"You must avoid that plant there, Miss Sophelia. It is a nettle I believe," and the lady squinted beneath concerned eyebrows at what appeared to be a very yellow and very fluffy dandelion currently being examined by at least two butterflies and one bee on the edge of the path they walked along between the pine wood trees.

"Yes Midgy," came a sigh from beneath a straw hat topped splendidly by bluebells and foxgloves that nodded when the wearer of the hat did, though not in agreement, merely sympathy.

"And those boys over there, staring at us - no don't look! - you're not to look at them."

"If you hadn't brought them to my attention I would not have even noticed them Midgy," the oppressed girl protested. "This was supposed to be a relaxing walk in the sunshine. You're being really fussy today Midgy."

"Well, it's the heat, Miss Sophelia," the woman moaned. "Bit oppressive. Gets on the nerves. Was that rain?"

"There's not a cloud in the sky. Besides my parasol is fully deployed and has only one pigeon upon it."

"Shoo!" The lady's maid waved a gloved hand and the offending bird departed with a gurgly coo to seek a more friendly perch.

As the two did various circuits of the amble walks along the slopes of Mount Syzywyg they passed others on their way. Polite greetings were exchanged, usually followed by sniggers from those not used to the manners of the Deepwold girl and her officious lady's maid. One character who was fully prepared for such formality was Victoria Sponge who leapt out from a side path to join her dorm mate.

Devoid of hat and blazer, the blonde girl was an energetic addition to the sedate ambling progress of the others, often stalking ahead, retracing her steps and meandering to either side of the pine needle carpeted route they were idling along, chatting casually about this and that. One subject of discussion she deliberately brought up to see what might be the response.

"What did you do to that prefect in the library yesterday?" Victoria asked her freckly friend.

"Avoided her while looking through some books," Sophelia replied truthfully enough.

"She seemed very upset when I saw her depart clutching a bundle of papers."

"It was nothing I did."

Sophelia Smog pondered this information during the rest of the day and checked the library duty rota with unusual interest as a consequence. When she saw the prefect, who was otherwise quite invisible to first years under ordinary circumstances, was due to monitor a study period unpopular because of its lateness she persuaded her ghostly friend to join her in the library that night so they could both be witness to a possible mystery.

They snuck in early after the evening meal, chose a table where they could see the duty desk and settled to watch. The subject of their interest soon appeared, red flower bobbing with her movements as she bundled books on the desk and disappeared behind them so that the flower alone was visible. There was no one else in the library and the place was perfectly quiet.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Victoria Sponge yawned and snorted.

"Sorry, fell asleep," she said behind her own stack of books, none of which she had opened.

"Please be silent. I think I hear something."

Sophelia had propped up a large heavy volume as a kind of redoubt behind which she sheltered and was peering round it every few moments at the bobbing flower. The two girls strained their ears and what appeared the sounds of sobs could faintly be heard coming from the direction of the duty desk. The large petals of the flower quivered noticeably.

"She's crying," Sophelia gasped in a whisper.

"See? Told you she was upset."

"We must go to her," came the warm hearted suggestion of the dark-haired girl.

"Okay," came a hesitant reply. "But it's probably prefect stuff. She did a paper on squaring circles and had been accused of cutting corners. Something like that."

With timid steps the two first years approached the formidable figure of a girl so much older than themselves, yet boldly thinking they might be of help to this paragon of the school, a prefect.

When Victoria peered round the stack of books and was confronted by the enormous red flower nestled amid glossy blue-black hair she was a little intimidated but she coughed politely for attention.

The dark, tear-stained face looked up and large black eyes fixed upon the girl as she smiled sympathetically. She was about to offer help when the girl screamed, tumbled back on her chair and landed with a resounding thud upon the floor. Sophelia helped her up.

"Oh bother," Ansibby said. "Sorry about that. Thought you were a ghost," and she sniffed, wiped her nose and resumed her perch upon the now uprighted chair.

"What gave you that idea?" Victoria said in less sympathetic tones.

"We, um, could not help noticing, Miss Ansibby," came a hasty interruption, "you appeared a little distressed a moment ago. Were you reading an appallingly romantic novel?" Sophelia, making peace as best she could, surveyed the various volumes on the desk, noting they were different from the one that had previously bruised her toe. Some were histories and others legends of Winkel World and the first year was impressed by the breadth of knowledge a fifth year was expected to absorb.

"Something appalling I had indeed read, but that was yesterday," came a confession that made the matter no clearer.

"Like to dwell on things do you?" Victoria said in a snide voice, still displeased at what happened a moment ago, though not dwelling on it of course.

"It has been, ahem, haunting me somewhat," came a tart response. "I've been trying to figure the meaning of it all and the possible consequences for my people, hoping these books may hold some answers."

"Gloriosa?" Sophelia asked.

"Well, that's where I come from, where I was born." Then Ansibby sighed. "But my people are only a tiny fraction of the population, a people apart, with different traditions and heritage. Not quite fitting in with everyone else."

"Like circus clowns," Victoria suggested.

Ansibby Falofa gave her a look. Then she embraced the thought.

"All the family traditions point to a different origin for us Mimoa tribal folk. We were not originally from Gloriosa but migrated there in the dim and distant past."

"How romantic," Sophelia enthused. "No wonder you were crying like a baby."

"That would not be enough to set me off I think," the older girl insisted with a slightly brittle laugh. "It's the mystery of it all that is so fascinating and with each year that passes the mystery deepens as knowledge of the old ways are lost and the connection with our past dwindles. Yesterday I learnt that connection is likely to be severed completely, cutting us adrift from that which make us who we are. As such there may only be one more chance to celebrate our most revered festival, the Battle of the Spoons."

"Cutlery's last stand," Victoria felt obliged to say at this revelation.