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John Mandrake’s day unofficially began at the unholy hour of three in the morning. An urgent imp from Deputy Police Chief Jane Farrar woke him with an alarm about an incursion of Djinn – most likely foreign, who were doing their best to lay waste to a small neighborhood in Bexley – about half an hour from Westminster. With the Deputy Police Chief’s hands busy with a similar attack in Kent, Jane Farrar needed help. [1]
Acting quickly, Mandrake summoned his servants and sent them to handle the mess. The counter offensive was a success, and after his demons had mopped up the assailants, he set to debriefing them. It would be a little too optimistic to call this a success. Ascobol hadn’t put any thought into actually observing the opposing djinn. Bartimaeus had, but retrieving useful information from HIM was always a trial. Bartimeaus took great pride in peppering every other sentence with either a jab at Ascobol or a sly remark at Nathaniel’s expense.
Suffice it to say that by the time he finished Nathaniel was utterly exhausted. He barely remembered climbing back into bed and drifting into a deep dreamless sleep when –
“Wakey Wakey! Eggs and Bakey!”
Joanna, his sister – the only person brave or foolhardy enough to barge into his bedroom – threw the curtains wide open. A quick glance at his clock showed he had gotten far too few hours of sleep.
“Come on Budgieboo. Rise and shine.” Nathaniel lost the wrestling match for sheets, and then his pillow when Joanna quickly grabbed it away from him. He sat up bleary eyed. Joanna’s far too cheerful face swimming into view.
“Come on Bud-gie-boo” She repeated, dropping the pillow and propelling him off the bed and into the bathroom. “You’re so lucky I figured out where you hid that extra key. Your biggest fan – I mean secret admirer – is going to be here in an hour. Do you want her to find you in your jammies?”
Nathaniel tried to snap that Rebecca Piper was just his assistant, but without coffee or much sleep, all that came out was a strange jumble of sounds. In response, Joanna ruffled his hair and threw a bunch of clothes at him. “Get dressed while I go see how your breakfast is coming.” The bathroom door was shut in his face and Nathaniel could hear Joanna go flying down the stairs and shout a cheerful greeting to the housekeeper[2].
Nathaniel had just finished breakfast when Rebecca Piper arrived. John Mandrake’s choice of assistant had surprised many within the magical community. She had come up under the tutelage of an… eccentric[3] magician, Zelda Murrow. Murrow’s specialty was the infinite varieties of mites, and she insisted on carrying a band of meteoric iron with her wherever she went. Most magicians said she spent far too much time believing in commoner fairytales.
Whatever her master’s faults, Ms. Piper was no nonsense and competent. Two traits Nathaniel greatly valued in underlings. She had also absorbed some of her master’s calm indifference to higher magical society. So add ‘unlikely to attempt to backstab him’ to the list of qualities he approved of in her.
Ms. Piper coughed. “You received another of those letters sir” she said, handing him a fairly familiar envelope. As usual, there was no return address and the handwriting was without character – bordering on mechanical. It was very distinctive and utterly unidentifiable – even the golden ink used gave no clue to the identity of the sender.
The first letter arrived not long after the first issue of Real War Stories was published. Although, Nathaniel was hesitant to call it a letter. It was more like a six page[4], unfocused, rambling mess. It hadn’t even addressed him directly. It was as though someone had simply transcribed a vicious rant against him, his cultural pride, and creative abilities. It was absolute slander. Nathaniel was quite impressed.
Knowing very well what the unassuming envelope likely contained, he didn’t even bother to read it. Instead he asked, “Well, what slights have I committed against the arts this time?”
Ms. Piper struggled with a smile “The letter notes nothing in particular this time, but apparently ‘it is no discredit to Mr. Mandrake that he wrote Real War Stories, only that he did not burn it afterwards.[5]’. This is followed by three pages[6] of edits, revisions, and various iterations of the of the phrase “Oh, for all that is good, please write at least one multi- dimensional character!’”
