As they entered the Green Dragon, Vasco said: "Sergeant Thorolf, some men were here asking after you this afternoon."
"What sort of men?"
"Six or seven, clad as traveling merchants; but beneath their outer garments I espied the gleam of mail. The sword one wore was long enough to expose the chape below the hem of's cloak. They also inquired after your Countess."
"What did you tell them?"
"That I'd seen neither hide nor hair of you, or the Countess either, for above a sennight."
Thorolf exchanged glances with Bardi. "Did their speech betray their origin?"
Vasco chewed his lip before answering. "Meseems their speech bore the soft accents of Carinthia, albeit I'm no savant in such matters."
"Duke Gondomar's men, or I'm a Saracen," muttered Thorolf. To the innkeeper he said: "What is your choicest tonight, Vasco?"
At table, Thorolf discussed Duke Gondomar's persistent efforts to recapture his recreant betrothed. Bardi said: "If another magical menace threatened you, I might do something to protect you; but I am long past the age for swordplay. Belike ye could persuade a stout comrade-in-arms to accompany you in the city streets."
-
Back at Bardi's house, Thorolf was watching the iatromage putter among his books and paraphernalia when a fist assaulted the door.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Bardi. "What I had forgot was that the Executive Committee of the Magical Guild meets here tonight."
"Who are they?"
"There's Sordamor, the Chief Executive Officer; he's the showy one. There's Gant. the drug-ridden one, who looks like a disheveled crow. And there's that smiling little villain Avain, our treasurer. But ye are not supposed to be here!" Bardi looked around. "Hide behind the curtain in yon alcove, and yarely!"
The alcove was dark save for the pale sheet of light that came through the crack in the curtain. Thorolf had to force himself in, since he had a buried fear of dark enclosures. When the soldier's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he looked around and almost jumped out of his skin. On a shelf at the back of the alcove, silhouetted against the oiled-paper window, crouched an enormous spider, with a body the size of Thorolf's two fists and hairy legs an ell in length.
Thorolf had snatched out his dagger when the sound of persons entering the sanctum made him freeze, glaring at the spider. It reminded him of the giant arachnids, with bodies the size of casks, said to dwell in the Forest of Bricken.
When the spider on the shelf remained immobile, Thorolf essayed a cautious approach and observed no response. Eventually, by touching one of the legs with the point of his knife, he satisfied himself that what he saw was either a dead spider mounted by a taxidermist or a statue.
He put his eye to the crack between the curtains. Three of Bardi's fellow magicians were taking seats while Bardi set out goblets and a bottle. Thorolf surveyed the Executive Committee.
The tall, thin, shabby man who faced him must, he thought, be Gant the drug addict. His garb was that of a common workman: a rusty black tunic and hose beneath a shapeless black hat. The fellow might have been a grave digger—or, from his unnatural pallor, one of a grave digger's clients.
Seated in profile to Thorolf was a big, handsome, clean-shaven man in gaudy raiment. Thorolf knew him by sight as Sordamor, who collected the fattest fees of any magician in Zurshnitt. His hose bore loud checkered patterns, red and black on one leg and yellow and blue on the other. When he moved his head, the jewels in his emerald earrings winked in the lamplight.
By elimination, the remaining mage, facing Sordamor, must be Avain. He was older than the other two but younger than Bardi; short, bald, rotund, and radiating bluff honesty and sterling worth.
Bardi pulled the cork and poured. As they solemnly took their first sips, their host asked: "Well, Sordamor? "
"Marvelous!" said the loudly clad man. "Whence gat ye it?"
"From Kolos, in the Helladic Isles."
Thorolf's nose felt out of joint. During all his many visits to the iatromage's sanctum, Bardi had never offered him a treat of this rare vintage. Evidently it was saved for Bardi's fellow wizards.
The meeting was called to order. After tedious organizational preliminaries—reading minutes, listening to the report of Avain as treasurer—the four engaged in a long wrangle over admission of one Alberic, a magician recently settled in Zurshnitt after fleeing persecution in Locania.
