Dragon's Eye

by Robin Joy Wirth

  “And has the witch revealed the names of her accomplices?” asked the wizard who sat in the seat just across from hers, about four meters away. He floated slightly above everyone else, making it apparent that he was in charge of the proceedings.

  “She has not, Director Ames,” said Lancelot, finally casting her a brief glance. “I believe she intends to take all of the punishment herself instead.”

  “Is this true, Miss Lake?” the older wizard inquired with a raised brow. “Why would you wish to shield your friends, when that could only increase the degree of severity for your crimes?”

  Felicity cleared her throat and stood as she looked the man squarely in the eye. “Sir, this was never to do with the idea of stealing anything. My friends and I simply disagree with Dervish McTavert’s intention to have the Law of Three repealed. It was my friends who thought to protest it, but I allowed myself to be a party to doing so. I was the one who was caught, so it is only just that I should be the one to take the blame.”

  “Master Jones, I understand that this morning a charmed object exploded in Dervish McTavert’s office,” Director Ames said. “Can you tell the Council more about it?”

  “Yes, Director,” Lancelot said with a nod. “The object was a container of confetti, of sorts, set to explode the moment Dervish himself entered the room. A rather inventive adaptation to the voluminate charm, I have to say.

  “Anyway, it spoke in Miss Lake’s voice, and said something to the effect of, ‘Dervish McTavert, if you cannot understand that all sentient beings should respect each other, perhaps you should see how it feels to be treated without that respect. Hopefully this will help. All creatures, including the Mundanes, should be treated equally.’”

  “I see,” he said with a nod of his head. “Miss Lake, I can sympathize with your need to protest the repeal hearing, but you took an avenue of protest that was clearly disrespectful, and criminal as well.

  “Your lack of respect towards Dervish McTavert, a Director on this Council and a pillar of our community, cannot possibly demonstrate the concept of respect. Your plan was ill-advised at best, and your willful refusal to disclose the names of your co-conspirators shows a stubbornness that I cannot like.

  “The Council will vote on three points. The first is whether or not to deem the intrusion as criminal, the second to determine if you tampered with the belongings of Dervish McTavert, and the third to agree that your charm infringed upon the Law of Three because it created discord. Magi Directors, please raise your wands one at a time to cast your votes.”

  Every one of the three hundred members of the council would have to raise their wands and aim each of their three votes up to a collection of colored lights that floated above their heads. Felicity sat down again to wait for the rather time-consuming process to be completed.

  While the Directors were thus occupied, she could not help but steal an occasional glance at Lancelot Jones. He had taken a seat closer to the door, and appeared to be reading a book. Felicity could not help but attempt to catch a glimpse of its title, and when she finally did she was quite surprised to discover it was the same book she’d been reading the night before.

  Why would a wizard like Lancelot Jones, so strong-willed and outgoing, read a steaming hot romance novel like that one? Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye.

  Felicity was so busy speculating on this that she didn’t even notice when the last of the Directors had cast his three votes. Not one member sent a vote against any of the judgments.

  “Excuse me, Miss Lake?” she heard Director Ames say. “I’ve addressed you three times now. It’s about time you noticed.”

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, sir,” she said, genuinely disgusted with herself for her flighty ways. Lancelot patently did not look up from the book, but she could see a slight smirk forming on his lips, which irritated her to no end.

  “Miss Lake, as you can see, the voting has unanimously convicted you of your crimes,” he said. “Have you anything to say for yourself before I pass judgment?”

  “Only that what I did, I did for a noble cause,” she stated emphatically. “I believe the Law of Three was long overdue in coming, and to repeal it in the face of all that has transpired would be a great disservice both to the Mundanes and to the Magi. Perhaps it was wrong to take the specific actions for which I must pay, but I cannot in good conscience tell you that I am sorry for them, when I believe them to be well justified under the circumstances.”

  “Master Jones, have you anything more to say on the matter?” he asked. “You are, after all, her accuser.”

  Lancelot stood up, avoiding Felicity’s eyes more than ever. “Yes, sir, I do,” he stated firmly. “Miss Lake’s heart may have been in the right place, to her way of thinking, but still I must point out that her thinking was flawed.

  “Doing the very thing you are protesting—which in this case was defiling the belongings of a fellow Magi—cannot be justified. It’s a simple enough concept, to be sure, that doing so must ruin the credibility of the person taking such action as a result.

  “Miss Lake is an impressionable young woman, and she has not yet learned the ways of the world. She needs to be punished lest she go on to do even worse crimes than this.

  “Furthermore, sir, it must be noted that many things within the Magical Museum are irreplaceable. Who knows what sort of treasures Miss Lake might have inadvertently destroyed when she turned them to confetti? We do not even know yet just how much damage her indiscretion has caused.”

  “Very well, Master Jones,” he said. “Then it is the judgment of this court that in recompense for her crimes Miss Felicity Lake will be expected to complete three hundred hours of community service.

  “It is the hope of the Council that she will learn some of the life skills that she currently lacks during the course of her servitude. Miss Lake, you will be set loose from this place so long as you sign the paperwork and report to work every evening as expected.

