My dear Foofri,
I’m glad your new protection spell doesn’t last very long (although I’m certain Muse deserved his double enchantment). But while talking frogs and marble statues of handsome young men always get disenchanted sooner or later, who would set out to rescue a lady’s undergarment (or a pair of men’s winter underwear – with a flap)? It cannot but inspire pity.
It is odd that Uncle Alain would use protection wards, since, as you say, he never had a chance to study magic. Perhaps he got them ready made? But what would he be carrying that would need to be guarded anyway? The magic carpet trade isn’t that cutthroat.
It’s probably just a coincidence, but is it possible Sean Valerian has anything to do with your father? As you pointed out, it is a little odd Uncle would drag you out to Seven Oaks at this time of year, and then he turns out to have a warded satchel at the same time the vaguely remembered Sean is sending cryptic letters. Although I have a hard time imagining Uncle engaging in anything more nefarious than price wars.
Speaking of Mr. Valerian, I haven’t been able to find our SMM papers yet (but I have one more stack of boxes to search). Childhood acquaintance or not, he seems to be making a lot of demands on a slim basis: “Tell Cordy this, don’t do that.” And who is this “we” he referred to? If he really wants us to work with him, maybe he should give us something like, oh, I don’t know, ACTUAL INFORMATION. I am trying to take this adventure seriously, but since nothing serious has actually happened, I can’t help being skeptical.
I did go to the Justicum archives this morning to attempt to research the Stones. I say attempt, because I failed to uncover anything, but what I didn’t find looks decidedly suspicious. There is absolutely no record of how the Stones came into being. The first emperor takes the throne and suddenly the Stones are there. But if they came with the conqueror, then why do they belong to my family? And if they always belong to us, why isn’t there any mention of them in pre-conquest history? We, after all, didn’t come in with the conqueror. We were just bright enough to defect to the winning side (fine, loyal lot that we are).
When I got back home, I found yet another summons to court tea, embellished by a handwritten note from the princess. I didn’t find our last conversation particularly stimulating, but apparently Ameliorene did. I absolutely refused to put on the court dress with the fringe again, so I dug out my old Guide to Charmed Couture and turned one of my ordinary afternoon dresses black. This did not prove to be one of my better ideas. I’ve never been good at domestic magic, and the spell didn’t take right. Of course, it wasn’t until I was already at the Residency that I discovered that when I stood still for too long, I left a small puddle of black, like a poorly housebroken water dragon.
When I made this mortifying discovery, I immediately scuttled behind a large potted palm and tried to figure out how to get to the exit without leaving a visible trail. I’d just decided I could make it if I stuck to the wall and pretended I was ill so nobody would stop me to talk, when Damorin Ardaya sidled behind my plant and almost stepped on my foot.
Clearly, he was avoiding someone. Back when I was his apprentice, he was always lecturing on the importance of recognizing the social responsibilities that accompanied Council membership, blah, blah, blah, so it was satisfying to catch him in the act of shirking said social responsibility. (Although I would have enjoyed it more had I not been painfully aware of my leaking dress.)
Of course, he pretended like we weren’t both skulking behind a potted palm in the empress’s afternoon court. “Magi Cordelimaera, how nice to see you.”
“How are you, magi?” I answered, shifting so that my skirt covered several black drips.
“Well, thank you. I’m pleased to see you look the same. I was worried ill health had kept you from the Council.”
Busybody.
“No, thank you, I always enjoy excellent health,” I said coolly.
“I hope your absence wasn’t occasioned by anything serious,” he tried again.
“Really, Magi, I don’t think my absence is any of your business.”
Both aghast and proud of my own temerity, I expected a crushing snub, at the very least. But instead he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall while he looked me over with the most ghastly calculating expression.
“Stop it!” I hissed.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like I’m an anomaly in your latest experiment.”
“Cordelimaera, I think you had better tell me where you were,” he said, ignoring my simile.
“No.”
“Why not? It’s a simple enough question.”
“Why should I? It’s none of your business.”
