So Sharp You'll Cut Yourself

I smile whenever I hear the chorus, which during school, is about every other day:

“Scuttlebut, scuttlebut, who’s in the know about the nasty Scuttle Butt?”

It’s not good songwriting, but it does have a catchy little chorus. I should know, since I helped write it, and there’s even a verse or two about me.

Not bad for a student on a paltry scholarship, to become Dean of the Magic Council.

Ah, you want the story behind the song?

That takes me back…

You know the rules that govern our behavior here. It’s the first thing you’re told to memorize, the rules:

One – Spells are slippery. Changing pronunciation or wording will cause different results.

Two – If you wish to experiment, you do so only on yourself. To experiment on another, even willingly, is a curse, and you will be disciplined accordingly.

Three – You have to remove what you’ve done to yourself. If you haven’t figured out how to do it by the time you graduate, it’s permanent.

Four – any magic shenanigans off campus are Right Out.

I was in my second year, and getting married.

Ah, that’s quite the face you’re presenting to me. In my culture, we marry young, and they’re contractual. Ten years, two children if possible. My husband is a friend from childhood, we get along well, and knew we would be able to co-habitate well. I wouldn’t say it was a love match, but it was quite close, and we’ve built a good life with our kids since then. We have something deep, but it’s not what the songsters call “love,” so what do I know? We have what we have, and it’s comfortable.

My whole family contributed to my college fund, which means basically the whole town donated one way or another. Magic lessons are expensive, you know that well. One condition that breaks the lesser rule of “no leaving campus during the semester” is a major life change, like a death in the family. Or in my case, my wedding. The codicil was even attached to my letter of intent, signed by all parties.

You know what first year is like. Mostly girls, and the catty behavior and the petty fights and squabbles. And the jumping in and out of each other’s beds. I kept myself to myself to avoid such things.

That wasn’t enough for – well, let’s continue to call her ScuttleButt. I know her real name, but I shouldn’t. If you are wise, keep that to yourself here. Not even your lover, or lovers. Trust them with your body, but not your soul. At least not right away. If your love survives graduation, then perhaps.

Well, ScuttleButt hated me from the start. I wouldn’t do anything sexual with her, because I certainly didn’t love her. Watching her seduce some of the others, just to get information, was rather repugnant. I stood up for the few boys in the school, and didn’t let them get bullied any more. Sure, I couldn’t use magic, but no one said anything about fists! I’m middle class, and our family works hard. I had muscles from swinging hay bales that both girls and boys sighed at, but I mostly kept them hidden. Not trying to be singled out, remember?

Not that it works very well here, as you well know. Girls are cats with thumbs, and curious as a clowder. It is hard to keep things like smarts and other-ness to one’s self.

When ScuttleButt learned about my upcoming wedding, and my special dispensation, she rather lost her mind.

Most of the becoming-ladies here are from money, you can tell. That’s all well and good, but it becomes a problem when the entitlement and greed come baked in, along with a certain amount of getting their own way all the time and thinking certain hard work is beneath them. But the worst, I think, is one who thinks that any others who get some special preferential treatment is unfair to themself.

And it certainly didn’t help that she had done some experimentation, and was half-crab. Or half armored spidery thing. I know, she’s difficult to look at.

My intended had a house in town, so I was allowed to leave campus and get dressed for the wedding. I had done all my studying, had turned in some assignments early, and was anticipating a lovely night with my family. I’d just taken a shower, and was drying off, when I heard a noise.

From the basement.

So I investigated.

When I reached in to turn on the light, I was shocked when a hand reached out to grab mine! Spell words were spoken, and I shan’t repeat them to you, but I remember them very well.

And my arm – disappeared.

ScuttleButt had built herself a spidery nest down there in the basement, waiting for me, and hit me with a spell. Hours before my wedding.

I lost it.

I shouted some spell-words myself, but they were the ones that summoned the full Council.

She didn’t know I knew that spell.

Magic works everywhere, of course. We just concentrate the magic at the colleges to make it easier for you students. It’s also easier to contain the accidents that eventually occur, like chemical explosions at the non-magical colleges. Those who don’t have magic, or have only a little, don’t need us always in their face reminding them.

That’s why Rule Four exists.

But if one person breaks Rules Two, Three, and Four, at the same time, then my invoking Rule Four is the equivalent of calling the police. Suddenly we all appeared in the Council chamber.

And, oh, they were not happy.

Now, what is the strange word? You must be careful with strange words around here… Ah, yes, “gnarly.” The council then was a gnarly lot. One was half silver, her dreadlocks included. One was completely covered in bright yellow fur. One looked more tree than human. One looked thin but normal, until I learned that his lower half was all tentacles under the robe he favored. And their leader, and absolute stout brick of a woman, had thick crustacean armor that ended in a giant crab claw where her hand should be.

