Edgars Auziņš
Fall in love in a weekwe get by
Okay, infection! Watching the flow of polite malice when, for a change, it was not directed at you, turned out to be a fascinating experience. I was tempted to ask for a master class.
“Mr. Obley,” the professor stopped at the table and now looked at the unfortunate bungler, who had just come out of the storage room, like a boa constrictor at a rabbit. ? he froze on the threshold, gently pressing a glass structure made of a flask, a glass and some tubes to his chest – obviously, the same sublimation apparatus. A large red apple miraculously held onto the narrow neck of the flask.
– Good afternoon, Professor Norwood.
– You give me hope that there is still constancy in this world. Get off the floor and, please, bring this surrealist still life to the table intact.
I moved to the far corner of the class, again at Charlotte’s prompting. “We will have to monitor safety, there could be an explosion. From the professor's place it is difficult to control the entire laboratory, this edge is on you. I’ll help you today, then you’ll be on your own.”
"Explosion?!" – I can’t say that the prospect of explosions made me happy. Moreover, Mr. Obley, from whom one should expect trouble in the first place, was sitting much closer to me than to the professor. And very close was the place of Mr. Applestone, who was already quite openly looking sideways at my, Charlotte’s, tits.
“So,” the professor walked around the class, and the students froze, afraid, it seemed, even to breathe. He knows how to… hold an audience. In fear. Perhaps it's a shame for Charlotte to complain compared to this. – I believe that even in brains that were baked or dried out over the summer, the idea should have appeared to familiarize yourself with the topic of the lesson in advance. If you didn’t even have enough for this, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. We don't have much time to spend repeating theory. Are there anyone in the class who did not receive credit for aggregate states? – the question struck so sharply that even I flinched.
“Y-yes,” squeaked the same Miss Gray, whose table at the beginning of the lesson really resembled a counter with apples.
– Retake the experience as soon as you pass. Now you can be free or be a spectator. The rest go to work. For those whose memory is too short, I remind you of the sequence of actions,” he turned to his table, on which the same design as the students had managed to appear. He moved his brush slightly noticeably and smoothly. – We're cutting it. – The apple flew into the air, spread out into even, neat slices, which fell into a glass of water. Another gesture, just as smooth, polished, and beautiful: “Let’s freeze.” We place it in the container,” obeying the wave of his hand, apple slices in shiny ice armor flew into the flask one after another. – We're closing. We are creating a class “B” shield; those who have forgotten how to do this can be free until retaken. Then there is a vacuum under the shield. Mr. Obley, do you understand well? First the shield. Then vacuum. Under the shield, not outside.
“He’ll be fine,” Applestone muttered.
– Don’t forget to remove water vapor. The speed of the process depends on the invested force, the end of the experiment is determined intuitively. I hope it won’t be difficult for any of you to notice in time that your apples have turned into dried fruits.
“It sounds simple,” I thought, “for magicians. One, and frozen, two, and a vacuum. You can also store instant coffee at home for future use.”
“Naturally,” Charlotte confirmed, “coffee is made using the same technology.” You're not as stupid as most of them. Do not be distracted. Follow. Vacuum is dangerous.
Watching the rapidly drying apple slices was… perhaps not so much interesting as creepy. I have already used magic, learned to boil water or fry toast with almost a snap of my fingers, managed to appreciate cosmetic charms, portals, magical tailoring, but for some reason I only now understood the obvious. The fact that magic is a weapon more terrible than a nuclear bomb. If every dropout student is able to create a vacuum zone in a separate area… for a minute, someone's head may well be inside! What then can truly strong and skilled magicians create?
“Don’t be distracted,” the familiar feeling of a jellyfish swallowing you, a short gesture with both hands at once – again, I didn’t even have time to understand what exactly I did, but for some reason I knew that if necessary I could repeat it. Sharp shards of glass and ice, scraps of apples and, for some reason, paper hovered over Applestone’s table, as if in a freeze-frame. Some kind of note or letter.
This shocked and offended expression will probably give me nightmares. Goggled eyes, a glance slanted towards the bridge of the nose – the fragments hovered literally an inch and a half from Applestone's face. And he, it seems, could not decide now what should be more surprised: that he was still intact or that he had made such a mistake.
