Jonathan Stroud
Author of fantasy books, mainly for children and young adults.
I'm only introducing it because of a small sub-clause in an Official Charge that escaped my notice a year or two back. Unfortunately the author didn't forget. Like elephants, authors are – nothing contractual escapes them.
The darkness cloaking my mind lifted. Instantly, I was as alert as ever, crystal-sharp in all my perceptions, a coiled spring ready to explode into action. It was time to escape!
Except it wasn't.
Wednesday
Yep, same again. Saw a few nice whirling colours and things. That's it. Easy, this journal lark, isn't it?
The boy shrugged. "I've forgotten it," was all he said. And then, "I guess I wasn't taught well enough."
The temperature of the room dropped fast.
Today summoned painfully to earth by a short fat English magician with a dangerous stammer*.
No attack yet by Archmage. Wish he'd hurry up.
The boy did the preliminaries, sealing the circles, erecting the bonds. Now we were all subject to the rules of the summoning. But then he stopped. He did not progress. The woman looked at him furiously. "I've forgotten it," he said.
So I departed, leaving behind a pungent smell of brimstone. Just something to remember me by.
"Take that stupid grin off your face," he said. "You're putting me off."
"Sorry." I adopted a hideous expression of malady and woe.
"That's not much better."
"H-he is a messenger for you. H-h-he brings a message."
"You stagger me, Simpkin! A messenger with a message! Extraordinary."
As part of my current charge I have been instructed to provide an occasional journal of my recent activities*.
Spy three suspicious butterflies flitting over hedge. Check the planes. Yep, small foliots, arms flapping wildly. Wasp rises up behind them, shoots down out of sun, zaps them with Infernos, one, two, three. Burning butterflies crash-land in pond. Alert master to my triumph. She inspects charred fragments. Her scowl deepens; turns out they were her slaves, returning with valuable information.
"Remember this." he said in a soft voice. "Demons are very wicked. They will hurt you if they can. Do you understand this?"
No magical alarm sounded, though I did hit my head five times on a pebble†.
A better plan would be to head straight for Bart's Guide to London, since that's hugely entertaining and witty, i.e. written by me.
The old pain had started up again, throbbing in my chest, stomach, bones. It wasn't healthy to be encased in a body for so long. How humans can stand it without going completely mad, I'll never know.†
"I know you," he said. "I know your scent. Long ago, yes, but I never forget. I know your name."
"A friend of a friend, perhaps?" I eyed his spear-tip nervously. Unlike Eagle-beak, he didn't wave it about at all.
"No... an enemy..."
"Terrible when you can't remember something that's right on the tip of your tongue," I observed. "Isn't it, though? And you try so hard to recall it, but often as not you can't because some fool's interrupting you, prattling away so you can't concentrate, and-"
Bull-head gave a bellow of rage. "Shut up! I almost had it then!"
Together, we must advance unafraid into the modern age!
Monday
In Other Place. Did nothing.