Abi, the Masters, and Stev all crowded into the tiny stone-walled room she would have called a solar if the house had been manor-sized, while Bart and Bret stayed behind to manage the hinnies and give people room to squeeze past the wagons. It was clean to a fault and sparsely furnished, which was a good thing, because if it had had so much as a chair more than it did they wouldn’t all have fit in.

They waited for a few moments, and then a man appeared in the doorway.

He wasn’t all that impressive to look at. Weedy, middle-aged, going bald on top, dressed in comfortable-looking robes of some soft brown fabric she couldn’t identify. He and Jicks consulted quietly for a few moments, then Jicks spoke up.

“All right, if you’ve never had a spell worked on you, there’s nothing to worry about. This one’s very tame. The only thing is, for a few breaths you are going to feel as if your head is too big for your body, and your thoughts will seem a bit scrambled and not your own. Then everything will settle, and you’ll know every language and dialect and accent that I do.”

Wait, what? was all Abi had time to think, and before she could ask any questions, or make any objections, the man made a few flamboyant gestures in the air, spoke several strange words aloud, and light exploded in front of her eyes.

In the next breath. . .

Her head felt too big and too tight. There were things swirling around in her thoughts she couldn’t identify. It was as if there were a dozen people trying to Mindspeak to her, and she couldn’t understand any of them—

And just as suddenly as the effect had occurred—it was gone again.

“That’ll be five Valdemaran silver pieces apiece,” the sorcerer said politely. “That would be a total of twenty-five. Thank you for providing the template, Jicks, that made things much easier.”

“What, you can’t give me a discount for providing the template?” Jicks asked.

“That was with a discount. I have to eat, you know.” The sorcerer crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.

Jicks looked at Master Vance and coughed. He came out of his daze and fumbled for his belt pouch. “Uh, yes, of course, quite.” The sorcerer held out his hand, and Vance counted out twenty-five silver pieces into it.

“Nothing I like better than a customer who pays promptly.” The man stowed his fee in his own belt pouch and nodded with satisfaction. “I really don’t know how you people manage to learn languages over on your side of the Border.”