Much the Same

[Ziggy and Angelbaby]

The following is a story about an aged magician, a round-faced professor, a well-meaning young boy, a perilously curious young girl, and an emotional magic orb that I've been working on for the past several weeks. Babe inspired a character that appears in the final part; it won't be difficult to guess which one.

Here's the link to my dA submission: Much the Same, Parts I through VI

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Much the Same, Parts I through VI
by Siegfried Danzinger

I.
Archibald twisted his bent old hat around into approximately its proper position, licked his left forefinger twice, and placed the moistened digit against the blue orb. "It's much the same as it was before," he observed.

"So you can't fix it after all, then?" Drew wasn't really complaining. He ordinarily had a good deal of faith in the aged tinkerer and magician, but he'd feared from the start that even Archie might be at a loss.

"I can fix it with time," he held up a pale, wrinkled hand to stop Drew from speaking. Three brass rings, too large for his slender fingers, slid down and clinked when they met. "Or, more correctly, it will be fixed by time."

Drew didn't quite understand. "I don't quite understand."

A sigh escaped from the magician's lips; chased shortly thereafter by a friendly chuckle. "These things," Archie patted the object with seeming affection, "Work very differently than most. The longer you have it - and the older it is - the better it works. It isn't broken, really. Just not ready to work."

"So..." The young man considered these words for a moment; squeezing the tip of his chin between forefinger and thumb to better facilitate his thinking. "You don't really have to do anything to it? It'll... Get better on its own?"

"More or less. Though I should like to keep it here to prevent anything from interfering with its," another chuckle, "getting better."

Drew had already started nodding his head before he realized he ought to be shaking it, "I'm afraid I'm s'posed to return it to the classroom the coming Monday."

"What place does it occupy in the classroom?"

"It goes into a drawer in the professor's desk."

"Is it brought out often?"

"No."

"Unacceptable."

"But-"

Archibald picked up the orb and balanced it on an upturned palm; stretching his arm outward towards Drew so that his long, sagging sleeves dropped and bunched around his elbow. The surface of the item was nearly pressed against the young man's ear before Drew had a chance to react or not react. "Listen."

Most people, young or old, would have raised an eyebrow, backed away, and called the magician unkind names at this point. Drew did none of these things. His nearest ear perked up, and he listened silently and breathlessly to the smooth, glass-like surface.

"Hear anything?"

Drew listened harder. "Yes," an old hand went up again. The young man checked his volume. "Yes," he said more quietly. "I can hear it saying things, but I don't really understand them."

The magician retracted his arm and set the orb down gently on a little bed of shiny purple cloth. "It's entirely possible for it to be either happy..."

"Really?"

"Or sad. Or downright miserable. I don't suspect it's been very happy where it's been, and it won't 'get better' near as quickly if it's unhappy." Archie paused a moment before adding, "And if it can be made happy, it should be. It's just the proper thing to do."

The young man couldn't help but agree. He'd caught faint, careful whispers emanating from the orb; whispers made by more than one voice. And though, as he'd admitted, they made no sense to him, he got the distinct impression that they were not happy.

Drew left the magician's shop without the magic object. "And I don't s'pose I'll be very happy," he realized, "when I tell the professor I've left it with Archie."


II.
A red-faced man with puffed up cheeks pounded hard and angrily on the door to the magician's shop. When he paused, it was only to remove his square-framed glasses and wipe his brow; the large bald spot on his head showed early signs of what would likely become a very nasty sunburn. Once the glasses had returned to their eyes, the knocking would continue immediately.

"Magician, I know you are in!" It was a wonder the man could even speak clearly with such a puffy face, but everyone on that block (and probably others) could make out what he said quite well. "I can hear you. Doing... Doing Goddess knows what!" He reared back for one really powerful and really frustrated knock, and - just before his bruised knuckles connected - the door opened and he fell flat on his face onto a dusty wooden floor.

"Oh, professor," said the magician, admiring the developing redness on the top of his visitor's head. "How long have you been waiting? Had you knocked, I would have let you in straight away."

