The Hay Street Siege Begins

Friday. The siege has begun. My forces are gathered at the castle walls: myself, three cousins, a hired gargoyle and Crumpet, in a jar.

The plan was elegant. The walls would hold for sixty minutes, the Headmaster would dither, and at the end of the hour we would stroll in and lift the formula off his desk. I had even packed a little bag for the elixir.

Instead the Headmaster sent students. Not wizards with long beards and long lists of qualifications: students. Two of them at first, then a party of six, then eight in matching capes. In they went, the door closed, and from outside I heard a great deal of whispering and, worse, the occasional cheer.

I shall not write down what they did in there. I don’t know, for one thing, and a sorcerer does not copy his enemy’s homework. I will say only that some classes came out looking very pleased with themselves, and I went home with an empty little bag.

Tomorrow I try again. And the day after that. I have, after all, every intention of having forever.