The Feline Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  “It is wise for merchants as well as soldiers,” Stegoman pointed out.

  Dimmed by distance, Matt heard something thudding. He looked up and stared. “Friend, that ain't no caravan!”

  Stegoman lifted his neck, gaining a higher view of the sparkling mass that had come in sight over the horizon. “Indeed not. It fills the roadway and twinkles as it goes.”

  “I suspect that twinkling comes from the movement of marching—of the marching of armored soldiers,” Matt said. “The only organism I know of that moves to the beat of a drum is an army! Let's get a little more altitude, Stegoman— say, out of crossbow range.”

  Stegoman felt for a thermal and tilted upward. “Ought we not avoid them completely?”

  “An army marching northward, toward Prester John's territory? I think we owe it to him to take a quick survey, don't you?”

  “We owe him nothing,” Stegoman grumbled, but flew south toward the army anyway.

  Before they could reach it, however, the soldiers turned west onto a side road—a very wide side road; if Matt hadn't known better, he would have suspected it had been made specifically for moving troops. Come to think of it, he didn't know better. “Follow those soldiers,” he directed.

  Stegoman glided over the marchers. Matt frowned down at them. “This isn't what I've been thinking of when I said I wanted to stop and ask anybody I saw, but hey, they could have seen Balkis as easily as the next man.”

  “I doubt it,” Stegoman said dryly. “One sight of them and the lass would have hidden, if she had any sense.”

  “Don't worry—I'll just ask them if they've seen a cat.”

  “Pardon me if I think they may have ignored her,” Stegoman told him. “Cats can scarcely be a rare occurrence in so fruitful a land.”

  “Well, it's worth a try, anyway,” Matt sighed. “Just land on the other side of that grove up there ahead, will you? I'll walk back to the road.”

  “And if they decide to shoot you with their crossbows before you can come near them?”

  Matt considered. “I'll sing the finale of Iolanthe. Meet me in midair.”

  “That would not be much of a change,” the dragon grunted, but he landed as asked.

  Matt clambered down. “Okay, back into the skies, soarian. If they get mean, I'll just start singing 'Up in the air, sky high, sky high…'”

  “And I shall meet you on a zephyr. Aye, I know. How if they welcome you?”

  “Well then, when I'm done talking, I'll hike back behind the grove again.”

  “I shall hope to land before I meet you again, then,” Stego-man told him, “but I shall be watching you, never fear.” He leaped into the air in a thunder of wing-beats.

  “I'd say something about Big Brother, if he were only my species,” Matt said to himself, then plunged into the grove, heading for the road.

  He emerged while the soldiers were still five minutes away, so they had time to get used to the sight of him. It turned out to be a better plan than Matt had expected because he needed time to get used to them. Admittedly, for a man married to a queen who led her own troops into battle, the sight of female armor wasn't a surprise, but the sheer numbers were. He hadn't counted, but he was sure this army had to number more than a thousand—maybe more than three or four thousand.

  He stood waiting. When they were close enough, he waved; after a pause, the leader raised her spear in salute. When she was ten paces from Matt, she called a halt, and the company stamped to a standstill. She bawled another command, and they all leaned on their spears—gratefully, Matt thought.

  The officer paced up to him, junior officers flanking her. “Hail, wanderer!”

  Matt understood her, of course—his translation spell seemed to have made a permanent change to his nervous system— but he hadn't expected to hear her speaking the language of Maracanda. Mind you, it was so heavily accented that he might not have recognized it without the spell, but it was Maracandese nonetheless.

  “Hail,” he said. “My name is Matthew Mantrell.”

  “I am ten-thousand-leader Liharl,” the officer replied.

  Ten-thousand-leader? Matt allowed for exaggeration and mentally converted her rank to colonel. He wouldn't ask about troop strength, though. There was such a thing as bad manners in the military.

  “Why have you come to the Grand Feminie?” Colonel Liharl demanded.

  Now, that was a surprise—but if Prester John was real in this universe, there was no reason why the places he described in his letter to the Pope shouldn't be real, too. “I'm sorry to interrupt your progress, officer, but I'm looking for a young woman who's been kidnapped, and I was hoping you had seen her.”

