Letter XI (Foofri to Cordy)

Dear Cordy,

First of all, I'm coming home! I leave tomorrow morning and should see you by tomorrow night. We will get through all of this drama together, dearest.

Second, I found the contents of your last letter very odd, but even more so after everything that happened here. I'm sure you've already heard the news about Master Blivius, but I was completely shocked when I found out from Sean.

I was both eager and nervous to speak to Sean after remembering everything in our past. I desperately wanted to talk to him about it, but I had no idea what I would say. “Oh, by the way, I finally remembered that night when you found out you had magic and almost got us killed,” might not be the best conversation starter ever conceived. Plus, since I hadn't received your letter yet, there was nothing to report so there was no reason to seek him out. I decided to wait until Father went for one of his late night walks into the village so I could follow him and confront both him and Sean together.

Your letter arrived this afternoon and had me so deep in thought, I almost missed Father sneaking out the back door just after sunset. I followed him to the hut just the same as last time (no troll this time, thank goodness) and, after sitting down in the corner of the room, overheard the following conversation.

“Master Blivius is dead,” said Sean without preamble. “They found him this morning with a knife in his back.”

“Great Jalwa's ghost!” Father replied hoarsely. He stroked his chin. “You think it’s connected?"

“Yes, somehow. He was found with several volumes available only to magii of his rank and status. One happened to be regarding the Stones and their history. It was lying open on his desk when they found him.”

Father started pacing. “It could have been planted there. Or…it could be real.” He stopped and crossed his arms over his chest. “This changes things drastically, doesn’t it? Someone knows something about the Stones and doesn’t want anyone else to find out. I hope Cordelimaera is taking our advice by not asking around or doing research on her own. We’ve got to do something to make sure she stays out of trouble.”

“You know what that means.”

“Yes, but how to do it without causing a stir,” Father said as he started pacing again, “And how to keep Foofri from getting involved....”

“Once she finds out how much danger Cordelimaera is in, she'll want to go back to the city?”

“I wouldn't be surprised if she already knows something,” Father replied. “She received a letter today and has been acting overly docile and innocent, which is a sure sign she's up to something. I'm starting to wonder if she's on to me.”

“Surely she would confront you immediately,” Sean suggested.

“It's hard to say. She can be very direct sometimes. Other times, she likes to make you squirm a bit first, or spring something on you when you least expect it.”

Which was the perfect segue into revealing myself. I stood up from my corner and dissolved my invisibility spell. “Father? Sean?” I began, clasping my hands in front of me. “Good evening, gentlemen. I believe I can offer assistance. I have some important information to impart that will shed some light on matters.”

For a long moment, they just looked at me in surprise. Then they looked knowingly at each other. Father let out a big sigh.

“See?” he grumbled. “I should have known she had figured things out and would try something like this.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Let’s make the most of things,” replied Sean, “and at least hear what she has to say.”

“You don't have to talk about me as though I wasn't here,” I said to him before I turned to my father. “I’m sorry, Father, but your secrecy compelled me to take unorthodox action this time.”

“This time?”

“Let's move on,” I said, ignoring my father's remark. “First, I do have some information you will find valuable.” I took a deep breath and went for broke. “In exchange for including me in the rest of your business regarding Cordy and the Stones, I will be happy to share what I know.”

My father stood in front of me and crossed his arms again in defiance. “Foofri, you have no idea what kind of demands you are making.”

“Perhaps. All I know is that they are on behalf of my dearest friend and cousin.”

“Who is my niece as well, may I remind you? Do you honestly think I would be involved in anything that would harm Cordelimaera in any way?”

“No, but I’m assuming that in the business of intrigue there are certain risks that must be taken. Safety is never a guarantee. Cordy is involved with this whether she likes it or not. It’s actually a great comfort to know that she’s not in it alone. I, for one, am willing to do whatever is required to resolve this nonsense with the Stones.”

“Nonsense?”

“Yes, nonsense. Cordy knows nothing concrete about the Stones, nor does anyone else, as far as we know. There are only suspicions and rumors, and yet, all of these strange and disturbing things are happening because of them.”

“Oh? And what strange things do you know of that we don’t?”

“You first,” I insisted.

“We can’t just compromise confidences simply because you demand it! This is our job! Keeping secrets is expected and something, I might add, for which I’m known throughout the Imperial Underground.”

“I’m not asking you to compromise anything. I want the same thing that you do--to see that Cordy remains safe regardless of what happens. Please, let me help! Let me go back to Imperial City and be your eyes!”

“No!” they both shouted in unison.

“But, I ca…”

“No!” They said again.

“Please, just hear me ou…”

“No!”

I looked at the both of them. They both seemed a little angry and here I was attempting to help them.

“Do you want her safe?” I said, finally. “Do you want her to stay out of trouble? I am the only one who can make sure she does. If you send someone to be a bodyguard of sorts, people will notice. If you tell her not to do something, she’ll do it (my apologies dearest, but I needed strength to my argument, plus…well, it is somewhat true). I’m the only one who can distract her and keep her from doing anything rash. In addition, I’ll be there to see if anything out of the ordinary occurs and I promise I’ll do my part to pass on information. You can depend on me!” I was pleading now.

Sean was still obviously against it, but my father seemed to be considering. I started to speak again with another line of argument, but a cutting motion with his hand silenced me.

“What you say does make sense. But for the fact that you’re my daughter, I might allow it…”

“Allow? I’m sorry Father, but surely you can see this is the only way. I know you want to protect Cordy, and me as well, but obviously this is the only way to insure that. And besides,” I paused for breath, “You don’t have a choice in the matter. If you want information from Cordy, and she does have information, you’ll need to agree to my terms.” I crossed my arms, mimicking my father's stance.

I expected Father to blow up, though I’ve never seen him come even close, but he just sat there with a rather pained and defeated expression on his face. I actually began to feel horribly guilty and was on the verge of falling to my knees and begging my father’s forgiveness when he simply said, “All right.”

“But first, give us a show of good faith,” Sean chimed in. I knew when I’d pushed far enough so I gave in. I told them about the listening thread, about your attempts to research the Stones (I'm sorry, but I wanted them to know they could trust me to be completely forthcoming), and about your meeting with Blivius and what happened after with Jamin and Damorin.

Which is when Father blew up. He was very upset by all the news and remarked (in stronger words than I am choosing to use) on how nice it will be when you have someone (me, dearest) by your side all the time to prevent more of the same.

Well, that is all for now. I’m coming home and, like I said, we’ll get through this experience together! I need to begin packing my things as Sean is coming to get me in the morning to begin the journey back to the city and to explain to me everything I need to know about being the “Imperial Eyes” of the group. In addition, I will finally get a chance to talk to him about that night.

Until we meet (I can’t wait!), yours affectionately,

Foofri

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

My dear Foofri,

My restored memories match yours for the most part, although the coloring seems to be different in places. There was a certain quality of sympathy for Sean Valerian in your letter that was missing from my own memory. As I recall, our not taking his spell book seriously was as much his fault as ours. In the first place, he spied on us and followed us when we’d made it clear that the magi tree was our secret hideout. And then, after he invaded our no boys allowed space, he kept acting like he had a big deal secret and that he was doing us a favor by showing it to us. Of course we—or, admittedly, I—wasn’t going to take him seriously after that. If he’d just come to Grandmother’s for tea like a normal person, maybe things would have gone better.

