Chapter eighty

Ortia:  the Temple Complex

 

Acting proconsul Marthian was irritated to find that she had had a request from the temple to go to talk to the new High Priestess. The request had been conveyed by messenger to Campanula before Marthian had even risen from bed, and it risked making another bad day worse. 

The city was awaiting its Emperor but its inhabitants were weary. Throughout Ortia there was the hope that their monarch would bring new blood, new resources, and a new sense of security. Only a handful of them yet knew that he would also bring with him a new proconsul. As for Marthian herself, she just hoped that he would come very soon and let her escape from duties that now seemed more burdensome simply because they were suddenly only temporary.

This meant that Marthian was reluctant to do anything very proconsular, and the last thing that she wanted was to have to resume her regular meetings with the High Priestess. That was an honour that the next incumbent could embrace and he was welcome to it.  However, she had received an invitation and so she would have to go. Duty was duty, after all.   

 

Marthian entered the temple area and sat on a stone bench next to a small cascade.  She remembered, with sudden sadness, that this was where she often used to sit and talk with Julia. Then she recalled how difficult those conversations could be, and dreaded having to have yet another one, with a new High Priestess, who might even be worse.  

She looked up. A thin, very young, priestess, frail but smiling, was waving to her.

‘Proconsul’ she said, ‘have you been waiting long?’

Marthian stood up, temporarily taken aback, and shook her head.

‘No – did the High Priestess want us to meet inside the temple? If so, could you go and tell her that I’ll be there very soon’

The priestess came closer and Marthian’s stomach jumped. That was unmistakeably Julia’s toga – it shone with a clear light, as if a lantern were burning underneath the cloth. Their first meeting and she had already offended her – how could she not have seen the damn robe?

‘No, we do not need to meet inside the temple’ answered Aquilegia, ‘this place is lovely, even in winter’

It was a cold, clear day and Marthian was wrapped in a heavy coat and scarf.

‘Won’t you be cold?’ she asked, immediately realising that the High Priestess of the Lady of Ortia almost certainly never got cold.

‘I’m sorry’ she said, instantly, ‘I don’t know why I said that…’

Aquilegia came and sat next to her. Marthian could never recall Julia’s robes appearing quite so bright.

‘Perhaps because you are nervous’ Aquilegia said quietly, taking her hand, ‘and because you are cold’

Marthian could think of nothing to say to this, as both points were true.

‘I’m sorry that you are nervous, proconsul; how can I put you at ease?’

Marthian struggled for something useful to say; she failed to find it.

‘I’m so very sorry, High Priestess,’ gabbled Marthian, ‘I’ve never been very good at these things…’

‘What things? Do you mean conversations?’ asked Aquilegia, ‘you are the proconsul, so how can that be true?’

Marthian took a deep breath and started again. She would try to forget everything that she had said so far and hope for the best.    

‘How is the Lady, High Priestess?’

Aquilegia’s expression remained exactly the same. It was as if the conversation were flowing perfectly normally. This was such a change from Julia and Marthian was trying to work out if she thought it an improvement.

‘She is weak but gathering strength slowly’

‘Good,’ said Marthian, ‘that is really excellent news. I will take that message of hope back to the city’

Aquilegia smiled, with her mouth and her eyes, and, for the first time Marthian noticed that her eyes had an unusual pattern: they were mostly a standard Elven brown, but around the iris was a thin rim of slate grey. She was shocked – she had seen this grey before – it was unmistakeably the colour of Rem’s eyes.

Aquilegia was well aware that Marthian was staring at her, but she seemed as unconcerned by this as she had been by Marthian’s earlier gaucheness. She seemed to exist in some sort of spiritual bubble; it was seriously disconcerting.  

‘How is the city, proconsul?’

‘Falling apart, I’m afraid: the walls are all but useless and the army is down to less than a quarter of its pre-war strength. The hospitals and convalescent homes are full of the injured – and only about half of them will ever see active service again’        

 ‘I am sorry to hear that. But is it not true that the Emperor will come soon to relieve you?’

