Patricia sank to the floor behind one of the bookcases as soon as Nalia and Anomen left. Exhaustion was threatening to take hold of her, and she hated exposing that weakness. Her health had never been quite the same after that illness when she was ten. It had dogged her throughout her training, and she had barely squeaked through some of the mandatory tests of endurance. She knew all the meditation tricks even better than most new Journeymen, because she’d sometimes had to use every one to survive an extra-long march or long fast during her novice days, where the others seemed to breeze through. She’d learned to hide her depletion well, seeming undisturbed until the event was over, then crawling wearily off to sleep for hours in one of the dustiest corners of the library while Imoen covered for her by doing her chores. In return, Patricia scrupulously avoided asking questions about some of her sister’s wilder escapades. What she didn’t know, she couldn’t reveal, and Patricia would have had to tell their parents the truth about Imoen’s activities if asked a direct question, or face expulsion from the Order.

But that was all years ago and far away now, mused Patricia, as she dropped into the light trance that could help her draw on her dwindling reserves of energy. Neither of them was sixteen anymore. Adulthood was not always everything it was cracked up to be, she thought hazily, then fell into the deeper trance pattern that shut out all outside sensations, except for one small corner that remained on sentry duty. She floated lazily on the sea of life energy that surged throughout her body and lapped up against the others in the room. She allowed its warmth to soothe her aching muscles, then decided she was far enough spent to sip a shallow draught from it. She would have to render payment in kind later with extra rest to restore the balance, but for now she could stave off sleep.

The monk opened her eyes to find Jan standing triumphantly over her, holding the second-floor master key. “Well done!” she said. “Was it in the desk, as Nalia thought?”

“Yes,” replied the gnome smugly. “Along with a few extra little goodies. Seems one of Nally’s ancestors had some interesting tastes in literature, and his kids didn’t want the footmen handling the pages, so they locked up a couple of grimoires with some rather unorthodox spells. I know that Lady Yuth would be very interested in the Goose and Unbutton cantrips, so I’m gonna copy them out real quick before Miss Snooty gets back. You know, Pa--- I mean, Tisha, that girl might be okay for a noble if we could get her dirtied up a bit more. Needs to tilt her nose down a bit, though, or she’s gonna drown next time it rains, like my Cousin Melvina. Tragic birth defect, that, having a perfectly beautiful nose spoiled by being put on upside down. My Aunt Martine warned her never to go out without her umbrella, but girls will be girls.”

Patricia shook her head resignedly. She’d actually enjoyed one of Jan’s incredible tales, so she must be wearier than she thought. Her mind shied away from thinking too much about those cantrips. She had a feeling they were the only mentionable items in a large pile of parchment that would soon appear in Jan’s scroll case. Maybe those tales about gnomes were true after all, at least for the Jansen clan.

She got up and went to check on Minsc, who seemed to be happy enough watching Boo run around on the floor in his small exercise ball. Chewing halfheartedly on a piece of raspberry leather, she idly took an inventory of all the things they’d grabbed during their frantic flight from Irenicus’ laboratory. There were several wands down at the bottom of the pack that she’d forgotten about, and Imoen hadn’t had time to identify them before the Cowled freaks had whisked her away. Patricia suspected she knew the nature of at least two of them, since they bore a resemblance to others she and her friends had used in the North. The dim outline of an idea began to take shape as she studied them.

She called Jan over. “Hey, Janno, can I interrupt your scribing for a moment? Come take a look at these bad boys.”

The gnome gave in with bad grace, but his curiosity was piqued when he saw what she held. “Well, now, those are an interesting sight. Do you want me to try to identify two of them? That’s all I can do for now.”

Patricia nodded. “Try these two,” she said, holding out a long vermilion wand whose end was shaped like a dragon’s head and a shorter, almost chunky wand that had a club-shaped aqua-colored head.

Jan’s hands danced swiftly through the ritual gestures. “The red one’s a standard wand of fire, your choice of an Agannazar’s Scorcher or a Fireball spell. The blue one…,” he whistled softly, “that’s a wand of cloudkill. Gotta be real careful with that one, or you’ll gag us all. Both wands are almost spent, though. Not much power left.”

Patricia nodded. “I thought so. The command words?” She noticed the frown flit over his face. “I’m perfectly capable of using a wand, Jan. Using such devices was part of my studies. Keep the wand of fire for yourself, if you like, but I’ve got a plan for those umber hulks that involves cloudkill.”

Jan’s face smoothed at her offer, and he promptly tucked the red wand into his belt, saying, “Yours is activated by the phrase ‘Scarphais Scarabrae’. Try saying that three times fast. Good thing none of us has a lisp.”

A clank in the passageway denoted the return of Anomen and Nalia. The priest and mage both looked pleased, and the Watcher’s armor gleamed as it must have the day it was issued. Not a single scratch remained to mar its surface.

