Ch. 25

Moggley met a man on the road. Moggley said, "Ho' stranger, what's that stick?" Stranger said, "Ain't nothin' at all." Stranger walked away, Moggley kept on goin'. Moggley came home to his house, walked in, sat down for dinner. "What's for dinner?" says Moggley's wife. Moggley says, "Ain't nothin' at all." Moggley's wife says, "Why not? Cupboard's chock full." Moggley says, "Ain't nothin' at all." Moggley's wife says, "Stop playin' wit me, here, look, in the cupboard—," and she's yellin' now, opens it up, points at the cans and beans soups and fruits. Moggley says, he says—you guess it— "Ain't nothin' at all."

-Overheard, drunken revelry, Piggsport Inn

Magick…sort of makes sense? Horry repeatedly makes the precise motions indicated in the story, and repeatedly, only a small part of the sphere is turned into a cube—and only for as long as Horry focuses on the cube. It seems to require almost headache-inducing focus, at that.

Romb sits, his face twisted in anguished concentration, to his right. His sphere is a sphere.

Eamus sits, bored, with a cube in front of him, to Horry's left.

"Okay—why is this—what's going on here. I know magick is like sort of reading our minds. But—but how does magick know what a cube looks like?"

"I dunno mate. A cube's a cube, right? Pointy edges, all flat bits the same-lookin. Some buildin's are kinda cube-like. Uhh, y'know, dice?" Eamus shrugs, smiling.

"That's just, like—that's not what a cube is though? That's just a list of facts about cubes. That seems even harder for a mysterious inexplicable force to latch on to—,"

"I don't…understand…why…nothing…is happening…" Romb grunts—holding his breath.

"Okay, no, this is stupid. There's gotta be a trick. No way it's this easy for you—wait, have you practiced this one before?"

"Ne'er once, mate," Eamus grins ear to ear.

"What are you doing. What's in your head? Are you, like, visualizing the cube? Imagining a certain cube of a certain color?"

"Ehhh..no, like I said—cube's a cube. Pointy bits—edges and corners. Got some sameness to it. Sometimes the pointy-bits are roundy, like, dice, so dice aren't really perfect cubes I guess…"

"Wait, you aren't actually literally visualizing the cube?"

"I don't understand?"

"I don't—you don't, have a picture of a cube in your…in your mind's eye when you're casting transius?"

"What, like holdin' a photograph?"

"No, like, literally—like you aren't seeing a cube? In your mind? With your, uh, mind-eyes?"

"You have mind-eyes?!"

Romb plants his head on the table, "My cube. My cube is perfect and sleek. It has nice flat edges. It has reaaaaaal sharp corners. I can put it here, put it there, put it everwhere, except on this sphere. It…won'tappear,"

"Romb—are you, like, imagining it on your desk? Like you're looking at it?"

"Yeah, what the bloody hell else are we supposed to do?"

"Well…I guess I'm just thinking of a cube? Like, the shape of it, without thinking about where it might actually be. It's just—in the place where things I imagine…uh…are?"

"And that's working?"

"Well…not really…" Horry rolls the lumpy sphere-cube around on his desk.

"I think…it matters how we think about cubes? Not just what a cube is, cause, like, everyone probably has a different image of a cube—or not even an image—a different way of even thinking about what it means for something to be a cube. Unless there really is, like, a platonic cube or something…"

Professor McGloggles swings by in her circuit of bemused observation, "One point for Grippenboor for an excellent point of inquiry, Mister Patter," and, saying nothing more, continues on her circuit.

"Oh. Oh, Eamus, you're thinking about how it feels…like in your hands, right? Like you're holding it?"

"Ehhh…sorta? When you put it that way, I guess…but it's just…a cube? That's what cubes are?"

Horry's sphere snaps into a perfect cube. Romb gawks.

"Just imagine you're holding your cube, Romb,"

"That..I tried that—it didn't work!"

"Did you imagine holding it, or did you, like, visualize your arm with the sphere in your hand?"

"That…those are the same!"

"Ahh, no, so-like. Here," Horry picks up Romb's sphere and puts it in his hand.

"Y'know how that feels? Like, the actual feeling of it in your hand—," Horry takes the sphere out suddenly.

"Now that feeling is gone. Make, uh, that feeling come back. In your hand. Uh, imagine that, except if your sphere was a cube,"

Romb looks at Horry, bewildered, "But that's not what a cube is!"

