The
Emergency Mail Message[1]
was very short:
“Strange blue clouds in Mr Ismay’s
kitchen. Send help. Simkins. “
Gwyneth sighed as she read it out.
‘And at that point the courageous servant ran for his life’
Bronwyn shook her head.
‘Wouldn’t anyone?’
‘Not really my point… he could have stayed long enough to give us
another line of information on the EMM’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘We’ll see’
Gwyneth had wandered into Bronwyn’s study, which Bronwyn always hated.
She wasn’t a very tidy or particularly well-organised person and she always
felt the weight of her sister’s disapproval growing heavier during every second
that they were together in the room. She picked up several books from the
floor, half-heartedly, as they talked.
‘Are these spell books?’
Bronwyn blushed and mumbled. Gwyneth sighed loudly and deeply.
‘I’m pretty certain that those bent pages will need to be re-annealed’
Gwyneth wagged her finger at the books. Bronwyn plonked them on the
desk and then stood between them and her sister. Gwyneth smiled coldly.
‘I’m not at all surprised that we haven’t been asked to participate in
any of those University twin studies’
‘Stop it, Gwyn – it really isn’t helping. We need to think about the
EMM’
‘Not much to think about – we need to send someone over to Kinspit as
soon as possible’
‘Of course’
‘Particularly as we’ve heard nothing from John or Laurence for some
time’
‘I know’ said Bronwyn, glancing suddenly out of her window, ‘I really
hope they’re both safe and well’
‘Laurence will be, I’m sure, he’s sound and sensible… and it’s hardly
rare for John to be out of contact, is it?’
‘I suppose not, but…’
‘Who’s best for this job, do you think?’ asked Gwyneth,
interrupting.
Bronwyn narrowed her eyes.
‘Owen, of course’ she answered, ‘he’s really clever with anomalies’
Gwyneth made a face.
‘You really think so?’ she said, barely trying to hide a groan.
Bronwyn glanced up, trying to read her sister’s face.
‘Well, why not? He’s a very talented witch’
Gwyneth scowled.
‘I suppose so. And, of course, with Owen you get two for the price of
one’
Bronwyn frowned and shook her head.
‘Really, Gwyn, I wish you’d stop going on about that’
‘She’ll be there’
‘Celia? Why would she be?’
Gwyneth laughed.
‘Why do you think? Sometime I’m astonished at how poor your knowledge
of the human heart is… Although given your track record, maybe I shouldn’t be...’
Bronwyn continued to shake her head. She turned to leave the room.
‘And I’m astonished at how much you read into the smallest thing’ she
said, ‘I don’t see what’s wrong with them being friends’
‘There’s nothing wrong with
any of it. I just don’t like people fooling themselves. I wish they’d get on
with it, preferably as far away from me as possible’
Bronwyn stopped and folded her arms.
‘Get on with what?’
‘Forming a bond, falling in love, all that palaver’
‘No, Gywn – don’t be silly. It’s just professional. Why would you think
that?’
Gwyneth tut-tutted and began to make her way out of the room.
‘Come on’ she said, ‘let’s see if we can get hold of them’
‘Him’ muttered Bronwyn as they left.
***
They walked
out into the morning sunlight to the square of bare rock where they chalked
their communication circle. It was the only clear area in the wild tangle of
plants that Bronwyn insisted on calling their ‘wildlife garden’. They could
have made it so the circle was there continuously, but both of them enjoyed the
established ritual, with one chanting and the other chalking. However different
they may become, all twins like to share some things.
Gwyneth, as usual, spent a long time creating the structure. With the
chalk carefully positioned in her left hand she was able to draw an almost
perfect circle. At the same time Bronwyn spoke the incantation that activated
the circle and then created a window into Owen’s workshop. Bronwyn’s face was screwed up in
concentration.
‘Something’s wrong’ she said, ‘there’s some sort of interference’
Gwyneth stopped chalking the third of the five points required inside
the circle. She looked up quizzically.
‘I didn’t do anything. It must be you’ she snapped
Bronwyn frowned and then gestured vaguely into the air.
