by Rick Cook
###
The fair would not open officially until tomorrow morning. But many of the booths were set up and operating. It was already possible to buy things from the early-arriving merchants and Moira managed quite a regal progress, except when she forgot herself and gave way to bright-eyed excitement. Wiz wished he was walking beside her to watch. But it was faster pushing through the throng single-file.
They were barely three-quarters of the way along the main way when someone came up behind them. Wiz turned and saw Malus, one of his fellow members of the Council of the North. Besides the staff of a wizard and the blue robe of the Mighty, the pudgy wizard also wore the green sash of a fair warden. He was not young and not light and the combination of age and the effort to catch up with them had him red-faced and puffing.
“How is it going Malus?”
Malus sketched a bow to the pair of them. “Ah, good morrow, My Lord, My Lady. Well enough. Well enough.” He paused to wipe a film of sweat from his bald pate. “Someone tried to set up a trained dragon show down by the corrals. Horses cannot stand the smell, you know, and it just would not have been suitable. Not suitable at all. But we have him on the other side of the grounds now. Oh, and when your turn comes, keep a close eye on Mother Charisong’s booth—the tawdry orange-and-green one, you know? She swears not, but I think some of her love charms have compulsion spells on them. Not that I could find any, you understand, but I have my suspicions.”
“Oh, Mother Charisong’s not a bad sort,” Moira said. “She used to come through my village every year or two.” She frowned slightly. “She’s not malicious at all, but I think she is a bit of a romantic and the idea of instant undying love would appeal to her.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Wiz promised. “Anything else?”
It was Malus’ turn to frown. “Well, I was not going to mention it just now, but since you ask I am having a little problem with one of the spells in the new magic. To brighten and dim magical lights, you know. The demon is not doing what it is supposed to. I have been over and over the code and I can’t seem to find the problem. Do you suppose you . . .”
“I’d be happy to. I’ll be back at the castle in a couple of day-tenths. Could you bring it by then?”
“Thank you, My Lord. Two day-tenths it is. Enjoy the fair. Good day, My Lady.” With that he wandered off.
Moira looked after him, eyes sparkling with laughter. “He is a dear, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, but I wish he was a little more logical when it comes to programming.”
Moira shrugged. It was an old discussion. While anyone could use a spell written with Wiz’s magic compiler, creating them required the same knack for logical thinking and organization it takes to be a programmer in any language. Traditional magic did not build up spells a statement at a time and so relied on other qualities, notably memory, intuition and courage. It was hard to be good at both the old and new magics, and as one of the Mighty and a member of the Council of the North, Malus was very good at the traditional magic.
“He has an eye for chicanery though,” Moira said. “Perhaps I had better have a word with Mother Charisong before you or one of the other fair wardens has to take official notice.”
At least one journeyman wizard was always on duty among those overseeing the fair to guard against magical trickery. It was not required that the Mighty take a turn as fair wardens, still less that the members of the Council do so, but many of them did.
“Want me to come along?”
“It would be best if you escorted me there and then went off on another errand while Mother Charisong and I talked of old times.”
“Thus implying a threat without having to make it.” Wiz nodded.
Moira’s green eyes grew wide and innocent. “Why no, My Lord. How can you think I would threaten a poor old woman? We will merely have a quiet gossip.”
Wiz put his arm around his wife’s waist. “Which will make the point without having to say a word. Darling, did I ever tell you you are brilliant?”
Moira cocked a burnished copper eyebrow. “Only by comparison.”
###
“Hey, Danny,” Jerry called, “watch this.”
Two mouse clicks, two mouse squeaks, and the rabbit with the bass drum was back on Jerrys desk. It marched up and down, beating the drum and getting closer to the table’s edge with each pass.
As the rabbit reached the edge of the table, a green tentacle curled out of the “screen,” wrapped around the rabbit’s throat and jerked it back into the system, cutting the rabbit off in mid-beat.
“Crude,” Danny said, “but effective.”
###
Deep in the Wild Wood, the sun was also shining. The weak winter rays slanted through the multi-paned windows of the great hall at Heart’s Ease, throwing diamond-shaped patterns on the table. Two women stood beside it, studying a curiously carved casket. Both of them were tall and slender, but the younger one with raven-dark hair was slightly taller than the older woman with the prematurely white hair.
“Now watch closely,” Shiara the Silver said to her pupil. Working by touch, because she was blind, she selected a lock pick from the assortment that lay on the table. “You must keep the tension on the mechanism,” she said as she smoothly manipulated the lock. Two heads, one silver-white and the other black with russet highlights, bent over the chest. “Past the first ward. Then past the second ward.”
Malkin, sometime thief on the Dragon Marches and now lady to Jerry Andrews of the Wizards’ Keep, nodded.
“And then the tumbler slips like so,” Shiara said. “Now you try it.”
Malkin bent to it with a will. In seconds the lock clicked and the dark-haired woman straightened up in triumph. Then her face froze, her eyes widened, her features contorted and she let out a thunderous sneeze.
“Had it been real, the blow tube would have been filled with something more lethal than pepper,” Shiara said mildly.