She then paused. “Also, Elizabeth[7] sent the final version of the script in for approval.” This was followed by Ms. Piper placing a large manuscript down on the table.
The script for Makepeace’s latest play was about the thickness of War and Peace[8]. It was primarily written in the black ink and block letters that were the hallmark of Quentin Makepeace’s hand, but considering the amount of golden script covering the document, it seemed that the playwright’s assistant had once again heavily edited the production before sending it to the Information Ministry. [9] Given the way both Quentin Makepeace and Elizabeth Law tended to react to the review process, Nathaniel had no intention of touching that document with a ten foot pole.[10]
“Give it to Wentworth to review. Now, what is the plan for this year’s Halloween celebration?”
“Pretty much the same as last year sir. There will be parades, and some events for children, including storytelling, candy collecting, apple bobbing and crafts. Oh, and once again, the theater has offered to perform a musical showcase called “Grim Grinning Ghosts[11]”. Apparently it was approved by the previous minister. However, considering the incident with the oysters and anarchists last year, you might want to speak to Minister Whitwell about any security threats…”
“Good idea” Nathaniel agreed. Their meeting continued for about another hour, and then Nathaniel had to get ready to attend the weekly council meeting at Whitehall.
The was a deep bite in the air that morning hinted at snow later on. In fact, the front lawn was covered in a crisp coating of frost, which convinced Nathaniel to run back inside for his jacket.
“Fresh air is good for you though! You spend too much time inside.” was Joanna’s cheeky reply when he requested that she roll up at least one window in the car. “You could pull of a darn good vampire with that pale face of yours – say, what are your Halloween plans? Do I have time to give out candy this year?”
“I do not know about candy, but Mr. Devereaux is having a costume party on the night, and I expect it to be late. I have not yet decided on my costume. If you have any serious sugge–. No Jo, I refuse to listen to the radio right now. There’s never anything worthwhile on it, and I need to think.”
“Really? That’s so sad Budgie. If only the passenger in this car had any say over what got played.” Joanna, using her best big sister voice, reminded Nathaniel, “You know the rules. Driver picks, Passenger suffers.” The last sentence was said with all finality of someone saying “murder is illegal.”
“Joanna, I refuse to have my brain frozen and melted at the same time. Desist with the radio and roll up the freaking windows. Why do you have to pick this fight every morning?”
“Well, I suppose I can give you one - the windows or the radio, you pick.” It was a false concession. Joanna gleefully taunted Nathaniel as she pulled out of the driveway and into the road in a smooth move before gunning it.
“Both, or I get your license revoked.” But, it was a hollow threat and they both knew it. There would be no reason for them to interact if Joanna wasn’t his driver. Without the cover of her job, they couldn’t spend time together without someone labeling her a target. His greatest worry was that someone would discover they were siblings – that she knew his birth name.
Not that Joanna would willingly reveal his birth name to anyone[12]. She’d die before intentionally putting him in danger and he didn’t want to think about how long that could take.
The argument didn’t continue, but Joanna did surrender on the radio. While in the middle of a hard 90 degree turn, she somehow managed to change the station from talk radio to music, but the windows all stayed down.
“Is your hair getting in your eyes? I have some of Mom’s old headbands in storage. I could get them for you. Actually, we should see if you want any of Mom and Dad’s things[13]. Would Friday work for you?” They suddenly skidded to a stop as Joanna slammed on the breaks so fast Nathaniel’s seatbelt locked. “Darn”, she said, “why do old ladies walk so slow!”
Suffice it to say that when the sleek black limo deposited the Information Minister on the steps of Whitehall, he rather looked like he had just stepped off a roller coaster. Cursing and smoothing down his hair, he made his way to the Hall of Statues.
If there was one good thing about Joanna’s…unique… driving style, it was that Nathaniel was usually early to everything.[14] Apart from the Prime Minister, he was the first to arrive today.
Rupert Devereaux was seated in his chair at the brand new circler council table[15]. He didn’t immediately notice as Nathaniel entered the room, so engrossed was he in the playbill for the theaters current production. Despite Makepeace’s name on the front, it was clear that the writer was actually his assistant - her unmistakable fingerprints were all over it [16].
