Maud and the Tea of Dume

By J.E. Marriott

Maud and The Tea of DumeMagic, Tea & Witches, Book 1    

Magic, Tea and Witches, what would the world be without them?

Maud Twangle, a Professional Witch, lives in a world full of magic and mystery with her best friend, Henrietta, who is a Magical Moon Spider.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wyrdwood
• Release date: Apr 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781988332048

Book preview

6

Chapter One: Death & Law Makers

The woman's piercing, high-pitched scream came from number 19, and it was for the second time that morning that such a noise had come from such an innocent-looking house.

The old, rust-coloured brick townhouse stood majestically in a row of identical houses. Each had a short flight of steps up to the door and each with a small garden surrounded by wrought iron railings next to those spotless steps, under the glorious bay window. The street was usually a quiet one, the gardens neatly tended, the outside of the houses clean, well-maintained and newly painted. Even the pathways in front were litter-free and looked well-tended, with small flower gardens and trees growing between the houses, and the road that saw very little traffic.

This house, though, was obviously not as peaceful as the rest in the street. The green painted door had the number 19 in brass, sitting boldly on the wooden door frame, and it stood wide open. Several people stood outside, staring, pointing at it, busy gossiping loudly about the goings on inside. There was also much coming and going of official looking people who were all rushing in and out, looking very harassed.

Inside, the assembled crowd of Witches and Wizards stared down at the body of their deceased comrade. A hush had filled the room upon their arrival at the house and now no one wanted to disturb it. You had to be careful around members of the First Order of Witches and Wizards: they were a very powerful and rather strange group of magical practitioners who enjoyed a privileged, pompous existence.

The room was a simple but stylish study, full of neat rows of books, a mahogany desk with the usual writing implements, and a large, sturdy, brown leather chair. By the side of the desk stood a large, potted Peace Rose which continued to give out its lovely smell. It was meant to magically ease the minds of whatever troubles ailed them. Unfortunately it was doing nothing of the sort for all the people gathered at the murder scene.

Opposite, by the book shelves, stood an old globe and a telescope, and in front of the empty fireplace was a high-backed, wine-coloured leather chair with a small table on which a half-full decanter of what looked like whiskey rested, and a single, unused glass. The clock, which resided upon the wooden mantel piece, was chiming a bell and saying, in a rather loud tone, 'You have visitors, you have visitors' every time someone walked into the room. There were a lot of people doing just that, making the clock speak endlessly in a most annoying tone.

One of the members of the First Order, a portly man with a ruddy complexion, looked over at the spelled clock and raised a finger in its direction. He muttered something, and the clock stopped chiming, to sit quietly once again. The Wizard did not even look around the room at the people gathered, and returned to speak in a low, and completely indistinguishable tone from a distance, to his fellow members of the Order. They whispered to each other like leaves rustling in a gentle autumn breeze.

What are they all doing in here? Oh, my, and the place is so untidy too, the alarmed and somewhat distraught housekeeper said to the Law Maker, who had just arrived on the scene. The housekeeper's plump, round face looked across the room and showed even more concern than it had a few moments earlier, when she'd had to explain how she had come to work this morning as usual for Dr. Peverall, but found him stone, cold dead and locked inside his own study. Hence why she had felt the need to scream and had done so again to demonstrate her original reaction to the Law Maker.

Permela Unwin looked down at the small, lavender-smelling woman who had only just stopped screaming and curled her lip in disgust. She hated how everyone bowed and scraped before the members of the First Order.

They are here because they demanded to be, now stay out of the way: you have done your part, she hissed, and stepped in front of the frightened woman obstructing her view of the crime scene.

The First Order stood around the body, looking down at it and still whispering to each other. They huddled around it like a wake of buzzards excited by a new piece of carrion.

Permela could stand it no longer.

If you will permit me to finish my work, ladies and gentlemen, she said as she strode forth and broke their circle connection. They stopped mumbling and stared at her indignantly. She didn't care. Her job was to collect the facts of the death and to report on them, and ensure that the body reached the Dead Head at the city morgue.

