by Frank Tuttle
“I had no idea.”
“That’s rather the point. But see here, Mage. This business with the curseworks. Have you given any thought to how you might use them, to Tirlin’s advantage?”
“Use them? The only sane thing to do with them is keep them where they are. Isn’t it?”
“Indeed. They’re monstrous. Each an abomination. Combined? We’re not sure any of the Realms would survive their release.”
“Making them useless.”
“Not exactly,” said Tam. Her face was long and plain, but her eyes were merry and bright. “Often, I found that the perception of a thing was far more useful than the thing itself, if you get my meaning. Remember Covair?”
“You held off fifty thousand Vonats with a pair of silver wands.”
Tam’s eyes twinkled.
“Ten thousand, perhaps. The wands weren’t even silver. I painted a pair of sticks. I’d run right out of spells, Mage. I had a biscuit in my pocket and a knife in my boot. And not a single Vonat pikeman dared cross a line I scratched in the sand with my boot, just because I grinned at them and invited them to try.”
Meralda stared.
“That’s history for you, Mage. Half of it is misquotes and the other half is flummery. I enjoyed the flummery most of all. In fact, I highly recommend it. Am I being too mysterious?”
“You want me to use the curseworks to scare the Vonats into behaving themselves?”
“It’s just a suggestion. You’d have thought of it yourself, sooner or later. We just wanted to save you the time. Mage to mage, you know.”
Meralda’s mind raced.
“The curseworks? Weapons?”
Tam beamed. “Just so.” She took a step back, and her horse head reappeared.
“We wish you well, Mage Meralda Ovis,” said Tim, shaking his mane back into place. “Know that we are all very proud to call you sister.”
“Don’t go. Please, I have so many questions.”
“My time here is nearly spent, Mage. You face a dark hour. You will soon be forced to choose between power and stealth. Between might and wisdom. Between the easy way, and the hard. I do not envy you that.”
Tam raised a hand in salute. “Oh, aisle ten, shelf twenty-two, slot fifteen. A little something not in the Inventory. Better range than the speaking jewel you’re using now. And get yourself a new chair. That one will ruin your back.”
Before Meralda could speak again, she awoke, face down on her desk.
She bolted upright, found her arm asleep, her back aching.
Mug stirred restlessly on her desk, his eyes still closed and drooping. The Bellringers were gone, as was Donchen. Goboy’s glass was focused on the palace spire, which glowed in the first faint rays of dawn.
It was a dream, she thought. But was it just a dream?
Meralda rose, stiff and sore. Her pencil lay on her topmost page of notes, just where she’d dropped it. The paper was filled with diagrams and calculations and scribbled questions for which there were no good answers.
Something in the top right corner caught Meralda’s weary gaze.
A calculation had been crossed out and rewritten.
The hand wasn’t hers.
Below the revised equation was a note, penned in a tiny precise hand.
You dropped the Esrat variable there, Mage. I did the same thing when I was sleepy.
Below that was a T.
Meralda shivered.
“Thank you, Mage,” she said, aloud. “Thank you.”
“Crawling up the windowpanes, I don’t know,” mumbled Mug.
Meralda stroked his topmost leaves and shuffled toward the water closet.
At noon, Mug awoke.
“You see what trouble all this moving about brings, mistress,” he said, spreading his leaves to the sunlight pouring from Goboy’s glass. “Bruised stems, eyes gone missing.”
Meralda came running from the shelves, her hands full of holdstones and long silver wands.
“Mug!”
“Mistress!” Mug turned half a dozen eyes toward Meralda as she dumped the contents of her arms down on her desk and leaned over Mug’s bedraggled fronds. “How long have I been resting?”
“Two days.” Meralda stroked his leaves. “I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up at all.”
Mug gently wrapped Meralda’s wrist in a vine and squeezed. “You seem to have all your limbs. What of the lads? And Angis?”
“All fine. Donchen got the worst of us all, fighting those things in the sewer beneath us.”
