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that it'll be all the usual arrangements."
    It was not unheard of for wizards to die whilst inter-realm, but it was very rare.   There was someone - the Inquisitor they called him - who would pose as a relative and make the arrangements to have the body brought back to one of the gateways.
    "I've instructed the Inquisitor to visit tomorrow."
    Oh dear , thought Maureen.   I'm not sure if I have enough milk.   What will I offer him to drink?
    "How's the tea?" Rofen asked.
    Maureen offered a weak smile.   How surreal this evening had become.   One minute she was trying to keep her neighbour from letting snow into her house, and now she was in an entirely different realm talking about tea and worrying about milk, whilst a man she'd loved was dead.   She put her mug down and fished in her handbag for a tissue with which she dabbed her eyes.   She felt she should be crying but her tear ducts were dry.  
    "I'm sorry," she said.   "It's all been a bit of a shock."   Half way through the sentence, her eyes finally began to moisten.
    "There, there," Rofen said.   "I'm sure it has."
    Maureen fought to bring her emotions under control.   Rofen might be trying to be sympathetic, but she'd never liked the man and for that reason she had no intention of him seeing her vulnerable like this.
    "What do I need to do?" she sniffed, trying to compose herself.   "You know, for the Inquisitor?"
    "He'll discuss all that with you tomorrow, don't worry.   We're a bit better prepared for these eventualities these days."
    Had there been more recent deaths she didn't know about?   Surely things like that would get told to her via Joseph?   There had been a time when she'd known all of the Friary's business.   Not that she was a gossip, there was no-one other than her cats to tell any titbit of information to, and all they cared about was their next meal.
    Sat there in Rofen's office, sat in a realm she'd dreamed of for nearly eighty years, she suddenly felt so out of touch.   Now one of her few links to that world was gone, and she felt she was somehow losing it, as if Venefasia was some huge ship, and those friendships she had were the anchors that stopped it from sailing out to sea.   There was only Joseph left now, but if they closed the gateway, she'd lose him as well.   Sat there, she felt old, even beyond her years.
    Rofen was looking at her, his hands knitted with his chin resting upon them.   It wasn't an uncomfortable stare, just someone thinking of the right thing to say in an awkward silence.   She looked anywhere but at him.   Doing that would have meant engaging in conversation and she preferred the silence.
    She looked up to a portrait on the wall, of a man with dashing good looks, sideburns and a quiff of brown hair.   There was a plaque on the frame but it was too dark and small to read.   Rofen followed her gaze.
    "Ah, David Turnpike," he said.
    "Turnpike?"   Maureen asked.   She recognised the name from somewhere but her thoughts were elsewhere.
    "The man who brought magic to man.   Surely you know the story?"
    Maureen shook her head, worried that if she admitted that she did, Rofen might question what else she knew that she shouldn't.
    "Really?   That surprises me.   Well he was the person who started all this."   He waved his hand around the room.   "He was a Catholic missionary, one of the first to venture through from the Realm of Men."
    Maureen sipped her tea and tried to look attentive.   At least it would take her mind off Ernest.
    "He ended up the guest of the elves, where...   well one thing lead to another - it's not important right now - and they discovered Human males could do magic.   Up until then, Elves had been the only race able to do this. So... yadda yadda yadda time goes by, the elves teach him magic because they are interested in knowing what limitations, if any, man has.   Not everything mind, just the basics.   Oh, did I mention there was a war going on?"
    Maureen shook her