“It’s a matter of your responsibility to the Council.”
“I’ve already discussed the matter with Master Lastra. If you’re concerned, perhaps you should take it up with him.”
“I will,” he said, sounding unexpectedly grim. It’s difficult to tell what goes on behind that impenetrably polite expression of his, but I would bet the Stones themselves he was surprised and not happy about it.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have so many people to talk to.” I turned to go and nearly ran into the princess.
“Cordelimaera, there you are!” she exclaimed. I was startled to discover she now considers us to be on a first name basis, and was too late to prevent her grabbing my arm. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything!”
She looked up wide-eyed at Damorin, but I was too worried about my unraveling dye spell to be flustered by her ridiculous implication. “Oh dear.”
It took her only a moment to understand, and then she dropped my arm and hopped away with a squeak. “My dress!”
Her royal blue gown, was, in fact, pitch black wherever it had brushed against me, while my dress had leached to a nasty shade of gray.
“I’m sorry!” I exclaimed. “The dye spell didn’t set right.”
“Damorin!” she exclaimed, holding her hands out to him. “Do something!”
His gaze slid from her to me, and for a moment I thought he was trying not to laugh. I know I was, even though I may have just ruined the princess’s favorite tea gown and gotten myself banned from the empress’s court forever. But then he assumed an expression of perfect gravity and offered Ameliorene his handkerchief.
I don’t know what good that was supposed to do, but I didn’t stay to find out. “I’m terribly sorry,” I gasped. “Excuse me!” And I fled the scene of the crime before I further disgraced myself.
I’ve been trying to decide whether this incident confirms the rumors about what way the wind of royal favor is blowing. I’m not exactly sure why she would settle on Damorin, (I suppose his dark and brooding looks have something to do with it—attractive enough if you like that sort of thing) since he must be nearly a decade older than she is, not to mention extremely esoteric in his interests. But there’s no accounting for the taste of some women.
I came home and found your letter, and although the image of Muse as a camisole did not do much for my near hysterics, my interest in your other news did sober me enough that I didn’t have to stop every other line to giggle. By the end, however, I still felt too worked up to write back immediately, so I decided to hop the wall to the neighboring estate and go for a swim. (Old Winterfast and Grandfather were chess cronies, and ever since the funeral, he’s been sending me flowers from his hothouses and urging me to drop by for tea, which is really very sweet of him.)
The Winterfast pool is the most marvelous one in the city. It is sunk in the ground and made entirely of black marble with silver stars set in the bottom. At night the stars glow and it almost feels like swimming through the sky. I didn’t bother with a bathing suit, but cast an invisibility spell and stripped down to my underwear. My swim got rather long, and I wasn’t really paying attention to anything except a delicious feeling of bodilessness when I finally swam to the edge and scrambled out at the spot where I had left my clothes. You can imagine how dismayed I was when I discovered they were gone!
“I can’t see you, but I can see the puddle you’re making,” said a cheerful voice behind me. I spun around and saw a young man standing with my robe in his hands. My first impulse was to run, but my trail of dripping would have given me away in a second.
“I surrender,” I said meekly. “May I have my clothes, please?”
He shook his head. “If I give them to you while you are still invisible you might run away.”
“I promise not to.”
“But how do I know you’ll keep your word?” he protested. “I haven’t the slightest idea who you are. At least I don’t think I do,” he said, squinting at (or rather through) me.
Of course I had no intention of going visible in my underwear. I tried to be logical. “I don’t know you either. You may be a desperate axe murderer. Besides, it’s all very well calling me a trespasser, but how do you know I don’t belong here? Invisibility is no basis for judgment.”
“It’s not exactly a character reference.”
I held my breath, wrinkled my nose and worked up a sneeze. “I’m beginning to catch cold,” I said as pitifully as I could manage, chattering my teeth for emphasis. “I shall probably catch pneumonia and become deathly ill and be confined to bed for weeks.”
He grinned good-naturedly. “I wouldn’t want anyone’s misery on my head, even a trespasser’s.” He handed over my over-robe.*
“And the rest?” I demanded.