However, it was a long time ago, and I suppose we’ve grown up enough to let bygones be bygones. And it must have been quite a shock to discover he was actually doing magic. (Although I’m not saying that if I ever got the chance to rub his face in moonflower dust I wouldn’t do it.)
This afternoon, I reported the listening thread to Justicum security and went to have a cup of tea. Before I was halfway through my plate of munches, one of the Justicum messengers fluttered up to my table bearing the card of none other than Master Blivius.

I’ve seen him, of course, at Council meetings, but I’ve never exchanged a single word with him, and certainly nothing that would merit a command appearance. But that was exactly the message scrawled on the back of the card, ordering me (not so much as a please!) to follow the messenger to his office.

The messenger was one of the new models with three speeds, and it must have been jacked up to the highest because I had to run to keep up with it, the hem of my robe flapping behind me.
Although both annoyed by the peremptory summons and apprehensive about what a Master could possibly want to see me about, I have to admit I was curious. The only Master’s office I’ve ever seen is Lastra’s official one. The Board’s private offices are wrapped in so many layers of security that supposedly you can’t even walk past the door unless you’ve been given special clearance.

I wasn’t entirely unprepared when the messenger zoomed through a stained glass window, but I couldn’t help wincing as I followed it. I didn’t feel a thing, of course, and the holding area where the scan spell made sure I wasn’t concealing any dangerous magic was full of pleasantly multicolored light.

Blivius’s office, on the other hand, was not pleasant. He was sitting behind an enormous desk made of ebony wood, and the chair I had to sit in across from him was straight backed and hard. You know how when you see him at a distance in the Council hall he looks like he was curling his lip out and got frozen like that? Well, he looks like that up close too, perpetually sneering. That was all I had time to take in before he tilted the shade on his lamp and directed the light right into my eyes.

I sat there blinking blindly in the beam, wishing I could say just part of what I was thinking.

“Magi, one hour ago you filed a report with Justicum security. Is that or is that not correct?”

“That is correct,” I answered, wondering why he bothered to ask since he obviously had access to all the security files.

“You reported you found a listening thread on one of your garden paths. Is that or is that not correct?”

“That’s correct.” I wondered if he really suspected me of lying.

“You described it as a generic spell out of an elementary spell book. Is that—”

“That’s correct,” I dared to interrupt. My eyes were watering, and, Master or not, I was feeling very annoyed.

Floorboards creaked beneath his feet, and I could hear that he was pacing, even if I couldn’t see it. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you, Magi, that there was probably a more sophisticated spell hidden nearby?”

“I’ve been looking,” I said, “but I haven’t been able to find anything.”

He ignored this. “Someone is very interested in you. Interested enough to break into your home and spy upon you. Clearly, there is only course of action. You must tell me everything you know about the Stones’ return.”

The Suldan Stones. Of course the Suldan Stones!

I guess I lost my head for a minute. “Of course, Master, I’d be so relieved to tell you what I know!” I exclaimed.

There was a thump as he sat down too quickly. “Yes?” he asked, and he leaned toward me, partially blocking the light so that I could actually see him. I think his smirk was positively quivering with anticipation.

“Well,” I began, “it all started one dark and stormy night when an old woman mysteriously appeared on our doorstep.”

“And she brought you the Stones?” he demanded.

“Oh no. But Grandfather suffered terribly from seasonal allergies, and she had the most wonderful herbal tea remedy—”

“Do you think this is a joke, Magi?” he hissed, slamming his fists onto the desk.

I stood up, shoving my chair back so hard that it fell over. “No, I don’t think this is a joke!” I answered too loudly. “But I’m tired of nobody believing me when I say I don’t know anything about the Stones! I don’t! I don’t know anything! If anyone knows anything at all it’s the Board of Masters with your precious hoard of secrets! If anyone knows how the Stones came back, it’s probably you!”

The next second he was around the desk and hissing right in my face. “Who told you that? Who told you that I know how the Stones came back? Who’s been spying on me?”

More than a little startled that my wild shot had hit a target, I stepped back. “Nobody told me.”

“Whose agent are you? Don’t lie to me, girl!”

He looked truly furious, and for a moment I was frightened. “Nobody,” I repeated. “It only seemed to make sense to me that the Masters would know. After all, they’re supposed to know everything.”

I don’t know if he believed me, but he seemed to calm down. “No, not everything,” he said. “But I know a good deal. A good deal more than my fellow Masters know. More than those who would seize this seat of power suspect. And if you were wise, Magi, you would ally yourself with me before you get hurt. Those who wield the Stones always get hurt, unless they are properly protected.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“They have too much power. Far too much power for any one person to hold. They’ll eat your mind from the inside. Did whoever you’re working for tell you that? Or did they just promise you the power and neglect the danger?”

His eyes looked wild, and there was a fleck of foam at the edge of his mouth. I tried to back toward the door.

“Master, I swear I’m not working for anyone.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that one of the others hasn’t gotten to you?” He laughed harshly. “Well, you go back and tell whoever it is that they won’t get anything from me. I keep my own counsel.” He pointed toward the door. “Get out.”

I was only too glad to obey.

I ran into Jamin and his curricle outside the Justicum. He said he had just dropped Winterfast off for a committee meeting, and he offered me a ride home. I was happy enough to accept since I did not feel like hunting down a taxi. I also didn’t feel like talking, and I suppose I must have been visibly shaken because he started giving me long, sideways glances, and then he suddenly turned off the main road into one of the entrances to the royal park.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Beautiful day for a drive in the park isn’t it?” he asked, gesturing expansively at a cluster of daffodils. “Very soothing to the nerves.”

I scowled at the backs of the horses and braced myself for the nosy questions I was certain were following, but he had more subtlety than I’d given him credit for and stayed absolutely quiet. At first I was impatient for him to start the interrogation, and then of course, I was suddenly dying to talk. Truthfully, Foofri, it’s been a difficult week with you at Seven Oaks. I know we write letters, but it’s not the same!

“It’s those stupid Suldan Stones!” I burst out. “Nobody will tell me anything about them, and yet they all seem to think that I have some secret knowledge, when they’re the ones keeping the secrets! Master Blivius just interrogated me, and then he told me he already knew how the Stones were returned!”

“Did he?” Jamin demanded. “Why that sneaky old buzzard!”

“He is!” I agreed. “He badgered me and all but called me a liar to my face.” To my horror, my voice caught and I found my eyes were full of tears.

“Don’t cry, Maera,” Jamin begged, fumbling for his handkerchief. (I forgot to tell you before that Jamin has made up his own nickname for me. I tried to tell him it was Cordy, but he said it made me sound like a piece of small rope.) I accepted the handkerchief when he found it and blew my nose in what was probably a most unladylike manner.

At that moment, the afternoon took another turn for the worse as two riders came around the bend of the road we traveled. I was still busy with the handkerchief, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Jamin bow, and when I looked up I found that Damorin and Princess Ameliorene had reined in their horses beside us.

The last time I saw Damorin I had just burgled his office. The last time I crossed Princess A’s path, I ruined her tea dress. And now I was being lachrymose in linen. At that moment I seriously considered emigration. Preferably somewhere where political hostilities would make communication with the Realm impossible.

“Magi Demestheln, are you all right?” Ameliorene asked in a sweet, concerned tone that only made everything worse.