The group of the First Order of Witches and Wizards finally shuffled away from the corpse of their dear friend and watched as the Law Maker made copious notes of the room, the position of the body and the instrument of his death. This, by the several burnt pieces of parchment that lay on the ground and on his desk, appeared to be a 'Firebolt' spell, spread out alongside a broken, used cup and saucer, which lay on the ground near him. What their friend was doing with such a rare and unusual spell was completely beyond them. They looked at each other with concern and then at one of their members, Miss Herbertina Falstrop. She was an old Witch of remarkable power, but also the gentlest of souls you could ever wish to meet. It was she whom the members often referred to when dealing directly with the public, as she had a knack of bridging the divide between the magical and non-magical folks.

The round, jolly-looking woman stepped forward from the group to stand next to Permela and cleared her throat, looking directly at the Law Maker expecting her complete attention.

Permela stopped writing and looked over at the plump woman. Yes? Do you have something to add to my report, Miss Falstrop?

Well, no, but I... Herbertina started, and paused to form her words more carefully before continuing.

Yes? Permela said and raised a sharp, pointy eyebrow.

Well, correct us if we are wrong, but that burnt area on Dr. Peverall's chest looks like a Firebolt wound, does it not? She said looking from the body laying on the dark green carpet on the floor to the tall, slim Law Maker and back again, her face showing a frown of confusion.

Yes, it is consistent with such a weapon, Permela said.

Well, how could that be so? Wasn't the door to the study locked? His housekeeper said she unlocked it when she arrived this morning... and, if that was truly the case, how could a Firebolt have killed him? she said while shaking her head and frowning, not understanding what could have happened.

I presume you are referring to the safety clause on all Firebolt Magic that restricts the Firebolt from going anywhere near the speaker of the spell?

Exactly! So how could he have killed himself with it?

He could not, of course.

And the broken cup and saucer? They could suggest he was surprised and you don't kill yourself as a surprise, generally, do you? Herbertina added.

Well, no, but anyone could have unlocked the door and shot a Firebolt in at him and then locked it again, perhaps even the housekeeper did it. Permela said carelessly and watched as the housekeeper paled and slowly sank to the floor in a dead faint. Or maybe it was just an accident, she said, looking at the crumpled woman on the floor behind Herbertina.

Herbertina looked doubtful as she considered Permela’s words, unaware of the woman's reaction behind her.

Somebody see to her, will you? Permela said to the ridiculous amount of accumulated people in the hallway outside the doctor’s study, all pointedly ignoring the fainted woman. She waved her hand in the direction of the witless and now unconscious housekeeper and turned her attention back to the notebook. She didn't even question where all the people had come from. Crime was rather rare in New Berry and it seemed to attract people like moths to a flame.

Poor Mrs. Buttle said there are only two keys to the study: hers and the doctors, Herbertina said.

Well, we shall know what happened within the next forty-eight hours, won't we? Permela said, as she closed her notebook, placed it in her pocket and nodded to her attendants to come in with the stretcher so she could take the body away at last.

We were wondering if it was possible to be at the Inquisition during the Courtesy Curfew?

You of all people should know that the Inquisition is sacred to the deceased and the Dead Head only, so they can confer during the forty-eight hours after the death and about the events leading up to it. You are the very people who brought this into Law and you know that once we have shown Dr. Peverall his Death Courtesy, a report will be filed for his family and for us Law Makers and then he will finally move on and into spirit. The Law is not for your convenience and you will not break it just because he is a member of your order, Permela said firmly.

A corpulent member of the huddled First Order turned and looked down his nose at the Law Maker.

Remember who you are speaking to, Law Maker. We can easily remove you of that title, he threatened.

Yes, Sir, Permela said, and smiled sweetly before turning away and walking out of the room, following the body.

Herbertina shuddered at the memory of the fake and insincere smile on Permela's face.

There is definitely something wrong with that one, she said to the room.

They all nodded in unison and agreement.

Come sister, we must report our findings back to the Grand Sage, the large, round man said.

What we need is an ear in that Courtesy Curfew so we can find out exactly what happened from Dr. Peverall himself, Herbertina said, deep in thought.

They all nodded in agreement, despite knowing full well that it would be against the very law they had created by their own hand.

