“Are you sh-sh-sure?” she asked, all her vivacity turned to custard. (Caleb spared a second to congratulate himself on yet another excellent pun.)
“Absolutely,” he said in the firm professorial tone he rarely bothered to use. “Go on ahead. Miss Tarrant and I will deal with this kerfuffle.”
Nodding, Vanity picked up her remaining suitcase, and clutching it like a shield, she joined the guests and staff in dashing outside. Caleb watched to be certain she was safe, then turned back to Amelia, who had plucked her cup out of the air and was sipping tea placidly as she contemplated the situation. Caleb smiled at the sight.
“What?” she said. “I can think of no good reason why you should be smiling. This is all your fault.”
Caleb stuttered a laugh. “I beg your pardon?”
“You must have an unsecured thaumaturgic object upon you,” Amelia said, gesturing at him with her teacup. “You had the candle snuffer; what else is in your pockets?”
“Nothing,” he said, trying to repress a surge of indignation. “Besides, my coat’s pockets are lined with cloth of gold to”—he paused, ducking as a plate of sandwiches whizzed past him—“repress the energy emissions of any thaumaturgic objects in them,” he said as he straightened again. He stared fiercely through a fall of his hair at Amelia. “What’s inyourpockets?”
She bristled. “Nothing, of course!” She set down her cup on the tabletop, so offended that she completely ignored its saucer. “Idon’t walk around casually with invaluable magical items upon me.”
One of the plates on their table began spinning furiously, sausage rolls flinging off it with the speed of bullets.
“Are you sure?” Caleb asked dryly.
“I most certainly am!” Frowning at him, she patted the pockets of her skirt in emphasis.
Her frown went abruptly still. She winced.
“Oops?” Caleb suggested.
Reaching into one pocket, she drew out a teaspoon and held it up, still wincing.
Caleb laughed. “That’s the Hereford teaspoon, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Amelia murmured.
“The teaspoon that broke a hole in the Min’s library ceiling.”
They both looked up at the painted fresco overhead, then back down at each other again.
“I put it in my pocket when I left Ottersock’s office,” Amelia said, “but was in such a hurry to catch the train I obviously—”
“Forgot it was there.” Caleb finished the sentence before she did. “It happens to the best of us. I mean, not to me, but…” He shrugged, and Amelia’s eyes flared. The spoon began to vibrate, blue sparks shooting from its bowl. Immediately Caleb grabbed it from Amelia’s hand and dropped it onto the table.
“There was no need to snatch,” Amelia grouched.
“Excuse me for caring about your fingers,” Caleb snapped in reply.
Flames burst from the spoon. They whirled into the orbit of the spinning plate, rapidly becoming a fiery tornado that smelled of grease and dubious meats.
“Er, perhaps we should stop creating environmental discord,” Caleb said.
“It might be too late for that.”
They looked around at the magical chaos. Tableware dancing, food flying: it was more hectic than even an aristocrat’s party.
“Ottersock is going to kill us,” Amelia said.
“Or fire us,” Caleb countered.
“That’s worse.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll just blame it on the weather. He’s sure to believe us; we’re pretty effective liars by now. But we should probably try to contain the spoon’s magic.” He paused, frowning. “That really does sound ridiculous. Couldn’t you have found a magical dagger or ring instead?”