“Fine!” I said brightly, shoving the handkerchief beneath the edge of my skirt.

“No, she’s not,” Jamin burst out. I glared at him as a subtle hint that he ought to be shutting his mouth, but it didn’t have any effect. Men and their confused sense of chivalry!

“She’s been bullied by one of you Council high muckamucks, demanding she tell him how those rocks showed up so mysteriously and then telling her he’d known the whole time himself.” He glared at Damorin throughout this speech, I suppose classing him with the muckamucks.

Damorin looked back coolly, looking, if anything, a little bored. “If Cordelimaera has a complaint against another Council member, she can register it with the proper authority.”

“Well, that doesn’t work very well if this Master Oblivious is the proper authority, now, does it?” Jamin shot back.

“Jamin, please,” I muttered pinching his arm.

“I presume you are referring to Master Blivius,” Damorin said coldly. “Allow me to reassure you that Masters, too, are subject to the ruling of the Council.”

Ameliorene was looking back and forth between the two men, wide-eyed, and I hated to think what gossip would be floating around court at the next high tea. It was more than time to end this conversation. “Oh,” I gasped, lifting a hand to my temple.

All three of them looked at me, Jamin the most anxiously. “Maera, are you all right?”

“It’s only that I’ve suddenly got the most beastly headache. But I’m sure it will pass,” I heroically added.

“I’ll take you home at once,” Jamin promised, lifting the reins.

“If the magi is ill, she had better transport. The jolting of the wheels will only make her headache worse,” Damorin said authoritatively, as he maneuvered his horse next to the carriage. Before I had an inkling of what he was up to, he had lifted me off the seat and onto the front of his saddle.

I began to sputter a protest, but he only bowed slightly to Ameliorene with a murmured, “Excuse me,” and then the transport spell swirled around us. A moment later, we (including the horse) rematerialized in front of my house.

“I thought it was better to get away quickly than to make a scene, so I said stiffly, “Thank you for your consideration. If you will put me down, I should go inside and rest.”

“You don’t have a headache,” he told me.

“I most certainly do!” I snapped, forgetting about not making a scene. “How dare you accuse me of … of …”

“What did Blivius tell you?” he demanded, clearly not concerned about my indignation.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about. I might have known. He told me nothing. Nothing at all. So I’m sorry your little transport turned out to be a waste, but on the bright side, you can hurry back to the lovely princess who is, I am sure, mostly anxiously awaiting your return.” With that, I pushed myself off of his ridiculously tall horse and made an ungraceful landing on the driveway. By the time I regained my balance, Damorin had dismounted.

“If he told you nothing, then why were you so upset?”

I threw my hands in the air. “You’d be upset too if you were a first year council member and got summoned to a master’s private office where he made veiled threats and shouted at you. Although I suppose you’re planning to be one someday, so all of this probably seems perfectly normal to you. You’re probably already honing your bullying-lesser-magi-into-tears skills, but unfortunately, I’m all cried out for today, so if you want to practice, you’ll have to go somewhere else.” And with that, I ran up the steps and slammed the front door behind me.

Foofri, I am through. The Suldan Stones can rot in the vault for all I care. And the next person who asks me about them is going to be enchanted into a pair of puce argyle socks which I will then mail to opposite ends of the world.

And does anyone even care that Grandfather is dead? (I know you do, dearest, I didn’t mean that.)

Tomorrow, I am going to begin my Stones-free life. First, and most importantly, I’ll buy a new dress to cheer myself up. Then I have to give my follow up lecture at the BMEFYC, and then maybe I’ll do some actual work (that has nothing whatsoever to do with any mysterious artifacts) at the Justicum. And if Damorin and Blivius and Lastra and Uncle and Sean Valerian don’t like it, well that’s too bad for them.

Affectionately (towards you if not the world in general),
Cordy

PS I saw Yleyagn Fardscarp a few days ago. Time has done nothing but improve him.

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

Oh my dear Cordy!

Now that I've sufficiently recovered enough to write, I must admit you were right to warn me. That memory restoration spell was perhaps the strangest experience I've ever had, if you leave out the time that box of enchanted raisins you gave me kept telling me answers to my Elementary Thaumaturgical Equations test (and earned me low marks, I might add) or that time Father and I unrolled a new shipment of flying carpets from the Orlend region and found a whole collection of recipes for Winged R'uc fastened together with an ornate toupee clip and rolled in a dishtowel stained with cranberry chutney, or that time I told Arthur Wiltebank that if he wanted to take me out walking, he had to cook me dinner and get a partial lobotomy (and he took issue with having to cook me dinner).

All right, so maybe the memory restoration isn't the strangest that's ever happened to me, comparatively, but it seemed so at the time. I don't know about you, but I felt very disconnected from it, like an outside observer watching the drama unfold. At several points during the process of retrieval, I actually wanted to yell at our past selves like I do characters in books who aren't doing what I want them to do. It was very odd indeed to watch the story come to its final conclusion and not be able to do anything about it. Now that I sit to write you about it, I feel I should write what happened exactly as I saw it happen. Then we can compare notes.

Ahem (that's me clearing my narrative throat):

The Summer That Time (and we) Forgot

Mostly

by Foofri Montphish

Student Magi of the Realm

And a Quantity of Other Astounding Accomplishments

That Haven't Happened

Yet

But Will

Maybe

Foofri Montphish and Cordy Demestheln were cousins and best friends, almost as close as their mothers. How could twins not be close? They had grown up in the heart of Imperial city, the toast of society. Upon her coming out, Andora Coquinette, Cordy’s mother, had been much sought after. She could have chosen almost any young man, but she had finally decided upon Peyton Demestheln, a lesser, but wealthy young nobleman whose family had fallen out of societal grace decades ago over strange rumors about the infamous Suldan Stones. But she loved him and, against the wishes of her family, married him (thank goodness).

Andella Coquinette, Foofri’s mother, was much sought after as well. She was a little quieter, and not quite as witty as her sister, but she still possessed all the wonderful qualities for which the two young ladies had become known. She married a poor, but solid young merchant named Alain Montphish, also against the wishes of her family (fie on them).

The two sisters were very happy in their marriages even through the disapproval of their parents. Of course, the Demesthelns and the Montphishs were thrilled at the marvelous matches their sons had made and welcomed the young ladies with open arms. The sisters’ grandmother, Grandmother Coqui, as they called her, was thrilled as well and always congratulated the girls for having the good sense to marry for love. When the sisters bore children, only a year apart, each had a daughter. When the cousins were old enough, Grandmother Coqui insisted that they summer with her at her country estate, Seven Oaks, to be spoiled by hearty cooking and country air (which never put hair on their chests, contrary to popular belief).

It was there that Cordy and Foofri became the best of friends. As they grew older, they began having some fairly serious talk. Both girls had shown enough magical ability to attend the Academy, and both had experienced the first pangs of feeling different and out of place. For the first time, Cordy understood she was not fully accepted socially. For the first time, Foofri understood that people looked down on her family for being poor. And they were both too young to understand how very unimportant these things were (at least, I never cared about your family scandal and you never cared about my father's income, but back then it hurt that other people did).

The summer Foofri was nine and Cordy ten, they became acquainted with an older boy named Sean who lived in the nearby village. He'd rarely been around any magi at all, and none near his own age until he met the cousins. They were his only connection with a fascinating world, but he was a boy, part of the species they must ignore (or pretend to anyway—we were on the verge of adolescence, of course we were aware of him) and treat badly!

