Chapter Seven
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain, 31st Day of Feoh
"Mistress, are you sure about this?"
"Yes. This is something I have to do."
Maxwell Grey hardly dared believe what was happening. There was his mistress, standing upright against a broad wooden stake, to which she was secured with thick and heavy ropes. Night was falling, and a great many Familiars were out and about, as was their custom in the evening when their human masters needed no service. Some of them stood or sat nearby, taking in this peculiar sight.
"Mistress, is this...entirely necessary?"
"Yes it is!" replied Alice la Durant, with a fervour that belied the ridiculousness of her situation. "I must face my fears! I cannot train them otherwise!"
Maxwell sighed. He had long known of his mistress'...problems with lizards, especially dragons. It was never something he had ever held against her; one so brave and so kind as her was allowed one weakness, he had reasoned. And he understood how embarrassed she had been when her weakness had been exposed in front of her students.
But...this?
He glanced back at the Familiars. The spectacle had drawn quite a crowd, several of them reptiles of one sort or another. He was even able to identify some of them, thanks to the books he had read. There was an enormous snake, a great purple gecko, and that red Salamander too, the one that belonged to Lady Kirche. All were staring, though whether at him, or her, or both, he could not say.
It was enough to make him wonder, not for the first time, just how intelligent Familiars really were. He would not dare to ask a Mage directly, but all the books he had ever read on the subject agreed that they got more intelligent as they got older, growing as their Masters grew. Some argued that Familiars, at least if they lived long enough, could become as intelligent and self-aware as any human, while others reckoned they merely managed to master limited concepts; like those tropical birds that could imitate human speech.
The Salamander was looking straight at him. Maxwell could have sworn it was appraising him, weighing him in a balance of its own design, for a purpose known only itself. The Salamander was well-known among the servants, mostly for setting things on fire, but some had complained that it had a perverse sense of humour, much like its Mistress.
A familiar warbling drew his attention. Maxwell turned, and his heart jumped to see the blue dragon Sylphid ambling towards him. The dragon warbled happily, and greeted him with a lick that left his face dripping with dribble.
"Dragon..."
Maxwell turned, and his heart sank. Alice was frozen stiff, staring at Sylphid through wide, staring eyes.
"Dragon..." she muttered, the most forced-looking smile Maxwell had ever seen plastered over her face. "Dragon..."
Maxwell sighed, as he gave Sylphid's nose a rub. He rather liked the gentle, friendly blue dragon; enough so to make him feel sorry for his mistress' fear, and to wonder what could possibly have caused it.
Then it was his turn to freeze, as he spotted something in the distance over Sylphid's shoulder. It was a dark shape, vanishing through the open gateway, moving so quickly that for a few moments Maxwell wasn't entirely sure what he had seen.
Until he registered that short blue hair; hair the same shade as Sylphid's lighter scales.
A strange, worrying notion came upon him. He glanced back at his mistress, who was staring hard at Sylphid, and looking like she was trying with every fibre of her being not to scream. He knew he should not leave her like this, but she had given him no order to attend her all night; and it wasn't as if Sylphid was going to harm her.
Feeling guilty, but unable to do otherwise, Maxwell hurried over to the gate. Cautiously, he poked his head around the lintel, and felt his heart lurch as he saw her once again.
Tabitha. Sylphid's Mistress, hurrying across the dark grass towards a clump of trees. His curiosity piqued, Maxwell crept after her, hurrying as fast as he could without making too much noise. Being able to move quietly was a useful skill, whether as an urchin on the street or as a Knight's attendant.
All of a sudden she halted and stood still, staring up at the night sky. Maxwell stopped also, as close as he dared, hiding himself behind one of the trees; a great oak that must have been centuries old. He peered out, heart hammering, wondering what she was waiting for.
Something passed overhead, so quickly that Maxwell barely made out the shape; a great manta-ray, without wings of any kind. With a whoosh it was gone, and Maxwell stated as, a few moments later, a cloaked figure emerged from the trees below where the shape had vanished. It was noticeably taller than the petite Tabitha, looking down at her with a narrow, shapely face, so pale and smooth that it might have been carved from porcelain. Its purple lips split into a malicious smile.
"Punctual as ever, Charlotte."
Maxwell was confused. Charlotte? Who was Charlotte?
"You have a mission for me," replied Tabitha coldly.
"Terse as ever, unfortunately." The woman chuckled. "Very well. His Majesty is interested in a certain person, someone you know well. He has commanded me to capture the Arysian and Tristain's Void Mage, Louise de la Valliere."
It was all Maxwell could do not to cry out. Miss Valliere was a Void Mage? What was that? And why was Miss Tabitha being tasked with helping to kidnap her?
He felt sick inside, his blood running cold and congealing in his stomach. Miss Tabitha, how could it be Miss Tabitha? Miss Tabitha, who was so beautiful and gentle, who loved books as much as he did. How could she...
"You hesitate...Charlotte." The woman sounded amused. "We will have the perfect opportunity tomorrow night, at the Sleipnir Ball. I only need you to ensure that no one interferes."
Silence. Maxwell felt a sudden thrill of hope. Was she going to refuse this dreadful mission? Was she going to stand up to this dark, strange woman?
"Oh..." The woman sounded surprised. "You've gotten careless, Charlotte."
Maxwell's heart froze. He tried to move, but his legs would not obey him. His entire body felt cold, as if his blood really was turning to ice. He looked down, and saw that his feet were wreathed in jagged ice, pinning him in place.
"I leave this to you, Charlotte," the woman said, apparently unruffled. She turned and vanished into the darkness. Maxwell struggled as Tabitha turned and advanced upon him, pulling desperately at his frozen, pinioned feet. His heart hammered in his chest, his mind almost blind with terror as she drew closer.
But then he saw her eyes. Her eyes, normally so cold, were full of pain and grief, as if she were reliving some terrible tragedy...or about to do something for which she would never forgive herself.
She stopped, and Maxwell tensed. He didn't want to die, not like this, not after he had survived so much. He didn't want to die, and leave Mistress Alice all alone, and wondering why. He didn't want to die by Miss Tabitha's hand...
With one small, narrow hand, she caressed his cheek. It was warm and soft, and Maxwell felt his terror and shame begin to fade. Then she slid her arms around him, pressing his head against her shoulder. Her fragrance was gentle and elegant, her school blouse smooth and soft against his cheek.
