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“I can’t believe they’re making us go back to Brakebills South,” Quentin grumbled. “How can they even maintain a Welters board in Antarctica? Nothing can grow there, and all the water squares would freeze!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. Alice gave him a withering look.
“Magic?” she reminded him, in that tone that implied he was the biggest idiot on the planet. “Mayakovsky may be an asshole, but he’s also a Master Magician, and one of the greatest of all time. He’s perfectly capable of maintaining a Welters board in Antarctica, or even creating one out of thin air if he feels like it.”
Quentin huffed. “Well, I still think it’s a stupid place to host a Welters match.”
Alice gave the slightest nod of agreement. Quentin sighed, resigning himself to their fate.
“Well, I guess we should go meet the others,” he said. “Margo will kill us if we’re late.”
The Welters team gathered on the lawn in front of the main building, where they waited several minutes for Dean Fogg to arrive. Finally, he strolled out to meet them, looking them over in casual appraisal. He shook his head, but began to speak, apparently satisfied enough.
“You all remember the spell,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “I will not be able to join you on your trip, but Professor Mayakovsky will be waiting for you. He will oversee the match. Best of luck to you, and please…” he paused. “Represent Brakebills well. Our reputation is always at stake in these international tournaments.”
Margo rolled her eyes. “Alright, yes. Can we just get on with this already?” Eliot shot her a warning look, but Dean Fogg just sighed and rubbed his temples.
“Drop your clothes,” Fogg instructed. They all did as they were told. He began the spell, dabbing their foreheads and shoulders with chalky white paste. Quentin thought it felt even grosser than he remembered. When the Dean had finished marking them all, he gave them a once-over to check his work, then nodded and spoke the single syllable to activate the spell.
They gasped and writhed, folding in on themselves as their bodies transformed. A few seconds later, the five geese spread their wings and flapped off into the bright blue sky, their internal compasses setting them on their path towards the South Pole. Quentin had thought he remembered the thrill of being a goose, but as his goose brain took over, and he felt the strength of his chest muscles and the inexorable urge to fly, it somehow felt even more exhilarating than it had the first time.
“HONK!” Quentin shouted. “Honk honk honk honk honk!” The others gave a short honk of acknowledgement, although even with his limited cognitive capacity as a goose, Quentin was sure they were all internally rolling their eyes at him.
Margo had taken the lead position, and they all happily fell into formation behind her. They flew south for the whole day and beyond, passing over New York City, and following the coastline all the way down past the Florida Keys. They flew over islands, ocean, and the entire vertical stretch of South America, stopping occasionally to forage for food and water as needed. Eventually, they made it over the last stretch of ocean and saw the gray mass of Antarctica looming on the horizon. All of the magnetic paths converged here, and they became aware of several other flocks of geese approaching from various directions. The other Welters teams, of course. No real geese would come to this place.
Quentin glanced to his left and saw another small flock close by. Excited, he let out another loud “honk honk honk honk honk!” The other flock stayed true on its path, but to Quentin’s surprise, one of the geese turned to look back at him.
“Le honque!” shouted the other goose in a pronounced French accent. “Le honque! Le honque!” Even Quentin’s goose brain managed to register that this French goose was a kindred overexcitable dorky spirit, and he made a mental note to seek out his new acquaintance once they were all back in human form. He turned his attention back to the Brakebills flock, who honked back at him in endearing mockery. Quentin knew they would never let him hear the end of this.
The two flocks flew on toward the quickly approaching edifice of Brakebills South. Quentin and his new French friend continued their animated back and forth chorus the whole rest of the way:
“HONK! Honk honk honk honk honk!”
“Le honque! Le honque! Le honque!”