  “A woman kidnapped to the Grand Feminie?” The officer frowned. “Scarcely likely. Women who have been badly used come to us of their own accord.”

  “Actually, this young woman might have escaped from her captors and be trying to walk home,” Matt said. “She's young, about eighteen, dark-haired, golden-skinned—”

  “You describe all the young women of Maracanda!”

  “Yeah, that's her, Maracandese. Haven't seen any of them this far south, have you?”

  “There are several in our army,” the officer told him, “but none newly come, nor have we met any on the road.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Matt sighed. “You do have cats here, don't you?”

  “Thousands of them.” The woman frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “She, ah, has an affinity for the beasts,” Matt said, “and if they were rare here, and you'd seen only one…”

  “That would have been a sign of her?” The officer smiled. “Clever—but in this country it would mean little.”

  “Oh, well, it was worth a try.” Matt bowed. “Thank you for your time, officer. Sorry to hold you up.” He started back to the grove.

  The colonel snapped out a command, and her two subordinates caught Matt by the arms. He looked up, startled. “No reason to arrest me, officer. I realize you're on campaign, but I don't know your opponents.” He hoped she didn't want him to prove that.

  “How did you know we march to war?” the officer asked, frowning.

  Matt glanced back at rank upon rank of soldiers. “Just an assumption I make when I see a few thousand soldiers on the march. Hey, I promise I won't tell.”

  “There is no harm in your knowing, since you will not be going before us,” Colonel Liharl said. “We march ten thousand strong to overawe the barbarians on our western border, and ten more armies like ours go to the battlefield by other routes.”

  Matt felt a chill down his back; the only time officers gave away military information was when they were sure the spies weren't going loose to take it anywhere. “Very interesting, but my business lies to the south, so if you'll excuse me …”

  “We will not,” the colonel told him. “Our rule is that no man may enter the Grand Feminie for longer than nine days, and no matter your questions, there is only one reason why men come here. Soldiers!” She rattled off a list of names; Matt managed to make out Adonitay as a single word, but the others ran together in unfamiliar syllables. Half a dozen young women stepped forward, striking their spears against their shields in what he assumed was a salute.

  “Take him back to Asusu City,” the colonel said, “and accord him every hospitality. See that all his wishes are granted.”

  The young women looked annoyed, but the one with extra horsehair in her crest stepped up to take Matt by the arm, and her companions surrounded him.

  “About face,” the extra-crest soldier—Matt assumed she was a corporal—told him.

  Matt sighed and turned, deciding he would go along since they didn't seem to be planning any particular mayhem. He'd get a good night's sleep in a civilized bed, at least, have a good breakfast, bid them a good morning, and be on his way.

  The corporal led her little troupe off to the side of the road and marched them back the way the army had come. Matt was surprised to see envy on the faces of the soldiers as they passed—h
e'd thought they were gung ho military, eager for battle, but it looked as though every one of them wished she were going back to Asusu with them.

  There were a lot of them. He had assumed the officer was exaggerating when she said her force was ten thousand strong, but he began to think she might not have been so far off at that. Each rank had five women, and he stopped counting ranks after five hundred. They went on and on, and after the soldiers themselves, there were teenage girls steering rank upon rank of carts, horses, and elephants loaded with equipment and provisions. The army seemed to go on forever.

  Of course, he couldn't wait that long to go after a little information, so he asked, “Is this, uh, a regular custom of yours, to welcome male visitors?”

  “Aye,” the corporal said, “the few who have the courage to come.”

  Considering all the well-armed women he was passing, Matt could understand that the occasional male visitor might feel a little outnumbered. “Might as well get acquainted, if we're going to be road companions. My name is Matt.”

  “I am Adonitay.” The corporal inclined her head in polite greeting. “Be welcome in the Grand Feminie—for nine days. Ladies, greet him.”

  “Welcome, stranger,” the privates chorused. Matt glanced back, saw them nodding, and inclined his head in return. He noticed then a strange suppressed excitement about them; they fairly seemed to glow.

