“All right,” agreed Annabel. It struck her that Isabella was perhaps a little sanguine for the difficult nature of her task, but Isabella was generally sanguine. It wasn’t until breakfast arrived without Isabella also arriving that Annabel wondered if she had already run into difficulties.
Annabel was pouring her juice when she saw Isabella approaching through the press of students arriving at the same time. There was something of an annoyed bob to Isabella’s walk.
“Nan,” she said, plopping herself down in her usual seat, “there are spies in this school!”
Blinking at her breakfast ham, Annabel said, “I thought that was the idea.”
“These ones,” Isabella said, stiff with outrage, “are not mine! The absolute cheek of it, Nan!”
Annabel tried not to giggle. “What happened?”
“The Awesome Aunts sailed all the way down the hall to our suite just before breakfast to remind me that magic of any kind is not permitted at Trenthams, and that all pupils will be examined upon return to the school from the village after Interim Activities. They also suggested that a visit to the Blacksmith’s son was tantamount to smuggling spells into the school and very pointedly told me they would see me today in the village, as they’re going for an Outing.”
Still trying hard not to giggle, Annabel said, “Someone must have seen us there when we were in the village last time. I daresay that’s how the girls knew about us being attacked by the Old Parrasians, too. I don’t suppose the Awesome Aunts will mention that, though.”
“I find it unlikely,” agreed Isabella. “Nan, it’s at times like this that I realise what a trial a bad personality is! Merely because the Aunts have warned me that they will be watching, I have the greatest desire to smuggle some form of magic into the school, and it wouldn’t at all do! After all, there’s no sense in doing reckless things just because one has been warned not to do them!”
“Do you think someone knows we know about the meeting?”
“I certainly hope not!” Isabella said frankly. “No, Nan; I’m more inclined to think that they merely know we’ve been obtaining certain things that aren’t strictly allowed at Trenthams, and are trying to make our lives more difficult. Mere spite. However, if the Aunts really are watching me—”
“You’ll have to be careful you don’t get caught,” Annabel agreed.
“There’s the difficulty,” said Isabella darkly. “The kind of spell we need is a very strong one—premade, you see. As much as I’d like to spite the Awesome Aunts, I won’t be able to sneak it in if they’re carefully watching me. Oh, how vexing! If either of us had a decent amount of magic, this wouldn’t be such an effort.”
“What a shame you didn’t think to cultivate a friendship with a strong magic user,” Annabel said affably.
“Exactly so!” Isabella said, her eyes dancing. “What a cross little thing you are, Nan! As it is, we may very well have to shift for ourselves and do without invisibility. We couldn’t leave something that strong hiding outside the school to get later without the chance of losing it. And now that the Awesome Aunts are watching, I don’t see much chance of us being able to visit the Blacksmith’s son or sneak anything through the Trenthams magic sensors either. I might have had a chance before that, but not now.”
Annabel grew brighter with a sparkling, mischievous idea. “What if we didn’t try to sneak one in? What if we snuck one out?”
“I take it all back,” said Isabella instantly. “You’re not a cross little thing, you’re a delightfully devious little thing! I take it Melchior has something that could be useful to us?”
Annabel nodded. “A top hat. It’s a really strong one because Peter made it for him—only I don’t know when he made it for Melchior, because he and Peter have been quarrelling ever since they met each other.”
“Not the sort of selfless thing I expected from Peter,” agreed Isabella. “Are you entirely sure that the hat works, Nan?”
“Oh yes,” Annabel said. “I’ve seen him disappear in front of my own eyes, and Luck says it’s very hard for a spell to make someone disappear in front of your eyes.”
“Very well,” said Isabella. “In that case, the Blacksmith’s son may very well already have helped us, after all.”
“If you think Melchior will actually loan it to us—”
“Of course not. But the hat we must have, so we must needs try. I shall prepare accordingly. I will meet you outside Melchior’s suite after lunch today, Nan.”
