by Lorelei Bell
“I don't know why I have to stay here.”
“Because, we've all been invited. We can't turn down the Head Commander.”
She did another eye roll, pursing her lips as though this was all so below her.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “Next question. Where's the bathroom?”
Zofia turned, stepped over to her bed, bent down and drew out the brass chamber pot. She held it up. “This is for during the night. Otherwise there's a toilet somewhere on this floor.” She dropped the hand holding the chamber pot, but still clutched it by the rim. “And don't expect there to be any toilet paper, because there is none on Euphoria.”
“Eeeeew!”
Just then, Elton burst in on them.
“Mom! Look! I've got a robe, just like Harry Potter wears!” he cried excitedly. He was wearing a black robe, and dark blue shirt beneath it. Zofia nearly became choked up again. She turned away, hand to her mouth, she stifled a whimper.
“Mom?” Elton's voice had a note of nervous concern in it.
“Yes … dear. I see—” Zofia pulled in a shaky breath. She had longed to return home, and now that she was here—really here—she couldn't control her emotions. What was wrong with her anyway? She was just brimming with happiness. She pasted a smile on her face and turned back. “That's your dress robe. See the insignia on the front? That's the crest of your father's clan. You'll wear that tonight. During the day, you'll just wear the jacket over the shirt and the trousers and shoes.
He looked down at the gold crest on his chest. He screwed up his eyes as he clutched the material in his hands to give it more scrutiny. “Sweet.”
“He gets to wear a robe? Where's mine?” Blanche whined. Goddess, here it comes. “I have to wear a dumb dress the whole time I'm here. Not fair!”
Zofia sighed, feeling slightly harassed. “Blanche, you'll wear the clothing you're given while here, or you can just stay in your room the whole time. You're not allowed to wear Ugwump clothing, unless you want to be mistaken for one while you're here and be given orders to mop floors and clean chamber pots,” he held the chamber pot out again, and then dropped it to the bed where it bounced a few times. I hope that was clean.
“Okay,” Blanche said with a deep scowl. “I'll wear the stupid dress, if that's what you want.”
“That's what I, and your father wants.”
That put the fire out. At least temporarily. She couldn't wait to explain the communal bath to her. That should be a blast.
Blanche swished out of the room, followed by her brother.
“Where's a broom? I want to fly one without having to worry about stupid Ugwumps seeing me.”
“You're so demented,” Blanche said irritably.
“I wonder if they have some balls I can knock around—you think they do?” he asked as they moved into the hall.
“They don't play games on brooms here, you dufus!”
Their voices faded, thankfully.
Zofia had shut the door, magically of course. She returned the chamber pot to its proper place. A knock straightened her.
“Now what?” she muttered, turning toward the door. “Who is it?”
“Clive, madam,” came the servant's feeble voice through the door.
“Come in.”
Clive stepped in holding a small silver tray. A piece of ragged-edged parchment, folded once lay on top.
“This note just came for you, madam,” Clive said with a slight bow.
Just as Zofia moved to pick it up off the tray, it floated from the tray and hovered before her face.
Shaken, Clive jumped back, and all but screamed, “This—this is not my doing, madam!”
“No, it is mine, you stupid Ugwump!” the unseen entity said.
“Biddle! What're you doing here? I thought you were up in the chimney when I left the house.” Biddle, a Ghogal, was her invisible servant who had an uncanny knack for scaring Ugwumps out of their wits by his various antics. This was classic Biddle shenanigans. He had been with her family for generations.
“Just read the note, Madam Zofia,” Biddle said in his usual lithe voice as he settled the note into her hands.
She opened the note and read. Meanwhile, Clive had hastily withdrawn from the room.
Zofia, dear,
Biddle told me that Perth and Argyll were sucked up into a Portal, and that horrible woman, Lolly and her dog. If this is true I hope she never returns to First World, for their sakes. Have you found Perth and Argyll yet? Are they with you?
Meet me at Old Bones & Brew, down in the village, at the soonest possible convenience. In other words, A.S.A.P.
