by Stanzin
CHAPTER 25
Loose Ends
The next morning, Gregory and Uncle Quincy met Susannah, Priyanka Sharada-Coffey, Zach and Mango in a closed, private room within the Hanging Palace of Occilox. Gregory had been nervous enough about the meeting, Uncle Quincy’s news had only intensified the sickness in his stomach.
‘I despatched a detail of men to Gimmel Hamlet last night to rescue Remy’s victims, but there must have been some kind of failsafe built into place, a cursed fire… it must have happened as soon as Remy died. There’s no trace that there ever was anybody at all in the basement…’
Zach and Mango looked worried; they sat close to Susannah, holding her hand and patting her shoulder. Susannah must have not slept; she looked bleak and shrunken. Priyanka Sharada-Coffey didn’t look much better. Gregory and Uncle Quincy sat across a small circular table from them; they looked grave and unhappy.
‘You asked me yesterday if your father’s death was my fault,’ Gregory said. ‘At the time, I didn’t think so, but now I’m not so sure. Remy told me that he’d always planned … that he’d never meant to leave your father alive. Listen to my story, and then… then you can let me know if I’m to blame.’
Though he was fearful of what he might see in her eyes, Susannah’s expression had not changed. She merely blinked.
Uncle Quincy leaned forward.
‘What you are about to hear is secret. You may not repeat it within the hearing of anyone outside of those present here today. Before Gregory begins, I must ask all you to submit to an Oath of Secrecy. If you do not wish to take this Oath, then please leave the room now.’
No one left. At Uncle Quincy’s bidding, everyone but Gregory took his hands. With an ancient and musical chant, Uncle Quincy bound them; thin yellow threads of light crept around their wrists, drawing the same sombre glyph the Queen had used on Gregory to seal the secret of his Communion, which then vanished.
‘It’s done. Gregory, you may begin…’
Gregory took a deep breath.
‘For as long as I can remember, I’d longed find my parents…’
He told them the story as he had told it to Uncle Quincy the night before, and left Lesley Greene entirely out of it. Zach and Mango gasped and exclaimed along. Susannah merely frowned at some points but otherwise listened without comment. Her mother on the other hand kept up a stream of probing and angry questions – Gregory answered her as best as he could.
An hour later he was finished and the room fell silent. Sometime during the end of his telling, Susannah’s eyes had begun to tear silently, and she had closed them. ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said finally, and nothing more. Her hands, though, clenched hard around Mango’s, who winced.
‘She’s right. Thank you, Gregory,’ Priyanka Sharada-Coffey said. ‘Asclepius would have been glad that you managed to save the people you did… he valued the sanctity of life more than anything else… he would have told you that you had done the right thing. We won’t grudge you for seeking your past and your parents… the blame here lies with Remy, and whoever guided his hand. I suppose it hardly needs to be said, but I formally absolve you of any responsibility for my husband’s demise.’
‘Thank you,’ Gregory said; it took everything for him to conceal his relief; he’d been terrified going into this meeting.
The Coffeys stood. ‘We must go now,’ Priyanka Sharada-Coffey said. ‘I must put Asclepius’ affairs in order, and prepare for his funeral…’
‘Can we help?’
Mango looked surprised, as if she hadn’t realised she had spoken.
‘Help?’
‘There must be things we could do… for the funeral, I mean, or anything really.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Susannah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose,’ Susannah said, startled. ‘Do you boys want…’
‘’Course we do,’ Zach said, and Gregory nodded enthusiastically.
A room was found for Gregory, Zach, Mango and Susannah to sleep in at the Hospice, a peaceful complex of white buildings, where Asclepius Coffey-Sharada had worked for most of his life. Clothes and toiletries were brought from home, and the impromptu dormitory quickly settled into an ordered chaos.
