Away to Yonder Mountain

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Away to Yonder Mountain

Wednesday 8 January – Monday 16 March 1992

Czíkszereda and surrounding villages in Transylvania, wizarding Hungary.

So farewell, lads, and farewell, lasses,

Though I live not where I love.

– William Parry: "I Live not where I Love"

Rated PG because no unguided child could speak as many languages as this chapter requires.

"Cold," said Elizabeth as they stepped onto the cobbled street.

She was right; last night the quicksilver in Mr Celsius's thermometer had plunged to twenty-eight degrees below zero. The sun was now shining, but it would be a long time before the snow melted.

"Super cold," said Matthew, as he counted the doors. "Three, four, five, six. Jó napot, Füvessy uram!" And he burst into Füvessy uram's apothecarium.

Füvessy uram, the Czíkszereda apothecary, did not really need an assistant in his shop, but he allowed Ariadne to bring the bairns for a couple of hours a day. In return for some basic mixing and tidying, he was teaching her how to discuss her work with ordinary Hungarians.

"Szervusz, Matthew," he greeted them. "Ma mire tanítsuk édesanyádat?"

Ariadne knew that Füvessy uram was commenting on her progress in the Hungarian language, for she and Remus had no hope of learnng as fast as Matthew did.

"Ez micsoda?" Füvessy uram prompted, pointing to the shrivelfig.

"Aszúfüge."

"Ez?"

"Bikorn szarv," she said – bicorn horn.

"Bikornis szarv," he corrected her. "Most tessék elmagyarázni..."

"Mummy, he's wanting you to tell a new person who you are and what job you do."

"Oh... Az én nevem Ariadne Lupin. Vagyok patikus Britanniából. Van nekem orvosság a vérfarkasoknak – "

"Nem, nem, nem!" broke in Füvessy uram. "Ne mondja meg idegeneknek, hogy vérfarkasokon akar segíteni! Várja ki, hogy megismerkedjenek, összebarátkozzanak. Különben egy szavára sem fognak hallgatni."

"Mummy, I'm think he's saying that you shouldn't talk to people about wolves. Strangers will be angry if you tell them too soon. Mummy, my Daddy's a werewolf, isn't he?"

"He is, darling, Daddy has the werewolf illness."

"But he won't bite ever if he drinks his medicine, will he?"

"He will not; not if he drinks his medicine. And we're bringing the medicine here for other werewolves."

That, she reflected, was the plan. Füvessy uram had been nervous when she had first made him understand what the Wolfsbane Potion did. But in December she had taught him to brew it, and four Transylvanian werewolves had Flooed into Füvessy uram's shop to drink it. She knew he was much happier about brewing it again in January. The problem, however, was bringing the werewolves to Czíkszereda.

"A legtöbb vérfarkas elszigetelten él..." Füvessy uram tried to explain the situation in words that Matthew could translate for his parents.

"He says werewolves have no friends. There's nobody to tell them to come into this house for medicine. Mummy, why can't we go to the werewolves' houses and tell them ourselves?"

It had never been explained to Matthew's satisfaction that they could not go wandering all over the mountains in the middle of winter in order to ask random strangers whose language they did not speak whether they were werewolves. Remus and Ariadne had very quickly understood that they must spend the winter in Czíkszereda, learning to speak Hungarian and training Füvessy uram to be an expert in Wolfsbane Potion.

"Owl," said Elizabeth, pointing to the fire.

The owl swept down the chimney and settled in front of Ariadne, who, now that her friends knew she was in Transylvania, received mail nearly every day. This one was from Madam Patil.

My dear Madam Lupin,

I have heard that you are in Hungary. I wonder if I could trouble you to send me some knightscrop? Galleons are enclosed.

Yours sincerely,

Manjula Patil.

Knightscrop? This headily sweet blue flower, which had once flourished in every English garden, was fatally poisonous in infusions stronger than four drams to a cup. It had long since been lost from Britain, and was now found only in Transylvania. She had no idea what Hungarians called it. "Laetitia virilia," she explained to Füvessy uram.

He frowned.

"I'm knowing... rossz növény," she said. A bad plant.

"Méreg," he supplied. Poison.

Dear Madam Patil,

Knightscrop will be in stock three days hence. Meanwhile, might I trouble you to explain why you are requiring it and what proportions you are intending to use? I would feel more comfortable if I knew your intentions for a dangerous substance like knightscrop.

