“Just open the cage, please, Berthold.”
“Fine.” Berthold could see the mechanism better from his higher vantage, and from the light of the torch which flickered nearby on the floor. There were tiny symbols on the latch that he hadn’t noticed before, and these he scratched at with the thinnest pick. He likened it to criminals who filed the serial numbers off guns so the guns couldn’t be traced. But it was hard to file everything off, and most often the numbers could still be lifted. But in this case he only wanted to ruin a couple of the symbols. That should prevent the magic from working . . . whatever the magic was supposed to do. He didn't know just how he knew that, like the elf knowing about the constellations and the Celestial Dance.
“Hurry,” Yevele urged. “I’m strong, but you're dead weight. ’’
“I’d prefer a word other than dead.” Berthold continued to scratch away at the symbols until he was satisfied that he’d defaced enough. Then he used the other pick to worry inside a tiny keyhole. He listened for the “click,” but then realized no sound would come. All the cages had been magically silenced. “That ought to do it. I hope.” Berthold closed his eyes, slowly released a deep breath, turned the latch up, and opened the cage door. His face was instantly battered by small claws and wings as Alfreeta flew out. Away from the cage he could hear the miniature dragon. She was making a purring sound,
not wholly unlike a cat, and her wings “shushed” as they carried her farther away from the cage. Yevele lowered him roughly to the floor and watched Alfreeta land on Ingrge’s chest.
The elf didn’t stir.
“We haven’t a priest with us,” she said. “Or pockets full of potions. But I know there’s magic in that small, gentle beast.”
Berthold stared in fascination. Alfreeta was dragon-like, but clearly not a dragon. Her scales were oval and glistening, looking like purple tinted mother-of-pearl stones one might set into jewelry. The scales were lighter around her middle, darkest along her neck and the underside of her snout. Her head was the shape of a bull terrier’s, though her lips looked leathery, as did her ever-flicking tongue. Her nostrils were heart-shaped and glistened with moisture. Her ears were small and set tight against her head, elegantly pointed, and the ridge that ran from just above her almond-shaped eyes to the tip of her tail was covered in needle-like spikes that moved in the still air as if they were supple like blades of grass.
As Alfreeta beat her wings, the elf started breathing in time with them, his chest rising and falling regularly and with more force now. Her tongue was lapping at his face, somehow coaxing a little color to it. His head moved back and forth fitfully though, revealing his pain was intense.
“I’m glad he’s not awake,” she said. Yevele took the torch off the floor and stuck the end through the bars in Alfreeta’s vacated cage. Higher, the torch lit the room better. “No way to ease his pain. No pocketful of potions.” She sat near the elf, cross-legged, arms stiff behind her and leaning against them.
Berthold paced in front of a row of cages, the animals inside intently watching them, hope in some of their eyes, fear from the rabbit with the horn on its head. “He’ll wake up sometime, Yevele. And then he’ll have to deal with the pain.’’ Or he’ll never wake up. He didn’t have to say those words, they both knew that was a possibility, despite the ministrations of Alfreeta.
“Do you think he can hear us?” Yevele wondered aloud. “Worrying over him, over us?”
Berthold dropped next to her and opened the book he’d brought with him. He’d hoped it was something about this tower or about wizards. “A play. I’ve found a play, I think. Wonderful. Or a story about a play. Hard to make out all the words, this language is so old.” “Read to him,” Yevele said. “For a while. Please.”
Berthold took a mouthful from his waterskin, there was little water left, and he started:
The elf maid strolled across the stage, sea-green gown swishing softly behind her, love letter held against her heart. A small ginger dog dutifully followed her. ‘It will be a grand wedding, mother. Can you see me in a dress of ivory lace? I will wear flowers in my hair, Jully’s favorite — white lilacs. And a string of puik pearls around my .. .’ she paused dramatically and gracefully settled herself at a desk near the edge of the stage, and with a flourish reached for a quill and began penning a note.
‘Dearest Jully, ’she said, as she tipped her face to the audience, batted her eyelashes, and smiled wistfully. 7 received your last letter, so beautiful it made me weep. I think of you every day, and I pray to my grandmother’s divine spirit that we will be together soon. Forever. ’
As she continued, a matronly elf glided up to stand behuid her daughter, looked sadly down at the people seated in the front row of the audience, and then rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders. ‘You’ve met this man only once dear, sweet Irisal, ’she said.
