In consideration of both the long delay since the last installment and the occurrence of Fred and George Day, we present — two chapters ahead of schedule — an extract from My Wizard Memes by Thor Ditcoff, as found on the bookshelves of Nicolas Flamel. —Ed.


Child, my man did your father great wrong. If you come to us I will do my best to atone, but you must never ask me what for. My lips are sealed.
— Mrs Judith Starkadder.

"A rule to remember!" roared the Red Queen. "Never make a mess without cleaning it up first."
— Timothy Budd.

If you know enough math, everything is related to everything else.
— S. Dardmodel.

#

Westward Ho! (2½: Sidebar).

"Oh, I say, Memes!" I blurted through the breakfast nectar. "That really is rummy. Will you truly turn in your notice if I take Hera to wife?"

"A regretful necessity, my lord Zeus," said Memes. "It would not be an happy union."

"But she's such a smashing jeune fille!"

"Smashing is most apt term, sir. Despite her undoubted, indeed divine, charms, the lady is of chronic ill-temper."

He had me there — yours truly may have an exclusive in the lightning and thunder line, but my immortal beloved not infrequently went off like five-alarm flash-paper at the least provocation. Or do I mean touch-paper? Whichever one has more explosions. "Yes, I rather suppose she is, being father's daughter," I said.

"All the more reason, sir," said Memes.

I ruminated my way through a bit more ambrosia. He was quite right, of course; it was bound to be that rare marriage made in heaven that couldn't work out. That Homer chap calls the lady in question cow-eyed, but when she gets her dander up she can give basilisks a run for their money, and then it becomes the umpty-umpth labour of Hercules to retain my jovial mood — and if I haven't got that, what have I?

"Memes, have basilisks got legs?"

"No, sir, not since Tuesday last."

Well, there went a perfectly good metaphor, but these things happen. I came to a decision.

"There's nothing for it, then, Memes," I declared. "We shall simply have to find a way to break the engagement, ideally without self taking too many meteors to the celestial brain-pan."

He began clearing away the breakfast things. "I believe I may have a suggestion toward that end, sir."

"Do you know, I rather thought you might. Suggest away."

"It occurs to me, sir, that if it be true that the hottest blood is best soothèd by the coolest climes, the estate of your brother Hades would provide an excellent locus for her ladyship, in many ways."

Cool was certainly the word for him — Hades, I mean. Phlegmatic, that was one too. Melancholic, another winner. In a way, an ideal match. The question that came to mind was, why should she entertain the cross-domain transition under present circs? I posed it and gave Memes the eyebrow expectant.

He met it with aplomb. "You may find, sir, that she has already entertained that notion of her own will. If you will recall the lady Eris's wedding reception?"

I did, though I couldn't immediately see the relevance. But this being a prompt from Memes I gave dear old Mnemmy the mental what-ho and soon the salient details were leaping out like mortals flushed from the reeds at the Love Goddesses' Swim Meet. "Hum," said I, and then hum-ed again. "Do you know, Memes, I suddenly recall it differently."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Indeed indeed, Memes," I said, for it was so. A number of hitherto barely noticed incidents during the course of that Terpsichorean evening had suddenly recast themselves in an entirely new light of the mind. Those mysterious sighs she heaved over my port-side shoulder—when he grimly pirouetted past. Those wandering eyes, their gazes strangely lingering—o'er his darkly handsome visage. And so thingummy on, though I kept circling back to the item just mentioned. "My brother does have a darkly handsome visage, Memes."

"It has been noted, sir," said Memes, and I became vaguely aware he had wisped away with the table detritus and then condensed again, elapsed time approximately nil. Not one to waste even a moment of eternity, Memes.

"Very well then, so mote it be," said I. "But how best to bestir the Plutonian mope into taking up the gauntlet d'amour?"

"In that regard, sir, I am informed that there is an existing plot to drive the gentleman a-frenzy over the goddess Persephone."

I was shocked, which was only fair on a day of turnabout. "Hello! Surely not my dear Persephone of the flowered fields and glad and songful air?"

"The very same, sir."

"I wonder if she still says 'la'?"

"As of this morning, sir."

"Oh, have you seen her?"

"I happened to encounter the young lady whilst I was gathering your breakfast ambrosia. She was collecting white lilies and sweet violets for the purpose of constructing garlands for parfait gentil unicorns in need. She said 'la' several times within my hearing."

"A bit ditsy, that girl."

"I should prefer to say of a champagne-like personality, sir."

"Regardless, Memes — my daughter, dippy or not, is necessarily undeserving of unwanted Erosian attentions! They will be Erosian, will they not?"

"Yes, sir, else I would not have discovered the plot; the god of love is somewhat of a gossip. As averting two ill fates is desirable, and the plan's execution near at hand, I would advise an intervention as close to the present moment as possible."

I rotated out of my throne and leaped to the divine feet. "Not a moment to lose, then, Memes!" said I. "Ready my lightning quiver!" (Which, of course, he already had done, and was merely awaiting the point d'appui to present it me.)

"Very good, sir. You will find the chariot of Helios waiting at the door."