Marthian wondered for a second how to respond to this. She knew the answer almost immediately – she had to tell the Lady the truth.

‘Yes – he is planning to relieve me – of my duty’

Aquilegia responded completely blankly to this sour pun. She looked searchingly at Marthian in an attempt to extract some meaning.

‘I’m sorry, proconsul, but I do not completely understand you…’

‘To put it plainly – he is bringing with him a new proconsul – an elf named Antonius. I am to step down and return to ordinary civic life’

Aquilegia’s face still remained unreadable, but she was silent for at least a minute. Marthian waited for her next words with considerable interest.

‘That is…’ Aquilegia paused again, ‘an unexpected eventuality… I will have to pass that message on…as soon as possible…’

‘Let’s let the pigeons see that cat’ thought Marthian, with some grim satisfaction.

Aquilegia looked briefly like her bubble was about to burst, but she soon regained her rather ethereal composure.

‘Can I ask you not to respond to the Emperor until we have spoken again?’

‘Well, no, you can’t, I’m afraid. When the Emperor comes I will have no choice but to give up my office’

‘When do you think he will come?’

‘I have no idea – he is far away in the west fighting the Portalian rebels. He could be here tomorrow or he could be delayed by weeks’

‘Perhaps, then, we might hope he is delayed for a little longer’ said Aquilegia absentmindedly.

Marthian was shocked, both by the sentiment in the high priestesses words and by how readily she agreed with it.

‘Is the Lady not keen to see the Emperor’s return?’ 

‘She has not said…’ Aquilegia hesitated for a moment, weighing her words ‘…but she hasn’t really expressed much enthusiasm for his return either’

Marthian couldn’t resist digging a little deeper.

‘Do you know what she thinks of the Emperor?’

 ‘She thinks that his rule is neither excessively impressive nor extremely unjust, but it may not be extended for much longer, anyway… ’

‘Is that a prophesy, high priestess?’

 ‘A better ruler is waiting…’

‘What do you mean by that, High Priestess?’

Aquilegia’s smiled faded and she looked as small and fragile as she had before they had spoken. For a moment the Lady was not with them.

‘I’m not entirely sure’ she said, shivering, ‘I think it may be, but I am can’t say for certain. I am newly appointed and not everything is quite clear to me’  

She let go of Marthian’s hand and stood up. She hesitated for a second.

‘I must leave now. Is it acceptable to embrace you in farewell? I do not know the correct form, I’m afraid, between leader and priestess’

Marthian stood and hugged her without hesitation. It seemed that despite their exalted positions both of them felt weak and uncertain. And something in the Lady had changed – it was not clear what the change presaged, but something was different. Marthian wasn’t sure whether even Aquilegia knew yet exactly what that change implied.

The High Priestess broke free and turned back towards the temple. After she had gone Marthian stood for a while looking at where she had been standing, wondering about her. Eventually she walked away, shaking her head. She wouldn’t have Aquilegia’s job for a million elfrounds.

Chapter eighty-one

Kinspit

 

John had got nowhere looking for Macrocephalos, but he had found some useful information. He discovered, after several interviews with academics, current and retired, that the scholar had left the University several decades ago – ‘just the other day’ according to the elven lecturers.  He didn’t seem to have many friends and no-one knew where he had gone. However, he had found an old student who had kept his lecture notes, and he had borrowed them. He was greatly looking forward to reading them, but he was finding it hard to find the time, particularly as Laurence was away again.

There were, for example, a lot of boring meetings with Consul Ridgeway, the local representative of the Ethian government, who was constantly fishing for information about the Crimson Flame Knights’ progress. Form demand that he had to pretend to know something, when in reality he knew almost nothing beyond the snippets that Marthian sent him. These visits were  only enlivened by the presence of the rather beautiful Captain Eistedd, who was fun to flirt with, but who had turned out to be just on the wrong side of rather dim.  Still, decorative but dull was fine in small doses.

