The coin gave Thorolf the bed. Yvette stripped off her garments and pulled the coronet firmly down on her head.
Vulfilac, blushing above his beard, looked away. Thorolf exclaimed: "Countess! That's how I first met you. Do you sleep with that thing on?"
"Certes, as do many nobles and royals, to be sure their baubles be not stolen whilst they snore."
"Is it not uncomfortable?"
"One gets used to it, as you are accustomed to strutting about with a sword banging your shins ... Thorolf! You shall not get into my bed with those dirty clothes! Strip down like a man of sense!"
"You mean—ah—"
"Nay, silly, I make no lewd advances; my person is off-limits to commoners. Lend me that great knife of yours!"
"Not to stab me asleep, I hope?"
"Nay; but if I feel something poking me in the midsection, I shall know what to do. Good night!"
-
II – The Senescent Sorcerer
Tired though he was, Thorolf found sleep hard to come by. It seemed to him that he was just dropping off when he was aware of light and motion. He found Yvette already dressed, winding cloths around the coronet. He said: "Sleep well, Countess?"
"Not so well as sometimes, with you tossing and turning all night."
The soldier reddened. "Your pardon. I fear the contiguity of one so fair ..."
"No need to apologize; at least it proves you no effeminate. Vulfilac yonder snores like a sawmill. Do not folk of his class rise early?"
Thorolf smiled. "Not when they've spent half the night rescuing penniless damsels from their pursuers!"
-
Breakfasted and mounted again, Thorolf turned his horse toward Zurshnitt. Clad in the smith's wife's feast-day finery, Yvette sat pillion behind him on the mare. On her head she wore her coronet so wrapped in cloth as to seem a turban. Out of sight of the smithy, Thorolf said:
"We must needs deposit that golden hoop safely and descend upon Doctor Bardi. But first I have my duties—"
"Not so, Sergeant! The care of me and my small treasure should come first."
"Sorry, my dear, but I cannot—"
"And what preempts my orders, sirrah?"
"First I must needs report to barracks and get leave for the day. Then I must visit the Constabulary about last night's fracas and the corpses we left at the smithy."
"Marry come up! The wishes of one of my rank—"
"Mean nought in Rhaetia, since you are but one more titled refugee, entitled to kind treatment but no mastership."
"But I insist—"
"It's a long walk to Zurshnitt," growled Thorolf. Yvette subsided. After a while she burst out:
"It is so unfair that I, a descendant of a hundred kings and princes, should have to beg and wheedle for what is mine by right! Means it nought that I am a direct, legitimate descendant of the hero-king, Ricolf the Third?"
Thorolf grinned. "But if you claim credit for the good deeds of King Ricolf, then you must accept blame for the crimes of the mad King Leodast, who murdered his parents and then burned all those people. Certes, if we hanged everyone with a murderer in's pedigree, not enough would survive to bury the bodies!"
"Master Thorolf, I wish no more of your irksome speech!"
"Aye-aye, your Highness!" With his most irritating chuckle, Thorolf fell silent.
-
Smelling of decades' accumulation of dust, Doctor Bardi's sanctum resembled a small-town museum into which heterogeneous objects had been crowded far beyond the room's capacity. A human skeleton grinned whitely from a corner. Shelves were jam-packed with books. Atop these volumes lay others on their sides; and on this makeshift shelving reposed skulls, limb bones, mineral specimens, the stuffed or dried remains of various creatures, and dusty bottles, jars, and jugs. More flotsam from the past hung from the ceiling; as he entered, Thorolf hit his head on a small stuffed crocodile.
After introductions, Yvette turned on her formidable charm. "Thorolf has told me much of you," she said to Bardi with a winning smile."Do you live here all alone?"
"Aye, save for a woman who comes in betimes to clean and cook. Every moon or so she is seized by a passion to tidy up my house. After such a purification, I can never find the book or scroll I need. And now, my dears, if ye would not have me add the time spent in polite persiflage to my fee, let us to business."
-
"Dear me!" wheezed the ancient iatromage after learning his visitors' problems. " 'Tis a bit out of my line; I do not command deltas nor yet give rubbish the semblance of gold. But whereas Thorolf asks, I will do what I can. Ye say ye wish the look of a short, dark, dumpy female, eh? Dear me. Shall this be merely an illusion or glamor? Or would ye that I truly change your nature?"
"What are the virtues and faults of each proceeding?" Yvette asked.
"The illusion is easily cast and cheap; but it is banished as easily. A drop of wine or beer in the eyes were enough to reveal the true appearance of the ensorcelled one, as will a view of the subject in a mirror. The true change requires a more difficult and costly spell, and it will not soon reverse itself without an additional operation. Moreover, those who undergo it complain that it causes pain during the actual change."
"I choose the true change," said Yvette. "How long can I count upon its endurance?"
"For six months to a year, unless ye cause me or another to cast the reversing spell sooner. For, I must add, the usual fee."
"Charge the cost to Master Thorolf," said Yvette airily. "He knows I shall repay him when I recover my land." She smiled at Thorolf. "That's understood, is it not?"
