8:45 AM, December 6

[dasouzzle]

*When Frances comes into her office in the morning she finds their press team itern lying supine on the sofa pressing a pillow to his face. Jenny McIntosh is standing over him with her wand out and a worried expression.*

"He's been hexed. Some sort of vision spell."

*Davinder moans and presses down harder on the pillow.* "Everything is upside down. Except my visual field is still the same, so it doesn't track right. I get sick to my stomach every time I try to look up or down. I nearly walked off the tube platform this morning."

*Frances sighs.* You could have called in sick. We don't need you so badly it's worth putting your life in danger.

"I can't use my phone! Well, I can, but I have to hold it upside down. And I thought, I need you to fix it anyway so I might as well come in."

*He removes the pillow and looks up at her plaintively. He really does look unwell; his face has gone an unpleasant ashy colour. Further inquiries reveal that he's been suffering from the hex since he woke up this morning, and he hasn't noticed anything unusual that might lead them to the source.*

Any ideas on how to break it?

*Jenny shrugs.* "I think it's neurological rather than a distortion of the light. It might be safer just to find the caster and force them to remove it."

You're probably right. Shall we set up a trace?

*They move the coffee table to give them a clear space to work in, and Jenny draws a pentagram on the carpet with her wand. Davinder fumbles his way into the centre with his eyes squeezed shut, and Frances casts the spell. They won't be able to get a directional indicator since they're not running the tracer in the same location where Davinder was hit by the hex, but it should give them some information about the caster- his or her personal style, favoured techniques, the strength of their wizardry. There aren't that many wizards in Westminster; it might even be possible to identify the culprit alone from the trace alone.*

*The hex, as revealed by their tracer, is an odd looking spell. Jenny was right, it is affecting Davinder's brain rather than the light coming into his eyes, and the structure seems vaguely familiar to Frances. She thinks she's seen that style before. This is a very strange implementation, though- incredibly regular and extremely fine grained.*

"Goodness. Look how perfect it is. It looks like it was done on one of those new 3-D printers, or those pictures you see of pollen grains or diatoms-"

*And then Frances knows. There's only one person with a machine that can print magic.*

I know who did it. It's Peter Mandelson.

*As Jenny helps Davinder back to the sofa, Frances closes her eyes and draws on the power of the Mace. She can see all her peers, a scattering of red sparks surrounding her in all directions, denser in London and thinning out across the country and beyond. She names Peter in her mind and one of the nearest sparks brightens- he's in the House? Oh, but of course, he's visiting John. She opens her eyes again.*

He's over in the Speaker's apartment. Could you fetch him for me?

*Jenny takes a look at Davinder, who has buried his face in the pillow again, and nods grimly.*

"It would be my pleasure."

*She ducks into the fireplace and vanishes in a rush of blue flame.*

Comments

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's attempt to look bored is somewhat spoilt by Jenny giving him a shove between the shoulderblades as she exits the fireplace. He makes a great show of eating a grape before speaking.*

Is this going to take long? As you acknowledged yesterday, my time is in rather high demand.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Fix my intern, Peter.

*Frances thinks about the possible interpretations of that statement for a moment, and adds quickly,*

Remove your hex.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter looks at the intern, then back to Frances. He leans on the mantlepiece and eats another grape, remarking mildly.*

I did provide fair warning.

*He shrugs*

If you didn't pass that warning on, well....

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Now, Peter.

Consider this my fair warning.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter looks at the ceiling in contemplation as he eats another grape, apparently lost deep in thought. After a few moments of thoughtful mastication, he gets his phone out of his pocket and taps out a few commands. The air shimmers with the force of vaguely mechanical magic, but not around Davinder.

Instead, anyone with the ability and focus to see wards would have noticed the weird amalgamation of web and wall that is a ward slotting into place around Peter. If they were very good at such magic and knew what they were looking for, they would also see that the structure had been designed to mimic those cast by the Mace, a sort of cuckoo effect.

That's what Peter had been hoping for when constructing the program, anyway- that a sufficiently good copy of the Mace wards would be good enough to fool the Mace into fuelling the wards itself, or at least seem so familiar that it was loathe to attack them.

Time to see if his theory was correct....*

Later. I have an important engagement elsewhere for which I am already late.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

I think not.

*Frances was not idle while Jenny was off apprehending their miscreant. Peter has always been slippery and uncooperative, but after months of guarding him Frances has learned that obtaining his cooperation is usually just a matter of wearing him down. He's stubborn, but not patient. As with a small child, the trick is to stand firm and outlast him.*

*Of course, for that technique to work it's essential to keep Peter from wriggling away, and to that end she spent the past five minutes securing the room. It's impossible to teleport through the office wards and she's cast a spell over all the thresholds, including the hearth. She activates it now. If Peter tries to cross one he'll slip off and find himself back where he started.*

*She notices Peter's own spell going up, but it doesn't trouble her- it won't interfere with hers. If he wants to spend his little time-out inside a second set of wards, he's welcome to do so.*

You're not leaving until you've lifted it.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter doesn't bother to try and test her wards- given enough time and privacy, he could probably slip through them, but not whilst he's being watched and not without a considerable amount of effort.

