Calling on Dragons

by Patricia C. Wrede

  At first glance, nothing looked out of the ordinary. Trouble came up beside her and sniffed at the plants. “Don’t nibble on any of them,” Morwen said.

  “I’m not stupid,” said Trouble.

  “No, but you’ve done things like that before,” Aunt Ophelia put in. “Don’t interrupt Morwen while she’s working.”

  Trouble licked his front paw twice, displaying his unconcern to the world at large, then pounced on an imaginary mouse in the middle of the clover patch.

  “Morwen, there’s something rather odd over here,” Miss Eliza said. She was crouched at the opposite edge of the clover patch, and her tail was lashing back and forth in a way that belied her casual tone. “When you have a moment, you may wish to look at it closely.”

  “I’ll take a moment now,” Morwen said, rising. “What is it?”

  “These.” Miss Eliza sat back and waved a paw at the moss in front of her. A six-inch strip next to the clover patch was peppered with small brown spots, as if someone had pushed the end of a pencil into it several times.

  “You’re quite right,” Morwen said. “This is odd. Killer, do you remember which part of this patch you were nibbling on when you started to grow?”

  “Not really. Does it matter?”

  “It might. Trouble, would you please look around and see whether you can find any more of these spots?”

  “Oh, all right,” said Trouble, but his yellow eyes gleamed with pleasure as he circled the clover patch.

  “What are they?” Aunt Ophelia asked, joining Miss Eliza at Morwen’s side. “Besides odd.”

  “I don’t know. They look like a small version of—”

  “Morwen!” Trouble yelled from the foot of a nearby tree. “Here’s a big one!”

  With a sinking feeling, Morwen crossed to Trouble’s side, followed by the other cats. In the moss at the foot of the tree, just where someone might have set the end of a staff to lean against the trunk, was a dead brown circle about two inches across.

  “A wizard!” Morwen said. “I was afraid of this.”

  3

  In Which Morwen Makes a Discovery and Some Calls

  THERE WAS AN INSTANT OF SILENCE, and then all of the animals tried to talk at once.

  “One at a time, please,” Morwen said. “Or I won’t understand a thing any of you are trying to say. Killer first.”

  “The rabbit?” Trouble curled his lip back, showing his fangs in an expression that wasn’t quite a snarl. “Why him?”

  “Courtesy to a guest,” Morwen replied. “Killer?”

  “It’s just a hole in the moss,” said the rabbit. “It doesn’t look like a wizard to me.”

  “Of course that’s not a wizard,” Aunt Ophelia said. “That is what a wizard’s staff does when it touches a part of the Enchanted Forest. I thought everyone knew that.”

  “He obviously hasn’t been paying attention to the news for at least a year,” Miss Eliza said. “Possibly longer.” She switched her tail. “Are you even aware that the King of the Enchanted Forest has been married for nearly fourteen months?”

  “Stop badgering,” Morwen said to the cats. “And remember that you are in something of a privileged position when it comes to news from the castle.” She turned to Killer. “Queen Cimorene has been a friend of mine since before the wedding, and we still keep in touch.”

  “You knew about the wizards’ staffs long before then,” Miss Eliza objected.

  “Knew what about wizards’ staffs?” Killer’s ears swiveled from the cats to Morwen. “That they make holes in the forest?”

  “Exactly,” Morwen said. “Wizards’ staffs absorb magic from anything that happens to be around. Unfortunately, in the Enchanted Forest everything is magical, one way or another, and when a staff soaks up enough magic it kills part of the forest.”

  “And this certainly looks like the kind of thing that happens when a wizard sets down the end of his staff,” Miss Eliza said. “Careless creatures.”

  “Well, if this bit is from a wizard’s staff, what made all those tiny dots back by that clover patch?” Aunt Ophelia said. “Miniature wizards?”

  “Quite possibly,” Morwen replied. “If a wizard worked a size-changing spell in this area and let a little spill over into the clover patch, it would explain Killer’s unusual growth very nicely.”

  Miss Eliza’s nose twitched as if she smelled something unpleasant. “I said they were careless.”

