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[Cecile Landgrebe]

Sushuri Madonna

It was in one of those elegantly gaunt houses in Ellhedrine Crescent in Loveton, Arcadia. The windows were open, for it was a hot afternoon and one could hear birds singing and the occasional clip-clop of hoofs and rumble of carriage wheels.

The honourable Miss Chantel Werdekinde spoke with an aplomb that belied her mere seventeen years.

"Ladies, I wonder if you have heard of the practice of Phenagulism." The accent was placed upon the second syllable. "I warrant you have not. And yet I dare assert that we find ourselves up against one or more of the subtlest phenagulists this side of Rayapurh. Nothing less can explain the things we know to have happened.

"Before I tell you a little of the nature of Phenagulism, perhaps I may call upon one of you to refresh our memories by recounting the apparently impossible events that our adventures and investigations have so far uncovered....


Adele Poppy

From her reclining position on the chaise, Miss Agatha Felice-Lytton called "Darling! Don't you remember the three paper peonies we found in our box at the opera? the blue peony was folded from paper with a pattern of blue poppies; the pink one had a pattern of pink roses and the yellow one was of yellow daisies. And all so intricately made that we couldn't figure out how open them without tearing the delicate paper--and even though we could see that there was writing on the paper, we couldn't make out more than a few words."

Turning to another girl, she said, "You took note of the words didn't you, and which color peony they were written on?" Then, fanning her flushed face with a small ivory fan,"Oh, will this hot weather never end? Of course, we did eventually open the peonies and read the notes, but what fun we had trying to put together the words in some sort of order..."


Cecile Landgrebe

"Yes, I should have it here."

Miss Abigail Cheekwood sat up straight, fumbled in her purse and pulled out a folded sheet of paper (scented, of course). She stroke a loose strand of blonde hair out of her face and read out:

“What a beauty, she truly is delightful. She sings with such elegant passion...... Oh, forgive me, these are my notes on that evening’s brunette alto." Abigail sighed, "she was lovely. Now let me see...”

Abigail fumbles some more in her purse taking out a couple more sheets, a hairbrush, two lipsticks, a map of London, three pencils, a box of matches and a small mirror before finally pulling out the notes on the peonies with a triumphant “AHA!”.

“Really Abigail, the things you keep in that purse.” Miss Eliza Brown frowned.

“ Darling don’t frown, I believe a lady should always be prepared.”

“ Prepared for what exactly? ”

“ Oh let’s not argue ”, Miss Chantel intervened. “ Please read out your notes my dear. ”


Petite Sorciere

"Rayati, rayati, honoured ladies!" said Miss Sura Winter making reverence to the room. "Am I late? I am, aren't I? So Sorry. I was writing my report."

"It does not matter, dear Miss Winter," said Miss Werdekinde. "For you we should happily wait half an eternity.

Miss Winter wondered, rather literal-mindedly, whether eternity could actually be divided in half. Wasn't it rather like infinity?

"Should I read my report?" she asked. "Or were you doing other business?"

"No one will rest until she has heard your report," said Miss Werdekinde.

Miss Winter cleared her throat. "It was a dark night last week. Wednesday actually. I was walking home after a meeting of the Poetry Society at Miss Chalmers' Club. I was just passing Cordwainers' Alley when I saw a lady from Kadoria. Well, I thought she was from Kadoria because she had one of those wide-shouldered Kadorian jackets, so beautifully tailored, but a long skirt because Kadorian-length ones do get stared at in this part of the world don't they?

"Is this all necessary to the report?" asked Miss Werdekinde.

"Well, yes it is rather, because that is why I happened to be noticing her. I was having all these thoughts about her jacket and her skirt and all. So I noticed that she dropped a pencil. Not a wooden pencil but a lovely silver propelling one.

"She didn't seem to notice dropping it, but turned quickly down the Alley. I wondered why, because there is really nothing down there..."

"Perhaps she wanted a cord wained," suggested Miss Tring.

"Ahem" said Miss Winter severely. "So I picked up the pencil and went after her. I got to the end of the Alley and she was nowhere to be seen. Cordwainers' Alley ends in a six-foot high brick wall. So what could have happened? She can hardly have climbed the wall. Where was she? She certainly wasn't anywhere in the Alley."

"It certainly is a mystery," said Miss Tring. "Has it anything to do with the peony-notes, do you think?"

"That is what we are here to find out," said Miss Werdekinde.


Mysterious Strangerette

"Since we seem to be at a loss to explain the Kadorienne Mystery, perhaps honoured Miss Abigail would be so kind as to read out the notes on the peonies," suggested Miss Werdekinde.

"Yes, yes indeed," said Miss Abigail, who had been eagerly awaiting her moment of triumph. "This is the the pink peony-paper with a pattern of pink roses. The note on it reads:

"Where sunrise and sunset meet.

"This one was the the blue peony, folded from paper with a pattern of blue poppies. It says:

"Make it when the hoot-owls eat.

"And this is the yellow one yellow one with the pattern of of yellow daisies. It reads:

"Hands and face: no head or feet"

"How remarkable!" exclaimed Miss Tring. "Whatever can they mean?"

"We shall have to consider each one carefully," suggested Miss Felice-lytton. "For example, where do sunrise and sunset meet?"

"In the far North," said Miss Winter, slowly, "far in the dangerous Outlands, where winter never ends - I have heard that at midsummer (which isn't really summer there of course) Lady Raya merely dips beneath the horizon at sunset and comes straight up again making a new dawn upon the endless snows."

"I hope we haven't got to go there," said Miss Tring, pulling a scared face (for she was not really very big).

"Well, that is possible," said Miss Werdekinde. "Let us think about the others."


Cecile Landgrebe

“Forgive me for interrupting Miss Werdekinde, but I am rather confused,” stated Miss Brown, who, with her 24 autumns, was the most senior of the girls. “You call us here for a meeting and declare that there is a phenagulist at work. This phenagulist, you say, is the cause of the odd things that have happened over the past few days. But honestly, so far I know only of the three paper peonies that Miss Poppy and yourself found at the opera. Admittedly, it is a rather unusual find, but not threatening in any way. And then there is Miss Winter’s account of the Kadorian lady vanishing in an Alley, which I do not find at all surprising. Kadorians are prone to such things. So on the whole there really isn’t very much going on at all, don’t you agree?”

“Oh but Eliza,” Miss Cheekwood cried out, “you mustn’t forget what happened in your bedroom but two days ago! You had a terrible fright then.”

The teacup Miss Brown had just picked up rattled in its saucer and, only for a moment, she looked uneasy. Reclaiming her usual calm she turned towards Miss Cheekwood. “The matters of my bedroom are my own and I do not wish them publicly discussed Miss Cheekwood. I should very much like you not to mention anything of the sort again." Miss Brown spoke rather sternly. She very much liked her cousin, who was practically her younger sister, but such indiscretions were not to be put up with.

“But Eliza….”

“No.”

And that was final.


Adele Poppy

Miss Felice-Lytton leaned forward and gently tapped Miss Cheekwood on her elegant hand with the little ivory fan. "Don't tease your cousin, darling." Miss Cheekwood smiled and colored prettily at this delicate reprimand.

Then, sitting up and straightening the collar of her lawn dress, Miss Felice-Lytton looked around at the momentarily silent group. "Well! I can see that the heat has gotten to all of us. Dearest Miss Werdekinde, won't you ring for your Gertrude and have her bring us something cold to drink? The tea is very bracing, of course, but we will be boiled if we drink any more of it." Miss Werdekinde, who was Miss Felice-Lytton's hostess for the summer, obliged this rather imperious request by ringing a small china bell for the maid.

Miss Felice-Lytton paused for a moment and then continued, as if there had been no interruption in that thread of the conversation, "The peony notes were written in pencil, of course, and in Kadorian oil-lead, which is terribly rare here." She paused again, smoothing her blonde chignon and enjoying the attention of the other girls. "The silver Kadorian propelling pencil that our intrepid Miss Winter recovered was loaded with Kadorian oil-lead. And, ladies, Cordwainers' Alley is in the Theatre District, not a hundred yards from the opera house."

Rising from the chaise, she sighed "Won't you excuse me for five minutes? I am going to change my frock for something a little cooler." And, leaving her embroidery workbasket open on the chaise, she walked from the room. "Don't y'all say anything interesting till I get back, will you?" she called from the hall.


Cecile Landgrebe

“Oh Miss Werdekinde,” sighed Miss Cheekwood, “your friend is terribly clever.”
“Yes, she is rather.” Miss Werdekinde took place on the arm of Miss Cheekwood’s chair and took the notepaper from her lap. “Whatever could these words mean?”

As the ladies continued to consider the strange words found on the peonies, Miss Brown’s mind wandered off to the unfortunate evening of the day before yesterday. The heat had lain over Loveton like a stifling blanket that night. The city was waiting for a thunderstorm to bring relief but none came. Everyone had retired to their rooms but Miss Brown knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep and therefore decided to sit in the garden a while longer and enjoy the few merciful wisps of wind the night had brought. When she found herself almost falling asleep in her deck chair she got up and went to find her way to her bedroom in the dark. The priceless vase in the hallway outside Abigail’s room almost fell victim to her stumbling in the night but was caught just in time. Putting it back on its stand Miss Brown made a mental note to ask the maid to relocate the vase to a safer place. Entering her room she almost fell over something on the floor. She quickly lit the candle on her night stand in order to see what it was. She turned around holding the candle and gasped. Her room was a mess. The drawers of her dresser had their contents toppled over on the floor and her bed and the plants in the window had fallen from the sill. Miss Brown hurried over to the open window and looked out. In the light of the moon she could just catch a last glimpse of a shady figure running out of the gate. Come to think of it, she looked rather Kadorian, but that might just be her mind finding clues where there really were none. Miss Brown had certainly taken a fright that night. It was clear that someone had not only left through the window but had also come in that way since the plants had fallen into her room rather than out of the window. For all the mess that was made nothing had appeared to be missing, except a couple of letters. She had not mentioned them to her cousin since they were of a personal nature. The next morning she had written a letter to her dear friend letting her know her letters were taken. So far there had been no reply.

Miss Brown was awakened from her reverie by Gertrude entering with the requested drinks.


Adele Poppy

Agatha Felice-Lytton strode purposefully to her room, entered and shut the door behind her, then locked it. She slumped back against the door as if the cords holding her up had been loosened. Oh, how could she have been so careless? “The pencil was loaded with Kadorian oil-lead” indeed! Agatha fervently hoped that the other girls hadn’t noticed her slip. How could she have known that the pencil was loaded with Kadorian oil-lead before dear Miss Winter had reported it? O Dea, beloved Mother, correct my impulsive nature, she prayed silently.

Standing erect, Agatha crossed the room to her closet. She peered inside and, reaching to the very end of the rack where the formal dresses had been stored under muslin covers, she took a hanger from the rail. It, too, was draped in unbleached muslin. Agatha pulled up the protective fabric to expose a handsome tweed jacket which, being far too warm for this hot summer weather, had been cleaned and tucked away to await the cooler Autumn weather.

She removed the tweed jacket from the hanger. On the hanger underneath the tweed was a fawn-colored lightweight jacket, beautifully tailored, with wide shoulders that made it instantly identifiable as Kadorian. “What shall I do with you?” she murmured. There was nothing to be done, she decided after a moment, and reassembled the clothing and draped the muslin dust cover exactly the way it had been before.