The professor struggled into a seated position, checked that his glasses weren't broken, and then turned and scowled at the old man. "I've been knocking at your door for what seems like always! What on Earth have you been at?" The combined puffiness of his face and the dust that had stuck to it made the man's head look something like an extraordinarily unappetizing pastry.

"Please do be quieter, Edgar," Archibald gestured over to a perfectly spherical orb that seemed to be glowing a soft, minty green. The magician offered a pale hand down to the man on the floor.

Edgar waved it away, "I can get up on my own." Which he managed to prove after several minutes of obvious effort. Archibald shut the door once he was clear of it. "But..." The professor ventured slowly over to the glowing object; simultaneously patting away some of the dust on his clothes. His face remained rather powdered. "This can't be my orb. It was blue!"

"Yes. And now it's green. It's improving."

"Hmm." The professor looked the magician over; deciding whether or not he should commit to hating him. The orb flashed so brightly a moment that everything in the room turned the same, refreshing green, and Edgar remembered that they were actually friends. "Here I was," he began with an idle fingering of his coat pocket, "ready to fight you with words or with worse, and it turns out you're doing just what Drew asked you to."

"Oh, I've done very little. I mean, I have been reading to it."

"Reading to it? The... Sphere?"

"And playing it music. It did not like the flute very much, but it liked the lute well enough. Seemed to become less melancholy."

"You're joking!"

"I'm not! It did not care for my flute playing. And I'd always thought I was good."

The professor rolled his eyes, "You know that isn't what I meant! Have you honestly been 'entertaining' it?"

"I have. Goodness knows how bored it's been tucked away in your desk drawer all this time."

Edgar took off his glasses, stood up on his toes to put him level with the magician's nose (he'd been aiming for his eyes), and leaned in as close as he could chance without falling. Archibald didn't so much as blink. A few, silly moments passed; the professor ended his examination. "You're being genuine. I'm almost worried."

"You'd ought to be sorry." Before words of protest could come out of the red, round face, Archibald added, "Towards Her." Emphasis on the last word.

The professor's mouth remained open a while before intelligible sounds began to come out. "Her? It's... She's... They can be female?"

"I haven't the slightest."

"Dammit, Archibald!"

"But She says that She is a She."

"Why," Edgar coughed into a fist and attempted to put on a scholarly tone, "Why would She bother making that distinction? Especially since," he glanced at the sphere briefly and almost timidly, "They aren't biological in nature."

"I don't know. Perhaps you had ought to ask Her. Better yet: Ask Her who She is."

The professor weighed two things against each other in his head. The potential of making a unique scientific discovery, and the potential for looking very silly when the magician exposed his joke. It was a close thing, but the former won out. He waddled over to the green orb, leaned in close, and - with only a half glance back at Archie to see if he was grinning - whispered his inquiry.

And the answer was a great surprise.


III.
Emily Whitebutton was a curious child. As are many children, surely. But Emily was especially curious. And Especially unlucky on one day in particular.

The girl was always searching things: Attics, basements, forgotten back rooms, closets, drawers, boxes, chests. And whatever else she could find.

"If I don't know what's in something," she'd uttered a good many times, "I'll be unhappy till I do know."

Emily was close friends with a boy named Drew. A rather slow but always well-meaning sort. He'd bring her news of things she could investigate and buy her candy for completely innocent reasons.

Drew and Emily were in the same science class: Mr. Edgar's. She liked Mr. Edgar's class - quite in spite of Mr. Edgar. Her favorite thing about his class were dissections; those were great fun. She'd never wondered what was inside of a frog until she'd been told she could have a look. And then she absolutely had to.

It was a Tuesday. A Tuesday on which Mr. Edgar had acquired a certain rare object that he intended to reveal to the class the day after; once he'd done further research, of course. In fact, Mr. Edgar knew almost as little about the object as any of the children might have. He knew that it would glow from time to time. That it was magic. And that he had probably either overpaid or underpaid for it; he hoped the latter.

Drew, being an inexplicable favorite of Mr. Edgar, had learned of the object ahead of the other children. He also learned that it was being kept in the drawer of his desk. A drawer the teacher regularly neglected to lock.