  “Yes, but look, Morwen, this can’t be wizards,” Trouble said. “The King chased all of them out of the forest before he got married.”

  “One of them seems to have come back,” Morwen said, looking pointedly at the bare spot. “And I think we had better notify the King immediately.”

  “Couldn’t you just, uh, plant something new in the hole and forget about it?” asked Killer nervously. “I mean, the King must have more important things to do than worry about my clover patch.”

  All three of the cats swiveled their heads and stared at him with disapproval.

  The rabbit’s ears wilted under their combined gaze. “It was just a thought.”

  “On the contrary,” said Miss Eliza.

  Aunt Ophelia shrugged. “What do you expect from a rabbit?”

  “It’s the wizards that are important, not your clover,” said Trouble. “If there are wizards.”

  “Nothing else I know of does that.” Morwen pointed at the hole.

  “Just because you don’t know of it doesn’t mean there isn’t something,” Trouble retorted.

  “Mmhmph. I suppose you’re right.” Morwen considered for a moment. She couldn’t tell whether the holes had been made by a wizard’s staff or not, but she knew at least three people who could. The first two were the King of the Enchanted Forest and his Queen, Cimorene. The third . . . “I’d better give Telemain a call, then, as well as Mendanbar and Cimorene. If we’re lucky, he’ll think it’s a fascinating challenge.”

  “And if we’re not, he’ll prose on about it for hours,” Trouble muttered.

  “Who’s Tele-whatsis?” asked Killer.

  “An old friend and magical theoretician,” Morwen said. “He’s interested in wizards.”

  “Among other things.” Trouble poked his nose into the brown spot, then pulled it back very quickly and sneezed. “Can we go now?”

  Morwen started back toward the clover patch. “As soon as I take a sample of Killer’s clover.”

  “I guess I’ll be going, then,” Killer said, backing away as he spoke. “Nice meeting you and all that.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Morwen said over her shoulder. “You’re coming with us. I want you to tell your story to Telemain and the King. And how else are you going to get a decent meal?”

  The rabbit didn’t answer, and Morwen stopped paying attention to him. Kneeling next to the clover patch once more, she reached into the loose left sleeve of her robe, which she used as a sort of enchanted backpack. The spell on her sleeves allowed her to carry around all kinds of useful things, but it required a certain amount of concentration to retrieve them. And, of course, she had to remember what she had put into the sleeve in the first place.

  “Sample jars,” she muttered to herself. “Small sample jars with the lids that clamp down—ah!” With a smile of satisfaction, she pulled a glass jar the size of her fist out of the sleeve. The glass had a faint purple tint, and the lid was a glass bubble that was attached to the jar with a complicated-looking wire clamp. Morwen flicked the wire with her thumb, and the lid popped up. She could hear Killer and the cats arguing in the background, but she refused to listen. Reaching into her sleeve once more, she took out a small pair of herb snips and began cutting clover.

  By the time the jar was half-full, the argument had stopped and the animals had joined her. Half a jar was enough, for now, Morwen decided. She clamped the lid down and put the jar and snips back into her sleeve, then rose, dusting bits of clover off her hands.

  “Are you all ready to go now?” she asked.

 
“Yes,” said Miss Eliza.

  “No,” said Killer. Trouble glared at him. “I mean, yes. I suppose so. Oh, I don’t like cats!”

  “That’s what comes of being a rabbit,” Aunt Ophelia said. “Size makes no difference whatsoever.”

  “Come along, then,” Morwen said, and started briskly off in the direction of the house. The sooner she got home and relayed her news to the King, the better.

  When they arrived home, the other cats were lined up in the garden, waiting for them. Chaos was loudly surprised to see that the rabbit was still tagging along, and Fiddlesticks demanded explanations and fish in the same breath, while Jasmine pretended to find the whole affair boring beyond expression.

  “You’ll just have to wait a bit longer,” Morwen said over the racket. “I’ve work to do. In the meantime, try to remember that Killer is a guest.”

  “Killer?” said Fiddlesticks. “Who’s Killer?”

  “The rabbit, you idiot,” Trouble told him as Morwen went into the house.