Asclepius Coffey-Sharada’s final resting place was Drowsy Dale, where the trees fought the graves for possession of the ground. The trees never lost; every grave or headstone, however grand or sprawling, would eventually and slowly find itself shrouded by leaf, root and weed; its location remembered only by the grace of those who had once loved the dead. Susannah’s father would rest in a stone and earthen hut, smaller than a shed; its walls were to be frescoed in tokens and letters from the man’s friends and family.
Funerals took a lot of seeing to, and Priyanka Sharada-Coffey put them to work at once. By the time Gregory, Zach and Mango had set up their respective corners, Susannah and her mother had drawn up a list of invitees, and purchased a large order of sombre invitation cards from Manrara’s. They spent the rest of the afternoon writing names and addressing the cards. They worked just like the nomination cards that had been sent to the would-be knights: the names of those who accepted the invitation would turn green or red, depending on which square was touched.
When they were halfway through, Zach exclaimed:
‘Woah!’
‘What?’ Gregory asked, looking up from the card he was addressing.
‘I just realised something – August is nearly over, which means Prep is nearly over – we start at the Cavern for real in less than two weeks!’
‘Term starts on the sixth of September… Great Snakes, you’re right!’ Mango said. ‘Time’s just flown!’
‘Wait… if term starts on the sixth of September, then when’s the House auction?’ Gregory asked.
‘It’s on the tenth,’ Susannah said. ‘We’ll spend the week being interviewed and getting to know the tutors.’
‘Do you have favourite houses, then?’
‘Not really,’ Zach said, at the same time that Mango said ‘Fenrir’ and Susannah said ‘Phoenix.’
‘What’s the difference?’ Gregory asked.
‘Well, it’s kind of funny, but what kind of person you are before you’re auctioned doesn’t seem to matter much,’ Susannah said. ‘Once you’re in a House though, you start wearing that House’s colours, so to speak.’
‘Yeah. Fenrir has a reputation for churning out the strong and silent types,’ Mango said. ‘Phoenix gets the studious company-mages.’
‘The cats at Felix have got the whole ‘devil-may-care’ thing down perfect,’ Zach said.
‘And Phorcys?’ Gregory asked.
‘The loonies,’ Zach, Mango and Susannah said promptly, and burst out laughing.
‘They are mysterious, inscrutable, and impossible,’ Zach said. ‘No one knows exactly what they get upto or why… they can be somewhat scary. I think Felix has the greatest number of points this time around.’
‘I heard that too-’ Mango began, but just then the door opened and Priyanka Sharada-Coffey looked in crossly.
‘Those cards need to be done by tonight, and while I don’t mind you gossiping, please don’t slow down.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the foursome chorused.
The cards were sent out the first thing next morning. The invitees had twenty-four hours to respond; in the meantime, they were relatively free. Susannah would deliver the eulogy, so she busied herself writing it. Gregory was sorely missing his Index; Vincent still had it, and he’d entirely forgotten to ask for it. Still, he made a quick trip to the Wormhole, and with Reese the assistant-librarian’s help, managed to find a compilation of famous eulogies. He took it back to Susannah, and together, they picked through it for tips and tricks.
At eleven in the morning though, they realised something was afoot, so they left their room to investigate. A great commotion raged in the Hospice’s lobby, and Healers, nurses and orderlies waved the day’s rolled up newspapers in great excitement.
Mango seized a rushing nurse.
‘What the hullabaloo about?’
‘The refugees! The King’s sending reinforcements!’
Mango and the others gaped at him. ‘What? We’ve… we’ve really declared war?’
‘No, silly! Haven’t you heard? They made a break for the border, the refugees did – surprised the Helikan Guard from behind! They’re holed up in no man’s land now, at Virgin’s Pass!’
‘How’d they escape the camp?’ Mango demanded, but the nurse had rushed off. ‘What’s going on?’
Gregory had a very good idea. He felt like cheering. She’d done it. Lesley had done it! The how wasn’t that important. He joined the rest of the hospital in the great lobby, where the updates streamed in.