“So I take it we won the day.”
Meralda nodded. “Nameless and Faceless appeared. I took them up. No more magical rope men.”
Mug turned more eyes toward Meralda. “They just swatted the nasties in a show of selfless goodwill, did they?”
“Something like that.”
Mug imitated a snort. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready, I suppose. The work on the tethers. Making progress?”
Meralda pulled back her chair and sat. “I think so.” She pushed wands and holdstones aside to reveal her latest set of notes and diagrams. “If you feel up to it, this is where I’m stuck.”
Mug sent eyes hovering over the paper, and was silent for a moment.
“Mistress. This is impressive. Tower thinks it will work?”
“Tower is cautiously optimistic,” said Tower from the glass. “Although it must be noted that the basic underpinnings of the mage’s theory are untested and, in fact, untestable.”
“Cheery as always,” said Mug. “Good to hear your voice again, though.”
“You were missed as well, Mug.” The Tower shifted the image in the mirror to avoid a shadow cast by an approaching dirigible.
Mug sighed happily in the fresh wash of sunlight.
“The Bellringers will want to say hello,” said Meralda. “They’ve been bringing you rainwater from a wooden cask out back, because they were convinced plants couldn’t possibly enjoy the taste of water from the tap.”
Mug chuckled. “I’ll be sure and thank them.” His eyes halted over Meralda’s notes. “T? Who is T? And what is he doing correcting your math?”
Meralda smiled. “Someone I dreamed up,” she said. “But never mind that now. We’ve got so much more to do.”
Back to the Tower, thought Meralda. This time, though, I won’t be caught unawares.
The army cleared the streets ahead and sealed them off behind, keeping Meralda’s armored pay master’s wagon well away from any other traffic. Two dozen mounted guards rode about her, swords drawn and gleaming, while an Army dirigible soared low overhead, ready to dispatch its soldiers via dropped lines at the first sight of trouble.
“Hello, mistress,” said Mug. “Can you hear me? Is this thing working?”
The trio of stern-faced palace guards seated across from Meralda looked warily about at the sound.
“What’s that?” asked one.
“It’s nothing,” replied Kervis. “It’s certainly not a voice.”
“What?” said Mug. “Speak up!”
“It’s not a voice you need to hear,” said Kervis. “None of us hear it, do we, Mage?”
Meralda rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Oh, we all hear it, but I’d appreciate it if you gentlemen would pretend you didn’t.”
The guards smiled and nodded.
Meralda raised an intricate glass and brass device to her lips. “I told you to wait until I called you,” she said. “Unless you saw something threatening. Have you seen something threatening, Mug?”
“Um, no. I just wanted to be sure this thing works.”
“Satisfied?”
“Being quiet now.”
Meralda lowered the device and sighed.
The box quietly gathering dust on aisle ten, shelf twenty-two, slot fifteen had been marked simply ‘Vars. Notes.’ It had contained a stack of old parchment pages from which the ink had long since fled.
But the box had a false bottom, and wrapped in silk Meralda found a pair of identical g
lass devices. Pushing a copper switch on the side of either one while speaking caused the other to sound with the speaker’s voice, and no method Meralda tried was able to eavesdrop on the conversation. Even the jewel was detectable, if one knew what to look for. But Tam’s device might as well be made of ghosts and shadows.
Which made these either handiwork of Tam herself, or something even older she purloined and kept hidden.
Meralda grinned.
One day, I’ll hide them again myself, and thus snub my nose at the Official Inventory.
“We heard the king will be there,” said Kervis, in a whisper.
Meralda nodded. The king’s note had been terse, but at least informative. Inspect the stands and the Tower, it read. Discuss final instructions for loosing the shadow moving spell, etc. etc.
And all done under heavy guard. Meralda wasn’t sure what message Yvin was trying to send by going through with such a risky meeting in the first place, or to whom the message was meant. I have quite enough to worry about without involving politics, she thought. That’s the king’s problem.