He also still had Owen as a guest. This had been fine when first Laurence and then Celia had been at the house. But after Celia had left to look after Kathleen, he had had to cater for him and entertain him. It wasn’t that Owen was unsociable or taciturn, in fact he was warm and witty, but he was very different from John. For a start, he was a westerner and wasn’t tremendously impressed by the more outré night life in Kinspit. This meant visiting only the most staid restaurants, and lots of early nights. The conversation didn’t exactly flow either – they either talked shop or about Celia. Talking shop was fine, but it got a bit wearisome to have to concentrate on it for too long. As for Celia, John thought she was a lovely person, and an amazing witch, but knew that they would only ever skirt around the really interesting question – would Owen ever be able to admit to himself (and to her, of course) that he was in love with her. Owen and John really didn’t have the kind of friendship where they shared confidences of that kind, so it was mostly talking round in circles.

The reason why Owen was still with him was because the patched up space-time tear at the back of John’s kitchen had begun to bulge. It looked like a big blue blister as it bowed out the wall in the hidden room that had once contained the secret vault. As long as Owen attended to it for several hours a day then it got no bigger, but he couldn’t do that forever, and both he and John knew that they need to find out what was causing the renewed disturbance in the Outer Void.

John also thought that Owen was now beginning to worry about Celia, as she had been gone for several days. John knew that Owen would really like to send a mail to her, but what excuse did have to do so?

 All they had heard from the Twins was that Celia had contacted them about Boo and that they were worried about Laurence. For several days John had anxiously looked for a new trace from Hardacre, but there had been nothing at all since the twins had talked to him in the hyper bag. Before that there was a perhaps ten day old strong pulse, now fading to red, and after that a series of fairly small pulses. He wasn’t very good at judging the complicated product of trace size and age, which were all the clues one got concerning a witch’s remote activities. However he had got Owen, who was probably the best of all of them at this task, to check Hardacre’s traces, independently, and he had broadly agreed with John.  At that point, John had begun to really worry, and he had vowed to himself to teleport instantly to the next trace that Hardacre made, if any ever came again, wherever he was. He’d also decided to use some of small reservoir of magical energy that was stored in the fabric of the house, so that when he arrived he would not be excessively fatigued.  

 

When it did come, in the early evening as he was putting on a jacket in his dressing room, it was both a relief and a shock. Mixed with Hardacre’s trace was another very familiar one – Celia’s. It might be coincidence, of course, it could be that they were casting very similar strength spell in completely different places, but he very much doubted it. It was almost certain that they were in some dangerous place together.

John’s instinct was to teleport immediately, but he resisted it long enough to go down to talk to Owen. He ran down the stairs, but made sure he checked his progress into the kitchen, so that Owen would have no inkling about what was happening.

Owen was making himself a cup of tea. He looked very tired.

‘Just taking a quick break’ he said, ‘and then few more cords to tie up before supper’

‘How is it?’ asked John, as calmly as he could manage. His heart began to race, as he began to imagine the perils that his two friends might be facing.

Owen frowned.

‘Still not great, I’m afraid, but it’s holding’

John steadied himself against the kitchen table. He had to tread carefully.

‘That’s not good at all’ he mumbled, ‘and such a shame…’

Owen looked at him quizzically

‘A shame? What do you mean?’

‘I was going to suggest that we go and see how Celia and Kathleen are getting on in Fanemouth – we’d only need to be gone for the evening…’

Owen shook his head.

‘That’s a very tempting idea, John – but I think I can only risk leaving the anomaly for an hour or so. Any longer than that might be pushing it rather’

John breathed in deeply. This was the problem with being the leader; you had to make all the tough decisions. He knew what he had to do but he knew that, if anything happened to Celia, Owen might never be able to forgive him.  But he was also all too aware that if he told Owen the truth then he would want to help Celia at any cost, and that was a risk that he wasn’t willing to take. If it all went wrong then they could all die and then the Outer Void would erupt into the real world again. Who would stop it then? He needed Owen here and he was willing to lie to ensure that he stayed.