The girls made up a rather silly little magic club, Sisters of the Midnight Moon, and met every day at the giant oak (christened the magi tree) at the edge of the clearing between the Pickering farm and the river in order to discuss “secret magic things” (like who was the cutest boy on the fencing team at school, which, as it turns out, had nothing to do with magic, but which provided endless hours of entertainment-my vote is still on Yleyagn Fardscarp).

One day Sean followed them to the magi oak and pulled out a spell book to show them--something he said he'd found stowed away in a cupboard. The book, a small leather-bound volume stamped a hazel leaf, looked musty and old-fashioned (what I wouldn't give to have it now). The cousins had more important things to do than waste time on a country spell book, which they assumed was filled with superstitious protection wards and spells regarding the fertility of farm animals, Jalwa spare them.

They dismissed the look of hurt and anger on his face as he left.

The forthcoming summer solstice provided the perfect opportunity for a special meeting of the Sisters of the Midnight Moon. They were finally to perform some daring (or so we thought) potion spells they had learned from certain girls at school whose group they had desperately wanted to join. How deliciously wicked they felt, sneaking out in the middle of the night, wrapped in Grandmother's long cloaks, whispering excitedly to each other (interesting to note I'm still sneaking out and I still feel deliciously wicked doing it).

They didn't even notice Sean hiding behind the tree when they got there. Of course he'd overheard them on planning on that day when they rebuffed him, and no doubt on other days, too, since they talked about it often enough. Grandmother Coqui probably knew as well, but she was always one to let the cousins have their harmless fun, and to allow them to learn from their own mistakes. She couldn't know how badly things would turn out that night.

As the moon reached the zenith, Cordy and Foofri prepared and carefully set out their ingredients. At the same time, Sean made preparations of his own. Sprinkling his cloak and hair with the pollen from a nearby moonflower, he began to glow with an eerie light. He rubbed a bit around his eyes and smeared a thick, crude stripe across his mouth, creating a luminescent face with a menacing glare (if only we hadn't forgotten this, we could have used it to scare certain people at school who shall remain nameless).

Then he began to whisper. Soft words, taken from a page in his spell book, flowed from his mouth as he emerged from behind the tree. With her back towards the oak, Cordy didn't notice anything until she looked up from her work and saw Foofri staring behind her, mesmerized. She spun around and both girls began to back away from the encroaching figure.

“Wh-who are you?” Cordy demanded, but the figure didn't break its incantation.

While the words were unfamiliar and strange, the girls could sense the power in them. They wove a malevolent spell that seemed to pull at them like a siphon. Foofri cried out, but Sean kept going, creeping slowly towards them, repeating the words over and over. Finally he came to a stop right in front of them and the spell died on his lips.

The girls, who were clutching each other with white-knuckled hands, looked up at the older boy in surprise. Through the glowing streaks on his face, they could see who it was. They could also sense something else in the air, something that hadn't stopped when he had. But the boy, being unfamiliar with magic, didn't notice.

“You should have seen your faces!” he laughed. “I thought you were going faint.”

“You idiot,” hissed Cordy, “What have you done?”

“It was just a joke,” he snorted dismissively, “Nothing happened.”

“It's still happening,” she replied in a tight voice, “Look around you!”

Sean glanced around and began to ask what she meant, but he stopped when two figures slowly began to materialize next to them.

“Make them go away, whatever they are!” Cordy shouted.

Sean looked at her in shock. “Me?”

“You brought them here, you make them disappear. That's how it works!”

“I-I was just reading a spell, I don't actually have magic,” Sean stammered, eyes growing wide in fear as the shapes became solid.

“Apparently, you do,” replied Foofri urgently, “So you'd better cancel it out quickly!”

But it was too late. The threesome stared at the figures, unable to tear their eyes away. One was tall (but not willowy) with auburn hair and brown eyes; a smattering of freckles dotted the top of its cheeks and nose (and maybe a few other spots). It floated forward until it came to face to face with Foofri, her mirror image in every way, except the expression on its face and the evil glint in its eyes. Foofri stood transfixed, unable to move.

“You summoned wraiths?” Cordy said through clenched teeth as the other figure glided forward, locking eyes with her and rendering her immobile.

This one was shorter with long wavy black hair and piercing green eyes, another near-perfect image. It leaned in to Cordy and inhaled deeply. “Human magic,” it sighed with pleasure. “It's been far too long since we were fed.”

“I didn't do this,” Sean whispered, shaking his head.

“Magic doesn't lie,” the wraith said. “You summoned us and now we will do your bidding.”

“I only wanted to scare them a little!” he protested.

“Yes, Master, and so we shall,” it replied, raising one hand as it turned back to Cordy. The other wraith did the same. As Sean watched in horror, he could see a small trickle of light being pulled out of each girl towards the corresponding wraith. Cordy's eyes rolled back into her head as the trickle stretched away from her body. Foofri began to tremble violently, but she remained horribly aware of every detail of the scene around them.

“Stop!” Sean cried. “I command you to stop!”

The wraith in front of Cordy didn't even pause. “The spell has been cast. We can't stop.”

“Then take me instead.” He lunged at the wraiths, trying to dislodge their connection to the two girls, but his body went right through. Stumbling to the other side, he whirled around to face them again, his flesh burning where it had gone through the wraiths. He didn't notice. He watched, helpless, as the undulating streams of light finally reached the ghost-like creatures in front of him.

Cordy and Foofri began to fade slightly. Their bodies appeared less solid, less substantial. Conversely, the wraiths became visibly more firm. With eyes closed, they tilted their heads back, welcoming the glowing streams. Sean lunged again, this time against something more firm. The wraith bodies had enough density to be nudged, slightly. One of the wraiths hissed in annoyance, but otherwise ignored him.

“Leave them alone,” panted Sean, his skin burning even more, “they have nothing to do with this! I'm the one who summoned you!”

They didn't listen.

As they continued to ignore him, he took a few steps back and dove at the nearest wraith. By now, it was solid enough for Sean's efforts to have an effect. His momentum sent it sprawling into the other and they both tumbled away with Sean on top. The connection snapped instantly.

The stolen light rushed back into the girls in one big whoosh. Cordy fell against Foofri, who barely managed to catch her as they both sank to the grass, limp and shaking. They were safe for now, but there was still the problem of the wraiths. They floated up from the ground, leaving Sean in a heap below them.

“You shouldn't have done that,” one of them said, eyes blazing.

The other leaned over and said, “Now we'll kill you and them as well.”

Sean's body was covered with deep, oozing sores; the stench of burnt flesh filled the air. He rolled over and took a deep breath. “I summoned you,” he whispered, “so I can banish you, too.”

They laughed, hovering over him. “You should have thought of that before you interrupted us. Now you're too weak.”

But he closed his eyes and began to repeat the summoning spell, modifying the ending with a different word--a word to nullify, a word to cancel. The wraiths recoiled, shrieking. Magic crackling around him, Sean stood up weakly. With the last of his strength, he spoke the words loud and clear. Still screaming, the wraiths vanished in a puff of foul smelling smoke. Foofri promptly fainted.

