Unofficial Detective

by Kathryn Wells

  'But—'

  'Do as I say, and don't argue. You overdid it with that illusion spell, and you need to lie still for a good few hours. I would have taken you to your room myself, but skinny as you are, you seem to weigh a great deal,' she said, returning to the stove and stirring one of the pots.

  'I only got the shakes a bit—'

  'And then you passed out. You're pushing yourself too hard, I said to take that spell slowly. If you had been a full wizard and trained at the Wizard Council Training Facility like all the rest, then you wouldn't even know about it until you were eighteen.'

  'B—What? You said they start their training when they're toddlers. It takes them that long to get up to advanced magic?' he said.

  'Yes, it does. That is why no member of the Wizard Council is under thirty, because their training takes that long. You've learnt more magic in the few days you've known me than they learn in three years.'

  'Surely they're just as quick at learning as I am?'

  'No, boy, they aren't. As I said before, you have a tremendous amount of magical talent; in fact, far more than I originally thought!'

  Thordric felt his head buzz at what she had just told him, and with a large grin on his face he fainted again.

  'Boy? Boy, wake up, lunch is ready.'

  Thordric opened his eyes lazily and yawned. The cauldron in the middle of the room was bubbling away musically, and the smell of Lizzie's cooking charmed him so much that he ambled up, supporting himself on the wall, and staggered over to the table. It had been cleaned since they had chopped up the plants, and the odd bits of root and leaves had been replaced with large bowls of steaming food. In the middle was a plate of freshly baked bread, and his mouth hung open as the smell from it reached him.

  'Eat well, boy,' Lizzie said, sitting down at the far end of the table. 'Food will replenish you.'

  Thordric didn't hesitate. After filling his plate, he started eating great chunks of meat and stacks of vegetables and potatoes. He felt better after each mouthful, and by the time he was finished, he thought he was ready to take on the illusion spell again. Lizzie's answer was to throw a particularly large apple at his head.

  'I don't care if you think you feel well enough to run to the moon. You've had enough of that spell today. You can try it again tomorrow, but today you have to finish your potion,' she said.

  'I thought it was done?' he said, pointedly nodding to the bubbling cauldron.

  'If you think that, then you didn't read the instructions properly. It needs to be filtered and then stirred for three hours for it to be finished.'

  'Stirred for three hours?'

  'Yes boy. I suggest you get to it. You'll need to make a cloth for it to filter through. My husband used to weave together some of the reeds that grow just on the edge of the woods. He made them into a sort of cover to put over the cauldron, so when it was tipped the potion would sieve through but leave all the bits out that aren't needed.'

  'How long will that take?' he asked. She picked up another apple and aimed it at his head. He scattered.

  It didn't take him long to find the reeds outside, for they lined the side of the house. He cut several armloads, wrinkling his nose at the sweet smell oozing off them, and took them inside. Lizzie led him to another room down the hall from the kitchen, where he found a small workbench and a large fire blazing away.

  He sat down and stripped back the reeds so that they had no leaves left on them, and laid them out. His mother had shown him how to weave a few years ago, when she had asked him to help her mend some baskets she had, and so he set to work with ease. In and out he threaded each piece, making sure it held properly, and then added another one. It took him several hours to make a full cover that he was happy with, but when he was finished he went back into the kitchen and showed it to Lizzie.

  This time her face betrayed her surprise, and she put it over the cauldron to see if it would fit. It did, perfectly. 'You've done well, boy,' she said, dipping into the vast cupboards again and fetching out one of the largest pots he'd ever seen. 'Now all you have to do is hold it in place while tipping the cauldron.' She pushed the large pot beside the cauldron, and mimed tipping the potion in to see if it was close enough. Satisfied, she signaled to him to start.

  He didn't ask her if she meant for him to use magic, he knew her well enough now to know that she would likely shove an apple up his nose if he did. The best way to go about it, he decided, was to stick the reed cover to the top of the cauldron and then physically push it over. It seemed to be what she wanted, for she didn't object, and soon the potion had been filtered out into the pot. He let go of the cauldron and unstuck the cover, taking a peek inside. Now he understood why it had been necessary. The pot was full with bits of plant still. He'd just assumed that once they'd put it all into the cauldron, it would turn into a sort of gloop. He hadn't thought that the potion only needed the essence, and with a chuckle he thought about how much it was like making tea.