"I won't tell..." his voice came out as a croak. "I promise..."
"You won't remember."
He felt something hard touch his head, heard strange syllables whispered...
He blinked.
Miss Tabitha was standing in front of him, a questioning look on her doll-like face. Maxwell's heart jumped as he remembered himself. What in the Founder's name was he thinking, hurrying after a young lady like her?
"I..." he babbled, trying to master himself. "It's getting dark, my lady. It's dangerous to be outside like this."
It sounded reasonable. He hoped it sounded reasonable. He prayed it didn't sound half so foolish and pathetic to her as it did to him.
"Walk with me," she said.
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain, 32nd Day of Feoh
In the dining hall, there was excitement in the air.
Suleiman had noticed it all day, even when he and the Ondine Knights had risen early for their training. Initially he had put the good mood down to the end of the punishment period, and the return of the students' wands. That is, until he had heard mention of the event awaiting that evening.
The event they called the Sleipnir Ball.
"Yes, tonight is the night, the Sleipnir Ball!" proclaimed Guiche, standing up from his seat with his wand outstretched, rose petals fluttering around him. "A grand opportunity for our newest arrivals to make their debut!"
"He means a chance to flirt with the first year girls!" Gimli cut in with a sneer. Guiche visibly deflated, but swiftly caught himself.
"Is this your first ball, Suleiman?" asked Saito turning to him.
"Yes, it is." Suleiman glanced over at the table opposite. Tiffania was sitting there, looking rather awkward, surrounded by Beatrice von Guldenhorf, her three friends, and a bunch of other girls, all squealing and twittering with obvious excitement.
"A glorious night awaits you!" declared Guiche, with yet another of his trademark flourishes. "The wine! The ladies! The glorious mystery of the magical masquerade!"
"I fear I don't understand," Suleiman said awkwardly.
"This is no ordinary ball," Reynald cut in, leaning conspiratorially towards Suleiman. "Before you go in, you'll have to stand before a magic mirror, the Mirror of Truth. You then have to visualise the person you admire, the one you revere most in all the world. The mirror will then make you appear to be that person!"
"I have heard of such things in my homeland!" Suleiman felt a thrill of excitement, only to falter as a thought occurred to him.
"Oh, but would I be welcome there? After all, I'm not a student."
"You shall attend as a guest of the Ondine Knights!" declared Guiche flamboyantly. "I, Guiche the Brass, will not hear otherwise!"
"So that's what those two meant," mused Saito, mostly to himself.
"Monsieur Saito?" Suleiman asked, overhearing him.
"Oh, uh, Louise and Siesta." Saito sighed." They've got a bet on. I have to find Louise at the Sleipnir Ball, or Siesta gets me all to herself. I didn't understand until he said about the mirror."
"The perils of a ménage-a-trois!" declared Malicorne cheerily. He downed a very large sausage with unsettling efficiency. "Ah, how we envy him!" He slapped disgruntled-looking Saito on the back.
"I don't!" interjected Gimli. "You've seen what Louise is like!"
The others laughed.
"Alas for my vice-captain, a slave of passion!" proclaimed Guiche. "Ah, but though my heart is a furnace of love, it burns for one and one alone!"
"And who would that be, Guiche!?" snapped a haughty female voice from behind him. Guiche jumped, and fell off his chair. Suleiman looked up, and saw that the voice had come from Montmorency. She stood there, hands on her hips, regarding Guiche with thinly-veiled contempt.
"Why, my Montmorency!" Guiche pulled himself to his feet, striking another pose. "That one alone is you and only you!"
"Oh really?" Montmorency tossed her head, her golden curls billowing. "Then what form do you intend to take this night?"
"What form?" Guiche's trademark smirk returned, and he brushed a lock of hair from his brow with a flourish. "Why, my fair Montmorency, it would have to be my form. I am, as you can see, my own ideal!"
"Yes, I thought as much!" Montmorency spun on her heel with a flounce. "Then I hope you enjoy your evening, alone!"
"B-b-b-but Montmorency!" spluttered Guiche, his face falling. "Montmorency! What have I done to offend you? Montmorency!"
The entire hall was watching them now. Some laughed, others rolled their eyes. Suleiman had the impression this was not their first tiff.
"Your pride offends me!" declared the blonde, keeping her back to him. "Your self-love offends me! If you loved me half as much as you profess, you would take my form tonight!"
"Your form?" Guiche looked thoroughly confused. "You want me to go as...you?"
"If your love is true, it will overcome your self-love!" Montmorency turned to face him, cloak billowing. "If I am the one you adore and admire most, then only my image should occupy your heart!"
"But Montmorency!" Guiche whimpered, looking thoroughly wretched. "I couldn't possibly..."
"Then you do not love me! Goodbye!" Montmorency turned on her heel and swept out, following by a wailing, pleading Guiche.
"Same old Montmorency," sighed Gimli.
"They've always been like this?" asked Suleiman.
"Always!" replied Gimli. "She acts like she hates him, but she keeps on taking him back no matter what he does."
"He is...untrue?"
"Isn't he just?" Saito looked up from his breakfast. "The first day I was here, he was two-timing her with some first-year named Katie. She had it for him so bad, she even baked him a soufflé."
Suleiman was surprised. Guiche had never seemed the most reliable of characters, but he had never taken him for a philanderer.
He looked up at Tiffania again, still surrounded by her admirers. He wondered what form she would take, what ideal she held enshrined in her heart.
He hoped, very much, that he would be able to find her.
The Palace, Kingdom of Tristain
It was a beautiful night.
Standing at the window of her recieving chamber, Queen Henrietta de Tristain gazed out over the gardens, the greenery bathed in red and blue by the light of the twin moons, the waters gleaming like polished silver.
It was a rare moment of peace, a brief interlude in which she dared to let her mind wander, and the fears that pricked at her mind from day to day to fall silent. What a luxury, what a blessing, to simply admire the sight of her own palace gardens by the moonlight, to gaze at the mountains beyond, and see the moonlight play on their distant peaks.
Beautiful gardens, and beautiful mountains.
A beautiful land. Her land.
It was at times like this, on peaceful nights like this, that she could let the present fade, and see her kingdom as others saw it. She remembered the stories she had heard as a child, the tales of how Tristain had been founded, along with the other two guardian kingdoms. How magical it had all seemed back then, when she heard those stories; those tales of Gallus, and Albus, and Tristan; the Founder's three sons. How magical it was now, in this innocent speck of time.
