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.