Bee And Foxglove

Foxglove Chases A Theory

"I'm so happy to finally meet you!" said Guinevere de Welltoudere. "Oh – Can I give you a hug?"

Foxglove glanced at Bee, then said, "Of course!"

Guinevere put her arms around both of them, hugging them with great apparent affection. "I'm so thankful. Vincent has been so much more alive recently. He was so happy you were coming."

Guinevere released them from her hug, made a self-conscious coughing sound, and took up a playfully regal bearing. "Welcome... to my splendeficent abode," she said, gesturing to her house, and her son, behind her.

"Mesdames," said Vincent, reaching out to kiss Bee and Foxglove's hands in turn.

"My Lord," said Bee, bowing, her face excessively serious. "You honour us with your hospitality."

"Nonsense, it is I who is honoured by your magnanimity of sociality," said Vincent, bowing deeper in return.

"The honour, then, is, uh, veritably both mutualistuous and beautificent," said Bee, bowing even deeper than that.

Foxglove put her hand to her mouth and giggled.

*

Tea was poured, pleasantries exchanged, and as soon as it felt half-way polite to do so, Foxglove explained her purpose in coming when she did, and the weight that she felt around the matter.

Francis listened attentively, and agreed to show Foxglove their collection of magical books as Bee entertained Vincent and Guinevere with a magic show in the kitchen.

The main collection of magic books was in the living room, within view and earshot of the others. (Bee wore the classic Bee Expression #34, that loveably dorky visage of enthusiasm and concentration, as she compelled individual grains of popcorn to burst in midair. Guinevere was enchanted. Vincent simply gaped).

"I have to say, I don't know where to start," said Francis, looking the bookcase up and down.

Foxglove thought about it. "Some book that mentions safety around magic."

Francis shrugged. "Modern magic simply isn't a safety risk. At most, if you're performing a firestarter spell, you need the same kind of common sense you'd use around actual matches."

"You really never heard anything about possible dangers?"

Francis shrugged. "There are superstitions. My grandfather – my magic teacher – he told me not to worry about them."

"Like what?"

Francis laughed. "Well, an old-school magic teacher will require you to practice building up power and then returning power for months or even years before even doing anything with it. It just isn't necessary, however."

"Building up, like 'The power is within me, inside me, and beyond me'?"

"That's right!"

"So what's returning power?"

"You say a different incantation to release the magical power without effect."

"And... how do you know that isn't necessary?"

"My grandfather said he never could find any explanation for why you were expected to do this. His father agreed it seemed unnecessary, and they only did a little of it when my grandfather was learning. My father and I didn't do it at all."

"But it might have been necessary once!" cried Foxglove, feeling excited by this revelation.

Francis seemed rather skeptical. "Magic, especially the aristocratic tradition of magic, is very ritualised," said Francis. "You should see these old books of incantations you were supposed to learn by heart! Pages and pages of ancient Kandran. Look, incantations are just there to help focus your mind, you see? It doesn't make a difference if you say it in Kandran, Frankian or Moon Sheep Language*."

*A reference to a popular Kandran fairy tale.

"Maybe reading ancient Kandran helped people focus?"

Francis shrugged. "We think it was more a tactic to make magic exclusive. Require years of full-time study and books no commoner would have access to, and only the aristocracy would have it. You see?"

Foxglove nodded slowly, feeling disappointment. "So probably the building-up and returning power thing is just that?"

"That's what we think."

There was a loud bang in the kitchen. Foxglove jumped and swung around, trying to see what had happened. It seemed okay, though: Guinevere and Vincent were laughing and clapping.

Francis laughed. "Ah, the explosions you promised us," he said, sounding wry.

"They're never far away, with Bee," shrugged Foxglove, laughing.

Francis smiled back. "...Ah yes," he said, looking at the bookshelf. "Why don't you take a look? The most classic modern work. Principles of the Art."

Foxglove opened to the first page.

The first words, written in beautiful calligraphy, appeared to be ancient Frankian:

Potestas Est In Nos · Intra Nos · & Ultra Nos · In Aeternum Libera

"Potestas... that's power, right?" said Foxglove. "This is the power incantation!"

"That's correct," said Francis, smiling.

"What's that last bit, 'In Aeternum Libera'?"

"'Forever free'. 'The power is inside us, within us, and beyond us, forever free.'"

Gazing at the words on the page, Foxglove couldn't shake the feeling, deep in her belly, telling her that this was important.