  “You will have to pardon us if we seem short with you,” Adonitay said.

  “Oh, I understand,” Matt assured her. “I'm making you miss out on the action. Sorry about that.”

  Adonizeb gave a mirthless bark of laughter. “We regret missing action, truly enough, but not in battle, and it is certainly not your fault, but that of the stranger who was here two nights ago and was too much the fool to take advantage of his good fortune.”

  “Oh. A bad guest, huh?”

  “Very bad,” Adonitay said, seething, “though we could scarcely condemn him for loyalty to the woman who traveled with him and her need to speed their journey.”

  Mart's mental ears pricked up. “Woman? His mother, maybe?”

  The privates laughed, and Adonitay smiled, choking down glee. “Only if a mother could be a year or two younger than her son.”

  “Oh? A young couple, setting out in life?”

  “On their way to Maracanda, so she said,” Adonitay answered.

  “So she could have rested for nine days, by your law?”

  “As long as she wished, but of course she was as loyal to her traveling companion as he to her, and we do not allow men to stay longer than nine days.” She glanced at Matt sidelong and hinted, “A day to Asusu and a day back to the border.”

  Matt took the hint; it left him an even week of hospitality, not that he was about to take advantage of it. He hated to eat and run, especially after they'd apparently just had a case of such rudeness—poor things must be hungry for news of the outside world. Well, he'd tell them what he could before he went to bed. “So you didn't even let them stay the full week?”

  “We sent them on their way that very night,” Adonitay said. “They could have stayed till morning, mind you, but they chose to leave directly—she was in a great hurry to reach Maracanda.”

  A very great hurry, no doubt, and Matt was sure that the young woman was Balkis. So she was traveling with a young man, was she? He could only think of one reason, and hoped he was right—Balkis in love with somebody her own age would certainly save him the embarrassment and difficulty of having to quietly discourage her interest in himself. And what could it be but love, when she could travel more safely as a cat than as a beautiful young woman, attaching herself to a caravan as resident mouser instead of road companion to a lone young man?

  He must have been very trustworthy for her to take the chance—and from what Adonitay said, he was certainly faithful. Matt wished him all the best.

  Matt resolutely put the young couple out of his mind. He'd stay the night, he told himself, then sneak out in the false dawn and call Stegoman—he was sure the dragon would be following him and would hide near Asusu and wait. There was the outside chance that Stegoman might attack Adonitay and her soldiers, thinking he was a prisoner—a reasonable assumption, after all—but Matt didn't think so. Stegoman was the soul of discretion. Total surprise made his attacks all the more terrifying.

  No, no reason to worry about the dragon. Matt decided to concentrate on being a good guest, and wondered why Balkis' boyfriend hadn't taken advantage of his good fortune.

  He found out in Asusu, when the fortune turned out to be a little too good.

  Adonitay and her soldiers led him into a military compound right inside the main gate—but they went past the barracks to a smaller, circular house.

  “This is the house for male guests,” Adonitay told him. “Will you enter?”

  “Why, thanks,” Matt said, and stepped through the door into a sybarite's' dream.

  The circular room had to take up most of the house, and the floor was one giant mattress, covered with soft rose-colored fabric, firm, but yielding enough under his step so that he stopped, afraid to damage it. Islands of cushions cropped up here and there, mostly around a low table that held a hookah, which Matt suspected did not hold tobacco. But the most outstanding feature of the room was the dozen young women kneeling on the floor, who stood up in a single sinuous movement and advanced upon him with low-voiced, throaty words ofwelcome.

  “Welcome, traveler!”

  “Welcome to rest and refreshment!”

  “Welcome to delight and pleasure!”

  All twelve of them wore short-skirted tunics made by draping a length of clinging fabric around the neck, crosswise over each breast, then wrapped around the waist to form the skirt—simple but extremely attractive, especially considering how the fabric molded itself to their bodies. They advanced barefoot over the cushioned floor, smiling and eager. “May we aid you in taking off your boots, traveler?”