Kind regards,

Ariadne Lupin.

The next day her correspondent was Professor Jigger.

Dear Mrs Flowers,

Since you are in Hungary, I expect you can easily procure pheasant's eye, toadflax, goosefoot and fly agaric extract. Please send by return owl as much of each as the enclosed will purchase.

Yours sincerely,

Arsenius Jigger.

Fly agaric extract had no medicinal purpose; it was a poison that caused hallucinations and madness before a painful death. What was going on?

Dear Professor Jigger,

Here are pheasant's eye, toadflax and goosefoot. We have no fly agaric extract in stock this week. May I trouble you to explain why you are requesting such a dangerous poison?

Yours sincerely,

Ariadne Lupin.

Late on the next day, Ariadne received a reply from Madam Patil.

My dear Madam Lupin,

I don't blame you for asking. I know that many people would consider my work immoral, so if you feel you cannot help me, I shall look elsewhere.

Although I have lived in Birmingham since I was six, I have maintained many contacts with Muggle communities in rural India. I often hear of desperate women whose husbands discard them because they gave birth only to daughters. Divorced women often starve and they rarely see their children again. So I give them a little help in producing male offspring.

Arsenius Jigger used to brew the Gender Bender Potion for me. However, I stopped patronising his shop after learning of his activities with aphrodisiacs, hallucinogens and other poisons. But I don't feel I can stop sending the Gender Bender to India – it's a matter of life and death for these mothers. Dittany Teazle visited my house to teach me to brew the potion for myself but she then washed her hands of the matter in order to preserve the reputation of her shop (Bobbin's at 126 Diagon Alley). Madam Teazle recommends an infusion of one dram of knightscrop to a cup.

Knightscrop is not to be had anywhere in Diagon Alley this winter, but I know of three different women who desperately need to drink the Gender Bender Potion within a month so I do hope you can help.

Yours sincerely,

Manjula Patil.

Aphrodisiacs, hallucinogens and other poisons? As she packed the knightscrop, Ariadne wondered where Madam Patil found her information. Professor Jigger was good at not being caught by anybody who mattered, even if his next message was less than subtle.

Dear Mrs Flowers,

It's none of your business why I need fly agaric extract. You know it's a distillation with multiple uses. I was your teacher. You owe me a few favours. Your own activities haven't been entirely above the law and beyond reproach. I could report you but it would be better if you just sent me the fly agaric extract.

Arsenius Jigger.

Ariadne was tempted to do no more than throw this message into the fire, but she knew that leaving the situation ambiguous now might create complications later, so she tied a brief reply to the owl's foot.

Dear Professor Jigger,

I cannot supply you with fly agaric extract.

Yours sincerely,

Ariadne Lupin.

Only five Transylvanian werewolves came to drink Wolfsbane Potion in January and only six in February. It was clear that they were too isolated to spread the word among themselves, which meant that if Ariadne advertised in writing, the message would be more likely to reach the Mágiaügyi Minisztérium before it reached the werewolves.

When spring came, they would have to walk through the Carpathian Mountains, village by village, and meet every werewolf in person.

* * * * * * *

David always awoke as the sunrise hit his eyes. He could crawl now, and by the time he had crawled into his parents' bed to be fed, the whole family was awake. Ariadne was always shocked by the cold of the early morning air. Every evening Remus Conjured blanket after blanket for each of them, and that first moment when the blankets were thrown off always bit like a knife.

"Thermo!" Remus could produce some warm air for long enough for them to dress themselves, but it never lasted much longer. Deep in the Transylvanian forest, they usually spent the night in a fairly crude shelter that Remus would construct out of Transfigured timbers. In the morning he could Charm in some artificial warmth, but never for long enough to disguise the fact that it was cold outside.

He could produce hot water too. At first he used the snow on the ground. When the last of it was melted, he would Conjure two buckets and fetch some from the river – usually with chunks of ice floating on the surface. The Thermal Charm was designed to boil water, and the heat lasted as long as they needed it, long enough to give a sponge-bath to each child, long enough for Ariadne to pour in soap and hand-launder yesterday's clothes, long enough for her to add the Cloacina Solution and soak David's nappies.