When she came to, she was lying in her own bed at Grandmother Coqui’s cottage. She looked over and saw Cordy fast asleep, and thought she must have dreamt the whole terrible thing until she heard angry voices from downstairs. Grabbing her robe, she ran down to the entry hall where Sean leaned against the door. His father pointed an accusing finger at Grandmother Coqui.

“Look what those girls have done to my boy,” he growled. He stepped back so the old woman could see the damage on Sean’s body. “This is what happens when you associate with magii!”

“No!” Sean argued. “They didn’t do it. I did it.”

“No,” his father said firmly. “They've tricked you somehow. You’re mistaken.”

Without saying a word, Sean lifted his right hand, exposing his palm. A few moments went by before a small ball of light appeared and began to grow. Sean didn’t even look at the ball, he was barely trying. Foofri stared in awe, barely noticing Cordy slipping down the stairs behind her.

“Stop it!” Sean's father cried, grabbing his son by the arm. The ball flickered and shrank back into Sean’s palm “You're never to do that again!” he yelled. Sean’s head snapped up, but Grandmother spoke before he had a chance to protest.

“Now, Seamus,” she said calmly. “The boy has a gift. Clearly, he only needs some guidance and encouragement.”

“You call this a gift?” he father asked, pointing to the blackened sores on Sean's body.

“That was an accident,” Foofri piped up. “He didn't know. None of us knew!” Everyone turned and looked at her. “And none of you know what we just went through,” Foofri went on. “It was terrifying and horrible and...and he saved our lives!”

“After he tried to kill us,” mumbled Cordy.

“He didn't even know what he was doing, did you?” she spoke the last part to Sean, who shook his head feebly. “And besides, he made it all go away, in the end.”

“Yes, finally,” said Cordy, glaring at Sean. “It would have been nice if you had remembered a little earlier how to cancel that spell from your book.”

“What book?” Seamus Valerian demanded suddenly.

Sean pulled the old spell book from the back of his pants and held it out. His father went white. “Where did you get that?” he asked.

“From a trunk in the attic. It tells how to cast a spell and how to undo it.” He cast a deeply sorrowful glance at Cordy. “I just didn't know that I could do either one. I'm so sorry.”

Seamus snatched the book away and thrust it at Grandmother. “You'll never use it again,” he said, “and you'll never use your magic again either. Surely you can see that's best.” He took his son's arm and turned to go, but Sean broke free.

“Wait, who's book is that?” he asked.

“Nevermind,” replied Seamus hastily. “It doesn't concern you.” He tried to usher Sean out the door again, but Sean wouldn't budge.

“It was my mother's, wasn't it?” he asked slowly.

Seamus stood still for a long time. He shut his eyes as if he could make the question go away.

“Father?” Sean pressed.

Finally, Seamus looked at Sean and answered. “Yes, it was hers,” he said in a tired voice. “Yes, she had magic. She had magic and it killed her.” He sighed. “I won't lose you the way I lost her, do you understand now?”

Sean didn't answer. He looked completely absorbed in the wooden floor at his feet. Silently, he walked out the door, brushing his father's hand away as Seamus reached out to catch him.

“I'm so sorry, Seamus,” said Grandmother. “I didn't know.” When Seamus didn't respond, she asked, “What will you do now?”

Seamus looked out the door. “We'll go to the Outskirts where no one uses magic, and we'll never come back.”

“Are you sure that's wise? You should think it through before you do something so drastic.”

“Thank you for your concern, but it's not really your business.” Then he walked out after his son. A few days later, they were gone.

Cordy and Foofri had horrible nightmares. After a week of waking up screaming, they decided to create a memory charm to make themselves forget (I also made a simple charm to get rid of freckles, but since I made it right before the memory charm, I forgot to use it).

The End (or is it?)

Do you have anything to add, dearest? I must know exactly what happened that night. I understand why we gave that memory the heave ho, but I feel a bit of an idiot about it. All these years, Sean knowing full well what happened, and here we were, blissfully unaware. What must he think of me?

Also, what happened to him after he left? How did he learn magic? And did he really come back just to make up for that night? I will find out the answers to all of these questions.

Love,

Foof

P.S. I'm sorry I haven't responded at all to your letter, I've been completely caught up in the effects of the memory spell! Next time!

APPENDIX C.i. (C.D. to F.M.)

APPENDIX C

Other Correspondence

i.

Editors' Note: Outside of the letters pertaining to the affair of the Suldan Stones, which were preserved for their obvious historical interest, not many examples of correspondence between Cordelimaera and Foofribelle exist. Although contemporary sources suggest they remained voluminous correspondents, like most Council members of the time, they had their personal papers burned after their deaths. This rare example survived because it was tucked inside the cover of Foofribelle’s copy of Advanced Botany for Spells, Potions, and Cookery. Although not dated, the letter can be placed at roughly five months previous to Stephanus Demestheln’s (Cordy's grandfather) death.

My dear Foofri,

Nothing much has been happening here, except that we are all killing ourselves over our research projects. I can’t believe the term is half over! Then I shall be a full fledged Imperial magi, and you can start sitting in on councils. Not that it’s any great thing to look forward to, as I have regretfully discovered. They’re usually exceedingly dull, but it will be so much more fun to have you with me so we can pass notes and make fun of the latest extremes in fashion.

Speaking of councils, I had to attend one yesterday which was even dryer than usual. They left off the usual troll bashing and focused solely on decorum, and the importance of maintaining the Dignity of the magical profession. Bah! I spent half the time fretting over all the work I still had to do, and the other half trying to figure out how to peek into my hot-off-the-press copy of Imperial Who’s Who. They came out yesterday morning, but I had not had time to do more than admire the very appealing picture of Gilder Roy and Locke Hart on the cover before running for the council chamber.

The council ended at last, and I escaped to our large workroom where the three of us apprentices were supposed to gather to present an update on our projects to our advisor. Damorin had not yet arrived by the time I had my notes out and organized, so I pulled out my Who’s Who and wondered what to look up first. On a whim I opened to the index and looked up Ardaya. Ardaya, Lady Amanda was listed once, under Entertainment Excels, and Ardaya, Magi Damorin was listed three times: Definitely Dressed, Court Cameos and Magical Moments. I flipped to Court Cameos and examined the suggestive picture of my very own advisor, standing attentively behind the princess’s chair at what looked liked the top tier at a Bun-Snigger outing.

I perused the accompanying paragraph, skipping the excessive name dropping: A new face has appeared on every aspiring hostess’ must-have list...blah blah...distinguished Bun-Snigger hunter...blah blah...Favored escort of the Princess A. Is this another case of courtly devotion or is something deeper in the works?

“Are you with us, Magi Cordelimaera?”

I jumped, and jerked a nearby stack of notes over the open pages. Looking up guiltily, I found Magi Damorin standing a few feet away, gazing at me sardonically. “I...yes, Magi. I apologize.”

“Your report must be absorbing. However it must wait as I have instructed Magii Arthur and Jefferson to give their presentation first.”

Art and Jeff finally got approval to do a joint project, and they’ve been working furiously to make up for lost time. Their project, unsurprisingly, is all about history and digging things up. They were interesting to listen to, but I personally would find actually working in the area as dry as dust (if you will forgive the pun).


My own weather project was on schedule, I had just completed the bulk of the equations necessary to my proposal for equalizing rainfall in the mountainous regions. When I was through, our advisor dismissed Art and Jeff, but, to my very great dismay, asked me to remain.

