“I don’t know,” Kilisha admitted. “That’s why I haven’t been able to restore him yet—I need all the pieces. I’ve got all the others, but the couch ran away and I haven’t found it yet.”
“Then why aren’t you out looking for it, or working a spell to locate it?”
“Because I’m obeying my mistress’s orders. I’ll find it later. Now, tell me about these rumors. Where did Mother hear them?”
“Didn’t you know she has spies all around here?”
Kilisha closed her eyes again and sighed deeply, then opened them. “No,” she said. “I didn’t know. What spies?”
“Lirrin, for one—Ithanalin’s daughter. And Thetta, Heshka’s wife. And Virinia’s little sister Fara, and that fellow Genzer of Northmark who’s been trying to court that cute apprentice of Tirin’s, and the two kids who help out in Kara’s Arcana, and that old woman across the court from your back door who calls herself Zinamdia, which isn’t any sort of real name I ever heard of. And probably others I don’t know about. You know Mother’s always been fond of gossip.”
“Yes, but she used to just talk to people in the courtyard at home, or in Eastgate Market, she didn’t come all the way over here to gather news!”
“But that was before she had her youngest apprenticed to a genuine wizard. You’re the first magician in our entire family, Kili—didn’t you realize how special that makes you?”
“No, I didn’t,” she lied.
In fact, she knew perfectly well that it made her the object of family pride and envy. That had been much of the point, really, after a childhood of being utterly ordinary. She had gotten tired of being dull; she had even bored herself, and had begged to be apprenticed to a wizard largely so she could escape that tedium. It had worked, too.
But she wasn’t about to admit that to her older brother.
“Well, you should have known,” Opir said. “After Ithanalin took you on Mother boasted about it constantly for sixnights—but after awhile she needed new things to say about her daughter the wizard, and you hardly ever came home anymore, or wrote letters…”
“I don’t have time! I’m an apprentice!”
“I know that,” Opir said, grinning. “So did Mother. She didn’t want to do anything that might interfere or annoy Ithanalin, for fear he’d send you home in disgrace…”
“He can’t,” Kilisha interrupted. “Guild rules. I passed the point where he could send me home when I was thirteen.” She caught herself before explaining further—that once she had made herself an athame she could only leave the Wizards’ Guild by dying, and if she fouled up her apprenticeship badly enough that she couldn’t continue Ithanalin wouldn’t have sent her home, he’d have had her killed. Somehow she didn’t think she wanted her parents to hear that. She didn’t think she even wanted her brother to hear it.
“Really? We didn’t know that.”
“Really. And you weren’t supposed to.”
Opir hesitated, waiting to see if Kilisha would give any details, then turned up a palm and continued. “She didn’t want to cause you any trouble, but she really wanted to know what you were doing, so she started visiting along Wizard Street and the East Road. She’s been doing it for years. You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Oh. Well, she’s been doing it, and for the past two days the gossip and rumors have just been pouring in—mostly other things, but a few about Ithanalin and you.” He glanced around at the furniture, then asked, “What really happened?”
“I told you—a spell went wrong. A spriggan tripped the master as he was stirring something, and it spilled, and the spell scattered his soul into all these different pieces.”
“A spriggan? So it doesn’t have anything to do with Empress Tabaea and her strange magic?”
“I don’t even know for certain who Empress Tabaea is,” Kilisha said angrily. “You mean the usurper in Ethshar of the Sands?”
“That’s the one. Haven’t you been hearing about it? Word is that the whole Wizards’ Guild is going mad trying to deal with her.”
“I’ve been a bit distracted,” Kilisha said. “And the Guild hasn’t been helping me any—they’re too busy with this madwoman to do anything about my master.”
“Well, you can hardly blame them! She’s taken over an entire city and killed a dozen magicians!”
Kilisha hesitated. “She has?”
“Yes, she has!”