“Congratulations, Mr. Obley, you have a worthy competitor,” the professor appeared next to me, I felt him behind my shoulder – a feeling of strength and for some reason security. – Let go of the shield, Miss Blair. Follow the group while I deal with the effects of Mr. Applestone's brain softening. – A hand flashed in front of my face, taking a piece of paper out of the air. – Hm. You may be pleased to know that this worthy young man lost control of the experience because he was trying to impress you, Miss Blair, with his poetic talents.
“Oh yes,” I couldn’t resist. – I was amazed. Right into the liver.
She lowered her trembling hands – only realized that until now she had unconsciously, on a reflex triggered by Charlotte, been holding the shield. And I fell in love with Norwood. He now looked like a conductor or a surgeon. The fragments collided with a quiet ringing sound, gathering into a prickly sparkling ball, similar to a curled up hedgehog. Scraps of apples and scraps of paper were strung onto “hedgehog” needles, and then it all simply evaporated. All that remained was Applestone's stunned face – although no, no longer stunned, but frightened. I realized how it could end.
– If anyone else wants to hit the object of their dreams, please do not stifle your impulses. Alchemy lab is the perfect time. I will be happy to personally escort you to Mrs. Maskelyne’s office for your documents and with no less happiness will say goodbye to you forever. Mr. Applestone, gather your things and leave the classroom. Tomorrow after classes, I’m waiting for you at the department with all the knowledge you have. We will decide your fate thoughtfully and comprehensively.
I thought Applestone's face was scared a minute ago? I was wrong. The real horror was only now reflected in her. It seems that the “worthy young man” and connoisseur of boobs had no doubt: the fragments in the face would seem like a light breeze and a gentle caress compared to what awaited him alone with Professor Norwood.
Until the end of the lesson, there was such silence in the laboratory that you could hear the hiss of evaporating ice and the quiet rustle of drying apple slices. Honestly, it seemed to me that even these unfortunate apples were scared to death! The group barely breathed. And after class they left the office in silence, almost on tiptoe. No jokes or giggles.
I wasn't laughing either.
In hindsight I realized that if it weren’t for Charlotte, everything would not have ended so well. Will I be able to repeat it myself, if suddenly? Yes, I didn’t even have time to understand what was happening! By the way, she disappeared after the explosion, and I didn’t notice exactly when. And why? It’s okay if you just got bored and decided that now you can leave everything to me. What if she spent a lot of effort on intervention and never appears again?
Professor Norwood was the last to leave. He paused on the threshold and said into space:
“What happened doesn’t deserve such a funereal look.” But the reaction is commendable. Come to your senses, you are on your lunch break after all. Cupcakes are waiting.
I involuntarily snorted. She muttered:
– Thank you.
I probably didn’t hear it—the door closed too quickly. It doesn't matter. The main thing is that he really calmed me down. And even, miracle of miracles, he praised me.
And only in the dining room, having already had lunch and drinking a chocolate cupcake with fragrant tea, I realized one more thing: he knows that Charlotte loves cupcakes!
Is that so, Dr. Norwood? Did you still pay attention to your assistant, at least sometimes?
***
– Now you will be called to see Director Maskelyne.
I think I jumped along with the chair, so sudden was Charlotte’s ghostly whisper in my ear. It’s good that I just managed to swallow the tea, otherwise I probably would have spat all over the table.
“Where did you come from?! And why like that, above the ear?! While you were alive, didn’t you learn that you don’t talk to people from behind their backs?”
“Professor Norwood is in London,” Charlotte responded as if she hadn’t heard me. “And the director hasn’t received news for a long time.” Be careful. She is a strong witch, she can’t guess everything. So just repeat after me. The memory of Charlotte is not yet lost in me.
What?! “Did I understand you correctly? You wanted to make him fall in love with you, and you yourself reported him to the director?! Oh no, tell me I'm wrong."
– Gossip and news. And in return – prestigious work and respect. For many there is nothing strange about this. Maskelyne holds Professor Norwood tightly, very tightly. This is not a friendly or even a working relationship, everything is more complicated. Charlotte didn't care. She didn't know the details. And you don’t need to know about them yet.
I remembered Sabella’s words that Dougal was not at the Academy of his own free will. There was definitely some kind of ugly story lurking here!
“Don’t get into it,” Charlotte seemed to have heard my thoughts. – This doesn't concern you.
