Letter XIII (Foof to Cordy)

Dear Cordy,

How is it possible that, even though miles apart, we are under such similar circumstances? And all because of those wretched, wretched stones! How I wish they would just disappear again! Sorry dearest, if you’ve discovered their secret and have some deep dark purpose planned for them, such as banishing all secretive and bossy fathers, deceptive childhood friends, and tall, pompous, recently-delegated-to-the-office-of-Master former mentors. And, of course, any creation to have the misfortune of gracing Lady Lucinda’s bulbous head. Forgive my not-so-light jesting, but I’ve had enough of this!

Yes, I’m blessing our muse every day, almost every moment. To be in this predicament is bad enough, but to be in it without your support and empathy would be intolerable! I sound as though I’m going through a horrible ordeal. While it is terrible in some ways, it could be much worse. I just miss you terribly and worry for you even more.

Allow me to relate the events of my travel.

Captivity: Day One

After sending off the muse with my letter, I fell into a long, deep sleep, the kind I later realized could only be brought about by magic. Had I not needed it so badly, I would have been livid.

I awoke to the sound of heavy rain and the pressure of warm lips covering mine. Shaking off the last of the sleep enchantment, I became aware of someone pushing quickly away from me and making a strange noise. I looked over to see the muse spitting with great vigor and pretending to vomit intermittently. I shoved my blanket back and jumped up.

“You kissed me?” I yelled. “Why on earth would you kiss me?”

He turned a nasty look towards me. “Don’t flatter yourself, missy! I’ve been trying to wake you and deliver your precious letter for the last fifteen minutes. I tried everything in the book except ‘The Last Resort’ so I decided to give it a whirl.”

“Ugh!” I said, wiping my mouth. “Disgusting!”

“Agreed,” he snapped, “but let's focus on the task at hand. Here’s your letter, as promised. Now sit down while I instruct you in the fine art of Troll Tea, one of my culinary specialties and a dying art among non-Trolls, I might add.” He hovered in the air in front of me, warming up to his lecture. “You don’t know how lucky you are, do you? Why, any other muse sticks only to transformation, transportation, and transapplication, but not me. I like to cover all the subjects, not the least of which is domestic studies.” He pushed his sleeves up and rubbed his hands together. “Did I ever tell you about….”

I stopped listening at that point. Rude of me, yes, but I did have a letter to read. I’m so grateful to you that I had such astounding news to occupy my thoughts while he rambled on and on. When he finally got around to the tea, I was starving and practically begging him to teach me the whole process, Troll method or not, which pleased him immensely.

What pleased me immensely was the state of the wagon, bumpy ride or not. Although the decorating is atrocious and too brightly colored for my tastes, it is also highly comfortable. There is a large and sumptuous bed with lush velvet pillows that occupies nearly one half of the wagon. The other half is devoted entirely to the taking of tea. A large assortment of wildly painted teapots and teacups grace one entire wall while the other wall holds an equally vast assortment of tinned biscuits and other delicacies. There's a tiny table that folds out from the wall, which, when propped up, fits between two large, velvety chairs.

Just as I sank into one of the chairs and began to polish off a plate of chocolate munches, the wagon came to a stop. I had almost forgotten about Sean and that he had been driving us this whole time through pouring rain. I thought about inviting him in for tea, but I wasn't sure he'd come. Before, when he'd explained that he was kidnapping me according to my father's orders, I might have said a few things I shouldn't (as I'm sure you can imagine).

But I thought I should give it a try anyway. I stood on the bed and pulled back the heavy curtain that covered the little window to the driver’s seat and knocked sharply. Moments later, the window opened and the upper part of Sean’s face appeared.

“You knocked?” he said in a flat voice. I don’t blame him. Considering the things I'd said to him once I discovered what he and Father were up to, and even a Justicum Saint would have been cross with me.

“Oh…er, yes, I did. I…er,” I stammered. You know how I flustered I get after a confrontation, especially when I’ve said things I shouldn’t. I cleared my throat and started again. “There are some very nice tea things here. I was wondering if you’d like to come out of the rain and have some.”

He looked back at me in silence before shutting the window. I turned to survey the room in a sudden panic. I had invited him without really thinking things through. I managed to coax Muse to disappear for a little while—he promptly changed himself into a purple and green striped teapot with orange eyes on either side of the spout—and straightened out the bed, picking up all the decorative pillows that I'd pushed off during sleep back onto the mattress. Moments later, there was a knock on the door next to the fold-up table. I opened it to find Sean standing there, bone dry.