The moment he had a moment (it was recess), Drew raced right up to Whitebutton to inform her of the desk, the drawer, and the secret thing. He was going to propose that they go and look at it together, but Emily was already running into the school building before Drew could say word one.

Emily sped into the empty classroom and nearly crashed into the desk. She gripped the handle of the drawer and held her breath... Unlocked! She slowly drew it out with mounting anticipation.

It was... It was...

It was a thing. A blue orb of some kind. Seemed to be made of glass. It looked kind of pretty, but kind of boring at the same time. Seeing it simply wasn't enough; she had to pick it up. It wasn't light. Wasn't heavy. Wasn't slippery. Wasn't sticky. It wasn't very interesting at all. She shook it and listened for a rattle. Nothing. Slapped it. Three times! This was the most boring thing she'd ever had the misfortune of finding.

And then she had far greater misfortune.

"But what's on the inside?" she asked no one. "Can I get into it without breaking it? Will it crack like an egg if I drop it? Does it open on a seam I can't see? What if I bang it on the desk?" And she did. And when she did, it lit up a fiery red that changed the look of the whole room and dazzled Emily.

Though once the flash had vanished, so, too, had Emily. There, atop the desk, sat the orb; returned to its initial blue state.

But this all happened months ago. Emily's parents weren't nearly as alarmed by her disappearance as you might think. She was always exploring places and looking for interesting things; they convinced themselves that she'd show up before long. She did not.

People began to worry. Began to worry even more. Worried very much. Perhaps a dragon had eaten her! Oh, those damned things were extinct. Perhaps some stranger had grabbed her and meant to sell her to be a slave! Oh, that hardly ever happens anymore. People worried very much.

And then they simply stopped worrying. Forgot, it seemed like.

After a rather disappointing showing of the blue orb to the students, Mr. Edgar felt less inclined to bring it out again after that. He tried again now and then, but it seemed, to him, that it was glowing less and less. The only student who showed an interest at all was Drew, and even Drew could not exactly tell why. It was almost as though he felt sorry for the thing.

Drew ultimately convinced Mr. Edgar to let him take the neglected blue orb to the local magician Archibald; something of a friend to them both. He was generally thought eccentric, but he knew magical things better than anyone else in town. And so Archibald had gone about trying to improve the orb's condition, and Edgar had suddenly decided that he wanted the sphere back in his classroom immediately. Not because he cared for it or saw much use in it, but because it was his. And he'd probably overpaid for it.

And now Archibald had gotten Edgar to do a very silly-seeming thing: Ask the orb (now a lovely green color) who it was. And the orb had actually responded.

"My name is Emily. Emily Whitebutton."


IV.
"This is ridiculous," said Edgar, still hovering over the glowing green sphere. He turned towards the aged magician and threw up his hands, "This is ridiculous!"

"What exactly is it that you find ridiculous, professor?" Archibald's inquiry was made so calmly and so earnestly that Edgar was quite at a loss. The magician watched the man's lips quiver in confused hesitation for several seconds before offering a merciful, "Explain it. Logically."

And Edgar was all about logic. Logic was ever his friend; it would come to his aid now. "This is a magical object," the first words the professor uttered were trembling as much as the corners of his mouth.

"Yes."

"But it is, nonetheless, an object."

"True."

"And objects," continued Edgar, his agitation lessening noticeably. "Cannot be people. People are not objects."

"I'm sure there are people who will be glad to hear it."

The professor wanted, very badly, to send a sweaty fist right into the magician's nose. But he had tried that once years ago, and he'd suddenly found himself transported to the far end of the room before the fist ever reached its mark. His knuckles stung; as though they remembered the feel of the hard wall he'd managed to strike instead. "Archibald," Edgar patted his knuckles reassuringly before proceeding. "You know how I mean it. This orb. This magical object... It claims to have a name. And it claims that name is Emily Whitebutton."

"Ah."

"Ah? So you understand, then?"

"Why should it be ridiculous that something should have a name?"

"It isn't its name! That name belongs to someone - not something!"

"And who does it belong to?"

"Emily Whitebutton.

"The orb?"

"No! The person."

"Dear professor, the orb is not a person."