I just wanted to ask why suddenly the affairs and problems of the one I should fall in love with do not concern me, but then a tiny bright green bird hovered right in front of my nose. ?on appeared out of nowhere, and I almost jumped again, and the bird scattered into sparks and folded into a note: “Miss Blair, I’m expecting you at my place in the next 20 minutes.”
There was no signature.
– No signature is needed, this is Maskelyne’s personal spell – the messenger. Nobody sends these anymore. Go, Charlotte was always in a hurry. She was flattered by the director's attention.
Yes, thank you for having lunch. “Lead.” If you remember, I don’t know the way.”
It didn’t take long to look for the headmistress’s office; it was located not far from the main entrance. A pretentious double door made of mahogany with two white marble statues on the sides looked quite organically in the chic hall, I had even seen it before, but for some reason I thought that there was a conference room or something like that there.
The luxurious, spacious office smelled of cinnamon. The sun poured down on the soft, creamy, long-pile carpet that sank your feet into, and was reflected in the thick golden ruffled curtains and massive chandelier. Award cups were crowded on the shelves under steep-sided, obviously rare vases. The walls were covered with framed diplomas. Every cabinet, every chair here seemed to say: “Well, look, look how good we are! We are here for a reason, we help light the stars.” And in the middle of this, either a museum or a living room, a lady was sitting at a massive table.
She was as perfect as her office, and just as… not lifeless, no, but… I froze, trying to find the right word. Decorative? Representative? A formal suit in the color of café au lait – I hate this shade! A snow-white blouse, a large jasper brooch under the collar – exactly the same reddish shade as the hair styled in a high, strict hairstyle. There aren't many cosmetics at first glance, but that's exactly what appears at first glance. Very expensive, and the face was “painted” by a very skillful stylist.
Slightly plump, sensual lips formed a welcoming smile, and Charlotte prompted in my ear:
– Good afternoon, director.
I repeated after her, the headmistress nodded favorably.
“Come on in, my dear, don’t stand there.” Tea?
Friendliness and benevolence oozed from her. Don't get poisoned by this artificial sweetness.
“No, thank you,” I wanted to answer, but Charlotte got ahead of me.
– Thank you, director, with pleasure.
I no longer felt like an actor with a prompter, but like a brainless parrot who repeats what he is told.
Cups appeared in front of the headmistress and me. Only the pudding was missing; instead there was a plate of strawberry roll and a bowl of jam. The picture was painfully reminiscent of yesterday. Only now it wasn’t Sabella sitting opposite me. This woman, unlike that one, did not evoke any positive emotions.
“Well, my dear Miss Blair, we haven’t seen each other for so long.” Surely you will please me with something interesting?
"How? Explosion in the laboratory?"
– This is small for her. Speak: yesterday Doctor Norwood received a letter from Munich. His publication came out there. Invited to the conference. And two days ago a package arrived from Isolde Svenson. With agreed upon clinical trial protocols and calculation of a refined formulation for an anti-hangover mixture. Everything is approved, you can apply for a patent.
– Anti-hangover? – the headmistress asked with a slight hint of disgust. “But by the way…” She thought for a moment, sipping her tea in small sips, and Charlotte prompted me:
– You drink too. Take the roll and praise it: it’s a wonderful sponge cake. She bakes them herself. A little innocent hobby.
The biscuit was indeed not bad, but the amount of sugar in the filling exceeded all imaginable limits.
“A wonderful biscuit,” I repeated, trying to put as much sugar into my voice as there was in this very biscuit. You can’t quarrel with the headmistress, I understood that even without Charlotte. Not yet. And then we'll see. I didn't like her attention to the professor at all – and the fact that Charlotte was being used to spy on him.
“But you can’t talk about business all the time, right, dear?” We both know how important it is that every teacher and every student at our amazing Academy feels comfortable. So what about Dr. Norwood? Do you think he's doing okay? I hope that you, for your part, dear, contribute in every possible way to his positive mood.
“I’m trying,” she answered without prompting this time. I don’t know, maybe Charlotte would have expressed it differently, but she either disappeared once again, or simply switched out of the conversation. It would be strange to look back to check; she did not respond to the mental cry. Calling on all my acting talents, I tried to portray the Charlotte as I saw her from Sabella’s words. – Dr. Norwood is an amazing specialist! Meeting his high demands is not always easy, but I hope I can do it. And, of course, I do everything so that he does not have to be distracted from his favorite work by some annoying little things.