“John!” the Prime Minister gestured him over excitedly upon noticing him. “I was just speaking to Quentin about his latest masterpiece. He has truly outdone himself this time!”
“I received the final script this morning. From what I read, it does seem to be quite the sterling example of his style and work.”
“I truly agree!” Devereaux smiled, clapping a hand onto Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Have you had a chance to see The Apparition in the Amphitheater? I was simply swept away - lost in a tale of dark romance and mystery.”
“Unfortunately, I am so busy that I rarely get to attend the theater. However, I was able to see the premier. I found the production rather enjoyable.”
“Wasn’t it?” the Prime Minister had a dreamy look in his eyes, “Did you have a favorite part? True, true, it is quite hard to pick. If I was forced to choose however, I would say that my most favorite part was when the Apparition can be heard in different places in the theater. Why I could have sworn he was right behind me!”
It was at that fortunate moment that Jane Farrar made her appearance. “Good morning John, Mr. Devereaux.” The Deputy Police Chief greeted the two men and saved Nathaniel from having to answer. Farrar’s arrival was quickly followed by the other ministers and soon the Council meeting had begun.
The situation in America was not good. To be fair, not much was going well, but the American campaign deserved special attention. The colonies had been increasingly unstable for a time, but nobody had expected a group of men dressed as Natives to destroy tens of thousands of pounds of valuable merchandise[17]
Mortensen continued “That is why I insist that we impose the most stringent of sanctions on the Bay Colony. It will make them an example and help keep the other colonies in line. We cannot let such an action stand!”
Devereaux nodded decisively. “Indeed, such behavior cannot be tolerated. What type of sanctions do you suggest?”
Mortensen slammed his hand down upon the table, “My first suggestion is that they lose access to the port of Boston until they repay the East India Company for every pound of merchandise that was destroyed. We allow the colonies far more freedom than they deserve. Until the chaos can be quelled and the instigators in Massachusetts found, I recommend that we limit town meetings and take control of government ourselves!”
The Prime Minister nodded sagely. “Jessica, I believe you also had something to add about the American rebels.”
“Indeed. My concern[18] is for any officials serving in the colonies. With the insanity that has clearly taken root there, I do not believe that we can trust the colonists to hold a fair trial if called too. We must make sure indicted officials are brought back to Britain, or at least to a more stable location, before their trial.”
And so it was decided. Upon hearing these new policies, the colonies immediately dubbed them “The Intolerable Acts”, and rather than isolate radicals in Massachusetts, their main effect was to unify the opposition. [19]
As the other Ministers presented their reports, Nathaniel took notes and sketched in the margins of his paper. His drawings where mostly geometric designs, but the occasional caricature could be seen. He was particularly proud of a mini Joanna holding a sign labeled “Speed Demon”.
The Council meeting lasted until noon, when they broke for lunch. They were saved from returning after by a previously arrange engagement between Devereaux and Quentin Makepeace – no doubt the two were plotting about some informal show the playwright was hoping to stage at Richmond.
Nathaniel used the opportunity to speak to Whitwell about security concerning the upcoming Halloween festivities. Ever since the affair with the golem, he and Jessica Whitwell had settled into a stable mutual relationship of respect and ice cold loathing. Neither were willing to make any concession to the other, but the chaos caused by last year’s anarchist plot had not won anyone the good will of the Prime Minister.
The two held their discussion during the short walk between the Hall of Statues and the front of Whitehall. They walked side by side, and the air around them seemed genuinely colder than the winds outside. They wasted no time in small talk. As the pair of ministers reached their cars, Jessica Whitwell was just finishing relaying the relevant information.
“And that is the totality of credible security threats that may threaten any Halloween festivities. However, I expect that most shall be neutralized before the holiday is upon us. Of course, we are expecting the night preceding the holiday to be especially troublesome.”