It was more difficult to scavenge enough food. There was always bread, and usually they could buy milk and eggs, but the vegetable displays in every shop were bedraggled and stale, there was no fruit, and meat was invariably at a price that advised them to save their lei. Twice already Remus had resorted to comforting the family by Conjuring food – which, of course, was an illusion, since Conjured food has no nutritional value, and it vanishes from the stomach within two hours. Every morning Matthew, Elizabeth and David ate rusk after rusk of buttered bread, without ever complaining about the coarse texture or the bland sameness of their diet. Ariadne was worried that the bairns were being fed without being nourished.

She rinsed the clothes, and then the nappies, in the second bucket, squeezed out the water, and threw a Torreo Charm at each garment. One morning she was distracted by the children's chatter, and the Conjured buckets disappeared before she had finished; that taught her to finish all the laundry within the hour. Then Remus reduced the size of their plate and linen so that it could all be packed among Ariadne's Potions supplies in the rucksack that had once been Aunt Macmillan's suitcase. Füvessy uram had sold Ariadne all the ingredients she needed at wholesale prices, but he could not afford to give her anything for free.

"Where are we going, Daddy? Are we visiting werewolves today?"

"We hope so."

Remus Transfigured their second travelling bag into a kind of pouch so that Ariadne could carry Elizabeth on her back. Then he picked up their only non-Conjured blanket and Transfigured it into a smaller pouch so that Ariadne could carry David in front of her. He slid the rucksack of supplies over his arms, then hoisted Matthew onto his shoulders. With a wave of his wand, the crude hut that had sheltered them last night was restored to its original form of timbers lying on the forest floor. A sharp breeze whistled through their hair as he checked the map and instructed his wand to point north.

Then the Lupin family turned away from their camp and began to walk.

They walked through the forested slopes every day. They did not remember any more how many days it was because all the days seemed alike. The waning and waxing of the moon marked the only calendar that mattered to them. Sometimes they walked through broad plains for hours at a time, with wide carpets of wildflowers stretching on either side of them. Ariadne counted endless meadows of gold-of-pleasure, motherwort, celandine, elecampane, sainfoin, ox-eye daisies, charterhouse pinks, soldier orchids, hairy flax, nodding sage and all manner of others that were rare or extinct in Britain.

At other times they walked through forests of oak and beech, sometimes without any path at all, and only the point of Remus's wand to suggest that they were heading in the right direction. Once Matthew, from his vantage point on Remus's shoulders, shrieked out loud.

"The bus! A crashed bus!"

That seemed unlikely in the middle of the Carpathians, but a few paces further on, Ariadne saw what he meant. A gigantic bus was lying on its side injured – not merely crashed in a road accident, but almost bleeding in the agony of its buckled fender and shattered lights – literally smashed through the beech trees, which were still growing out of its windows. This was no grief-stricken tourist vehicle, for the contortions of its anthropomorphic face were the familiar features of Nigel the Knight Bus.

Remus pointed his wand firmly. "Riddikulus!"

There was a tremendous crack, and the huge bus vanished, leaving wisps of white smoke to rise through the densely clustered trees.

"Nigel!" sobbed Matthew.

"It's all right, Matthew. That wasn't Nigel. That was a Boggart."

"Nigel was hurt!"

Ariadne fumbled through Remus's rucksack to bring out the only toy that had survived their journey. "Look, Nigel is right here. He's safe." Remus blew it up to its natural size, and Matthew clutched at it convulsively. "The big Nigel was not real. It was just a Boggart pretending to be Nigel."

Later that day – or it might have been another day – Ariadne rounded a corner first, then stood still to wait for Remus. David was asleep, but Elizabeth suddenly gave a shriek of laughter and pointed over her shoulder.

"Look, Mummy!"

Ariadne looked as Remus drew level, and they all laughed.

Elizabeth was pointing at a curious blob of fleshy whiteness, one side rounded, the other flat, with a lone antenna at one end. Although apparently still alive, it looked like a giant slug that had been sagitally sliced in half.

In fact, it was. It was half of a flesh-eating slug.

"It's another Boggart," said Ariadne. "Elizabeth met a real flesh-eating slug in the last village, and it terrified her. But... why only half?"

"The Boggart must have detected both of you at the same time," said Remus. "Its other half is still trying to decide how to frighten you."

Since an artificial half-slug was not remotely frightening, they stepped around this Boggart without bothering to confront it.