"To magick…it might be?"

Romb screws up his face, and his sphere…sort of turns into a cube. It's a bit lumpier than Horry's intermediate attempts, but all of the outer material is affected.

"Bloody hell…it's…working?!" mumbles Romb.

The classroom door creaks open, and a worried-looking older student looks around the room. They stride up to McGloggles, and whisper in her ear. Concern blooms across her face, and the student leaves. Horry watches her—his anxiety building. McGloggles opens her mouth, then stops.

"If you have managed to turn your spheres into cubes, try to duplicate your spheres. I will be back momentarily," she pauses again, then strides out of the room.

"Hm," says Horry.

"Hm indeed—how am I supposed to feel a sphere turn into two spheres?"

"I guess if ye push on it right?" Eamus—sphere in hand, wand pointed at it, separates his sphere into two, identical smaller spheres with a flick.

"You're—you're screwin' with us. You've done this before!" Romb points at him.

Horry's cube snaps back into a sphere in front of him.

"Guys, I think something's—,"

Alvin's voice cuts him off—it's not loud—a bit over conversational volume at most, but if comes from all directions, "Students, may I have your attention. Club activities will be suspended until further notice,"

"Bollocks!" shouts someone from the back row.

"What! Why!"

"Somebody probably broke something…"

"On the first day of class?"

"Happened last year. Maybe it's the prank?"

"Prank was worse last year and they didn't cancel club activities…"

Dots connect in Horry's mind, and the anxiety borders on frantic worry. The note. The note from dinner. He'd completely forgotten about it.

He turns around, "Daisy, Pavarti, did you see Hermany last night? Uh, after the club thing?"

"…nooo? We aren't rooming with her though…did you? How was it?"

"No…I didn't go. I went straight to bed. Um, okay, hold on…" Horry stands up.

"Where're you goin'?" Romb's trying to bodily pry his sphere into pieces.

"I…I don't know. I'm…going for a walk…"

"I think you're overreactin' Horry. Hermany probably slept in or something…"

"Does sleeping in on the first day of class sound like Hermany to you?" Horry asks, incredulous.

"Well…"

"Romb, I got the same note she did! And she—she isn't here!" Horry walks to the door.

"McGloggles is gonna flay ya…" starts Eamus.

Horry cracks open the door and peaks out into the hall. It's empty except for slightly swaying suits of armor, and the queer motion of animated paint on several canvases. He slips out, and heads towards the sound of voices.


The halls are mostly barren—a student or two heading to and from the restroom. After walking for several minutes, Horry begins to feel kind of embarrassed. Is he being overly anxious? Where is he even going? What does he even expect to find? Better yet, what could he even do about it if he did find something? He knows like four spells…

Nonetheless, his legs carry him forward—he'd honestly rather suffer a little embarrassment than do nothing at all about the terrible feeling of powerless worry.

He sidles up against the corner of the great hall to the voices of Professors furiously talk-whispering at each other.

"—you doing there, Quimulus?!"—definitely McGloggles.

"It's where I would have hid them, had I wanted to discretely cause a tremendous amount of damage," his voice is high and tonally…off?

"That's terribly convenient,"

"Are you accusing me of something, Minnie? The children are safe and sound…mostly…"—almost like every statement is made as if a question—breathy and just the slightest bit inhuman.

"And the Moggley are nearly all dead, you should have intervened earlier, Quimulus. This cannot be mended."

"I cannot imagine what they expected, Minnie. They know not to poke their noses out this far, and they threatened my life. It was a warning. Self-defense if you like—,"

"Stop." Alvin's voice cuts in, and Horry jumps.

"Of greater concern is that the wards have been breached. Or fooled. Life-threatening distress should have triggered an alert for every faculty member. Immediately. I want to know why it did not,"

"The artifacts?" Quimulus asks, almost bored.

"They reveal nothing," says Alvin, with a furious edge to his voice that Horry had never heard before.

"Suspicious."

"I will handle the Warzengambit. This is salvageable. Please ensure that students do not leave the first wall of wards. That students could even be carried past the thirteenth is alarming, and will not happen again after my additional measures,"

"How do you know that, Alvin?" Minnie sounds angry and afraid.

Silence.

A sharp crack echoes out—Alvin leaving probably. Horry turns to sneak back to class, and notices his hands are shaking—his mind hanging on Quimulus' words—on his almost disinterested phrasing.

'Mostly'.