The Mislaid Magician by Patricia C. Wrede, Caroline Stevermer Page B

distracted by anything. The children will be spell-warded within an inch of their lives. You, on the other hand, can’t even light a candle without a paper spill. And it is quite evident that there is something very odd going on at Haliwar, magically speaking. You need a magician here more than Kate and Thomas need one at Skeynes.”
    James tried to argue, but it was plain that his heart was not in it, and he did not keep it up for long. So we remain at Haliwar. I shall attempt to discover more at this end, and I will let you know at once if Daniel returns. (And, if he does, what he has to say for himself—for I shall not be balked a second time, Webbs or no Webbs.)
    Your determined,
    Cecy
    PS. And of course you can only do three spells reliably. You have never cared for magic, only for what it can do, and there are only three things that you truly want to do, which can only be done by magic: find Thomas or the children, call Thomas, and keep your hair from falling down. If you ever find a fourth thing that you want, I will give you a new bonnet if you have the slightest difficulty in learning a spell to do it.
    PPS. It is now Tuesday morning, and I am about to leave this letter for the post. Daniel has still not come back, and the Webbs are becoming quietly frantic at having mislaid so important a guest. I will let you know the moment I have worthwhile news; I trust you to do the same. — C.

16 April 1828
Haliwar Tower
    (in cipher)
    My dear Thomas,
    Congratulations on retrieving your wayward offspring. Having heard Kate’s account of the matter, I congratulate her even more heartily on not having had to retrieve any of mine, as well. I am, in fact, quite astonished that neither Arthur nor Eleanor attempted to join Edward’s adventure, and I can only put it down to your wife’s good influence, as I know better than to think you have had much to do with the nursery crowd.
    You will be pleased to hear that the enchantments on your letters are working to your usual high standards, which is to say that your notes are quite impossible for anyone to read if they do not have the proper key. Indeed, your vile scrawl was barely readable even once the key was applied. It is a pity that magic cannot do anything about that.
    I suspect its illegibility is the reason your missive was some hours later in appearing in the hall than the rest of the post; whoever has been intercepting our correspondence is still trying, despite our precautions. The only other letter to be so delayed, thus far, was one of Cecelia’s missives from her father, due, I assume, to his execrable handwriting. I cannot think that our meddler would have much interest in his queries about the local antiquities—Viking campsites, Saxon ruins, and prehistoric standing stones—which Cecelia tells me made up the bulk of his letter.
    I harp on the question of legibility for a particular reason. Though I have been over your letter several times, I am still unsure whether it was a Mr. Medway or a Mr. Medbury who made the arrangements for the house in Stroud where you found Edward. If it is indeed the former, I must tell you that a Mr. Harold Medway, of Stockton-on-Tees, is the man of business with whom Webb has been so involved of late.
    Before you come charging up to the north counties, let me point out that Mr. Harold Medway cannot have been the multifaced person you so eloquently described. Tall, short, fat, thin, bald, red-haired—no matter the disguise or enchantment, this Mr. Medway has been here in Stockton since well before the beginning of this infernal house party and therefore cannot have been recently in Stroud. Yes, I have made inquiries, under pretext of looking for someone to work with regarding the supposed property I am pretending to wish to purchase. And since our arrival at Haliwar, Mr. Harold Medway has been out to consult with Webb every day. Not even magic could get him to Stroud and back, with time to arrange for a house rental, in between his