“You didn’t say anything about that,” Malkin protested, sneezing again.
The silver-haired woman smiled. “The lesson is never to trust a lock—or the person who tells you how to pick it.”
Malkin grunted.
“Well, that is enough for now,” Shiara told her pupil. “Your fingers are getting stiff from the cold and it is best we rest for a bit.”
“I can go on,” Malkin said stubbornly.
The older woman put her hand on the younger one’s shoulder. “Of course you can. But there is no need and it is best not to force such things without need. Now come and have some hot spiced cider.”
“How did you know?” Malkin asked as they settled in to high-backed chairs before the fire in the great fireplace.
“Hmm?” Shiara said into her mug. “About your fingers? Why, I could hear them. You were slowing down on simple operations.”
If Shiara was blind she still had her ears, her hands, her brains and her memories. Malkin was in the presence of a master burglar and she knew it.
She used no magic, of course. Although Shiara had been a sorceress of high skill, the accident that had ended her career as the Council’s master thief had left her so sensitive to magic that its very presence hurt her. That was why she lived in a magically “dead” zone deep in the Wild Wood, away from other people and their everyday magics. It was why Hearts Ease itself, from stone tower to attached hall to outbuildings to surrounding stockade, had been built completely without resort to magic.
“It is kind of you to teach me, Lady,” Malkin said as she warmed her hands on the mug of fragrant cider.
“It is my pleasure. There is not much human company here in the Wild Wood in wintertime.”
Although she didn’t mention it, Shiara was also doing Wiz a favor. Wiz wanted to get Malkin out of town during the fair. The multitude of booths and merchants was just too tempting for someone of Malkin’s proclivities.
Calling Malkin a thief was like saying Don Vito Corleone was a little dishonest, or Dr. Jekyll had his moody days. Malkin was
that rare combination of aptitude, dedication and intelligence that marks a true adept at any art. In her case it just happened to be the art of separating people from their property.
For Malkin, stealing wasn’t just a job and it was more than an adventure. It was business, pleasure and a way of life all rolled into one. She was as dedicated to it as a medieval monk was to his calling—a comparison which would have surprised Jerry, considering her distinctly unmonklike proclivities in other areas.
“You have a powerful talent,” Shiara went on. “In some ways too much talent.”
Malkin made a noncommittal noise and raised the steaming beaker to her lips.
“I doubt you have ever been seriously challenged in your skill. So far you have been able to rely on your natural abilities blindly, without having to learn the other requirements of your calling.”
“Such as?”
“Patience. Forethought. Perhaps a little humility.”
Malkin smiled. “As you say, I’ve done well enough.”
“But will you do well enough if you face something that really tests you?”
The younger woman sighed and set the beaker of cider on the table. “Like as not I’ll never find out. Little enough opportunity I’m like to have for a great test. Things are much changed from your day, Lady.”
“Indeed they are,” Shiara agreed. “And very much for the better.”
Humans had little magic in those not-so-long-gone days when Shiara the Silver and her mate Cormac the Golden had plied their trade. The pair had relied more on stealth and cunning than Cormac’s skill with a sword or Shiara’s abilities as a wizardess to purloin especially dangerous pieces of magic for the Council of the North. It had been the last of these quests which had cost Cormac his life and left Shiara blind and allergic to magic of any kind.
“Still, you should strive to perfect your art.” And be careful what you wish for, the blind woman thought, for you may get it.
###
“Hey, Danny, I’ve got a new wrinkle for the screen saver. Take a look.” Two quick mouse clicks and the bunny appeared.
This time the rabbit didn’t have its drum. Instead it was wearing crossed bandoleers and carrying what looked like the mother of all assault weapons. Its pink ears poked out of folds in a camouflage scarf tied around its head pirate-fashion.
“Uh-oh,” Danny said. “This looks serious.”
As the rabbit approached the edge of the desk, the green tentacle reached out to grab it. The rabbit whirled and ripped off a burst with its machine gun/grenade launcher. Chunks of tentacle and ichor flew everywhere and most of the screen disintegrated under the force of the blast.
Danny and Jerry dived under the table and nearly butted heads.
Suddenly it was quiet again. The room reeked of powder smoke and plaster dust but there was no more shooting. Danny sneaked a peek over the edge of the table. There was nothing left of the screen but an occasional letter or two. The pink bunny in the boonie rag blew the smoke from the end of the gun barrel, surveyed the damage, hopped down off the table and disappeared out the door.
Danny crawled the rest of the way out from under the table. “What did you call that thing again?”
Jerry coughed and brushed the dust off his tunic as he stood up. “Uh, a screen saver.”
“Well it didn’t save it, it blew it all to hell.”
“Yeah. I guess it needs a little more work.”
Danny could only nod.
Two
Foulness at the Fair
Almost at the end of the fair’s main row, as far from the Wizards’ Keep as possible, a smoke artist was displaying his illusions.
The open-fronted booth was carefully darkened to show off his creations to best advantage and, Wiz suspected, to hide the mirrors and other apparatus that made them possible. There were five or six people clustered in rapt attention before the booth, oblivious to the fair-goers pushing past them.