Of the three sons, she had loved Tristan most of all, and not just because he was her ancestor. What good was there to say about the proud, greedy Gallus, or the wild, disdainful Albus? Tristan had been gentle and brave, compassionate and affectionate. He had made a pact with the water spirit Ondine, and with her help protected his people from their enemies; from the raider ships of the Varangyr, the wild tribes of the Germanii, and from their neighbours of Gallia and Albion. He had built a kingdom in which something other than power and status mattered.
At least, that was what she wanted to believe.
Henrietta sighed. She had seen too much of the world and its wickedness to put too much stock in old stories. But was it wrong to cling to a childhood dream, to a higher ideal? Did dreaming of that gentle, pure-hearted prince make her a credulous fool? Or was it better to wish for something more, to hold oneself to a higher standard?
She looked down from the distance, and saw her reflection in the mirror. She no longer doubted that she was beautiful; her adolescent fears had long since faded, replaced by much darker concerns. If beauty could conquer all, as the poets endlessly waxed, it was enough to solve most of her problems.
But it didn't. It could not make her a worthy Queen, one whom the commoners could respect and the nobles would follow. It could not make her wise enough to solve her kingdom's many problems, to chart the path between vested interests and harsh necessities. It could not make her brave enough to face her kingdom's enemies, whether without or within.
It could not make her more like Louise.
She sighed. Tonight was the night of the Sleipnir Ball, when the academy students would take on the image of the one they most wanted to be. Ever since one of her clerks had mentioned it in passing a week earlier, she had wondered what it would be like to go. What would it be like to slip inside, and wear the form of her beloved childhood friend, just for a few hours? What would it be like to escape from herself for just one night?
What if she saw him there?
Henrietta shivered at the thought. She had thought never to love again, not the way she had loved Wales Tudor. Theirs had been a forbidden love, between cousins too close to marry, in a union that was politically unthinkable even if they weren't. She had known it was destined to end, even before Louise and Saito had brought her news of his death at Newcastle.
Saito...
But now he was in her thoughts. She would never forget Wales, but he was a distant memory now, a precious relic of happier times, enshrined in a reliquary of love.
Saito Hiraga was very much alive, and not so far away. She thought of him in ways she had never thought of Wales, nor any other man for that matter. She yearned for his strength, his warmth, that silly smile. On dark nights like that one she dreamed treacherous dreams; dreams of stealing him away from Louise, and making him her King. With him at her side, she was sure, any danger could be overcome.
But she could not. She could not betray Louise, her oldest and dearest friend. She could see, all too clearly, what Louise so vehemently denied. Love wasn't worth betraying so precious a friend.
But what harm would it do to go? Did she still have time?
A low, muffled clunk reverberated through the chamber. The doors of her official chambers, and the corridors leading to them, were designed to be noisy; giving her plenty of warning if someone was coming.
Henrietta stepped over to her deskl; its broad, polished top covered in paperwork needing her signature and reports for her perusal. She was glad to have her old desk back; the one she had been forced to borrow from the clerks had been much too small. One of these days, she was going to have to think of a reward for the town burgesses; who had raised a considerable sum to replace the furniture she had sold to help the war effort. For all their apparent horror at the idea of their Queen living on squalor, she had little doubt that they awaited one.
The double doors opened, and Chamberlain de la Porte entered, followed by a petite figure in a hooded cloak. La Porte stepped back through the doors, closing them as he withdrew. The woman lowered her hood.
"Milady Clarice," Henrietta greeted her, taking her seat at the desk. "We had not expected you so soon."
"I have importance news, your Majesty." Under the cloak was a well-dressed woman with fair hair and dark, somewhat unsettling eyes. Her curtsey was technically perfect, but there was something dangerous behind it, something feral and ruthless. Henrietta had many like Clarice in her employ, and she could not deny their usefulness. But that did not make this one any less...frightening.
"Very well." Henriette gestured at the chair opposite. Clarice sat down with the elegance her rank implied; assuming it was her rank.
"I have been following the Arysian as per your orders, your Majesty," she began. Henrietta realised that she had quite forgotten about Tiffania's new Familiar, and how Headmaster Osman had asked her to keep an eye out for his companion. One of these days, she was going to have to get a look at him for herself.
"I see. And what did you find?"
"He recently visited a freelance Mage in Compiegne," Clarice went on. "After which he paid a brief visit to a village near the Ardenne Forest. He has since been seen on the north road towards Lagdorian Lake. He should arrive there in a day or so."
"Then why have you ended your pursuit?" Henrietta asked pointedly.
"Because to remain so close to him would have been dangerous." Clarice smiled a feral smile. "He has attracted the wrong kind of attention. The North Parterre is searching for him, as is the Scarlet Tower."
Henrietta shivered in spite of herself. She had been a child when the Order of the Scarlet Tower had last entered Tristain; when they had burned the village of La Roche d'Usson to the ground and massacred most of its inhabitants. She had watched from the shadows of her father's throne room as he bade the scarlet knights explain themselves. She had never forgotten their leader, his face deathly pale against his scarlet mantle, his terrible eloquence as he told of how the villagers had defied Papal authority in worshipping a forbidden, decanonised saint despite fair warning.
They had never since returned, and she was glad of it.
"What would the Scarlet Tower want with him?"
"I have no notion, your Majesty." Clarice seemed amused by the question. "But they want him badly. A few weeks ago they captured a North Parterre agent in Compiegne and spirited him away. Doubtless he has since been tortured to death."
"To go so far..." This was indeed serious. The Knights of the North Parterre were ruthless, but they looked after their own. For the Scarlet Tower to risk their wrath, and that of King Joseph, so flagrantly...
"I will need you to continue your surveillance," she said gravely. "This matter is becoming serious."
"Indeed, your Majesty."
This was going to be a long night.
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain
It was time.
Night had fallen, and the academy towers were aglow with lights both natural and magical. In the corridor leading to the upper banqueting hall, students waited impatiently to be admitted.
Standing among them, Suleiman could hear their whispered conversations, their giggles and squeals. He could almost feel their joy, their excitement.
He was excited too. Moreso than he had expected.
It was almost his turn. He glanced back along the corridor, hoping for some sign of Tiffania. But there was no sign, and Suleiman felt a twinge of worry. He had wanted to go in with her, but the Ondines had prevailed upon him to wait. Having to find her behind her disguise was the whole point, apparently. It would please her much better, they had insisted.
