A Sequel to "Keep It Down" by Jay Petto
Author's Note: I wish to convey my deepest thanks to Jay Petto for his permission to post this story.
Keep It Down tells the story of Patricia "Pepper" Waite, a college student who annoys an elderly sorcerer, Ambrose Wright, who turns her, temporarily, into a bronze figurine. This story examines the aftermath.
Thanks to Todger 65 for the edit.
*
"And it was going so well," sighed Ambrose. He was dismayed; no, not dismayed, pissed. At least as pissed a man of his age could afford to feel. "That . . . woman," he sighed again, and in that exhalation went six months of fame, fortune, social standing; decades of hard work and research culminating in great reward, gone, because of "That woman."
Six months ago
He finished his book. The college student, Pepper Waite, was returned to flesh. He chuckled at the memory. He needed the humor considering his situation. She'd scampered out the door the second the restoration spell was finished; in such a rush, she didn't even bother to pick up her clothes. Ambrose briefly worried about the authorities, "But really, who would believe her?" The mundanes were more like as not to put her away. His theory on her silence was confirmed over the following weeks. There no visits by the police and, as an added bonus, no noise from Pepper; no music, no thumps, nothing. So far as he could tell, she went upstairs and never came down.
Ambrose felt a twinge of guilt over what he had done. He was a Grey magician but Greys had some ethics, less so than Whites but still . . . His ethical concerns, however, were brushed aside in the heady climate following the publication of his book.
It was a success beyond his wildest dreams. All the prominent, important critics, some were his peers, had nothing but praise.
"A brilliant, fine piece of work," wrote Dr. Mildred Kruger of the Collegium.
No less a personage than Morris Whitaker, current head of the White Order wrote, "A work of scholarship to stand with the ages."
Literaries praised its simple, accessible prose: "A great work that takes complex subjects of spell casting and magic, and shapes them into forms that are compelling and yet instructive. A definitive work," The Magister Review.
"No comment," the Order of the Shadow. "But then the Blacks are never inclined to comment on anything," thought Ambrose.
Along with the acclaim came royalties, invitations to lecture at the great secret universities, requests for advice and input from some of the most prominent magicians of the Grey and White. Literary awards piled up: The Dowling, The Falcon Prize, The National Alchemy Award, and the biggest of all, The Merlin Prize for non-fiction, announced but not yet awarded.
It was during the Cockmoore Conference on Technomancy that the Law of Unintended Consequences, subsection fame, came into play. The conference was held at Dartmouth and Ambrose's lecture was modern transmutation. The packed lecture hall expressed Ambrose's popularity. He was almost finished when, "Plagiarist! Fraud! Thief!"
"Eh?" Ambrose asked.
"I am talking to you, Ambrose Wright! You are a plagiarist, a fraud, and a thief! And a shit to boot!"
The audience stirred unsettled; people glanced about, searching for the accuser. Ambrose was not nervous, merely confused. His work was impeccable. He neither stole nor plagiarized from anyone. If any examples of other people's work were in his book, they were cited with due credit given, like any good research. Still, an accusation of this nature, in a public place . . .
"Those are very strong words, whomever you are. Do you have proof of your claim?"
A figure emerged from the milling crowd. The first impression for Ambrose was, "Red hair,"; flaming red hair, set on the head of an extremely attractive, mature, leggy woman, wearing a garishly loud pink Donna Karan power suit.
"She's 40 at the least," Ambrose thought, "Very attractive, bad taste in clothes, love the hair."
She strode to the stage, green eyes flashing with self-righteous ire. She pivoted dramatically to face the audience. "My name is Audrey James. My father was William James, and I have proof," she reached into her DKNY bag and pulled out a tattered notebook, "that Ambrose Wright stole my father's research."
"
Bill James? I haven't heard that name in ages.
A notebook is not proof, Ms. James."
"That is why I demand an inquiry. A double-sided inquiry, scientific and magical. When it is over I am confident," she emphasized the word confident, "that the age of the paper and ink will be authenticated. The inquiry will find that Mr. Wright's chapter on transmigration will match those notes, word for word."
Ambrose was incredulous, and from the snickers in the audience, his high skepticism was shared. His agent warned him of people like her. Fame attracts more than its share of parasites; opportunists who cry plagiarism, just so they can extort a little money or snatch a bit of glory from the successful. The last person Ambrose expected was the daughter of an old college roommate. "Sad that Bill's daughter would sink to such a level," he thought, when another wrench was thrown. "I say let Ms. James prove her case."
The speaker came from behind him. Ambrose turned to confront him, Dr. Horace Bentley. "I hope you're not serious Horace," Ambrose said, knowing full well Horace probably was, given their cold dislike towards each other since college.
"Hiding something Ambrose?" Horace asked with the cocked eyebrow and smirk Ambrose always hated. "
The stupid smart-ass is at it again. Well, I can kill two birds with one stone and settle the issue.
All right, let her prove it, and when this little farce is done, I don't want to see her or you again." And with those words, Ambrose flushed his brief literary celebrity down the crapper.
The inquiry was held at Yale. The Ivy Leagues always contained the best facilities for magework. The U.S. Associated Mage Authority brought in three mages, two White, one Grey, plus a mundane forensics expert.
The White mages were present to ensure the inquiry's integrity, the Grey to represent Ambrose's order, and the forensics expert to provide scientific evidence. Three judges from the Grey council presided. Present were Ambrose, Audrey, Horace, several of Ambrose's friends and colleagues, Ambrose's lawyer William Pierce, plus an executive and a lawyer representing the publishing company, and a slew of reporters representing various mage publications. Even so Ambrose was not worried. "I did not plagiarize," he thought confidently.
He actually felt some pity for Audrey. Whatever scam she was running would be exposed before the media and some of the most prominent people in the mage community. "She looks very confident for someone whose life is about to fall apart," he thought. Indeed, Audrey wore a lavender Prada right out of, "What was that show Kate loved so much? Love in . . . no, 'Sex In New York?' No, that's not quite it. Drat this memory of mine!"
Her face displayed a confident smile; wavy red hair cascaded like a sunset over her shoulders. "An excellent figure," Ambrose thought, "Very much like Pepper Waite. Her breasts are slightly larger however. Pity, amazing Bill could produce such a woman. He must have married well."
Horace was sitting next to her, a little too close, Audrey didn't seem to mind. "So that explains it." Ambrose's dislike of Horace stemmed in part from the latter's tendency to be too much the cat, less the gentleman. "He'll drop her as soon as the results come in," he sniffed.
