Calling on Dragons

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “I wonder if he’ll still leave footprints?” Cimorene said, half to herself.

  “What is it?” Killer asked nervously. “What are you all staring at?” He looked down and his ears stiffened. “Eee-augh!” He pranced backwards, out of sight, and Cimorene and Morwen hurried out after him. With every step, he gained a little more height, until he was a good four inches above the ground. “Help! I’m falling!”

  “You’re not falling,” Scorn said. “You’re floating.”

  “He is, isn’t he?” Fiddlesticks said, walking over. “And it’s a very good idea. He can’t step on anybody’s tail now.”

  “Hold still,” Morwen said to the donkey. “Every time you take a step, you get farther up. If you keep moving, you’ll be over the castle in no time. And if the spell suddenly wears off . . .”

  “Eee-augh!” Killer rolled his eyes and planted his feet firmly in thin air. “Now what?”

  “Now you wait,” Morwen told him. “This looks like another side effect of mixing different kinds of magic, and that’s really Telemain’s specialty. I’ll send him out as soon as we’re done inside.”

  “Tell him to hurry!”

  Cimorene shook her head. “I’m afraid it will take a while, but we’ll bring him as soon as we can. In the meantime, Evim will get you some lunch.” She looked back over her shoulder at the cook, who nodded and vanished into the kitchen.

  Behind Killer, scales scraped noisily against stone. “This is very entertaining,” Kazul said, “but haven’t we got more important things to do than argue with an oversized blue donkey with avian ambitions?”

  Killer rolled his eyes and choked back another bray. Cimorene smiled but shook her head. “It’s not quite as silly as it looks. Kazul, this is Killer; Killer, this is Kazul, the King of the Dragons. Killer is the one who found out that the wizards are back in the forest, Kazul.”

  “He is?” Kazul came around in front, where she could see Killer more clearly. “Have you got any idea how they got into the palace?”

  “N-no, sir—I mean, ma’am,” said Killer.

  “The size-changing spell must have had something to do with it,” Morwen said. “If they shrank themselves small enough to sneak through the door without being seen—”

  “That would be hard,” Cimorene said. “Our regular doorman is on vacation, so Willin’s been handling it. And he’s not all that big himself. Those wizards would have had to shrink awfully small to get past him.”

  “There are other doors,” Kazul pointed out. “This one, for instance.” She waved a claw at the kitchen entrance.

  “Yes, but there’s a spell on them that rings a bell in the footman’s room whenever someone who doesn’t belong here comes through one of them.”

  “However they did it, we aren’t going to figure it out standing here,” Morwen said. “Either we should go down to the armory and investigate, or we should get those lemons and go meet Mendanbar and Telemain the way we planned.”

  “Good heavens, I almost forgot,” Cimorene said. “Lemons and unicorn water it is. I’m sorry, Kazul, but we can’t do everything at once.”

  Cimorene and Morwen said goodbye to Kazul and went back into the kitchen, where they collected the lemons and unicorn water. Just as they were leaving, Jasper slipped out from behind a large basket of apples that was leaning against a corner wall.

  “Morwen?” said the cat. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “All right,” Morwen said. “Would you mind waiting a minute, Cimorene? Jasper wants to talk to me, and he wouldn’t interrupt if it weren’t important.”

  “Of course,” Cimorene said. “But do try to be quick, Jasper. We’ve already taken more time than we should have.”

  Jasper favored Cimorene with a slow blink of approval. “I like her. She understands cats better than most people do.”

  “Very likely,” said Morwen. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “I know how the wizards got into the armory.”

  “Well?”

  The cat coughed and looked around to make sure none of the other animals were within hearing distance. “Plumbing and mouse holes,” he said very softly. “There’s an old drain that goes under the moat and comes out in the forest. The wizards used it to get into the castle and then wandered around in the walls until they found a mouse hole into the armory. Once they had the sword, they used a transport spell to leave.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Jasper hunched his shoulders in embarrassment. “I asked the castle mice. A couple of them are friends of mine, and they gave me the whole story. Don’t tell anyone, will you? If Scorn finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “If Scorn or anyone else says one word about it, you let me know,” Morwen said. “That was very well done, Jasper. Thank you.”