The artist was small and slender, dressed in a cowled black robe obviously meant to remind his audience of a wizard. For an instant, Wiz wondered if it was a man or a woman, but then the artist withdrew an unmistakably masculine hand from the sleeve of his robe to gesture.
At the hand motion, three gouts of gaily colored smoke blossomed within the booth, billowing toward the cloth veiling and swirling together in a pattern that seemed to pulsate and dance to an unheard melody. Garnet red and peacock blue smoke combined to form a deep, vibrant purple while tendrils of yellow smoke lanced through the cloud. Then the smokes sorted themselves into layers of pure color and began to interweave monochromatic tendrils in an increasingly complex design. At first it reminded Wiz of a simple geometric shape, then it became an evermore-elaborate piece of Celtic knotwork. Finally the smokes twisted into a design that seemed completely random, yet hinted at an underlying order. It seemed to Wiz that if he could just study the writhing smokes long enough he could unlock that secret.
Wiz had no real ability to sense magic as this world’s wizards could, but he understood the basic laws of physics and this smoke was behaving in a decidedly lawless manner. There was something wrong here and the realization sent a chill through him.
###
It took the better part of an hour for servants under Danny’s direction to get the workroom cleaned up and presentable again. It took about as lone for Jerry to track down and de-instantiate his fluffy pink creation. By the time they had settled down to work again Jerry had decided to shelve his screen saver and Danny had gotten a bright idea of his own.
“Somehow,” Jerry said, surveying the freshly patched plaster and the dusted and neatened-up piles of manuscripts, “I don’t think that was one of my better ideas.”
“Oh, I dunno,” Danny said. “It gave me an idea for something I’ve been working on.” This time Danny gestured with his mouse and an aquarium sprang into being on his desk. It was almost as big as the desk and full of water and life.
“Like it? It’s Ian’s birthday present.”
Jerry examined his companion’s work more closely. Against a backdrop of coral and rocks, brightly colored fish darted or hovered or swam lazily, according to their nature. Equally brightly colored crabs and other things crawled alone the white coral sand, and here and there something like a sea anemone waved delicately in the water.
It was beautiful, but there was something about the setup that bothered Jerry. Part of it, he decided, was that he didn’t recognize any of the fish. Then a black angelfish with pulsing neon-blue lights along its side swam by and Jerry’s suspicions were confirmed.
“Those aren’t real fish, are they?”
“No, they’re demons created by special little programs.” Danny spoke a word and the spell listed itself out in bright letters beside the tank. “Look, here’s something else too. The code’s self-modifying so the fish change over time.”
“They change over time?”
“Yeah. They evolve with each generation.”
“Hmmm,” Jerry said in a voice that wasn’t at all approving.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m not sure,” Jerry said. “But there’s something about that notion that bothers me.”
“You don’t like fish?”
“No, I . . . Well, never mind. I’m sure Ian will love it.” Jerry turned away from the demon fish tank and back to work.
###
As the smoke artist took a bow to a pattering of applause, Wiz nudged Moira.
“That stuff’s magic,” he muttered.
“But isn’t it lovely? See how it sparkles.”
Wiz looked sideways at his wife. Normally Moira was more wary of strange magic than he was. She had learned about magic at a time when the humans of this world were nearly powerless and magic was usually destructive or hostile. Wiz had changed that with his magic programming, but the old attitudes lingered. This wasn’t at all like her.
He looked at the robed and cowled figure again, trying to discern what was beneath the flow of dark cloth. Agai
n the smoke artist’s hands darted from his sleeves and he began anew with a delicate curl of blue smoke from his outstretched palm. Although Wiz could not see the artist s head, much less his eyes, he got the strong impression that the performer was concentrating on his audience rather than his illusion. The smoke thickened and deepened until there was a column of sapphire blue before him. The crowd pressed close, eager for the next display.
Again the smoke shifted and formed a pattern, this one like an intricately fretted snowflake. The tendrils of blue smoke twisted and wove among each other into a pattern that implied something without quite showing it. As Wiz watched, the pattern began to spin like a wheel, pulling the eye with it in a way that made Wiz’s stomach roil. He stared down at his boots, fighting dizziness.
As he looked away he felt Moira stir beside him, pressing closer to the artist and his creation. Without thinking Wiz put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off impatiently.
Wiz looked up and saw his wife slack-jawed with her eyes fixed on the smoke. She took a hesitant step toward it and then a stronger one.
“Moira?” There was no response. “Hey!” he shouted at the smoke artist, but neither artist nor audience paid the slightest attention.
Wiz went cold with fear and almost instantly hot with rage. In two strides he crossed the distance to the artist and grabbed him by the hood.
As he jerked him around, the hood fell back and Wiz recoiled at what was beneath it.
The face was normal enough, pale with high cheekbones and a long nose, but the eyes were not. Instead of showing a normal white and pupil they were iridescent, as though there were an opaline mist over the whole eyeball, or like an insect’s eye when the light strikes it right.