When it rained, Remus Conjured umbrellas. Occasionally the rain lasted until the Conjured umbrellas vanished. Then the undergrowth burst with scarlet toadstools; if Professor Jigger had troubled to travel to the Carpathians, he could have easily stocked up on a decade's supply of fly agaric extract. There were cooking mushrooms too; Ariadne taught Remus how to recognise the edible species. Even in the middle of the day, it was so dark between the hornbeam trees that they had to light up their wands.

Perhaps the darkness provoked gloom, for while they were picking mushrooms, all three children suddenly set up a wail at once. Ariadne could smell decay – some dead animal? – as she moved to quieten them, then suddenly an avalanche of oppression smashed into her mind.

Once again, she seemed to hold in her hands the letter in which Remus told her that he was leaving because he had never really loved her. The ghost of Aunt Keindrech was relentlessly prattling about what the Macnairs had done to Veleta. Her own voice was screeching out of an imaginary Wireless, betraying Veleta to the whole world, and Humphrey Macnair was boasting of how he had tortured Veleta into telling him everything.

She stood up as her brother's drone was citing Remus's unfitness to be an uncle, and suddenly saw... The huge black cloak gliding between the hornbeam trees was not imaginary; something not quite solid and not quite human, but unquestionably real, was approaching them.

Horror was crossing Remus's face too, but he apparently knew what to do with stray Dementors, for he stepped towards the deadly presence and commanded, "Expecto Patronum!"

An incandescent white cloud swooped out of his wand and took shape. They were flowers, five-petalled Wolfsbane flowers, branches and then whole bushes of them, ten times the natural size. The flowers spread warmth as they charged through the gloom, and the children stopped wailing. They even began to laugh as the silvery light illuminated the whole forest and flew at the dark, hooded figure.

The Dementor was terrified of the luminous Wolfsbane flowers. It retreated and fled.

"Odd," remarked Remus. "My Patronus has changed."

* * * * * * *

They arrived at a village, with the spire of its fortified kirk rising above the red roofs, and the procedure began. It was always the same. They met a carter on a wooden wagon or cotters hoeing the green wheat or elderly couples sitting on their doorsteps with their wood-carving and embroidery, and Ariadne would strike up a conversation in her halting Hungarian.

"Jó napot. Én vagyok Ariadne Lupin, britanniai patikus."

There was no point in hiding their magical status, for the Statute of Secrecy had never penetrated these far reaches of Székelyföld. Many of the peasants asked her right out whether she were a magical apothecary or an ordinary Muggle pharmacist. She was usually surrounded in a matter of minutes by a crowd of Székely peasants who wanted treatment for their eye infections or rheumatism. The Lupins were always invited to dinner, and their hosts always heaped up their plates with second helpings of pickled cabbages and fried vegetables while, she was guiltily aware, their own plates remained bare.

She brewed up several batches of Eyebright Infusion or Eazyjoint Salve before asking her audience whether Transylvania was a dangerous country. "Vannak nektek medvék a hegyekben?"

Yes, they had bears in the mountains, and wolves too.

"Vannak nektek vámpírok?"

Yes, they had vampires. But they were no longer afraid of vampires, because the local wizards could mix a blood-replenishing potion, so the vampires had lost their craving for human blood. If any vampire were so wicked as to bite somebody despite this, the Mágiaügyi Minisztérium would arrest him and lock him away forever.

"Vannak nektek vérfarkasok?"

Oh yes, they had werewolves. Werewolves were terrifying, ferocious beasts whenever the moon was full. There was no escape from werewolves. They had to be locked away, but sometimes people were careless, and the werewolves burst their locks. Farkas József and Erdei Rozália were werewolves (occasionally varied to names like Ion Câinescu and Maria Dintascutit among Romanian-speakers). They were not allowed in the village at full moon.

"Meg szabad ismerkednem velük?"

Why on earth would she want to meet people like that? Yes, the villagers could bring them here, but Farkas József and Maria Dintascutit were very unfriendly people and rather dirty too. There was no actual danger by daylight, but Patikus asszony ("Madam Apothecary") must not be surprised if the werewolves were rude to her.

Invariably, it would turn out that Ion Câinescu and Erdei Rozália were only "dirty" because they lived in tumbledown huts without running water, and they were hurt and suspicious rather than anti-social. They were usually Muggles, as these tough mountain peasants were robust enough to survive the wrenching monthly transformation.

Whenever Ariadne shook hands with a Transylvanian werewolf, she confided, "Az én férjem vérfarkas."

