... Meanwhile, two fuzzy little things, reminiscent of garbage scow rats inform Blackwell of the visitors at the clock tower. The Garthams haven't attacked... But they are watching for any sudden movements. *Bowing his black demonhorn-tipped hat in the presence of the ladies, he is amazed at the almost identical nature of the aura images projected by both women. Mmm mmm mmm, if that don't beat all. You really are Miss Coale's great-granddaughter. *Inspects Christy's newest magical charges. Yep, that boy of yern has got the power fever something mighty awful. Only way to help him out is to drain it all out. *Leads the party downstairs into the secret stashed vaults, deep underground yet still connected to the ironwork machinery. All right, just settle him down here and place his hand on the completed crystal. *Sits down with palms stretched out, eyes fully shut and starts to chant some learned Native American Fraggle hymns. He encourages the bewildered mother to take heart, as the process will leave the boy devoid of most his magics, save for one life spark.