Somehow, on Sunday evening, the Reflective refugees of Falstead Refugee Camp had incapacitated an entire Imperial White battalion, broken their captor’s instruments, stolen every soldier’s carpet, and the carpets of their families. Somehow they had reclaimed their own instruments and their most important possessions. Somehow, with near military order, these apparently beleaguered refugees comprising of farmers, ranchers and children had flown for the border in the dead of the night, and in three hours, reached. Somehow they had surprised the Helikan Border Guard, which faced the Domremin Alpine Army across the no-man’s land in the centre of Virgin’s Pass, from behind. They had defeated the Border Guard; and a short while later, a little over fourteen thousand refugees had stepped into the no-man’s land known as The Promise, barely twenty kilometres from the eastern end of Little Finger, and less than eight kilometres from Remy’s now destroyed house in Gimmel Hamlet. The Domremin Alpine Army had not been able to verify the identity of the refugees, and had initially refused to let them pass. By the time Helikan reinforcements had arrived, the fourteen thousand were entrenched in The Promise.
The Virgin’s Promise, a heart-breakingly beautiful meadow of green grass, was nestled in a narrow valley between two mountain ranges, one to the east and the other to the west, that were each ten thousand feet high. To the north of The Promise, manned by the Domremin Alpine Army, was North Gate, an immense wall three hundred metres high and a kilometre and half long from east to west. To the south of The Promise, manned by the Helikan Border Guard, was South Gate, an immense wall two hundred metres high and a kilometre long from east to west.
Thus the stalemate began.
‘Helika’s put it out – if a single Reflective refugee crosses over into Domremy, they’ll interpret every event from the riot onwards as an act of state-sponsored terrorism,’ Mango said at lunch. ‘The Empire’s demanding that the Reflectives be made to return to account for their crimes. The King’s arguing to the League of Nations that this changes nothing, and that the international judiciary can go on arranging for the trial of the rioters; and given Helika’s track record of managing the camp, and the Blood Tree’s destruction, it’s best that the refugees stay exactly where they are.’
‘How are they explaining what happened at the Blood Tree anyway?’ Zach asked Gregory.
‘You’ll see,’ Gregory said, though he did not have any ideas; Uncle Quincy had told him he would be informed before the Blood Bureau released an official statement. For now, the official stance was ‘investigations were underway’.
‘Have the refugees said anything about what the camp was like?’ Zach asked.
‘No,’ Mango said. ‘No journalists or civilians have been allowed to approach the area… though I heard a bunch of people with relatives among the refugees have moved as close as they can to Virgin’s Pass…’
Mango broke off, and they knew that if her uncle still lived, she would have been there with the other families right now.
The people’s excitement and nervous energy was uncomfortable for it did not fit the sombre mood of the task the four of them had undertaken. So they left the busy hall and spent a while fooling around the Hospice’s trail of gardens, before retiring to their room. Mango would occasionally pop out to see if there was something new, but for the large part, there wasn’t.
Susannah’s father’s relatives and friends kept pouring in at a steady stream, and she had to disappear to accept their condolences. Most of the names on the list of invitees turned green, with the occasional red. By nightfall, over seven hundred people had accepted their invitation – tomorrow, that number would be delivered to the appropriate caterers and florists.
Not having much at all to do in the evenings, everyone went home and returned with a grand selection of indoor games. Cards, chess, checkers, carom, and charades kept them up until two in the morning.
They woke bleary-eyed on Wednesday to more startling news. Once again a loud commotion outside the halls brought the four of them running out.
‘Mumma?’ Mango said. ‘What are you doing here?’
Ophelia Piper bore down on the group with all the speed and power of a panther, great excitement on her face. ‘Honey! Oh, my darling, darling baby! – he’s alive! Rafi’s alive! I just got his letter – heavily censored… but it’s true!’
Mango gaped.
‘But the blood fronds,’ Susannah protested, ‘We saw his blood frond shrivel away!’