“I’ve been busy. I hadn’t heard the details.” Actually, she realized that she had heard that much, but hadn’t given it much thought, or remembered the specifics.
A dozen magicians? A dozen? If she had heard that before, she should have remembered it.
But she had been distracted by her own concerns.
“I’m surprised,” Opir said. “I thought all the wizards were involved in it.”
“I’ll start paying attention again once Ithanalin is restored!” she snapped. “As an apprentice, my first duty is to my master, and only to my master. When he’s back to normal I’ll worry about the usurper, and do what the Guild asks, but right now I need to work on the restorative spell and get all the pieces together.”
“Oh.” Opir looked around the room; the coat-rack backed away, the table twirled on one leg and almost toppled over, and the bench flexed itself. “You know, Mother and Father didn’t send me, I came on my own, but they did tell me, since I was coming anyway, to ask whether there’s anything they can do to help out.”
“Is that why you came?”
“Well, and to find out what had really happened. And to find out if you knew anything about the Empress; some of the neighbors were wondering whether it might be wise to flee the city until matters settle down.”
“I don’t know anything about her,” Kilisha said. “But if you want to be helpful, there is one thing—maybe Mother can set her informers and spies on this. I need the couch. I don’t know where it’s gone—we last saw it heading west on the East Road, toward Hillside and the Fortress. If anyone knows where it is, I need to know, as soon as possible. There might even be a reward, though I can’t promise that without talking to Yara.”
“I think we can ask around, certainly,” Opir said.
“Good. Now, get out of here before Yara gets back, or the children hear you—you shouldn’t be here!” She got to her feet and gave her brother a shove toward the door.
“I’m going,” Opir said.
Just then a crash sounded upstairs. Opir paused and asked, “What was that?”
“Lirrin and Telleth are playing with a spriggan. I should go check on them, so will you please go?”
“All right, I’m going.” He glanced at the ceiling, then reached for the door.
The latch popped open before he could touch it.
“I don’t think it likes you,” Kilisha said, as Opir stared at the latch.
“It’s alive?”
“For the moment. Now go!” She gave him another shove.
He opened the door—and almost collided with another young man who was standing on the step, about to knock.
“Istram?” Opir said.
“Go!” Kilisha shouted, pointing.
Istram stepped to one side, and Opir slipped past him.
“I’ll tell them to look,” Opir called back over his shoulder; then he marched off quickly, eastward along Wizard Street.
“What was that about?” Istram asked as he stepped inside.
“A family emergency,” Kilisha said. “What can I do for you, journeyman?”
“Master,” Istram corrected her. “As of last month.”
“My apologies, Master Wizard. What was it you wanted?”
“I’m here to see Ithanalin,” Istram said. “On Guild business.”
“I’m afraid my master is indisposed just now,” Kilisha said.
“Indisposed?”
“Yes.”
“Indisposed how?”
“Just indisposed.”
“Could I speak with him anyway?”
/>
“No.”
“Because he’s indisposed?”
“Yes.”
Istram frowned. “I don’t think Kaligir will consider that an adequate explanation.”
Kilisha looked puzzled. “What does Kaligir have to do with anything?”
“Guildmaster Kaligir is organizing our efforts against the usurper calling herself Empress in Ethshar of the Sands,” Istram said, drawing himself up to his full height—which was a good bit more than Kilisha’s. “He wants Ithanalin’s assistance, and is somewhat irked that our master hasn’t already joined the Guild’s meetings. I believe the Guild wants Ithanalin to make some homunculi to serve as spies in Tabaea’s palace.”
“She has a palace?”
“She has the overlord’s palace,” Istram said. “She chased Ederd out. Now, where’s Ithanalin?”
“Excuse me, but hasn’t anyone told Kaligir what happened to my master?”
Istram blinked in surprise. “Told him what?”
“Oh, this is stupid,” Kilisha mumbled. More clearly, she said, “Chorizel knows what happened—I told him about it two days ago! And Yara talked to Heshka and half a dozen others last night.”