“There’s, er, a slight problem..” He whistled softly and Winterfast’s huge black dog trotted out of the shadows with my robe clutched in his mouth.
“Jackler, you stupid beast,” I chided as I wrapped myself securely in my over-robe. He recognized my voice and began wagging his tail furiously and slobbering to keep pace.
The man was squinting at me again. “I say, you promised …” He broke off as I turned visible.
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” I said severely. My captor started in surprise. “Not you, Jackler,” I explained.
“I beg your pardon. Jamin, at your service.” He bowed politely.
“Magi Cordelimaera at yours,” I said, offering my hand. “I live next door. Are you staying with Magi Winterfast?”
“As a matter of fact, the old bean’s my grandfather. I got tired of rusticating, so he invited me to come and savor the worldly delights of the metropolis.”
“How nice,” I answered dubiously, trying to remember whether Winterfast had ever mentioned a grandson. I couldn’t see any family resemblance, although since I’ve only known Winterfast as gray and craggy, that’s probably not very good evidence. Jamin is sort of goldenish—you know, bright gold hair and glowing tan—attractive enough if you like that sort of thing.
At any rate, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough whether or not he’s an imposter. I think I’m at last sufficiently sleepy to retire, so I’ll bid you good night, dearest.
Cordy
*At this time, traditional Council wear consisted of an inner robe, usually loose fitting and plain, covered by an over-robe, tied with a sash and often heavily embroidered. Excellent examples of these historical costumes have been preserved in the Imperial Realm Museum for the Preservation of Magical Culture (IRMPoMC).
Showing posts with label preface. Show all posts
Showing posts with label preface. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Letter V (F.M. to C.D.)
Dearest Cordy,
Strange things are afoot right now and we are in the thick of it. There are so many things to tell so you must bear with me, dear, and no skipping ahead as I know you are wont to do.
Since arriving in the country, I'd done a bit of thinking. It seemed rather odd that my father chose this specific time to visit Seven Oaks. We never go to Grandmother's until midsummer at the earliest, and he never comes here for business. Indeed, for a merchant dependant on the hustle and bustle of a city marketplace, a trip to the country prior to the city's Anniversary week celebration is very unwise. Why would he choose to spend time out here when he should be back in the Realm's capital preparing for the busiest time of the year? After posing these questions to my father on several different occasions and not coming up with much—you know how gifted he is at hemming and hawing and never really telling you what you want to know—I decided to bide my time until an alternate method presented itself.
It came in the form of a midnight trip to the village on the night before last. He thought I was asleep in bed. I was actually pilfering a jam tart from the pantry when I heard footsteps and the soft closing of the kitchen door. I tiptoed to the window just in time to see him hop over the garden fence and head off on the village road. Knowing I wouldn't get another opportunity to rummage, I shoved the tart into my mouth and quickly padded up to his bedroom.
I was surprised at how easy it was to find his satchel until I took it back to my room and tried to open it. Dearest, it had two protection spells—one binding the clasp, the other protecting the contents. You know my father never had the opportunity to cultivate his magical ability, so it surprised me a lot to find him using protection wards. No thanks to Muse, I was able to unravel them after about an hour, and by that time, I only had a few minutes to go through the stack of papers therein, for fear of my father returning and discovering what I'd done.
Muse was rather upset with me at the time. He'd taken to riding around in the air above my shoulder, offering spells anytime he saw fit--which was often, let me tell you. Whenever I declined, he'd go on and on about how unappreciated he is and how he's assisted some of the most powerful magii in the Realm and how I wouldn't believe some of the magical feats he's accomplished, and one feat in particular, if anyone knew about it, would be in the history books! I asked him if it was really that horrible and he couldn't take the joke and got all huffy and puffy and defensive about it. So I apologized and told him that changing creatures into underwear would make a diverting addition to any history book, and he became even more offended. I felt tempted to ask him to conjure up a sense of humor, but I doubt it would have produced the desired effect. But I digress.