‘Because he broke his rune-link that afternoon… not because he died! He lives, darling, he lives!’ And with that Ophelia swept her stunned daughter up in her arms into a powerful, teary embrace.
Mango was sobbing even before her mother set her down; in seconds, she was bawling her heart out, her howls of shock and relief echoing loudly down the corridor. She seized Gregory and buried her face in his shoulder, hugging him so hard he was sure she’d bruised him. Zach whooped and clapped her on the shoulder; Susannah pulled Mango away from Gregory to give her a hug of her own.
‘Pack your stuff!’ Susannah said. ‘Your party is with the other families crowding the way to Virgin’s Pass.’
But to everyone’s surprise, Mango, overcome with emotion as she was, shook her head. ‘Uncle Rafi will keep… he’s safe for now. I’m where I need to be… right here with you lot.’
‘Why, Piper, you’re just a big ol’ softie,’ Zach teased, and paid for it with a solid punch to his shoulder.
They held a mini-party in their room, complete with cake and crackers, and a champagne toast to Mango’s uncle’s continued health. The rest of the day was exhausting – the funeral was tomorrow, and they had to leave the Hospice and help set up and decorate the great reception tent. Nine hours flew by as they labelled gifts and tokens for every guest, spent hours rearranging tables and chairs so that no one important would feel slighted for having been placed too far back, and then carried Asclepius Coffey-Sharada’s cradle to the very front of the room – tomorrow morning, Susannah and her mother would deliver him here.
That night, completely wrung out, Gregory went to sleep, and had a very curious and disturbing dream.
He stood in a vast valley between gigantic mountains; blue and golden flowers carpeted the land as far as his eye could see… and far away, he made out the distant silhouette of a gigantic tree; its soaring and great canopy wreathed in clouds. Somehow, he knew the Tree was alive, and that he had to hide from its gaze; but it was futile – there was no cover to be had. He turned and ran up the valley, away from the Tree; the higher he went, the faster he ran, until he ran off the top off a mountain, and fell into a sea of stars. Through this sea he plunged, faster and faster, when he realised he was being chased. He turned to face his pursuer: a grotesque shadow with lamp-like lights in its misshapen head; he prepared to curse it: it morphed into his mother’s face, her lips pulled back in a snarl. He yelled as she reached for him, her claws piercing through his chest, her face morphing into Reggie’s and then Alf’s, and finally the Obscured head of a malevolent Teacher… but he had struck!
‘Oof!’
‘Greg! Wake up! GREGORY!’
‘Owwww! He got me right in the nadgers!’
He opened his eyes. Susannah’s worried browns eye swam into focus; Mango had pinned his arms down; and somewhere out of his sight, he heard Z
ach groaning.
‘It’s alright, Greg… it was a nightmare, that’s all! You’re safe… it’s alright,’ Susannah said soothingly.
Mango looked grey, but she held him down determinedly; he took great, heaving breaths; he was wet, awash in sweat.
‘Is the idiot alright?’ Zach asked in a strangled voice.
‘He’s fine,’ Susannah said, watching Gregory breath settle down into deep shudders.
‘I’m… I’m fine. Sorry about that, mate,’ Gregory coughed out.
‘Not as sorry as me, I bet,’ Zach muttered.
Mango let Gregory up. He shivered and drew his blanket close; despite the sweat, he felt almost icily cold.
‘You alright right?’ Gregory asked.
‘I’ll live.’ Zach dragged himself to his bed and gingerly sat down.
Mango poured the boys some water, and then everyone returned to bed. Five minutes later, Mango’s voice called through the dark. ‘Ok, now I’ve got no sleep in me at all.’
‘Oh, thank god. Me neither,’ Susannah said.
‘What do we do?’ Gregory said, switching the pale golden lights back on.
‘Have you guys ever played Monopoly?’ Zach said, an eager gleam lighting his eye.
