‘How did you get to Stelka?’ Amelia asked, pouring another thickleberry wine for Verris.
‘It was her,’ he replied, nodding at Tab, who was reclining against a pile of stage curtains. ‘All those guards that came aboard with Rendana back on Unja Ballis – well they don’t just work out the front of the palace, you see. Once he’d told Florian about the Yarka and their fire-crystal, Rendana could do more or less whatever he wanted. He had his men in all sorts of key positions. And the thing is, being newcomers, they weren’t ready for some… experimental magic, let’s say.’
‘You don’t think I spend my entire day convincing farmers to sing to shickins, do you?’ Tab said. ‘Just because I work on a farm doesn’t mean I don’t try to keep my skills up to date.’
‘And this experimental magic involved what?’ Philmon asked.
Tab shrugged. ‘Oh, you know, just a bit of mind control…’
‘And when that didn’t work, the sleeper hold is always a good backup plan,’ Verris said, smiling.
‘I’ve got a question,’ Fontagu said. ‘The pillow over the face of the Archon – was that just a lucky guess?’
Tab shook her head. ‘Just because Torby can’t speak doesn’t mean his mind isn’t working. And as Amelia knows, if you know what you’re doing, you can get into the strangest places with your mind.’
‘Maybe I’m drunk, but I don’t understand,’ Fontagu said.
‘Torby was there,’ Tab explained. ‘He saw Florian do it. And he heard Janus encourage him, and quote the prophecy. But then, he went back to how he’d been, all… blank. He was still very fragile, and he couldn’t take the horror of seeing someone killed in front of his eyes like that. But then, in a funny sort of way, he told me, once I bothered to go into his mind and ask the right questions.’
Fontagu shook his head in confusion. ‘No, I still don’t get it. I must be drunk.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Amelia, re-corking the bottle and placing it on top of a prop chest. ‘Thickleberry wine doesn’t have any alcohol in it.’
‘It doesn’t?’ Fontagu said, staring suspiciously at his drink.
‘So what happens now?’ Philmon asked. ‘Can Quentaris go home?’
Stelka shook her head. ‘The reformed council will have to decide what we do with the fire-crystal, but if we do invoke the Spell of Infinite Transition, we’ll put laws in place that allow us to only use it for peaceful purposes.’ She leaned forward. ‘What Florian didn’t know was that there is a lot of work to be done between getting the fire-crystal and invoking a spell as big as that. I mean, what kind of mess would we end up in if any old person off the street could grab a gemstone and start throwing spells around willy-nilly?’
For a moment, it seemed as if Fontagu was going to choke on his wine.
‘And that is why, as of half an hour ago, the curse over Skulum Gate began to lift. We magicians are going to need as much help as we can get.’
Amelia’s eyes were wide. ‘Will all the magicians from Skulum Gate come back?’
‘We hope so, Amelia,’ Stelka replied. ‘We can’t restore life, but we are fairly sure we’ll be able to reverse the artificial aging process.’
‘And Torby?’ Philmon asked.
‘He has to start healing all over again,’ Stelka said. ‘Seeing the Archon die was such a terrible blow for Torby, especially since he had to carry that knowledge around. But we hope for the best.’
‘That’s good,’ Amelia sighed. ‘Poor Torby. Imagine that, solving a great mystery without having to say a word.’
‘A very great mystery indeed,’ Verris said.
There was a long pause around the stage as the friends drank, and thought, and reflected.
Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of a sob, and everyone looked. Fontagu was crying into his hands. ‘Oh, my big break, my great opportunity to make it back into the industry, and the third act is interrupted by high treason. Oh it’s true – my career is cursed.’
‘Well look at it this way,’ Verris said. ‘Everyone present tonight will remember your production of The Gimlet Eye.’
‘I suppose so,’ Fontagu agreed, sniffing loudly.
‘And with a couple of notable exceptions, no one went home disappointed.’
‘But what if the treason and the attempted murder are the only things they remember?’ Fontagu wailed. ‘How about the acting, the direction, the writing, the stagecraft? From what you saw, how did it stack up? Be honest, now.’
Amelia was the first to speak. She stood up, walked across the stage to where Fontagu sat with his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. ‘Fontagu Wizroth the Third, tonight, when I heard you dedicate that play – Florian’s birthday play – to Tab, I thought you were very brave.’
He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. ‘Really? Brave?’
‘Oh yes, Fontagu. Brave, stupid, and truly magnificent.’