"First thing ye know," said Bardi, "every one of these damned Locanian refugees will wish to join, even if they command spells no more puissant than one for finding a lost penny. Is competition not severe enough already?"
"But if we admit them not," said Avain, "soon or late they'll assemble to form their own rival guild."
" 'Twere not legal," protested Gant.
"Not now, true." said Avain. "But in concert they can suborn—or convert, if ye prefer—sufficient senators to force a change in the law, to recognize them as a legitimate guild."
"If we admit a horde of Locanians," mused Sordamor, "we shall be hard put to it to keep out Orlandus and his minions. I shudder at that prospect. If we flatly refuse him, he'll act like the bad fairy who wasn't bid to the naming of the royal infant."
"Ye, my friend," said Avain. "have a phobia anent Master Orlandus. Methinks he'd be an ornament to our assembly."
"An ornament who'd soon control us all, as a puppeteer governs his marionettes on strings," croaked Gant. "He's a man of infinite ambition, not a magician of the first rank, and of no character whatsoever. His second, that ruffian Parthenius, is no magician at all but a mere bully-rook without a single familiar at his beck."
Bardi wheezed: "In my judgment, Orlandus began as a mere mundane mountebank, who added a few sleights of true magic to's repertory. Then he found he could make a fortune by peddling a fantastical tale. According to this, supposed to be known only by holders of his bogus advanced degrees, a million million years ago the body his soul then indwelt witnessed the destruction of reptilian man by the evil wizard Zong. A few million years later, Orlandus, in another incarnation, by a mighty spell caused the homeless spirits of these massacred folk to be incarnated in apes, of whom we are the descendants. For aught I know, he may have told that silly tale so oft that he's come to believe it himself."
Sordamor added: "From what I hear, Orlandus is somewhat of an idealist in his own ominous way. Since he thinks he knows what is best for all human beings, it's but right that he should become their universal, absolute ruler, to lead them whither they should go."
"Anyone can rob or murder and claim he did it for idealistic reasons," snorted Bardi.
"I'm sure Parthenius, at least, be no idealist," growled Gant. "but a common, sensual mundane, out for what he can get by force or fraud ..."
The argument went round and round inconclusively. Then ensued a discussion of Sordamor's project, to offer an annual prize, a golden medal, for the wizard who made the year's outstanding magical advance. A wrangle over a proposal to establish a class of associate membership followed, and then a discussion of whether to raise dues.
This in turn was succeeded by a proposal to hold a magical convention in Zurshnitt, inviting wizards from near and far. All favored the idea enthusiastically until it came to apportioning the actual work of organizing, soliciting, contracting, publishing, and record-keeping. Then each magus proved too busy, or too infirm, or too often out of town to do the task justice. Bardi finally said:
"Let us push off these tasks on our younger members, who'll embrace them as a chance to innate their self-importance."
After three hours the meeting broke up. Nothing much had been decided save to place Alberic's application for membership before the next general meeting. When Bardi, having dismissed his guests, flung back the curtains before the alcove, he found Thorolf sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and sound asleep.
-
Six days later, Thorolf again approached the gate on Castle Hill. This time a gate guard said: "Master Thorolf Zigramson? Ye are expected. Pray wait here."
&
nbsp; After a wait, the scarlet-robed, gold-capped person of Orlandus appeared. Smiling broadly, the Psycho-mage came up to Thorolf and warmly grasped his hand, cooing: "Thrice welcome, dear friend! You will be happy to hear that the lady be wholly restored. Hast the promised sum?"
Thorolf produced a heavy bag of coin and handed it over. Orlandus hefted the bag and tossed it to a guard. "Give this to Master Cadolant to count." He turned back to the gate and called: "Lady Yvette!"
