Free All The Turns of Light by Frank Tuttle

your skirts, your undermentionables?”
    “ Un mentionables,” corrected Meralda, who raised a finger in warning against Mug’s inevitable commentary. “But you have a point. I need items I simply don’t have.”
    “Tim the Horsehead would just conjure whatever he needed from thin air,” Mug replied. “But times were different then. Magic filled the land, and unmentionables grew from every branch and bow.”
    Meralda’s pencil stopped in mid-scribble. “Times,” she said. “Times. The Times. ”
    “If that’s a song you’re singing, I don’t know it,” Mug said.
    “Do you recall the name of the penswift aboard? The one sent by the Tirlin Times? ”
    Mug regarded Meralda curiously with four of his blue eyes. “Primsbite, I think she was. Funny first name–Banquet? Snowshoe? Meringue, perhaps. Something like that.”
    “Wedding. Mrs. Wedding O. Primsbite.” Meralda smiled. “Mug, I think it’s time I renewed my longstanding friendship with the press.”
    “You loathe the papers,” Mug said. “You always have. The Times , especially, since they always draw you with your skirts flying up.”
    “Not today,” Meralda said. She rose and spoke to the Bellringers through her door, asking them to find Mrs. Primsbite. “Tell her I’m sorry I’m late for our interview,” she added. “Make sure you mention that. Tell her I’ll be in the aft observation salon in half an hour.”
    “Yes ma’am,” chorused the Bellringers.
    Meralda turned. Mug flew to her side.
    “I’m still not clear on how this helps us slip a false rumor to the Vonats,” he said. “Surely you don’t think she’s a Vonat spy.”
    “Of course not,” Meralda said. “She’s been the chief penswift for the Times for twenty years. Her reputation is unimpeachable.”
    “Unless she’s also able to shout over distances of hundreds of miles, I don’t see how that helps us,” Mug said.
    “You’ll see,” Meralda said. “I’ll need a few things. Thank goodness I brought a few of my tools–now where did I put my implement bag?”
    When Meralda arrived at the aft observation salon exactly thirty-three minutes later, she found an eager Mrs. Wedding Primsbite seated and smiling inside.
    Mug piped up before Meralda or Mrs. Primsbite could speak. “May I present Meralda Ovis, Mage to the Crown of Tirlin,” he said, accompanying his words with a faint flourish of trumpets. “Mage Ovis, Wedding Primsbite, star penswift of the venerable and respected Tirlin Times .”
    Mrs. Primsbite surprised Meralda by laughing. She rose, hands on her hips, and made a mocking bow toward Mug.
    Mrs. Wedding Primsbite was a tall woman. On most of the occasions Meralda had seen the penswift before, she had been merely one of many faces in a noisy mob, each one trying to shout down the others in the hope their question would be the one responded to.
    Meralda met the older woman’s gaze squarely, and offered her hand to shake.
    The penswift took it, her smile warm and her grip firm. “It truly is a pleasure to meet you at last,” said the penswift. “Now what can I do for you, Mage Ovis? Tut, tut, I know quite well we had no interview scheduled, and it’s no good blaming it all on some royal mix-up. I’ve been pestering the King for years to grant an interview with Tirlin’s Lady Mage, and he’s always refused, saying that decision was up to you.”
    “Ouch. She’s smart,” Mug said, as he hovered near the door. “I’ll wait outside while you two plot. If someone looks as if they’re about to barge in, I’ll sound a warning. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Primsbite. Mistress, don’t forget to complain about the paper’s artistic license.”
    Mug buzzed away.
    “I’ll be blunt,” Meralda said. “I need a favor, and I need it quickly. You want an interview, or even a series? Fine. I can do that.”
    Mrs. Primsbite moved to stand in front of the salon’s wide glass wall. “And what sort of favor is it you would ask of me, dear?” she said,