“But Devil’s Night is more of a problem for the night police.” Nathaniel concluded. “Thank you Jessica. I hope for everyone’s sake that there are no crisis’s involving armies of Bi-valves this year.”
The ghost of a smile flickered for maybe a second around Whitwell’s lips. “Indeed.” she said, and then left.
The short car ride to the information Ministry was only punctuated by Joanna shoving a takeout container of something she claimed was edible[20] at him. Work in the Ministry was already in the full swing when Nathaniel arrived.
Rebecca Piper met him at the door. “Good afternoon, sir. Jane Farrar has scheduled a meeting for 3 o’clock. There are also several proposals for propaganda campaigns for the Arabian colonies that require your immediate attention. Additionally, here is a letter from the Viceroy of the Indian territories about a grand celebration in the Prime Minister’s honor. He is making plans for balls and hunts and other merriments.”
Ms. Piper spoke quickly as they walked to his office, and with each item on her list, she handed him the relevant papers. He started with the letter from George Curzon[21].
The Viceroy was indeed planning a ‘grand celebration to rejoice at an unprecedented decade of peace and power under the great Prime Minister Rupert Devereaux.’. The planning had begun with just a week of festivities, but was then expanded to two full weeks to be capped off by a grand ball. The Viceroy promised to handle all the logistics and planning work – all he required was the Information Ministry (and its Minister’s) seal of approval.
“My sources say, that Lady Curzon has begun planning a fabulous dress to celebrate Indian craftsmanship[22]. She has already spoken with Mr. Devereaux about the design.” Ms. Piper added,
“Very well, write Lord Curzon with my endorsement.” Nathaniel sighed and handed the letter back to Rebecca, “Send me our response to review by the end of the day.” The next bit was directed at his secretary, “Start planning an extended trip to India.” He then shut himself in his office with the numerous proposals from junior ministers.
Exactly one hour later, there was a knock on his office door and Alex Wentworth entered carrying a slim manuscript written in elegant golden cursive. “Sir? Ms. Law dropped by this morning to submit another script.”
Nathaniel glanced up to glare at both the offending magician and related document. “And what makes you think that I have the time to personally review anything Ms. Law submits.”
Wentworth’s face was suspiciously blank[23]. “I have no idea sir. But, she did say that “If this can’t get through his ridiculous vetting process, I might have to greenlight a Swans of Araby revival.’”
Elizabeth’s not so subtle threat got his attention, “You’re right. I’ll deal with that script myself. We can’t have her forced into reusing such a recent play. But, if it’s that horrible musical about the murderous barber, she already knows I’ve rejected it seven times, because she keeps insisting the villain must be a judge[24].”
“No sir. Fortunately, it’s a new piece. Still untitled, but described as ‘Two sweet old ladies kill a dozen people.[25] Hilarity (apparently) ensues.’”
Like most of Elizabeth’s work, the new script was good[26]. It was primarily a comedy piece, and dealt with an increasingly flustered theater critic and his lovable but murderously insane family. Most of the police characters where utterly incompetent, but… well the play was already rather surreal and law enforcement came through in the end. He signed off on it[27]
“Mr. Mandrake, the Deputy Police Chief is here to see you.” It was Nathaniel’s secretary.
“Thank you Carol. Please, show her in.”
As Carol shut the door, Nathaniel quickly straightened his hair and jacket. Something about the Deputy Police Chief always made him feel unkempt.
As he straightened, Jane Farrar glided into his office. Without a word she settled into one of the chairs in front of his desk. One elegant eyebrow raised at the papers scattered across its surface.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important John.”
Nathaniel waved off her concern, “Just a few proposals by junior ministers. How can I help you Jane?”
Farrar brushed a few strands of long dark hair behind her shoulder. “I’m here for the same reason you needed to speak to Whitwell earlier. Safety, enforcement, and Halloween. Your job is to plan events. Mine is to keep order. So, what do you have planned this year?”