The Countess appeared from the far end of the gate passage; Thorolf thought that she must have been standing just out of sight inside the gate, awaiting Orlandus' call. Thorolf's eyes widened. Instead of the peasant blouse and skirt given her by the smith, she now wore a dove-gray cloak over a golden gown of ladylike quality. A little round azure bonnet topped her golden hair, and her feet were clad in silken slippers suitable for a ballroom. Thorolf cast a questioning glance at Orlandus, who purred:
"Certes, good my Sergeant, you cannot expect me to turn my choicest diaphane out into the rough, rude world appearing like unto a beggar lass, now could you? It is a matter of honor. The cost shall come out of the emolument from Doctor Bardi and your esteemed self."
"But ..." said Thorolf, nonplused. "I understood ..."
"That I should keep her locked up here until the last penny were paid? Not so. She'll gladly go forth with her trusty friend and come back hither in due course. Won't you, my dear?" he added, turning toward Yvette.
"Yea, Master," she replied in a level, expressionless voice, like someone speaking an unfamiliar language. "Hail, Sergeant Thorolf! Wouldst care to show me the sights of Zurshnitt?"
"I shall be delighted," said Thorolf, bowing but with a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. Her blank, expressionless stare and fiat monotone were utterly unlike the vivacious, expressive, self-assertive Yvette whom he had brought to Zurshnitt. This, he thought, deserved investigation; but it would not do to betray his suspicions now.
"Sergeant!" said Orlandus crisply, "methought you'd have a carriage for her. Those silken shoon will not long endure the cobbles."
"I expected not—" began Thorolf.
"You thought she'd remain mewed up? A trivial misunderstanding. Since 'tis partly my fault, I'll lend mine own carriage, freshly imported from Sogambrium. When she return hither, you will I am sure provide suitable transport."
He turned to command a gate guard. Presently a brougham, black with a golden coat of arms on either side, drawn by a pair of matched blacks and driven by a yellow-robed coachman, trotted out from behind the keep. With a charming smile, Orlandus said to Thorolf:
"You must return to visit. We shall have much to say to each other."
As the vehicle, with the coachman straining at the brake, inched its way down the winding road on the far side of Castle Hill, Thorolf examined the conveyance with interest. It was his first ride in such a carriage, of which there were only a few in Zurshnitt. These vehicles had come into vogue a few decades before among the nobility and the richer merchants. Owners of these newfangled conveyances at once began pestering their governments for improvements in streets and roads, to let them travel more comfortably than on the back of horse or mule, in horse litters, or in farm carts. One could now go by carriage all the way from Zurshnitt to Sogambrium or Letitia.
Thorolf spent the rest of the day in giving Yvette a tour of the Rhaetian capital, explaining its sights and monuments: "Now that, Countess, is a statue of our great patriot, Arnalt of Thessen, who routed the Carinthians at Gorbee and so laid the foundations of our Commonwealth ..."
"What is that?" asked Yvette, pointing to what looked like a large animal covered with tawny-yellow fur, lying in a gutter.
Delighted to see his love show a spark of interest in anything, Thorolf replied: "That's a troll. Methought you knew about them."
"I had never seen one. Is it alive?"
"Aye; you can see its ribs move. Probably sleeping off a debauch. A few dwell in the city, doing menial work requiring great strength; but when paid off they drink themselves tap."
"I see," she said, relapsing into her former state. To Thorolf's further expositions she answered only: "Yea, Sergeant," in a leaden monotone. Thorolf felt he was showing the town to an utter stranger inhabiting Yvette's fetching body. Moreover, this stranger had no interest in the sights of Zurshnitt. At last he said:
"My dear, yonder lies the famous Zoological Park of Zurshnitt. Wouldst care for a stroll therein?"
"Aye, Sergeant, if you wish." She looked at her feet. "But these light shoon are unsuited to walking. Couldst purchase me a pair of stout overshoes?"
"Hm. No shoemaker could make us a pair whilst we wait. But— I have it! There's a shop run by high-born ladies for charitable purposes. People give it their used goods, which the ladies sell cheaply and devote the money to good works. They may have a pair that would fit."
