Modern Magick

The Wonders of Vale: 3

He was either wise or sensitive enough not to show his probable relief at Alban's lack of involvement. 'Right,' he said instead, with a nod. 'Let's go introduce ourselves.'

Our new associate was a troll with at least a dash of giant heritage, or so I was forced to conclude. We found her in the Audience Chamber — the same room, I noted in passing, where I had first met Alban. She, though, was not to be found lounging at one of the tables, supping upon chocolate and pastries and reading a book. She stood not far from the door, her regal posture emphasising her excessive height, her large hands neatly folded as she awaited our arrival. I might have expected a lady dispatched straight from the Court at Mandridore to be sumptuously garbed, but she was dressed in plain trousers, a simple shirt, and sturdy boots made for tramping about. Ready for anything, then. She was not young; her wealth of hair was snow-white, and her face wreathed in the tracery of advanced age. Nonetheless, she was unbowed, and emanated an enviable kind of vitality.

She observed our approach coolly, and subjected us both to a swift, keen look before she stepped forward to meet us. 'You must be Miss Vesper,' she said, in a low, rather deep voice. 'And Mr. Patel.'

'Yes, ma'am,' I said, on my best behaviour because — her casual attire notwithstanding — something about her self-possession and serenity suggested great power. Whether of the magickal kind or the courtly-status kind, I couldn't yet say.

'Emellana Rogan,' she said. 'I am here at Her Majesty's direction.'

My jaw dropped.

'It— I— um, wonderful to meet you,' I managed. 'Jay, Ms. Rogan is—'

'I know,' said Jay, and looked unsure whether to bow or shake her hand. He decided upon the latter, and received what appeared to be a painfully hearty handshake from the lady.

Emellana Rogan. Dear, giddy gods, the woman is the stuff of legend. She's had a thriving academic career since well, well before I was born; her papers and studies fill every magickal library worth its salt from Land's End to John O'Groats — and well beyond the shores of Britain, too, no doubt. She's written on every major magickal development since about 1941, unearthed a host of lost spells, dragged all manner of magickal history out of the earth with her bare hands... she's an archaeologist, charmwright and scholar all in one, and with giddy-gods-know what other talents besides.

Well, apparently one of her less well-known talents is similar to my mother's. That makes sense, doesn't it?

'I can't say that I have all your books,' I said, aware that I was gushing but unable, quite, to stop. 'There are so many. But I've got at least half. My favourite is Artefacts and Alchemy, though I also love Charms: An Unorthodox History, and—'

'Bestiary of Extinct Beasts,' Jay put in. 'Especially the part about the Wight settlements, that was brilliant—'

Jay and I were gabbling like teenagers. This realisation seemed to strike both of us at once, for we fell silent, leaving a somewhat awkward pause.

I couldn't tell if Jay was blushing, but I was. Self-possession, Ves. I lifted my chin.

Ms. Rogan smiled graciously, without condescension, and gave us to understand that she was greatly flattered by our immense admiration, etc.

Then she said six words which threatened to send me off into another paroxysm of awkwardness, namely: 'I enjoyed your thesis, Miss Vesper.'

She had read my thesis? My thesis! I couldn't speak.

'Um,' I croaked after a moment. 'Call me Ves.'

Very smooth.

But she nodded, and said: 'Call me Em.'