“Why…you’re completely dry!” I exclaimed.

“Magic does come in handy, doesn’t it?” he said wryly as he entered the wagon.

“To think I was worried about you out there in the pouring rain.”

“Shall I go back out?”

“No,” I said quickly, not wanting to argue again, even though I was still upset about being deceived and kidnapped. “It's fine. You can stay if you want.”

We stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking at each other. At least, I tried to keep my eyes on him instead of glancing over to the bed which suddenly seemed huge for some reason, like it was the only piece of furniture in the room. What was I thinking inviting him into what was essentially my bedroom? Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “You mentioned tea?”

“Oh, yes, tea,” I repeated. I sank into one of the chairs and gestured for him to take the other.

The tea had grown cold so I whispered a spell to warm it up before pouring. Sean made a faintly disapproving sound as I finished and picked up the teapot. I poured the tea and set the pot down.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging. “Please continue.”

“No, you don't like how I warmed the tea and I want to know why.”

“It's nothing,” he insisted.

“Come on,” I pressed, “don't make it weird.”

He shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “Fine. It's just hard not to notice that spells from the Realm are all the same. They all have the same basic structure.”

“And that annoys you?” I asked, “Sugar or cream?”

“Both, please,” he said. “I wouldn't say that it annoys me, it just lacks foresight.”

I handed him his cup and a plate. “That sounds interesting. Are you going to explain?”

He sighed, deciding whether or not to indulge me. “Well, it's just that,” he paused, still deliberating. I could hear his teeth grinding. Then he sat forward and it all came out in a rush. “It's just that your spells are so easy to pick apart. Take, for example, your spell component for stability. I swear, nearly half of the spells you students from the Academy learn include the stability component. What happens when someone dissolves that part of your spell?”

“Uh...it falls apart?” I answered, not knowing if the question was rhetorical or not.

“Exactly!” he answered.

“Yes, except that's why we include it, you know, so it doesn't fall apart.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “But what do you think would happen if you went head to head with a magi from Nirabia or Ramarda? If you attacked with a fireball spell, he wouldn't even try to block it, he'd just reach in and dissolve the stability component and then watch while your fireball went to pieces.”

“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“Of course that's an unlikely scenario,” he added hastily, “even if the borders between countries weren't closed. Which is why I was reluctant to even mention it.” He accepted a biscuit and dipped it into his tea. “It's just good to be aware,” he mumbled before popping the entire biscuit into his mouth.

“Awareness is good,” I replied, dunking my own biscuit and trying to ignore Muse whose spout was twitching back and forth. “Like being aware that you're not actually going back to the city like you thought.”

“I told you I was sorry about that,” he said, staring at me over the top of his teacup.

“I know, but can't you understand my situation? I'm helpless to do anything.”

“You must trust us in this, and most particularly your father. He knows what he’s doing and, as I said before, he’s gone to Imperial City to take care of things personally. Everything is going to be fine.”

“If everything’s going to be fine then why can’t I stay with Grandmother Coqui?”

Sean cocked one eyebrow. “I think you already know the answer to that, Foofri.”

I sighed. “More tea?”

He stared at me for a moment, then smiled. “Please.”

Our conversation was still a trifle awkward, but as I did feel better knowing that Father was coming to your aid, I tried to be pleasant. Apparently, Sean’s planning to take me to the Outskirts by way of the Shazar pass, which we should reach by nightfall. Early tomorrow morning, we’ll begin the journey through the pass (I sleep in the wagon while Sean sleeps on top of it).

I admit to some curiosity about the pass. We’ve always been warned about it, but then we've always been warned about Trolls, too, and so far, even though I haven't actually met one yet, they don't seem to be that horrible. Sean seems to think there is no great danger in traveling through the pass “As long as you stay aware,” he says, which sounds like there's another lecture in my future.

I’ve had thoughts of keeping a journal of my adventures in hopes of publishing a short, but thrilling, memoir. Please advise me on this.

I will most certainly send you regular updates, provided my muse returns on time (don’t panic if a Trollish looking teapot appears) and I expect the same from you. At the risk of sounding callous, I am seriously wondering whose experience will be the most exciting! Please take care, as will I.