Love Tillie
P.S. Biddle insisted on coming along.
Wow. She'd forgotten to tell Tillie all about the Portal. Was she losing her mind, finally?
Looking up, she found that her discarded clothes were folding themselves, but she knew it was Biddle who already busied himself with tidying things up. It was good to have him back. She'd missed him, and even if he would never admit it, he had missed her. He never could stay angry for long. A few days ago, she had forbidden him from leaving the house in order to help Dorian when he was in the Ugwump jail. Who could blame her? He was invisible and enjoyed scaring Ugwumps (like he had Clive), whenever he got the chance. Letting him out of her house, would be like unleashing a poltergeist into the Ugwump world. He wouldn't have done what was asked of him right away. She'd had the town of Gladstone in mind when she'd forbade him from leaving. So, in defiance, he'd rushed up into the chimney to sulk.
“So, you've decided to come along, did you?” Zofia asked Biddle.
“Of course! I wouldn't want to miss all the fun,” Biddle brayed. “Besides, I knew you would miss me, in time.”
“Yeah, as much as I miss Lolly,” she quipped.
“See? I knew it.” he sputtered unfazed. The clothes, which were now all folded, floated into the ebony cupboard.
“I have to go out,” Zofia said. “Be sure not to bother the regular help.”
“I've no intentions, madam,” he said.
“Right.”
Chapter 4
Old Bones and Brew was situated smack dab in the center of Restormell Village. The building, like many others in the village, was made of stone. It rose three floors with a crown of steeply gabled, thatched roof, and high arched windows marking rooms which are rented by the night, week, or by the month. Zofia peered up at the wooden sign above her head, which pictured a black cauldron with two cross bones over it as she pulled up on her communal broom. Communal brooms were used by anyone who didn't happen to have their own and needed one in a snap. They were always stationed near the door of any shop, or building where wizards or sorceresses tended to gather. In fact there was a platoon of brooms lined up against the tavern as she hopped off the one she'd used. Fortunately, the castle happened to have a whole storeroom full of communal brooms, a few flying carpets, as well as Sorcerer's Trees for anyone to use in a pinch. Since the castle was so far away from the village, down in a distant valley, Zofia felt that the broom would be much faster and easier than the mode of Transvection—their usual mode of flying. A Sorcerer's Tree would have been a bit ridiculous, however, since they were used for long distances, across land and sea, and to get from world to world.
Music filtered out of the tavern as folk singers blended their voices in harmony to a lively ballad. Zofia strode up the three low stone steps of the inn's entry when a man with skin the color of coffee, wearing bright red robes and a bright yellow turban Evanished right in front of her.
Zofia gasped and stepped back.
The wizard, who was obviously from Daeghref Province (west from there, across the Sea of Clouds), gaped at her with popping dark eyes. Zofia had to remind herself quickly she was among her own people, and that he could very well be a Knight, so before she berated him, she took a few quieting breaths.
“Eh, sorry,” he said, as though just realizing he'd cut her off and bowed. “Blessed be.”
Zofia intone
d the same back, as it was the universal greeting between wizards and sorcerers. Tall and barrel-chested, he had a large black walrus style mustache, and wavy, shoulder length hair that was just showing threads of sliver through it. With a little flourish, he opened the door for her.
“Thank you, wizard,” she said cordially as she stepped through the threshold, enjoying the heck out of being back where manners hadn't yet died.
“Not at all, madam, my pleasure,” he said, and followed her through.
The haze of wood smoke, garbled conversation over music, and the pleasant aroma of smoked meat greeted Zofia as she made her way through the pub-like atmosphere. Patrons hover-sat at tall tables, enjoying drink and food. It took Zofia a moment to take this all in. There were no chairs because there was no need for them. This tavern was for wizards and sorceresses only who could levitate themselves with hardly a thought. She knew she was home, now, for sure where doing exactly these things she didn't dare do on First World. She could do such things in public without worry of someone choking on their brew at seeing her hover sit, or Transvect across the room.