He might have been convinced, had they not been glancing at each other all the time and trying not to laugh. Whether as conspirators or as pranksters, they would not have lasted five minutes in his father's court.
"Ah! Monsieur Suleiman!" Miss Chevreuse greeted him with a smile as his turn came. "Are you ready for the mystery?"
"Yes, Miss Chevreuse.' Suleiman managed to smile. Despite the incident over Tiffania's ears, he had found Miss Chevreuse to be a pleasant, kind-hearted woman.
"Step beyond this curtain, and face the Mirror," she said, in what she must have thought was a dramatic tone. Suleiman took a deep breath, and stepped into the darkened room, the curtain falling shut behind him.
The room was narrow, partitioned by heavy curtains. The lamps were turned down low, casting suggestive shadows around a tall object covered with a cloth. Surely this was the Mirror of Truth of which they had spoken?
"Listen well…" came Chevreuse's voice from beyond the curtain. "You must think only of the person you wish to be, and do not be distracted. The mirror will look into your heart's deepest desire, and grant you that form. When you have prepared yourself, remove the cloth."
Suleiman closed his eyes, drawing another long breath as he tried to clear his mind, to see the person whom he most wished to be.
He opened his eyes, and pulled away the cloth. For an instant he saw himself, before the image vanished in rainbow brilliance. Suleiman froze, transfixed, as the radiance vanished, casting the mirror into darkness.
His heart jumped into his throat as the image resolved itself in the glass. It was a young man, taller than himself, clad in a sherwani in royal blue, emblazoned with golden filigree, reaching to his knees. His sash and loose trousers were of gleaming white, while a turban of white and gold crowned his brow. A cape of blue and gold hung from his shoulders to the floor.
But all the magnificence could not compare to the face; that face he knew so well.
"Father…"
Slowly, hardly daring to believe it, he reached to touch his face. The image did likewise, and Suleiman only then noted the look of stunned disbelief, a look that never once crossed that regal face in all the days he had seen it.
"It's me…"
So this was the Mirror of Truth's power; a rare and strange magic indeed. Suleiman could not remember ever encountering its like in his homeland; though stories of the Magi told of such things.
He drew another long breath, willing his heart to slow. He drew himself up before the mirror, marvelling at the magnificent vision. It had been so long since he had seen such things, such glory…
He shook his head, driving away the cold, sick feeling that had erupted in his stomach. He would not allow this evening to be ruined by the darkness of his past.
Not when Tiffania would be there.
Suleiman's imagination ran wild as he turned towards the curtain leading into the hall. As he eased the curtain aside, he could almost hear the skirl of trumpets. Eyes turned as he entered the hall, widening as they beheld this new phantasm.
Not that he was the only one. The hall was filled with and gaily-costumed figures, each sight more wondrous than the last. Knights in armour, Kings and Queens in regal finery, mages in bright robes, heroes and villains in weird and wonderful costumes.
Not quite certain what to do with himself, Suleiman moved away from the curtain, exchanging friendly nods with any who noted him. He realised that a great many of the ladies present were identical; with purple hair and clad in matching white gowns. It took him a moment to identify the vision as Queen Henrietta, whose portrait he had seen about the academy. Evidently she was much-revered among the students.
"Ah, monsieur…"
Mildly surprised, Suleiman turned to see a young girl standing nearby. She was chubby, though by no means unattractive for it, with long blonde hair and a red ribbon that reminded him of Montmorency. She was clad in the girls' uniform, her hands clasped before her skirt as she gazed sideways at him with big blue eyes.
"Mademoiselle." Suleiman greeted her with a formal bow. She was quite cute, though he couldn't shake the feeling he had seen her somewhere before.
"Oh my maiden's modesty!" The girl clutched her face, wiggling her hips in excitement. "That such a handsome and noble sir should gaze upon one so homely!"
"Ah, mademoiselle…" Suleiman was starting to feel awkward. And the voice seemed oddly familiar too.
"Malicorne! Pervert!"
One of the myriad Queen Henriettas approached, and kicked the chubby girl very hard in the crotch. The blonde went down, wailing and squealing as the purple haired girl, her face a mask of rage, kicked her viciously.
"Ah! Ah!" The blonde's voice had deepened. "The Queen is kicking me!" She sounded like she was enjoying it enormously.
"You mean…" Suleiman was shaking. "You mean…that's…"
"Yes, this is Malicorne," explained the Henrietta. "Being a pervert as usual!"
"Don't condemn what you don't understand, Montmorency!" complained the chubby, cute girl who was actually Malicorne.
"What is there to understand?" Montmorency snapped back. "Bouncing around trying to seduce Suleiman! And in a form like that!? You're a disgrace to womanhood!"
"It's because I don't have a girlfriend!" Malicorne griped, struggling to his feet. "I have to make my own entertainment!"
"I don't wish to know that!"
"Forget him, sweet Montmorency! I, your true love, have found you at last!"
All three turned to see who had spoken. All stared in utter disbelief.
"Fair Montmorency! My true heart has seen through your disguise!"
It was Montmorency. Or rather, it appeared to be Montmorency, clad in a glittering pink confection that might have been a gown. It's voice, however, was not hers.
"G…Guiche?" The femme-Malicorne looked thoroughly bewildered.
"Montmorency!" The faux-Montmorency's blue eyes were bright with adoration. "I have done as you asked! As I faced the mirror my heart was filled with love for you, and see, you are my true ideal!"
"Guiche…" The Henrietta-Montmorency stared at her doppleganger, as if she had suddenly sprouted horns. "I was wrong."
"My love?"
"You're an even worse disgrace to womanhood than Malicorne!" shrieked Montmorency. "How could you humiliate me like this!?"
"Montmorency, my darling!" wailed Guiche. "I did only as you asked!"
"And that gown is awful! You have no taste in outfits!"
"Montmorency!" Guiche howled, as Montmorency stormed off. "My love!"
Suleiman watched them go, and let out a long, world-weary sigh. Retreating back to his room for an early night was a very tempting prospect, but he couldn't just leave; not without having found Tiffania.
He took a glass from the table, and sipped it. It was some kind of white wine, but fizzy. He drank it in one gulp, and reached for another.
"It's champagne," explained Malicorne, taking a glass for himself. "You look like you're gonna need it!"
"That is partially your fault," Suleiman complained, downing his drink and reaching for another. "What possessed you to appear like that, Monsieur Malicorne?"