At these words, the werewolf always welcomed Remus as a fellow-sufferer, and Ariadne could give the message, "Van nekünk orvosság vérfarkasoknak." They had medicine.

That did not end the difficulties in distribution. Ariadne could nominate the village where she would be brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, and invite the werewolves to Floo there. But often they were too suspicious of the idegenek ("foreigners") in the neighbouring villages to accept such an invitation. It was Ariadne who spent most of the week before the full moon whirling through the local Floo network, carrying her measuring ladle and a covered cauldron of Wolfsbane Potion to the werewolf contacts that she had made over the previous month.

The only way to distribute the potion would be to make a personal visit to every village in Transylvania, to teach every Transylvanian witch and wizard how to brew the potion, and to shake the hand of every individual werewolf.

"How long will that take?" Remus wanted to know.

"How long have we?" asked Ariadne. It was a good question; Madam Bones had probably returned from her long-service leave by now, and Matthew had to start school next September. Strictly speaking, they should set a time limit on their sojourn.

But there did not seem to be any point when all the useful work was here in Transylvania.

Ariadne's cousin Mercy wrote:

I hope they appreciate all your efforts. Healer Valentine is full of outraged fury that you're having to do this the hard way. We'll keep on sending you all the wolfsbane you're needing – we're yet thinking of the St Mungo's plants as yours. Distribution in Britain collapsed when you left – see attached.

The attachment was a cutting from the Daily Prophet.

Rufus Fudge, 20, was admitted to St Mungo's Hospital on Good Friday with hideous scars all over his body.

This was not the work of some criminal. The injuries were self-inflicted.

It is well known that young Mr Fudge suffers from the terrible curse of lycanthropy. In the body of the wolf, he bites and scratches himself – wounds that remain when he reverts to his human shape.

"I'm surprised that people are so unsympathetic," sobs his mother. "Rufus is a sweet, lovely boy with an impish sense of humour for 29 days of the month. For just one night a month he turns into this horrible monster. Since we lock him away in the garage, he can't hurt anyone else. He only hurts himself."

After one night as a wolf, Rufus usually spends three or four days in agony, recovering from the new set of injuries.

"All this could be prevented," points out Rufus's father, Pollius Fudge, "if only Wolfsbane Potion were legal in Britain. That medication is a marvel at keeping werewolves safe from themselves – and at keeping the rest of us safe from werewolves."

Your intrepid Daily Prophet reporters contacted the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, Damocles Belby, but he refused to be drawn into the discussion.

"It was the plight of people like Rufus Fudge that inspired me to experiment with wolfsbane," he told us. "But the behaviour of people like Fenrir Greyback was one reason why the Ministry refused to patent the medicine. I have never tried to push my discovery forward because my field is science, not law. Should the Wolfsbane Potion be made legal? Well, it's really up to the Ministry to decide whether or not the benefits outweigh the risks."

Since Pollius Fudge is the brother of the Minister for Magic, it is somewhat surprising that he cannot influence the development of the law.

"Wolfsbane Potion is legal in France; it's legal in Germany; I've even heard rumours that it's being distributed in Hungary," he laments. "Why is Britain so far behind the rest of the civilised world in Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

* * * * * * *

"Flying men," said Elizabeth, pointing to the sky.

She was right; four mounted broomsticks were sweeping southwards with a fine disregard for any Muggles who might be watching. Here in Transylvania they often saw an odd broomstick swooping over a village in broad daylight. These four were flying in convoy with some kind of chest hanging from them, slung so that each of the four brooms was taking the weight equally.

"Could that be a delivery for the Durmstrang School?" wondered Ariadne.

"Durmstrang is further east," said Remus. "More likely it's for the dragon reserve on the Romanian side of these mountains."

While Matthew interrogated Remus about the dragons, Ariadne returned to the barn, where she was brewing Wolfsbane Potion. There were perhaps twenty werewolves who knew to meet her here today. Another ten might go to Czíkszereda. That made thirty. These thirty seemed truly grateful, but of course they would remain cautious of other people for a long time to come; they were a long way from being ready to discuss the Wolfsbane Potion with strangers from other provinces. Füvessy uram estimated that there were at least a thousand werewolves in Transylvania; a thousand lycanthropic humans who did not know that their condition could be treated.

Distribution here in the village of Szirtes had begun yesterday, but today there was a new face. It was the round, weather-beaten face of a woman who had once been pretty – once, before life had inflicted its scars.