  “Why, uh—yes, that would be very nice, thanks,” Matt stammered, then wished he hadn't, for two of them pressed up against him on either side, ostensibly to brace his shoulders, while a third knelt to yank off first the one boot, then the other. Still kneeling and proving how low her neckline was cut, she looked up at him through long lashes. “May I perform any other service, O Guest?”

  Matt had the first inkling of the true nature of his visit. He swallowed heavily and said, “Uh, no, thanks, I'm fine.”

  “I am sure that you are,” the young woman said with a heavy-lidded glance. “A bath, then?”

  Two other young women drew aside a curtain from an alcove, revealing a huge copper tub in a wooden frame, filled with steaming bubbles and emitting a fragrance of sandalwood.

  “Yes!” Matt said. “That would be very nice. If you'll give me a few minutes privacy, a bath would be just the thing.” He strode over to the tub before his hostesses could answer.

  “May we not help you remove your clothes?” asked one of the women who had pulled open the curtain.

  Alarm bells rang, but Matt knew the importance of abiding by local custom. “Yes, that would get me into the bubbles more quickly, thanks.”

  Slender hands unbuckled his belt as others plucked the jerkin, then the tunic, from his shoulders—but he stopped when they started pulling at his hose. “Uh, thanks, but I'll do that myself, if you'll just turn your backs for a minute.”

  “If you must,” the oldest sighed with bad grace. “Turn your backs, girls.” She set the example, muttering, “Foolish modesty!”

  Matt stripped off his breeches and got into the tub quicker than he ever had. At the sound of splashing, the women turned back to look. He heard murmurs of approval at the contours of his chest; then a gentle hand drew a cool cloth over his forehead and murmured, “Lean back and enjoy the heat and moisture.”

  It sounded like a good idea. Matt leaned his head back— then felt the warm and yielding surface against which he leaned and decided it wasn't the wisest course of action after all. He gla
nced at the young women who gathered around the tub with avid eyes. It made him feel odd, like a side of beef on display at the butcher shop.

  “A glass of wine, weary traveler?”

  “Uh, yeah, thanks. Kind of you.” Matt raised a soapy hand, but the young woman held the glass to his lips and tilted it just a little. Matt sipped, and his eyes widened. That wine was halfway to brandy! He could feel its warmth coursing through his limbs, and they hadn't needed any further warming.

  “Drink deeply,” the cup-bearer urged, and Matt did, again to be accommodating.

  Then he leaned his head back and said, “Thanks, that's enough. Some more a little later, maybe.”

  “Whatever serves your pleasure,” she murmured, and took the glass away—but her voice was husky and smoky, implying a greater pleasure than wine could provide, and Matt was alarmed to feel his body responding. What had been in that wine, anyway?

  In fact, there was entirely too much emphasis on pleasure here. Surely these slender, smooth-limbed beauties couldn't be off-duty soldiers! But he took a closer look at the muscles beneath that smooth skin and decided that they probably were warriors—and that put a distinct limit to his relaxation.

  One young woman reached in with a soft, soapy cloth to caress his chest. “Let us wash you, traveler.”

  “Uh, very nice, thanks.” But the hand slipped below the water, and Matt protested, “Not really necessary, though.”

  “You wish to be clean throughout, do you not?” said the woman behind him. “Sit forward and I shall wash your back.”

  And she did, below the waterline and on down. When she passed his waist, Matt said, “Uh, thanks, but I think that's far enough.” Then to the two young women who were working their way below his navel, one on each side of the tub, “You, too.”

  They giggled and withdrew their hands a little. “Do you not enjoy it?” asked one.

  “Yes, but that's not the issue.” The problem, Matt realized, was that he was enjoying it far too much, and didn't want them to realize it.

  Light glared from the door, and he looked up, glad of the distraction. “Ah, mine host!” Then he stopped, staring, for Adonitay and her squadron were dressed like the others, and seemed far more feminine and appealing in short white tunics. No doubt about it—all his attendants were off-duty soldiers, Their exercises, however, were scarcely military.