  'Now, I'll start the stirring for a moment while you tip that mess outside,' she said, and pickle up a ladle.

  He frowned at the cauldron, knowing that the only way to actually move it all the way to the front door would be to carry it by magic. Clapping his hands together he willed it to float into the air. After a few grumbling rolls about the floor, it worked, and he made it soar over Lizzie's head and out into the hall, strolling behind it.

  When he came back and washed it out at her request, she told him to take over the stirring. It still had two and a half hours to go.

  To amuse himself, and take his thoughts away from his badly aching arms, he decided to rearrange the kitchen with his magic. Lizzie was at the other end of the house, sorting through the laundry, so he knew he was safe. He started with all the herbs hanging along the beams on the ceiling, and organised them by the colour of their flowers, working through the order of a rainbow from deepest blue to brightest yellow. He had a lot of trouble with one in particular, whose flowers changed colour depending on which way he looked at it, and ended up putting it at the end of the line, looking decidedly sorry for itself.

  He then moved on to painting patterns on the cupboards, moons, stars and swirls, and the back wall desperately needed a mural. Deciding what to put on it, he switched the direction in which he was stirring the potion to give his muscles some relief. He thought of the Watchem Watchems and how they had helped him, and knew that was what he should paint.

  Starting with the background of the forest, he built up the layers of trees and shrubs. It was easier using paint from his mind, for he didn't have to think about choosing the right colours- what he remembered was the colour it became. It was fun. So fun that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him, or the clearing of her throat as Lizzie stood and watched him. He carried on, now painting in himself lying by the tree, and the dark blue Watchem pointing at his book, with the others surrounding them. When finally he was done, he signed it at the bottom. He stepped back, taking over the stirring with his magic, and bumped into Lizzie.

  'Hello, boy,' she said calmly.

  He swallowed audibly. 'I was j-just…'

  'Amusing yourself?' she offered. He shifted uneasily, unable to read her expression. She walked over to the painting, glancing up at the herbs and the cupboards as she passed, and ran her hand along the wall, the paint already dry. 'These are the Watchem Watchems, aren't they?'

  'Yes…they helped me find one of the plants this morning,' he said, manually stirring the pot again to occupy to stop his hands twitching with nerves.

  'I never realised how colourful they were. Beautiful,' she murmured. 'You've done a fine job, boy. I think I'll keep it.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes, my husband would have liked it too.' She looked at the clock on the wall. 'That should be well done now,' she said, nodding to the potion. 'We shall be able to drink it.'

  Thordric looked down at the pot, and discovered that it did indeed look done. Where it had only been a translucent, pale green when he had sieved i
t out of the cauldron, it was now a vibrant, almost luminous green. He stopped stirring gratefully, and stepped back so that she could fill two glasses full of it.

  'Have you ever tried a decent potion, boy?' she asked.

  'No, I haven't tasted any. Mother never let me.'

  'Well then, I advise you to hold your nose and drink it as quickly as you can. Effective as my husband's potions are, they all taste disgusting. Bottoms up,' she said, clinking his glass with hers.

  He did as she said, but the potion was so strong that he could still taste it. It was like drinking dirty dish water combined with stale milk and week-old socks. He almost gagged. Lizzie herself had gone a shade greener, but recovered quickly. 'I think I'll make some tea, and perhaps we should have a slice of cake each,' she said, her voice thick.

  Thordric couldn't speak, so he simply nodded. His body felt peculiar, and for a moment his legs quivered. Then it was over, and he felt so well that he thought he could cartwheel about the room. 'Wow. That was certainly strong. How do we know if it works?' he said.

  'Simple. We shouldn't get any colds for at least six months, regardless of how much time we spend out in the cold or with people who are already ill.'