Edgar wished he knew magic. Magic that would turn Archibald's nose into an eggplant or his beard into smoke. He imagined the old man's smoke-beard floating away from his face, and it calmed him a little. "I know that! That's what I was saying from the start."

"But it does have a person in it." The magician gently placed a wrinkled hand on top of the sphere as he said this. Archibald had reached it without passing by the professor; he'd simply appeared near the orb and left an already flustered Edgar facing no one. It was a curious thing, whenever he did that. No one ever saw him disappear or reappear. It was as though he'd always been where he was, and everyone or everything else had simply adjusted to accommodate him.

"I hate it when you do that," complained the professor as he realized and spun round. "But," he said, taking off his glasses to wipe intruding drops of perspiration out of the corner of his eyes with the back of a wrist, "I wonder what you mean."

"Emily Whitebutton, the person, is - and I say this without a shred of doubt - contained within this orb."

That, oddly enough, was a more logical thing than he'd expected to hear from Archibald. Of course the orb wasn't Emily Whitebutton. Nor could it possibly have that name. Though, deep down, Edgar had known all along that his knowledge of the orb was sorely lacking, he took a few moments to admit it fully to himself. The professor placed and adjusted his glasses, taking an additional few moments to humble himself in the presence of someone who obviously knew more than he, "How could that have happened, Archibald?"

"I don't know for sure. You see..." Archibald carefully lifted the orb with both hands and turned towards Edgar. It was pulsing that same pleasant green; throwing the color onto the professor's round, perplexed face and the magician's long, wise one. "They have moods, as I've told you. Depending on their mood, they do different things."

Edgar looked around and, thankfully, discovered a wooden stool. He deposited himself in it immediately, "Go on, Archie."

"If they are unhappy, they do very little. This object was unhappy in your care."

The professor felt the first genuine pang of guilt. Over what had apparently happened to one of his students. Maybe even over his treatment of the orb itself. "Do you think that's why..."

Archibald interrupted, kindly, "No, Edgar. An unhappy orb would not have captured a child. "However," the magician's one-man audience leaned forward on the stool as the floor gave a little screeching cry, "a frightened one very well might have."

Edgar collapsed backward in his stool and pressed a palm to his damp forehead. "Frightened?" And then everything made as much sense as was possible, given the situation. He remembered the nature of the Whitebutton girl. "She was so damned curious." Remembered how she'd once pried open another student's locker after hearing the lie that they were keeping a baby basilisk in it (the babies are quite harmless). In fact, quite a lot about Emily came flooding back into the professor's head. Or, at least, out of the corner of his mind where the information had been hiding and into his immediate thinking. "She would have done anything to get into anything."

"The orb being no exception."

"Dear Goddess, I'd nearly forgotten about the girl altogether."

"Entirely the work of the orb, I assure you. Though I promise it's done her no permanent harm." The relief showed on Edgar's face, but Archibald did not permit him to enjoy it too much. "There's much to do if we're to get her back out. And you," with extended emphasis, "are going to help me."

For a moment, Edgar saw something equally intimidating and inspiring. The magician had pulled the orb towards him in such a way that the green sphere - seemingly picking that moment to stop pulsing and shine the strongest Edgar had yet seen - lit only Archibald's lower face and beard; excepting some folds of his long sleeves and robe. The old, insistent face seemingly hanged in the air by itself, and the professor jumped up from the stool with unexpected, but temporary, agility.

"Of course!" answered Edgar, finding it impossible to refuse the wizened green face. "It's... I'm at least partly responsible for what's happened to... To them both." He felt a child. But he felt a child that was owning up to some wrong he'd done.

"Good." Archibald returned the sphere, which had resumed a soft pulsing, to its little bed of bunched fabric. "And we'll require the boy's help as well."

"Who?"

The magician pretended to be hard of hearing, "Yes, Drew. Who else would I mean?"

"And you're an old goat," Edgar muttered under his breath as Archibald passed him by and made for the door.

The magician wrapped an aged hand around the doorknob. "If I am, professor, what does that make you?"

Edgar smirked, "The assistant of an old goat."

"Quite." Archibald smiled behind his thick beard before pulling the door open. He gestured for Edgar to walk through and followed him.

