Lukin snapped his notebook shut and got up to rescue Claudia. This had gone far enough.
At the precise moment he stood up, a brilliant blue flash exploded from Wermacht’s hand and into Claudia’s arm. For an instant it lit up Claudia herself, her wrap stranded between her other hand and the cloakrack, and even the cloakrack itself, which seemed just for that instant to be made of blue fire. It sizzled blue on the stone ceiling and flashed in the wet footprints leading to the door. But the light had gone before Lukin could get anywhere near.
“There,” Wermacht said smugly. “That didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”
Lukin came up and detached Claudia’s arm from Wermacht’s fingers. He turned to Wermacht in his most princely manner. It was not a manner he liked to use much, but he was good at it when he did, far better than Claudia was. “Wizard Wermacht,” he said regally, “that is enough. Claudia has already told you twice that she does not wish anyone to tamper with her magic. Why don’t you take her word for it and leave her alone?”
Wermacht gave Lukin a puzzled frown. “What’s the matter with you? I was simply lifting the jinx from her. She’ll be much more comfortable now.”
Lukin stared steadily back. “But she asked you not to.”
“Female vapors,” said Wermacht. “Female vapors.” And he stalked heavily away through the doorway.
“Are you all right?” Lukin asked Claudia anxiously.
She shivered a bit as she dragged her wrap down and slowly draped it around her. “Well, I didn’t feel anything particularly, if that’s what you mean. I don’t feel any different, I think—just a bit shaken.”
“I’m not surprised. Wermacht’s an overbearing donkey!” Lukin said vehemently. “Come on. You need looking after. Let me buy you a drink.”
A wisp of a giggle came from Claudia. “Thank you. But what with?”
“Oh—” A flush surged across Lukin’s face. “You’d better pay, and I’ll pay you back. I might be getting some money soon.”
“Not to worry,” said Claudia. “Myrna’s lecturing now, and I want to go. Myrna doesn’t make you feel brain-dead the way Wermacht does.”
“I’ll come with you then,” Lukin said gallantly. He was not much of a one for lectures that you didn’t have to go to, but it was clear to him that Claudia needed company.
They left the North Lab together, with Claudia saying as they went, “But I’m not going to faint or anything silly like that!” When they were most of the way across the courtyard toward the Spellman Building, the cloakrack swayed on its three legs and began to trundle after them. It staggered over the doorsill and trundled on, lurching, some way across the courtyard. About halfway between the Lab and Wizard Policant, it stopped and stood, looking forlorn and perhaps a trifle bewildered, with raindrops hanging in rows from its curly hooks. The janitor discovered it there just before lunch and put it back inside the lab, muttering, “Darn students! Another of their jokes.”
Lunc
h was—well—peculiar. In the refectory the smell of onions had gone, but it had been replaced by a potent scent of strawberries, which did not go well with the smell of the usual refectory stew. The stew itself, bubbling in the usual row of cauldrons, looked quite normal but, when ladled out onto plates, proved to be a strident bright green. It had strands in it, too, of darker green, along with khaki lumps and viridian morsels and a general, subtle air of sliminess. “Pond weed!” somebody shouted. “Look out for tadpoles!”
Most people declined to eat it and lunched instead off strawberry mousse and bread. Ruskin’s friends, knowing a little more than most, each took a plateful. Elda and Felim both had to give up and resort to strawberry mousse and bread, too. As Felim said, it was hard to taste anything but slime through the scent of strawberry, and Ruskin had done a good job on the mousse. Lukin ate most of his, because his mind was still on Claudia. And Claudia, recognizing the dish for Marsh chowder, told Ruskin it was delicious and went back for more. While she was away at the cauldrons, Lukin told the rest of them about Wermacht and the troubling blue flash.
“Do you think he did it?” Ruskin asked. “Took away her jinx, I mean. And let me tell you, this is the best Marsh chowder I ever ate. You don’t eat it that way, Olga. You sort of suck it in. Brings out the taste.”
“He could have taken it off,” Lukin said, while Olga seemed to be shuddering faintly. “But Cyclina and The Red Book both say a jinx is usually bound up with a magic user’s actual power, and what I’m afraid of is that he took away her magic power, too.”
“But then she’d have to leave, wouldn’t she?” Elda asked, appalled. Lukin nodded.
“That is a real worry.” Olga agreed, pushing her plate away. “What have we done to deserve Wermacht? Don’t answer that question—particularly you, Ruskin. Nice try with the stew, shame about the smell and the color. Is it meant to be this slimy? Don’t you think you’d better read up a bit more, or practice somewhere else, or something?”
Ruskin sighed. “I’ve been thinking that, too. I read the books, thought it was easy, but now I think there must be more to it than that. I’ll have another go when I’ve worked out what it is.”
When everyone left the refectory, there was almost as much green stew left piled on plates or bubbling in cauldrons as there had been to start with. A deputation of students and six angry warn-spells were sent to Corkoran about it.
Corkoran told the deputation he would see about it and went to find Finn. “Look, Finn, some student’s been mucking about with the food again …” he began.
“And I’ll give you six guesses which one,” said Finn. He saw well enough that Corkoran intended him to find the culprit, and he thought that for once Corkoran could do his own dirty work. “It’ll be one of your first years, Corkoran. My money’s on your dwarf, but I’d take a side bet on Claudia. Wermacht’s been telling me she’s got some kind of jinx.”
“Has she?” Corkoran had forgotten that Claudia had told him this herself. He flicked at the violet monkeys on his tie. “Look, Finn—”
“All you have to do,” Finn cut in, “is to eat in the refectory tonight and trace the spell. It’ll be something pretty crude. It always is.”
“But I haven’t—” Corkoran tried again.
“So that’s your course of action,” Finn said firmly. “Catch the dwarf red-handed.” Seeing Corkoran about to speak again, Finn changed the subject swiftly and enthusiastically. “You know that first year of mine—Melissa? The one everyone says has no brain. I’ve just had a really marvelous essay from her, clear, concise, to the point, well thought-out, truly brilliant! If it weren’t for your policy, I’d give it an A. I think we’ve all been misjudging—”