The semi-darkened room held a slight haze from the pipe smoke and smelt sweetly of good quality tobacco. The only light on in the room, was the one on the desk, behind which sat a well-dressed man in the green robes of a senior Wizard. He was somewhat hunched over, reading a paper file before him, absent-mindedly puffing on the pipe. The desk itself was large and piled high with books, parchment scrolls and files. The rest of the room was in the same messy disorder, but in that well-used and much-loved way. Another man, thinner and dressed in poorer quality robes, stood in front of the desk, waiting to be questioned.

Wyckham Strangedart tapped his old wand upon the thin report on his desk as he, once again, puffed out smoke from his long, thin clay pipe. The greyish smoke circled above his head a couple of times and then floated away, dispersing. Wyckham stared at the paper in front of him. He had read it several times already and each time he did, the contents still made no sense whatsoever. He let go of his wand and watched as it continued to tap on the report at exactly the same rate as he had done it previously.

How could this be? How could two of our most prominent Witches and Wizards, all of whom belong to the First Order, have died or gone missing in the last four weeks, and the former with no known cause of death? Nor any evidence of where the missing went? How is that even possible?

I do not have the answer, Sir, the tall, thin man said as he remained in the same position, standing in front of the Senior Wizard's desk, moving his brown, felt cap through his fingers.

Well, jolly well find out, man!

Yes, Sir.

And, while you are at it, Mortimer, bring me all the latest details from the morgue on Dr. Peverall's death. Nobody kills themselves with their own Firebolt, it's just not possible. Even a first year Magic student knows that!

Yes, Sir. Although, I'm not sure, Sir, that there will be any news yet. The Director of Deceased Affairs has not submitted his report for you, Mortimer Crook said as he brushed a straggly, greasy lock of hair off his face and self-consciously tried to smooth it over his almost bald head.

I don't care if you have to go to that blasted civil servants office to get it, I want to know what happened to Peverall and I want to know now. Got it? Wyckham stared at the weasel of a man who stood before him, once more wishing for more competent staff like in the old days when he was a much younger Wizard, not these ineffectual people who called themselves Magicians and who either had to be gifted or bought their magic. It just wasn't proper, it really wasn't. He thought to himself for the hundredth time.

Yes, Sir. He bowed deeply, turned on the spot and began to make his way across the overly cluttered room to the doorway.

Oh, and Mortimer?

Mortimer turned back to face the middle-aged man who held more magical power in his little toe than he had in his entire being.

Yes, Master Strangedart?

No excuses this time or I will have you stripped of what little magic you possess, that I, in my generosity, foolishly granted you, if you remember, and turn you out on the streets. Is that understood? Wyckham said, knowing full well he couldn't do that as Mortimer's position was granted for life, but the man just riled him so much.

Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir. Mortimer bowed again and rushed from the room before his master unleashed the rage inside him and out a Firebolt to take his head off. Mumbling under his breath, he left the Senior Wizard's study and walked to the end of the hallway. He entered the falling stream of Crystal Water, and let his body float downwards to the foyer level. As it was just an illusion, he, of course, did not have to hold his breath, nor did he get wet as he travelled down the stream of water from the top floor of the Grand Halls of Magic to the ground floor.

Replacing his crumpled cap on his head, he walked out of the old, red brick building, past the marble columns and into the blinding sunlight of the city streets. He began to make his way through the mid-day foot traffic across New Berry to the Department of Death and the office of the Director of Deceased Affairs, hopeful for a chance to get in to see the Dead Head in the morgue and try to get some useful information from him.

Permela walked purposefully along the empty, quiet corridors of the morgue. She was heading to see the Dead Head with the intent of getting his first observations from the body she had just sent over. There was something she found very comforting in the morgue. It wasn't death nor the bodies(she had seen a fair few of those), no, it was the absolute cleanliness of the place. There was not a spot of dirt anywhere to be found and she simply loved that, it appealed to her very ordered mind, in such a profound way that nothing else ever had.

She found the room she was looking for and stood alone in the morgue's autopsy room looking down at Dr. Peverall's body. It had been placed on a metal table, and the large hole in his chest had been covered over. In fact the entire body now lay with a sheet over it, except for the face, in preparation of his ghost's arrival. As usual, the ghost was given a forty-eight hour maximum length of time to return and say whatever was needed before the full autopsy could be performed. It was understood that ghosts did