Letter VI (C.D. to F.M.)

My dear Foofri,

I’m glad your new protection spell doesn’t last very long (although I’m certain Muse deserved his double enchantment). But while talking frogs and marble statues of handsome young men always get disenchanted sooner or later, who would set out to rescue a lady’s undergarment (or a pair of men’s winter underwear – with a flap)? It cannot but inspire pity.

It is odd that Uncle Alain would use protection wards, since, as you say, he never had a chance to study magic. Perhaps he got them ready made? But what would he be carrying that would need to be guarded anyway? The magic carpet trade isn’t that cutthroat.

It’s probably just a coincidence, but is it possible Sean Valerian has anything to do with your father? As you pointed out, it is a little odd Uncle would drag you out to Seven Oaks at this time of year, and then he turns out to have a warded satchel at the same time the vaguely remembered Sean is sending cryptic letters. Although I have a hard time imagining Uncle engaging in anything more nefarious than price wars.

Speaking of Mr. Valerian, I haven’t been able to find our SMM papers yet (but I have one more stack of boxes to search). Childhood acquaintance or not, he seems to be making a lot of demands on a slim basis: “Tell Cordy this, don’t do that.” And who is this “we” he referred to? If he really wants us to work with him, maybe he should give us something like, oh, I don’t know, ACTUAL INFORMATION. I am trying to take this adventure seriously, but since nothing serious has actually happened, I can’t help being skeptical.

I did go to the Justicum archives this morning to attempt to research the Stones. I say attempt, because I failed to uncover anything, but what I didn’t find looks decidedly suspicious. There is absolutely no record of how the Stones came into being. The first emperor takes the throne and suddenly the Stones are there. But if they came with the conqueror, then why do they belong to my family? And if they always belong to us, why isn’t there any mention of them in pre-conquest history? We, after all, didn’t come in with the conqueror. We were just bright enough to defect to the winning side (fine, loyal lot that we are).

When I got back home, I found yet another summons to court tea, embellished by a handwritten note from the princess. I didn’t find our last conversation particularly stimulating, but apparently Ameliorene did. I absolutely refused to put on the court dress with the fringe again, so I dug out my old Guide to Charmed Couture and turned one of my ordinary afternoon dresses black. This did not prove to be one of my better ideas. I’ve never been good at domestic magic, and the spell didn’t take right. Of course, it wasn’t until I was already at the Residency that I discovered that when I stood still for too long, I left a small puddle of black, like a poorly housebroken water dragon.

When I made this mortifying discovery, I immediately scuttled behind a large potted palm and tried to figure out how to get to the exit without leaving a visible trail. I’d just decided I could make it if I stuck to the wall and pretended I was ill so nobody would stop me to talk, when Damorin Ardaya sidled behind my plant and almost stepped on my foot.

Clearly, he was avoiding someone. Back when I was his apprentice, he was always lecturing on the importance of recognizing the social responsibilities that accompanied Council membership, blah, blah, blah, so it was satisfying to catch him in the act of shirking said social responsibility. (Although I would have enjoyed it more had I not been painfully aware of my leaking dress.)

Of course, he pretended like we weren’t both skulking behind a potted palm in the empress’s afternoon court. “Magi Cordelimaera, how nice to see you.”

“How are you, magi?” I answered, shifting so that my skirt covered several black drips.

“Well, thank you. I’m pleased to see you look the same. I was worried ill health had kept you from the Council.”

Busybody.

“No, thank you, I always enjoy excellent health,” I said coolly.

“I hope your absence wasn’t occasioned by anything serious,” he tried again.

“Really, Magi, I don’t think my absence is any of your business.”

Both aghast and proud of my own temerity, I expected a crushing snub, at the very least. But instead he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall while he looked me over with the most ghastly calculating expression.

“Stop it!” I hissed.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like I’m an anomaly in your latest experiment.”

“Cordelimaera, I think you had better tell me where you were,” he said, ignoring my simile.

“No.”

“Why not? It’s a simple enough question.”

“Why should I? It’s none of your business.”

“It’s a matter of your responsibility to the Council.”

“I’ve already discussed the matter with Master Lastra. If you’re concerned, perhaps you should take it up with him.”

“I will,” he said, sounding unexpectedly grim. It’s difficult to tell what goes on behind that impenetrably polite expression of his, but I would bet the Stones themselves he was surprised and not happy about it.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have so many people to talk to.” I turned to go and nearly ran into the princess.

“Cordelimaera, there you are!” she exclaimed. I was startled to discover she now considers us to be on a first name basis, and was too late to prevent her grabbing my arm. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything!”

She looked up wide-eyed at Damorin, but I was too worried about my unraveling dye spell to be flustered by her ridiculous implication. “Oh dear.”

It took her only a moment to understand, and then she dropped my arm and hopped away with a squeak. “My dress!”