“I want you to redo the equations. The format is too bulky to be practical.”

“It’s typical procedure for weather formatting!” I argued in amazement. My numbers were, in fact, a perfect illustration of the textbook examples.

“For simpler problems, yes. However, in this situation, standard procedure is impractical. I want the reworked solution by tomorrow afternoon. Good day, Magi.”

He left me staring at my notes in outraged horror. My present set of calculations had taken nearly a week to complete, and there seemed to be no conceivable way of fulfilling Ardaya’s demand. I didn’t have time to waste redoing what I had completed correctly! Resisting the urge to throw something, I slammed my materials together and stalked off to my private cubicle.

I had had hopes of going home early that day, but now I had no choice but to send a note to Grandfather saying I expected to be very, very late. I could have worked at home, of course, but the housekeeper worries about me when I shut myself in the work room for too long, and is always interrupting with drinks and snacks and warnings to not strain my eyes.

Finally, after six exhausting hours, which took my frustration past screaming to the point of tears, it occurred to me that a very simple solution lay in the theorems of another discipline. They never taught us at the Academy to apply transformation principles to weather, but there was no rule against it. My head was itching, so I undid my braid and scratched my scalp furiously. It must have stimulated my brain because things started clicking, and I completed in two and a half hours what had previously taken days.

I double checked my calculations and threw down my pencil in triumph. Take that, Ardaya! I gloated. He had, of course, been right about my original equations, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that. In fact, with the much smaller time necessary for the math, it wouldn’t be hard to get ahead of schedule.

My tension evaporated, leaving me limp and exhausted. The sofa, the only piece of furniture besides my desk, looked irresistibly inviting, despite its inherent lumpiness. I lay down, intending to rest for only a few minutes before heading home.

The next thing I knew someone was calling my name and shaking me lightly. I pried up my eyelids to see a fuzzy Damorin bending over me.

“Did you intend to spend the night here, Magi?”

“What time is it?” I managed to ask around a yawn. Rubbing my face vigorously, I reassured myself that I had not been drooling, and tried to wake up.

“Nearly ten. Your grandfather called looking for you.”

“Good heavens, I had no idea! I didn’t intend to fall asleep.” As I stood and stretched, my stomach rumbled ominously. “Spells, I’m hungry, and Cook will be in bed.” In my pique over having to redo my work, I had skipped luncheon entirely.

“I haven’t eaten dinner, myself, would you care to join me?”

I stared in surprise. This was the first time I could remember that Damorin had indicated to me that he was human, much less suggest leaving the Justicum. He returned my look with a calmly questioning expression, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

I gestured vaguely at my rumpled appearance. “I’m not, er, dressed.”

“It won’t be formal,” he reassured me.

I hesitated, uncertain. It still made me nervous to be alone around Damorin (if only I could stop feeling like an intellectual bug whenever I talk to him), but my stomach decided the matter by once again raising its voice. “Yes, please, and let’s hurry!” I grinned, “Otherwise I may collapse in starvation!”

He smiled faintly, and I rapidly gathered up my papers to stuff into my bag. As I rummaged on the cluttered desk, I knocked a stack of books to the floor, including my W’sW.

“Ah, the source of your earlier absorption,” Damorin said dryly, as he bent to pick up the scattered books.

“Er, thank you. They just came out today,” I said weakly.

“Personally I never discovered their fascination, but my mother reads every page as if it contained the state secrets.”

“Perhaps they do,” I commented cheekily, finishing my task. “I’m finished here.”

I sent a brief message to Grandfather, informing him of my whereabouts, and then we left the Justicum. The restaurant was about two blocks away. It was small, unpretentious but clean, and filled with magii in rumpled robes and weary eyes.

“They cater to exhausted magi?”

“It’s a lucrative business. They never run short of customers.”

I groaned. “Is that a bleak indication of my future? Too much work, too little sleep...” I cast him a sly glance, “too many demanding supervisors hounding my steps?”

“Welcome to the Imperial Council, Magi.”


We sat, and a waitress armed with a steaming pot came to take our order. “Would you care for some coffee?”

I shuddered, “Thank you, no.” I cringed again when Damorin took his black. “I don’t use it for anything but cleaning drains.”

“Speak respectfully, young apprentice. You’ll be as dependent as the rest of us within the year.”

“I maintain that chocolate is an adequate substitute,” I said smugly.

The waitress cleared her throat impatiently, “Are you ready to order?”

“Two specials, and hot chocolate for my intern,” Damorin said smoothly, offering an apologetic smile.

She blushed and smiled back. “I’ll have your food in just a minute.”

I guessed that she would, too. I would have also been willing to wager that she would frequently pass with the teapot, the water pitcher and the ubiquitous ‘Is everything all right?’ “Oh Jalwa.” I had not meant to say it out loud.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Er, nothing. Do you find the service here good?”

“Yes, I have always found them to be prompt and attentive.”

I caught the snort halfway out my nose, which converted it into a genuine sneeze.

“I hope you have not caught a chill, Magi.” Damorin’s words were solicitous, but I was convinced those gray eyes could see straight through to what I was genuinely thinking.

“I am never ill,” I said with dignity, putting an end to my sneeze and the waitress. “I should have come here earlier. Perhaps it would have served as inspiration.” I ran my fingers over the various equations and notations scratched into the tabletop.

“They say Lastra developed his Theory of Economic Distribution while sitting at one of these tables.”

I laid a hand over my heart in mock solemnity. “I feel honored to be at the source of such genius. They should erect a monument or something. We could take up a collection for a tasteful plaque.”

“No, no monuments, please!” Damorin looked horrified. “Anything with the words ‘In memory of’ attracts sight seers, and that would mean this place would be,” he paused ominously, “discovered.”

“I see your point. The City has enough hot spots.” I pictured a snazzy band jammed into the corner, garishly colored trim, and waitresses in frizzy hair and exaggerated accents destroying the peaceful atmosphere, and found the idea too awful to contemplate.

The waitress arrived with my hot chocolate, and sugar and cream for Damorin. “No thank you, I take it black,” he said. She looked disappointed, but left.

“What was so fascinating in Who’s Who this afternoon?”

He sounded only mildly curious, but I was at an awkward loss for an answer. “I..er...”

He raised his eyebrows. “Which happy fellow’s exploits do you follow? The Crown Prince, perhaps? Or does your interest run to less noble characters? I seem to remember my sister creating a massive collage on her door involving top tier bun sniggerists.”

I had a sudden vision of our own closet walls sporting half the national league and decided the truth was less embarrassing. “I was reading about you, actually.”

“Do you mean that I have had the...ah...fortune to be placed in those august pages?” Damorin sounded as if he didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed.

“Well yes. To be exact, in three separate categories.”

“I see. Dare I ask what and why?”

“I...ah...haven’t read it all. And I’m certain you would much rather read it in Madame Dorthwany’s own delightful phrasing.”

“That dreadful?”

I just smirked. Naturally I was dying to know whether he was really courting the princess, but I would have branded my own tongue before asking.

The waitress arrived with our plates and set Damorin’s down. “If anything’s not right, I’d be happy to exchange it for you.”

“Thank you, I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”

“Well be sure to ask. Do you need more coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

I cleared my throat and she looked over at me in surprise. “Oh, here you are, Magi.” She at last set the other plate before me and I inhaled blissfully. “You all be sure to ask if you need anything,” she said once more before finally leaving.