‘It isn’t either of us. There’s something trying to block the signal’
‘Can you do anything about it? Maybe we should swap?’
Bronwyn’s lips set into a thin line, but she didn’t resist. They
changed places.
Bronwyn finished the pentacle and then walked over to where Gwyneth was
chanting. She noticed, with quiet satisfaction, that her sister’s forehead was
beading with sweat.
A thick fog was billowing up inside the circle. They both exchanged a
knowing glance; this had happened before.
‘CRS’ they both whispered, as one voice.
‘Why are they doing it now?’ asked Bronwyn, peering into the fog.
‘Probably because John’s house is full of blue clouds – what do you
think…?’ answered Gwyneth, ‘can you see anything in there?’
Bronwyn peered into the yellowy
grey fog. There was definitely something moving inside the circle, something
approximately human in size and shape.
‘I think I can see him – although it’s all very unclear’ she said. They
both stared hopefully into the fog. They both saw the same figure – no more
than a silhouette.
‘Yes, I think he’s there’ said Gwyneth, taking a step backwards.
‘You talk to him’ she said, pushing her sister forward gently ‘he seems
to think that I’m rude, for some reason’
‘Owen, can you hear us?’ asked Bronwyn as she peered into the mist. The
silhouette was now more clearly visible in mid-air, but it obviously was a tall
female form. It waved.
‘Is that you, Bron? I can’t see a thing’
Bronwyn stared intently into the haze. She looked puzzled. Gwyneth couldn’t conceal a little snorting
laugh.
‘Celia?’ said Bronwyn
‘That’s me!’ said Celia. They could only recognise her by her voice.
‘I don’t know how things look at your end’ she continued, ‘but I can’t
see a thing!’
She paused.
‘Lovely to hear from you though…’
‘Yes, as always’ said Bronwyn, ‘but, I’m wondering. We were trying to
get Owen. Did we make an address mistake?
The white cloud that was Celia laughed a very rich alto laugh.
Alongside it, as a sort of bass accompaniment, they now heard a deep Rhylic
voice. It was a curiously gentle voice for one of such low frequency, and when
combined with Celia’s it made something rather heartening.
‘He’s just here’ said Celia, ‘do you want a word?’
The swirl of fog shifted to reveal a human figure at least two inches
shorter than the one that it had replaced and several inches wider.
‘Told you’ said Gwyneth, very quietly, her eyes creased with victory.
The deep voice came booming out of the fog.
‘Bronwyn! I can’t see you but I can tell you’re there. Why is it so
hazy? Have you got a branch on your points again?’
Bronwyn began to shake her head but then realised that that might be a
futile gesture.
‘No, Owen, the CRS are using the blocking spell. We could only just
make contact’
‘Bastards’ he said, very slowly and clearly, rolling the word out like
a bowling ball.
‘We need to hurry’ said Gwyneth, raising her voice so that they could
all hear her, ‘we may not be able to keep the connection for long’
‘Right’ said Owen, ‘what do you two wise souls require from us?’
‘Us?’ said the laughing voice behind him, ‘what are you volunteering me
for now, O?’
Gwyneth stepped forward. She’d had enough of this.
‘We need you to go to John’s house in Kinspit and sort out the blue
clouds in his kitchen’
There was a brief silence at both ends of the conversation.
‘What did she say, O?’ asked Celia, rather muffled.
‘John has a kitchen full of blue clouds’ explained Owen, ‘we have to
get rid of them’
‘Sounds intriguing!’ murmured Celia, ‘when shall we start?’
‘Now’ said Gwyneth, impatiently. She saw no need to extend the
conversation any further. Her foot was poised to scuff out a point of the
pentangle.
‘And take care’ shouted Bronwyn, ‘we have no idea what’s going on’.
Owen and Celia both shouted out ‘we will!’ together, as the fog folded
in on itself and the spell shut itself down.
[1]
A short message on a scrap of low-grade mail paper that can be sent easily to a thaumic hub
even by the lowliest magic user.
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