“You know,” whispered Jan in Patricia’s ear, “if that armor didn’t look so much better, I’d be wondering if Nally hadn’t been studying ol’ great-uncle Whozit’s grimoire herself.” Patricia managed to keep her expression deadpan, but she couldn’t entirely suppress an amused snort, because the pair did look awfully smug, a lot like Khalid and Jaheira used to after a “berry picking” excursion. They’d be gone for two hours, returning with maybe a half-bucket of berries, an extraordinary number of scratches, and faces that fairly glowed with satisfaction. A dart of pain ran through her then as she remembered that she’d never get to see those two together again.

“I told you it would work, Patricia!” exclaimed Nalia, justifiably proud of her efforts.

“So I see,” she replied. “It looks like it just left the armorer’s hands. How does it fit, Anomen?”

“Perfectly, milady,” he replied with unmistakable glee. “’Twas indeed an amazing sight, to watch the pieces reshape themselves in Lady Nalia’s hands. I am more grateful to her kindness than I can say, and I am now fully ready to resume our quest against these evil creatures!” His heart lifted at the thought of dealing out more righteous destruction in glorious battle.

Patricia wondered how he and Minsc did it. Ten minutes after getting trounced, those two seemed to have completely forgotten that pain existed. She, on the other hand, had nothing but a grim determination to finish the course to force her back into the fray. Never once had she found combat thrilling. Not even that one time when she was small. Looking back on it, that should have been her first hint that she wasn’t quite like everyone else. She knew it was her inability to cope with that incident that made her so terrified of losing control. This was no time to dredge up that memory, though.

“All right, children,” she said, putting on her best teacher’s voice in an elaborate show of nonchalance, “what is the next stop on this guided tour of Keep de’Arnise? Please remain in single file, and do not step outside the posted boundaries. The management makes no guarantees as to the safety of life and limb in unmarked areas. Do not sit, stand, touch, bend, fold, spindle, or mutilate any item of furniture due to the risk of explosion.” Minsc cracked up at the reference to their disastrous trip to Durlag’s Keep, as she’d known he would. This place was a comparative cakewalk, with no traps to speak of and only ordinary monsters, not demons and various forms of undead. The others sensed that she was making a joke outside of their frame of reference, but let it pass. Someday she’d explain it to them, if they stayed together long enough. There were bound to be some boring nights on watch eventually.

“Er, I think we should go back to my father’s room,” volunteered Nalia. “The last piece of the flail may be there.”

“Right you are,” said Patricia. “Step this way, my lords and ladies---and hamsters, of course.” She found herself goose-stepping along. What on earth had gotten into her? She was acting like an early-stage drunk. A sudden chuckle at her elbow enlightened her.

“Jan! What have you done, you little lummox? Was there an Inebriation cantrip in that book, you hirsute hyena?”

The gnome looked guilty, but dodged her slightly tipsy aim easily.

“Grab him!” she demanded of Anomen. “He’s got to--- got to reversh it before I get so far gone that I pash out.” She felt her condition worsening every second, and she was just about to lose consciousness when a cold touch on her arm sucked all the alcohol out of her system.

Anomen was holding Jan up by the scruff of his neck, and a black rage was on his face as he forced the gnome to complete the reversal. As soon as he saw that Patricia was sober again, he turned on the gnome.

“Do not ever attempt to harm or insult the lady again, gnome, or I will make you answer for it at the end of a lash! A blade would be too good for you!” he spat. His own fury surprised him, until he realized that it was the combination of drunkenness and a cruel joke that had enraged him, bringing to mind both his childhood and a few unhappy weeks during the campaign against the Hillgnasher giants, when a fellow squire had set out to torment him in the name of fun.

“Lord Anomen, I appreciate your assistance,” interposed Patricia swiftly, seeing that the man was near ready to snap, “but there has been no real harm done. Just a spectacularly ill-timed joke. Cantrips are like candy to mages, they simply can’t resist trying them out. My own sister used that one on me once, which is why I realized what was happening so quickly. I bear Jan no ill will, and I’m sure he won’t be so thoughtless again. Please, we cannot afford any bickering among ourselves.” She saw the Watcher force himself under control, and mentally applauded his efforts. She wasn’t quite sure why he’d reacted so strongly in the first place, unless… oh, yes, his father breaking crockery in drunken rages. That would definitely account for it, especially for a man with little sense of humor himself.

Patricia risked a glance at Jan. His face bore an expression of mingled fear, resentment, and amusement. She let him off the hook with a chuckle. “Come on, Jan, save that for someone you actually want to have stumbling around in a fight. I’m just glad that cantrip doesn’t leave a hangover.” She added to no one in particular, “If I hadn’t learned to laugh at myself, I’d never have survived adolescence.”