  Jasper raised his chin and arched his back proudly. “You’re welcome. But I’d still rather you didn’t tell Scorn.”

  “I won’t,” Morwen promised. “All right, Cimorene. Let’s go.”

  “What was that about?” Cimorene asked as they left the kitchen.

  “Jasper found out how the wizards got in,” Morwen said, and explained as well as she could without mentioning Jasper’s friendship with the mice.

  Cimorene frowned. “Mouse holes? That’s awful. We’ll never find them all, and even if we did, the mice would just make new ones. And no one has ever invented a spell to keep mice out. Not one that works, anyway.”

  “And if you can’t keep the mice out, you can’t keep the wizards out, either. It’s a problem.” Morwen thought for a minute. “Why don’t you ask the mice to help?”

  “Ask the mice?” Cimorene looked startled, then nodded. “Of course. Even if they won’t tell us where their holes are, they can let us know if any more wizards try to use them. But who should we get to talk to them?”

  “Your gargoyle. I’ll wager my best broomstick that the mice will talk to him, and Telemain can rig up some portable magic mirrors so he can warn you when you’re in other parts of the castle.”

  “Can Telemain make portable magic mirrors?”

  “I don’t know,” Morwen said. “But we can ask.”

  They turned down the last long corridor that led to the Grand Hall, and Morwen’s eyes widened. “Impressive,” she said after a moment.

  “Haven’t you been to the Grand Hall before?” Cim­orene said.

  “No,” Morwen said positively. “I’d remember.”

  The door to the Grand Hall was made of gold. It was twice as wide and three times as tall as a normal door, and it was covered with relief patterns that moved and twisted if you looked at them too long. Cimorene smiled at Morwen, tapped at the door with one finger, and waited. After a moment, the door swung smoothly open.

  “We’re here,” Cimorene said, stepping forward. “Are you ready to start?”

  8

  In Which Telemain Does a Spell and Morwen Misses a Call

  THE GRAND HALL was as large as a ballroom, with a high ceiling and a green marble floor. Sunlight streamed through a dozen windows in the upper half of the walls, and two branches of unlit candles hung below each window, ready for evening or a cloudy day. Mendanbar and Telemain had pushed the few pieces of furniture—five high-backed wooden chairs and a long low-backed couch—up against the far wall. In the empty center of the room, Telemain had set up a large iron brazier, about three feet high and nearly five feet across.

  “Where on earth did you get that?” Cimorene asked.

  “I ordered it from the dwarfs,” Telemain said, stooping to squint across the rim of the brazier. “And I had to send it back twice. The wizard liquefication spell requires extraordinary precision in the initial stages.” With considerable difficulty, he shoved the brazier half an inch to the right and stooped to check its position once more.

  “I made a quick trip to his house just now to bring it,” Mendanbar said. “I don’t need the sword for a spell that simple.”

  Cimorene smiled
at him. “Thank you. How long will this take?”

  “Not long,” Telemain said, rising. “You’ve got the lemons and the unicorn water?”

  Morwen handed them to him. “I don’t think I’ve seen a setup quite like this before. How did you think of it?”

  “The design was not difficult, once the theoretical basis for the spell was determined.” Telemain carefully set the lemons on the floor and opened the bottle of unicorn water. It glowed with a faint silver-white light as he poured it into the brazier. “The efficacy of the cleansing solution in liquefying wizards suggested the operation of an antithetical principle, which—”

  “Did you have to get him started?” Cimorene asked reproachfully.

  “Yes,” said Morwen. “I want to know how this works. Talk to Mendanbar, if you’d rather not listen.”

  From one of his many pockets, Telemain produced a small envelope. As he mixed and poured and arranged the various elements of the spell, he explained each procedure in detail. Morwen was impressed in spite of herself. The spell was clearly a major magical achievement.