An hour later, the four of them were locked in tense battle; Susannah had captured the cyan and brown territories early on, but somehow the three others had survived her cheaply-built Red Palaces; Mango had captured the yellow and green strips… but she only had enough funds for a scattering of Green Mansions along the yellows, and she kept having to shell out thousands of Monopoly Caesars every time she crossed Zach’s Palace-infested orange strip. But everyone’s dread was now focused on Gregory’s royal blue combo; after making an absurd amount of money off the four Zeppelin Drops he’d captured, and after three frantic circles of the board chasing the last unclaimed property, he’d finally landed on the most expensive property in the game – Kashmir Valley. He had purchased the second of the combo, Yosemite Nation, in his very first round of the board.
‘Put me down for two Red Palaces, Master Treasurer,’ Gregory said with a wicked look in his eye.
‘You don’t want to do that,’ Zach, who was handling the coin, said. ‘You’ll have no money left.’
‘It’s all or nothing, Master Treasurer, all or nothing.’
To the outrage of the others, Gregory managed to draw a community card directly into prison the very next turn. ‘Hah! I’m not coming out until I absolutely have to!’
‘This is not fair!’ Mango growled.
‘Life, alas, isn’t fair, milady,’ Gregory said theatrically, and then whooped when her roll took her directly to Kashmir. Mango rolled her eyes and declared herself bankrupt. She conceded all her property and money to Gregory.
‘That’s it. I’m out,’ Zach said disgustedly.
‘Wuss! You can’t quite quit on me like this! We can take him!’ Susannah cried.
‘Forget it. He won.’
Gregory indulged himself a war dance. ‘Reggie and Alf would have loved this game! I can’t believe we’ve never played it before!’
‘May they suffer you,’ Zach snorted, packing the board away, and taking Susannah’s properties from her reluctant fingers.
‘Well, they can’t,’ Gregory said, turning away and fiddling absently with his bed.
‘Why not?’
‘Because… because they didn’t survive the quake.’
The silent behind him was thick. Gregory pretended to straighten the sheets, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Susannah’s gaze was gentle, and he let her pull him into a hug.
‘When did you find out?’ Mango asked.
‘The evening after we were Blooded,’ Gregory said.
Zach gaped, and his face lit with sudden understanding. ‘Wait! Is that why your magic…?’
‘Yeah,’ Gregory said. ‘That’s what Uncle Quincy and the Headmistress figured.’
‘Oh, man... I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s alright,’ Gregory said, shrugging. ‘I’m almost over it.’
‘Is that… is that what you were dreaming about?’ Susannah asked.
Gregory nodded. ‘At the end, yes.’
‘Geez,’ Zach said, sitting down heavily on his bed. He swore. ‘… stupid Voidmark. We’re never gonna get away from it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Mango said.
‘I don’t know.’ Zach exhaled deeply, burying his face in his hands. ‘It’s just… everyone’s talking about it as if it was a really big and tragic stumbling block… and everyone just wants to get up, dust themselves off and move on – as if they’re owed a prize for surviving… but it’s not like that. We’re not going to be able to dust it off. It doesn’t feel like that to me… it feels like… like it set things rolling… like it’s not the main event. It’s a… I forget the word.’
‘A catalyst,’ said Gregory.
‘That’s right! Catalyst! I don’t know where it’s pointed us to… but we’re all caught up… and we’re all going there, whether we like it or not. We’re all going.’
No one knew quite what to say to that.
‘Ignore me, I’m tired,’ Zach said finally. ‘Come on, let’s get back to sleep. We’ve got an early morning.’
Thursday dawned to clear skies. It was going to be a beautiful morning. At nine, the foursome was at Drowsy Dale, handling small emergencies. At ten, the guests poured into the service tent; people of all ages, colours, races, and ranks. Asclepius Coffey-Sharada had earned a lot of love over the course of his life. Something inside Gregory twinged; it would have been nice to get to know the man.