‘That’s a shame’ said John, forcing himself to smile, ‘well, I’ll try to persuade Celia to come back with me – I’m sure that Kathleen must be well by now…’

Owen smiled a twitchy smile back at John. His hands fumbled with the kettle.

‘…only if she’s not needed there, of course…’ he said, half-heartedly.

John had already turned to hurry out of the door.

‘I’ll make sure of that’ he said

‘Have a good evening…’ shouted Owen to John’s back.

As soon as John had left the kitchen he sprinted for his study, scooped up some mail papers and teleported directly to the trace.   

 

Chapter eighty-two

From Ortia to Huatalacan

 

The story was the same for the whole of the journey – they were rushing to aid the Baron and they couldn’t really stop to discuss it further.  This took them rapidly passed bemused check points and supply encampments, and even under the noses of the sparse defenders in Monurbis.  Victoria was impressed, despite her well-honed reactions to Otto, by the way that he dealt with the soldiers; he was authoritative without being patronising, and they seemed to accept him readily as a leader. Some things clearly had changed since they first met, when he had been a lazy, self-indulgent, princely heir.

At Monurbis they established quickly that the Crimson Flame army had moved on, and so decided to follow their trail to Huatalacan. Their hunch was that that was where Hardacre would have gone too.

They made sure that they camped as far away from check points as possible, so that Victoria and Gerard could stretch their legs and eat with the others. No-one really knew why Gerard was still with them, but he seemed to believe that he was now an Imperial retainer and so, if he continued to tag along, he would be paid. According to his reckoning he now had a sum of three thousand elfrounds, which would keep him in luxury in Teulaccen for several years.  He was tolerated because it would have been too much like hard work to challenge him.

Most of the stops were uneventful, and they had hurried through the pass to avoid the biting cold of winter. Stopping anywhere on along that narrow road would have been almost unbearable.  After that the weather became much warmer, and even though they knew that they were now in Tlaxaca, they felt somewhat heartened. Even Victoria was slightly more polite to Otto, as at least he was doing exactly what she wanted.

However, on one of their last stops before Huatalacan, six days out from Monurbis, they had just stopped for the evening when they were ambushed. From out of the woods to their left came a sudden singing, from a host of beautiful voices. This was so unexpected that the whole small Pale Flame army stopped to listen. The song was warm and soft, a long sinuous melody that spoke of home and hearth and bed. As one the man soldiers remembered their homes – their children, their wives and their mothers – and the softness of their beds, which they had not slept in for so long. And then the ground seemed so comfortable, so inviting, that they just had to lie down and have a few moments’ sleep…

Victoria and Gerard withstood the song the longest, trying hard to break free, yawning and blinking. Gerard struggled to find the governess, tripping over the slumbering bodies until he was beside her.  He shook himself.

‘Hit me!’ he said

‘What?’ asked Victoria, in astonishment. 

‘To try to keep me awake…’

‘Well, in that case… with pleasure’

Victoria slapped him as hard as she could. He staggered back, but it was no good, his eyes were already closed. He fell softly on to a pile of knights but was smiling broadly as he fell. ‘My… you really are very strong…’ he murmured before falling under the sleep enchantment.  

 Victoria resisted. She knew exactly what this was – this was a lullaby. And she knew how children resisted lullabies: with pointless unfocused raw anger. It was time to rattle her toys and throw them out of the cot.

‘How dare you all fall asleep!’ she shouted at the top of her voice, ‘How dare you leave me here all alone! Otto – you are useless, and so are you Gerard… and how could Hardacre go off and take Lily! And how could Lily be so utterly feckless! I hate all of you, all you useless fools and cowards!’

She plunged into the wood, hoping somehow to stop the song.

‘And most of all, most of all – I hate and despise and loathe you bloody stupid singers with your bloody stupid songs  – you have no right at all to attack us like this! I hate you hate hate hate hate HATE YOU!’

She came face to face with Euphorbia, who had come running up to identify the extraordinary noise.  She stared at Victoria, quite astonished. Without really knowing why she put her long index finger to her lips and whispered ‘shush’.  There was a short pause and then they both started laughing. At that moment, for Victoria, the spell was forever broken.