There was little of interest in Father's papers except one document detailing how father is training someone to take over the management of his business so he can go into semi-retirement. This was news to me. I had no idea he was planning on retiring, and I would think if he was training a replacement for his shop I would have met the man. This news, of course, casts no light on why he brought me out to Seven Oaks at this time or why he had protection spells guarding his satchel, but I'm not discounting any unusual discoveries at this point. Additionally, I will continue to pry and if I have to pull out my dim-witted persona, I will.
The following morning was my meeting with Sean Valerian. The sunrise was glorious, which was good since I'd stayed up far too late the night before, and I was sitting under the magi oak, enjoying the moment when Muse suddenly appeared and offered to teach me a spell to get rid of my freckles. He was only trying to get back at me, but he couldn't know what a particularly sore spot my freckles are. My exuberant magic reared its ugly head yet again, and I reflexively turned him into a fluffy pink chemise. It was purely reflex! I had practiced the incantation so much that when I was confronted with such a strong emotion, it just popped out! As he began to float gently to the ground, I saw a shimmer of light just behind him and before I knew it, Sean was standing right in front of me.
I was too shocked to say anything. Where did he learn to do that? was my first thought. Only seventh skillhouse magii or higher have the ability to transport. My second thought was what his thoughts might be as he watched my transformed muse complete his descent right before his eyes. Before I could react, he reached over and picked the item up. He fingered it for a moment, before realizing what it was and then he looked at me with a vague expression.
“Yours?” he asked.
“No,” I replied, indignantly, as I snatched it from his hands and stuffed it into my pocket. “It's a friend of mine. I mean, a friend's. Yes, a friend's. But nevermind, Sean Valerian,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Where have you been all these years?”
“So you do remember me,” he stated.
“Yes, of course.”
“Hmm,” he said, scratching at his chin. “I think you remember my name, but not much else.”
“No, I remember we used to meet at this tree. And...,” I paused, wracking my brain for something--anything--else. “And I remember feeling sorry for you," I finally said, "but I admit I don't remember why.”
He shook his head, not quite amused. “It doesn't matter. It's not as though you've missed anything. Besides, I can't change the past, but I can do something about the future." He drew himself up. "About that letter I sent,” he began.
“Yes?” I answered, wondering what in the world he was talking about.
“It's about the Suldan Stones.”
“What about them?”
He looked around before continuing. “Look, they're not something we can talk about lightly. What do you know about them?”
“Not much, honestly. Only that they've caused a lot of trouble.”
“They're very dangerous artifacts and your cousin is now in possession of them.”
“Not technically,” I reminded him. “She doesn't actually carry them about on her person.”
“No, but she has the power to wield them and that makes her a target. There are certain kinds of people who would take drastic measures to gain control of the Stones. There are other people who would like to prevent that.”
“You, for instance?”
“Yes,” he replied firmly. “I owe it to her. And to you.”
“Why?”
He looked down and sighed. “Someday you'll remember why,” he finally answered. “And when you do, just remember that I'm doing everything I can to make up for it.”
“Why so mysterious about everything?”
“I'm sorry if it seems that way. I'm not trying to be mysterious, I'm just trying to help. That's mostly why I've come back to the Realm." He looked around again. "But see, this isn't about me, it's about Cordelimaera."
“If it's about Cordy, then it's about me, too.”
“Yes, which is why I've come to you. Anything unusual that happens to her, we need to know about it, especially if it has to do with the Stones. And the information needs to go through you to me so we don't have to contact her directly.”
“Who is 'we'?” I asked. “And what is their interest in this matter?”
“I'm not at liberty to say just now,” he replied, “but they have no interest in the Stones, only in Cordelimaera's safety.”
“And how do I know I can trust you?” I asked. “Who's to say you're not working for the bad guys?”
He quirked a brow. “Why don't you cast a spell on me and find out?”
I stared at him, trying to read his expression. When his gaze didn't falter, I said, “Well, I suppose I don’t exactly have a reason not to trust you.”