‘Once was all it required. I knew from the first moment that I loved him. And with each letter Jully writes to me I grow to love him more and more and more. ’ The young elf continued scratching at the parchment.
‘He might be wed, Irisal. ’
‘No. Not possible. ’
‘He might have another love. ’
No. Not my Jully. ’
‘He might ‘No.’
‘Then why doesn’t he come to see you, Irisal? For the past six months all he’s done u> send you letters —affixed to the neck of this dirty, smelly mongrel. ’
The dog hung its head low, looking horribly offended. An elderly man watching from the second row made a sorrowful ‘aw wing 'sound.
Irisal ptuhed away from the desk, stood, and with a sweeping motion placed the back of her hand again.il her forehead. ‘My darling Jully Willows tream u a very busy man, mother. He id deep in the Qjuillars Woods at this very moment, working against those foul Bandits of the Dark Pads and all of the other vile forced of evil. He Lt risking his life, mother, so you and I and all of the Autumn Elf Clan will be free and safe. ’
She waited for the smattering of applause to die down, then she grabbed up the note she’d been writing, carefully rolled it, and stuck Lt in a small tube dangling from the mutt’s neck. ‘Good dog, return to your brave master at once!’
The dog gave a yip and then leapt off the stage, bolting down the center aisle, stopping to jump into the lap of young girl. He licked her cheek, then began a lightning-swift course that took him zig-zagging around the chairs in the back row and had half the audience on its feet clapping.
A heartbeat later the dog was out of sight.
Behind the stage, the playwright paced.
‘Hear that applause?’
The playwright looked up at the stagehand and grinned weakly. At least they liked the trick with the dog. Distracts them from the scenery change. ’ The playwright was still wringing his hands, but the tempo of his motions had slowed considerably.
The stagehand offered him a broad smile. ‘Dogs are indeed your forte,
Sir. I know you are at your best when you write what you know. And I believe you ’ve done that quite admirably. ’
‘Good advice,’ the playwright returned. ‘You know, there’s an empty seat in the back row, just in front of that big elm. I think I’ll go watch my play for a while. And maybe I’ll stop worrying so much. ’ Then he slipped around the far edge of the stage and made his way into the audience.
Berthold closed the book. “Oh, that’s just bad,” he said. “Like the books you find in the supermarket. Ugh. I could write better than that. A lovesick elf.” He looked to Yevele, leaning back on her arms, she’d fallen asleep. The exhaustion was etched deep on her face. Ingrge slept, chest still rising and falling in time with Alfreeta’s wings. “Couldn’t I have plucked a more useful book to read? A romance? Really.”
The little dragon turned her head, wide eyes meeting his.
“Really,” he whispered. "Really! What a wonderful book. Yevele, me, the elf, you, Alfreeta. . . . We’re all in a play of sorts, aren’t we? Just like in the game, all of us assuming roles
and playing a part in a grand adventure.” He turned to the very back of the book, where there was a blank page, and he carefully ripped it out. Then he skittered over to Ingrge’s other side, where the stump was bandaged. "Good thing Yevele's sleeping, she might take exception to this.”
Next, he pulled out one of his thieves’ picks, touched it to the bloody cloth, and using the blood as if it were ink, and the pick as if it were a quill, he started to write a letter.
‘To Naile Fangtooth:’
"I know you’re not a dog, Alfreeta, and that this isn’t a love letter, and that it might not work quite like in that book. . . . But it’s worth a try.”
He worked at the note for some time, as writing with blood and a pick wasn’t particularly easy or fast. When he was done with his note, he blew on it, rolled it up and wrapped it in a strip of cloth from his own cloak, trying to make sure it would stay dry. Then he removed his belt, cut it in half with a dagger, and made a collar out of it. The miniature dragon watched him the entire time, and when he was finished she flitted over to him, hovering just above the ground. He put the collar on her, attached the note, then went to the door and listened.
"You can find Naile, can’t you Alfreeta? Just like Lassie could always somehow find Timmy. Even when he fell down into a well.”