“Well, the news hasn’t reached Kaligir or me,” Istram said. “Chorizel didn’t say anything. They sent me to fetch Ithanalin, since I was the only one who’d apprenticed under him. What’s happened? Where is he? Did Tabaea kill him?” He looked around the room, as if finally noticing that something was not quite as it should be.
“Tabaea has nothing to do with it,” Kilisha said wearily. “He’s in the workshop.” She led the way across the parlor; the coat-rack cowered away, and the table danced aside.
“Why is all this furniture moving? What are all these ropes for?”
Kilisha turned up an empty palm without answering and marched into the workshop, where she snatched the sheet from Ithanalin’s head.
Istram stared. “What happened to him?” he asked.
Kilisha sighed, and explained the accident for what seemed like the hundredth time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Have you tried Javan’s Restorative?” Istram asked, as Kilisha pulled the sheet back into place on her master’s head. He was studying the brass bowl and its contents. The lamp’s flame had turned most of the bowl’s metal an ugly black by this time.
“Not yet,” Kilisha said. “I don’t have any jewelweed, and I don’t have the red couch.”
“Well, jewelweed’s easy enough,” Istram said, giving the simmering bowl of foul-smelling muck a final glance before crossing to one of the herb drawers. “The master always used to keep it right here…”
“Yara’s gone to the herbalist…” Kilisha began, but then Istram had the drawer open and pulled out a dried plant with white flowers and diamond-shaped leaves.
“Here it is,” he said.
“That’s touch-me-not,” Kilisha protested.
“Same thing,” Istram said. “Didn’t you know?”
Kilisha was about to say that no, she didn’t, when someone knocked on the front door.
“Oh, gods and spirits!” she said. Why, she wondered, had everyone in the city decided to visit now? She hurried back across the parlor.
Istram set the stalk of jewelweed on the workbench and followed her. “Someone should tell Kaligir…” he began.
“I tried to tell Chorizel,” Kilisha said, as she pushed the chair out of her path. “He insisted it would have to wait until after the usurper in Ethshar of the Sands had been dealt with.” She reached for the latch, but it sprang open before she could touch it.
“Oh,” Istram said. “He might have a point, at that.” He stopped a few feet into the parlor, where the bench had blocked his way.
Kilisha ignored him as she peered around the door at the well-dressed stranger who stood just outside. “May I help you?” she asked.
“Is this still the home of Ithanalin the Wise?”
“Yes, it is, but I’m afraid my master is indisposed right now.”
“You’re his apprentice?”
“I am.” She essayed a quick curtsy.
“Well, he made me a self-pouring teapot about ten years ago, and a sixnight ago my daughter broke it, and I was wondering…”
“I’m afraid he really is indisposed just now,” Kilisha interrupted. “I’m sure that once he’s himself again he’ll be happy to enchant a new teapot for you. Could you come back in two or three days? I can’t set a definite appointment until he’s feeling better, but…”
She didn’t finish the sentence; she was distracted by the sight of Kelder, walking up the street behind the customer, waving to her.
“Ow!”
That came from behind; she turned to see Istram fending off the coat-rack. “Leave that alone!” she called. Then she turned back to the customer. “Today is the eighteenth; I’m sure my master will be well again by, oh, the twenty-second. Could you stop back then? If he’s not ready right then, at the very least we’ll make an appointment.”
“Maybe I should just find a different wizard,” the man said uncertainly.
“Well, you could do that, but as I’m sure you know, Ithanalin does the finest animation spells in the city, perhaps in the entire Hegemony. And I suspect we might be able to arrange a discount for a returning customer, especially after putting you to all this inconvenience.” She smiled.
The customer ignored her smile as he realized someone was right behind him; he turned to find a large guardsman looming over him.
“I’ll come back,” the customer said. He slipped away and let Kelder step up to the door.