17
It was interesting to see Isabella work—actually work. Annabel, meeting her outside Melchior’s suite, was quite certain that Isabella had spent at least some of the morning in the Sanatorium with Alice, but no trace of the softness she had seen the day before now remained on Isabella’s face. Instead, there was only a certain, bright joyfulness. That look, Annabel was beginning to learn, was Isabella’s battle face. Battle was joined for Isabella, whether it was in the matter of finding a spell to get them into the Old Parrasian meeting, or in finding the person who was responsible for putting Alice into the Sanatorium, and until it was done, she would sail through the world in a laughing, devious way, determined to do what needed to be done.
Herself more inclined to glower at the world than laugh at it, Annabel felt that it was something she would never quite understand about Isabella.
As for Melchior, he might not have understood it, but he was certainly wary when he opened his door to Isabella’s sparkling face and Annabel’s expressionless one.
“Absolutely not!” he said at once.
“Rude,” said Annabel, blinking at him. “We haven’t even asked you anything.”
Melchior’s hazel eyes rested mockingly on her. “Is that so? It’s a social call, then, Nan?”
Annabel grinned, breaking the flatness of her expression. “No. We want something. But you could at least wait until we ask before you say no!”
“Very well,” said Melchior. “But you had better ask quickly. What is it you want?”
“It’s nothing at all,” Isabella said sweetly. “Merely that we wish to borrow a small spell or two from your really very impressive collection!”
Melchior’s gaze glanced from Isabella’s innocent face to Annabel’s once again expressionless one. He said crushingly, “Absolutely not. I seem to remember being kept out of a certain library last time one of you plagued me for a spell. I refuse to be on the receiving end of anything for which you plan to use a borrowed spell.”
“Actually, it was Raoul’s spell we used to keep you out,” Annabel said. “Your spell keeps out everyone but you, and Raoul’s spell keeps out everyone but him. He can’t get in without an invitation, either.”
“I’m sure you intended to soothe my feelings by telling me so,” said Melchior, “but let me tell you, Nan, I am not soothed!”
“Oh,” said Annabel. “Well, there’s no need to be sniffy-nosed about it.”
“I am not,” said Melchior stiffly, “sniffy-nosed! And if you’re planning on trying to winkle information out of me again—”
“Hopeful, or fearful?” Isabella asked, irrepressibly.
“That’s quite enough from you, Firebrand!” said Melchior, after the briefest of pauses. “Exactly what spell were you hoping to borrow from me, Nan?”
“Don’t tell him, Nan!” said Isabella, her eyes dancing. “He’s not going to give it to us anyway.”
At the same time, Annabel said, “Well, that’s just insulting.”
Melchior grinned. “Is it so, Nan? Now who’s sniffy-nosed?”
“I’m not going to be baited into telling you, either,” Annabel told him. “So don’t even think about trying to make me lose my temper.”
“What a shame!” mocked Melchior. “In any case, I’ve no intention of lending you any spells, no matter how pleadingly you look at me. If there is anything you require, you can simply ask for my help.”
“We are,” said Annabel, uncrushed. “We’re just not telling you why we want it. You should trust
us, Melchior. Actually, I seem to remember somebody saying something about trust, and not always telling things that aren’t impo—”
“I daresay,” Melchior interrupted. “However, I’m quite sure that anything you’re up to is something you shouldn’t be up to, and I refuse to help willy-nilly, without knowing what you’re attempting.”
“That’s rich,” Annabel said. “Never mind, Belle. We’ll manage without magic.”
“Manage what, exactly?”
“We want to break a school rule,” said Annabel, once again borrowing Isabella’s mantra of direct truthfulness. “And we can do it without magic, but it’s easier with magic.”
Melchior looked amused. “I see! Be that as it may, you’ll have to do so without my help. Off with you both!”
“Rude,” said Annabel again, but she said it cheerfully enough, and she thought that Melchior looked far less suspicious than he had done when they first asked the question.
“Oh, well done, Nan!” Isabella said, when they door had closed safely behind them. “You took down his suspicions completely! We will have to be very innocent and girlish over the next day and a half.”