‘Cease!’ shouted Euphorbia. The Orbiverdi around her stopped singing. It was only then that Victoria realised how strange the creatures were around her. She knew who they were, however, as they had been well briefed by Hardacre.

Victoria bowed very low.  

‘I am at your service and at the service of the Emperor’ she said.

Once again Euphorbia was astonished.

‘Who are you?’ she asked, breathlessly.

Victoria’s Visneorian was good, but rusty. However, this was the clearest, most musical, and best enunciated version of that language that she had ever heard. No wonder their singing was so good.

‘I am Victoria Jenkins, from Eth’ she said, ‘and searching, I am, for my princess’

 Euphorbia’s eyes widened as she searched for a reply to this.

‘Is this the best place to be looking for a princess?’

They both smiled again, and Victoria shook her head.

‘Not on the face of it, no…’

The conversation petered out in mutual incomprehension. Victoria remembered what the Orbiverdi had just done.

 ‘Why have you put to sleeping all the soldiers?’ she asked, but with no trace of anger left in her voice.

 ‘We needed to talk to General Otto, and thought this was the simplest way. We meant no harm – we know that they are auxiliary Imperial units – we were warned of your coming by the proconsul of Ortia’

‘That’s an impressive trick’ said Victoria, looking back at the thousand or so men sleeping soundly on the road

‘So was yours’ said Euphorbia, ‘you are clearly very strong’

Victoria shook her head.

‘No – just very stubborn’

Victoria shook herself free of Euphorbia’s emerald eyes.  These felt very like friends but they could very well still be enemies.

‘When will they wake up?’

 ‘In an hour or so’ explained Euphorbia, ‘they will awake quite refreshed…’

‘Well, that will be nice for them’ murmured Victoria, feeling irritation returning.

‘We were trying to avoid bloodshed’

‘Why do you want to speak to Otto, anyway?’

‘I need to talk to him, personally’

‘What do you want to talk to him about?’

‘I can’t tell you – I need to see to him in private. I have someone with me that he needs to meet’

Victoria noticed, out of the corner of her eye, something completely out of place beginning to move. It was a short woman, dressed in the same green robes as her companions. 

The woman stepped forward and put out her hand.  Victoria shook it in a daze.

‘Miss Jenkins’ said Kathleen, ‘I think that I may know your sister…’

Victoria frowned, feeling, beyond her immediate astonishment, even here, the pain of having such a successful sibling.

‘It seems’ she said bitterly, ‘that everybody does’  

 

Once all the knights had been woken and after a lot of explanations, it was established that both parties were on the same side and that they both had urgent missions in common. At first, Otto said very little – he was ashamed to find out that Gerard had lasted longer than him before succumbing to the spell, and was also disturbed by the surreptitious glances that Gerard was now giving Victoria. It seemed that Victoria’s actions had bestowed on her a glamour that could even affect a robber and a thief. That thought made his flesh crawl.

 Otto and Euphorbia had a long conversation in private and both established that they could work together. They were like chalk and cheese, but both of them had dedicated their lives to the Empire, and, until recently, neither had ever been inside an Imperial city. Between them, too, they represented a significant, if unorthodox, force who were both equally unenthusiastic about bloodshed and terror.  From these beginnings they developed a mode of working that satisfied them both. They concluded immediately that they would not risk any lives unnecessarily.  

After the meeting they talked to Victoria and Kathleen. The two women had had a chance to talk too, and they too had come to an understanding: they both needed to find Laurence and were determined that they should do it as soon as possible. They stood next to each other in the forest clearing with Otto and Euphorbia in front of them. It looked like a curious double duel, but with no swords and no wounds.

‘We need to decide what to do next…’ said Euphorbia

‘…bearing in mind our duties and responsibilities’ continued Otto

Victoria stood impassive, but Kathleen was frowning.

