"There," Madam Curio said, straightening. "All finished. You'll feel some tingling and itching overnight as the bone knits. That's perfectly normal. Don't fiddle with the splint. The last thing you'll want is for the bones to knit crookedly. The only fix for that would be for me to re-break the bone and start all over, and we certainly wouldn't want that. Now," she gestured towards the row of beds, "pick whichever you like. I'll see that breakfast is brought to you here in the morning. You may as well make yourself comfortable."

        James slung his backpack onto one of the bedside tables and climbed up onto the unusually high bed. It was a very comfortable bed, and for good reason, since all the mattresses in the hospital wing had been infused with Relaxation Charms. The charms, however, had no effect on James' thoughts, which were dark with frustration and anxiety. Professor Jackson had admitted that tonight was a night of ultimate importance. It wasn't simply speculation anymore. And now here James was, stuck for the night in the hospital wing, neatly trapped by Professor Jackson's crafty interpretation of Headmistress McGonagall's instructions. Alone for the first time since the attempted broomstick caper, James felt the full impact of what had happened out on the Quidditch pitch. It had seemed like a crazy plan from the beginning, but no more so than the plan to capture Professor Jackson's briefcase, and that had worked, hadn't it? Everything had been a success so far, until now. It was as if an invisible brick wall had suddenly blocked them, halting their progress at the last, ultimate moment. Arguably, the Merlin staff was the most powerful element of the three relics. Even now, Corsica, Jackson, and Delacroix were probably preparing to bring the relics together, unaware that they were missing the robe, but with the two most important relics in their possession.

        In spite of his anxieties, James had begun to drift sleepily under the influence of the charmed mattress. Now he sat up, his heart beating hard in his chest. What would happen when Jackson opened his case and found Ralph's dress robes instead of the relic robe of Merlin? The Visum-ineptio charm would break, then, wouldn't it? Jackson would see the case for what it was. He'd recognize it, and remember that day in Technomancy class, when James, Ralph, and Zane had used the fake case to trick him. He had thought they'd failed, had even referred to it while taking James to the hospital wing. He would surely realize then that they hadn't failed. Jackson was smart. He'd know which of the boys had the real robe. Not Zane or Ralph, but James. The boy he hadn't 'pegged' yet. Would Jackson come to the hospital wing to demand the robe? No, even as James thought it, he knew Jackson wouldn't. He'd go straight to James' trunk in the Gryffindor boys' quarters. He'd probably claim to be searching for clues about James' involvement in the unnamed dangerous plot against Hogwarts. Jackson would surely get James' trunk open, and then he'd retrieve the robe. Everything James, Ralph, and Zane, and even the Gremlins had risked would be in vain. It would indeed be over, and there was nothing James could do about it.

James struck the bedside table with his fist in frustration. Madam Curio, seated at her desk in the corner, gasped and put a hand over her chest. She looked at James, but didn't say anything. James pretended not to see her.

        His backpack had slipped sideways when he'd slammed his fist onto the table. Resolutely, he grabbed it and opened it. He took out his parchments and his ink and quill. He knew that, under normal conditions, Madam Curio would never allow a patient to have an open ink bottle on her clean white sheets, but as far as she was concerned, she was harboring a potentially dangerous individual. Best not to provoke him. James bent over the parchment and wrote quickly, awkwardly, with his splinted arm, not even noticing the way his hand smeared the inky wet letters.

Dear Dad,

I'm sorry I took the M. Map and the I. Cloak. I know I shouldn't

have, but I needed them, and I thought it was what you would have done, so I

hope you aren't too mad. I know I don't stand a chance with Mum, but put in

a good word, will you?

         The reason I took them is because I've discovered something really sneaky and scary going on here at school. Some of the American teachers are in on it, though not Franklyn. He's cool. Also, the P.E. here is in on it. I don't want to tell you about it in a letter, but even if I am in big trouble with you and Mum, I need you to come. Can you be here tomorrow? Miss Sacarhina says you are on an important job and not to be interrupted, so maybe you can't, but try, OK? It's really important and I need your help.

Love,

James

        James folded the parchment and tied it with a bit of twine. He didn't know how he'd send it, but he felt better just having written it. He remembered now that he'd intended to write his dad about the Merlin plot way back when they'd captured the robe, and he berated himself for not doing it then. He'd thought, at the time, that his reasons for not telling his dad were good ones, but now, trapped in the hospital wing on the ultimate night of the Merlin plot, and knowing that, despite everything, Jackson might very possibly capture the relic robe back from him, it seemed foolish and arrogant that he hadn't written his dad about it earlier.

        An idea struck James and he dug in his backpack again. A moment later, he held his Weasley brand rubber duck in his hands. It still had Zane's handwriting on the bottom: Laundry Room! James dipped his quill and drew a line through that, then, underneath it, he wrote: hospital wing: send Nobby to the east window. When he was finished, he gave the duck a sharp squeeze. "Manky barmpot!" it quacked.

In the corner, Madam Curio once again startled and looked accusingly at James. Potential criminal or not, she clearly thought his behavior unaccountably rude.

        "Sorry, Madam," James said, holding up the rubber duck. "It wasn't me. It was my duck."

        "I see," she said with obvious disapproval. "Perhaps now would be a good time for me to retire for the evening. You won't be, er, needing anything, will you?"

        James shook his head. "No, Madam. Thanks. My arm feels loads better, anyway."

        "Don't fiddle with it, like I said, and you'll be fine by morning, I expect." She stood and hurried past James toward the leaded-glass doors. Two figures could be seen through the milky glass, and James knew that they were Philia Goyle and Kevin Murdock, both kindly sent by Professor Jackson to watch the doors. Madam Curio unlocked the doors and went out, offering her good-evenings to the sentries. The door clicked shut behind her and James heard the bolt clack into place. He sighed in frustration, and then jumped as his rubber duck quacked a loud insult next to him. He raised it and looked at the bottom. Below his handwriting was a new line of black letters: open th e window: ten minutes.