It was Lukin’s turn to blush. “Let’s get on with this spell,” he said.
They gathered around the torn-out pocket with their heads together, while Isodel sat on the plinth of the statue, leaning against Wizard Policant’s legs, eating buns and watching. She shook her head from time to time, quite unable to see what they were doing. She was taken completely by surprise when after a minute or so Claudia said, “I think that should do it. Let’s test it. Hold it out to one side of him, Olga, while Isodel says his name. Say it, Isodel.”
Isodel looked at the perfectly ordinary scrap of cloth fluttering between Olga’s fingers and obediently said, “Lukin?”
Immediately there were two Lukins, one standing beside the other. Isodel had no idea which one was the real one, until the one on the right scowled and said, “I don’t look anything like that!” at which everyone laughed heartily and said, “Yes, you do!”
“Do I really look that sulky all the time?” the real Lukin asked.
Unfortunately they had by this time more than used up the extra half hour Corkoran had given them in his eagerness to get back to his lab and were ten minutes late for Wermacht’s class. Wermacht might not have noticed if Elda had not been missing. Though he had been pretending for over a week now that Elda did not exist, a blank space where a large golden griffin should be is hard to ignore. And once he had noticed that, Wermacht also noticed the five other empty spaces. As Lukin spoke, he came striding out into the courtyard to investigate.
“What do you think you’re doing out here?” he demanded, and blinked a little. For a moment he seemed to be seeing two Crown Princes of Luteria. But that was before Olga gave one of them a little shake and tossed a fluttering rag to Isodel. “You are of course welcome to miss all my classes,” Wermacht continued in his most sarcastic manner. “But I warn you that without my notes you’ll find yourselves quite unable to answer the questions in the end-of-term exams.”
“Oh, dear,” sighed Claudia. “More trouble. We have to go, Isodel.”
Isodel stuffed the rag into her pocket and jumped to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Wizard,” she said. “It was my fault. I paid my brother an unexpected visit and made everyone forget the time. Please forgive them.”
She did not smile. She simply looked earnestly into Wermacht’s face. A besotted smile came over that face as she looked. Wermacht pulled his beard and straightened his shoulders. He bowed. “Oh, that’s all right, my lady. Anyone would forget the time in the circumstances.”
“That’s very good of you,” Isodel said. This time she did smile, and Wermacht almost reeled. “Thank you, Wizard,” Isodel said, really meaning it.
“Not at … not at all, not at all, anytime,” Wermacht replied devotedly.
Lukin watched with appreciation. This was how it always was with Isodel. She did not intend to make people besotted with her. It happened because she always unfailingly meant what she said. And it even worked on Wermacht, this magnetism of hers. Fine, Lukin thought. He might be able to make use of this. He kissed his sister good-bye and looked back as he followed his friends to the North Lab, partly to watch the upright figure of his favorite sister walking toward the main gate but also to check on the equally upright shape of the cloakrack. Sure enough, it gave a little jerk as Claudia moved and came trundling after her. Lukin held the door of the North Lab open so that it could trundle inside, and he sat down in time to hear Elda whisper to Ruskin, “I didn’t know Wermacht was human before this!”
Ruskin replied with a sigh. “Th
is proves I’m not. I liked her, but I prefer big fat healers.”
“Er-hem!” went Wermacht, back to his ordinary behavior. “If you’re quite finished talking, you with the voice, perhaps we could get on?”
Lukin grinned and set to work scribbling notes.
An hour later, flexing his right hand to get the cramp out of it, he stood in Wermacht’s way as Wermacht strode to the door. “Excuse me, Wizard Wermacht, can I have a word with you?”
Wermacht gave Lukin a haughty stare. “What is it?”
“My sister,” said Lukin, and then, for the sake of telling the truth, pretended to lose his thread. “Isodel,” he added.
Wermacht was attending instantly, bending toward Lukin and asking eagerly, “Is that her name?”
Lukin nodded. “Very distressed about this business with the cloakrack,” he said.
“What business with the cloakrack?” Wermacht demanded.
Lukin pointed. Claudia, between Olga and Ruskin, was by now about ten feet out into the courtyard, jostling among the crowd of other students. As Lukin pointed, the cloakrack juddered on its three feet and began to slide after her. “She doesn’t like to think it was you who did that,” he said somewhat dishonestly.
Wermacht glanced irately at the cloakrack. “Who told her such nonsense?” he said. He stretched out a long arm, caught the cloakrack by its wooden upright as it slid past, and pulled hard.
Out in the courtyard Claudia screamed. Olga and Ruskin whirled around to look at Wermacht.
“That ought not to have hurt her,” Wermacht said irritably.
“But it did, didn’t it?” Lukin pointed out. “She’s thoroughly tied to it somehow. Isodel—”
“All right, all right!” Wermacht put out both hands and felt the cloakrack all over, from its three legs, up its central pole, around the big double hooks at the top, and finally the loop at its apex. He seemed to have no more success than Ruskin and Elda had had. “I can’t feel anything!” he snapped. “It must be her imagination.” He took hold and gave the cloakrack a vicious jerk.
Claudia screamed again, in evident anguish. This time Felim came running back among the students to see what was the matter. Beyond Felim, Elda opened her wings and came coasting across everyone’s heads to investigate, too.