Ninety seconds later, the masterpiece of the magic tower faction opened with an offended click.
The master pod was a sphere of shelves and star charts, and beside the great desk, on its stand, sat the sealed case. Warded, keyed, and, to the tower's eternal misfortune, now open to the night air.
Inside lay a ledger. A formula in cipher. And a chest of records, sealed with an inner lock that had no keyhole at all, only a seam too fine for any elf's fingers.
Victor opened his coat.
"Nymeria, watch the bridge. Doctor, you are up."
Seven inches of headmistress stood on the desk under a star chart, hands on her hips, surveying the ledger chest like a general surveying a captured city.