  Finally the preparations were finished and the brazier was half-full of white, foamy liquid. “That’s enough,” Telemain said. “Now, would all of you come here and hold your right hands over the brazier, please.” Frowning, he watched the bubbling liquid until the foam reached the lip of the brazier. Then he said,

  “Over and under, in and out.

  Back and through and roundabout.

  Send them away when we wish them to go.

  Argelfraster!”

  The liquid spattered upward as if someone had thrown a large rock into it. Three icy droplets fell on Morwen’s extended hand, and several more sprinkled her robe and glasses. It was all she could do not to flinch. Then, with a burbling hiss like a giant steam bubble bursting, the liquid exploded into a dense white cloud and rolled over them. The clean parts of Morwen’s glasses fogged up immediately. Beside her, she heard Mendanbar cough.

  “That’s right, take a deep breath.” Telemain’s voice sounded very far away. Somewhere in the thick fog, Cim­orene gasped and started coughing.

  Warily, Morwen sniffed. The fog was bitterly cold and smelled strongly of lemons and bleach. “Bother,” she muttered, and breathed in as Telemain had directed. As she had expected, she began to cough. A moment later, the fog cleared.

  “Very good,” Telemain said, beaming at the three of them as they gasped for air. “You can put your hands down now.”

  “You might have warned us,” Cimorene said when she could talk again.

  “About what?” Telemain sounded genuinely puzzled.

  “Any number of things,” Morwen said, taking off her glasses. Concentrating briefly, she reached into her sleeve, pulled out a clean handkerchief, and carefully wiped the lenses. “The temperature of that concoction, the fact that we were supposed to breathe that steam, and the presence of bleach in the mixture, for example.”

  “Why the bleach?” Mendanbar asked, in a tone nearly as puzzled as Telemain’s.

  Morwen settled her glasses back on her nose and scowled at Telemain. “Take a good look at my robe.” She held out her arms so that he could clearly see all the pale purple-gray dots where his magic fluid had spattered across the black fabric.

  “I’m sorry, Morwen,” Telemain said. “I didn’t realize it would do that.”

  “Obviously.” Tucking her handkerchief into her sleeve, Morwen shook her head. “At least the spell worked.”

  “You’re sure?” Cimorene asked. “I didn’t feel anything when it went off. Except like coughing.”

  “An unfortunate but necessary side effect,” Telemain said, nodding. “It may be possible to eliminate the discomfort in the future, but this time I thought it best to use a proven method.”

  “Didn’t you have to adjust for the number of people involved?” Morwen asked.

  “A simple matter of altering the balance of ingredients,” Telemain assured her.

  “And the trigger word is argelfraster?” Morwen went on. “For all of us?”

  Telemain nodded. “Say it, or think it very clearly, and point your finger at the wizard. It’s quite effective.”

  “How did you pick a word like argelfraster?” Cim­orene asked.

  “I wanted something memorable.”

  “It is that,” Morwen murmured. “Telemain, if you are quite finished, I am going home. I want to change clothes and make arrangements with the cats before I go sword hunting. Oh, and take a look at Killer before you leave, or he’s likely to float off and starve.”

  “Float off?”

  Cimorene shook her head. “Morwen, in your own way you can be just as bad as he is. It’s like this, Telemain . . .” She began explaining what had happened in and around the kitchen.

  Frowning, Mendanbar moved closer to Morwen. “I understand why you want to stop at your house before we leave,” he said, “and I know you can get yourself back there somehow—”

  “I have my broom with me,” Morwen said. “It’s outside, by the front door where we arrived.”

  Mendanbar nodded. “Still, I’d like to get this expedition under way as fast as I can. If I send you home on a quick spell, you’ll get there much sooner than if you fly.”

  “That would be fine, as long as you’re willing to send my cats and my broom with me,” Morwen said. “And make sure someone remembers about Killer. He’s a nuisance, but it isn’t his fault that he’s turned into a six-foot blue floating donkey. Well, mostly it isn’t.”