“Good,” he said, giving me the first smile of his I'd seen since the tea shop encounter. “And remember to tell Cordelimaera to keep her eyes open. Have her report anything unusual. Anyone who acts differently. Any strange occurrences. Any information that may fall in her lap. Things like that. But she mustn’t go out of her way to find things out, do you understand me, Foofri? She mustn’t go looking for trouble. It would be extremely foolish.”
I nodded my head. “Yes, I understand. I'll write to her as soon as I get back to Grandmother's.”
“Tell your grandmother hello for me, will you?”
"She knows you, too?"
"Of course. At least, I hope she remembers me."
“You could say hello yourself, if you transport me back to the house,” I replied. “It would save me half an hour, at least.” I have to admit, it wasn’t the time I was thinking of. I’ve only been transported a few times, and it’s such fun I couldn’t resist asking.
Pulling me closer, he began the incantation, when all of a sudden, something darted out from my pocket. I'd forgotten that my protection spell doesn’t last very long. Muse floated up in front of Sean, the only remains of the spell evident in his pink, ruffly beard. “If she wants to transport, she can just ask me for the spell, thank you very much! I don’t need you honing in on my magi!”
He pointed his finger at Sean as though he meant to lay a curse on him, but Sean quickly cast his own spell against the little wretch. I looked down to see a bright red pair of men’s button-flap woolen underwear lying peacefully on the ground.
I looked up at Sean and asked as innocently as he had, “Yours?” We both laughed. I picked up my muse as Sean rewove his incantation and in a few seconds we were standing in the clearing behind the cottage.
“I'll say hello another time,” Sean said. “Right now I have another appointment.”
“How will I find you when I need to?” I asked.
“Don't worry, I'll be around.” Then he disappeared.
When I got inside, the post had come and I read your letter with great interest. I hope this doesn't sound callous, but I’m relieved I’m not related to you on your father’s side or I would be involved in this as well (more than I am right now anyway). It's so odd that we should be mixed up in something like this, but you’re the only Demestheln left, and although this adventure has been thrust upon you through no actions of your own (for once), we must take it seriously. Please heed Sean's advice and do nothing that would be foolish!
With great affection,
Foofri
P.S. Did you find anything in our Sisters of the Midnight Moon club papers? I'd forgotten about the forgetting spell we used (I'm not joking!) and am desperate to know what Sean is talking about. I'll ask Grandmother about it, too, when I get the chance.
Strange things are afoot right now and we are in the thick of it. There are so many things to tell so you must bear with me, dear, and no skipping ahead as I know you are wont to do.
Since arriving in the country, I'd done a bit of thinking. It seemed rather odd that my father chose this specific time to visit Seven Oaks. We never go to Grandmother's until midsummer at the earliest, and he never comes here for business. Indeed, for a merchant dependant on the hustle and bustle of a city marketplace, a trip to the country prior to the city's Anniversary week celebration is very unwise. Why would he choose to spend time out here when he should be back in the Realm's capital preparing for the busiest time of the year? After posing these questions to my father on several different occasions and not coming up with much—you know how gifted he is at hemming and hawing and never really telling you what you want to know—I decided to bide my time until an alternate method presented itself.
It came in the form of a midnight trip to the village on the night before last. He thought I was asleep in bed. I was actually pilfering a jam tart from the pantry when I heard footsteps and the soft closing of the kitchen door. I tiptoed to the window just in time to see him hop over the garden fence and head off on the village road. Knowing I wouldn't get another opportunity to rummage, I shoved the tart into my mouth and quickly padded up to his bedroom.
I was surprised at how easy it was to find his satchel until I took it back to my room and tried to open it. Dearest, it had two protection spells—one binding the clasp, the other protecting the contents. You know my father never had the opportunity to cultivate his magical ability, so it surprised me a lot to find him using protection wards. No thanks to Muse, I was able to unravel them after about an hour, and by that time, I only had a few minutes to go through the stack of papers therein, for fear of my father returning and discovering what I'd done.