"It's my better aspect!" Malicorne struck a suggestive pose. "Isn't it cute?"
Suleiman really didn't know what to say. Technically the 'girl' was quite cute, but knowing that it was actually Malicorne utterly ruined the effect.
"It's Suleiman!"
Suleiman's heart jumped at the sound of his name. He turned, and for a moment his heart leapt to see Tiffania bounding towards him.
And then he saw three more Tiffanias hurrying along beside her, all of them gallivanting straight for him.
"Suleiman! Aren't I the best Miss Tiffania?"
"No! I'm the only true Miss Tiffania!"
"Suleiman thinks I'm the best!"
Suleiman could hear Malicorne laughing as the Tiffanias crowded around him. He raised his hands to placate them.
"Wait a minute! Wait!" The fourth Tiffania pushed through the trio, wearing an angry look that did not belong on Tiffania's face. "This is why we can't all be Miss Tiffania! What were you all thinking!?"
"You are, Miss Beatrice?" hazarded Suleiman.
"Right first time!" The angry look was replaced by a smirk. "And don't bother denying that you are Suleiman."
"I won't." Suleiman downed his drink in a vain attempt to calm his nerves. "But how did you recognize me before?"
"It was easy!" declared Beatrice. "It's you, but older and noticeably manlier." The other three Tiffanias nodded vigorously in agreement.
"I'll…take that as a compliment," replied Suleiman. "I was about to say, Miss Beatrice…"
"What is this?" keened a voice to his left. Suleiman looked, and saw that one of the four Tiffanias had grabbed his cloak and was holding it against her cheek, a look of perfect bliss on her face. "It's so soft and shiny!"
"It's…Damascene silk," said Suleiman, feeling distinctly awkward. "From Damas…it's a city…" He felt a complete fool.
"It's so nice!" the Tiffania rubbed it against her cheek. "I want a gown made of this!"
"Kitty!" snapped Beatrice, her Tiffania-face red with embarrassment. "Stop that at once! You can't just…!"
Then she trailed off as her other two companions piled in to finger Suleiman's outfit.
"It's so smooth!"
"It's nicer than her highness' dresses!"
"It's nicer than the Queen's dresses!"
Suleiman sighed. He was glad his outfit was only a magical facsimile, or he would feel even more uncomfortable than he already did.
"What's all this racket?" demanded a voice that could only have been Louise. A tall, pink-haired girl who looked a lot like Louise approached, bringing with her what appeared to be Saito.
Except it wasn't Saito. Suleiman had never seen him so…nervous and submissive-looking.
Or so…top heavy…
"Miss Tiffania?" It was just a hunch, but no one else had a bust like that.
"Suleiman!" The faux-Saito suddenly brightened, and Suleiman was certain. Even on Saito's face, he knew that smile. "Who are you? You look magnificent!"
"Ah, thank you, Miss Tiffania…" Suleiman felt himself blush, but the warm glow in his heart more than made up for it. "And you are Monsieur Saito?"
"Yes." Saito-Tiffania lowered her head, blushing even redder than he was. "It's just that…I admire him so much."
"Here, keep Suleiman company." Louise gently pushed Tiffania towards Suleiman. "And if you see Saito, tell him I was here." She hurried off, looking back and forth through the throng of revelers.
"Ah…Miss Tiffania." Suleiman felt his cheeks heat up. There before him was Saito, all red-faced and bashfully smiling. He had never found a boy cute, not like that anyway, but there it was.
Except, it was Tiffania. Only it was Saito. But he was actually Tiffania. But she looked like Saito…
"Suleiman…"
Suleiman glanced at the Tiffanias, who were watching with obvious delight. Behind them, he could see Malicorne leering.
"Where are you, you stupid dog?"
Louise was starting to get worried. She hadn't expected Saito to find her straight away, but the ball had gone on at least an hour, and still there was no sign of him.
She glanced about, looking for his familiar blue coat and black hair, or of some unusual disguise that might be him. But through the hundreds of students and staff, each in a disguise more colorful and bizarre than the last, she could find no trace of him.
Damn it all! It wasn't as if she was making it all that difficult!
She paused, looking down at the ruffled blouse and the ample bosom it concealed. She had not been in the least surprised at the form the mirror had given her. She had always adored her second-eldest sister Cattleya, always hoped that she was the woman she herself would one day become. Her kindness, her grace, her skill with magic, her beauty. All those things Louise had loved, and all those things she had wanted for herself.
But Saito had met her, several times in fact! He should have spotted her instantly; if only to ogle her proportions, the lecherous beast! What was taking him so long?
"Louise…"
She jumped, but the voice was not Saito's. She turned, and saw a tall woman with long blue hair approaching her. She wore a blue gown in the style currently fashionable in Gallia, with a narrow waist, and a stiff white collar extending in a great wide crest behind her head. There was an elegant, gentle air about her; though Louise could have sworn she had seen her somewhere before.
"A drink?" The woman held out a glass of champagne.
"Oh, thank you." Taken aback, Louise took it. The woman watched, smiling serenely, as she took a sip. She couldn't place the taste, but it was pleasant enough.
"Now," said the woman, as she took another sip. "Come with me."
"Yes."
The woman offered her arm. Louise took it, and they walked off together.
"What a beautiful night," commented Suleiman.
Standing on the balcony, his elbows resting on the balustrade, he had a fine view of the countryside surrounding the academy. Behind him, music and the babble of conversation wafted through from the hall.
"It is, isn't it?" Beside him, Tiffania gazed up at the twin moons, her smile beautiful in spite of being on Saito's face. "I've always loved the moonlight, especially when both moons are out."
Suleiman knew what she meant. The moons were high in the night sky, bathing the land in soft violet light. He had always found it soothing, ever since he was a child.
He glanced at Tiffania. It was even more soothing for her being there, no matter what she might look like. But even so, he could not help but be struck at the strangeness of it. Such a sweet, bashful aura should not have been coming from a form like that one. It made him feel…awkward.
"Miss Tiffania," he said, then paused when he realized that he didn't know what to say. What did one say in a situation like this? What would Majid…?
His face fell, as did his heart. How long had it been since he had last seen his old friend? How long since he had thought of Majid?
His sorrow melted into dark, miserable shame. He had forgotten about Majid. He had paid his faithful Ghulam barely a thought for…he didn't know how long. How could he have done it? How could he have gotten so…comfortable in this place?