There was no “throoming,” and so Berthold opened the door just a bit. Safe. He opened it wider and tiptoed into the main hall, and to the door that led outside. Berthold looked to the stairs, held his breath, and opened the latch. It was lighter outside, as if the day was moving toward dawn. A few hours had passed since they came in here.
“No wonder I’m so tired,” he whispered. “Haven’t slept in nearly two days.” Slightly louder: “Go find your friend, little dragon. Bring the cavalry around the bend.” If the cavalry is still alive, he thought. If they’re not dead becaiuse I didn’t remove their bracelets and something came to eat their faced. He considered, just for a moment, fleeing the tower and making his way through the forest, finding some small city where he could practice his thieving trade and live reasonably happily ever after.
“Is it possible I’ve only dreamed that I’m Bertrum Wiggins?”
He watched Alfreeta disappear from view, then he closed the door, returned to the menagerie room and slid a cage behind this door for a lalse sense of security. Then he stretched out on the stone floor next to Ingrge.
He pictured a shiny black Corvette, leather upholstery and a six-speaker sound system. Then he drifted off to sleep, just as the “throoming” came by again.
TWENTY-ONE
Ludlow Jade's Sacrifice
Milo continued to stare down at the smattering of silver pieces at his feet. He looked at the two rings he wore, and tried futilely to take them oil and use them tor payment. He had tried dozens of times before to remove them, not to use them as money, but because he didn’t like being forced to wear something, particularly enchanted jewelry. Next he tried to tug free the copper bracelet with all the gem dice.
“Look, I’d give you all this stuff,” Milo grumbled, “if I could take it off. See . . . won’t budge. Can’t you give us a break?"
“I believe you think wrongly of us,’’ Brother Beauregaard said. “You think us a greedy order, exacting coins in return for our aid. But we do so out of necessity, Milo Jagon.” The Glothorio priest sat on one of Ludlow Jade’s blankets, locking eyes with Milo.
“I haven’t more coins,” Milo said flatly. “And I don’t see how I can get you more. I’m working as a guard to pay off a debt. I’m not earning a wage.”
“Then, sadly, we cannot help you,” Brother Beauregaard said. “Our tattoos, they are costly, the dyes and enchantments that go into them. Ours is not so charitable an order, Milo Jagon. We cannot afford to be, if we wish to flourish. If we cast spells with our tattoos for just anyone, for any cause, we would surely become insolvent. Our order would fold, and our work would be only a memory.”
"I don’t suppose you’d take a rain check?” Naile asked.
Brother Beauregaard raised an eyebrow.
“How about you send us there, to the wizard,” Naile tried again. “And we’ll pay you later. Promise. Scout’s honor and all of that. The wizard’s bound to have hundreds of gold coins, right?”
Brother Beauregaard shook his head. “That is not how . . .”
“. . .you operate,” Milo finished. “Yeah, 1 understand. We pay up front, right. We give you coins, you cast your spell.”
Brother Beauregaard and Brother Reed nodded in unison.
“Come to us again, when you’ve enough to pay,” Brother Beauregaard said. "Then we can help you."
“Fine,” Milo said. “Fine. Fine. Fine.” He stood and stretched and tried to cast off his growing anger and frustration. “Look, thanks for what you did. For contacting the wizard for us. I wasn’t sure Berthold’s story had any truth to it. So thanks for that.”
“Would’ve liked to have found out where Yevele is,” Naile said. “And Ingrge. Maybe even see how Deav Dyne and Gulth are doing, if they made it to the swamp.”
“And Alfreeta,” Naile said. “Find out where she is. Alf. . . .” The berserker put his back to Milo’s and looked up. He thought he saw something in the sky. A bird?
“Come to us again, when you’ve enough to pay,” Brother Beauregaard repeated. “We understand the urgency of your self-imposed mission. Perhaps whatever god you worship will lead you to the coins necessary for our enchantment. Perhaps — ”
Milo shook his head. “I think we'll be walking to Quag Keep." He looked at his boots and pictured the blisters on his feet. “I think — ”
“I think that Brother Beauregaard and Brother Reed will be casting that spell and sending you to the wizard Jalafar-rula.” Ludlow Jade came around the corner of the wagon, hands in his pockets and
shuffling. He pulled a pouch from his pocket and dropped it in front of the Glothorio priests. “I trust that will pay for the enchantment.” Naile cupped his hand over his eyes and squinted. Something was coming closer and tugging at his mind. Something familiar, still too distant to be sure. “Alfreeta?”