‘And what does that mean?’ she asked

‘We need to do what is best for the Empire…’ said Otto

Euphorbia nodded, ‘It is a difficult task, but we will do what we can’

‘You promised to help me…’ pointed out Kathleen, in a low voice. She still felt very tired and drained.

‘Of course’ said Euphorbia, ‘within the strictures of the Imperial law’

‘The way ahead seems to us very dangerous’ said Otto, ‘and we have discussed what might be done’

‘Yes’ said Euphorbia, ‘we fear that travelling any further may represent an unsustainable risk …’

‘But not acting may be even more dangerous…’ said Kathleen, ‘I’m sure that Laurence and Lily need our help and who knows what they are struggling against’

Euphorbia and Otto looked at each other, but neither of them found suitable words.

‘We are not sure of the correct path’ said Euphorbia, stumbling over her words, ‘all ways seem fraught with danger’

‘We feel that we cannot, in all conscience, put any more lives at risk’ continued Otto, gravely

Kathleen was about to respond forcefully to this when Victoria put up her hand to stop her. She glared at Otto.

‘What, exactly, were your orders from the Emperor, grandmaster?’  

Otto paused. He coughed as if he were about to give a speech that he had had too little time to learn.

‘His instructions were vague, as you know’

Victoria nodded, but her eyes were fierce.

‘So, do you have any more recent imperial orders?’

Otto was shocked.

‘How do you know about the proconsul’s orders?’

‘I don’t, but I guessed she must have given you some. Anyway, what were they?’

Otto responded to this reluctantly. ‘To give help to Mr Hardacre and Princess Lily and to find out that the Baron is doing’

Victoria sighed and turned on her heels. She looked back at the others impatiently.

‘Well let’s get on with it, then’ she said, ‘I don’t know why we wasted all this time talking…’

Chapter eighty-three

Ortia: the Proconsul’s Palace

 

The frost between the proconsul and her general had thawed somewhat after Gaius and Viola had returned, as the most obvious excuses for friction had been removed. As Aurelian had promised, however, there had been no kissing for a long time: it had become a habit that neither of them liked but neither of them would give way on. Both of them missed it a great deal, however.

There were still a lot of unanswered question that neither of them really wanted to address. Now, though, that Marthian feared another attack from the east, they really had to talk, and so she had summoned him to her office. They sat opposite each other across the desk.

‘Is it another attack from the knights, do you think?’ asked Aurelian

Marthian had a map of the East rolled open on her big mahogany table. She was staring closely at the bit labelled ‘Tlaxaca (formerly Eddorre)’.

‘What did you say, general?’

‘Is it von Eisen’s lot?’

‘The High Priestess wasn’t at all clear. She is, if anything, even more obscure than Julia was. Also, she has funny eyes’

‘Funny eyes? What do you mean?’ 

‘Oh nothing – she can’t control the pattern of her eyes…ignore me’

Aurelian looked at her as if she was mad, but his expression was entirely sympathetic.

‘What’s she like?’

‘Nothing like Julia – but then I think the Lady has changed as well. Something has happened to her, but I can’t get to the bottom of what it is’

‘She’s very weak – is that what it is?’

Marthian shrugged.

‘It’s not just that… anyway, maybe Aquilegia will be clearer next time…’

‘I don’t suppose it matters much anyway – we can’t resist any kind of attack any more’

Marthian smiled at him. Her hand brushed against his. Her voice was unusually gentle.

‘It is true, though, also, that we have said that several times before, darling, and we are still here’

She paused and took his hand in hers. Aurelian thought that she looked unusually determined. 

‘And not all of the Lady’s prophesies come true…’

Aurelian refused to cheer up, although he was delighted to feel her touch again.

‘If the barbarians come back then we’re finished and if the emperor comes back we’re also finished’

‘I’m afraid that’s true…’ 

‘So, anyway, if we do survive – what exactly do we have to look forward to?’ 

 Marthian looked intently at him for a second and then leant across the table. She put her two palms on the side of his head.