"Suleiman?" Tiffania's sweet voice pulled him from the darkness. He saw the worry in her eyes, and for a few terrible moments, he did not know what to feel.
"I was just thinking…of Majid," he said. "I…I haven't seen him in so long."
"I'm sorry."
"No! It's not your fault!" Suleiman turned to face Tiffania. Saito's face was sad, those dark eyes full of sorrow and pity. His heart ached at having caused her pain.
"I promised you I would help you find him." Tiffania looked away; out of embarrassment or shame, he could not tell. "But…we've been so busy. Everything's been…so wonderful."
"It's not your fault Miss Tiffania." Suleiman hung his head. "I was so busy helping the Ondines train, and being with you. It was as if…as if he had vanished from my mind. I hardly thought of him, or of my homeland. I…I don't know why."
"How did you meet him?" Tiffania asked. "Your friend, Majid?"
Suleiman stared at her, taken aback by the question.
"I first saw him when I was very young," he said. "He was an orphan, living on the street. My father brought him into his house as a bandaka."
"Bandaka?"
"A bound one." He paused, choosing his words. "I suppose you would say…a slave. My father contracted the Mansahdar Silat to train him as a Ghulam. He has been with me ever since."
He shuddered, as he remembered that day in the harem, the day when they had come for him, and only Majid had been there to protect him. It made his shame all the worse, to have repaid to faithful a bandaka with such neglect.
"I see." Tiffania looked awkward. "I don't know what it means, to have a slave, to be a slave."
"I never meant him any harm." Tears pricked at Suleiman's eyes. "He's like my brother. I wouldn't…I never…"
Tiffania slipped her arms around him, pressing his head against her shoulder. Suleiman accepted the embrace, enfolding Tiffania in his arms, ignoring the strange and unfamiliar form the magic had given her.
"I meant what I said," Tiffania whispered. "I'll help you find your friend. I'll do anything to help."
"Miss Tiffania…"
Suleiman drew back to look her in the eyes. The eyes before him were dark and unfamiliar, Saito's eyes. But his heart saw only her, the her hidden behind the magic.
"Suleiman…"
"Uwaaaahhh!"
Both jumped at the cry. All at once the four Tiffanias were upon them, eyes bright and tearful.
"Suleiman! It's so sad!"
"Suleiman! We'll help too!"
"We'll help you find your friend!"
"Yes! We will!" The Tiffania with Beatrice's voice took centre stage, posing with a flourish. "I, Beatrice von Guldenhorf, will use all my powers to help find your dear companion!"
"Uh…Miss Guldenhorf…" Suleiman was too surprised to manage a proper reply.
"In the meantime…" Beatrice suddenly smirked. "Do please continue."
"Oh yes! Continue!" shrieked the Kitty-Tiffania, bouncing with delight.
"Continue?" Suleiman looked at Tiffania, then at the four leering girls, then back at Tiffania again.
"No!" He backed away, holding up his hands in a panic. "It wasn't…I wasn't going to…I would never…!"
He turned away, the shrieking laughter of the four girls scratching at his mind like fingernails on a blackboard. He looked down at the ground below, desperate for something to draw his attention away from his embarrassment.
Then he saw them; two figures hurrying across the grass towards the main gate. One had short hair, and was leading another girl by the hand; a girl with long pink hair.
"Isn't that Miss Louise down there?"
"Is it?" Tiffania turned around to look. "Why yes, it is. And Miss Tabitha too."
"Where could they be going?" Suleiman wondered aloud, watching as the two girls continued on their way towards the gate.
Tabitha did not stop until she had reached the clump of trees. She glanced behind her, but no one was there. The sound of music playing, and happy voices, echoed across the fields.
"Huh?" Louise blinked. "Tabitha? Where are we?"
"Well done, Charlotte." Sheffield emerged from the darkness like a shadow in the moonlight. Louise saw her, and reached for the wand in her waistband. But Tabitha was faster, and Louise cried out in pain as her staff caught her hand, knocking the wand from it. With a swift kick, Tabitha sent it into the undergrowth, well out of reach.
"Tabitha!" Louise cried, eyes wide with disbelief and betrayal. "Tabitha, why?"
She could not answer. There was no answer.
Louise opened her mouth to scream, but her cry was muffled as Sheffield's hand clamped over it. Louise writhed and struggled, straining to break free; but the dark-haired woman laughed as she held her tight.
"A shame you couldn't bring the Arysian," she mused.
"Impossible," Tabitha replied, unable to look Sheffield in the eye. "Too many witnesses."
"Ah well, my master will be satisfied…for the moment." Sheffield smirked at her, doubtless laughing inside at her desolation, her miserable treachery. "I'm sure you'll have another opportunity."
"Not here." Tabitha's voice was low, barely more than a whisper. "I can't stay."
She had grown to love the academy. It was home, the kind of home she had not known in a long time; not since the day her father died, and she had ceased to be her mother's daughter. It was a place where she could relax, and read, and forget about her troubles. It was the place where she had met Kirche, the only human friend she had ever had.
And him.
"I think you may be right."
It took Tabitha a moment to notice that Sheffield was looking past her, that smirk still on her face. Cursing herself, she turned.
And her heart stopped.
"Louise!"
It was Saito, sprinting towards them across the grass. Suleiman and Tiffania were just behind, restored to their true forms, having passed beyond the Mirror's range. Further behind was Beatrice, standing in the gate shouting and waving her arms.
It was going wrong. Beatrice was no threat on her own, but her Luftpanzer Ritter would respond quickly. She had to get out of there.
But she didn't. Her rational self told her to flee, to call Slyphid and make her escape. But the rest of her didn't respond.
"Tabitha!" Saito yelled. "Get away from there! It's Sheffield!"
"I suggest you destroy him," said Sheffield in a low voice. "Or have you gotten sentimental?"
Tabitha levelled her staff, whispering the syllables. The head, curved like a shepherd's crook, glowed as the magic responded, answering her will. The air grew cold, and before her eyes there glittered tiny motes of ice, growing ever larger as the crystals multiplied and amalgamated. Saito faltered, only then realizing what was coming.
"Icicles."
The glittering shards flew, racing towards Saito like great oversized arrows. Saito dodged, barely avoiding the icicles as they slammed into the ground all around him.
Ice magic, made by combining Water and Wind magic, a favourite of Line class mages that Tabitha had mastered as a young child. It had always been her trademark, for its spells reflected her heart.