“The usual.” He waved dismissively, “Parades and shows. Some events, but most would be focused on families with young children. They’re the ones who are out and about the most on Halloween. Naturally we are in the process of organizing adult focused events later that night to try and provide some structure and distraction. Will the night police have enough presence to maintain order?”
Jane Farrar’s smile showed a few too many teeth. “Well, as long as you haven’t overlooked an oyster invasion, I’m sure we shall be fine.” She paused for a moment and then, “I believe I may have found a lead regarding Hopkins…”
The two discussed and compared notes on the ongoing chase for what was feeling more and more like a phantom. But, in the end Farrar’s lead turned into another dead end. She left, and Nathaniel returned to the junior ministers’ proposals.
That evening, a costume party was held at Richmond. It wasn’t the big costume party that Rupert Devereaux customarily held on all Hallow’s Eve, but it was an event. Richmond glowed. Orange and purple fairy lights glittered in trees, and grinning Jack ‘o-lanterns clustered around the trunks. There were hay bales, black and orange streamers, and even a flock of imps[28] disguised as bats flittering overhead.
Everyone was dressed as something fantastical[29]. Nathaniel had even donned the long black cape and plastic fangs Joanna had insisted he wear when he left the house dressed only in his customary black attire. Preferring to observe, rather than mingle, he stood to one side of the garden, giving his drink a slow stir. Fog gently rolled along the grass, and bubbled up from the suspiciously pumpkin flavored liquor in his drink.
“John my boy! There you are!” Quentin Makepeace’s voice arrived first, followed quickly by the man himself – dressed as Zeus. In turn, he was followed by a pleased looking Athena with curly blonde hair[30].
“Ah Quentin, how are you doing? It has been too long.” The greeting was almost sincere. The playwright was exhausting at the best of times, but he was in deep with the Prime Minister, and a useful ally to have. Makepeace swung an arm genially around Nathaniel’s shoulders, the other arm pulling in Athena.
“You’ve met my assistant, Elizabeth, right? You know, she’s a budding writer? Not anywhere near my level of course, but with time I’m sure she’ll be great!”
With the air of someone who has had years of practice, Elizabeth freed herself from Makepeace, laughing in a shallow way. The owl sitting on her shoulder made a distinctly un-owl-like noise. “Oh, come on Quentin. My writing will never be anything like yours. You’re on a level all on your own.” She then turned to Nathaniel, “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Mandrake. You know, when you’re not covered in fake blood[31].”
“I thought we promised never to mention that again.”
“I said I would maybe never mention it. Nice costume by the way.” The owl hooted derisively. Elizabeth stroked its head. “Hush Ana. At least he put more effort into it than Ms. Whitwell.” Like Nathaniel, his former mentor, Jessica Whitwell, was dressed exactly as if she was going to work; making no greater effort at a costume than perching a barely acceptable big black pointed hat on her head.
Makepeace looked over at Whitwell with a critical eye. “I suppose it is true that a few people could do more to get into the Halloween spirit. John, if you have any trouble at all with planning your costume, you must come to Lizzy and I.” He gestured at their costumes “Did you know she made these?”
“No, I assumed you’d had them professionally done.” The two costumes were very well made and showed an attention to historical detail that was usually missing from the theater’s costumes.
“She’s been making all sorts of sewing projects for years.” Makepeace confided with a gleam of pride in his voice, “Why, when she was seven, Lizzy was bound and determined to dress up as bat for Halloween. She spent months on that costume. And she was so darling in it. I simply must show it to you - Lizzy don’t we still have it in the prop room?”
“Right.” Elizabeth muttered turning vaguely pink “Quentin, how about I get us something to drink. What would you like?””
Makepeace waved at her offhandedly “I’ll be fine with whatever you grab Lizzy dear.”
“Remember, you’re not allowed anything alcoholic.” The owl chirped helpfully.
“Thanks Mom.” Elizabeth grumbled, and disappeared into the crowd of costumes with a wave.