Brother Beauregaard opened the pouch, not taking his eyes off Ludlow Jade’s until he spilled the contents on the blanket. A dozen gold coins gleamed so bright it looked as if they’d been newly minted. But the true valuables were three rings, all gold and set with gems. "They belonged to my son, Zechial.”
The elder priest picked up each ring and examined it, as il he were a jeweler. “Fine workmanship, Ludlow Jade. And sufficient to send one of them.” He glanced between Milo and Naile. “Which one of you shall Brother Reed and I send to the wizard Jalafar-rula?”
“Both of them, ’’ Ludlow Jade said. “1 was listening earlier, saw the wizard and heard his story. I still follow the Coin Gatherer, Brother Beauregaard, and so 1 know your magic is true and comes with a high price. Milo and Naile are not from here, and they’ve their home to save.” He took off three of his own rings and dropped them on the rug. “Both of them, with your spell.”
The wind picked up suddenly, sending the canvas on the wagon and all the men’s cloaks flapping. The edges of the blanket ruffled. The Glothorio priests worked the leather lacings open on their robes to their waists, revealing the myriad of tattoos, most of them black, but a few dark blue and blood red. Nearly all of them were swirls, like an artist had painted them on with a thick brush. There were also a couple of symbols that looked like bird wings and deer antlers.
"I think it’s Alfreeta up there,” Naile said, still glancing aloft. But Milo wasn’t listening to him.
Brother Beauregaard stretched his hand forward, grasping the rings and putting them in his own pocket. Then he held his hands in the air, Brother Reed copying the gesture and chanting in the tongue Milo had heard them speak before. This time there were no familiar words interspersed.
A bird-wing tattoo detached itself from Brother Reed, leaving behind a red mark that did not immediately fade. A similar tattoo floated away from the e
lder priest, and they twisted together in the air between the two priests. More tattoos began joining them, and in the space of a few moments, all the symbols were gone from the men’s chests and arms. Only a few tattoos remained on Brother Reed’s neck, and these eventually joined the rest in their mystical gyrations.
“Expensive indeed,” Ludlow Jade said to Milo. “To leave them naked of their magic, and defenseless like this. No wonder the price for your spell is so lofty.”
The symbols wove themselves in an intricate dance, then slowly moved away from the priests and expanded, touching Milo first, then Naile, who was excitedly gesturing to a small dragon-like creature diving toward him.
“It is Alfreeta,” Naile said.
The symbols expanded further and completely engulfed the two men, and then Alfreeta, who flew to Naile’s shoulder.
“I trust that you will pay me back, Milo,” Ludlow Jade said. His face was all business. “You can find me back in the city when you are done rescuing the wizard and your world. You’ve quite a debt to me.”
Milo tried to tell the merchant that he would reimburse him somehow, but his mouth wouldn’t work and the words froze in his throat. Then he felt like he was being lifted, like he was floating with the symbols. They wrapped around his head, twisted down his body like a serpent. He felt Naile behind him, and something twitching against his shoulder. He felt the breeze, which was growing stronger still.
Though he closed his eyes he still saw the symbols twisting all around, listened to hear something like a purr. Alfreeta? He’d heard Naile speak the little dragon’s name. Was Alfreeta here? Or was he dreaming it? Was he dreaming all of this? Was it possible he was sleeping in his second-floor efficiency? Dreaming that this was all an extension of the game? Was he dreaming that he was a warrior named Milo Jagon on a quest to find a wizard?
But no dream would be this vivid, Milo told himself. He had an imagination, but it wasn’t this good. And though he considered his mind strong, it wasn’t strong enough to conjured this ... or to hold tight the details of home. Things about Wisconsin were getting fuzzy. He tried to raise his arm, curious to touch one of the writhing symbols. His muscles felt like lead, and his chest impossibly tight. Then the symbols stopped moving, and he was falling. The world turned blackest black, and his feet touched something solid.
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