Thorolf understood nothing of the kind; in fact he had been wondering how Bardi's services were to be paid for. He opened his mouth to protest, but so regal was Yvette's demeanor that nothing came out but a feeble, "Well—ah—"
"Good! That's settled," said the Countess. "When shall we begin, learned Doctor?"
"Forthwith; but the preparations will take—dear me—above an hour." Bardi stepped to a set of bookshelves, moved a dried human head encumbering the books, and pulled out an ancient folio. He blew dust off it, causing Thorolf to sneeze; put it back, and fumbled for another.
"Can we be done by dinner time?" asked Thorolf.
"Assuredly." The mage pulled out another volume.
"One other matter, Doctor," said Thorolf when he had blown his nose. "Show him the coronet, Countess."
Thorolf explained the need for a safe hiding place for the object. Bardi agreed to give it, too, a magical disguise and keep it in his custody until a more lasting arrangement could be made.
-
An hour and a half later, they watched as the old iatromage puttered about a pentacle drawn in charcoal on the floor. Five black candles had been set in the corners of the pentagram, casting a shimmery, greenish light around the otherwise darkened room.
"There!" said the magus, wiping his charcoal-stained hands on his black, symbol-spangled robe. "If ye'll take yon seats, my dears, we shall commence." He put away his spectacles, fumbled for another pair, and opened a volume.
The next hour was, for Thorolf, the mixture of tedium and apprehension that every lengthy magical operation aroused in him, much like the sensations of a soldier awaiting the command to advance. Bardi chanted in unknown tongues, made passes with a wand, and shouted names to summon unseen presences. The lighting dimmed; the space within the pentacle was filled with fog or smoke.
Thorolf thought he could discern substantial forms-colored russet, rose, yellow, and aquamarine—moving within. There were momentary hints of faces, limbs, and tentacles; but they shifted, dissolved, and reassembled in different configurations before he could perceive a substantial shape. He felt a prickling at the roots of his hair, as if an army of ants were crawling over him. A sidelong glance showed Yvette leaning back with her eyes closed, breathing heavily.
After what seemed hours, Bardi cried a dismissal. The fog in the pentacle faded. One candle guttered. The iatromage scuffed a couple of lines of the pentacle.
"That is it," he croaked. "My dears, ye may now go about your affairs. Remember that, about midnight, the lady will swiftly become short, dark, and dumpy. And now good night, for so powerful a spell doth tax one of my years."
-
Leading Salnia with one hand and supporting Yvette's arm with the other, Thorolf walked along the rounded cobbles, slippery with drizzle. Darkness had fallen; the watchfires at the main crossings gave a nickering, rubescent light. Two men of the Constabulary, with halberds on their shoulders, greeted Thorolf. One called: "Hey, be this our virtuous sergeant on a tryst at last?"
"Nay," growled Thorolf. "Know, knaves, that this be the rightful Queen of Armoria, and we plot to oust the usurper."
Thorolf stopped before the Green Dragon Inn, where he was known. In the light of the lantern over the door, Yvette looked puzzled. Then her face cleared. "Oh, I see! You did but jest about my rank. I thank you for the promotion." She giggled.
"Better late than never," said Thorolf. "I'll essay to get you a private room."
"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! Where mean you to sleep?"
"Back at the barracks."
"Rubbish, my good Sergeant! Think you, when I'm fleeing Gondomar the Tedious and have by good hap found a lusty bodyguard, that I'd let him go off leaving me defenseless? You shall spend the night with me, and that is that. Sleep on the floor if you will, but you shall stay within sight and call. The Queen of Armoria commands it!"
Thus they found themselves in what, Thorolf thought, must be the room that Vasco the innkeeper reserved for nobility. The bed was big enough for three, and there was plenty of room besides. There was a dressing table and a mirror, a dressing chair, and a settee, as well as a writing desk with another chair. Such splendor, Thorolf thought, had resulted from Yvette's queenly demand:
"Your very best, Master Taverner!"
Thorolf left the room to Yvette while he washed off the grime of travel in the common bathtub. Escorting her to dinner, he found himself unconsciously assuming the toplofty air of a nobleman to match her born-to-command manner. That and her courtly accent had reduced even the experienced Vasco to subservience despite Yvette's proletarian costume. When they were seated, Vasco produced a dusty bottle, saying:
"Firanzian, third year of Consul Rudolf. Will it suit your Ladyship?"
"Belike it will," she said. "Let's have a trial."
When the wine was poured, Yvette took a sizable mouthful. "Aha!" she said. "This is an improvement over Goodman Vulfilac's small beer—not that I scorn the honest fellow's hospitality."
Over dinner, Yvette entertained Thorolf with tales of courtly scandals in the New Neapolitan Empire. She rattled out as much in a minute as most folk did in five. Thorolf found her talk fascinating, though he sometimes wished he could get a word in edgewise.
He also noted, with rising alarm, her execution on the bottle of costly wine. By the end of the repast it was all gone, and Thorolf was sure that she had drunk more of it than he.
He noted another thing. There were two other tables of diners in the common room. These had somehow gotten wind of the fact that Thorolf was with a noble lady. They turned in their seats to stare until Thorolf scowled them into averting their gaze.