Shaking his head fondly, Makepeace turned back to Nathaniel. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Now John, I’m putting together a little informal play to help lighten the mood since those horrible acts of vandalism in the colonies. It’s based on a little book called The Seven Wings. I truly think that you would be the perfect choice for the character of Alex. “
“You know how much I enjoy helping you stage plays. I would love to participate.” There really wasn’t any other answer he could give. Word of a flat “no” would undoubtable makes its way back to the Prime Minister, along with a fair bit of disapproval from Makepeace.
The playwright clapped him on the back, and cheerfully declared, “Wonderful! Excellent! We will be starting rehearsals tomorrow, at around 3 pm. I can’t wait to see you!”
The owl flew back over and landed on Makepeace’s shoulder, disapproval radiated from every feather. “That child is refusing to listen to me regarding the drinks and I refuse to be blamed for her misbehaving. Also, I am to inform you if anyone shows interest in her, and Collins just offered her a drink when I left.”
Makepeace sighed with exaggerated exasperation, “Thank you Analessa[32]. If you will excuse me John.” And with that, the playwright also disappeared into the crowd.
Nathaniel did not stay much longer after that. Dodging his fellow ministers, he made his way out of Richmond to where Joanna was waiting with the car.
“So,” Joanna asked as soon as she finished the imp check on the break lines. “Where’re we off to next?”
“Home.” The sudden acceleration forced Nathaniel back into his seat. Absently, he gazed out the window at the dark shadows of rolling countryside that flew past.
As they approached the lights of London, Nathaniel found himself drifting off for the third time during the drive. “Actually, before we go home, I want to grab some coffee from Gold Brew.”
Joanna slammed on the breaks and whipped around to look at him with horror. “You actually drink Gold Brew[33]?! How do you even know that place exists? Nat, I’ve seen how much you spend on coffee beans. And you want to go to Gold Brew – scratch that. Its 11pm. You’ll never get to sleep if you get caffeine now.”
Nathaniel felt a heat rising in his cheeks. “Look, I’m just craving it ok. When I was on the run from Lovelace, Bartimaeus sto- acquired some and I sometimes just really crave it.”
Joanna was unmoved, “That mud is not coming into any car I drive. I’ll buy you Starbucks[34] before I let you buy Gold Brew…Don’t look at me like that…Where did you learn kicked puppy eyes?...Fine, but it has to be decaf.”
A twenty minutes later, Joanna accepted a large decaf coffee from a very confused drive through attendant[35].
Nursing his – admittedly terrible – coffee, Nathaniel began to dissect his interactions at the party. It was all going smoothly until…, “Joanna, have you ever heard of The Seven Wings? Quentin Makepeace has convinced me to play a role in a little informal stage adaption he is doing.”
Joanna grinned in the mirror, “Oh, man you loved that book! Always insisted that Mom read it at bedtime. I swear you had the biggest crush on Alex. Your eyes would get all big whenever Mom got to her – are you ok?!”
Joanna cut herself off as Nathaniel choked on his coffee. “Alex is female?”
“Yup. Absolutely a girl. Big poufy pink dresses, sparkly wand, long black hair, big blue eyes – oh no. Do you think I can get tickets?”
The car pulled into his driveway. Nathaniel just sat in the backseat, head in his hands. How would he ever live down a big pink poufy dress? Joanna let him sit blankly for a minute, before sweetly asking,
“So… do you want me to buzz your head now, or wait until after this humiliation is over.”
[1] Not that she actually came out and said as much. It was all in the unspoken subtext.
[2] Tied for youngest of seven, Jenna was both adept at recognizing how siblings interacted, and very good at keeping secrets.
[3] Translation: Crazy, but has connections
[4] Double sided, single spaced, pt. 12 font.
[5] Original Quote “’It Is no discredit to Walt Whitman that he wrote Leaves of Grass, only that he did not burn it after.” -Thomas Wentworth Higginson
[6] To be clear, Real War Stories was about a page and a half.
[7] Assistant to Quentin Makepeace and head of the theater’s stage design and technical crews. Constantly babysat by the djinn Analessa of the Frost. Nobody is sure whether she got her job through raw talent or sheer nepotism.