‘There’ll still be this’ she said, pulling his head forward so that their lips almost met. She waited a heartbeat and then she kissed him, for a very long time. 

 

***

‘This is a waste of time’ said Kath, ‘I have no idea what the proconsul thinks we can do…the whole thing is very clearly buggered: Marthian knows it, I know it and you know it’

They were walking in front of the partially rebuilt city walls – a jumble of ancient masonry, concrete and scaffolding. The masons were still working hard but it was clear that most of what they were doing was cosmetic. Soon the city would look almost as beautiful as it had before, but with only a fraction of the defensive power. 

Viola had no real idea how to respond to Kath’s grumbles, but she had to say something.

‘She just wants you to see if there’s anything that can be done to help fix the walls – you know that’

Potentilla was tagging along, mostly because she had no real role now in the city. Sitting around and waiting really didn’t suit her.

‘Is there, Kath?’ she asked eagerly ‘after all you’ve done some great stuff in the past… have a poke around with your tool thingies…’

Kath sighed. She felt that she had been bad at handling expectations here. The walls had been destroyed by outer void creatures under the control of a god. What could she expect to do about it? 

Viola looked down at the foundations of the wall and shivered – there was still music down there, deep familiar music – and she knew that only she could hear it. Why was that? How could she know how to open the door to the bell tower? And at Adrial’s wall – how did she know how to control those damn spheres? And above all else why on earth had Ophia chosen her?  It wasn’t as if the music was very quiet – she only had to put her ear close to the ground and listen carefully and there it was. She had no intention of telling anyone about it though – not yet.

‘Just have a quick look, Kath’ she said, in Ethian, ‘just to keep the boss happy’

‘Do you mean you?’ snapped back Kath, annoyed at this sudden use of human slang, ‘are you my “employer”’.

Viola frowned sourly and reverted back to Visneorian.

‘Of course not… by “boss”I meant…Marthian…‘

She glared at Kath, and then stood very close to her with her arms folded. Kath proceeded to take her tools out of her bag so slowly that Potentilla got bored and wandered off to look at some cows.

Viola knew that once Kath began to examine the wall carefully she would not be able to do a slap-dash job; she would have to finish it. So, Kath took out her funnels and her gauges, her rulers and her rods, and she investigated the whole of one section of the wall.

Two hours later she returned to where Viola and Potentilla were having their lunch – picnicking on a green table cloth on the short grass in front of the wall.

Potentilla looked up.

‘What’ve you found out, Kath?’

Kath sat down and took a cheese sandwich. She made sure she had eaten several bites before she responded.

‘It’s buggered’

Potentilla looked disappointed, but she soon rallied.

‘But you can fix it, yes?’

‘Nope’

Viola reached out and took Kath’s sandwich.  Kath spluttered indignantly.

‘These are Imperial rations. I won’t allow you any more until you give us some details of what you’ve found’

Kath sighed, and breathed in deeply. She shook herself and then assumed her scholar’s voice.

‘The wall was built to have a network of interstitial channels that clearly carried the magical energy around the structure. The rays have completely destroyed that structure: all we can see now is the remains of some pipes at the base of the walls. I have analysed – as best I could with the crude techniques I have at hand – the structure of the pipes and I have no idea what they are made of’

Viola handed back Kath’s sandwich and then poured her a glass of wine, as extra encouragement.  Kath gulped down both and then continued.

 ‘The foundations are still intact, of course, as we suspected, and there seems to be a reasonable reservoir of Dwarven Magic thaums down there. However, there’s only one way to get the power back into the walls’

‘How?’ asked Potentilla, eagerly. Viola waited, equally hopefully, for the answer.

 Kath paused for effect before continuing.

‘If you can persuade Quiena and half a dozen or so dwarfs to come back and rebuild the bloody thing’

Kath poured herself another glass of wine and picked up an apple.

‘Happy now?’ she asked

‘No’ replied Viola, frowning at her friend, ‘of course not’

Kath grinned and sunk her teeth into the apple. She mumbled merrily through her full mouth.

‘Well, I did warn you’