A half hour before the service, Susannah took Gregory aside to a shady, secluded pathway behind the service tent. ‘I want to ask you something before I deliver the actual eulogy.’
‘Alright…’ Gregory said cautiously.
Susannah’s eyes were at once bright and wary, and she spoke quickly.
‘The Queen dropped by earlier to pay her respects… she didn’t want a big fuss made. She asked me if there was anything the Throne could do for my family. Well… Daddy and I once spoke of what you’d done at the Caverns for Ms. Flanders… and he’d said that the Caverns could do with a lesson thread in First Aid. I asked the Queen if that could be made an option in the school course… as tribute to my father. She said yes… and that I could teach it, if I wished.’
Gregory gaped at her. ‘That’s brilliant, Susannah. You’re gonna take it up?’
‘Yes, I am,’ she said proudly, and then in a rush: ‘But, I just wondered. Do you think you might maybe want to teach it with me? You’ve got the whole Ms. Flanders legend thing working for you… and the Queen mentioned that you could become very, very busy soon… but that it was up to you… it would be a tremendous help; people would take the class a lot more seriously if you were there.’
‘You want me to… teach First Aid at the Cavern with you?’ It was, in some ways, stranger than the request the Queen had made of him.
Susannah must have thought she had been presumptuous, because she burst out with a flurry of assurances. ‘It’ll mostly be my thing. I don’t expect you to be there every lesson or anything… only I may really need someone else there sometimes, for demonstrations and such… we can work out schedules… it doesn’t have to clash with anything… and-’
‘I’m in. I’ll do it.’
Susannah stopped, looking dazed as if she had run into a wall. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. It’s a fantastic idea. I’ll give you all the help I can that you need to really get this going.’
Susannah enveloped him in a rib-cracking hug. ‘It was Daddy’s idea that you be involved. He would have been ever so glad that you’re in… can I mention it my eulogy?’
‘That I’m in? Yeah, go ahead.’
Susannah gave him another hug, face buried in Gregory’s shoulder, shaking in a way that he knew she was crying from a rush of sadness; and then she had dashed away. It was quiet here in the small grove, and the Gregory found
himself enjoying the unexpected moment of silence. He sat down on a round, mossy rock, yawned hugely, and spent a few minutes enjoying the quiet.
A flutter of motion caught his eyes, and they followed the butterfly as it came to rest on the back of his hand.
Later, when the service was over, and when it was afternoon and the day was still beautifully sunny, Gregory found himself outside the Mushroom at Oakroot Hamlet. Vincent wasn’t there, but in his own room upstairs, he found a square of grey stone on the bed.
His father had returned his Index. There was a note beside it:
I have one of my own now. Thanks.
Gregory lifted himself up onto his window, and swung his legs over the sill. A field of green grass stretched away below his feet, ending at a gently flowing stream. The water was peaceful to look at. He let his thoughts idle down whimsical paths.
The Mushroom had potential, he decided. Oakroot Hamlet was a quiet place. In all his visits, he had never seen a single other person on the street that coursed in between the houses here. If he ever needed to be alone, or even if he needed to go somewhere to make noise that wasn’t appropriate at the Apple… yes, the Mushroom had potential.
His thoughts drifted back to the funeral. The Director had been entombed in a cradle under a small but beautiful marble monument, which bore no words, only runes representing the most significant aspect of his life. There had been a great many people, all in white, many of whom had made long speeches and grand gestures. The Coffey family had received many bequeaths large and small. Susannah and her mother had cut a striking impression; an aura of indefinable strength and indomitability had been about them. Susannah’s eulogy had forced tears down many eyes, and afterwards, she had given Gregory another crushing hug for helping her prepare it.