A couple moments after, the door opened again, and the magician poked his head back into the dark and dusty shop. "Don't fret, now. We'll only be away for a short while. Do be good."

The door closed with a brief creak and a scrape. The minty green transitioned gradually to a bright yellow, and the orb said, "I might."


V.
"I seen a yellow ball rolling down Dragonscale Avenue," the youth stated while scratching at his neck with dirty fingernails. Drew's neck felt itchy just watching him.

"How long ago?" Archibald leaned in for the reply. Not so that he could hear it better, but so that he could hear it sooner.

"Umm," the young man looked as though he was doing math in his head. "Twenty or so. Thirty, at most."

"Old information." The magician was normally a very agreeable type. A tad bit eccentric? Perhaps. A tendency to be playful? Occasionally. Particularly where it concerned a certain professor with a short temper? Absolutely. But seldom was he unpleasant. At the moment, however, he was being quite short with everyone.

Drew thought he understood why his friend was behaving this way, "Don't worry, Archie," he said as reassuringly as he could. "We'll find it." A sidelong glance and twist of the mouth from his aged companion told Drew that he was in error. "Her, I mean. It's a... She's a her."

It wasn't that, really. Archibald threw his skinny arms behind his back and captured his left wrist with his bony right hand. A long sigh followed. "There is more to worry about than you realize, my boy. And when you say not to worry, I feel I must worry for the both of us." For all of us, he thought. Aside from the danger that they were now facing, it was his earlier carelessness that troubled him most. You old fool. You left it unattended. When he had returned to his shop to collect the orb, it had not been there. He knew immediately that it had not been stolen; it had simply stolen away.

On the other side of town, Edgar was doing as the magician had instructed. Despite not being much for magic, Archibald had insisted that the professor stay behind to prepare for the extraction. "But," he had protested. But a but was all that he could muster; the look on the old man's face had been stern enough to cut him short. Edgar could only remember one other time when that face had been that stern. He shuddered. "I'll do as he asked," and with that, he slopped another messy line of green paint onto the classroom floor.

"Yeah, I seen it."

"It was here half an hour ago."

"Just rollin' down the road. And up it, too!"

"Strangest thing I seen. Least since that witch come by and give the Lauries' dog a pair of bat wings."

The problem wasn't that no one had seen the orb. The problem was that everyone had seen it. Everywhere. All over town. And no one was perfectly certain as to where it had gone.

"Work of the sphere itself," muttered the magician behind his quivering beard. "The problem is," he said loud enough for Drew to hear, "that anyone with wits will be affected by its magic. We need someone with sharp eyes, a reliable memory, and very few wits."

Drew considered what sort of person that might be. He thought it wouldn't be totally flattering to tell him so, but Gill would fit that description rather well. "Gill McMillan," Drew said with a tug of Archie's nearest sleeve. "He can see good and remember good, but his teachers all say he's 'bout as bright as the classroom floorboards."

"He will do perfectly."

They found Gill standing in his front yard staring at something that wasn't there. His forefinger was being sucked like a pacifier. Archibald thought that all rather encouraging. "Gill McMillan, I'm sure."

The blank-eyed red head only half snapped out of his stupor, "Yeah, that's me."

Drew hurried forward, "We're lookin' for a yellow ball sort of. You know if it come this way?"

Gill looked up into the air; pointing upward as though he were following a cloud with the finger that had recently been in his mouth. "Yeah."

When he saw that nothing more would be offered, Archie rolled his eyes and approached McMillan. "Gill," he began. The boy popped his cloud chasing digit back into his mouth and nodded slowly. "Did you see a yellow ball rolling on its own?" Another slow, distracted nod. "Do you know where it went?" A third nod. "Tell us, then."

This time, Gill realized he could both keep his makeshift pacifier and point with his other hand. Drew turned. "That's... Down Haven's Way." He made to leave, but he noticed that the magician was leaning over the vacant Gill with a look of mixed disbelief and examination.

"Gill."

"Yeah."

"McMillan?"

"Yeah?"

"Liar."

The accused suddenly scowled and shoved his short fat arms into the magician; Archibald fell onto the grass with an "oof" and a silent complaint about his back. Drew was fully prepared to tackle the red head to the ground (with some firm words about being kind to your elders), when something convinced him to do otherwise.