“Will we?” asked Annabel. “What will we do then?”
“We’ll steal it off him, of course,” said Isabella.
Annabel and Isabella were therefore girlish and innocent when they went to breakfast the next day. Annabel fancied that Melchior was watching them a little more closely through breakfast than usual, but by the time they had been innocent and girlish through Melchior’s lesson—with a brief respite to gaze avidly at him every time he looked in their direction—and girlish and innocent during the lunch break and their Interim Activities, his suspicions seemed to be absolutely allayed.
Since Annabel was by then very tired of being girlish and innocent, this was something of a relief. Isabella, who didn’t seem to find the exercise a struggle, merely passed from girlish innocence to a bright-eyed anticipation as their evening appointment grew closer.
“Such a lovely night to sneak out!” she said, when Annabel commented a little sourly upon her evident enjoyment. “And such a lovely feeling of satisfaction, too, Nan, since it seems as though Melchior really doesn’t know about this meeting! And the Blacksmith’s son was very useful after all, since I’d already smuggled in something that I got from him on our first day in the village. Very pleasing altogether!”
“That’s all right,” Annabel said, refusing to be cheerful, “but how are we going to get into Melchior’s room without him knowing it?”
“We’re not,” said Isabella happily. “We’re going to let him know we’re there. He’ll invite us in, in fact. I trust you know what the hat looks like?”
“He’s only got three top hats,” Annabel said. “It’s the stateliest one. You know, the old fashioned kind. Belle, if Melchior invites us in, how are we going to steal the hat?”
“Sheer trickery, and my smuggling garters,” said Isabella. “And perhaps a suggestion or two to misguide Melchior. Come along, Nan. Let us pay a call upon Melchior.”
The door to Melchior’s suite was opened by a wary and entirely sarcastic Melchior, who leaned against the door jamb and said warningly, “I trust you’re not here to badger me into loaning you a spell again?”
“Not at all,” said Isabella. Her voice was perfectly agreeable, her face neither too innocent nor too conniving. “We’re here for quite another reason.”
Melchior was probably as well aware as Annabel that Isabella refused to lie except in the most exigent of circumstances. He considered this and nodded. “Very well. In that case, come in.”
Isabella sailed in, followed closely by Annabel, who was more concerned with sitting down on one of Melchior’s comfortable chairs than sailing gracefully across the room like Isabella.
Melchior watched them both with something of a twisted mouth, and asked of Annabel, “Why are you really here?”
“We’re hiding,” said Annabel, with some truth. “The Deportment Master is looking for me, and the Awful Aunts are looking for Belle. They think she’s up to something.”
“It’s all perfectly innocent,” Isabella added. “Of course, naturally we came to eat your food, take up your time, and pilfer your things, but you can’t really expect us to admit to those, so—”
Grinning, Melchior said, “Oh, is that all? It’s very kind of you to tell me so! Very well, I’ll grant you sanctuary.”
“We thought so,” nodded Annabel. “Aren’t you going to offer us a cup of tea, Melchior?”
“I do beg your pardon. Bromian or Civetan?”
“I’m sure we’re not difficult guests,” Isabella said sweetly. “Whichever is easiest for you, of course!”
Melchior looked mistrustfully at her. “I find myself wondering exactly why it is that I feel worse than before.”
“He doesn’t trust us, Nan,” said Isabella. “I think that’s rude, don’t you?”
“Very,” agreed Annabel.
“Especially since I haven’t done anything the least bit firebrandy since we got to Trenthams! You can’t—you can’t, Melchior—possibly count the affair of the spell we procured from you, since that was entirely Nan’s idea.”
“There’s more than a little truth in that,” Melchior said, turning his hazel gaze on Annabel instead. “Nan, are you being a bad influence on the Firebrand? I wouldn’t have thought it!”
“It was my idea,” Annabel said. She felt rather pleased with herself about that. “So you can’t really blame Belle for it.”