By the time she had returned her secret to the closet, she was overheated and out of sorts. Agatha decided to change to a looser frock which would not make it obvious that she had removed her tightly-laced stays. She raised her voice and called her maid. “Patty, I need you!”


Mysterious Strangerette

"Well hoot-owls eat at night, I suppose," said Miss Tring. "Other than that I can't think of a thing about any of these stupid little rhymes."

They had been puzzling over them for nearly half an hour and some of the girls were beginning to wonder if they had any meaning.

Suddenly Miss Werdekinde said "Well this one has!

"Hands and face: no head or feet

"It's an old riddle. It means a clock."

"Of course! A clock!" said Miss Winter. "It must be. But where does that get us?"

"Well," said Miss Werdekinde with a note of triumph in her voice, "look at this one:

"Where sunrise and sunset meet"

"The furthest north of the Northern Wastelands?" asked Miss Tring with a shudder."

"Rather nearer than that, I fancy," said Miss Werdekinde. "You know the corner where Sunset Street meets Dawn Avenue?"

"Of course!" said Miss Winter again. "That funny old building with the great clock-tower that stands right on the corner."

"Exactly." Said Miss Werdekinde.

"But what about it?" asked Miss Tring. All we have left is.

"Make it when the hoot-owls eat

"Well owls eat at night. But make what?"

Miss Winter snapped her fingers in a slightly unladylike manner. "I have it!" She said. "It isn't just any owls. It is hoot-owls. Hoot-Owls is the nickname for members of Sai Mati College at Milchford."

"Of course," said Miss Werdekinde. "And there was an incident in the history of the college five hundred years ago when a great heroine of the College returned from a terribly important deed - I won't go into all the details - but she arrived eight minutes late for dinner and ever since then, in her honour, the ladies of Sai Mati College - the Hoot-Owls - have dined at exactly eight minutes past seven."

"It is all starting to fall into place," said Miss Tring. "But still it says 'Make it when the hoot-owls eat'. Make what?"

"Why, the clock of course," said Miss Werdekinde. "Remember it has been stopped for ages. Suppose we get into the tower on the corner of Sunrise and Dawn, get up to the top and set the clock for exactly eight minutes past seven?"

"What would happen then?" asked Miss Winter?"

"There is only one way to find out," said Miss Werdekinde.


Cecile Landgrebe

“To go there of course!” cried Miss Cheekwood. “Aren’t we all just like detectives!”
“Go where?” Miss Felice-Lytton entered the room looking a lot more comfortable in her loose frock. “Oh, I thought I had asked y’all not to say anything important until my return. And now you’ve gone and solved the mystery I suppose.” She sat back down in her chaise. “Oh no, not at all Miss Felice-Lytton,” said Miss Cheekwood, “we have only just started. But Miss Winter discovered that Hoot-Owls are members of the Sai Mati College, and now we have to go to the big clock at eight minutes past seven because the heroine was late for dinner!”

Miss Felice-Lytton raised her right eyebrow. “I see….”

“Forgive me.” Gertrude entered the room. “Miss Brown and Miss Cheekwood’s carriage has arrived.”

Miss Brown leapt up. “Oh my, look at the time. Come Abigail, we should go home. Ladies we have enjoyed your company immensely. And dear Miss Werdekinde, thank you for your warm hospitality. Be sure to call on us soon.” “Oh but Miss Brown,” Miss Werdekinde raised from the edge of the chair, “you two cannot leave us now that we are so well on our way to solving this issue! We have to go to the clock at the corner of Sunset Street.” “Can’t we stay a bit longer Eliza?” pleaded Miss Cheekwood. “No dear, we cannot. We are expected at home. I am sure that Miss Winter will write a very nice report on your findings Miss Werdekinde. Please be so kind as to send us a copy, I should very much like to know what a phenagulist is.” Miss Cheekwood sighed and got up out of her chair. She straightened her skirt and took a step towards the door but found herself halted by Miss Felice-Lytton grabbing her arm and speaking sweetly: “Dear Miss Brown, solving a mystery will be no fun at all without you. I need you to promise me that you and Miss Cheekwood will meet us this evening at the clock.” “I believe Miss Cheekwood and I will be having dinner at that time but please do not stay away from Sunset Street on our account. I hope you will stay dry, it looks like we’ll be having a thunderstorm this evening.” “Miss Brown, as you can see I am holding your dear cousin hostage,” she tightened her grip on Miss Cheekwood’s arm, “and I shall not let go of her without your promise to come.” Miss Brown regarded Miss Felice-Lytton with a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “Very well, we’ll be there at seven.” “Oh good!” cried Miss Cheekwood. “Thank you Miss Felice-Lytton.” She bent over to kiss her hostage-taker on the cheek. “You’re welcome darling, I’ll see you tonight.”

When Miss Cheekwood and Miss Brown arrived home they were welcomed by Miss Brown’s maid Madge holding a plate with a letter on it. “This arrived just now from Ellhedrine Crescent ma’am.” “That’s strange Eliza, who would send you a letter from Ellhedrine Crescent? We were there only minutes ago.” “I don’t know Abigail, but that really wouldn’t be any of your business now would it? Now go and take a little nap my dear. If we want to go to the clock tower this evening we should be well rested.” “You’re right Eliza.” And with those words Miss Cheekwood retired to her room leaving Miss Brown to read the long expected letter.


Mysterious Strangerette

At the appointed time, they all gathered at the corner of Sunset and Dawn.

"Where is Miss Felice-Lytton?" asked Miss Brown, with a slightly suspicious tone.

"She said she would be here very shortly," said Miss Werdekinde, "but not to wait for her - she will catch us up."

"I see," said Miss Brown, clearly not entirely satisfied.

"How do we get into the building?" asked Miss Tring.

"It has been empty for ages," said Miss Werdekinde. "We could always try the door. There is no particular reason for it to be locked."

The impetuous Miss Werdekinde put her hand to the door handle.

"Wait," said Miss Winter. Shouldn't we ring the bell first? Suppose someone is there."

The sky rumbled ominously and the street became noticeably darker.

"Oh, very well," said Miss Werdekinde." She pressed the bell, which, surprisingly, worked.

A few large drops splashed on the hot pavement, spreading out and then drying almost immediately. Any minute the downpour would begin.

The door was opened by a neatly-uniformed maidservant who made deep reverence.

"Rayati and good evening ladies," she said. "How may I serve you?"

Miss Werdekinde, who had been watching the drops and counting off the seconds until she could reasonably try the handle, turned to face the entirely unexpected maid.

"Excuse me," she said. "I did not realise anyone was living here. We have business with the clock." The last sentence was a sudden inspiration. She quickly decided that the best thing to do was to sound somewhat official. It might work, and if it didn't she could change her tack.

The maid reverenced again. "You'll have to see the mistress then," she said.

The troop of girls were conducted into a neat little living room where a handsome brunette of around 120 was reading a very old book. The room was lined with books, mostly antiquarian. She stood and made reverence and the girls all returned reverence.

"Rayati, noble rayalini. To what do I owe this honour?" she asked.

"Rayati, madam. With your kind permission we need to inspect the clock," said Miss Werdekinde.

"Aha. Official clock-inspectors, I take it?"

"In a manner of speaking..." said Miss Werdekinde.

"Stuff and piffle," said the occupant. "If you will forgive the expression of course. You look about as official as I do. Still if you all promise to say nothing about me, I shall undertake to say nothing about you - and the clock is yours - to inspect at any rate."

Each of the girls pressed her hands together and gave her word.

"Regrettably," said the lady of the house, "given my limited inheritance, I had to choose between the fees at Camberley Hall - you know Camberley? My lay College: one of the finest - and buying books highly necessary to my researches. I chose the books and moved in here rent free with my girl Tilly." The maid made reverence. "So I suppose the clock is no more mine than yours. But I have a certain affection for it. You won't damage it, will you?"

"By no means," Miss Werdekinde assured her. "We merely wish to set it to eight minutes past seven." She showed her the notes and recounted, very briefly, their story.

"Ah, Phenagulism, you suspect," said the occupant. "Entirely possible. Well, try your experiment by all means. I am all for research and investigation. But I say, honoured young lady..."

"Yes, most honoured ma'am?"

"You won't actually get the clock going will you? I mean, if it started working it might attract undesired attention..."

"Rest assured," said Miss Werdekinde. Once we have made our investigations, we shall re-set it to twenty-seven minutes past five as it has been these two years. "


Cecile Landgrebe

"Honoured lady, your collection is very impressive." Miss Brown walked past one of the shelves scanning the backs of the books for their titles. "Some of these books are very rare." The occupant smiled. "Yes they are."
“Do you mind if I have a quick look?”
“Not at all, not at all. Please, take your time.”
"Oh Eliza, we don’t have time for books now! We must go up to the clock!" Miss Cheekwood could barely contain her excitement.
"You may go ahead, dear. I'll wait here for Miss Felice-Lytton.”
“But do you not want to see what happens when we set the clock to eight minutes past seven?”
“I very much doubt anything will happen Abigail, but if something does I am quite convinced you will come rushing down to tell me all about it.” Besides that Miss Brown really needed to have a private word with Miss Felice-Lytton.
The occupant of the clock tower waved her maid over. “Tilly, please show the ladies the way upstairs.”
As the detectives climbed the stairs the occupant turned towards Miss Brown. “A phenagulist, how exciting.”
“My cousin certainly seems to think so. I just wish someone would explain to me what the word means. I hope you’ll forgive us for entering your home in such a rude manner. Please, honoured lady, let me introduce myself. I am Eliza Brown of ….”
“Oh I know who you are, dear.”
Miss Brown looked startled. “You do?”
At that moment a terrible shriek was heard coming from the tower. Miss Brown dropped the book she had been holding. “Abigail!”


Adele Poppy

At the corner of Sunset Street and Dawn Avenue, Miss Agatha Felice-Lytton rang the doorbell and tapped softly on the door of the clock-tower building with the handle of her umbrella. It was built of dark brick, like the clock tower itself, and also in a slightly shabby state of repair. She waited for a moment, then rapped again, a little louder this time. The early evening sky was dark with rain clouds, but the strange intermittent rain had done very little yet to dispel the heat.

After waiting for another few seconds, Agatha tried the door, which she found unlocked. She entered and closed the door behind her. She carelessly dropped her umbrella into the hallway umbrella stand and then peered into a wall mirror. She smoothed her eyebrows, straightened the collar of her fawn jacket and took a deep breath before turning and walking steadily down the corridor toward the sound of voices in the library.

There was the sound of a muffled scream from above which was answered by the sound of people moving in the library and the cry "Abigail!" Miss Eliza Brown appeared at the library door, looking wildly around. "Where are the stairs? Oh, where are..." She gasped, then dashed down the corridor, away from Agatha and the library.

Agatha trotted to the library door and looked inside. No sense in chasing after poor Miss Brown, especially since the first scream had the sound of surprise rather than anything really horrid. Agatha had the impression that someone had walked into a spider web, or put her hand on a mouse's nest. In the library was a handsome brunette of middle years stooping to retrieve a book from the floor.

Agatha reverenced and began her explanation, "Rayati, honored madam. My apologies for letting myself in. My name is Agatha Felice-Lytton, and I have come to join my friends here to examine the clock."