Gill McMillan transformed into a yellow dragon.

That was merely the height of the boy it had replaced.

It let out a high pitched screech full in Drew's face and began to flap its wings. Archibald had managed to get to his hands and knees. "Don't be afraid, Drew. It isn't a dragon either." The creature flapped more rapidly, gaining no more than a few feet of height above the ground. "You haven't really got any wings," said the magician with a groan and crack of his spine. "How do you expect to fly without them?"

The dragon looked at the sky. Looked at the magician. Looked at the sky. Looked at Drew. An increasing look of panic (if a dragon's face can indeed show panic) appeared on its scaly face; its curved beak opening to utter quick, shrill little cries.

Archibald was now standing as tall and straight as ever. His arms were thrown wide. He seemed a younger man. In a strange and powerful tone that Drew had never heard his old friend assume, the magician stated, as though it were fact, "You are a stone. A rock. A heavy boulder. A burden is upon you. A weight." The beast struggled to maintain its limited altitude. Floundered in the air. "Come down to the earth. Fall hard, fall fast." And the dragon, whether it obeyed or had no choice, struck the ground as though it were indeed as heavy as a boulder. Archie turned to the young, awestruck Drew, "Now, my boy: Pick it up."

As flabbergasted as he certainly was, Drew obediently approached the scaly yellow thing flopping about feebly in the dirt. It seemed to be glued to the earth. He reached out, hesitated a moment, and then placed his hands on the dragon's shoulders.

But what Drew lifted into the air, to his surprise and equal relief, was a shining yellow orb. "I'm sorry," it said. "I was just playing."

"I know," said Archie, with a loving little pat. Both on top of the orb and on top of Drew's head.

While all this was going on, Edgar had managed to turn the classroom floor into a confused canvas of green and blue and yellow. Some of the green was on his forehead where he had meant to wipe away the sweat. "That old goat," he said between pants. "He was clearly just giving me the harder half of the work."


VI.
"Well there you are," said Edgar in a louder voice than was really necessary. Drew and Archibald had just entered the classroom, and the former was clutching the sphere. Had the professor been a little less self-centered, he might have noticed that Archie had a hand against his aching lower back. Or that Drew was eyeing the yellow orb as though it might explode.

"Quiet, professor." Archibald gave the man a look that meant other things besides; he was understood. The magician then proceeded to step carefully around the colorful lines that Edgar had apparently been busy painting onto the floor. "Hmmm. This should work." Adding, "Despite how very poorly the marks were made," before the professor's chest could swell up too big. "Drew," Archibald turned to the youth, "place the orb just here." The old man made a trembling gesture towards the center of the pattern.

Drew set the object down slowly and precisely. A little of the still-wet paint made its way onto the left knee of his trousers in the process, but it didn't disturb the overall look of things. Archie waved him away and gave out a little moan as he straightened himself for his task.

"Edgar."

"Yes, Archibald?"

"Do stand anywhere else."

The professor retreated to the corner of the room and plopped down on the stool reserved for students whose dogs had eaten their homework. The magician didn't so much as thank him for all his hard work. And he might have protested had the room not gone pitch black a moment after he'd found the stool.

The magician's voice came out of the darkness; a low, vibrating chant that chilled both members of his audience:

"Wind and sky
Wing and flight
Sight and eye
Tooth and bite

Hooves and ground
Courage, heart
Ear and sound
Ending, start

Blue is She
All else, grey
Windblown, free
Altar, pray

Quickest speed
Smallest cry
Greatest need
Danger, nigh"

With a jolt of sudden panic, Edgar realized what he was hearing. "He's invoking the Blue Goddess," a whisper was all the awestruck professor could manage. The last time these words were uttered by that same magician, they were facing a terrible fate. Was this orb - something Edgar had regarded with little more respect or concern than a text book - something equally dangerous? No. No it couldn't be.

But could it?