  The closing door cut off whatever else Trouble might have had to say. Morwen shook her head but did not go back outside. As long as the cats left Killer alone and didn’t damage each other too much, it was better to let them settle matters among themselves. Frowning in concentration, Morwen reached into her sleeve and pulled out the sample jar of clover. She set it on the kitchen table, then turned around and went out through the door by which she had just entered.

  The door now led into her study. Making that door—and the various rooms it led to—had taken Morwen a great deal of time and effort, considerably more than her sleeves, but it had been worth every minute. She had added a library, a study, several bedrooms for visitors, a magic workshop, and a large storage area since she moved in, and all without using up any of the garden. And there was still space for three or four more rooms, if she needed them, before she’d have to add a second magic door.

  Frowning slightly, Morwen skirted the cluttered desk and stopped in front of an oval mirror in the corner. The silvered glass was the size of a serving platter, and it was surrounded by a gilt frame three inches wide. The effect was a little too elaborate for Morwen’s taste, but when someone makes one a present of a state-of-the-art magic mirror, one doesn’t turn it down simply because it doesn’t fit in with one’s decor. I suppose I’ll get used to it eventually, she thought. After all, I only got around to hanging it this morning.

  “All right, let’s see if this thing works as well as he said it would,” she muttered. Taking a deep breath, she said clearly,

  “Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

  I would like to make a call.”

  Immediately, the mirror turned milky white and a pleasant voice from somewhere inside the glass said, “What party are you calling, please?”

  “The King of the Enchanted Forest,” Morwen answered, impressed in spite of herself. Telemain had been right; this was an enormous improvement over the mirrors Morwen had used in the past. And on top of that, it was polite.

  “One moment, please,” said the mirror.

  Almost before it finished speaking, the glass cleared. Morwen blinked, startled. The face looking out at her was dark brown, with bulging eyes and a wide mouth full of crooked teeth. “This is the castle of the King of the Enchanted Forest, you lucky person,” said the face with a leer. “Nobody else is here to answer the mirror, so you’re gonna have to leave a message with—oh, it’s you.”

  By this time, Morwen had recognized the bad-tempered wooden gargoyle that occupied the upper corner of King Mendanbar’s study. “Good morning, gargoyle. Do Mendanbar and Cimorene know how you answer their mirror?”

  The gargoyle snorted. “It was her idea. She thought it might cut down on the stupid questions people ask.”

  “I might have guessed. Where are they? I’ve got some news they should hear right away.”

  “They’ve gone to the beach with Kazul,” the gargoyle said in tones of disgust. “Work’s piling up, but do they care? No! Do they even ask if it’s a good idea? No! They just pack a bag of towels and take off. Poof!”

  “I see. In that case—”

  “He humors her too much,” the gargoyle went on confidentially. “She’s healthy as a horse, but you wouldn’t know it, the way he fusses over her. And I’m going to have to put up with it for another six or seven months, at least! What he’ll be like when the baby actually arrives—well, all I can say is that I’m going to have a full-time job trying to see that the kid isn’t spoiled rotten.”

  “I expect Cimorene will help,” Morwen said. “How soon will they be back?”

  “How should I know? I’m not a secretary.”

  “Well, as soon as they arrive—either of them—tell them that I’ve reason to think that there’s a wizard running around in the forest.”

  The gargoyle’s eyes widened, making him look even uglier than before. “A wizard? Hoo boy!”

  “I’m going to call Telemain next,” Morwen went on. “If we’re not here when they call back, tell them to come on out anyway. The cats can show them how to find us.”

  “I bet,” the gargoyle muttered. “Anything else? ’Cause if there isn’t, I’m going back to sleep.”

  “That’s all,” Morwen said, and the mirror clouded over. As soon as it cleared, she repeated the rhyme and snapped, “Telemain,” in response to the mirror’s polite question.

  This time it took much longer for the glass to clear. When it did, Telemain’s face scowled out of the mirror. His ferocious expression lightened only fractionally when he saw who was calling.

