6. Sam A Fiffle #4
“I won’t,” Vera said, reaching out impulsively to squeeze his arm in a friendly, maternal manner. “Your secret is safe with me. There’s nothing to be ashamed of—on the contrary. You must be very talented to manage enchantment at such a young age.”
“All I did was vomit on their shoes.” Quinn looked doubtful.
Vera laughed. “You know that’s not what I mean. The flames. Wait…” Her eyes narrowed. “Was that false fire?”
Quinn shrugged. “I really don’t know. I was trying to clean their pants, not set them alight.”
Still smiling, Vera shook her head. “True flames or false, neither is easy to conjure. Are you already in second year?”
“This is my first semester.”
“You astound me.”
Quinn grinned, not with his usual buoyancy, but with a more subdued air of sincerity. “It’s nothing so remarkable. I’m just very fond of studying.”
“Well, I’m in your debt,” Vera said softly. “I was in real trouble.” She looked down at her torn gown.
“Your dress!” Quinn exclaimed, as if seeing it for the first time. “What happened?”
Vera looked at him with something between pity and amusement. “Never mind. You need only know that you arrived just in time, and I’m grateful. Can I ask your name?”
“Call me Clem,” he said, giving a small bow.
“Clem, I’m Vera.”
“Vera,” he said, looking around, “where are we?”
“Oh—it’s the servants’ entrance. I work in the kitchens now, but I used to clean the dormitories and I still have a key. Comes in handy.” She smiled.
“I see.” Quinn looked up the narrow stairway and then back at Vera. “I’m sorry about your dress. We must find a way to get you home.”
Vera winked. “I’ve got the solution to that.
” She passed Quinn and walked along the short corridor toward a door at the end.
“As for the gown…” she sighed. “Well, it will be expensive, but I’ll find someone who can mend it.
It cost me a week’s wages; I’m not going to throw it away.
” Vera opened the short door at the end of the corridor and revealed a storage closet full of cleaning supplies: mops, brooms, rags, buckets, and brushes.
“Spare uniforms!” she announced, taking a shapeless, tan-colored garment off a wooden peg.
“Would you?” She handed Quinn the torn dress and slipped into the tan uniform, buttoning it up the front.
“Now just an apron and I’ll become invisible,” she said.
She tied the apron neatly and took off the pearl choker and diadem, slipping them into a pocket.
“See? I can do some magic as well.” She smiled.
Quinn smiled back. “I see what you mean. You do look quite different.”
“That’s how you can be sure your secret is safe with me. I rely on disguises, too.”
“So you do,” Quinn said thoughtfully.
Vera pointed to the stairs. “Let me show you the way back.”
Quinn followed her up the wooden stairs. “But what if they’re still outside?”
“You should stay in your room until the storm passes. But I’ll be fine. They won’t even recognize me,” Vera said confidently.
The sound of the fiffle grew louder as they climbed the stairs. On the landing, Vera opened a door and led the way onto the familiar main corridor.
“Wait. The dress. Surely they’ll recognize you if you’re carrying the dress.”
Vera hesitated. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Let me keep it for you. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”
“No need,” Vera said brightly. “I’ll come by to pick it up. Which room are you?”
“Forty-five.”
“Good.” She turned and gave Quinn a broad smile. “Thank you, Clem. See you tomorrow. Good night!”
She hurried across the hall, opened the main door, and was gone.
For a moment, Quinn stood motionless. Then he rushed to the stairs, taking them two at a time, until he’d reached the fourth-floor landing. A large casement window gave him an unimpeded view of the quadrangle. There she was—I could see her, too.
Don’t trouble yourself, Quinn, I wished to say.
I’ll follow her home. Flitting out behind her like a good ghost, I followed Vera’s assured steps across the quad.
Every now and then, her feet tripped into a little run, and when the paths grew dark, she moved very quickly indeed.
Vera reached the servants’ hall without incident, and I watched her breathe a sigh of relief as she slipped through the door.
She was safe. But not so Quinn, I feared.
For he had now run afoul of Simeon twice, and there would be no escaping the consequences.
Simeon’s pants and shoes—soiled, charred, and soaked—lay in a pile outside the door of his dormitory.
Inside the room, Simeon sat bare-chested by the window, tossing a small, smooth stone into the air.
He tossed it, and the stone remained suspended for a moment before dropping.
He tossed it again, and the stone made a graceful twirl in the air.
Then again, and the stone made even more elaborate movements, gliding through the room with energy.
Finally, the stone returned to Simeon’s palm and he began again with a simple toss.
Simeon was practicing.
Now all was quiet, and the moon shone down on the campus, full of its silent schemes, and its secrets, and its wickedness.