Affectionately,
Foofri

P.S. While being extremely comfortable, the Troll wagon kept everyone on the road away from us. Oh, and the wagon is the same one we always saw camped just outside the village green during the summer. Father’s, apparently!

P.P.S. I suggest you carry around a dressing gown at all times.

P.P.P.S. If Sean has a way of communicating with the Underground, rest assured, I will do my best to discover that method.

P.P.P.P.S. I’m so glad your cold is better.

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

Oh my poor Foofri!

To be first deceived and then abducted, in a troll wagon of all discomforts! I suppose They only did it for what They thought was your own good, but it is small consolation for the indignity. We are not children! And thrice bless that wretched muse. (How have you managed to put up with him over the past weeks? I know I ought to be more grateful for the truly vital service that he and he alone can provide for us, but he is the most aggravating creature!) At least we are not completely cut off from communication, and can discuss what had best be done (if there is a best).

After writing my last letter to you, I found myself too keyed up to sleep. What I need is a swim, I thought, so I pulled on my bathing suit and climbed over the wall into Winterfast’s property. I had only been swimming for about ten minutes when Jamin joined me. We ended up sitting on the edge of the fountain and talking for a ridiculously long time about not much at all, until I felt ready to fall asleep right there.

“You should go to bed!” Jamin said with belated concern. “You’ll catch a chill if you sit in the damp in the night air.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” I told him, but I was happy enough to go, since it was after three.

I was lying in an exhausted but peaceful slumber in my own bed, just before dawn. Suddenly, an authoritative knocking echoed on the front gate, and my poor porter was obliged to hustle out of bed and see who could be making such a prodigious commotion at such a ridiculous hour. A small company of Justicum guards coolly stalked through the gate, rapped on the door and demanded Magi Cordelimaera on urgent Imperial Business. When my faithful Murkin attempted to ask for credentials, they forced entrance to the house (alas, I procrastinated one day too long on those burglar alarms), invaded my bedroom and quite literally dragged me, until this time oblivious, out of bed. By the time I was cognizant of what was happening I was wrapped in blanket with a demobilization spell on it and was galloping through the city streets on the front of a military charger. When we dismounted at one of the side entrances to the Justicum the sun was just peeking over the rooftops (I’m certain I would have enjoyed my first sunrise in recent memory more under other circumstances. As it is, I shall continue to sleep through them without a qualm). I was tossed over a shoulder in a most undignified manner, carried inside and carted up numerous corridors and down countless stairs before at last set on my feet and released from that ridiculous blanket.

I have no need to describe my feelings. Suffice it to say that I requested to be enlightened regarding my incarceration.

One of the two guards who had accompanied me into the room bowed respectfully. “Forgive us, Magi Cordelimaera, but we must ask you to remain here for the time being.”

They exited the room without another word, leaving me gaping like a fish as they closed the door. I marched over and wrenched it right back open. “If you think for one moment that I am going to sit placidly in that room and wait for –”

A guard laid a detaining hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Magi, but I have orders not to allow you beyond the doorway. I will call for reinforcements if necessary.” Damaging a Justicum guard has serious consequences, the consideration of which restrained me. Barely.

I drew myself up to my full height (not very great) and put the full force of emotion (extremely great) behind my voice. “I am a magi of the fifth skillhouse and a member of the Imperial Court. I demand to know who has had the audacity to order me treated like a common criminal.”

“Of course, Magi. We are under orders from Master Damorin.”

My jaw drop closely resembled that of a whale. “Master Damorin? Since when does the Magi hold a Mastership?”

The poor guard replied, “I apologize, Magi, but we have orders not to discuss the matter.”
“Orders,” I savagely repeated, and shut the door with a force that would have shattered the windows (had there been any). For the first time I took note of where I was. A small, windowless, thickwalled room, buried in the vast interior of the Justicum. The only furniture was a short conference table and chairs, but I was much too upset to sit down and stormed up and down the small space, disbelievingly trying to decipher the small bit of information the guard had given me.

Damorin had ordered that I be detained by the Justicum guard? Master Damorin? Impossible. Damorin was not a Master, and could not possibly become one until one of the incumbent seven either resigned or died. And then I knew that one of the Masters must be dead, and that it probably had something to do with the Suldan Stones.