[8] The contents may change depending on the universe, but the length and reputation never did.
[9] To ensure that all relevant art that the populace was exposed to carried appropriate messages, one of the important jobs of the Information Ministry was to examine books, plays, or radio dramas for vulgar imagery, incorrect information, or… seditious themes.
[10] Once, when Nathaniel had remarked it seemed strange that the governing magicians had not showed up at the climax of her plays - the woman had spitefully changed the setting to Paris. And then included a whole song about how they were in Paris, and how amazing the city was.
[11] Copywrite Disney.
[12] She’d only once threatened him – and that was with telling Bartimaeus about Mr. Mittens.
[13] For those who do not read the first work in this series, Joanna and Nathaniel’s parents were tragically killed in a car accident during the events of the Golem’s eye.
[14] You know, as long as Joanna didn’t get pulled over.
[15] Made of oak and polished to a dangerous shine, the table was modeled after a similar table unimportant English legend about knights, swallows & coconuts... It had been purchased by the Prime Minister to assure his Ministers that every one of them was equal in his eyes. Whether or not this would work will was dubious.
[16] I.e. the thing was actually watchable.
[17] The timeline concerning America is hard to figure out. So that’s why the Boston Tea Party got rescheduled to October. See End Notes, for a full explanation.
[18] For as much as someone with no heart can feel concern.
[19] In another universe, the Intolerable Acts would also include the quartering of soldiers in unoccupied buildings, and allowing Quebec to – among other things – remain Catholic.
[20] Joanna insisted it was food. Nathaniel generously stuck to ‘Modern Art”.
[21] Real man, really viceroy of Indian (in early 1900s), and really threw a massive party to celebrate British control of India and the coronation of Edward VII.
[22] Also real. The dress that resulted is called the Peacock Dress. Please look it up.
[23] He’d been getting that look a lot ever since Nathaniel had assisted with a disastrous staging of The Sleeping Beauty.
[24] If he was being at all honest with himself, Nathaniel would have admitted that Elizabeth had already accounted for the evil judge by making it clear he was the exception to the otherwise good and selfless government employees. Furthermore, he would have had to admit that his continued rejection of the musical was for far more personal reasons. Nathaniel happened to be sitting in the… splash zone… when he saw the first staging.
[25] Other notes include: Male lead is basically Mr. Mandrake; Villain hates being compared to Boris Karloff
[26] Then again, considering what she was compared against all she really needed was an ok plot and a few jokes that landed right.
[27] Saving everyone from having to pretend to enjoy Swans of Araby.
[28] Technical term here. A flock of imps, is the correct collective. Just as you’d have a murder of crows, a parliament of owls, or a picnic of hobbits.
[29] Most had followed a tradition of dressing as important figures: historical or otherwise. From just where Nathaniel was standing he could see, three emperors and two empresses a smattering of mythological figures, at least one legendary king, and Rebecca Piper dressed as Jane Austen. As usual, there were also plenty of vampires.
[30] The owl, seated on ‘Athena’s shoulder was real, peering around, and occasionally leaning into her ear to whisper something in a very non-owl way.
[31]The theater’s technical crew was still fine-tuning the pressure on the blood splatter effects. As I said, he had been sitting in the splash zone. In the crew’s defense, Nathaniel had been warned.
[32] Analessa of the Frost. An older djinn, who somehow was ‘type cast’ as a protector. Mostly summoned by magicians to keep an eye on their loved ones.
[33] Awarded Worst Coffee in the Empire for 80 years running. Reviews include: “The coffee tastes like the coffee machine has never been cleaned.”, “The server had a forked tongue and hissed at me when I tried to order – the coffee was meh. 3 stars”, and “How do you burn cold-brew coffee?”
[34] There is no world where Starbucks does not exist. It is the true ruler of the multiverse.
[35] Nobody would ever believe her tale of that time the Information Minister bought a coffee at 11pm from Gold Brew.