He eats his second to last grape.*

Unlike that-

*He indicates the long suffering intern.*

-false imprisonment is illegal.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*Frances raises an eyebrow.*

Who says it's false? Casting spells on mundanes... you're clearly a danger to the public.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*Jenny is not as patient as Frances. She's also standing just behind Peter's shoulder, which places her inside his wards.*

*She points her wand, and Peter's last grape splits in half and lights up in a rather spectacular flare of plasma.*

We all have important appointments, Mandelson, including poor Davinder. Stop stalling and get on with it.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter inspects the grape remnents with interest, then turns to Jenny with a very intent expression, bringing his head down and staring directly into her eyes as he says*

Interesting. Tell me, does it work for other small, water based spheroids?

*He reaches up one hand until it's level with her face, then smirks as, despite herself, she steps backwards out of his wards.*

Friday, 9am.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's somewhat bleary-eyed when he shows up outside Frances's office the next day. Davinder clearly had far too much time on his hands- the intern had either worked out how to automatically send Peter individual texts of each column of Thursday's Hansard, exactly 12 hours after the original had been spoken (the texts had started at 11 pm and not finished until gone 6), or had been so hacked off as to manually type out Hansard throughout the night.

He knocks on the door.*

Re: Friday, 9am.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Come in!

*The peer who slinks into her office looks rather haggard, and the bags under his eyes are baggier than usual. He's probably been up all night trying to remove the Mace binding. Frances sighs inwardly and wonders if she'll have to remove it early for humanitarian reasons.*

Re: Friday, 9am.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter trudges up to the front of her desk.*

Good morning.

Re: Friday, 9am.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*Frances gives him a sunny smile.*

Good morning, Peter.

*She's not quite cruel enough to ask what brings him to her office this fine morning.*

Re: Friday, 9am.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

I have reflected on my behaviour, as you suggested, and accepted your criticisms. I would like to apologise for my actions and request that you remove the binding.

Re: Friday, 9am.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Of course I accept your apology. And I believe there's something you'd like to say to Davinder as well?

*Her intern is looking far more cheerful this morning. That afternoon off obviously did him a world of good. He looks up when she mentions his name and beams at Peter. It's nice to see that at least one of them isn't holding any grudges.*

Re: Friday, 9am.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter gives the intern a cool look, then states.*

Protection from Harassment Act, 1997, section 2, includes repeated attempts to establish communication against the victim's wishes.

Frances, I believe you might wish to inspect your intern's phone bill. Do let me know once you have done so and appraise me of any conclusions you have reached.

*He nods, slightly, then leaves.*

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

*A half hour and one major bollocking later, Frances takes out her phone. She's gone from disgust with Peter to disgust with all humanity. Whatever happened to her nice moral high ground? She'd been enjoying the view! And then Davinder caused a landslide and everyone wound up in the big puddle at the bottom of the hill with Peter, covered in mud.*

*She shakes her head and dials Peter's number.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter, enjoying a somewhat overpriced drink in one of the member's lounges, picks up his phone with a smirk.*

Good morning.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

All right. You'll be pleased to know that Davinder has been condemned to extremely boring data entry for the foreseeable future, which should keep him too busy to conduct any more hideously expensive spam campaigns. I'd knock your heads together and tell you both to apologise to each other, but I'm afraid it would just spark another round of hostilities, so I'll settle for drawing a line under this and keeping you separated.

I note that you brought this latest incident to my attention instead of going off and setting his flat on fire or something- you haven't, have you?- so I'm going to take that as evidence that you have in fact taken my comments yesterday on board, and that going forward you intend to behave more sensibly.

If you can promise me that this ridiculous affair is at an end and there will be no further retaliation from you or by your instruction, I'll release the mace binding.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's smirk transforms into a triumphant grin*

I can confirm that I have not comitted arson or anything similar.

*An elderly peer in the seat a few yards away looks at Peter with alarm. Peter grins back, eyeteeth prominently displayed.*

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

I'm very pleased to hear it.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter sighs inwardly, he'd hoped he wasn't going to have to give that particular assurance.*

...and that I will seek no further retaliation against your intern.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I will ensure he gives you no further cause for it.

*Closing her eyes, she locates Peter on her mental map of Westminster Palace and tugs free the thread of magic that ties the Mace binding together. It dissipates in a swirl of red and gold.*

You're free and clear. Try to stay out of trouble.

At least, the kind of trouble that involves me. You're more than welcome to make some for the Government.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter grins and flexes his hand as the straitjacket feeling of the binding dissipates. He carefully omits to mention that he's pretty certain The Machine has decided to take revenge on D'Souza for him as a Christmas present and makes a mental note to back up all his emails on his House of Lords account. The Machine means well, but her attacks often involve a rather large amount of collatoral damage.*

Of course, Madam Speaker.