"Tabitha!" Saito looked at her much as Louise had done; betrayed and disbelieving. "Why'd you attack me?"
"Miss Tabitha!" Tiffania called out. She and Suleiman were hanging back, frightened and bewildered, uncertain what to do.
Tabitha answered with another flurry of icicles. Saito ripped Derflinger from his scabbard, his Gandalfr tattoo glowing as he levelled the sword to block. The blade glowed, and Tabitha saw her icicles crash into it, shattering like glass.
Behind her, Louise screamed and struggled, her bulging eyes fixed on Saito.
"Why are you taking so long?" demanded Sheffield. "Hurry and destroy him!"
"Tabitha!" bellowed Saito. "Get out of the way, or I'll have to hurt you!"
His eyes were bright with anger, an anger she had seen many times before. His face, that gentle, expressive face, was set hard.
He would hurt her; that she knew for a fact. They had been comrades, it was true, but that could not compare to how he felt about Louise. Yes he ogled and toyed with other women, like Kirche or Siesta or the Queen, when Louise plagued and tired him. But always, always, he came for her.
He would not come for her. Not after tonight. That time was forever gone.
"Imotal lisan Hagaras…"
Above her head, the glittering ice crystals swirled, forming into a single great icicle as long as she was tall. She had to end this battle now, no matter the cost. If she didn't, and he deemed the mission a failure…
"Javelin."
The icicle flew, soaring to spear Saito through the heart. Saito gritted his teeth, and raised Derflinger to block. Tabitha watched, disbelieving, as the icicle struck the glowing blade, and exploded into a cloud of steam and glittering motes. Tabitha screwed up her eyes, trying to see through the haze.
Too late she saw him, emerging from the shimmering cloud, mouth open in a wordless battlecry. She tried to back away, but her legs gave way, and she toppled to the ground. Saito was upon her, sword held above his head, eyes bright with killing light. The blade came down…
Tabitha opened her eyes. Saito was directly above her, straddling her thin body. She could feel the cold of Derflinger's blade on her ear, where he had thrust it into the ground.
He was so close, so very close…
"Why?" she whispered. "You could have…killed me."
Why hadn't he? Why, when he had killed so easily, so many times? At first sight she had thought him an overgrown child, an innocent trapped in an alien world full of dangers he barely comprehended. Yet he had learned quickly, more quickly than she had expected.
Why not just kill her? Why not just get it over with?
"How could I?" There was a terrible pain in his voice, a pain that made her heart clench. "How could I hurt someone who saved us so many times?"
His eyes softened, and his bruised face formed a gentle smile; the sort he might use for a crying child.
"Even for Louise, I couldn't hurt you like that."
And Tabitha knew, in that terrible moment, that it was hopeless.
She could not fight him. She could not harm him. She could not kill him, any more than she could kill Kirche, or Sylphid, or her mother. He was a man like any other, a man with a strange power in a world full of strange powers. She had faced far stranger, far more terrible things, and triumphed over all of them.
But none of them had done what he had done. None of them had found a way into her cold, frozen heart.
She could not do it. She could not explain it, but she could not do it. She could not do it!
"What's taking you so long!" snapped Sheffield, irritation and a hint of fear in her tone. "He's no match for you!"
All those years, she had served his will. She had destroyed his enemies, defeated terrible monsters, done what no one else in the North Parterre could. Her only reward was the proud loneliness of knighthood, and her mother's continued existence. For her, and the vain hope that she might one day be restored, she had endured all.
But no more. All was lost. Unless.
"Get away!" she hissed, pulling herself out from under Saito. She stepped back from him, ignoring his eyes, and brought her fingers to her mouth.
"What're you doing?" demanded Sheffield, as her whistle echoed away into the darkness. Tabitha ignored her, staring down Saito until the shimmer of magic enveloped her, and bore her away.
Suleiman blinked.
She was gone. Tabitha had been standing right there, only to vanish in a flash of blue light.
"What the…?" Saito gaped.
"Haven't seen that in a while," commented Derflinger. "Didn't think she could do that."
A familiar squawk sounded from the academy. Suleiman turned, and a dark shape flashed over the wall, wings flapping hard, soaring away into the night sky. Two more shapes followed, these much larger, snorting and flapping as they pursued.
Had it been Sylphid?
"So much for her," snarled Sheffield. Suleiman glanced at her just in time to see a grimace of feral rage vanish from her face, replaced by that usual smirk. "Not that it matters."
"Why?" snapped Saito. "What did you do to her?"
"Me?" Sheffield feigned offense. "Nothing at all. She is a Knight of the North Parterre, our loyal watchdog here. It's only natural that she would obey my master's orders. And you've even brought the Arysian out for me."
Suleiman felt a chill as he realized that she was looking straight at him. He heard Tiffania gasp.
"Arysian?" Saito tried and failed to look confused. "What Arysian?" Sheffield chuckled, and spoke.
"It walks like an Arysian, and it dresses like an Arysian. Does it sound like an Arysian?"
It was all Suleiman could do not to gape like a fish. How could she speak his native tongue?
"How speak you this language of Arysia?" he demanded, in the same language. "How know you of it?"
Sheffield laughed. Saito and Tiffania gaped at them in utter bewilderment.
"I was born in the city of Antyak, in the quarter of the Artificers," Sheffield went on. Her language was unquestionably Arysian, though the dialect was not one he had ever heard. "Had you previously left Cyrasalem, young nobleborn?"
Suleiman shivered. What she said was true. Never, not until that terrible night, had he gone beyond his country's shining capital. What had followed was days of running, of hiding, of passing like shadows though dark places. There had been no time to wander, to explore, to talk or listen. There had been no time to learn of his country, to hear its many voices.
"If you are Arysian, why are you here?" he demanded, switching back to Gallois.
"Because my master summoned me," replied Sheffield plainly. She looked past him, and Suleiman turned to see six Luftpanzer Ritter in full armour hurrying towards them. Beatrice was still at the gate, jumping up and down and screaming at the top of her lungs. He didn't know enough Germanian to understand, but it didn't sound polite.
"Give it up, Sheffield!" Saito readied Derflinger. "These guys are pretty tough!"
"Are they?"