  Chapter Eleven: Out of Body

  Thordric shivered as he stood in the garden, which was large enough to drop the house in with room to spare. He stamped his feet, and they made muffled thuds against the snow that had fallen heavily the night before. Despite it being mid-morning, he hadn't been up for long, as Lizzie had wanted him well rested for this next task. She was a little way ahead of him, putting together what looked to him like a great tree trunk with odd branches. When she stepped back, however, he could just make out what it really was.

  It was a wooden man, perhaps as tall as he was, complete with arms and legs. 'What's that for?' he shouted over to her, trying to make his voice penetrate through the wind. She flapped her hand at him, making some small adjustments, and then walked back to where he was. 'What's that for?' he repeated once she was within earshot.

  She pulled down the thick scarf that was covering her mouth. 'A target.'

  'A target? For what?' he asked. His ears had started to go numb by this time, so he drew the hood of his cloak up. The wind blew it back down again. At least the potion seemed to be working; he didn't feel ill at all.

  'It's for you. You'll see that I've made it look like a man.'

  'Yes…?'

  'I want you to make it move as a man would move,' she said. He gaped at her, thinking her suggestion was just as ridiculous as if she had proclaimed that she had powers herself; and everyone knew how absurd that was. Full wizards were always men, and that extended to half-wizards as well, though no one knew the reason for it. As far as he knew, no woman in history had ever had the power to do magic.

  'I have to make it walk? You're sure this is possible?'

  She looked at him, raising her eyebrow. He closed his mouth. 'I'll try it,' he said.

  'Wonderful,' she said, and headed back inside.

  'How am I supposed to make you move?' he asked of the wooden man. As expected, it didn't reply. He tried moving one of the arms in the same way that he had lifted the axe. It worked, but it was too stiff a movement, and anyway, how would he be able to move all the limbs like that at once? He had to try something else.

  He pulled at the figure, hoping that it would step forwards of its own accord if he did. All that happened was that it toppled over into a great pile of snow. Thordric swore loudly. A moment later there was a tap on the window behind him. He turned to see Lizzie watching him through it, shaking her head. She opened the back door. 'There's no need for that kind of language, boy. Take it slowly and think through it. It'll come,' she said, and went back inside.

  Thordric sighed. He went up to the figure and dug away some of the snow that now surrounded it, his fingers feeling like they had all been bitten by a particularly savage beast. Once it was clear, he used his powers to raise it back up to its original position. He stepped back to look at it, taking in its roughly cut face and torso. Perhaps the trick was to imagine it really was a man.

  He painted on a face and added some hair and a beard, and fetched a spare cloak to wrap around it. Trudging back to his place, he turned around and looked at it from a distance. It was much more convincing. He made himself believe that it was a kind visitor, gently strolling towards him in the deep snow, and willed it to happen. It didn't move.

  He kicked at a rock on the ground, sending it hurtling off into a clump of trees. 'I was so sure that would work! Rotten fudge cakes!' he cursed politely, in case Lizzie was still about. 'So what do I do with you?'

  'Nothing, you've done enough,' Lizzie replied behind him. 'Come inside and work on the illusion spell some more.'

  He followed her in, not wishing to stay outside with the figure any longer than he had to. If he'd have failed any more, he would have put his wood cutting skills to use on it.

  As Lizzie was getting all the pots out for him to work on, he warmed himself by the stove and found that his fingers recovered almost completely. He decided to take his boots off and do the same with his toes. Relief spread through his body as they thawed. It was blissful.

  'Come on then, boy. Show me what you can do with these today,' she said, pulling out a chair for him. He sat in it gratefully. Surprisingly, she sat down too. 'I thought after yesterday that I would stay and watch you in case you pushed yourself too much.'

  He shrugged, and got to work on the spell. He picked up the small pot again, this time pulling his hands over it as if he was really covering it with cloth, and willed it to happen at the same time. He saw a flicker of a smile touch Lizzie's lips as the illusion of cloth appeared over the pot, following his hand. As with the day before, he made it fit the exact shape of the pot, noticing how easy it seemed now. Of course, this wasn't what Lizzie had specified it to look like. She wanted them looking battered and in dire need of repair, and for that he really would have to use his imagination.