I just have to see that Tirlin doesn’t erupt into flames and doom before Yvin delivers the first word of his speech.
The pay master’s wagon rattled and lurched, its iron wheels raising sparks on both sides as the driver urged his eight horse team faster and faster. Built to carry gold, the pay master’s wagon was armored, sturdy, and nearly unstoppable, although its ride was anything but smooth. The thundering hooves of the guards weaving expertly about the wagon added to the din, leaving Meralda thoroughly bruised and nearly deaf by the time the wagon reached the last street before the park and began to slow.
The Bellringers kept their eyes on the windows, wary of every passing shadow. The guards seated across from Meralda did the same.
The wagon rolled to a halt. The hoof beats surrounding it slowed and finally stopped as well.
Orders were shouted. More guards, this time on foot, rushed to the wagon. After a moment, Meralda’s door was opened and the captain, himself, peeked in.
“We’re here,” he said. “Looks safe enough, at the moment. Yvin is waiting.”
Meralda clambered down from the tall, iron-clad wagon. A breeze ran through her hair.
The Bellringers followed and took up positions on either side of her. The guards formed two lines about them, and with a nod from Meralda the party started down the walk.
The guardsman immediately to Meralda’s right smiled at her and winked.
Meralda grinned and blushed and nearly stumbled.
Donchen kept in perfect step with his fellows.
“Been a lot more trouble for the Vonats,” said the captain, as he ambled beside Meralda. “We had to break up a fight between them and some of the Hang five-master crew last night, in fact. Of course I couldn’t understand what was being said, but it seems some bad blood has sprung up between them. I wonder why that is?”
“I’m sure I have no idea,” said Meralda.
“No, of course not, you wouldn’t. Still. Someone sent a spell their way that filled their sheets with bed bugs and their shoes with centipedes. They lodged a formal complaint with the Accords Hospitality Commission, did you know that? Threatening to sue Tirlin.”
Meralda kept her face carefully blank. “I’m sure the king will launch a formal investigation,” she said. “Such mischief cannot be tolerated.”
The captain nodded. “Student pranks, I’m thinking.”
“Precisely.”
The Tower still loomed, dark and brooding against the clear blue sky, but the park, itself, was transformed.
The stands that Meralda had last seen as skeletons of lumber were complete, making a half-circle around the Tower that rose up and up and up, nearly as tall as the Old Oaks themselves. Fresh white paint gleamed in the sun, and atop the tallest ranks of seats a hundred pennants waved and snapped in the cool midday breeze.
The King’s Rise faced the stands, engulfed in the shadow of the Tower. Painters still worked furiously about it, hanging from ropes and racing across scaffolds as they hurried to complete the rise’s red, blue, and gold color scheme in time for the Accords.
Standing, hands on hips, at the base of the rise was King Yvin himself. Even from a distance, Meralda could make out the tapping of the royal foot and the glower of the royal face.
“I’m not late,” she said.
“Pardon?” asked the captain.
“Nothing.” Meralda forced a smile. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”
“So that’s clear, then,” said the king. He leaned on an unpainted stretch of the rise’s upmost rail and stared at the Tower’s black bulk. “You accompany me up here. I sit. You move the shadows. I thank you, you take to the stairs, the band strikes up, and I stand up and start when they finish. That about it?”
Meralda nodded. Something in the king’s weary tone and wary eyes troubled her far more than usual.
I suppose I’m not the only member of the court with a burden, these days.
“And you’ve taken steps to solve our other little problem.”
Meralda realized she’d been wondering all day just how she’d reply to that very question.
“I have, Your Majesty.”
The king grunted. “Finally. Brevity. The rest of the court could take lessons from you, Mage.” He stared for a moment longer. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Mage Ovis?”
“Sire?”
“You heard me.”
Meralda’s mind raced. “I hardly even know you, Sire. As a person.”