Muse was rather upset with me at the time. He'd taken to riding around in the air above my shoulder, offering spells anytime he saw fit--which was often, let me tell you. Whenever I declined, he'd go on and on about how unappreciated he is and how he's assisted some of the most powerful magii in the Realm and how I wouldn't believe some of the magical feats he's accomplished, and one feat in particular, if anyone knew about it, would be in the history books! I asked him if it was really that horrible and he couldn't take the joke and got all huffy and puffy and defensive about it. So I apologized and told him that changing creatures into underwear would make a diverting addition to any history book, and he became even more offended. I felt tempted to ask him to conjure up a sense of humor, but I doubt it would have produced the desired effect. But I digress.
There was little of interest in Father's papers except one document detailing how father is training someone to take over the management of his business so he can go into semi-retirement. This was news to me. I had no idea he was planning on retiring, and I would think if he was training a replacement for his shop I would have met the man. This news, of course, casts no light on why he brought me out to Seven Oaks at this time or why he had protection spells guarding his satchel, but I'm not discounting any unusual discoveries at this point. Additionally, I will continue to pry and if I have to pull out my dim-witted persona, I will.
The following morning was my meeting with Sean Valerian. The sunrise was glorious, which was good since I'd stayed up far too late the night before, and I was sitting under the magi oak, enjoying the moment when Muse suddenly appeared and offered to teach me a spell to get rid of my freckles. He was only trying to get back at me, but he couldn't know what a particularly sore spot my freckles are. My exuberant magic reared its ugly head yet again, and I reflexively turned him into a fluffy pink chemise. It was purely reflex! I had practiced the incantation so much that when I was confronted with such a strong emotion, it just popped out! As he began to float gently to the ground, I saw a shimmer of light just behind him and before I knew it, Sean was standing right in front of me.
I was too shocked to say anything. Where did he learn to do that? was my first thought. Only seventh skillhouse magii or higher have the ability to transport. My second thought was what his thoughts might be as he watched my transformed muse complete his descent right before his eyes. Before I could react, he reached over and picked the item up. He fingered it for a moment, before realizing what it was and then he looked at me with a vague expression.
“Yours?” he asked.
“No,” I replied, indignantly, as I snatched it from his hands and stuffed it into my pocket. “It's a friend of mine. I mean, a friend's. Yes, a friend's. But nevermind, Sean Valerian,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Where have you been all these years?”
“So you do remember me,” he stated.
“Yes, of course.”
“Hmm,” he said, scratching at his chin. “I think you remember my name, but not much else.”
“No, I remember we used to meet at this tree. And...,” I paused, wracking my brain for something--anything--else. “And I remember feeling sorry for you," I finally said, "but I admit I don't remember why.”
He shook his head, not quite amused. “It doesn't matter. It's not as though you've missed anything. Besides, I can't change the past, but I can do something about the future." He drew himself up. "About that letter I sent,” he began.
“Yes?” I answered, wondering what in the world he was talking about.
“It's about the Suldan Stones.”
“What about them?”
He looked around before continuing. “Look, they're not something we can talk about lightly. What do you know about them?”
“Not much, honestly. Only that they've caused a lot of trouble.”
“They're very dangerous artifacts and your cousin is now in possession of them.”
“Not technically,” I reminded him. “She doesn't actually carry them about on her person.”
“No, but she has the power to wield them and that makes her a target. There are certain kinds of people who would take drastic measures to gain control of the Stones. There are other people who would like to prevent that.”
“You, for instance?”
“Yes,” he replied firmly. “I owe it to her. And to you.”
“Why?”
He looked down and sighed. “Someday you'll remember why,” he finally answered. “And when you do, just remember that I'm doing everything I can to make up for it.”
“Why so mysterious about everything?”
“I'm sorry if it seems that way. I'm not trying to be mysterious, I'm just trying to help. That's mostly why I've come back to the Realm." He looked around again. "But see, this isn't about me, it's about Cordelimaera."
“If it's about Cordy, then it's about me, too.”
“Yes, which is why I've come to you. Anything unusual that happens to her, we need to know about it, especially if it has to do with the Stones. And the information needs to go through you to me so we don't have to contact her directly.”