Upon her forehead, purple runes began to glow. Suleiman felt a strange itching on his chest, an itch he had not felt since he had arrived at the academy. He pulled open his coat, and gasped at the white glow emanating from his chest, from the runes that had been there ever since that night. He heard a grunt from Saito, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw the runes on Saito's hand glow silver, the way they had when he had fought the Luftpanzer Ritter.
What was he? What was Sheffield? What were they?
"I am Miodaitnir, the Mind of God!" proclaimed Sheffield. The purple glow cast her raptor-like face in a weird, unsettling light. "And I will show you my power, noble-born!"
Behind her, the forest rustled as tall, hunched figures emerged from it. Suleiman stared as they stepped into the moonlight. Vaguely human-shaped, their bodies heavily-muscled, their legs bent-back at the knees and ending in cloven hooves. Goat-like heads with curving horns mounted their thick necks, and leathery, bat-like wings hung from their backs. Ragged loincloths covered their nakedness, and straight-bladed swords were gripped in their claw-fingered right hands. On their chests glowed a single, purple rune. Two took up position behind Sheffield, while the rest crowded all around.
"Gargoyles!" Sheffield called out. "Kill them!"
A dozen of the monsters spread their wings and flew, soaring past them and straight at the oncoming knights. One of them got a fireball off, hitting a gargoyle full in the chest and blasting it apart in a flash of purple light. But the rest sped on, falling on the knights with blade and claw.
"Sheffield!" Saito charged at her, but two more gargoyles emerged from the darkness, leaping to block his path. Suleiman watched, helpless, as Saito fought for his life. He screamed as swung, Derflinger's glowing blade slicing a gargoyle in half. But another appeared, charging from the darkness to replace it. Saito struck again, and another replacement came, and another, and another.
"Why do you hesitate, noble-born?" Sheffield asked, her mocking tone cutting Suleiman to the quick. "Have you no weapon? Or will you leave the fighting to others?"
Suleiman gritted his teeth, anger replacing his fear. Saito was holding his own, but how long could that last? Who would rescue Louise if he fell? Who would protect Tiffania?
He brought his hands together.
"Suleiman!" yelled Saito. "Don't do it! I've got this!"
"Suleiman no!" Tiffania pleaded. "Don't use it!"
"I must!" Suleiman snapped back. He couldn't let others fight his battles! He couldn't let others suffer for his sake as Majid had! He couldn't…
A roar like thunder filled his ears, and a hot wind washed over him. He spun around, and saw that the grass behind him had been turned into an inferno. The gargoyles screamed as they were consumed, the Luftpanzer Ritter hurrying back towards the academy, carrying their wounded with them.
Another fireball erupted, this one so close he felt his skin burn. Suleiman flung himself on top of Tiffania, pressing her to the ground as the scorching wind rushed over them.
Then it was gone. The only sound was the crackling of the flames.
"Are you all right, Miss Tiffania?"
"I'm fine!" Tiffania stared straight up, eyes wide. "But…what's that?"
Suleiman rolled off her, ignoring the pain in his back as he looked up at the sky.
And stared.
It swooped down out of the sky, roaring like a neverending thunderclap, clouds of smoke billowing behind it. It rushed over head, so low that he could feel the slipstream; the wind blessedly cool after the heat from before.
Was it the Shahbaz? The divine bird who protected the Royal family? Had it come to protect him, even in this faraway place?
A loud shriek broke his wonder. He looked, and saw Sheffield pull her hand from Louise's mouth, the pale flesh red where she had bitten it. Louise scrambled away, darting towards the undergrowth where her wand had landed.
"Catch her!" shrieked Sheffield, her face a mask of rage. One of the gargoyles moved to grab her, but Saito was already moving, slicing the beast in half with one swift motion. Its brother moved, leaping at Saito with sword raised high. Saito ducked, dodging the swing, and speared the gargoyle through its glowing rune. He stood up, rounding on Sheffield.
But she was already gone.
"Saito!" Louise flung herself upon him, wailing like a child. "Saito!"
"Louise!" Saito wrapped his arms around her, pressing his hand against her soft, pink hair.
In any other place and time, Suleiman would have found it heartwarming. But he had eyes only for Tiffania as he helped her to her feet.
"I'm sorry, Miss Tiffania." And he meant it. "I was no help at all."
"It's all right." Her smile was like cool water on his shamed, burning heart. "I couldn't bear to see you get hurt again. Your power…"
Then she trailed off as the roar returned. Both looked up as the thing descended towards them again. But this time it was much slower, the roar turning into a whump-whump-whump. Suleiman stared as the thing into view, noting the long, thin body and the strange, swept-back wings, and the clouds of black smoke still billowing from its rear.
Was this really the Shahbaz, whom Cyras had called from the heavens to guard her successor? Was this the beautiful and graceful falcon, whose eyes saw all falsehood, and whose cry filled treacherous hearts with fear? Was this the flame-winged guardian, whose fire shielded the pure-hearted and burned only the wicked? Was this lumpen, ugly thing really the Shahbaz?
It wasn't. As it drew closer, coming in to land, Suleiman saw that it was an airship, an airship like none he had ever seen. Its hull had two parts, a lower half plated in metal, and an upper half of wood, from which reached a bare bowspirit. There was no mast, and the wings were solid where they should have been articulated. A great wheelhouse dominated the stern, behind which stood a tall chimney belching smoke, and behind it what looked like a windmill, its spinning blades still slowing down. Two more windmills were fitted to the winds, each with their own belching chimneys.
The ship came to a halt, the impact shuddering through Suleiman's feet.
"Hello!" A man's voice called from the deck. A figure appeared at the gunwhale, and Suleiman could make out a bald head, and a thin body clad in a dark robe.
"Is everyone all right?" the man called again. "I hope we didn't burn anyone by mistake!"
"It…it can't be…"
Suleiman turned at the sound, and saw Saito and Louise staring up at the man as if they had seen a ghost.
"P…Professor Colbert!" Saito yelled, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Darling!" Kirche appeared beside him, waving cheerfully. "Did we miss the ball?"
Wow, that took forever. I can only apologise once again for the long delay. There was a lot to get through in this chapter, and I have to say I'm glad it's done. After this, things should get a bit more interesting.
The Sleipnir Ball was the hardest scene to do. My comedy is hit-and-miss at the best of times, and I found it very hard to squeeze everything in there. I decided to cut Henrietta's involvement, since it really only led to a brief tiff between Saito and Louise that was resolved by the end of the next episode. As for the rest of it, it was the usual question of how to make a familiar scene interesting.