The brunette stood up and dusted off the cover of the book. She said, "Rayati, child. My name is Ursula Magdalena. As you can see, I live here." She continued, somewhat ruefully, "It seems that my tranquil days of solitary scholarship have come to an end. Ah, well. It had to happen sooner or later." Putting the book back onto the shelf, she turned to the far end of the room, where a cold hearth stood flanked by wing chairs, and made a gesture toward them. "Won't you take a seat, my dear? You don't seem inclined to join the other girls in their excitement. I am expecting my girl with the brandy." Then, almost petulantly, "She should have been here with it already." Squinting slightly at Agatha, she said "You are old enough for brandy, are you not, young Miss Felice-Whatsit?"

"I most certainly am," lied Agatha, who, at age17, had never been allowed brandy. Why not start now, she decided, when there was the troubling matter of a confession that she would prefer to delay. What better excuse than accommodating one's hostess? Anyway, she thought, Miss Chantel Werdekinde had some explaining to do of her own: The clues from the origami peonies that Miss Winter's report described were completely different from the original ones, which had been innocuous and rather silly, like the inane messages inside fortune cookies.

"And I should know," she sighed inwardly as she sat in one of the wing chairs. "Since I’m the one who wrote them."


Cecile Landgrebe

“Abigail!”
Miss Brown ran towards the spiralling stairs she had spotted at the end of the hallway. From above she heard her cousin’s voice: “I am fine Eliza! Miss Werdekinde just made an unexpected move and startled me!”
Miss Brown started to make her way upstairs so she could give her cousin her opinion on screaming out for no reason, but found the stairs blocked by Tilly. “I think Miss, that you oughtn’t to go upstairs.”
“Why on earth not?”
“I am sorry Miss, but you have no business there. Please join Miss Magdalena in the library.”
“But…”
Tilly stared at Miss Brown coldly, not moving an inch.
Miss Brown felt her concern grow. “Abigail, be careful now! Don’t do anything silly!”
“Please Miss…the library.”
I knew I shouldn’t have allowed Abigail to get involved, Miss Brown scolded herself. If it hadn’t been for that terrible Miss Felice-Lytton we would be at home now and have nothing more to do with this business. That girl knows something. If only I had just ignored those letters.

In the clock tower Miss Winter whispered to Miss Cheekwood: “How your cousin worries about you.”
“She has always been that way. It’s a miracle she is not up here by now.”
In the distance the girls heard a rumbling thunder. “Miss Werdekinde, haven’t you found out how to set the clock yet?”
“Not yet Miss Cheekwood, its design is rather complicated.”
“Do hurry please, I am not comfortable staying in this high tower with a thunderstorm on its way.”

Down below Miss Brown entered the library, closely followed by Tilly. Her eye fell immediately on the blonde in one of the chairs near the hearth.
“Miss Felice-Lytton! Good you are here. I believe there is something you need to tell me.”


Adele Poppy

Miss Agatha Felice-Lytton paled slightly and straightened in her chair. "Oh, Miss Brown, yes. Yes, I must ask your forgiveness. I was very, very wrong to…to do what I did..." She trailed off in her stammering apology, noticing the long look that was being exchanged between Miss Magdalena and Tilly. Finally, Miss Magdalena smiled and nodded to her maid. Tilly made a small, correct bow and left the room.

Miss Magdalena turned her attention back to the girls with an expression of cheerful interest on her pleasant face. "Please continue, my dear Miss Felice-Lytton. I wouldn't miss this for the world. Oh, do take a seat, Miss Eliza Brown." Miss Brown sat down, a little stiffly, wondering at the peremptory tone of this command.

Agatha leaned forward, hands clasped at her breast, earnestly looking at Miss Brown: "I did take your letters, and I am terribly sorry for it and for leaving such a mess in your room, too. I have no excuse, since I really did it as a joke. And it went dreadfully wrong, most honorable Miss Brown, just awfully wrong."

Miss Brown sat up even more stiffly and said, "You frightened me badly with your 'joke'. And those letters were private letters. How dare you presume to touch them? Really, Miss Felice-Lytton, I am very disappointed and hurt by your behavior."

Agatha, now very pink-cheeked and looking very contrite, had bowed her head to peek up through her lashes at Miss Brown. Miss Brown, she decided, enjoyed being angry and would relish a good fight. I must give her my best, she thought, marshalling herself for the storm that would certainly follow what she was about to say. Outside, as if reflecting the emotional turbulence in the library, thunder rumbled and then cracked sharply. Everyone in the library looked up in surprise, then returned to the matter at hand.

Tilly returned to the library, wheeling a small drinks cart which clinked softly as she rolled it to its station by the hearth. With her back to the room, she set about preparing drinks for the three ladies.

Agatha said "I understand your feelings, dear Miss Brown, and you are quite right to feel so. I was in the wrong. But I also must tell you that I know something about our presence here this evening.

"I suppose I must confess that I was the one who placed the origami peonies in the opera box Wednesday night. I wrote the notes inside them, but, honored Miss Brown, they were not the notes that were in Miss Winter's report. The words had been changed; changed, I say, to the same words that were written in one of those letters I took from your bedroom!" Agatha, by then, had risen from her chair and was standing at her full, if inconsiderable, height, her shoulders back and her dark eyes snapping with indignant triumph. "Perhaps you have some explanation for changing the origami peonies and manipulating us to be here tonight? I should like very much to hear it." Take that, she thought.

"You...dared...to...read...my...letters!" Miss Brown grated, fists clenched on the arms of her chair. She, too, rose to her feet.

"Girls, girls. As much as I adore your delightful dramatics, we are going to run out of time shortly. Both of you sit down at once, please. Tilly," Miss Magdalena waved at her maid, "Please be so good as to medicate these creatures. They are overwrought."

Tilly brought them small brandies, and a large brandy for Miss Magdalena. They all sipped. Miss Agatha Felice-Lytton managed not to cough.

Brandy is delicious, she decided as a warm glow bloomed somewhere in her middle.


Cecile Landgrebe

Feelings of rage, worry and regret threatened to overwhelm Miss Brown. Rage over Miss Felice-Lytton’s behaviour, worry over Abigail and regret over getting all of them into this situation she did not understand nor have any control over.

“Miss Brown, why did you change the words on the peonies?” Miss Felice-Lytton repeated her question, sounding very calm and composed.

“You have read the letters; you know very well why I did it.” Miss Brown’s voice in contrast was dark and shaky, resembling the rumbling outside.

“I know that a friend requested this of you, but not why.”

“What other reason do I need than a request from a friend? I haven’t seen Miss Forrester for a long time and had no time to ask questions. Since I trust her completely I did as she asked and made sure you would receive the words she wrote without revealing the sender. Your silly peonies were just conveniently at hand.” Miss Brown clenched her fists again in an attempt to control herself. “And what, my dear Miss Felice-Lytton, is your excuse?” Another peal of thunder resounded through the library.

Miss Felice-Lytton had paled at hearing Miss Brown’s confession. “Miss Brown I thought you knew…I thought you could tell me why we are here. Oh…” She took a small envelope from her beaded purse and held it out to Miss Brown.

“More letters?”

“Please Miss Brown, I think you should read it. It was sent to me by my aunt in Silverluce. She instructed me to fetch those letters from your room. Unfortunately it does not give any reason apart from your honour being at stake. Breaking into bedrooms is completely contrary to everything I believe to be right, but just as you trusted your friend I trusted my aunt, so I did it. Believe me Miss Brown, I did not intend to leave your room in such a state but I was nervous and then I heard footsteps coming down the hallway.”

Miss Brown took the letter out of the envelope and read it. “Miss Felice-Lytton….the handwriting.”

“Yes, I noticed the similarity between your friend’s handwriting and my aunt’s, but didn’t think much of it then. But now it seems we both did something quite out of character because someone we trust asked us to. I think maybe, Miss Brown, this letter wasn’t sent by my aunt at all.”


Sushuri Madonna

A deafening clap of thunder seemed to shake the building. The roar of heavy rain followed and the house continued to shake.

"What is happening?" asked Miss Felice Lytton."Has the house been struck by lightning?"

"It is shaking like a leaf in the wind!" screamed Miss Tring. "We'd better get out. It is falling down!"

"No cause for alarm," said Miss Magdalena. "It seems that your friends have succeeded in setting the clock."

"The clock shook the house like that?" asked Miss Tring.

"Not precisely. When the clock is set to that particular time by pure maids who have no idea why they are doing it, and have not been asked or ordered to do it, then certain changes will take place beneath the house. A cave sealed deep in the solid rock that underlies this own will once more be opened and can be entered through the cellar of this house. That is why instructions had to reach your young detective friends by means of cryptic clues, and why you, Miss Felice-Lytton, who played a part in the manipulation - even though you had no idea what part you were really playing - had to be kept away from the Setting of the Clock."

"But all these strange events…"

"Phenagulism, I fear stirs currents in the aethyr and in the hearts of maidens that can have many unexpected results."

"Phenagulism?"

"Oh yes. Miss Werdekinde, your budding Lady Carleon.. was quite correct. There is a phenagulist at work." Miss Magdalena made a courtly reverence. "It is I."

"But what is a Phenagulist," asked Miss Tring.

"One who manipulates the phenomena, or appearances of this world. One who can, for example, make pieces of paper appear and disappear or change their appearance. One who can make a young lady seem to vanish when her friend is following her into a closed alley. I did rather wonder how she felt when she appeared on the other side of the wall by the river."

"But why?"

"That you will soon see if you dare to accompany me into the cellar."


Mysterious Strangerette

Miss Magdalena left the room rather unceremoniously and her guests cautiously followed her.

Miss Werdekinde and her party had already reached the foot of the stairs that led down from the clock tower.

"I think something has happened in the cellar," said Miss Werdekinde.

"Indeed it has," said Miss Magdalena. "Perhaps you will care to follow me."

They all followed Miss Magdalena through a wide door and down a surprisingly lavish flight of cellar stairs.

"Until a few minutes ago, this stairway ended in several hundred tons of solid rock."

"An unusual arrangement," commented Miss Werdekinde.

"Naturally that was not the original arrangement. Once there was a large chamber in which the original owner kept a considerable treasure owned by a local princess. Long ago the entire village - as it then was - was attacked by demons who drew their strength from one great demon. For some time the Arkadyani Knights fought the demons, but they received continued strength from their leader.

"Eventually the demon-chief, tempted by the gold and jewels, entered this cellar: but it was a trap. A great Haielin, named Marya Matilena sealed the living rock which had originally been opened by spellcraft to form the treasure-chamber. With their leader entombed, the other demons were easily dispatched by the maiden knights. Today that great treasure is finally released again.

"Behold."

Before them was an opulent room draped in red and gold. Beautiful jewellery was displayed on shelves, and in the centre was a huge chest bound with iron.

"Isn't there something on that chest?" asked Miss Tring uneasily.

"Of course not," said Miss Magdalena a little irritably.

"There is," said Miss Brown decidedly. "Look carefully."

They all looked fixedly at the chest, and in a curious way - like figures appearing in the clouds - they saw the outline of a hideous two-legged creature sitting on the chest. It had a horrible grin upon a face that was a parody of the human countenance.

"I thank you for my release," it said.