I will spare you the whining. That bunch was very much an “it will all sort itself out” type, so they tried to blame me for the interruption of their weekend. I pointed out ScuttleButt’s flouting of the rules, just to ruin my wedding, which was TWO HOURS away. I may have been shouting at this time, telling them to force her to undo the curse, or there would be hell to pay, because my family does not mess around when it comes to someone deliberately sabotaging a wedding. I mean, can you imagine the pictures? Trying to get dressed? Makeup? Both sides questioning what happened, and getting the truth?

What would they see, my organs, or just a smooth slab of red muscle, at the divide?

And ScuttleButt just crouched in her chair, looking smug, because she knew what the Council was like.

Until I started quoting parts of the college charter, and the fine print in our letters of intent. There are rules for a reason, and there was no time to wait till things worked out when I was going to be married off campus. In public. Where the Council’s incompetence would be put on display.

Suddenly there was concern. Suddenly there were frowns and angry looks towards ScuttleButt. Suddenly there were talks of punishment and consequences. Because screw ScuttleButt’s daddy’s money, this was a Scandal, With Possibility of Lawsuit and Job Loss.

And Complete Loss of Reputation. Oooh, Consequences.

Great, glad to hear it, right? What. About. Taking. The Curse. Off. Me. Right. Freaking. NOW?? I’m getting married in about an hour! Make her take the curse off right now!

And ScuttleButt’s face went from scared to pure panic.

She didn’t know.

She. Didn’t. Know.

I lost it. I screamed things, I threatened things, I’m not sure what all I said, but it scared the Council something terrible. ScuttleButt was waved away to some kind of locked room, and they concentrated on me, because I wasn’t kidding about their ruining my wedding.

And they didn’t know how to lift it, either.

How? This is the flipping Council, and none of them knew how to undo this??

But then I looked at them again.

Silver. Claw. Tree. Fur.

Maybe, just maybe, the Council isn’t as good as they claim to be?

But they clustered around and muttered a lot, tossing suggestions back and forth. I stood there, wondering how I got from the best day of my life to my worst in the turn of a single hour.

But I have very good hearing. Again, I don’t mention how much I can hear. The thing that kept being mentioned was “glamour” and “seeming.”

And they directed me to close my eyes.

They were gently touching my arms and waist, nothing crude, just part of the touch of conferring a spell. And I noticed it felt like real hands, not bark or claw or furry paw.

I am not stupid.

When they told me I could open my eyes, I was given a mirror. They assured me that the pictures would look perfect, the guests would see that I was restored.

They also transported me, fully dressed and with perfect makeup, to my wedding, where future husband and guests were waiting.

But I knew.

The curse was still on me, the Council had only cast a glamour over me, using a mirror. Humans aren’t perfectly matched, and the image that looked back at me from every mirror was not my own.

Which meant, whatever hid below the glamours of the Council members, was strange indeed.

So I studied.

And through patience, and persistence, I learned glamours. I learned to cast and remove them with ease, shaping strange words and pronunciations to fit the odd colors and shapes I could attach to the glamour’s spell-structure.

ScuttleButt was only allowed to graduate if she could reverse my curse. Which, of course, she never did. So they all thought it was a permanent disfigurement for me, but seemingly “cured,” so crisis averted with dusted hands and satisfied looks.

I remembered what words she’d used to cast it. Again, patience, and persistence.

And when I could see my real arm and right side again, I could remove the original glamour, and add my own touches to a new one.

Jewels everywhere. Long, beautiful, curly hair, which would change color or shape as I chose. Rich fabrics and clothing. Or a strange cat-looking creature, or a towering oak, or a slim acrobat.

The Council noticed all the changes, and were afraid.

My husband was delighted, of course. He was not the type to have a wandering eye, and I pleased him well enough myself, but this guaranteed he would never want to stray from the marriage.

The Council? I graduated, top of the class of course, and slowly took over. Most retired for health reasons. I urged them to nominate people to replace them who had real skills, not just illusion.

Who could enforce the rules, and would not hesitate to do so, no matter what money or station tried to influence them.

And part of what I do, is look for the best to join the Council.

Which is why I’m telling you these things.

Yes, I’ve been watching you. A keen sense of justice, studiousness, not distracted by the sexual attractions of either gender. Not that you can’t experiment of course, but you want to have proper relationships.

And I’ve seen your grades. You remind me a lot of myself.

So consider applying for a Council position when you graduate. Who knows? Maybe I’ll retire. Maybe.

ScuttleButt? Ah, yes, she knows she can’t leave the building, or the changes that have happened to her body will become permanent. I know she rather looks like a hermit crab without a shell, doesn’t she? That is what we see. And it is real. To her, and her only, she seems human, and has no idea why all the students mock her. Or that when she tries to talk, everyone runs away, because all they hear are clicks and squeals.

If she had remorse, and apologized, it would all fall away, and she could become human again in truth. Instead, her family throws money at us yearly, to keep her here. Out of sight. As an example to others. Where she can no longer do harm to her fellow students, and others like her take note and behave themselves.

So, ponder my offer, and I will see you often in the library.

And if you’re curious about the lyrics to my awful song, perhaps take a look in Section Kaunaz, fifth shelf, third book from the left. Like you, I find the Rune of Knowledge to be a lucky sign...