Now that the heat of my temper had passed, the room was decidedly chilly, and I felt exhausted. I rested my head tiredly against the table and found it increasingly difficult to think clearly. It wasn’t long before I began to realize the stuffy feeling in my head was due to more than lack of sleep. Apparently, Jamin’s warning about swimming in the night air was more than an old wives’ tale. I opened the door again and humbly asked, “Would one of you gentlemen happen to have a handkerchief?”

I sat sniffing and sneezing in lonesome misery for three hours before the door opened and Damorin finally deigned to make an appearance.

“How very kind of you to come,” I tried to say. What I actually said was something like, “How bery kind ob you do gome. Achoo!” I wiped my nose on the now sodden handkerchief and tried to look dignified. “And do I receibe an egsblanation ob dis brebosterous arres’?” (That will be the last of my phonetic transcription. You can imagine the rest.)

He just stood there, frowning down at me. “You’re ill,” he said, as though I had caught a cold on purpose.

“Sorry to disoblige you,” I snapped, and slapped away the hand he tried to lay on my forehead. “Don’t touch me!” Petty, I suppose, but as already stated, I wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Let me do something for your cold.”

“The only thing you can do for me is explain why I was dragged from my bed and imprisoned. Without breakfast, I might add.”

His frown deepened, and he strode over to the door. I jumped up and hurried after him. “You cannot leave me here like this!”

“I’m not—” he started to say, and broke off as he turned to look at me, his eyes widening.

Too late, I remembered that I was only wearing my nightgown, which is not exactly suitable for mixed company. Crossing my arms, I glared at him. “Well, what do you expect people to be wearing when they’re dragged out of bed?”

He just shook his head and opened the door. “Breakfast from the kitchen,” he told the guard. “A cold draught from the apothecary, and a dressing gown.”

Seeing that he was not about to desert me again, I sat down at the table. “Why am I under arrest?” I demanded as soon as he sat down across from me.

“I wouldn’t precisely term it an arrest.”

“Then what would you term it when a magi is dragged from her bed, abducted from her home and confined under guard?”

“Let’s just call it protective custody.”

“How convenient. That way you can keep an eye on me and make certain I don’t disappear with the Stones the way Sedgwick did. Or do you think that I murdered the Master?” It was a bit of a shot in the dark, but the arrow hit home.

“And how did you know that?” he asked softly, and I imagined I heard menace behind his words.

I pointed at his shimmering blue robe. “If you’re wearing the silver threads of Mastership, a Master must be dead. Since they were all in splendid health the last I heard, the most logical conclusion is foul play.”

He narrowed that penetrating grey gaze upon me. “Sometimes, Cordelimaera, you are too clever for your own good.”

“Was that supposed to be a threat?”

Not a wise thing to say to a Master. But his expression lightened and he laughed, making him look almost human. “No, merely an observation.”

“Oh.” Momentarily deflated I sat back and sniffed. “Which was it, by the way?”

“Blivius.”

“Because of the Suldan Stones?”

He sighed. “Possibly. But that’s why you’re here. If he was murdered because of something he knew about the Stones, then you could be in danger.”

“You didn’t arrest me because you think I killed him,” I said, just to be sure.

“Of course not.”

I echoed his sigh, settling back in my chair. It did seem to be a reasonable explanation, and I certainly did not want to be murdered in my bed. “How did it happen?” I asked.

“He was stabbed sometime after midnight, which was when his butler last saw him, but before three, when his valet found him.” Damorin ran a hand through his hair, which already stuck up in dark little clumps as if he’d been doing that all night. “And of course, nobody has an alibi for that hour.”

“I do,” I said.

He frowned again. “Oh? And where were you at that hour, Magi?”

“Swimming with Jamin at Winterfast,” I said. “That’s why I have a cold. But if you ask, me, it’s much more important to ask whether you have an alibi. After all, you’re the one who got the big promotion.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “That’s true, isn’t it?”

At that point, the guard knocked on the door with breakfast, medicine, and a dressing gown. The draught was bitter and the gown was a man’s, but I took both gratefully and felt better. “Bacon?” I asked Damorin, offering him a piece.

“No, thank you.” He stared at me moodily while I ate.

“What?” I finally asked.

“I am trying to decide what to do with you.”

“Send me home,” I said promptly.

“Not until you have your security spells redone. Someone planted that listening thread in your garden. I could send you to my mother.”

I stared at him horror. “What does your mother have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, only I happen to know that the security on my estate is secure.”