Adele Poppy

"Hrmph. You don't need to be haiela to have seen that coming," thought Miss Agatha Felice-Lytton from her position at the rear of the group. Emboldened by the bit of brandy she had drunk earlier, she maneuvered backward to the treasure-room entrance, then whipped to the side, a little unsteadily, hiding herself in the small room at the foot of the stairs. She could see where the gigantic slabs of stone that had concealed the treasure room had been withdrawn partially into the rock wall, leaving a rough-hewn doorway into the treasure-room. She hoped that the demon's line of sight did not include all of the stairway, which was now quite dark. Well, the demon was now arguing with Miss Magdalena, so perhaps she would escape its notice as she made her way up the cellar stairs.

Suddenly, she was shoved to the side by another body; evidently Miss Eliza Brown had conceived of the same plan of action.

They looked at each other in the dark vestibule: blonde and brunette, both raihirin. Heredity, training and tradition were working through them, moving them both in a way that felt eerily familiar to each girl—each had felt similarly guided during the combat practice they had done as part of their upbringings in their respective good Raihira families.

Miss Brown put a hand on Agatha's shoulder, pointed to Agatha then to the stairs and then put her finger to her lips in the sign for silence. Agatha understood that she was to go quietly up the stairs first, while Miss Brown stayed below and guarded her till she reached the top. Agatha nodded and slipped off her boots, lovely confections in kidskin, but the little heels weren't practical for the physical exertions she may be called upon to perform.

Miss Brown listened intently to the voices in the treasure-room for a moment, then released Agatha's shoulder with a slight push: Now was the time to go!

Agatha instantly glided to the stairway, gathering up her skirts in one hand without pausing, and lightly skipped up, taking the steps two at a time. Her stockinged feet were silent on the chilly stone.

At the top of the stairs, the cellar door was ajar. Agatha slipped into the hall of the clock-tower building without moving the door. There, kneeling on the hall runner, was Tilly, her face buried in her hands, thin shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She raised her stricken face to look at Agatha. "I was faithful to her...I was a faithful servant," She whispered hoarsely. "I tried to turn her away from that foul thing in the cellar, but I had to obey her,"

Agatha ghosted over to her and helped her to rise to her feet, then urged her away from the cellar door and into the library they had recently come from.

"Yes, I'm sure you were a very good girl," Agatha said distractedly, looking around, then dragging the shocked little paxit to a chair and pushing her into it.

Tilly's hand shot out and clasped Agatha's wrist in a strong grip. "It was as if she was starving, Miss, it was that bad. She couldn't stop thinking about that horrid treasure." She repeated, "It was like she was starving to death."

This was looking worse and worse, Agatha fretted as she tugged her hand free from the maid's grasp. Miss Magdalena must have been possessed by the demon. But how? Really, though, there wasn't time to bother with the reasons why this horror was happening. Now was the time for action, but all Agatha could think was that they must get a priestess and a constabel at once.

Oh, where was Miss Brown? She would know what to do next!


Adele Poppy

Agatha paced across the library. "I've got to think," she said aloud. "How can we get a priestess and a constabel here?" She spun to face Tilly, who had hunched forward in her chair and was weeping steadily into her apron. "You, there, Tilly. Sit up, girl." She moved toward the little maid, who looked alarmed at being so addressed. "How is your wind? Can you run and talk at the same time?"

"Run, Miss? Wha--what do you mean?"

"Get up. Here: put on my jacket." She pulled off her light jacket and whipped it around the smaller girl. "Now, Tilly, you must run as fast as ever you can, do you hear? And you must call out for a constabel as you run." She unpinned her hat and set it on the maid's head. "Do you know where the nearest temple is?"

"Of course I know, Miss. Don't I clean there every Thursday night after the choir?" She straightened the hat with a little indignant jerk and muttered "Do I know where, indeed."

"Don't fuss," Agatha said as she pulled the maid out into the corridor and toward the front door. "Just run there and fetch the priestess. If the she needs help getting here, you help her in any way she needs, do you understand? Tell her that a demon has escaped and that your mistress and some other girls are its prisoner in the cellar."

She pushed Tilly out the door, saying "Now, run as fast as you can, and call out for the constabel as you go!" Tilly scampered down the path and then dashed away up Sunset Street, disappearing into the rain. Her voice floated back: "Help! Constabel! Someone call a constabel!"

Agatha left the front door open, and hurried back into the library. Miss Brown was there, rapidly searching through the books in one of the bookshelves. Turning, she said to Agatha, "Catch. It's the key to the desk. See if you can find something about this demon." She tossed a bright little metal key across the room. Seemingly of its own volition, Agatha's hand came up and plucked it from the air.

"Where did you find this?" wondered Agatha, trotting to the desk. She also wondered how she had caught the key so neatly, since she had never been able to do anything quite as adroit as that before.

"Don't chatter, Miss Felice-Lytton, for the love of Dea!" Miss Brown snapped. Then she said, "It was in the key rack, right there on the wall above the desk. The one marked 'KEYS'." With a sound that was not quite a snort, she turned back and resumed her search of the bookshelf.


Cecile Landgrebe

Miss Brown had noticed before that the books were ordered alphabetically, not by author but by title. She was searching D for Demons and quickly noticed a rather worn book with the promising title ‘Dispelling Demons’. She tried to take it from the shelve but it seemed to be stuck. She pulled harder and stumbled backwards as the book gave a click and the bookcase flung open. Miss Brown’s heart started to beat faster as she saw what had been hidden behind the books. “Miss Felice-Lytton, Dea smiles upon us.”

The blonde looked up from the paperwork she had been studying intently. “She certainly does, I think I found what we are looking for.” She took the sheet she had been looking at and walked over to Miss Brown. Only then she noticed the opened bookcase. “Oh!”

A secret cabinet was revealed holding a wonderful selection of, what looked like ceremonial, swords. Miss Brown took one of them and withdrew it from its sheath. She weighed it in her hand then turned around and swayed it through the air. She spinned to gain speed and then hacked the sword into the coffee table, splitting it in two. She smiled. “Well, this one may look ceremonial but it works just fine.” She swept a stray strand of hair from her face and looked at Miss Felice-Lytton. “Please tell me you know Vikhelic Arts.”
“I have studied fencing.”
“Good, that will do. My skirts on the other hand will not. I almost tripped.”
“Miss Brown, I think that that is not the right sword.”
“What do you mean? It works perfectly.”
Miss Felice-Lytton showed the brunette the sheet of paper she had been holding. “I think we need this one.”

The sheet seemed to have been ripped from a book and showed a picture of a beautifully crafted sword with enamelled hilt. Underneath it was written in an ancient Westrenne dialect:

Þe wearðful levedy cene weareþ þe luþer wer mid þæt mece. Swa sigedrihten scho.

“Someone scribbled a translation in the margin. Look, it means: ‘The brave honourable lady kills the wicked demon with this sword. Thus she will be victorious.’” Miss Felice-Lytton turned to inspect the swords in the cabinet. “None of these look like the sword in the picture.”

“I think that if Miss Magdalene owned the sword on that picture she would have taken it with her when we went to the cellar. But she went unarmed.”
“Maybe the sword is down there with the demon?”
“Well, either way I think we must hurry. The demon will be done chatting soon. Please Miss Felice-Lytton, choose your weapon.”

Miss Felice-Lytton picked a light sword and unsheathed it. “Miss Brown, we need a plan de campagne before we go down.”
“I will attack the demon and distract him while you get the girls out of the cellar. That is our plan de campagne. But first I need to do something about this dress.” She picked up the seam of her skirts and took her sword. “Ohw, I really liked this dress.” She sighed and then cut almost a foot off her skirts, leaving her feet and ankles free. “Miss Felice-Lytton, I suggest you do the same, you don’t want to trip when we are down there.” Miss Felice-Lytton stared at Miss Brown’s ankles and blushed. “Miss Felice-Lytton, don’t loiter. If you will not do it yourself I shall have to assist you.” The girl immediately snapped back into combat mode, grabbed her sword and sat down to shorten her dress.

“Remember, you take the girls upstairs, I will distract the demon and guard your retreat. Are you ready, Miss Felice-Lytton?” Miss Felice-Lytton tightened the grip on her sword and gave a sharp nod.

“Let’s go then.”


Adele Poppy

“Let’s go then.”

With that, Miss Brown turned and soundlessly glided out of the library. With a last longing glance at the brandy bottle, Miss Agatha Felice-Lytton tiptoed into the hallway behind her. She would have to rely on her own courage to support her. And it was likely that she would need to remember how to fence—something she had trouble with at the best of times.

They paused to listen at the cellar door. The girls could hear the voice of the demon from below. It was a singular sound: a deep strangled bass, harsh as a cough but with the wildness of baying dogs in it. Miss Magdalena’s clear, feminine voice sounded in counterpoint, raised in command, then argument, then command again. The girls could not make out the words from where they were.

They wafted down the cellar stairs, silent as smoke, each holding her sword away from her body, Miss Brown taking the lead. When they reached the bottom, they flattened themselves against the wall. Agatha put a hand on Miss Brown’s arm, then leaned close to whisper in her ear: “I have just remembered something I heard about demons. If you cut off pieces of them, the pieces may turn into fully-formed demons. So it may be advisable to stab instead of slice.” She leaned back, watching the brunette’s face. Miss Brown regarded her for a minute, then nodded. She took a deep breath, then turned toward the door, where the voices of the demon and Miss Magdalena no longer could be heard, but several of the girls cried out in what sounded like terror, and one began screaming.

Miss Brown peeked around the edge of the door, then slipped inside. Agatha followed, her heart in her mouth, breathing a short prayer: “Holy Mother, please guide my hand.”

Inside the treasure-room some of the girls had huddled together on the floor a few feet from the door. The screaming girl was still keening shrilly in a breathy whine. Agatha saw then why they hadn’t run out of the treasure-room door and back up the stairs: their feet had been turned into birds’ claws, and they couldn’t walk, though several were attempting to stand up. Miss Werdekinde, however, stood calmly with one hand on the wall, lifting first one foot then the other, regaining her balance and coordination. “What a cool customer,” thought Agatha admiringly as she crouched smoothly and ran toward the group of girls, for the moment unnoticed by either Miss Magdalena or the demon.

Miss Brown advanced slowly on the demon, twirling her sword over her head until the blade was a gleaming, deadly blur. The demon turned its bloated visage to face her in surprise, then rearranged its features in the pretense of a smile, exposing jagged teeth couched in yellow-streaked red gums.

Miss Magdalena, noticing the change in the demeanor of the monster before her, spun to see Miss Brown approaching them. Miss Magdalena’s face went utterly white with shock. “No! Go back, child! Don’t come any closer!” She began gesturing oddly, and a web of light grew between her hands, then expanded into a good-sized solid net. She made a throwing motion, and the net flung itself toward Miss Brown, who moved the spinning blade forward to catch the net, which sparked and sizzled where the sword touched it. It dissolved into wisps of smoke, and Miss Brown continued her advance upon the pair.


Cecile Landgrebe

The demon did not seem inclined to move away from the chest it was sitting on. It just looked at Miss Brown with an amused grin. Miss Brown considered going straight for the demon’s head but remembering Miss Felice-Lytton’s warning about slicing demons decided to aim for the heart. With one quick move Miss Brown thrust her sword into the demon’s body.

“Hurr, hurr.”

The demon’s laugh sounded like a slow cough. This was not the sound Miss Brown had expected. The monster did not seem affected at all by the sword sticking out of its body. It stood up from the chest and slowly walked towards Miss Brown who, now unarmed, felt rather vulnerable and backed away. From the corner of her eyes she could see Miss Felice-Lytton assisting a girl up the stairway. She had to keep this demon busy.

