Chapter Twenty-Seven
They visited the Long Gallery, stared at the best portrait of Amelia Rumpole for several minutes, then retired to the privacy of Octavius’s bedroom. Octavius stripped off his clothes, changed shape, and donned the maid’s clothing, then he stood in front of the mirror and practiced Amelia Rumpole’s face and hair while Dex levitated the sword around the room. “Hold your right hand up,” Dex said.
Octavius did. The sword flew neatly into his grip, hilt-first, then the sheath swooped off like a bird taking flight. Suddenly, he was brandishing a naked sword.
“Impressive,” he said.
Dex smirked. “I know.”
They ran through that part of the performance—the sword flying into his hand, the sheath swooping off—twice more, then Dex hoisted the armchair into the air as a substit
