After the week had gone by, Bee and Foxglove made a new agreement that would help Foxglove feel safer, and time just… passed. Bee practised, and Foxglove spent more time in the pubs in town, asking anyone she could about magic, ears pricked for rumours – the stranger the better.

She also went to the public library and read what she could about magic. Most of what she could find was in the plumbing section (as I said, the modern weak variety of magic had some niche applications) but there were a few hints in the history section too.

“At the peak of the Age of Heroes, an accomplished wizard could easily knock down castle walls,” Foxglove read aloud (she was lying on the sofa while Bee practised levitating a strawberry apple). “This led to the period from c.a. -350 to c.a. +220 also being known as the Sinecastillan Age, meaning without castles, as it was rarely seen as worthwhile to build such fortifications anymore.”

“Huh,” said Bee, frowning as she made the apple spin. “I wonder if I could knock down a castle wall.”

“Bee, I forbid you from demolishing castles!!”

“It was just a thought…”

“A scary one,” said Foxglove in a pouty kind of voice, now fully aware that Bee wouldn’t even consider such a thing. “You have a healthy enough instinct for wanton destruction without actually going looking for ancient relics.”

“Your grandma’s old teapot doesn’t count as ancient or a relic.”

“It was a nice teapot!”

“I know… I still think I can fix it…”

Foxglove sighed. “One step at a time, Teddybee. The most important thing is we stay safe.”

“Yeah…” said Bee, now levitating a second apple. A thought occurred to her. “Does your book say anything about how the Age of Broken Castles – or whatever – started? Any meteorite impacts, for example?”

“The first actual historical records only really began around the end of the Age of Heroes. So by then accounts were already slipping into the realm of myth.”

“So… no?”

“All my book says is that there is a lot of speculation about which myths might have some basis in truth. There’s a book about just that kind of stuff, but unfortunately it’s checked out. I put my name down to get it next.”

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“What about the Hammer of Hephaestus?”

“Huh?”

“Hephaestus struck the four great mountains of the World, the mountains of North, South, East, and West. Each mountain split open, and crumbled. From the heart of each of the mountains he plucked a jewel. The leftover rubble became the Four Kingdoms of the Middle Sea, and to the first Kings of these kingdoms Hephaestus each gifted a jewel.’”

“I didn’t know you were such a scholar, Bee!”

“‘Middle Sea Myths for Unruly Teens’. That stuff slapped.”

“Oh…” said Foxglove, updating her mental image of Bee’s particular brand of scholarship. “I only read ‘The Great Deescalation for Unruly Teens’.”

“The history stuff wasn’t so good in my opinion. They should have just stuck with myths and legends. ‘The Knights of the Roses for Unruly Teens’ was the best. If anyone would listen to me, I’d have it win an Honours Prize.” Bee was now levitating the entire contents of the fruit bowl, a look of intense focus on her face.

“They wouldn’t give an Honours Prize to – hey, not the cinnamon plums, Bee! Those bruise easily!”

“Didn’t we say we were… going to make… compote anyway?” said Bee through her focus. “‘Cause they were… nearly going bad?”

“We don’t have to speed up the process!”

“Fine,” said Bee, gently ushering the plums back into the fruit bowl, while keeping the apples aloft. Her control was getting a lot better.

“So… you think the Hammer of Hephaestus referred to a meteorite impact?”

Bee shrugged. The movement seemed to shake the apples loose, and they dropped for a few instants. Bee frowned with renewed focus, and they hung in the air again, one inches from the pillows they’d laid out on the ground. Bee wafted it up again. “I don’t know, a meteorite could seem a bit like the hammer of a god.”

“Yeah.”

“I need to talk to an actual wizard, anyway,” said Bee. “This history stuff is neither here nor there.”

“Like a plumber?”

“A research wizard would be best.”

“You want to go to Illumia?”

Bee shrugged again. “If need be. Let’s keep seeing if anyone knows anyone.”

*

“Y’alright Foxglove?” asked Peter, the publican, as Foxglove came up to the bar. The pub was rather empty at the moment, so Foxglove just ordered a lemonade for herself.

“You’re around a lot these days,” said Peter as he obliged. “You didn’t have a fight with Bee, didja?”

“No, Peter, don’t worry about us. She’s just got really absorbed in her hobbies is all,” said Foxglove. “And I’ve gotten really curious about that meteorite impact. Do you think it’s like… a magic meteorite, or something?” (Foxglove didn’t have to be that subtle about her line of questioning. She wasn’t trying to throw off agents from rival warring nations, intent on her death or debilitation. That sort of stuff hadn’t happened for two hundred years, thank the Universal Tree.)

“I’ve heard some right strange stuff, I have,” said the publican. “Ol’ Johnny was talking about the strangest creatures sighted in the forest around that glowing crater there.”

“Ol’ Johnny’s hardly the most reliable,” said Foxglove.

“He hears the same stories we all hear,” said Peter. “Doesn’t change them much. He just likes selecting the weirdest for the retellin’.”

“Okay, so, like what?”

Peter put on a dark, theatrical expression. “Like… deer with human faces! Wild birds speaking in Kandran, saying crazy stuff, trying to drive the people there crazy! Trees pulling themselves up by the roots and walking around!”

“Huh,” said Foxglove. She normally would have discarded these stories out of hand. Right now, though, she didn’t know what to think.

Slowly, the pub filled up with familiar faces, so Foxglove ordered a round of drinks for her acquaintances at a promising looking table and went to hear what she could hear.

*

Over the next few weeks, Foxglove heard more and more accounts like this, percolating gradually into Suringen as news was wont to do. Foxglove became less inclined to discount the stories, but still didn’t know what to do with the information.

It was only after a month of pub hopping that Foxglove, at last, struck gold. There was someone in a village not too far away who reportedly could perform magic. Bee and Foxglove decided to pay them a visit.