Miss Magdalene moaned. “What have you done, you foolish child?” As Miss Brown backed away from the demon, it continued to walk towards her. It pulled the sword out of his chest and threw it aside, then lunged at Miss Brown and pushed her to the wall grabbing her throat.

“You are a funny little girl, but rather annoying.” The demon’s claw like hand burned on Miss Brown’s throat.

“I must say that you are also a rather great inconvenience to me right now.”

The demon moved his face close to Miss Brown’s. “Don’t be smart with me.” It tightened its grip on Miss Brown’s throat leaving the girl gasping for breath.

“NO!” Miss Magdalene cried out. “This is not how it was supposed to go!”

At that moment a tall brunette dressed in a black constable’s uniform came storming down the stairs.

“What is this I hear about a demon?” she demanded as she reached the last step. The remaining girls in the corner all pointed towards Miss Brown and the demon.

“Oh, hey, you there! Stop that immediately! Let go of that girl!” The constable blew her whistle loudly. Upon hearing the shrill sound the demon dropped Miss Brown to the floor and turned to see where it came from.

“Another one. I am getting tired of this. You are all done for!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said the constable. “Now, state your name and address please.”

Miss Brown coughed and tried to fill her lungs with air at the same time. The demon seemed to have forgotten all about her and had focussed on the constable who, by now, had pulled out her notebook and pencil to write down the demon’s various offences. Miss Brown quickly located her sword and crawled towards it. She picked it up and slowly got to her feet. She needed to open the chest the demon had been sitting on. Still unsteady on her feet she walked over to the chest. She took a deep breath, concentrated, took position and hacked the chains open with one great move. The room spun in front of Miss Brown’s eyes and she fell to her knees. Miss Werdekinde who had been watching the scene unable to move on her bird’s feet now took her first uneasy steps towards Miss Brown.

“Miss Brown! Are you alright?”

“I am, I am. Just a bit wobbly. Quickly, Miss Werdekinde, open that chest.”


Sushuri Madonna

The ground began to shake. The noise was terrible. Even the demon was clearly alarmed. It felt like the end of the world, but in fact the chamber was closing again.

In other parts of the house the violence of the movement had been terrible, but here one became aware of the full force of the enchantment that had sealed the chamber. This was no mechanical closing of a stone portal, however vast, but the dreadful, semi-organic movement of tons upon tons of living rock.

"You fools! You'll not trap me again. Your day is over!" cried the demon, and spreading great leathery wings it mounted the stone stairs without touching them. "When you get out - if you get out - your village will be a pile of smouldering rubble."

The demon had no idea that the village it had terrorised centuries ago was now the great Arcadian metropolis of Loveton. Had it the power to level that mighty city? The maidens in the chamber feared greatly that it might well have such power. But at this moment a more immediate threat faced them.

"Constabel, get those girls out of the chamber - and that right quickly," commanded a white-robed figure from the head of the stairway. It was rare indeed that a priestess should issue such peremptory orders or speak with so little ceremony.

The steel-helmed constabel quickly began assisting the girls to the stairway, beginning with the blondes. The priestess took them as they reached the foot of the stairs and helped them up to make room for the next ones.

In the meantime Miss Werdekinde had succeeded in opening the chest. That in itself was no great feat. Once the chains were severed, the lid, though heavy, was manageable for a brunette as strong as she, even while unsteady on her feet. The sight that met her eyes was a little surprising.

The gold and glittering jewels she had expected. Even the huge, fiery ruby set in a golden crown, although it had been the crest-jewel of a sacred queen, was not an astonishing thing to see amid this fabled treasure, but in the midst of it all was the hilt of a sword unlike any she had seen before: a sword that seemed almost to pulsate with a power that made the mightiest engines of Arcadia seem mere playthings.

The hilt of the sword was upright, so that, if it still had its full blade, that blade must pass clean through the bottom of the chest and deep into the rock below.

"Take the sword while I hold the lid of the chest," cried Miss Werdekinde to Miss Brown.

Miss Brown seized the hilt of the sword, but it did not even tremble. She used both hands and set her foot upon the rock pedestal to exert her full strength. Miss Brown was even stronger than Miss Werdekinde. Once, when her little sister had managed to get her head stuck between the railings in Georgiana Park, she had bent the heavy iron bars with her bare hands. But this sword moved no more than the rock pedestal itself.

"Come along, ladies, take my arms," said the constabel. "Time to get out of this."

Miss Brown did as she was instructed. The constabel reached for Miss Werdekinde with her free hand.

"Not yet," said Miss Werdekinde. "I must take this sword."

"But there's no time left," said the constabel. "The rock is almost closed."

"Then get out!" ordered Miss Werdekinde with a tone of command that shocked both of them into doing as she said.

The constabel and Miss Brown barely squeezed through the closing gap.

Everyone was now arrayed on the stairway, most of them unable to get to their feet.

"You should not have interfered," burst out Miss Magdalene angrily. "I could have controlled the demon. I spent years researching it."

The priestess looked into the strange, hungry eyes of the scholar. "You could not have controlled that demon."

"The great company of maiden-knights could not defeat that demon," said the constabel.

"I knew what I was doing," said the scholar angrily.

"Do you not understand even now?" asked the priestess quietly. "The demon was controlling you."

"Can it destroy the city?" asked Miss Tring tremulously.

"I very much fear it can," said the priestess.

"What can we do?" asked Miss Brown.

"I shall call out the City Guard," said the constabel. "Then we must get the County Guard and there is a barracks of the 2nd Royal Musketeers about eight miles away."

"Then move with all speed, honoured guardian. You may at least be able to impede this foul creature a little. But I fancy our only real hope lies behind that wall of rock."


Cecile Landgrebe

The constabel quickly departed leaving the girls with the priestess. Miss Brown looked at the group of girls in the hallway. All but Miss Felice-Lytton and herself sat with their backs against the wall. Miss Cheekwood looked up at her cousin. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know Abigail.”
“Poor Miss Werdekinde, how will she ever get out?”
“I don’t know.”
Miss Brown moved her hand over her throat, it still burned. She had trouble grasping their current situation and had no idea how to proceed. This was quite a new feeling and one she did not like at all. She looked at Miss Felice-Lytton who had bowed down to comfort Miss Tring. Miss Brown noticed that the top button on Miss Felice-Lytton’s dress was unfastened. She reached out and fastened the little mother of pearl button on the top of the blonde’s neck. “Patty should take more care when she dresses you.” Miss Felice-Lytton looked up and was about to say something when she was cut short by the priestess.
“I have sent the maid to fetch someone to help those girls with their feet. Now Miss Magdalene, you will show me your library and tell me all you know about this creature.” Then she pointed at Miss Winter. “You will stay here and watch the other girls until the priestess comes that will restore your feet.” Then turning towards Miss Felice-Lytton and Miss Brown: “You two will join us in the library.”
Miss Cheekwood clasped her cousin’s hand. “Eliza, don’t leave.”
“I have to darling. Miss Winter will take care of you.” She looked at Miss Winter who nodded in confirmation. “I’m sure we won’t be long.”

[Cecile Landgrebe]

Adele Poppy

The twittery little Miss Tring was the blondest of the girls: delicate, sensitive and emotional. Miss Agatha Felice-Lytton, with a last pat and few murmured words of comfort, put Miss Tring's icy hand into Miss Cheekwood's warm one, saying "Dear Miss Cheekwood, won't you take care of her?" Miss Cheekwood instantly put her arm around the smaller blonde's shoulders. On Miss Tring's other side, Miss Winter moved closer and gently took her other hand.

Agatha straightened, discreetly stretching, feeling...actually, rather well considering the recent events. Spotting the maid emerging from the library, Agatha said, "Make these girls some tea, if you please, Tilly, and bring anything sweet you can find for them to eat. They all have had a very great shock." Then, noticing that the priestess and the others were already in the library and probably waiting for her, she added, "And please ask the cook send sandwiches and coffee to the library." She turned and hurried down the hall to the library, her truncated skirt swinging at her knees.

"Which I was already getting. And her ordering me about, all stripped half-naked," Tilly muttered as she ran toward the kitchen.

In the library, Miss Magdalena and Miss Brown stood while the priestess had seated herself in one of the wing chairs by the fireplace.

Agatha quickly reverenced the priestess and took the other chair, draping the remaining fragment of her frock so that it concealed as much as it could of her stockinged legs. She saw Miss Brown hide a smile and inch behind the chair in which the priestess sat, placing herself out of blonde visual range. Proper was proper, after all. Agatha was briefly sorry: it wasn't every day that a girl was able to view brunette ankles, not to mention a vast expanse of shapely leg above them, almost to the very knee! They were becoming quite the jinkypettes, she mused, then applied herself to attend the priestess, who had begun to speak.

"We must control the demon somehow," began the priestess, “And that means containing it. Miss Magdalena,” she turned a tranquil face to address the brunette, who bowed slightly in response, “Have you any way to draw the demon back to the cellar chamber?”

“Yes, honored matri.” Miss Magdalena said shortly, impatience evident on her pleasant features. “There is a jewel there—or it was there when I left the room—that has properties the demon must have to continue its physical manifestation. Oh, and it provides some other things, some minor powers, but ultimately the demon will begin to dissolve if it gets too far from the jewel. If the demon neglected to take it when it flew away, I can use the jewel to force it to return.” She sighed and gestured abruptly. “Can we get on with this? I’m willing to go along with you, but you must know that the demon is essentially harmless and we’ll be wasting our time.”

A serene smile appeared on the priestess’ face. “You are very kind to humor a poor priestess,”

Tilly entered the room with a large tray containing sandwiches and a coffee service, which she placed on a little table near the hearth.

Under the building a deep rumbling began. Unlike the previous time the treasure room opened, the sound seemed to penetrate the skin in a subsonic hum, but there was not much movement. Agatha stood up and looked around. One or two books which had been stacked on the edge of their shelf had tumbled to the floor, and a faint clinking sound came from the tray as the cups rattled together, but no other damage seemed to be happening. Tilly put both hands on the tray to still the clinking cups.

"Stop fussing with the tray, Tilly," snapped Miss Magdalena, "Just leave it there and get the flashlights. We must get started. You know what to do."

Tilly abandoned the tray and, opening a cupboard by the hall door, removed several flashlights and what appeared to be a bundle of shimmering pearly fabric, which she set upon the table. She gave a flashlight to each girl and one to Miss Magdalena, then returned to the table, where she lifted the fabric and carried it to Miss Magdalena, who made no move to touch it. Tilly shook the fabric out of its folds, and then hung the cape (for that is what it was) over the shoulders of the tall brunette and fastened it at her throat with a silver fibula that was attached to the cape by a thin cord.

She then drew the hood of the cape over her mistress' head, and placed a slender silver circlet over that, effectively clamping the fine fabric to her mistress’ head.

Then, surprising the girls, Tilly swiftly knelt on the floor and lifted the hem of the robe to her lips. In a strange hieratic voice Miss Magdalen cried "Are you faithful?"

"I am faithful," cried the maidservant.

The rumbling beneath them stopped.


Sushuri Madonna

Like the grotesque parody of an avenging angel, the demon hovered above Millington Borough Hall, the administrative seat of this Eastward borough of the great city. Below, constabels were evacuating buildings and urging citizens into the subways.

The Companies of Archers from various brunette schools and colleges had assembled, each formed into neat batteries, but with no overall commander.