  “If you do not agree, or if you fail to complete your service to the community as mandated by this body herein assembled, you will of course be locked up for the duration of those hours instead. Is this understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered.

  “Bailiff, please escort Miss Lake to the processing room,” Director Ames said. “Next case up, Master Jones and Director Dervish McTavert have petitioned the Council to repeal the Law of Three, which is our right should we choose to do so. And Arnold, after you’ve delivered Miss Lake to the community service facilitator, will you please show Director McTavert back in so he can be heard? We had to send him out of the room during the last proceeding, on which he was unable to vote.”

  “Certainly, sir,” the bailiff agreed.

  “Can’t I stay to watch this part?” Felicity pleaded softly.

  “No, Miss Lake, you must go through processing,” he told her as they exited the chamber. “Besides, I have a feeling you would not be able to sit quietly as the case was discussed.”

  “You’re probably right about that,” she said with a sigh.

  “Here, let me take those cuffs off of you,” he offered, and flicked his wand toward her wrists, making the glowing bands that had been holding her hands together disappear in a small puff of smoke.

  “I thought that those things were supposed to be regulation,” Felicity commented dryly.

  “Only for the prisoners,” he answered with a smile. “You’re no longer a prisoner, Miss Lake, you are just not done conducting your business within the building.”

  “Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” she said.

  “So, I heard you’ll soon be graduating,” he added conversationally. “My son, Rian Arnold, graduates this year as well. Perhaps you might know him.”

  “Yes, I know who he is,” she said. “But if you don’t mind, sir, I’ve so very much on my mind right now, I need to just sit down and take in everything that’s happened. Does that even make sense? I’ve no idea; I’ve never been arrested before.”
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br />   “It absolutely does. It can be quite overwhelming to do something new. Well, here we are, young lady,” he said as he opened a door. “Go right on in and give them your name, and the witches back there can get your wand out of storage and finalize all your paperwork. They are really good. They’ve got about ten different charities they’ll choose between for you. I suggest you join at least one or two extras as well, just to regulate your place within the universal scheme of things.”

  “Thank you, sir, for all your help.”

  “That’s my job, Miss Lake,” he reminded her. “But believe me when I say, you made that job much easier today.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, sir,” she said. Then she stepped inside to face her punishment even as she continued to daydream of Lancelot Jones.

  EIGHT

  In the last couple of months since the incident at the Magical Museum, Felicity became quite a bit more familiar with dishes than she cared to. But though she disliked her chore, the woman who employed her to the task was someone she now easily considered a friend.

  Madame Grelda loved nothing so much as talking. She talked almost incessantly as she cooked and Felicity cleaned, preparing her restaurant for the onslaught of customers who would arrive in the evening. Felicity suspected that the older one was a bit lonely, and was glad for her company whenever she came.

  School was finished for yet another day, and Felicity couldn’t be happier about it. Though she truly loved the Academie Magica, and those she called friends there, far too many of the other students had heard about what she’d done, and they had been troubling her with their opinions about it.

  “There she is, boys,” snorted Bruno Lovette as she stepped out into the hall. “The girl who thinks she can lead a Director around by his nose. Off to battle another dragon this afternoon, Miss Fancy-pants?”

  Felicity scowled at him. “You know very well I’m not.”

  “Of course not,” he replied smugly. “Not with your aunt permanently fixed in the loony motel, unable to take you there.”

  “Leave her alone, Lovette,” Felicity grumbled. “You can’t blame her for being on the bad end of an ill-cast spell.”

  Bruno hooted with amusement. “I certainly can,” he guffawed. “And I think I will!”

  “I don’t have time for this right now,” she grumbled, and turned to go.

  Felicity lifted her wand, and soon found herself at Madame Grelda’s. There she found herself faced with yet another mountain of dishes, and with a sigh she dove right in and got to work. She could scarcely imagine how the Mundanes could possibly get this particular chore done without the use of a wand to zap off all the grime, and she was ever-thankful that she did not have to find out.

  Of course, magic didn’t always get a dish completely clean if the dirt was stuck on, so occasionally Felicity was forced to apply a bit of elbow grease. Madame Grelda always thanked her profusely for being such a responsible young woman whenever she found her doing this, for as she’d said, she considered it ‘above and beyond the call of duty.’

  Madame Grelda started talking almost immediately, of course. On this particularly warm day in May, only a few days before Felicity’s impending graduation, the kitchen witch was feeling especially talkative, though. She had regaled Felicity with anecdotes and bits of trivia before, but for some reason when the woman mentioned an individual by the name of Caracticus Snigget, it caught Felicity’s interest.

  “Have you ever heard of him, my dear?” she asked garrulously.

  “No, Madame, I don’t believe I have,” Felicity answered, forgetting for the moment that she was using her wand to quick-dry a load of plates until Grelda stepped over and re-aimed her hand in the right direction.

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Well, my dear, you simply must learn about the goings on of our world, if you’re to integrate into your life as an adult within it,” she said. “I mean, I half expected that useless school of yours to have a class on local lore to help you out, but I suppose they think they have bigger fish to fry.”

  “Yes, I suppose they do,” Felicity agreed.