“I'm back!” she whispered to herself, as her mind reeled with joy.
Just as Zofia lifted off to Transvect across the room to look for Tillie, a waitress with a tray laden with drinks in goblets and steins, whisked through the crowd and narrowly missed bashing into Zofia. Zofia swooped to the side in order to avoid the collision, only to bump into a man in a dark green cloak, hover-sitting at a nearby table.
“Oh! Excuse me!” Zofia said to him. He had turned to eye her with disdain, as though she'd thrown dragon dung in his face. Two other wizards peered down their noses at Zofia, each of them clutching long-stemmed pipes. They were most likely from Ogenthow or Withergyld (where the stuffiest old poops in the land lived, sitting atop mountains of gold, and thought their dragon shit didn't stink).
The man said nothing to her, but turned back to his conversation and smoke at his table. Hope he gets black lung, the old poop.
Turning away, she found herself staring at the blond waitress. Wearing a frilly white, low-necked chemise, which showed off her cleavage to admiring male customers, and the lace of her bodice loose—one shoulder bare, which said she was available—the woman regarded Zofia with a smile. An Ugwump, surely. If she were a sorceress, she would be Transvecting, not flat-footing it.
“Something for you, ma'am?” she asked in a southern Withergyld accent. She was one of only a handful of Ugwumps who worked here.
“Oh—ah-um—yeah, mulled cider, would be fine,” Zofia said.
“Hot?”
“Sure,” she said. Spring was a bit on the chilly side here.
From across the room she heard her name, and spied an elderly woman with white hair hover-sitting in a corner at one of the rough-hewn tables beneath a wall sconce, waving to her. She wore a black dress with huge puffy sleeves. She'd never seen Tillie in such a dress before and wondered if she'd just bought it. Her fly-away hair was tamed by a lacy scarf wound around her head. Long black and silver earrings dangled from each ear. She looked smashing.
“I'll be over there,” Zofia told the waitress as she Transvected across the room.
Tillie's ganglion hands cupped a tall, slim-stemmed silver goblet, most likely filled with Merry Widow—Tillie's drink—made by Wadmund Monks. Zofia tended to stay away from it, as it tasted way too good, and she never knew when to quit, and she wound up falling asleep. Usually on the floor.
“So,” Tillie began as Zofia joined her. “What's the big rush?”
“I'm not sure,” Zofia said, looking into a face webbed deeply with wrinkles. Tillie was her oldest living, closest relative at one hundred and eighty years old. She was her mother's aunt, but Zofia had always called her Aunt Tillie, after she had become parentless, and the woman had taken her in during certain long breaks from sorceress school.
Zofia propped one elbow on the table and leaned her cheek heavily into her fist. “I think Stephen knows about the demon thing.”
“Of course he knows,” she said grimly, meeting Zofia's gaze with soft blue eyes. “His father tells him everything.” She batted the air with her hand.
Zofia threw her a helpless look. “I know.” She was reminded of her last meeting with Stephen, when he had assured her that she would be triumphant over Blood—which had come true. She also suddenly remembered he had said that a price would need to be paid. She wondered if that meant a stint in Hamparzum's.
“Have you told Dorian, yet?” Tillie asked.
“I started to, twice, but we keep getting interrupted. He just went to a gathering to welcome him back. I probably won't see him until we sit down to dinner—and probably across the room.”
“That's not good. You'd better get him alone and tell him everything before that.”
“I'd like to, but he's booked.”
Tillie sipped her wine thoughtfully. Her blue eyes looked bluer than normal, and had a little more sparkle to them. It was the atmosphere, Zofia decided. Goddess, it was good being back—in some ways, in other ways, not so much, as she felt the next few hours would tell her fate.
“One thing I can't figure out is why we're invited to this Induction Feast. It has nothing to do with us,” Zofia said as the blond waitress swung by their table.
“That's fifteen konks, then,” the waitress said, and plopped a steamy drink in a heavy glass mug down in front of her and waited for her money.
