it in her mind: Mayna Solntsevorota...
Something went SNAP! and Sadie materialized on top of warm cobblestones, with two half-conscious wizards piled on top of her.
“Does anybody have a pinch of Floo powder handy?” she yelled at the startled passersby, while trying to poke Anatoly awake.
“What a coincidence,” said a suave voice. A hem of those silky robes emerged from the gathering crowd. Sadie could not see much around Anatoly’s shoulder, but she knew Il Comte had his wand raised. The voice purred, “I would so love to send you all on your way.”
Anatoly muttered something that didn’t sound like Latin, but it still sounded like a spell. Il Comte backed off a step and demanded, though with a bit of a quaver in his voice, “What is this?” All that Sadie could see what something like paint dripping off the fingers of the illustrated wizard on top of the pile. Then she saw images – pictures, letters – not only moving, but racing across the cobbled street towards Il Comte’s feet.
“Stop it!” Il Comte screamed. “I demand...!” But before he could give voice to his demand, the migrating tattoos were almost on top of him. He tried to blast them with a curse, but they only swarmed around the burnt hole in the street. “No,” Il Comte sobbed; then he barked, “Out of my way!” and vanished into the crowd at top speed.
“That will keep him busy until we can get out of here,” Anatoly said, practically right into Sadie’s ear.
“We’d better work on that quickly,” groaned Sadie, almost unable to breathe under the weight of both wizards. “Is what’s-his-name coming round? He’ll want to come with us. Knowing Il Comte, he’ll be a target now, too.”
“I agree,” said Anatoly, then he yelled for help in the local language. It took several people to drag the formerly tattooed wizard off them, and a couple more to help Anatoly and Sadie to their feet. Anatoly dug in his pockets and found a pouch of Floo powder. He looked up at Sadie with those same haunted, yet determined, eyes – only now, there was something more in them: a dancing light.
“Where to, then?” he asked her.
“Hogsmeade,” she replied.
+++ THIS WEEK’S 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: Who will Sadie end up romantically involved with? (A) Anatoly. (B) What’s-his-name, with the tattoos. (C) Il Comte. (D) Someone else. (E) Nobody.
CONTEST: Describe a gruesome magical booby-trap, or a nasty curse used for security purposes.
The Survey answer that gets the most votes, and the Contest entry that Robbie likes the most will be featured in Magic Quill #92. So be sure to visit our Discussion Thread – and if you aren’t a member of COS Forums, join today!
[Originally posted 5/30/06]
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