He wondered what was happening in Pencier. Had Mixer received his second instrument yet? Did he feel guilty, like Gregory once had, at his unexpected opportunity to become mage, when Reggie and Alf had missed out? For Gregory didn’t feel guilty anymore. A part of him had always known that he should not. Losing them had meant that perhaps the world would have many fewer Reggies and Alfs futilely coveting magic… because you can’t covet something you already have…
He had been afraid that they would fade from his memories… but they couldn’t anymore. He would be reminded of them every time he saw a previously Mundane child cast a spell… every time the Queen directed him to champion the cause of universal magical access…
He would never, ever, ever forget them.
Seriously though, at some point he was going to have to learn to say ‘no’ when someone asked something terribly important of him. He didn’t know exactly how busy he would be, but the mere thought of participating in the Queen’s designs for his boons and Susannah’s first aid classes at the same time filled him with apprehension.
He couldn’t have said no, though, not after the week he’d just shared with her… and with Mango and Zach. The Director and the Bobbin had been right – he had made new friends. Good ones. Brave, and loyal, and kind ones, something he’d have thought was impossible. Even Johanna, the very embodiment of ‘tough love’, had quickly become precious.
Now that he thought of it, Gregory was astounded at how much had happened in the weeks since he had first been told he had an Uncle. There were just two loose ends now though, and one was in his pocket.
He pulled out the small white bone. Teacher? A prickle of anger touched Gregory; someone looking closely would have seen his jaw clench. Six years. For six years Gregory had groped blindly for his identity and his direction in life. In about six weeks, he had rediscovered his identity and begun forging his own direction down paths no one else had or perhaps even could. Whoever Teacher was, whatever he wanted of Gregory… their meeting would be on Gregory’s terms, and no one else’s.
He doubted the bone actually belonged to the man, but Remy (how had the necromancer freed himself from the gypsies?) said he could use it to get in touch with him. And he had said that Gregory had something that the Teacher had lost. But Gregory had been dropped of at Pencier with little more than his first name and his birthday. Whatever it was that Remy’s Teacher thought Gregory had, it had been taken away from him, unless…
He blinked.
… unless it was within him.
‘What did I forget?’ Gregory whispered aloud. What had he seen or heard at Brightapple? What had he done? Had he truly lost his memories, or had they been sealed away? It wasn’t impossible. After all, Lesley’s illness had not cost her memories.
Which brought him to his second loose end.
Lesley Greene.
Whatever it was that she knew about his childhood illness, it was obviously dreadfully important. He simply had to speak to her. What could she tell him? What did she look like? The Reflective refugees were almost as cut-off now as they had been in Falstead. Virgin’s Pass had been completely sealed off from both sides, Helikan and Domremin. The Throne couldn’t do much more right now other than collect messages from the refugees and drop food and medical supplies as needed; Helika was keeping too close an eye on the escapees. There was practically no direct contact between the parties.
How then, was he to speak to her? Two thirds of the year was over. Winter would come quicker to the pass than to Domremy City. Not that this was a huge problem for mages… but then the way into the Pass would be snowed in, wouldn’t it?
Couldn’t a Hero of Domremy just walk in whenever he felt like it? He should be able to, shouldn’t he?
Well, the Queen did say that he had the Throne’s ear whenever he wanted it. And as far as Gregory knew, news of his battle against the creeps at the Cavern had gone international. That meant the rumour that he was a Seraph must have reached ears outside of Domremy too. People didn’t have to believe it; the mere rumour would mean that if he wanted attention, he’d likely get it.
How could he best use that?
In the quiet murmur of the stream, as afternoon faded into evening, a vague plan of action formed in his mind.
The next morning, Friday, Gregory and Mango stood outside the Headmistress’ door in the highest tower at Gurukul Caverns.
‘I can’t believe you talked me into this,’ Mango hissed. ‘Being a Hero is all well and good, but there’s a difference between that and actively seeking out trouble.’
‘Do you want to meet your Uncle or don’t you?’
‘I’m just saying… oh never mind. Let’s get on with it.’
‘Relax. I’ve done this before, and that time, I had ink all over my face. This could really work. Trust me.’
Gregory knocked.
‘Come in.’