Her royal blue gown, was, in fact, pitch black wherever it had brushed against me, while my dress had leached to a nasty shade of gray.

“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed. “The dye spell didn’t set right.”

“Damorin!” she exclaimed, holding her hands out to him. “Do something!”

His gaze slid from her to me, and for a moment I thought he was trying not to laugh. I know I was, even though I may have just ruined the princess’s favorite tea gown and gotten myself banned from the empress’s court forever. But then he assumed an expression of perfect gravity and offered Ameliorene his handkerchief.

I don’t know what good that was supposed to do, but I didn’t stay to find out. “I’m terribly sorry,” I gasped. “Excuse me!” And I fled the scene of the crime before I further disgraced myself.

I’ve been trying to decide whether this incident confirms the rumors about what way the wind of royal favor is blowing. I’m not exactly sure why she would settle on Damorin, (I suppose his dark and brooding looks have something to do with it—attractive enough if you like that sort of thing) since he must be nearly a decade older than she is, not to mention extremely esoteric in his interests. But there’s no accounting for the taste of some women.

I came home and found your letter, and although the image of Muse as a camisole did not do much for my near hysterics, my interest in your other news did sober me enough that I didn’t have to stop every other line to giggle. By the end, however, I still felt too worked up to write back immediately, so I decided to hop the wall to the neighboring estate and go for a swim. (Old Winterfast and Grandfather were chess cronies, and ever since the funeral, he’s been sending me flowers from his hothouses and urging me to drop by for tea, which is really very sweet of him.)

The Winterfast pool is the most marvelous one in the city. It is sunk in the ground and made entirely of black marble with silver stars set in the bottom. At night the stars glow and it almost feels like swimming through the sky. I didn’t bother with a bathing suit, but cast an invisibility spell and stripped down to my underwear. My swim got rather long, and I wasn’t really paying attention to anything except a delicious feeling of bodilessness when I finally swam to the edge and scrambled out at the spot where I had left my clothes. You can imagine how dismayed I was when I discovered they were gone!

“I can’t see you, but I can see the puddle you’re making,” said a cheerful voice behind me. I spun around and saw a young man standing with my robe in his hands. My first impulse was to run, but my trail of dripping would have given me away in a second.

“I surrender,” I said meekly. “May I have my clothes, please?”

He shook his head. “If I give them to you while you are still invisible you might run away.”

“I promise not to.”

“But how do I know you’ll keep your word?” he protested. “I haven’t the slightest idea who you are. At least I don’t think I do,” he said, squinting at (or rather through) me.

Of course I had no intention of going visible in my underwear. I tried to be logical. “I don’t know you either. You may be a desperate axe murderer. Besides, it’s all very well calling me a trespasser, but how do you know I don’t belong here? Invisibility is no basis for judgment.”

“It’s not exactly a character reference.”

I held my breath, wrinkled my nose and worked up a sneeze. “I’m beginning to catch cold,” I said as pitifully as I could manage, chattering my teeth for emphasis. “I shall probably catch pneumonia and become deathly ill and be confined to bed for weeks.”

He grinned good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t want anyone’s misery on my head, even a trespasser’s.” He handed over my over-robe.*

“And the rest?” I demanded.

“There’s, er, a slight problem..” He whistled softly and Winterfast’s huge black dog trotted out of the shadows with my robe clutched in his mouth.

“Jackler, you stupid beast,” I chided as I wrapped myself securely in my over-robe. He recognized my voice and began wagging his tail furiously and slobbering to keep pace.

The man was squinting at me again. “I say, you promised …” He broke off as I turned visible.

“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” I said severely. My captor started in surprise. “Not you, Jackler,” I explained.

“I beg your pardon. Jamin, at your service.” He bowed politely.

“Magi Cordelimaera at yours,” I said, offering my hand. “I live next door. Are you staying with Magi Winterfast?”

“As a matter of fact, the old bean’s my grandfather. I got tired of rusticating, so he invited me to come and savor the worldly delights of the metropolis.”

“How nice,” I answered dubiously, trying to remember whether Winterfast had ever mentioned a grandson. I couldn’t see any family resemblance, although since I’ve only known Winterfast as gray and craggy, that’s probably not very good evidence. Jamin is sort of goldenish—you know, bright gold hair and glowing tan—attractive enough if you like that sort of thing.

At any rate, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough whether or not he’s an imposter. I think I’m at last sufficiently sleepy to retire, so I’ll bid you good night, dearest.

Cordy

*At this time, traditional Council wear consisted of an inner robe, usually loose fitting and plain, covered by an over-robe, tied with a sash and often heavily embroidered. Excellent examples of these historical costumes have been preserved in the Imperial Realm Museum for the Preservation of Magical Culture (IRMPoMC).