“I am not staying on your estate. What does this have to do with you, anyway? And why did you hire the Underground to spy on me?”

“Montphish’s daughter,” he said resignedly.

I didn’t give you up, dearest. “That doesn’t matter. The point is that you’ve been poking around in my business and I want to know why.” The medicinal drink had had its effect by now, and I was feeling clear headed and feisty.

“Stephanus was my friend,” he said. “Before he died, he asked me to look into the mysterious return of the Stones. He was afraid you would be in danger.”

I was almost certain I believed him. I knew he and Grandfather had frequently worked together. “I’m still not moving in with your mother,” I informed him. “If I can’t go home, then what about Winterfast? It should be safe enough. I’m certain Magi Winterfast would be happy to have me.”

Damorin watched me for a long moment, until I was ready to squirm. “Very well,” he said at last. “Winterfast. After all, you have friends there.”

It took several more hours to arrange everything, but I finally arrived at Winterfast with some luggage. I pleaded exhaustion and went straight to bed.

The next thing I knew, bright sunlight was streaming into my face and an unfamiliar voice was saying pettishly, “Well, it’s about time you woke up. I’ve been waiting quite long enough, and after all my trouble, too.” I opened my eyes to look into the face of, yes, your Muse.

He pointed at the table where he had deposited both your letters, and embarked on a long explanation about how he’d expended all this extra effort to find the first one which the ordinary post (“And why anyone would use such an untrustworthy institution when they have a brilliant and powerful, not to mention handsome, magical servant begging to wait on their every whim, I don’t know”) had delivered to my house.

I honestly don’t know how to advise you on what action to take. I agree that coming back to the City would do little good as you would have to remain concealed to avoid being caught and sent directly back by your father. On the other hand, why has Uncle agreed to let you travel to the Outskirts? Surely such a journey (through the Shazar Pass!!!) is far more dangerous than staying here with me in protective custody! At any rate, I consider it unlikely that Sean (speaking of, are you talking to him yet?) Is completely cut off from contact with the rest of the Underground. If you could discover his means of communication it may prove a valuable source of information.

The muse is growing impatient, so I will conclude. Take care, and do your best to keep from fainting. Try not to let a little thing like a barren wilderness deter you from a life long determination!

With the greatest affection,
Cordy

P.S. I realize you have much more important things to worry about, but if you have time, would you mind writing a detailed description of the troll wagon? Are they actually as grim as everyone says? Is there a bone grinding apparatus? I do hope it is not infested with squinchers, although I fear the worst!

P.P.S. Remember not to drink the water in the Outskirts.

Letter XI and a half (still from Foofri to Cordy)

Dearest!

Please excuse this crude form of a letter, I haven’t time to explain everything. I awoke this morning in a troll wagon. My Father and Sean have abducted me, so to speak, and betrayed me! Giving in to my demands last night was only to lure me into a false sense of security so Sean could whisk me away to the Outskirts (yes, you read that correctly) where I’ll be safe and where I won’t have the chance to “meddle” in something that is far more dangerous than we ever suspected. Father himself is taking control of operations in the city.

Take care, dear, I am very worried! If they're actually shipping me out of town, who knows what they'll do to you (if they haven't already). I don't think they'll send you off to some barren and magic-hostile wasteland. No, they need you to stay in the city so they can sniff out what's going on and who is behind it without appearing suspicious. However, I know for a fact they won't take any chances where your safety is concerned. I'm very glad of that, but you should be prepared for anything just the same.

Luckily, we will still be able to communicate. My muse finally extracted himself from the underwear enchantment just as I became aware of my current predicament. He was packed in my things, which, thank goodness, Father was good enough to send with me, and began shouting expletives (magical ones, mind you, so I didn’t understand all of them) and caused a commotion that alerted Sean to my wakeful state. Sean briefly lifted the containment spell on the wagon so he could enter and explain the situation. How different from what I had been anticipating last night!

I had to do some heavy groveling to make sure my muse keeps his existence secret and to get him to deliver this message to you. I had to promise him that I’ll allow him to teach me every spell he knows (and a few he doesn’t) in order to keep him delivering our correspondence, but oh, how small a price to pay! Don’t be alarmed when he shows up in your room (I gave him directions to transport straight there).

I am awaiting your reply with greater eagerness than I can express!
Foofri