-
An hour later they descended from the carriage at the entrance to the zoo, with Yvette more substantially shod. Thorolf told the driver to wait, paid the admission fee, and escorted Yvette in.
"Now these," he explained, pointing to a group of huge, black, long-horned bovines, "are aurochs from the Vilitzian Forest, in the northern marches of the Empire. Albeit they resemble our domestic cattle, they are fierce and untamable. Over here is a unicorn from the Forest of Bricken, now a rare species." The mouse-brown beast indicated, munching hay and browse, was the size of a buffalo but of more porcine appearance. Its huge head was decorated with bony bumps and a spirally twisted single horn.
They moved on to the next enclosure, in which lay a large, pallid reptile, like a long-legged crocodile, covered with short hairlike bristles. The animal sprawled immobile with closed eyes, only an occasional movement of its rib cage indicating life.
"That," said Thorolf, "is the Helvetian mountain dragon. There are still a few up in the troll country."
For once Yvette said something other than "Yea, Sergeant." She replied: "Aye, Master Thorolf. The Emperor hath a similar beast from Pathenia in his menagerie in Sogambrium."
"How looked it, Countess?"
"Much like yon reptile, save without the bristles and of a darker hue. As with other reptiles, the sight thereof provides but a minimum of enchantment, as it lies all day without moving a whisker. Since the day wanes, should you not proceed to your inn? A repast were welcome."
"A splendiferous idea! The park will soon close anyway. Let's back to the carriage."
As they turned away from the dragon's enclosure, Thorolf found himself confronting a group of men. There were seven, in the sober dress of traveling merchants, but strapping fellows who bore themselves like soldiers. One stepped forward. "Sergeant Thorolf, me-thinks?"
Thorolf bristled; these were probably the men who had sought him at the Green Dragon and therefore henchmen of the Duke of Landai. "And what if I be?" he said, sliding a hand toward his hilt. As a soldier of his rank on active service, Thorolf was not required to immobilize his blade with peace wires.
"My good sir," said the man, "we have a proposal that, of a surety, will capture your interest." The man made a gesture. Two of the group skirted around Thorolf and Yvette and leaped the low fence about the dragon's enclosure. Thorolf, fearing attack from behind, whirled in time to see one of the twain wrench open the cage door, while the other whirled a sling he took from beneath his clothes.
"Ho there!" shouted Thorolf. "Are you mad?"
The leaden sling bullet struck the mountain dragon in the ribs with a solid thump. The big emerald eyes snapped open; up came the fanged head. The dragon lurched to its feet and started for the open door. From its gaping jaws came a long, groaning bellow. The two who had aroused it ran.
Other visitors shrieked and stampeded away from the dragon's cage. Behind him, Thorolf heard a scream in Yvette's familiar soprano. Turning again, he saw two other pseudo-merchants dragging her off. She struggled, but the men easily bore the slight woman away. Behind Thorolf, the dragon roared as it emerged.
As the s
pectators fled, keepers converged on the site, shouting questions and demands. Two dragged up a large net, which they threw over the dragon's head and forequarters. Another struck one of the men dragging Yvette with a quarterstaff. Staggered, the abductor released Yvette's arm, whereupon the Countess kicked the other kidnapper in the crotch.
"She-devil!" yelled the man, clutching his affected parts.
Trying to hasten to Yvette with drawn sword, Thorolf found his way blocked by a cluster of zookeepers, one of whom cried: "Seize him! 'Tis he who enlarged the dragon!"
"Fools!" shouted Thorolf. "Yon runagates loosed the beast, to kidnap the lady—"
He tried to push past the keepers; but they closed ranks before him. When one grabbed him, he knocked the man down with his free hand; but another threw a net over him. It was smaller than the net in which the dragon now struggled, writhed, and snapped but quite as effective in immobilizing its victim.
The Pixilated Peeress Page 7