I fell upon the food with great joy and exuberance. “This is excellent,” I managed somewhere between the steak and a mouthful of potatoes.

Damorin was amused. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m always enthusiastic about food. We don’t get a whole lot of it at school.”

“You don’t mean to say they starve you?”

“Well, not directly. They call it food, but once Foofri transformed a whole set of teacups into rats, and the next day they were gone. They called dinner that night ‘Casserole Surprise.’”

He threw back his head and laughed without restraint. I was surprised, since at school the food jokes never earn more than a groan, but pleased. I felt as if I had accomplished something significant, making the impassive Damorin laugh. On the other hand, maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t do it more often. We would have had all the waitresses hovering.

I was feeling rather bemused myself. I had never seen my stern advisor so completely relaxed. The late hour, a contented stomach and the congenial company were combining to make me almost giddy and dangerously loose tongued. I pushed away my empty plate, plopped my elbows on the table and my chin in my hands and grinned. “So you are human after all.”

He seemed genuinely startled. “I gave you reason to doubt it?”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Have you given me reason?” The question was rhetorical. “Other apprentices talk about the merry life they lived during their internship. Their advisors take them dining, dancing, to tour the city, to political rallies. I, on the other hand, tremble every time I run into you because it means my workload is about to double.”

“Is that really what you wanted this semester? To tour the city?”

“No, of course not. But there is such a thing as a happy medium.” I waved my hand theatrically and deepened my voice. “By the way, Cordelimaera, those equations it took you a week to finish? Redo them all for tomorrow.” I snorted, “Wasn’t slavery outlawed in the Realm?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Even dinner has to be educational! You really should get out more, Magi. I honestly think this is the first time I’ve seen you outside of the Justicum.”

His expression became wry. “Despite what you obviously think, Cordelimaera, I don’t crawl out from beneath a rock every morning.”

“I never said that! But I bet you do sleep at the Justicum half the time. Don’t all seventh skillhouse have quarters there?”


“Only the ones who request them.”

“Aha!” I exclaimed as if that proved everything. “You see! You as good as live there! I bet the only time you ever leave is to go to Court and dance attendance on the prin...” Too late I clapped a hand over my big mouth. I slumped down in my seat and covered my eyes with my other hand, wishing desperately for a convenient hole to crawl into.

I peeked painfully across the table through my fingers. Miraculously enough, Damorin didn’t appear angry. Rather, he seemed to be on the verge of laughing again. “Is that what made me worthy of the Dorthwany notice?”

“I apologize, Magi.”

He was still smiling. “For what, exactly?”

“For, er, prying into your private affairs.”

“Anything in W’sW is fair public domain.”

“That’s a very reasonable attitude,” I said in relief.

“If I bit off the head of everyone who repeats Court gossip the City population would drop to nothing.”

“I can live without my head. I was just afraid you were going assign more work,” I said with perfect sincerity.

Don’t ask me why, but he collapsed in laughter, face buried in one hand as he attempted to control the outburst. Our waitress chose that moment to reappear with the coffee pot, again. (Chocolate refills, on the other hand, were not high on her list of priorities.) She eyed Damorin’s silently shaking shoulders in some alarm. “Is everything all right?”

“He’s been working too hard. He has also had more coffee than is good for him,” I explained sweetly.

She ignored me and turned to ask pointedly, “Magi, would you like some more coffee?”

“I...no thank you,” Damorin managed.

The waitress shot me a hostile glare before prancing off. I felt myself starting to get the giggles, but they were cut off by a huge yawn. I glanced at my watch. “Spells! It’s after midnight. Grandfather will think I have been abducted.”

Damorin signaled for the check, and I picked up my bag. “Can I catch a taxi around here?”


He shook his head. “I’ll transport you home.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” I was suddenly afflicted with a leaden weariness, and was happy not to have to endure a dark taxi ride.

We walked outside and he placed a light hand on my shoulder and effortlessly wove the incantation. A moment later we were standing at the foot of the drive. “Thank you, Magi, that was very enjoyable,” I said a trifle formally.

“Thank you for enduring the company of this demanding supervisor.”

I flushed. “Did I really say that? I was miffed over this afternoon. You were right about those calculations.”

“Oh yes, you need not turn them in tomorrow. I saw them on your desk and looked them over. A very solid piece of work. You may proceed with the next step.”

Is it silly to be thrilled over having one’s work labeled ‘solid’? I grinned in the darkness. “Does this mean I don’t have to come in first thing tomorrow morning?”

“I believe you’ve earned a morning off.”

My thanks were broken by another yawn.

“Get some rest. Goodnight, Cordelimaera.”

“Good night.” I watched his retreating form for a minute, before treading lightly up my own drive. I felt supremely content with a most productive day’s work behind me. Grandfather was still up, but I just stuck my head in the study door and waved before going up and tumbling into bed.

I woke up deliciously late this morning, and indulged myself in a bubble bath and a leisurely luncheon before heading for the Justicum. In reviewing the events of the previous evening, I decided I had better not presume upon it. I was still only a lowly intern, even if I now knew my fearsome advisor to possess a lighter side. It was a good thing I prepared myself, because when I finally did run into Damorin, he was his usual formal, reserved and unreadable self. If anything, he was even more distant than usual.

Grandfather sends his love. Art sends his regards (I think he’s still pining after you, Foof. Perhaps we could set him up with Camilla Jenson. What do you think?)

Most Affectionately,
Cordy

PS How was the botany exam? As tricky as you feared?

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

My dear Foofri,

Trolls, invisibility, and espionage. You always get to have all the fun.

I’m not sure which revelation I find more astounding—the fact that Uncle Alain works for the Underground or the fact that the Underground employs trolls! Admittedly, I don’t actually know anything about the Underground, other than that they’re the Realm’s most elite mercenary agents, but how could they entrust any part of their super secret organization to creatures who think bonegristle sandwiches should be eaten for tea?! I intend to write someone a strongly worded letter (you, dearest, in fact).

As for the actual spying and sneaking you’ve uncovered, while surprising on the surface, it actually explains a good deal. All those long business trips your father never lets you come on, for one thing. Sean Valerian’s reappearance after all these years, for another. And Damorin’s strange preoccupation with my whereabouts, for a third.

No, on second thought, that last only becomes more mysterious. Not only is he asking nosy questions, but he’s actually hired the Underground to investigate me! What in Jalwa’s realm does Damorin Ardaya have to do with the Suldan Stones?

As a matter of fact, that’s a question I tried to answer for myself this afternoon. I spent the morning in the Justicum, again fruitlessly combing through the archives for anything helpful. But whoever censored the information on the Stones was very thorough. I gave up trying to find something they had overlooked and tried to figure out a way to get my hands on some of the confiscated books. Inspired, no doubt, by your example, my thoughts turned to burglary. Sneaking into the archive reserves was obviously out—there was no way I wouldn’t get caught and I’d probably get kicked out of the Council. Breaking into Master Lastra’s office also seemed like a bad idea. But then it occurred to me that there was one high ranking magi whose office I could access—Damorin’s. When I was his apprentice, he gave me a password, and I thought there was a good chance he hadn’t canceled it yet.