Kilisha watched the man go with mixed feelings; animating a teapot was a relatively simple and profitable engagement, but one still beyond her own abilities. She hated to see that commission walking away, possibly to wind up in another wizard’s hands, but what else could she do?
“Kilisha,” Kelder said. “Any news?”
“I have everything but the red velvet couch,” Kilisha replied, forgetting the teapot buyer and meeting Kelder’s gaze. “Do you have any idea where it might be?”
“I last saw it heading up the East Road toward the Fortress,” Kelder said. “I told you.”
“And you haven’t seen any sign of it since then?”
“No.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Could you do me a favor, then? Could you ask the guards at the gates, and make sure it hasn’t slipped out of the city?”
“All eight gates?”
“Yes, please.”
“That’ll take all day.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but…”
“Who’s this person?” a voice asked from behind.
Kilisha started; she hadn’t realized Istram was so close. She turned aside and made introductions. “Kelder, this is Istram the Wizard; he was Ithanalin’s first apprentice, before me. Istram, this is Kelder, the tax collector who was at the door when the accident happened.”
Both men made semi-polite noises of acknowledgment; Istram’s might have been intended as the words “Pleased to meet you.”
After that the three of them stood in awkward silence for a moment. Then Istram said, “I should be going. I need to tell Kaligir what’s happened.”
“You’re sure?” Kilisha asked. “I was hoping you could help me with Javan’s Restorative, or figure out what that stuff on the lamp is.”
“I might come back, if Kaligir doesn’t need me—but I have no idea what’s in the brass bowl, and you ought to be able to do the Restorative yourself, after five years of training.”
“I’m sure I can, but I wouldn’t mind having a more experienced wizard on hand when I try it.”
“I’ll see if I can, but the Guild really is keeping me busy.”
“You’re sure that’s jewelweed?”
“Oh, quite sure. It’s called jewelweed when you want the leaves, and touch-me-not if you want the seeds or flowers.”
Kilisha stared up at him for a moment. “Why?” she asked.
; Istram turned up a palm. “I have no idea,” he said. “It just is.”
“I could have told you that,” Kelder said. “We use jewelweed leaves to soothe chafing—the oil’s very cooling. What do you need it for?”
“The spell to restore Ithanalin,” Kilisha explained. “You knew what jewelweed is?”
“Of course.”
“Why does everyone know this but me?” She started to demand to know why he hadn’t said anything, but then realized she had never asked him, had never mentioned jewelweed in his presence at all.
It was reassuring to have Kelder’s confirmation, all the same; she didn’t entirely trust Istram, though she couldn’t say why. And this meant that she had all the ingredients for the spell, and Yara’s trip to the herbalist was unnecessary.
That trip also seemed to be taking longer than it should, she realized. She hoped Yara hadn’t run into difficulties, or had to inquire of more than one herbalist.
It seemed more likely that Pirra was distracting her, or that she was taking the opportunity to restock some of the household supplies.
“I should go,” Istram said, moving around Kilisha toward the door. “I’ll come back as soon as I have the chance.”
“Please do,” Kilisha said. Kelder stepped aside to let Istram pass.
Something thumped behind her, but Kilisha assumed it was just the furniture moving about. She asked Kelder, “Could you please ask at the gates? Maybe you could get some friends to ask at some of them; you wouldn’t need to do it all yourself.”
Kelder rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I could do that,” he said. “In fact, I could pass the word for the whole city guard to keep an eye open and look for your couch. We have a system for spreading urgent news.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!”
“I’m happy to do it, then. I still feel responsible for…”
He was interrupted by a scream from the workshop. Kilisha whirled.
“Get it off me!” Yara’s voice shrieked.
Before Kilisha could react Kelder charged past her, truncheon drawn—and promptly tripped over the bench, which was running back and forth, panic-stricken, across the parlor. The guardsman managed to catch himself before he actually fell, but his rush to Yara’s aid was still quite effectively interrupted.
Ithanalin's Restoration Page 18