  “I mean, how can they call themselves a school when they didn’t even tell you that Director Dervish McTavert lives high atop a craggy hill, somewhere in the depths of Scotland?” she complained. “I thought everybody knew that.”

  “So, Caracticus Snigget, then?” Felicity prompted. “Who—or what—is that?”

  Madame Grelda chuckled. “You might well wonder ‘what’ he is, with a strange name like that,” she commented dryly. “But anyway, as I understand it, he is a very powerful wizard who lurks just inside the farthest border of the Veil, somewhere within the lands of the Fae. He keeps a very huge treasure hidden there within a keep made entirely of quartz stones of every conceivable color, and he is always on the look-out to add new bits and bobbles to his collection.”

  “How very curious,” Felicity commented, wrinkling her nose for a moment as she gave this some thought. “But why does he not simply enjoy the things he’s already amassed? Surely with such a big treasury, he’d have no need for more.”

  “Oh, my dear girl, there’s an easy enough answer to that,” she said. “Greed, of course. And a great thirst for power and knowledge, to be sure. Why, I do believe that Dervish McTavert has had more than one run-in with the blighter over the last couple of centuries. For you see, though you may not be aware of this, old Dervish has a much greater importance within our world than you might suppose. The Magical Museum is home to a vast compendium of articles and items to do with magics both fair and foul. It has been fortified to keep covetous people like Caracticus well out of it. It amazes me, my dear, that you were even able to get inside the place at all. You must truly have meant no harm to be able to accomplish that.”

  “Grelda, as I’ve told you many times before, I was simply acting out in a political capacity, or so Lancelot Jones called it.”

  “Yes, and we simply must put great stock into what Master Jones has to say,” the witch smirked.

  Blushing profusely at this, Felicity turned back to the dishes without another word.

  “Anyway, the point is that you managed to get past some very strong magic,” Grelda continued, unperturbed by her sudden withdrawal. “For you see, Caracticus is able to turn himself into a dragon at any time he might wish. Without those wards in place, he would have surely gotten inside the Museum well before now.”

  “A dragon?” Felicity gasped with interest. “I’ve dealt with a dragon once myself, you know. My Aunt Beatrix, who is an inventor and often has business beyond the Veil as a result, has often taken me outside with her in search of necessary parts, and apparently an actual dragon had gotten beyond the Veil and was out terrorizing all of Mundania. Of course, the dragon simply tried to scorch the both of us, but my aunt and I evaded death because I suggested we jump on the creature’s tail so it couldn’t reach us with its flames. He whipped about something fierce, but we were not thrown off, or I doubt very much I’d be here to tell the tale.”

  “A tale is very much what your words smack of,” Grelda chuckled. “Never mind that all known dragons disappeared from our world centuries ago, but do you really expect me to believe a mere child would come up with such a sophisticated plan?”

  “Oh, but Madame, I come up with ideas all the time,” Felicity assured her. “I’ve been dubbed ‘the brainiac’ by some of my less friendly fellow students, but those who care for me a bit better prefer to call me ‘the professor’. But I do understand your reasons to doubt me, as I too believed every dragon in existence had been snuffed out. My aunt explained that isn’t quite the case, though. Apparently one or two survived the banishment, though they usually remain somewhere remote. But I suppose that’s one adventure I should have kept to myself, though. All of the other students don’t believe it’s anything but a boast, and for the past four years since I related the encounter, many of them just won’t leave it alone.”

  “Yes, some children can be quite cruel,” Grelda ha
d to admit. “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

  “I’ve been trying to pass all of my testing with one hundred percent efficiency, so that I can become the class Valedictorian. It’s been a dream of mine for a very long time, for as I understand it, that distinction can open many doors that would otherwise bar the way.”

  “Yes, you might even land yourself a good husband with a lofty title like that,” Grelda said with a smirk. “Would that I could have been the Valedictorian myself!”

  “You don’t believe that witches should hold equal importance with wizards?” asked Felicity, somewhat disgusted by the reticent nature of such a thought. “Every witch has as much potential to be great as her wizardly counterpart. I should not need to have a husband to make my way.”

  “You must be kidding,” Grelda laughed. “Where in our world have you seen a woman in the seat of power?”

  “But what about the witch’s auxiliary? Surely they must count for something.”

  “Auxiliary being the operative word, my dear,” she pointed out. “That gaggle of geese would have no power at all if it wasn’t for their husbands insisting upon their concerns being heard. Even you, once you’ve graduated, will have no say as to where you’ll be sent for your six years of finishing.”

  “That, at least, is true,” Felicity agreed. “I think it’s the outside of enough that the Council selects the jobs of every graduating student, and we have no recourse to do as we wish until we reach the age of twenty-four—the so-called age of maturation. I think I’m perfectly mature already.”

  “You, mature?” Grelda giggled. “Have you ever even taken your nose out of your books long enough to kiss a boy?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?” asked Felicity as her face went crimson. “Women are not just sex objects, you know. We have other uses as well.”

  “Well, of course we do,” she said. “We also cook and clean and care for our children, and some of us even become secretaries or assistants occasionally.”