– Wonderful, my dear, simply wonderful! – the headmistress was very “sincerely” happy, stretching her lips in a smile, but her eyes remained absolutely cold. A frightening contrast. – If something important happens, or you just want to run to me for a biscuit, I’m always happy.
– Thank you, director! – I stood up: it was clear that the audience was over. – I will be happy to take advantage of your kind invitation. All the best.
– Have a nice day, my dear.
I don’t know how I managed to walk to the door calmly and even turn around with a sweet smile goodbye. But I jumped out into the corridor on trembling legs.
“You did it,” Charlotte said in her ear.
“Did you disappear on purpose to make sure of this?”
– You weren't in any danger. The director got what she wanted and relaxed.
“And before that, did you threaten? What exactly?"
– Exposure, of course. But now all the thoughts of Director Maskelyne are occupied with a patent for a new anti-hangover potion. In order to formalize it as the invention of the Academy, and not Dr. Norwood personally, Maskelyne will have to negotiate long and painfully with Mrs. Svenson. They can't stand each other.
“Who is this Svenson?” – I became interested. I looked at my watch – there was enough time left until the end of the third class, there were no urgent matters. And instead of returning to the pulpit, she turned towards the exit. It will be useful to expose your face to the wind and cool down a little.
– Isolde Svenson heads the patent commission. She respects Dr. Norwood very much, but according to the contract, all his inventions during the period of work at the Panacea Academy belong to the Academy. Anti-hangover potion is not exactly what Director Maskelyne would like to receive, but she will not refuse this either. It sounds undignified, but financially it is extremely promising.
“Yes, I can imagine! And does he have many such inventions? One anti-hangover drug will probably be enough to give up on the job you don’t like and live in peace, without denying yourself anything.”
“The inventions of Dr. Norwood during his work at the Panacea Academy…” Charlotte began to repeat boringly.
"I understood! I wanted to say that Maskelyne has settled down well: she has attached herself to the professor like a leech and is enjoying the fruits of his labors.”
– Dr. Norwood is a genius. Therefore, she will do everything to keep him here as long as possible. Panacea Academy needs those who can maintain its prestige.
And it would seem, what does it matter to me? And for Dr. Norwood, although he himself does not know it, something completely different is vitally important now. But for some reason I felt so angry! I remembered something similar. Let me not be kept at work by force or deceit, as, judging by Sabella, happened to Norwood. But how many cases have there been when they brazenly appropriated what I achieved with great difficulty! “Freya, dear, of course, ?nders is your client, we all understand that without your excellent persuasiveness he would not have agreed to the interview. But you also understand, because the material will go to Lizzie’s section! We have a contract, that’s her topic.” Or, even more scathingly: “Freya, dear, we always paid you twenty percent of the advertising that you brought, but this time Fulman had to unfasten half, otherwise he would not agree…” I still don’t know what exactly I didn’t agree to the owner of the lousy newspaper for which I was writing at the time didn’t listen, she just left. She slammed the door. And I never regretted it. But even then, even in much more reputable and respectable publications, I encountered such situations more than once. Those who like to appropriate other people's work are found everywhere, and a luxurious office is not at all a guarantee of the honesty of the one who sits in it. More often than not, it’s even the other way around.
“You’re nervous,” Charlotte said distantly. – This is good. The living must show emotions. “And she suddenly added: “Meeting Sabella Norwood was one of hundreds of possibilities.” You were in the right place at the right time. Now it may become easier, or maybe more difficult.
“How do you know about Sabella, you weren’t there?”
– I told. Now I know a lot. Also, I can hear your thoughts.
“This is where we should have started,” I almost snorted out loud. I would have said right away: I see your reflection in the coffee pot.
– In the coffee pot?
Yes, she not only hears my thoughts, she eavesdrops on them in the most brazen way!
“This is from a book. About one great detective who also knew a lot thanks to his powers of observation and ability to think logically. She probably doesn't exist in your world. Or Charlotte didn't read it. And if you know a lot, tell me better, why can’t Norwood leave the Academy? What kind of contract is this, a slave contract or what? Any contract can be broken if the work goes wrong!”
– This is not my secret, and it has not yet become yours, but everything can change. Wait.
“What to expect? – then another thought struck me, and I asked: “Why do I need to be afraid of Maskelyne’s exposure, but it turns out I can tell everything to Sabella?” Maybe the professor has the right to find out? After all, it directly concerns him!”