"Please, hold your fire, rayalini," urged the constabels. The demon had made no aggressive act as yet, nor had any plan of action been formed by the defenders.

Flying craft were highly unreliable in Loveton, even though, due south in the Archduchy of Jenilow, advanced flying machines were common. Consequently there was neither an air force here nor any anti-aircraft artillery. However, General Marymore was bringing as much field artillery as she could muster with all possible speed.

Suddenly the creature swooped upon the Borough Hall. Quite what it did was unclear, but the building collapsed almost instantly into smoking ruins.

"Let fly!" commanded the captain of one company of archers.

A volley of arrows sped toward the creature. It gestured, and all were consumed by flames.

The other companies began loosing shafts until the demon was besieged upon every side by winged messengers of death. Most were burned before they touched it. Several bounced off its hide and a few even penetrated the surface. These it brushed away as a maid might brush off a stinging insect.

Extending its leathery wings, the demon swooped toward the nearest Company of Archers, its talons outstretched.

There was a loud report followed by several others. The demon was knocked back and upward by a few yards. It shook its head, surprised but otherwise unharmed.

A commanding figure in red and gold rode into the square. It was General Marymore.

"Get these children off the streets!" she shouted.

The constabels began to clear the archers. Soldiers started pouring into the square. Officers were shouting orders. Field guns were being positioned.

"If it tries to attack, drive it back with the light artillery," shouted the general. "Once we get my thirty-pounders in range, we'll blow it out of the sky."

___

"The chamber is opening again!" cried Miss Tring in alarm.

"Nothing to fear," said Miss Winter reassuringly. "Now Miss Werdekinde will be able to get out."

"Oh yes - that is a relief," said Miss Tring.

The great rock portal slid wider and wider until, standing in the entranceway they saw - was it Miss Werdekinde? In a way it looked like her, but this figure was taller, her eyes glowed with a strange fire and showed no recognition of the maidens before her.

"Miss Werdekinde..." said Miss Winter hesitantly.

A voice spoke that filled the chamber like the war-chant of many maids: "I am the Child of Fate, indeed. Who is it calls upon me?"

"I am Winter. Do you not know me?"

"I have known many winters, but have not had the honour to meet Winter herself."

"I am but a mortal named Winter. Do you not know me?"

The Werdekinde lifted her sword that seemed to glow as if fires burned within it.

"At this time I know only what I must do. Where is the fiend?"

Miss Winter pointed up the stairs. "Out there."

"Then I must go thither."

As she moved forward, light seemed to trail behind her like a cloak.

As she set foot upon the first step of the stairway, the doorway at its summit swung open and there stood a robed figure. It was the priestess.

"Please go not yet, honoured warrior," she said.

"Maiden of Dea, seek not to hold me from my bounden duty."

"I seek not that, Child of Fate, but you have no wings. Above, that fiend will flee you and strike from the skies: yes and strike not you only, but many. Let me lure it here where it cannot escape."

"Then one or both of us shall perish in this chamber," said the Werdekinde. "You speak wisdom. Thus shall it be."


Cecile Landgrebe

Miss Brown had followed the priestess into the hallway to see what was going on. She looked at Miss Werdekinde in amazement. If anything could take on that demon Miss Brown was certain that this is what it would look like. She recognised the sword as the one from the picture Miss Felice-Lytton had found earlier. She felt utterly silly for trying to fight that demon with what must have looked like a butter knife. The sight of Miss Werdekinde filled her with hope that all could be turned right again. She looked at the priestess. “Honoured Matri, how can I help?”

“You already know, child.”

“No, I don’t. I’m so confused. I just want to make it all right again.”

“What would you do if I was not here to tell you what to do?”

The priestess did not seem to want to discuss the issue any further and turned her attention to Miss Werdekinde again.

Think Eliza! You already know what to do. Miss Brown frowned in concentration. Slowly she made her way back to the library. Tilly was still on her knees before Miss Magdalena who was chanting something incomprehensible in a low voice. Miss Felice-Lytton was still in her chair staring at the scene in front of her. Miss Brown made her way to the single window and looked at the chaos outside. The darkness of the night was occasionally lit by the fire of battle. Miss Brown felt very weary. Suddenly a glass of brandy appeared in front of her face.

“So, have you found the jewel yet? I tried Miss Magdalena but she is in some sort of trance I believe. She does not respond to any of my questions.”

Miss Brown smiled, took the brandy and gulped it down in one movement. “If she was not here to tell me what to do, I would ask you Miss Felice-Lytton. So, what do we do now?”

Miss Felice-Lytton raised her eyebrows. Miss Brown must be very tired indeed. The pette no longer made sense. “Well, if Miss Magdalene kept a picture of the sword on her desk, I suggest we start searching there for information on the jewel.”

“Excellent! Do you still have the key?”

“I left it on the desk.”

In the hallway Miss Winter tried to get up in order to answer the door. She slowly made her way down the hallway with one hand on the wall in order to keep her balance. The sight of the two priestesses in the doorway was a great relief. Finally someone would help them get their feet back…and hopefully her shiny new boots too.


Sushuri Madonna

"The crest-jewel of Queen Gloryana the First," said the Priestess, taking the remarkable ornament from the chest.

"Not a sight I had ever thought to behold with my proper eyes,", said a resounding voice from the head of the stairway. It was like the voice of a classical brunette actress of the old school, but it belonged to a saffron-robed Priestess of rather over 230 summers.

The white-robed priestess in the chamber made deep reverence. "Rayati, my lady. Please be good to me."

The saffron-robed one descended the stairs swiftly and made reverence in return.

"Rayati, holy one. Please be good also to me."

"You came quickly, Matri Hermyana."

"Your telegram spoke of urgency, Matri Sucribund, and it did not exaggerate. Some fool of a general thinks to kill a hellspawn with canon."

"If any can kill that abomination, she stands here."

Matri Hermyana reverenced deeply to the Werdekinde, who seemed to be deep in contemplation of her sword and unaware of all that passed.

"She gathers the strength of Sai Vikhe in each moment," said Matri Sucribund. "She will be ready. But you must help me bring the hellspawn hither."

"I will do all I may," replied Matri Hermyana.

"I need the form and likeness of this Jewel," said Matri Sucribund. "Near perfect because it draws its similitude from the Jewel itself, thus leaving a subtle trail unto it."

"Honoured matri, you know I forswore the way of the phenagule when I took this robe."

"Honoured matri, why did Dea ordain that you follow that way to begin with? It was, I think in preparation for this moment."

Matri Hermyana smiled and quoted an old, if rather tendentious, saying against her own Order: "The path of Love achieves the Summit while the Path of Light is still winding."

"Who said that knew not that light travels ever straight," responded Matri Sucribund. "But I believe I am right in this case."

"I believe so also, but it will not be easy."

"We have little time, honoured matri."

"I said not that it would not be swift. Only that it would not be easy."

Matri Hermyana took the crest-jewel in her two hands and fell into a concentration as deep as that of the Werdekinde. A look of pain crossed her face, and suddenly the lines of age, that had always been there, but seemed as nothing compared to the light that shone in her - those lines now became dominant and the light faded. She fell unconscious to the floor, a crumpled, aged body with the Crest-Jewel held in withered hands.

Matri Sucribund picked up the Crest-Jewel, and yet it remained in the hand of the fallen priestess, for now there were two Crest-Jewels - one almost indistinguishable from the other.


Cecile Landgrebe

“Nothing,” Miss Brown sighed, “nothing at all.”
“So what’s our next idea?” Miss Felice-Lytton asked. Miss Brown glanced one more time over the piles of paper on the desk, hoping to find something that would explain the situation in the clock tower. Nothing. Suddenly the sonorous sound of Miss Magdalena’s prayers stopped. Tilly, still kneeling before her mistress raised and followed Miss Magdalena out of the room.
“I wonder what those two are up to.”
Miss Brown took Miss Felice-Lytton’s hand and followed the couple out of the room. In the hallway they found the girls being treated by a priestess. Miss Magdalena and Tilly did not seem to take any notice of any of them but walked slowly but steadily towards the cellar. Miss Cheekwood wanted to ask her cousin what was happening but sensed it was better to keep silent. It felt like something very important was about to happen, so instead of opening her mouth she held her breath and just looked.
Miss Brown and Miss Felice-Lytton followed Miss Magdalena and Tilly into the cellar. Miss Felice-Lytton gasped as she saw the body of a priestess lie on the floor.
“What happened?”
“Do not fear my child, all will be well.”
The words of Matri Sucribund sounded soft and comforting.
“I see you have started the process already.” Miss Magdalena’s spoke without interrupting her trance.
“Process? What process?” Miss Brown demanded. Miss Felice-Lytton was shocked at Miss Brown’s blunt way of stating the question. One did not address a priestess that way.
“Please honoured Matri, forgive Miss Brown. What she meant to ask is whether you could explain to us what is happening? This whole situation is rather confusing and we would so much like to help.”
“Child, there is not much time. We need to combine the pure spirits of Haiela, Rahira, Magdala and Paccia to create Hayana, the essential maid. She will lure the demon and bring it before the Werdekinde. Which of you Raihira will take the Crest-Jewel?”


Adele Poppy

Agatha's eyes filled with quick tears. She whispered, "Oh, Matri, I am not pure. I...I drank spirits. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway." Agatha brought her hands to her face, forgetting that she held Miss Brown's left hand (which she absent-mindedly used to wipe her eyes). "I'm so sorry."

Matri Sucribund's brow furrowed in concern. "Tiny child, what are you saying? You wouldn't be here if you had an impure heart. Compose yourself, please. We don't have time to indulge ourselves in theatrics." She softened her blunt words by touching the crown of Agatha's head with her fingertips. "I absolve you of your wrongdoing. Henceforth, be a good girl."

Agatha nodded, childishly sniffing: the suddenly intense emotion had passed.

The priestess straightened and looked around. "Do any of you want absolution, too? No? Well, then, where were we? Oh, yes: which of you will undertake this task?"

"I will," said Miss Brown promptly.

"I will," said Agatha at the same instant. She had forgotten what the task was, but she didn't want to be left out of any excitement.

The priestess beamed delightedly. "How nice!" She gestured with the hand holding the copy of the crest-jewel, a twisting, sinuous movement that the eye could not quite follow. "Done. Go into the chamber together. Do not fight the forces that will move you while you are there; let them control you, and allow them use your voices to say what must be said." Walking to the open chest, she laid the sparkling gem in it, then began to move again toward the bird-footed girls still awaiting her care.

"But, Matri," began Miss Brown. She stopped, disconcerted by Agatha who had spoken the same words simultaneously.

They looked at each other. "What..." they said together, "Oh, I see."

"Go, go, already," said the priestess, without turning around, making a shooing motion with her hand.

The blonde and brunette, seemingly unaware of their still-joined hands, checked their weapons. Miss Brown had previously thrust her sword through a knotted wad of the fabric she had cut from the hem of her gown and tied around her waist like a thick belt. Agatha had her short sword tucked under her sash at her back.

"What do you suppose the task is?" Agatha wondered aloud. Miss Brown murmured the words with her, then said, "I don't know, exactly. But we must go back in the chamber and combine with the others somehow." Agatha felt her mouth shape the words as Miss Brown said them.

They simultaneously drew a deep breath and then walked into the chamber where Matri Hermyana was sitting up from her swoon. Miss Magdalena and Tilly were seemingly frozen in their tableau: servant standing with her hand outstretched toward the priestess, palm down, with the mistress' hand covering it. They gazed without moving at Matri Hermyana, their faces incurious and blank.