  “Of course.” Mendanbar’s eyes got a faraway look, as they always did when he was drawing on the magic of the Enchanted Forest. His right hand moved, as if he were plucking a string, and Fiddlesticks, Jasper, and Scorn appeared on the green marble in front of Morwen. All three were crouched around a bowl-size circle, and Fiddlesticks had cream on his nose.

  “Hey!” said Fiddlesticks. “I wasn’t finished!”

  “I’ll give you something more when we get home,” Morwen said. “I believe that’s everyone, Mendanbar.”

  “I’ll see you later, then,” Mendanbar said, and raised his hand. “Telemain and Kazul and I will meet you at your house. We won’t be long.” His fingers twitched and the room started to fade.

  As the walls blurred into gray mist, Morwen heard Telemain say, “Ah, about this expedition, Mendanbar, I don’t think . . .” His voice grew faint and faraway, then was swallowed in the mist. A moment later, the mist cleared, leaving Morwen standing in the large open area in front of her house.

  “Remarkably convenient,” Morwen said, bending to pick up her broom.

  “He could have set us on the porch, if he’d wanted to.” Jasper strolled forward and paused at the foot of the steps. “Do you need me for anything now, Morwen?”

  “I didn’t mean the transportation,” Morwen said. “I was referring to the timing. And no, I won’t need you for a while.”

  “Then I’ll just take a nap until you do. All this running around is exhausting.” Jasper vanished under the porch.

  “What timing?” Fiddlesticks asked. “Do you mean it’s time for some fish?”

  “No, I mean that I won’t have to help explain to Mendanbar why he can’t leave the Enchanted Forest to look for his sword.” Morwen walked briskly up the steps and set her broom against the wall next to the door, where it would be handy. “Scorn, please get everyone together in the garden in about half an hour.”

  “Half an hour? I thought you were in a hurry.”

  “We are, but it’ll take at least that long for Cimorene and Telemain to convince Mendanbar that he can’t go. Run along, now. I’ve got to pack.” With that, Morwen pushed open the front door and went inside.

  Slightly less than half an hour later, Morwen walked out the back door into the garden. The sleeves of the bleach-speckled robe had been emptied and disenchanted, and the robe itself dumped into the rag basket. She had transferred the sleeve spell to her new robe (identical to the old one, except for the bleach speckles) and packed both s
leeves with magic supplies and a variety of everyday items that might come in handy, including several lemons, a small collapsible bucket, and a bottle of liquid soap. Spells or no spells, Morwen did not intend to take unnecessary chances. Since she did not know how long they would be gone, she added an extra robe, a blanket, and several chicken-salad sandwiches. She considered putting in a few bottles of cider as well, but there were limits to what the spell would hold, and her sleeves were growing heavy, a sure sign that the limits were close.

  The cats had already collected in the garden, lolling in patches of sun, perching in the branches of the largest apple tree, or stalking along the garden rows, as if they had all intended to be there for reasons of their own. Smiling slightly, Morwen sat down on the back step next to Miss Eliza. In a few minutes, the other cats drifted over to join them.

  “I’m glad you’re all here,” Morwen told them. “There’s been some trouble, and there’ll probably be more.”

  “Scorn and Jasper told us,” Murgatroyd said. “Wizards.”

  “Revolting creatures,” Miss Eliza said.

  “I’ll kill one for you, if you want,” Trouble offered.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” Morwen said. “Telemain and I hope to retrieve the King’s sword and put a stop to this nonsense once and for all. Trouble and Scorn will come with me. The rest of you will stay here and guard the house and garden.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Aunt Ophelia asked.

  “I’m not sure. At least a week, I expect, unless we’re very lucky.”

  “You should take us all,” Chaos said, crouching and lashing his tail fiercely. “You might need us. Wizards are tough.”

  “Hah,” said Trouble. “Wizards aren’t tough. You just have to know the right place to dig in your claws. Ogres, now, ogres are—”

  “We are well aware of your talents, Trouble,” said Miss Eliza. “This is not the time to brag.”