– I don’t know the future. No one knows. But the probabilities are visible. Sabella Norwood is the best chance. Director Maskelyne is the worst. Dougal Norwood,” Charlotte fell silent, as if right now she was peering into these incredible probabilities of hers. – Difficult. This truth can turn into a win-win opportunity, or maybe death for the two of you. It's up to you to decide.
Yeah, wow, Russian roulette.
“I’ll wait,” I decided. And I went to the department – I’ve been walking for too long already. It is unlikely that Dr. Norwood will appreciate that nothing is ready for the fourth pair, and his assistant has gone to get some fresh air. Whoever this assistant actually is.
***
I opened the portal to Sabella while in a strange, twilight state. Norwood didn't return after the third class, and he had to hastily sort out his schedule, check for urgent mail, reschedule senior counseling sessions, and even accept a few debtors who came to retake tests. Luckily, Charlotte showed up again. Just for a few minutes, just to say:
– Take the forms in the left cabinet, second shelf from the bottom. Make sure that they don’t cheat or talk over each other. Don't be so nervous.
“But where is the professor?!” – I couldn’t stand it. “I should have returned a long time ago!”
“Not everything in the scientific world is done quickly,” Charlotte explained indifferently. “But he didn’t even report!”
– For what? He knows he can rely on Miss Blair. Without him, nothing here will collapse. The students are not the most important part of his job. The Academy needs other things that Dr. Norwood can provide.
Well, yes, I realized, patents. Publications, conferences, consultations, participation in some commissions, defenses, examinations – what else is happening in the scientific world? The prestige of the Academy, which Maskelyne cares so much about. It is clear that for the sake of this, fussing with students can and should be transferred to the assistant.
But I was still nervous. There is less and less time left, Norwood hardly looks at me, and if he spends another half of this time somewhere else…
– Sally, you have no face! – I heard from Sabella instead of a greeting. – What's happened?!
“No, nothing,” I shook my head. – Busy day. What could happen when the professor was not at the department after lunch. Although… oh yes, the alchemists had an explosion. On the second pair. Meeting with the headmistress… Why does it seem to me that not half a day has passed, but at least a week?
– There are too many new things around. You have to get used to everything too quickly. And, unfortunately, I also have nothing to please you with. Come on in, Sally. Tea? Coffee? Or maybe we can have dinner together? I just returned from Quebec. We managed to meet the Ghost Bear, he is a shaman, he knows and understands a lot better than our ritualists.
I knew little about shamans. But for some reason, a giant ghostly bear in Indian clothing, with a tambourine in its clawed paw, suddenly clearly appeared, and Charlotte was next to him, tiny, like a lapdog at the feet of a mammoth. The leaflet with the announcement in my purse seemed like childish nonsense.
Is that why Charlotte hardly showed up today?
“Let’s have dinner,” I agreed. – And then tell me. If it makes sense to tell.
The kitchen in Sabella’s house turned out to be small, but very bright, with a soft, cozy sofa and a round wooden table. While dishes and cutlery appeared out of nowhere, I couldn’t take my eyes off Sabella. The polished, smooth, beautiful movements were mesmerizing. This is where Norwood adopted the conductor’s style of casting spells that amazed me during my class with the alchemists!
And the kitchen was filled with the delicious aromas of homemade food. The shepherd's pie was fragrant and steaming, veal chops were brightly surrounded by stewed carrots and green peas, and two types of sauces were waiting nearby, which I could not even identify by eye. Baked potato slices in a golden crust, traditional scrambled eggs and bacon – but, honestly, even scrambled eggs seemed something incredibly delicious.
I swallowed my saliva. I couldn’t help but remember the time when my parents were alive and I spent weekends with them. Mom loved and knew how to cook. I don’t know how and I don’t like it, and my habit of eating on subways and grabbing coffee from vending machines on the run could only be shaken by a neighbor with her signature Yorkshire pudding.
“Now you look like a normal girl,” Sabella said with a smile, sitting down opposite. – With burning hungry eyes after a long day of work. And not on an exhausted sufferer under the weight of all the world's problems at the same time. It's much better this way.
It seemed that we were both equally hungry – until the table was at least half empty, the silence was broken only by the soft clatter of cutlery. I was the first to speak.
– Sabella, everything is amazing! You cook wonderfully, simply incredible!