  He faded out the whiteness of the cloth, making it almost completely transparent, just enough colour to let him know it was still there. Then, as though he was painting, he began to decorate it with shading and pulled the cloth about to give it dents. This made him sweat again, but Lizzie said nothing so he carried on. More and more detail went on it, adding everything he could remember from all the pots he had fixed. He tried to get the effect right to work with the lighting but he began shaking again.

  'Boy, you should stop now,' Lizzie said, but he didn't hear her. He knew he could do it, knew he could get it right, and worked in every bit of magic he had. His breathing became shallow and laboured, but he was almost there. Just a few more details…

  He collapsed back in the chair, and weakly held the pot up for Lizzie to inspect. 'You've done it,' she said quietly. 'You really have done it.'

  She got up, leaving the pot on the table. To Thordric's surprise, the illusion held, though he couldn't even tell if he was using magic to maintain it. Coming back a moment later she had a large tray filled with tea and cakes. He dug at them hungrily, the sugar immediately bouncing him up to full strength.

  'You can have the rest of the day off, boy,' she said, handing him another slice of cake.

  'Really? Thank y…' He stopped, the cake hovering by his mouth.

  'Boy? What is it?'

  'I've just had a thought. The wooden man outside, you said I have to make him move like a man.'

  'Yes,' she said, nodding.

  'Well, I remember going to a puppet show once, and the puppeteer had a miniature wooden man, and he made it move just as though it was real,' he said. He saw her smile. 'It got me to thinking, I could do that too.'

  'Are you going to try it?' she asked.

  'Yes. Yes, I think I am.' He finished his tea and then pulled on his boots and cloak, disappearing out the door.

  Outside, the wooden man was still where he'd left it, with the only difference being the amount of snow piled up around it. He cleared it aw
ay with just the tiniest thought, marvelling at how easy everything got the more he did it.

  'Right you,' he called to the wooden man. 'You're going to move this time, and move well!'

  Ropes appeared, attaching themselves to the head and limbs of the man, just as Thordric had seen at the puppet show. He pulled on them, making sure they were fixed on tightly, and then he tried to make it move. First one leg moved, then the other, with the arms swinging in opposition. It was working. He moved the head about, as though it was looking around, and made it walk several more steps forwards.

  'I hate to disappoint you,' Lizzie said, walking up to stand next to him. 'But it doesn't walk the same way as a man. It still looks like a puppet.'

  His stomach sank. She was right, of course. Even if he had gotten it to move, it wasn't very convincing at all. He had to find a way to make the knees bend, and there was no feeling of weight to its movements. But he was out of ideas.

  'Have a think about it over the rest of the day. You're very close, boy. I don't imagine it will take you long to figure out.'

  'I hope so,' he said as they both made their way inside.

  His dreams were chaotic that night, jumping from place to place, with faces he felt he knew, but didn't, appearing everywhere. He saw the puppet moving towards a sea of battered pots. Then the puppet changed into the dead body of Kalljard, standing alongside him uttering incoherent words, surrounded by Watchem Watchems pointing and gurgling and dancing around him: around and around and around…

  Sweat was clinging to him as he woke, and his muscles shook. It wasn't even time for Lizzie to shout up to him, yet he found he was fully awake. Wanting to get out of his damp nightclothes, he ran a bath, absently heating the water as it came out the tap. He stripped off his clothes and got in, letting the warm water wrap around him like a blanket.

  His thoughts turned to the station, and he suddenly wondered how the investigation was going in his absence. He felt slightly guilty that up until then he hadn't given it any thought at all. Had the Inspector interviewed anyone yet? Wizard Rarn was under the most suspicion, he knew, and if anyone had been taken in, it would likely have been him. Still, Thordric couldn't see him being the culprit. His magic must have been weak, for only the wizards of lesser magic did any of the chores or domestic tasks, and Kalljard's murderer had to have been someone higher up, someone that Kalljard had regular contact with. Unfortunately that was a very long list.