"Adjon abból a bájitalból," she commanded.

The harshness of her tone stiffened the hairs on Ariadne's neck. She asked, "Magát hogy hívják?" and learned that her new client was Bosszu Hajnalka. What Ariadne really needed next was testimony from the neighbours that this woman was indeed a werewolf, but instinct told her that Bosszu Hajnalka had no friends.

I'm not liking this woman. Ariadne despised herself for thinking it, but Bosszu kisasszony's eyes glinted with a malice that could not be explained by a mere lifetime of hardship. She made Ariadne think of Uncle Macnair, of Cousin Lucius, of Professor Viridian, of Madam Umbridge from the Patents Office, of Fenrir Greyback himself.

Ariadne knew the rules; she had to treat all patients equally, asking no questions about whether they "deserved" the medicine. I refused Fenrir Greyback, she reminded herself. But the two situations were not logically comparable. She had known Greyback's history, and he had a certain record of abusing his powers; about Bosszu Hajnalka she had only an intuition. In Britain, all Wolfsbane distribution had been illicit; in Hungary, it was only pre-legal, and she was trying to win the favour of the Mágiaügyi Minisztérium by impressing people with her efficient, unbiased, ethical behaviour.

"Maga nem akar nekem segíteni!" spat out Bosszu kisasszony. It was a literal spit. If only she had spat into the cauldron! Then Ariadne would have had a legitimate reason for refusing her. Ariadne knew she was being manipulated, but she also knew she must not give this woman any valid reason to complain of her unhelpfulness.

So she said that the Potion was ready now and asked Bosszu kisasszony to step on the scales. Fifteen stone! She would need well over a cup – five jackpots, in fact.

"I'm not knowing what to do," Ariadne confided in Remus later. "I can tell the clients that they're yet needing to be locked up, but I cannot force them to be locked if they're not wishing it. If Bosszu kisasszony refuses to be confined... or deceives us about her real intentions... she'll be dangerous."

"Then I'll spend the full moon in her village," said Remus. "She lives in Tárvajtód, which is on the Floo network. You and the children can go elsewhere... perhaps to Czíkszereda."

"But, Remus, what could you do? If anything went wrong... she'd be a bigger wolf than you are."

She expected him to argue, but he nodded. "I won't go alone. Perhaps Füvessy uram will understand the situation."

Füvessy uram's week had also been full of brewing and dispensing Wolfsbane Potion, but he was surprisingly amenable to supporting Remus. He said they could not risk a tragedy, especially because to discredit the Wolfsbane Potion at this stage would be to create a tragedy with more than one victim. At eight o' clock, while the sun was yet setting, he accompanied Remus through the Floo to Tárvajtód. Ariadne forced herself to sit still until they had gone, but as soon as the green flames had died, she sprang to her feet.

"I wanted to go too!" said Matthew. "Daddy never takes me anywhere exciting."

"It might be very exciting tonight," Ariadne agreed. "Are you wanting a Nigel story before you go to bed?" Ariadne had long since memorised the stories, and Matthew policed her retellings severely – she was not permitted to change a single word.

From moonrise to moonset will be more than nine hours. A great deal of disaster can occur in that time. Five hundred and forty-nine minutes. And it only takes about three seconds for a wolf to spring and bite. Thirty-two thousand, nine hundred and forty seconds... that's ten thousand, nine hundred and eighty separate opportunities to...

She shook herself. No matter what the disaster, worrying would not help. But what should she do, if the moon set, and Remus did not yet return to the inn? Dark fantasies of violent struggles loomed out of the inner recesses of her mind; she found herself contemplating a barren, severed future in which Remus never came home again...

She did not sleep. By midnight she gave up trying; she dressed again, and began to stir a batch of Eyebright Infusion. It did not stop her thinking about Remus, but it did reassure her that her time was not completely wasted.

At five minutes to six, somebody chapped on her door, and she flew to open it.

It was Füvessy uram. Alone.

A/N 1. Continued thanks to St. Row-a-Check for rescuing me from my Indogermanic ignorance and helping so very much with the Székely characters and Hungarian language. And also to Ana Christina for the names Ion Câinescu and Maria Dintascutit – because I would never have thought of them for myself.

A/N 2. Just in case you were wondering... There is no such plant as knightscrop. I made it up.