– Thank you, Sally. I don’t have too many activities, but cooking is interesting. Especially if you are a mother, and your son eats mostly coffee and only occasionally, thanks to you, remembers that there is some other food in the world besides sandwiches from the academic cafeteria.
Tiny cups, a basket of homemade cookies, sugar and chocolate appeared on the table.
– With milk? – Sabella asked. – Or black?
– Black. “I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, absorbing the aroma. – Honestly, just the smell clears up your head. Magic! And not at all in the sense of “magic”. – She paused and took a tiny sip. And yet she asked: “You said you wouldn’t please me with anything.” So, it’s pointless to turn to ritualists?
“The best thing you can do, Sally, is to accept what happened as a fact that cannot be changed.” There is a curse. The only way to remove it and stay alive is known to you.
The cookies melted on the tongue and were not at all cloying. It had distinct notes of lemon and ghee. Perhaps, by contrast, I remembered the headmistress’s biscuit.
– Why is Doctor Norwood at the Academy? What is keeping him there? – I put the cup down and clasped my fingers together. “Director Maskelyne called me today. I asked questions. It turns out Charlotte was spying for her. It's all so… disgusting!
– Since childhood, Regan Maskelyne loved to control everything. – Sabella smiled, but the smile came out forced. “Dougal knows about Charlotte. And that his every step at the Academy is monitored in one way or another.
– And he tolerates this?!
– He has no choice. I…” Sabella stopped short, put down her coffee and looked carefully, as if she was looking for an answer to some important question on my face. – This is not a very pleasant topic for conversation over a cup of coffee. But I'm afraid neither you nor I have a choice. This means that you should know about my exceptional naivety and even, probably, stupidity.
I couldn’t believe that Sabella could be “exceptionally” naive or stupid. But… that doesn't happen. First you need to listen, and only then draw conclusions.
– This story began a very long time ago. Even before Dougal was born. And even in my worst nightmare I could not imagine that many years later her son would have to pay for the mistakes of a sixteen-year-old girl. – Sabella stood up. – Let's go. I'll show you what we were like then.
We moved from the kitchen to the already familiar sofa in front of the “TV”, and she commanded:
– Me and ?egana, high school.
Under a spreading oak tree, so huge that only the lower branches were included in the frame, sat a very young Sabella. Blonde hair covered her shoulders, huge blue eyes looked at the photographer with such undisguised tenderness that it was clear that someone close was taking the picture. She held the open book with one hand, and with the other covered the fingers of the then headmistress, but of the same young schoolgirl Maskelyne. It also turned out to be not at all difficult to recognize her, despite her perky youth haircut and not yet fully formed figure. All the same plump, sensual lips and a cold, appraising gaze that seems to be calculating benefits. She hugged Sabella from behind and smiled predatorily.
“We've been best friends since elementary school,” Sabella said. – common hobbies, common friends, common thoughts. Or so I thought. Now I don’t know anymore. I was sixteen when Norman, Dougal's father, died. “An accident,” she added briefly, as if it still hurt her to remember it. – My mother was never distinguished by meekness and gentleness. You know, there are people who value someone else’s opinion and good name more than their loved ones. And I couldn’t lose the only thing I had left of my loved one. Norman died in the spring. Dougal was born in the fall. And all this time I lived with Regan. I had nowhere else to go. My mother refused to let me go home and waited for me to come to my senses. I also couldn’t count on any funds until I came of age. So I owed a lot to Regan and her parents. And such a small thing as a magical oath did not seem too high a price to me. Yes, and I swore by trifles. The only request that I will fulfill one day. Nothing impossible, illegal or inadequate.
Sabella looked at me with a sad smile.
– That's the whole story. The oath was remembered twenty-nine years later. Regan wanted my son to work for her.
And she can still smile! Yes, I would be for this…
– In my opinion, this is no longer adequate! – I was indignant. – Is he a commodity to her?! Or a slave? Why couldn't it be refused? Sabella!
– Five years of contract work in exchange for those six months… For Regan it sounds reasonable and sane. If it were just me, I wouldn’t even think of objecting,” she sighed. “But Dougal and his life have nothing to do with my stupidity and the imprecise wording of the oath. So I was going to refuse or make another request. But such things are not to be joked about. You see what happened to Miss Blair, and this is for the only mistake in the ritual. And here is a violation of the oath. Maybe it wouldn’t have stopped me, but Regan had foreseen this outcome, so Dougal found out about everything first. And, of course, he agreed.
