Fantasy Gone Wrong

by Greenberg, Martin H.

  Sure enough, Ivar Wolf had been making it with Mrs. Dumpty while her husband was on the construction site. And Mr. D had found out. He might have been overweight, but he was strong from years in the construction business. It had been easy enough for him to follow Wolf into the forest for that never-to-be meeting with Little Red and bash the man over the head. And sure enough, the forensic magicians soon proved that the F-1-bespelled body that had taken the header off the wall had been some unfortunate vagrant left behind the last time the beggars had come to town and so stoned he never felt the shove.

  Mrs. D: We found her body in the garden, underneath a nice row of replanted cockleshells. Triple homicide.

  It was an open and shut case. And soon after the trial and the guilty verdict, Mr. Dumpty, as they say on the streets, took the drop.

  “Humphrey Dumpty sat on a wall,” Marie began. “Humphrey Dumpty had a great fall—”

  “Marie, you’re a better detective than a poet,” I said, cutting her off, and took her by the arm. “Come on, let’s go get some coffee.”

  “You paying?”

  “This time.”

  And off we went, Peep and Sheep.

  NEW YORKE SNOW

  Susan Sizemore

  USA Today best-selling author Susan Sizemore writes epic and urban fantasy novels and fantasy short stories, as well as paranormal and historical romance. She lives in the Midwest, knits, collects art glass, and is a fanatical basketball fan. She can be reached at http://susansizemore.com

  “I WAS HOPING FOR someone a little more experienced,” the man said, looking around the narrow cobbled street furtively, as though he were suddenly guilty about a perfectly normal trade of his money for her body.

  “I beg your pardon?” Amali responded politely.

  Amali looked around herself from her spot in the shadow of the doorway, wondering what game the customer was playing. Had he seen his wife somewhere up the street? Or was he just mad?

  “Perhaps I did not hear you correctly,” she added with a smile.

  Oh, she could caterwaul with the best of her kind, but soft words sometimes suited best. At least at the beginning of a transaction. That was what she always told girls she was training up. There was more to learn than how to lie on your back with your skirt hiked up in this trade. She liked to set an example with her own behavior.

  The man did not look in her face, but he had no trouble looking at her mostly exposed bosom. “You’re attractive, lass, but I’ve only so much to pay and so much time to spend. I believe in doing the job properly, so I bid you good evening.”

  He bobbed his head politely and turned away. Amali stared after him, her mouth hanging open a bit. She’d been negotiating her commerce quite skillfully for some time now, and this was the first time she wasn’t sure whether she should be offended or not at a man’s treatment.

  “I’m a doxy!” She finally shouted proudly after him. “What an odd night this is,” she added to herself. There was magic in the air. She took a deep breath. Yes, indeed, there was magic filling the streets of Yorke tonight, though she couldn’t tell what sort from the scent. “Probably bad for business,” she grumbled.

  Well, since the street was empty she shrugged her shawl over the low-cut bosom of her gown, and took herself off to Gran Nautha’s inn. No reason to stand about looking hopeful and getting sore feet when there’s no men about, was one of the first bits of advice she gave to her girls, and she might as well take it herself.

  The scent of magic twined with the normal acrid aromas of the street until she reached Gran’s. Once she opened the door, the smells of boiled cabbage and roasted meat overpowered every other aroma. She stepped into the warmth of the taproom and took a deep, appreciative breath that left her stomach rumbling when she was done.

  Some stared at her when she walked in, but she’d never flinched away from attention. Still she got more looks than she was used to as she moved between the double row of trestle tables to the door that led into the kitchen at the back of the room.

  “Big crowd tonight,” she said once she was inside the kitchen, with the door closed behind her.

  “Aye,” Gran answered.

  “But not in here,” Amali observed as she took a look around the big kitchen. She saw only two servers gathering up trays, and Arno standing behind the carving table chopping roast birds into quarters. Arno was Gran Nautha’s man and not one of the inn’s staff. The grizzled watchman normally spent his evenings seated at the table in the center of the room, nursing a mug of ale when not on his nightly rounds patrolling the streets.

  Gran finished basting a joint roasting over the spit in the huge brick fireplace, then turned to face Amali. Her round face glowed with sweat and there was a harassed air about her. She shook her head. “I’m shorthanded. Two of the serving girls came down with such strong giggle fits I had to lock ’em in the storeroom. What are you looking at? You’ve seen Amali before. Don’t keep customers waiting,” she added to the servers, and the girls scurried out.

  “It’s odd how magic takes some folks,” Arno said. “I’ve been hearing the sound of bells for hours. Gran’s got a tingling in her fingers. What are you smelling, girl?”

  “Flowers,” Amali said. “Or I was until I got a whiff of tonight’s cabbage soup.”