On the other hand, quite a lot of what Isabella had done thus far in the term could have been considered distinctly fire-bearing, even if Isabella herself evidently didn’t consider so.
“Belle is innocent,” she added. “Ask the Awesome Aunts. Actually, ask the Meal Matron. Belle hasn’t made a step out of line all this term.”
“I’m misunderstood,” said Isabella. “Never mind, it’s evidently my cross to bear.”
“All right, all right, there’s no need to overegg it,” Melchior said hastily. “I confess my fault and acknowledge that I’ve slandered you. I have evidently now only to call you in a less incendiary fashion: how do you feel about Carrots?”
Isabella inclined her head graciously. “An estimable vegetable.”
“Now that I’ve apologised thoroughly, could we establish whether you care for Bromian or Civetan tea?”
“Civetan,” Isabella said, with a small, prim smile. She apparently accepted Melchior’s apology as her rightful due, without the slightest difficulty. Annabel would have found it hard to swallow in her place.
“We want biscuits, too,” Annabel interrupted. She would have likewise found Isabella’s docile manner just a bit too much to swallow if she were Melchior, but as far as Melchior knew, Isabella really hadn’t done anything wrong that term. “Since you don’t mind us being difficult.”
“Entirely my pleasure, Nan,” said Melchior. He clicked his fingers with a snap of magic to set the kettle boiling and sauntered across the room to the door. “I’m sure you won’t mind waiting?”
Annabel, equally as polite, said, “Not at all.”
“I should mention,” said Melchior, lingering at the door, “that I will undoubtedly be checking my suite for any foreign magic when you both leave.”
“Rude,” Annabel said.
A slight warmth of amusement lit Melchior’s eyes. “Very well,” he said, and closed the door behind him.
Across the empty tea table, Isabella’s eyes met Annabel’s. Annabel shook her head very slightly and said, “You know, I really think the Deportment Master has eyes in the back of his head! He wasn’t even watching us this morning, and he still—yes? What do you need, Melchior?”
“Reassurance,” said Melchior, from the open door. He vanished, closing the door behind him again, and this time Annabel was sure he wouldn’t come back.
“Oh, well done, Nan!” said Isabella in a congratulatory manner. “Shall I take the hat, or shall you?”
“You might as well,” Annabel said. “You’re the one with the smuggling garters, after all—you did wear them, didn’t you?”
“Of course! Why else should the Trenthams motto be Don’t put on your boots unless you expect to stand in the manure?”
“I’m pretty sure the motto is Always be prepared, ladies,” said Annabel. “Actually.”
“Exactly the same thing,” Isabella said firmly. “Just a little more polite. Now, where does Melchior keep that spelled hat?”
“With the others,” said Annabel. She found that rather amusing. “Is the other one still attached?”
“Certainly.” Isabella adjusted her skirts and disengaged the top hat there from her smuggling garter. “Here, you take this one. I’ll affix the other. I don’t trust Melchior to be gone for long.”
“I’m more worried about him realising we’ve swapped the hats,” Annabel said. The hats looked almost exactly alike, but she couldn’t see the magic to know for sure. She’d drawn the hat herself, and although she was able to draw items made from magic, she hadn’t yet been able to draw a spell into one of them. Isabella had added the smallest touch of Don’t See magic to the hat herself, with the fatalistic pronunciation that it would Have To Do.
“Nan,” said Isabella, turning the real top hat over and peering at the hatband, “are you really certain Peter made this hat for Melchior?”
“He said so,” Annabel said in surprise. “Actually, Peter said so, too.” She remembered that day quite well—it was after a particularly acrimonious spat between Melchior and Peter, while Peter was trying to sweep out of the room with dignity. He had knocked over the hat stand in the hallway instead; and, being Peter, had picked up every hat and coat with the same attempted air of dignity, until he came across the top hat. Eyes narrow, he wheeled on Melchior, who had come out to watch him with a sarcastic curl to his lips, and demanded, “What’s this?”
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