-
The other diners had departed; Thorolf was wiping his mouth and preparing to rise when Yvette said: "Oh, linger an instant, Thorolf! Master Taverner, hast some water-of-life in stock?"
"Aye, your Ladyship," said Vasco.
"Then fetch a noggin apiece, pray."
"Countess," said Thorolf, "think you not that you've had enough?"
"My good Sergeant, I have been on the run for days, and this is my first chance to take my ease in a duck's age! Thank you, Mashter—Master Taverner."
She tossed down the colorless schnapps with a single gulp, while Thorolf drank his by sips. Then she fixed him with a purposeful stare. "Tell me, dear rescuer, what meant those yokels of the nightwatch, chaffing you about their virtuous sergeant? I mean, when you clept me Queen of Armoria." She giggled.
"Merely," said Thorolf uncomfortably, "that they have not seen me strolling with the strumpets of the town, as they have many of mine unwed soldier lads."
Yvette's glance became sharp. "Are you one of those unlucky ones whose passions veer toward their own sex?"
"Kernun forbid! I am as avid for womankind as any."
"Well, then, an you roll not the local trollops, hast a regular light o' love whom you visit for a bout betwixt sheets?"
"Nay, none." Thorolf stared at his noggin, increasingly embarrassed by the direction of the questions.
"Then whom have you fuf-futtered?"
Thorolf gulped, his wits slowed by drink. The question appalled him; it was certainly not what he had been brought up to consider ladylike. On the other hand, with this masterful woman, he feared he could never get away with the pretense of ever having been a great lover. He barter!:
"Well—in sooth—I haven't."
"What? How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine."
"Three more years than I, a man of normal urgings— or so you say—and a virgin? 'Tis a thing incredible. In Carinthia they'd put you in a curio cabinet." She beckoned Vasco and ordered another round of aqua vitae.
"Really, Countess," said Thorolf, "you will rue your overindulgence—"
"No one tells the daughter of a hundred kings and nobles what to do! But back to your case. What's the caush of your unwonted abstinence?"
Thorolf gulped again. "Well, if you must know, I promised my mother on her deathbed not to fornicate before marriage. I once got as far as betrothal to the daughter of our senior sergeant; but she forsook me for one who, I ween, was less scrupulous."
She drank more schnapps and giggled. "Sh—serves you right! What a pity that yours be a lower-class organ! I could give you lessons—break you in—were not plebian organs forbidden my c—c—" She fell into a spell of hiccups.
Thorolf said, "Mean you—ah—that you've had much experience of such things?"
She got her hiccups under control. "What thinkst? We of the true nobility make no holy idol of chast—" The hiccups broke in again.
Fearing that she would pass out or get publicly sick, Thorolf spoke sharply, in the tone he used on stumbling recruits: "Come, Yvette! Let me take you to bed!"
He half-forcibly dragged her out of her seat and guided her, staggering, to the stair. Here she became so unsteady that he picked her up and carried her to the room. When he would have laid her on the bed, she said:
"Put me down, Thorolf! I am hale; but tell nobody that I cannot hold my liquor. 'Twas jush the fatigue of recent days."
When her feet came to the floor, she pulled Thorolf. clutching his arm and staggering, to the settee. There she pushed him down, sat on his lap, and kissed him vigorously. "There! Izh—isn't that better?"
"Well—ah—"
She kissed him some more. "Now you shall learn what you should have found out years agone."
"Methought you said—"
"Ne'mind what I shaid. I'm a noblewoman and can bed anyone I like. Besides, I'm in your debt, and debts mush be paid. Since I cannot fill your hat with g-gold ..." Rising unsteadily, she did off the bodice, blouse, skirt, petticoat, and accessories. Leaving the garments borrowed from Vulfilac in a heap on the floor, in full pink-and-white glory she staggered back to Thorolf and fumbled with his laces, mumbling:
"Flinch not; I'll not hurt you. You actually blush!" She peeled off Thorolf's shirt. "Now your breeks ... Aha. I see you have indeed the means ..."
"I only hope I can meet your expectations," said Thorolf.
"Fear not: if our first firsh try come to nought ..." As she pulled off the last of Thorolf's linen smallclothes, she broke off, dropped the underwear, and fell into a sitting position on the settee. "Thorolf, I feel very strange of a sudden!"
"After all that liquor—" he began sententiously.
"But then, too, it must be close to the time for Bardi's spell to take effect."
; "Oh, I had forgotten! Wilt still love me, even though I become dark and dumpy? I shall still be the same ... Ouch! I am in pain ... glub—"
As Thorolf gazed with mounting horror, the slight, golden-haired woman changed before his eyes. Her voice sounded like the bubbling of gas through swamp water and then ceased. She seemed to flow together. Her limbs became limp, as if their bones had dissolved. Her face lost form and sank into her body.
Thorolf shrank back, for the thing on the settee was no longer remotely human. Its parts shifted into a completely alien configuration. The limbs and eyes migrated to one end, leaving the torso a mere fleshy bag.
The Pixilated Peeress Page 3