Sighing, the priestess painfully got to her feet and tried to brush the dust from her robes, hampered a little by the origninal crest-jewel which she still held in her hand. She gestured with it to Agatha and Miss Brown. "Come here, children. I'm afraid I must hurt you now. If we had more time, I could do what I must do without the pain, but I fear that the monster draws near and our time is gone." Her voice had gained strength, and was once more mellifluous and compelling. "Give me your hands. No, the joined hands, if you please."

Agatha and Miss Brown extended their clasped hands, which they had found, with an odd lack of surprise, they could not separate. Matri Hermyana placed their hands on top of the joined hands of Miss Magdalena and Tilly, then lay her own left hand on top of them all, with the shining gemstone loosely cradled in her palm.

With her right hand, she drew a knife from her robe: a businesslike stiletto with a very long blade. Then, placing the sharp point of the blade downward on the jewel, she pushed down very suddenly, causing the blade of the knife to pierce the jewel and their joined hands all at once.

The pain didn't come immediately; Agatha had barely enough time to think that Matri Hermyana must have done some slight-of-hand before a wave of agony washed over her like a river of flame. Galvanized, her back arched and she drew a hissing breath through her teeth. She felt the skin tighten over her entire body as her hair tried to stand on end, but she managed not to jerk her hand.

"Don't faint," Agatha heard herself say. Miss Brown was looking at her intently, her face white and her eyes glittering with her own pain. "Please don't, Miss Felice-Lytton. I won't be able to hold you up if you do--I'm on the wrong side to catch you," Miss Brown and Agatha said as one.

Agatha couldn't answer, but she didn't feel likely to slip into unconsciousness. Next to them, Miss Magdalena was holding Tilly who was slumped limply against her side, supporting her weight effortlessly. The little maid's eyes had started to roll back, but Miss Magdalena said hoarsely, "Tilly, I need you here. You may not swoon."

Tilly obediently regained her senses. "Very good, Madam," she said in a faint voice.

Agatha noticed that the jewel was gone. How could it have disappeared when it was held by the hilt of the knife which pinned all their hands together? Had it been absorbed by their hands? Then something else occurred to her.

"Matri, where is the Magdala? Aren't we supposed to have one here for this to work?"

The priestess gave a gasping laugh. "I was born magdala, to a family of traveling phenagulists and handymaids. But I was called to the Temple many years ago and forswore the stage and the phenagule." She paused to listen, then continued. "It's rare, but it can happen..." She trailed off. "Do you hear that?"

The sound of wind could be heard all the way down in the cellar chamber, and over it they could hear the voice of the demon raging.

"It is here." Matri Hermyana said calmly. "Prepare yourselves."


Cecile Landgrebe

The Werdekinde who had stood silently observing the ritual performed before her suddenly seemed to come to life. Her glowing eyes now seemed to be on fire and light pulsated from her skin. “Yes, it is coming,” she said and raised her sword. Miss Brown looked at Miss Felice-Lytton. She wanted to ask her if she was ready but just as she was about to say the words she knew that Miss Felice-Lytton already knew the question and before Miss Brown realised it her lips had formed the sentence: “I am ready.”

The wind from the entrance became stronger and stronger. The group pinned together had trouble staying balanced. Miss Brown and Miss Felice-Lytton took their swords. Miss Brown knew that her sword would probably not make much difference, but she felt better holding it ready.

The demon rushed in with a giant shriek. “The jewel!” The girls felt the wind pull on their skirts and hair. It roared towards the group. “Where is it?” Then the demon noticed the Werdekinde slowly approaching him. “You?” The beast seemed shocked but quickly its face turned into a grin. “It has been a long time since we last met. You have no idea how glad I am to see you here. There are some things I would like to…ah….settle.”


Sushuri Madonna

Far above, in what seemed to be another world, the ground was shaken by the explosion of half a dozen thirty-pound shells.

Their trajectories had been planned so that, if they missed their mark, four would land in a little railed park where uniformed nannies daily pushed perambulators. By now it was, of course, evacuated. The other two splashed down in the great river, raising domes of water as they exploded below the surface.

"Hold your fire! It's gone!" commanded the General. "I said it wouldn't be able to withstand my thirty-pounders."

"Yes, but I wonder where it has gone," murmured the Temple-Mother to her evacuated handmaidens-of the-altar. "I doubt it was really fleeing from those noisy shells."
___

The Werdekinde raised her sword until she held it two-handed and vertically before her, like the Pillar of Light.

"Hold you fast to the Truth, for the Truth is a Pillar; a steadifast Pillar that all of the world cannot shake." Miss Tring felt the ancient words run through her head.

"We may settle all that you wish, for I am here at your service," said a voice that was at once Miss Werdekinde's and not Miss Werdekinde's.

She bowed as a maid does before fencing.

"Why make reverence to a demon?" thought Miss Tring. "One reverences a maid because she has the light of Dea in her heart."

"All creatures have the light of Dea in their deepest heart," said the Priestess softly as if in answer to her unspoken words, "else they did not exist. Yet I think we shall not see that light in this creature today."

Indeed, the demon seemed a thing of purest evil. In its hands appeared a three-headed spear with great jagged points that would tear flesh and shatter bone. Her mighty thrust to the chest of the Werdekinde had destroyed ribs heart and lungs in one blow, had not the great sword swept it aside.

Miss Brown watched the combat of the two and realised new depths of the Way of the Sword. She saw light and darkness thrust and parry, not in wild melee, but watching, waiting, each knowing the thoughts of the other, anticipating movements as the highest fencing-mistresses do; "watching not with eyes nor listening with ears". And all this that the Way of Light might cross the Valley of darkness and find its way into the Heart of the Sun.

How strange that here, where life hung in the balance, she should receive lessons in the realisation of the Spirit of her Art. Yet what, indeed, was truly more important? Life and death, or the Truth that lies beyond both?

A thrust from the demon was cast far aside and the Werdekinde had her opening. A thousandth of a second and she had riven its black heart, but the demon moved barely in time. The thrust pierced its shoulder.

The combatants drew back briefly, and drops of blood began to splash on the ancient stone of the floor.

Something like a dark vapour rose from each drop and took the shape of the demon itself. And each lesser demon, armed with a three-headed spear, fixed its eyes upon the Werdekinde.

"Raihira maidens, your swords!" Cried the Priestess. "Smite you those lesser demons, for the Werdekinde must fight the greater."


Adele Poppy

Suddenly, Agatha Felice-Lytton felt simply wonderful. She was stripped of any capacity for self-indulgence (of which normally she had quite a lot) and reflection, and she was connected in a profoundly intimate way to Miss Ursula Magdalena, Tilly, Miss Eliza Brown and Matri Hermyana. The point at which their hands were joined seemed to be the source of the most sweet, potent energy she had ever felt.

Agatha felt her lips stretch, as if she were baring her teeth at the demon whose every pore she suddenly could see perfectly. In fact she was smiling ferociously, her face blazing with joy and resolve. The pain in her hand ceased. The knife that had pierced it, and all of their hands, was still there, but the sensation was unimportant. In fact everything except for the battle before her became unimportant and distant. The little demons mustn’t reach the Werdekinde.

The demon, as if noticing the charge in the aethyr of the room, whipped its head around and looked directly at Agatha for a fraction of a second. Its eyes widened in surprise before it turned back to the Werdekinde, who had taken advantage of the miniscule lapse and leaned closer to her opponent. With a casual flick of her sword, she sliced off the demon's sword hand at the wrist, sending the monster’s sword spinning up. The blade sank itself deeply into the stone wall, near the ceiling, several yards away. The hand itself fell to the ground, where, unnoticed, it righted itself and crawled on its fingertips toward the Werdekinde.

The demon howled. It jumped away in quick snaking motion and snatched at the sword with its remaining hand. But the blade was embedded too deeply in the stone to loosen, so the demon hung from the pommel, jerking powerfully at it. Its thick spiny tail uncoiled and slashed at the Werdekinde, opening a long cut across her chest, out of which spilled not blood but a light so bright that Agatha, busily skewering lesser demons on her sword for safekeeping, could not look directly at it. When the light struck the demon, its howls took on a whistling shrieking sound, and its furious scrabbling at the sword grew frantic. Abandoning its attempts to pull the blade from the rock, the monster dropped to the ground and unfurled its wings, feeling about it on the floor as it did so.

"You stupid little girl," it screamed. It beat its wings then, lifting slightly into the air. “I could take you in my sleep, you…you NOTHING!”

With no change of expression on her intent face, the Werdekinde walked toward the demon, which launched itself toward the vaulted ceiling. It hovered there, slightly out of reach of the Werdekinde’s blade, facing her but backing away slowly as the Werdekinde kept pace below.

The demon opened its fist, displaying a large jewel, the Crest-Jewel of Queen Gloryana the First, evidently, twinkling cheerfully in the bright glow emanating from the Werdekinde. “You’ll wish you’d stayed a schoolgirl, Werdekinde,” the demon cackled. “With this, I am invulnerable!”

It popped the jewel into its mouth and swallowed, but in doing so it lost altitude whereupon the Werdekinde’s ready sword instantly flashed forward, opening the demon’s bulging belly and flicked out again to cut through its tail near the body.

The tail fell heavily to the floor, where it, too, underwent a transformation: it shrank and became a serpentine, limbless creature, about the size of a large cat, studded so thickly with barbed needles that any other features it may have possessed were obscured. It coiled itself, and then lifted one end swaying into the air like a cobra unsure where to strike. Still more imps were formed from the falling blood, but more slowly as the demon weakened. The stone chamber thundered with its bellows of rage and pain.

Mortally wounded and clutching itself, the demon itself twisted in midair, only just beginning to comprehend the injuries it had received. Its head drooped suddenly, the leprous tongue lolling from its mouth, then righted itself with a wobbly shake.

“You can’t harm me, Werdekinde! All you are doing is building my army for me!” It hissed, but it was diminished, not only in size but in its ability to regenerate its form. A lumpish little hand had been attempting to grow on the truncated wrist, but had stopped before it could manifest completely and the tail was similarly stunted, showing no sign that a new tail was growing.

Around the demon’s form now appeared an aura of deep black, shooting sizzling black beams or rays a short distance into the air around it. The aura appeared to be dissolving the demon’s outlines, pulling it into the blackness. With a snarling howl the demon wheeled in midair and shot toward the door of the cellar chamber, trying to retreat from the treasure chamber, through the antechamber, up the stairs and then into the open air (it had destroyed part of the building when it had returned, leaving one corner of the clock tower structure in ruins) where its wings could carry it to safety high above the earthbound Werdekinde, there to regenerate its strength and limbs.

Its flight was brought up short by the sight of the Maiden-Wheel blocking opening in the wall. The joined maidens breathed as one, their shining eyes on their adversary. Only Agatha and Miss Brown bore weapons, but they held them at the ready, albeit heavy with the smaller imps already strung like beads on the blades. The Wheel turned itself as the demon moved around them, always pointing its weapons toward the enemy. The Werdekinde idly skewered several of the lesser demons herself, all the while regarding the large demon patiently.

“You will be my slaves! You will be my handmaidens, bound to me in filth and corruption,” slavered the demon furiously, though its voice was weaker now, its body palsied. It snapped its jaws at them, biting at the air in front of the Wheel, but it couldn’t breach the Maiden-Wheel barring the door.