Archibald threw back his head (losing his hat in the process) and finished his invocation with a mishmash of nigh unpronounceable syllables. The professor, now sweating as though he'd just climbed a flight of stairs, always felt this was more for show than out of necessity. Obviously, he'd no real idea; he was still no more than a laymen. The perspiring fat man just about fell out of his stool when a wreath of clouds - glowing a bright but surprisingly painless white glow - materialized above the now-visible magician. A shimmering or quivering occurred within the cloud perimeter (not unlike that of a soap bubble that had just been formed), and, a moment later, the image of the Blue Goddess appeared in that dimension-altering space.

There was a pause of several seconds; Drew spent them appropriately wide-eyed. The boy had never looked upon this Goddess - or any Goddess - before. Her hair - a mix of vibrant colors - spilled over her shoulder and rested against her proud, outward-jutting chest; the posture seemed natural rather than purposeful. Her eyes were large and dark and darted back and forth with quick intelligence to assess the scene. Her neck was long and flexible, and there was a suggestion of folded wings somewhere at Her sides. And She was indeed and literally blue. With the slow raising of an eyebrow and a little twist to one side of her mouth, the Goddess spoke:

"What?"

The magician who had called upon Her remembered that She wasn't really much for ceremony or wasted breath. The words of the invocation were not Her own; She had simply responded to something a group of ancient worshipers and wizards likely thought made for good poetry.

Archibald chose his words carefully but quickly. "We've a problem only you can address."

"Issat so?"

"There's a little girl trapped in this orb, and the orb's been misbehaving terribly."

"Yeah. I saw that."

"Then you know our situation?"

"I do look down here from time to time. When I'm bored. What do you want, Beard?" When a Goddess gives you a nickname, you like the nickname; whatever it may be.

The magician formerly-known-as Archibald responded, "Can you extract the orb and placate the gi- I mean... Can you extract the girl and placate the orb?"

"Well," the Goddess stretched out the word. Her voice - surprisingly young-sounding - flirted with a might-be crack. Edgar, leaning forward precariously on his stool and eating his fingers, got the distinct impression that She was only humoring the question. He was right. "I am a Goddess, ya know."

Even the steadfast old magician showed apparent signs of relief. "Thank you. Very much."

And the Goddess shrugged. "It's kinda what I do. No more of this nonsense though, guy."

"What do you-"

"You know what I mean. You've been around the block, Beard; you know better."

Archi-Beard lowered his aged head, still heavy with the mistake that had facilitated the orb's escape. "Understood, Blue." He was old and his memory imperfect at times, but he hadn't forgotten their previous conversation. Call me Blue, She'd insisted. The Blue Goddess was, so far as Goddesses are concerned, fairly easygoing. It didn't make Her any less divine, however, and this was probably as casual as any mortal's end of the conversation would get.

Blue liked that, all the same. The overweight man considering a heart attack in the corner and the boy staring as though he were watching the best fireworks display ever amused Her in their own way, but Beard guy was one of the easier mortals to get along with.

That is, of course, had Beard been strictly mortal. But never mind that for now.

"Stand back. Go put the boy's eyes back in his head, and tell Glasses to get a glass of water." Blue brought Her wings together like a curtain in front of Her and released a musical utterance that filled the room with both sound and color. The notes burst visibly into shades of green and blue and yellow, and the room - originally filled with an unyielding darkness - transformed into a rainbow.

The magician shuffled away as the orb was picked up in a vibrant, twisting funnel; the sphere itself changed color numerous times. It seemed to be struggling, feebly and in vain, against a much greater force. The room was filled with magic. No: Something older and stronger than magic. Edgar was still contemplating heart failure.

And then everything was back to normal. The classroom instantly reverted to how it had been before the magical sphere incident; even the paint the professor had slopped onto the floor had gone. Edgar was grateful for that. He took his fingers out of his mouth and pretended not to notice the teeth marks.

Drew was hugging someone. Not Archibald the magician. And not Edgar the professor. He had his arms around a rather stunned looking young girl.

"Drew?" Emily Whitebutton blushed. Then scowled. Then shoved Drew hard enough to just about knock him down. Emily was summoning up her best scolding tone when she realized that there were two others in the room staring at her with the oddest expressions. The girl selected the professor as a target, since the other, elderly man was completely new to her. "Professor Edgar? Why are you..." The realization that she must have been caught in her usual sort of activities hit her before she spoke another word. She adjusted accordingly. "I was just curious, is all. It's mostly Drew's fault; ask him. He knew I'd want a look once he told me about it. You know me, professor Edgar. This isn't the sort of thing they give children marks for, is it?"