The king nodded. “That’s true enough.” He flicked a scrap of wood off the rail. “Did you know old Fromarch threatened to renounce the robes if I didn’t approve your appointment?”
“He did what?”
The king chuckled. “I’ve never seen the man so angry. He was ready to throw away a lifetime of hard work for you.” The king shrugged. “I had an epiphany, right there in the Gold Room. I don’t think anyone ever felt that passionate about His Majesty King Yvin the Sixth.”
“I don’t know what to say, Your Majesty. Except that I’m glad you’re wearing the crown right now. I can’t think of a better head to go beneath it.”
“Same thing my wife said. Must be a bit of truth to it, then?” He managed a weary grin. “I want you to know, Mage, that however the Accords go, I’m glad Fromarch fought so hard to put you in those robes. He was right. For once.”
Meralda put her hand on the king’s where he gripped the railing.
“I want you and the queen to come down to the laboratory, after the Accords,” she said. “Mug can play us some music. I can show you the relics.”
“The queen plays a mean hand of whist,” said the king.
“So does Mug. But I warn you, he cheats.”
The king laughed. Meralda moved her hand.
Yvin marched away, bellowing at his personal guard, who quickly surrounded him as he tramped down the steps.
Meralda watched him go, then she reached into her bag for her implements and pretended to inspect her shadow moving spell while her own guards idled far below.
I need to enter the Tower and work from the flat to install the new tether spells, she thought.
But how can I possibly make half a dozen trips to the flat when my every trip to the park will be accompanied by half the army and at least one dirigible?
The Vonat wizards will know I’m not doing anything to the shadow spell. They’ll suspect I’m meddling with theirs, which I’m not even supposed to know about.
Donchen had suggested removing Finch’s Door from the house on Hopping Way and sneaking it under cover of night directly into the flat. Mug had even grudgingly agreed this was the best possible solution, although sneaking anything the size of a door into the Tower was going to prove difficult.
A shadow flitted across Meralda, and with it came the faint fluttering of wings.
Of course there is another way, she thought. I’d hoped I wouldn’t be forced to try it. But stand
ing there on the rise and seeing the crowds gathered about the Tower, Meralda knew with a sinking in her heart there was only one way to enter the Tower in secret.
Two shadows flew past, as if hearing her thoughts. Which they might well do, since I dared to take them in hand.
My life is filled with dares these days.
“Tower reports that the Vonats are watching their spell carefully, mistress,” said Mug’s tiny voice from Meralda’s pocket. “He’s impressed they can do that at a distance.”
Meralda reached into her own pocket and pressed the copper stud while covering her mouth as if from a cough.
“I’m all done here,” she said. “Coming home.”
“Glad to hear it.” Mug paused. “Mind you don’t trip on any Vonats.”
“Mistress,” said Mug. “Respectfully, that’s the single least appealing idea you’ve ever espoused.” Mug waved his leaves at Donchen, who stood frowning by Meralda’s desk. “Mr. Ghost. Help me here. Tell the mage why holding ancient evil staves while they fly through Goboy’s brittle old mirror is a monumentally bad idea.”
“I find nothing fundamentally at fault with the supposition,” said the Tower. “They move their own masses easily across the spectral threshold with no observable discontinuity.”
“Was I asking you? Was I?” Mug swiveled his eyes back to Donchen. “Well?”
Donchen’s frown deepened. “I cannot lay claim to understanding the process by which the staves use the mirror as a portal,” he began.
Mug groaned. “I retract the question.”
Donchen shrugged. “I see no reason why a person would suffer, if the staves do not. Even so, I volunteer to try a crossing first. Tirlin can do without a moderately skilled chef, Mage Ovis. But it cannot do without you.”
He means that, thought Meralda. He’d take up the staves and step into the glass and not show an inkling of fear.
She smiled, but shook her head no. “Thank you, Donchen. From the bottom of my heart. But taking the staves is very much up to the staves, and in any case I don’t believe they’ll let me come to any harm.”