  “Oh, hello, Morwen! Will this take long? I’ve just set up an exceedingly sensitive spell to test the stability quotient of—”

  “It’s wizards,” Morwen interrupted. “Well, one of them, at the very least, though in my experience whenever one turns up a half-dozen more are sure to follow. They’re worse than cockroaches.”

  “You’re in a poor humor this morning.” Telemain ran a hand across his neat black beard, a sure sign that he was interested but didn’t want to show it. “What about this wizard?”

  “He appears to have been poking around near my home,” Morwen said. “Or so I conclude from the splotches his staff left in the moss.”

  Telemain shook his head. “That is quite impossible. The warding enchantment that Mendanbar and I worked out keeps wizards from absorbing, manipulating, utilizing, or controlling any portion of the magical basis on which the Enchanted Forest is founded. So even if a wizard were unwise enough to enter the forest, his staff could not possibly leave, er, ‘splotches in the moss.’”

  “I know it’s supposed to work that way,” Morwen said. “But the splotches are there. So is a six-foot rabbit—this wizard is careless as well as nosy and impossible. If you don’t believe me, come and look at them yourself.”

  “I believe I shall,” Telemain said. “It’ll only take me a few minutes to set up the transportation spell, and firsthand observation is always superior to reports from even the most reliable of witnesses. Now, let me see; I had better bring the microdynometer, and some detection instruments, and—”

  He turned away, muttering to himself, and the mirror blanked abruptly. Morwen rolled her eyes.

  “He’s in rare form today,” said Aunt Ophelia from behind her. “What was that about ‘reliable witnesses’?”

  Turning, Morwen saw the tortoiseshell cat standing just inside the open study door. “Since it came from Telemain, I’d have to say it was a compliment.”

  “Someone should take him in hand before he talks himself into a real mess.”

  “He can take care of himself,” Morwen said. “If he couldn’t, someone would have murdered him years ago. I’ve been tempted a time or two myself.” Out of habit, she glanced around the study to see if there was anything she needed. Then she walked out to the kitchen and picked up the can of paint she’d abandoned there after Archaniz’s visit. With a little luck, she could finish touching up the sign over the door before any of her visitors arrived.


  4

  In Which Morwen and Telemain Argue and Killer Discovers the Perils of Mixing Cosmetics and Magic

  BY THE TIME TELEMAIN APPEARED in the front yard, Morwen had finished the sign and was cleaning her brush. He did a tidy transportation spell, Morwen had to admit, even if her own taste ran more to flying. The passage hadn’t even ruffled his dark hair. He’d clearly come prepared: The many pockets of his open knee-length black vest were bulging, and so were the pouches that hung from his wide black belt. Seven magic rings glittered on his fingers, three on his left hand, four on his right. His bright blue eyes were alight with anticipation.

  “Well, it’s about time,” Aunt Ophelia said acidly as he walked up the porch steps.

  “Hello to you, too,” Telemain said, nodding far more politely than he would have if he’d understood her comment. “There you are, Morwen! Where are these hypothetical wizards of yours?”

  “I bet he doesn’t even know which one of us you are,” Scorn said from the porch rail. “Hypothetical wizards, indeed!”

  “What’s that?” Fiddlesticks shouted from inside the house.

  On the window ledge, Jasmine yawned, curling up her tongue and stretching her head back. Then she called back, “Telemain’s here.”

  “Who’s here?” Fiddlesticks poked his head around the edge of the door. “Telemain! Chaos, Murgatroyd, Trouble, Telemain’s here!”

  “Chaos and Trouble are watching that rabbit,” said Miss Eliza, in a tone that indicated clearly that she would have liked very much to call it something else but was far too polite to actually do so.

  “If I knew where the wizards were, I wouldn’t need your help,” Morwen said to Telemain. “The dead spots in the moss are about twenty minutes’ walk from my back garden, if the forest hasn’t moved them.”

  “Twenty minutes! Morwen, I don’t have time—”

  “I’d have told you to transport straight there, but I don’t think you’ve been to the place before, and there’s no sense in taking chances. Besides, it’ll only take two minutes by broomstick, even riding double and with an extra load.”