The mostly-miserable little fat man did something that didn't suit him in the least: He laughed. Loud and long and infectiously, apparently. Because the laugh spread to both Drew and the bearded gentleman; though the old man's back seemed to regret it.

"What is wrong with the lot of you?"

The laughter, though quite unwilling to do so, slowly died down. The elderly stranger, in an innocuous, grandfatherly manner, approached Emily and took one of her hands between his two wrinkled ones. Emily noticed his rings. The robe. She would have noticed the hat had it still been on his head. "You're... You're a magician."

"Quite observant of you, young lady. Otherwise, you don't know who I am. My name is Archibald. You'll forgive the boy; he's been more worried about you than even he realized until now. You see..." The magician, first releasing her hand, turned away and bent down carefully towards something on the floor. He came up with a few uncomfortable sounding pops and a pearl-white orb.

"That's... That's the thing that..." Everything came back to the girl in that instant. She had been holding the same, rather disappointing object (fished easily out of the professor's desk) when it had suddenly changed color in her grasp. The world turned red. Then blue. Emily was surrounded by that color, and that was it. There was no discernible floor or ceiling; though she was certainly standing on something. And anything she said came back to her in the most obnoxious echo.

She had wandered for a time. Utterly lost - or stuck in one place. Unsure as to how she had gotten there. Wherever "there" happened to be. It wasn't until the echoes began saying things she hadn't that she learned the true nature of that place.

"Bad girl."

"Very bad."

"You were going to smash us."

"Break us open!"

"Not anymore."

"Can't break us from the inside."

The inside. She was inside of the damned orb. And, worst of all, it was terribly boring.

Nothing much happened there. And having a conversation with the echoes that weren't hers was pointless. They didn't like her at first. They were angry. Afraid. They said mean things and wouldn't play games.

Time passed - or she thought that it passed. It was hard to tell. She got the distinct impression that no one was looking for her. That no one would probably ever find her. So she did something that she'd usually only done to get out of trouble: She cried. Sobbed, really. She'd never cried so earnestly or so long in her life; she wasn't really the type.

"Don't."

"Don't cry."

"We're sorry."

"But she was going to smash us!"

"Quiet, you."

And after that, they seemed to dislike her much less. They understood sadness all too well. They talked to her for what felt like days; seemed genuinely grateful for the company. Then strange things - relatively speaking - began to happen: They were moved. The sphere had been removed from its drawer and taken somewhere. There was music (some awful flute-type sound), stories being read, and other things. Emily wasn't certain how, but she had spoken to someone on the outside.

The voices in the orb changed their tone again.

"No."

"Keep your stories!"

"We're keeping her."

"The girl. The girl is ours."

Emily had been relating all of these memories to her audience of three: The boy Drew, the professor Edgar, and the magician Archibald. Drew was stunned but intrigued. Edgar wore some measure of guilt on his round face. And Archibald was smiling. The professor thought he looked a dope.

When the girl hit a snag in her recollections, the magician, still-smiling, calmly related the rest. At least, as it had occurred on their end. More than anything, Emily was upset that she had missed seeing a dragon. Those things are all extinct, unfortunately.

"So," ventured Drew, "how are you, Emily? You feel okay?"

"You've been through quite a lot," added Edgar, needlessly.

"Um," Emily began. Sort of patting herself over as though the answer were in a dress pocket.

"How are you, dear?" Said the magician. Of the three, he was the most comforting to look at. There was something reassuring about an old magician who grinned as though nothing had ever gone wrong in the first place. Edgar thought him twice the dope. Double dope.

An intake of breath. "Much the same," the girl replied. As ever she'd felt.

This was both a great relief and a promise of further mischief. But she and the orb would have no further adventures; the Blue Goddess had whisked its magic away to the World of Color. A place where they would have plenty of company and no glass walls to contain them. Still...

They did miss Emily. A little.