“Oh, Tillie, I don't have anything but First World money—”
“I've got it,” Tillie said, waving her off. She dug into her small coin purse and counted out fifteen konks—copper triangular coins with smaller triangular holes in their middles—onto the waitress's tray.
“Thanks,” Zofia said, watching the waitress swish over to the next table.
“No problem,” Tillie said. “I always make sure to keep some change on me, just in case. You never know when you'll be coming back home. Now, what were you saying, dearie?”
“The Feast is tonight. We've all been invited. Not only that, but I have a meeting with Stephen—an official meeting. Look.” She fished out her folded itinerary from her pocket and handed it over. Tillie unfolded and scanned it quickly. She returned a startled gaze, making a significant sound at the back of her throat.
“Sounds serious,” she said, finally.
“It does,” Zofia agreed. “How am I going to explain what happened?” She ran her hand over her neck—her newest nervous tic which she had acquired lately, since she'd been bitten by vampire Dorian—and felt the bumps on her throat. “Damn!”
“What?” Tillie said, startled.
“Oh—I forgot to hide Dorian's bites in all the rush.”
“Why bother?” Tillie said with a flick of the hand. “Stephen knows about them too.” Zofia had told Aunt Tillie about first donating her blood to Dorian—he'd bitten her on the wrist then—and then, having a very wild time in the bedroom the next day—in which he'd bitten her on the neck. Both times Zofia had invited him. Tillie had suspected something was up by the way she had been acting. When the truth had finally been told, Zofia felt relief, but only for a short time. She'd made two huge errors, committing Taboos were not over-looked ever. Whatever the punishment, Zofia would have to endure it. And Hamparzum's—a magical prison for wizards and sorceresses, was about the worst punishment they could dole out.
Pushing Tillie's remark aside, Zofia took a sip of her cider, which was excellent and not hot as blazes, and brooded about the possibility that Stephen had most likely necromanced and learned through his dead father every little detail about everything. She was in big, big trouble. She wondered what one wore to a trial before her peers.
“So, what's this I hear about a Portal sucking up the town lunatic, Lolly? Is she really gone? For good?” Tillie asked hopefully, brows going high. “Not that it matters to us, any more. We'll be moving back here, now. But Gladstone will be a lot happier without that meddling old sour puss.”
“It was the weirdest thin
g I'd ever seen. First her dog was sucked up, and then her, and then Perth and Argyll. It all happened in a split second, and just before the Bubble landed in the backyard—that's what brought nosy Lolly out of her house.”
“Of course.”
“She thought it was a UFO.”
They both laughed.
“If only she knew,” Tillie drawled.
“Paradeep said that the Portal originated from the northern part of the Province. Possibly in the Oblast, but they weren't saying anything else in front of me.”
“Of course not. They're Knights. It's probably a big secret.”
Zofia nodded and took another sip of her drink and was again reminded that she was back home. Just the right spices in the cider, and its heat warmed her from the inside out. “They all sort of went into a huddle about it. And then Stephen came over and pulled me aside and made a point of telling me that it was imperative that I was to come back with them. And that I was to leave the Stone behind.”
Tillie's mouth nearly unhinged. “You're joking me!”
“No,” Zofia said, holding the hot cup of cider in her chilled hands. That flight on the broom had made her colder than she'd realized. “It's just as well. I don't even know what I did with it.”
“It's under the couch. Saw it when I went looking for my shoes this morning.”
Zofia rolled her eyes. She was such a terrible Keeper. Maybe Stephen was right, the Stone was better off back on First World.
The same waitress chugged by with a large tray laden down with scrumptious-smelling food. Zofia eyed it hungrily.
“I haven't eaten since this morning. I only had a little bowl of cereal.” Zofia chomped down on her lower lip, craning her neck to see what the people beside them were having. It looked good and smelled even better.
“Oh, gargoyles, I forgot!” Tillie made a motion with her hand over the table and suddenly Blanche's cake appeared in front of them, complete with sixteen candles. Lit.
“Tillie!” Zofia eyed it. She had put a concealment charm on the cake. Only they could see it.