Now who's turning philosophical? Bib said, directly into her mind, even as his impersonation of her coached Fauna into pronouncing "vainglorious."
It's not philosophical, it's common sense. Why couldn't Leffisand have included me in the plot so much sooner? She sniffed and glanced up at the book that sat innocuously on the corner of the table next to her, half-covered with the skirts of the robe. Eavesdropping is rude.
You think so loudly, Mi'Lady. Bib chuckled, the cover of the book lifting a little to allow the pages to riffle in a whispering sort of sound.
Merrigan preferred carrying on a conversation with Bib outside of her head. Besides his tendency to eavesdrop, it disturbed her to do so much thinking. So when Flora and Fauna finished their reading lesson for the night, she was relieved. She bade them goodnight, remembered to thank them for the hot water they brought up to the library for her to wash with—odd, to consider hot water a luxury—and closed the door firmly to ensure no one would overhear her. Then with one shielded lamp sitting on the table, she curled up in the window seat bed, with Bib perched on a pillow on a chair nearby, and settled in to talk.
She asked how he had come to be torn apart.
"It's an odd tale, Mi'Lady. To begin: Under ordinary circumstances, the magic that infiltrates my pages requires that I only answer the questions asked of me."
"Despite all the tales in all those books," she gestured to one bookcase that contained nothing but tales of magic, the breaking of curses and the foibles of enchanters, "I find nothing ordinary about magic of any kind. You are most certainly magical. And rather extraordinary in your own right," she added with a smile.
"A lovely compliment, Mi'Lady. I thank you." Bib riffled his pages in a buzzy sort of laughter. "Yes, under ordinary circumstances, I am limited in my powers of speech. I only speak when spoken to, and only answer the questions asked me. It takes the presence of a majjian somewhat stronger than a hedge witch to break the geas and allow me to have intelligent conversations." He sighed melodramatically.
Merrigan chuckled. She liked the warm feeling from sharing genuine laughter with someone, not staged, public-face laughter.
"I assure you, Bib, I have no magical powers to speak of."
"No, Mi'Lady, but you are permeated with magic. It radiates from your flesh and bones. Now that's a consideration I hadn't taken into account until now."
"What?" She sat up, just when she was starting to feel deliciously drowsy. "You have an idea how to break my curse?"
"No, Mi'Lady. It just occurred to me that once we break the curse, there won't be any magic enfolding you, and we might not be able to talk, really talk, anymore."
"Oh." She lay down again and tugged the blankets up to her chin. "That's ... that's rather sad. We've only known each other a day, but I suppose when you've been sorting through someone's innards like I have with your pages, that produces a kind of ... intimacy." She echoed his last sigh. "I truly think I will miss you when that happens, Bib."
"Thank you, Mi'Lady. On the bright side, the curse may be on you long enough, magic soaking into you, when it's broken, enough magic will remain to allow me to speak freely."
"Hmm ... yes." Merrigan would much prefer to break the curse before any more magic soaked into her. The mental image was of swamp ooze clinging to her skin. "So, I assume the inability to do more than respond to questions led to you being destroyed?"
"The previous owner of this house, Judge Brimble's uncle, discovered my ability to speak. A curious, sad family history. The uncle's father cheated his brother, Judge Brimble's grandfather, out of his inheritance as the oldest son. As I recall, there were several brothers in between the heir and the cheat. His trickery earned him a curse. Odd, if you think about it. Usually the youngest sons are the good ones, the heroes and recipients of majjian help."
Merrigan reflected that she was the youngest, and the various local magical folk never went out of their way to help her. Maybe that was the problem? People had scolded her for her attitude and her siblings referred to her as "the brat." She sensed she had been cheated of her magical birthright as the youngest, the favored one. Wasn't that enough to sour anyone?
"The curse kept the previous two owners of this house from enjoying any success in the family way. The great-uncle found eight wealthy maidens to agree to marry him. Each one vanished, either carried off by a black knight or running off on a quest of her own before the wedding could take place. His son was adopted, though they always denied it. He went to a foreign country for a year, then returned with a tale of marrying an enchanted princess. Supposedly the day their son was born, she vanished, turned into a black swan. People stopped believing him when no black swans ever came to visit the baby. There are rules to magic and curses, and usually a loophole that leads to breaking them."
"I wonder how long it will take to find the loophole to break mine," Merrigan murmured into her pillow.
"Be that as it may," Bib continued, "the curse kept the adopted son from finding any joy in wife and children. He ended up adopting his orphaned cousin or nephew or whatever Judge Brimble was to him. The house and all the books, mostly law books by this time, came back into the possession of the proper bloodline."
"That doesn't explain how you were torn up and looked like you had been dropped into several mud puddles."
"Painfully accurate guess, Mi'Lady." He sighed, the pages riffling louder, so Merrigan felt a slight breeze. "Brimble's uncle didn't ask the right questions, so I couldn't give him the answers he wanted. He