“Who is 'we'?” I asked. “And what is their interest in this matter?”
“I'm not at liberty to say just now,” he replied, “but they have no interest in the Stones, only in Cordelimaera's safety.”
“And how do I know I can trust you?” I asked. “Who's to say you're not working for the bad guys?”
He quirked a brow. “Why don't you cast a spell on me and find out?”
I stared at him, trying to read his expression. When his gaze didn't falter, I said, “Well, I suppose I don’t exactly have a reason not to trust you.”
“Good,” he said, giving me the first smile of his I'd seen since the tea shop encounter. “And remember to tell Cordelimaera to keep her eyes open. Have her report anything unusual. Anyone who acts differently. Any strange occurrences. Any information that may fall in her lap. Things like that. But she mustn’t go out of her way to find things out, do you understand me, Foofri? She mustn’t go looking for trouble. It would be extremely foolish.”
I nodded my head. “Yes, I understand. I'll write to her as soon as I get back to Grandmother's.”
“Tell your grandmother hello for me, will you?”
"She knows you, too?"
"Of course. At least, I hope she remembers me."
“You could say hello yourself, if you transport me back to the house,” I replied. “It would save me half an hour, at least.” I have to admit, it wasn’t the time I was thinking of. I’ve only been transported a few times, and it’s such fun I couldn’t resist asking.
Pulling me closer, he began the incantation, when all of a sudden, something darted out from my pocket. I'd forgotten that my protection spell doesn’t last very long. Muse floated up in front of Sean, the only remains of the spell evident in his pink, ruffly beard. “If she wants to transport, she can just ask me for the spell, thank you very much! I don’t need you honing in on my magi!”
He pointed his finger at Sean as though he meant to lay a curse on him, but Sean quickly cast his own spell against the little wretch. I looked down to see a bright red pair of men’s button-flap woolen underwear lying peacefully on the ground.
I looked up at Sean and asked as innocently as he had, “Yours?” We both laughed. I picked up my muse as Sean rewove his incantation and in a few seconds we were standing in the clearing behind the cottage.
“I'll say hello another time,” Sean said. “Right now I have another appointment.”
“How will I find you when I need to?” I asked.
“Don't worry, I'll be around.” Then he disappeared.
When I got inside, the post had come and I read your letter with great interest. I hope this doesn't sound callous, but I’m relieved I’m not related to you on your father’s side or I would be involved in this as well (more than I am right now anyway). It's so odd that we should be mixed up in something like this, but you’re the only Demestheln left, and although this adventure has been thrust upon you through no actions of your own (for once), we must take it seriously. Please heed Sean's advice and do nothing that would be foolish!
With great affection,
Foofri
P.S. Did you find anything in our Sisters of the Midnight Moon club papers? I'd forgotten about the forgetting spell we used (I'm not joking!) and am desperate to know what Sean is talking about. I'll ask Grandmother about it, too, when I get the chance.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Preface
THE MAGI LETTERS
Edited by
Dianarama Ottorius
Imperial Magic Academy
and
Solsticia Quartermanus
University of New Pasifica
Preface
The personal correspondence contained in this volume was discovered when the Ardaya family papers were donated to the Justicum archives by the last surviving member of that family, Miss Genevieve Ardaya. The letters chronicle the weeks following the Stones’ reappearance, an account which must absolutely overturn all existing historical narratives. Not only are the actions of the principle players clarified, but political and personal motives emerge that were never even guessed by historians. The importance of this volume to even our general understanding of the history of the Imperial Realm cannot be overestimated, and we hope that scholars and laypersons alike will approach it with an open mind.
A number of scholarly aids and other supplemental materials have been appended.
Obvious errors in spelling, punctuation, and usage have been corrected. The inverted ‘g’ then in vogue has been silently amended.
The editors wish to thank the staff of the Justicum archives, the special collections librarians of the University of New Pacifica, Magi Patricia C. Wrede, and Magi Caroline Stevermer.
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