Deciding there was no time like the present to turn to a life of crime, I made my way to the Justicum west wing where all the seventh skillhouse offices are. Damorin’s office door is all by itself at the end of a short corridor. I knocked, intending to ask for information about yesterday’s princess accident if he actually answered. Happily, I raised no response and happier still, my password still worked.

I was really hoping that a book titled something like All about the Suldan Stones and Why They Make Everybody So Crazy would be sitting in the middle of the desk. It was not, of course, as easy as that, but I did find a copy of a rare Realm history book* that had been missing from the shelves in the archives. A quick index spell revealed three mentions of the Suldan Stones! I didn’t want to take the time to read right then and there, so I filched some sheets of bespelled trace paper from his desk and made prints of the relevant pages. After ten more minutes, I hadn’t found anything else interesting (except for a tailor’s bill—you would not BELIEVE what that man spends on clothes), and I was getting nervous. Tucking my copied sheets into the pocket of my robe, I left the office.

Not a moment too soon, as it turned out. I was only halfway down the short corridor when Damorin turned into it. Unfortunately, there was absolutely no way I could pretend I hadn’t seen him, especially since he spoke first.

“Cordelimaera, were you looking for me?”

Given that I was standing in a corridor that led absolutely nowhere but his office, there was only one thing I could say: “I was, yes.”

“Come in,” he invited.

“You look very busy, Magi, I don’t want to take up your time.”

“Not at all.” And he waved me into the office.

I wasn’t panicking. I had already thought up a nice, insincere apology for abandoning him with the inked on princess the day before, but as I perched on one of the chairs in front of the desk, I noticed that I’d put the history book back on the shelf upside down.

Damorin is the sort of person who is obsessively neat with his bookshelves. Everything is grouped into subjects, then alphabetized by author and title. The upside down title practically screamed that someone else had been handling the book.

I don’t think I panicked, exactly, but I was definitely flustered, and my neat apology speech flew right out of my head. When Damorin sat down behind the desk and looked at me expectantly, I froze.

“How can I help you?” he prompted me.

“I … uh … wanted to ask your advice,” I managed.

“Of course.”

“I wanted to ask your advice about, well …” I tried to think of something to do with my current research, some random point of arcane theory that would make it perfectly reasonable for me to seek my former advisor’s advice. But I all could think about was that upside down book that seemed to be to be shouting out “Trespasser!”

The thought of trespassing was what did it.

“About Jamin Winterfast,” I said and then mentally kicked myself. What possible reason could I have for asking Damorin about Jamin?

“Who?” Damorin asked.

“He’s Magi Winterfast’s grandson. He just arrived in the City for a visit.”

“I see.”

“And I was just wondering whether you know anything about him.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never met the man, nor do I know his work. Were you thinking of doing a project with him?”

“Oh no, he’s not a magi,” I explained, and then I had it. “You see, well, my grandfather is dead, of course you know that, and my uncle is out of town on business and I don’t know when he’ll be back, and I haven’t got any other older male relatives, or any relatives in town at all, actually.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow you,” he said.

“Well, you were my advisor,” I explained ingenuously, “so you’re sort of like an uncle, and I thought I could ask you about Jamin.”

“Cordelimaera, are you asking me whether you should allow this man to court you?” There was disbelief in his tone, and I couldn’t blame him.

“Nothing so serious. I just wanted to know whether you knew anything about him. Men always seem to know things about other men.”

“I’m sorry I’m not able to help you,” he said, and now both his voice and his eyes were icy. Apparently, Damorin does not appreciate being made the receptacle of a young girl’s romantic hopes.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Excuse me, please.” I hurried out of the office before I started giggling in nervous hysteria. You won’t catch me asking Damorin for help with my love life again. I hope I don’t have to break into his office anymore either—I clearly lack the necessary coolness.

Oddly enough, I ran into Jamin just outside the Justicum. He invited me to Winterfast for tea, so I went and ate too many chocolate munches in an attempt to forget about my nerve-racking afternoon. Afterward, I played chess with Magi Winterfast, and he asked a lot of questions about how I was doing. He was just being kind, but I suppose I’m extra sensitive to signs of busybodyness just now.

After our game I went home and was debating whether I not I had better eat supper after my Munches spree when your letter arrived. I was exceedingly surprised and disturbed at its contents and went out to the garden to try and walk off some of my agitation. I was striding down the path, not paying the least bit of attention to my feet, when for the second time that day I tripped and fell. Bemoaning the general folly of hiring gnomes for gardeners, I at once grabbed for whatever had been the cause of my downfall, intending to vent the full force of my wrath upon it. And what should I discover but a listening thread! It was quite a solid one and was stretched completely across the path about the level of my shins. It was exceedingly primitive and generic. There was no possible information to be gained from it, so I dissolved it and sat back down in the middle of the path to do some serious thinking. Obviously, whoever placed the spell there intended for it to be found. It was one of the main paths and there was no way anyone could have passed without tripping over the thing. I came to three possible conclusions: 1) The spell was some sort of warning to prove to me how easily someone could gain access to the grounds 2) The thread was intended to distract my attention from the real enchantment which was probably more sophisticated and cleverly concealed 3) Whoever planted the thread wishes me to demand higher security from the Justicum, which request they will in some way use to gain freer access to the house to install something better. I intend to report the matter to the Justicum, and to update my security myself. If your muse has disenchanted by now, you might ask him if he has any specially unique and difficult recipes for burglar alarms.

I believe you are wise in deciding to confront your father. I have had just about all the secrecy I can take too! Just be certain to steel your determination beforehand and don’t let yourself be talked around and placated by either of them! (Not that I really think you will. You can be most trollishly stubborn when you put your mind to it, dear, and from all the signs you have put your mind to it.)

There is one more matter I need to bring up. I discovered our Sisters of the Midnight Moon records tucked away in a dusty corner, and within them was a sealed packet marked SECRET! OPEN UPON PAIN OF SEVERE ENCHANTMENT! I decided I was brash enough to disregard the warning, and opening the envelope I found a sheet with a single word written on it. That memory spell was much more sophisticated than I had any idea of (which was the idea, after all.) It not only erased the event it was supposed to erase, but made me (and yourself, I presume) believe that the erasure had to do with nothing more important than club business. And so it was, in a way. I now remember everything that happened that summer eight years ago, including Sean Valerian’s role. The memories are, of course, those of a ten year old, and I am still working on sorting out taints of glamour and fear, so I’m not going to tell you anything I remember until you’ve undone the spell on yourself so we can make certain our stories match and the spell is really gone. The keyword is ‘wraithglimmers,’ and you need to recite it three times with your eyes closed. Make certain you are by yourself and are not expected to be anywhere for some time before you read it. I found the word yesterday, and was considerably dazed the entire afternoon.

With deepest affection,
Cordy

P.S. I nearly forgot! The pages I copied weren’t as helpful as I had hoped, since they gave absolutely no specific information about the Stones. But I did learn something significant: each time the Stones were mentioned, it was in the context of war. All the passages ran something like, “With the help of his courageous troops and the Suldan Stones, General Blinkensnot was able to crush the enemy.” Obviously, the Stones are some kind of weapon, but whether they rain burning fire or make daisies bloom out of enemy soldiers’ eyeballs, I don’t know.

*Although the book is never named, it was probably A Concise History of the Early Years of the Imperial Realm as Told by a Bicentenary Parakeet. Bibliographic records show that one copy of this rare volume was held by the Justicum archives and another by the Ardaya family.