The pulsing energy emanating from their joined hands coursed through and flickered around them; softly shining particles hung suspended in the air: a veil of tiny jewels. When the demon drew near to the Wheel, the crackling black aura surrounding the demon seemed to enlarge, and it flung itself back with a pained yelp, only to swoop toward the Wheel again from another angle.

The Werdekinde, by then, was under attack by the varied parts she had sliced from the demon. She calmly speared the hand on the end of her sword, then, without looking, flipped the hand through the air toward the Maiden-Wheel. Miss Brown and Agatha both moved their swords to intercept it, but it shot past them only to be snatched from the air by Tilly, who had suddenly stood up on her own, pushing aside Miss Magdalena’s protective arm.

“Your handmaiden?” Tilly snapped, outrage banishing her faintness. “I’ll handmaiden your filth and corruption right off of my clean floor, just you see if I don’t!”

With her free hand, Tilly thrust the demon-hand aloft directly in the path of the needle-covered serpent-creature, which the Werdekinde had flung with the point of her sword. The barbed points on its needles caught in the hand, holding it fast. The writhing creature whipped its tail around, trying to injure Tilly, but the same force that held the Maiden-Wheel together repulsed the tail from her flesh. With a flick of her wrist, Tilly swung the tail around and caused it to wrap itself around demon-hand. Then she thrust the whole gristly bundle up again to impale one of the little demons which the Werdekinde had tossed her way. There it stuck, squalling thickly. She neatly caught four more on the barbs as quickly as the Werdekinde could throw them.

“Tilly,” Miss Magdalena said. “Put them here.”

With her free hand Miss Magdalena had drawn up the opalescent fabric of her cloak into a pouch. Tilly flung her prickly burden into the pouch, and, with her mistress, rolled the wriggling captives into a tight bundle.

“Handmaiden indeed,” Tilly said smugly.

“The Jewel will serve me,” the demon panted, sounding more hopeful than certain. It collected itself for a last assault on the Wheel.

“Face me, demon!” The Werdekinde’s voice rang out. “That illusion you swallowed will do you no good. You have lost the great Crest-Jewel, fiend, and you are failing even now.”

[Cecile Landgrebe]

The demon swirled around to face the Werdekinde. “No, you are lying. I cannot be beaten.” The Werdekinde slashed her sword deep across the demon’s chest. The beast cried out in horror and surprise as is sagged to the floor. "It is over." the Werdekinde said and approached the screaming and moaning horridity. She stood over the demon, took her sword in both hands and thrust it down into the beasts heart. The scream emitting from the demon was beyond anything Eliza Brown had ever heard. It resonated through her body, through the walls, and made the earth shake.

In Clearwater Quirrinelle Phillipa Kelly was preparing breakfast. Her brunette had just left for office and her little blonde daughter sat at the table watching her make pancakes. The radio was playing on the background and all seemed well. Philippa wondered what was keeping the mailpette. She was late today. Of course she would be late on the day she expected a letter. Wasn't it always so? Suddenly the ground trembled slightly. The crystal clear glasses in her cupboard tinkled, and then it was gone. "Mummy, what happened?" "I don't know darling." Philippa suddenly felt a warm glow in her heart and she seemed to stand up a bit taller, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulder. Her daughter giggled. "I think something good happened, mummy." "Yes, yes, I think you are right sweetheart." Philippa smiled and turned up the radio a bit. She quickly flipped over the pancake she had almost forgotten about and hummed along with the latest new tune. Now what on earth could be keeping that mailpette? Always late on days she expected a letter.

The basement was suddenly covered in darkness. The glowing light from the Werdekinde was gone and all was silence. Eliza Brown felt a searing pain in her hand and the wound at her throat was burning. She let go of her sword and used her now free hand to fumble for the knife keeping their hands pinned together. She felt the hilt of the knife and took it firmly in her hand. "Ladies, I am going to pull the knife out now. It will hurt. On the count of three….one…two…three… Gasps and soft cries were heard from the wheel. The pain of the withdrawing knife was sickening and Miss Brown's head spun. She felt Miss Felice-Lytton fall against her back. She turned around just in time to catch her and ease her to the floor. "Miss Felice-Lytton!" She patted the blonde's cheek. Miss Felice-Lytton moaned but did not wake up. "Tilly?" "Yes ma'am." "We need some light." "Yes ma'am." The maid felt her way up the stairs and opened the door letting in a few streams of light. Miss Brown looked around and sighed. What a mess. Miss Magdalena looked shaken. Matri Hermyana sat on her knees and attended Miss Magdalena’s wound. "Don't worry about the blonde, girl. Go see about your other friend." Miss Brown scrambled up from her kneeling position and hurried to where she saw Miss Werdekinde's body lying on the floor. Her dress was torn and moist with blood, she looked horrible. Miss Brown dropped down on her knees to check Miss Werdekinde's pulse. She still had one…barely. Miss Brown oppressed her instinct to panic. "Honoured Raya, she needs help. Now." The priestess got up and looked at the unconscious girl. "This does not look good. I will keep her alive, but she needs a doctor. Quickly girl…run." Miss Brown almost ran into Tilly coming down the stairs carrying candles. She sped through the hallway out of the front door of the clock tower and stopped dead in her track. She had expected anything but the sight before her. “Dea!...what…. I don’t understand.”

[Sushuri Madonna]

Miss Brown blinked several times. Not that there was anything wrong. On the contrary, everything was completely right.

The buildings destroyed by the demon were standing just as they had been when the girls had arrived this morning. The crater in the park caused by one of the general's forty-pound shells was not there, and the green turf lay serene and undisturbed by anything more than a few small brown shoe-scuffs caused by an over-energetic child.

The demon, the battle, whole thing could have been a dream. She looked at her hand. The wound from which the knife had been so recently withdrawn was beginning to heal - which was impossibly fast even by Aristasian standards. But it was decidedly there and hurting quite badly. This had certainly been no dream.

She heard the high, powerful voice of an army sergeant shrilling commands; she heard the roll of Vikhelic drums and a troop marched into view: a long procession interspersed with several forty-pounder field-guns drawn by pairs of horses.

Dozens of small brunettes ran along beside them cheering and saluting. The soldiers, marching in unbroken microsecond-perfect rhythm, stared fixedly ahead with unchanging expressions; each pair of eyes fixed, apparently, on an imaginary spot a foot or so from her forehead.

Several constabels prevented the children from getting in the way of the battle-maidens.

"What is happening, honoured defender?" Miss Brown asked of a constabel who came near her.

The constabel saluted. "Routine manoeuvres, ma'am. Nice for the kiddies. Nicer for the innkeepers." She chuckled at this little pleasantry and Miss Brown chuckled with her.

She wanted to chuckle. She wanted - quite uncharacteristically - to laugh and sing and dance in the street, though of course she restrained herself. It could have been sheer relief that the demon was defeated and the world was somehow, miraculously, put back to its old familiar, friendly self.

It could have been: but in fact it was more than that, for the world had not simply been put back to its old familiar, friendly self. It was somehow better, purer, brighter than it had been before. The soldiers were smarter, the children were gayer, the constabel was even more a guardian of the True Order than she had been this morning.

The very colours of the world were richer and more vivid. Every button on the constabel's tunic seemed to gleam with the very essence of button-ness and of pure metal.

It was as if a layer of grime had been cleansed from a painting.

But enough of this. For a moment - but only for a moment - the surprise of it all had put the urgency of her mission from her mind. The constabel had turned back to her duties.

"Honoured defender," cried Miss Brown.

"Yes'm?"

"Please could you fetch the nearest doctor and say it is very urgent. There is someone inside that house in critical condition."

"Right away ma'am," said the constabel and sped down the street, wondering why, if it was so urgent, the brunette had not mentioned it immediately.

Some thought about brunettes behaving like blondes these days entered her mind. But she dismissed it. The day was too beautiful for ungenerous thoughts - and "these days": weren't they the best days the world had ever seen?
___

Matri Hermyana gazed at the motionless and bloodied body of Miss Werdekinde as if in deep contemplation. Then, suddenly she made an arcane gesture and the body floated lightly off the ground.

Matri Sucribund seemed unsurprised by this act of levitation, but said to her sister-priestess:

"Matri, are you sure it is safe to move her."

"It is most unsafe, I fear, Matri," replied Matri Hermyana, "but it is her only hope. She must be removed from this chamber immediately."

The others cleared the stairway as Matri Hermyana walked slowly up, her hands turned palm-up as if carrying some sacred object. In fact they were empty, but a few feet above them floated the recumbent body of Miss Werdekinde.

Such minor acts of phenagulism she had for years forsworn, but she knew that this was by far the safest and gentlest way of moving the vehicle that had lately housed the Werdekinde.

As they reached the sunlight of the ground floor, Miss Werdekinde began to stir slightly. The priestess let her down, as softly as a snowflake, upon a large sofa.

"Whe.." breathed Miss Werdekinde. It was al she could manage to say.

"Shh." said the priestess gently. "No talking now. All is well. Just sleep."

Whether it was the reassurance or some mild hypnotic influence, Miss Werdekinde's eyes closed and her face became seraphically peaceful.

"Cover her," commanded the priestess. "Gently, please, but very warmly. That cloak will do."

"Oh not this," said Miss Magdalena. "Tilly, fetch the finest blankets from the cupboard. Immediately, girl."

"Yes'm." said Tilly, and 'fair flew' out of the room.

"A fine garment," said the priestess, touching a fold of Miss Magdalena's shimmering velvet travelling cloak. One of Ravenholme's unless I am mistaken.

"Yes, it is from Ravenholme," admitted Miss Magdalena somewhat uncomfortably.

"Warm for the time of year though. I suppose you are leaving us."

"Leaving?" asked Miss Magdalena.

"Do not take me for a fool, child. I have forgotten more about all this than you will ever learn. You are leaving with those trinkets."

"What trinkets are you referring to?"

The priestess gestured toward Miss Magdalena's bodice, and the outlines of several small items glowed through the fabric. They were pieces of jewellery spirited from the treasure-chest before the chamber was re-sealed.

Tilly returned with the blankets and one of the blondes took them and began to cover Miss Werdekinde with wonderful gentleness.

"Come here, Tilly," commanded Miss Magdalena.

The little maidservant stood close to her mistress, and suddenly Miss Magdalena enclosed the her in the great cloak she was wearing.

The priestess held up her hand and the cloak, even as it was falling about the girl, froze, as did Miss Magdalena; suspended in mid action.

"Is this your wish, Tilly?" she asked the girl.

Tilly, still frozen in mid-action, spoke without movement of her mouth. "She is my mistress, honoured Matri."

The priestess lowered her hand. The cloak fell about the girl, and mistress and maid were gone. A look of triumph was the last thing they saw of Miss Magdalena's face.

"They have gone," said Miss Brown.

"So it would appear," agreed the priestess.

"With their ill-gotten gains."

The priestess nodded.

"You could have stopped her easily. Why did you not."

"It is not my affair to stop her. She will have a splendid time with her treasure. Free from anxiety. Still searching for secrets she will never find. Eventually she will turn to the light."

"Can you read the future, ma'am?"

"No, child. But the secrets of the universe are not to be found by worldly ways - even the ways of conjurers: and all souls will turn toward the light in the end. Did you not know that?"

"Yes, ma'am. I suppose I did."