  “Help yourself,” Gran said.

  “My thanks. Then I’ll help with the scullery work.”

  “No need for that, girl.”

  Amali fetched herself a crock of soup and some bread and settled at Arno’s usual seat. “Business is terrible tonight anyway. I might as well make myself useful.” She spooned up half the bowl before asking, “What’s going on, do you know?”

  “Everybody knows,” Arno answered. When she frowned at him, he added, “Except you, it seems. Where have you been?”

  “She just got done with a five-day temple retreat,” Gran supplied for her. “She’s a good girl.”

  “I am not!” Amali answered indignantly. “Retreats are an inexpensive way of getting a bit of beauty rest. A girl in my profession needs her beauty rest.”

  Arno cackled. “It’s more restful to spend time on your knees than on your back, is it?”

  “Just so,” Amali agreed. “And bathing in the sacred spring does wonders for my skin.” She touched the dark red curls that were her pride and joy. “Vision smoke is good for my hair. Henna has no part in my beauty regime,” she added when Gran chuckled.

  “Did you have any visions?” Arno asked.

  “Seers and priestesses have visions. I had some odd dreams,” Amali told him. She was too practical to put any trust in visions, for they were too hard to interpret and had little practical value. “I dreamed about golden spirals and crystal horseshoes and other pretty nonsense. And no one has yet to tell me why there’s so much magic polluting the fine streets of Yorke tonight.”

  “It’s the queen mother, of course,” Gran answered.

  “The evil foreign sorceress,” Arno sneered. He looked like he was going to spit, but a stern glance from Gran stopped him from dirtying her spotless kitchen floor. “She’s up to no good, and never has been.”

  Arno was among the many citizens of Yorke that put no trust or faith in the young king’s stepmother, though she’d acted as regent for three years now without any undue disaster befalling the kingdom. She was indeed a sorceress, though that was hardly an uncommon aptitude in these parts. It wasn’t her use of magic that was despised, but the fact that she was a princess from Cresani whose marriage to the widowed old king had been part of the treaty to end the last war. They’d been wed but two months when the king died, leaving a son still too young to rule. The people of Yorke didn’t trust the Cresani witch, but they’d had no say in her ruling them while the king was a lad.

  “She won’t be regent much longer,” Amali observed. “The king’s not much of a lad anymore. Doesn’t he reach his majority soon?”

  “That’s what the magic’s all about,” Gran said. “They’ve all been invited to celebrate
the lad’s coming of age.”

  “They?”

  “All the lords and ladies, and their wizards,” Arno said. “Not just Yorkeists, but nobles from every nearby land. Gods know what she’s plotting to do under the guise of a celebration.”

  “I’ve heard nothing about this celebration.” Amali rubbed her chin. “Wouldn’t a party that grand take years to plan? I was only at the temple for five days. I should have heard gossip even there.”

  Gran smiled indulgently. “Oh, you think you know everything that happens in our fine rebuilt city of Yorke, and mostly you do. But the foreign witch doesn’t need to consult us common folk when she uses her magic to arrange a party.”

  Amali conceded her point with a nod. “But why all the magic buzzing and whirring around in the city?”

  “Wizards showing off for each other and entertaining their masters, most likely,” Arno said. “What do they care if they set the rest of us on edge as well?”

  “Foreigners don’t understand about how sensitive we are,” Gran added. “Only a few of them are born with the sight or the smell or all our other senses. I almost feel sorry for them.”

  “Well, I just hope no child conjures up any monsters in their dreams,” Amali said. “You know how dangerous that can be.”

  “Aye,” Gran answered. “Seeing is believing, and believing makes it real, as the old saying goes.”

  “I’ll have to remember to mention that at tonight’s meeting.” Amali finished her meal and stood up. She glanced at the tub full of dirty crockery on the wash table. “Shall I do dishes?”

  The serving girls came back in before Gran could answer, and both of them halted in the middle of the room to stare at Amali. One giggled. One pointed.

  “What is the matter with you young and foolish things?” Gran demanded. “Do I have to lock you two up as well?”

  “Can’t you see?” the giggler asked.

  “Is it a joke?” asked the other.

  “Where’s my dinner?” a man shouted out in the taproom.

  “More wine!” shouted another.

  Other, less distinct, but ominous rumblings of impatience could be heard beyond the door.

  “I’ll take care of them,” Amali said. She grabbed up a platter of meat from the carving table. “You clean dishes,” she ordered the giggler. “You grab a wine jug and come with me,” she told the other.

  On the way out something sharp nudged her in the back, but when she cast a warning glare over her shoulder she saw that the serving girl was nowhere near her.

  When the nudge came again a few minutes later, this time against her hip, she turned around and slapped the man seated nearest her. “Touch me without paying and you’ll be very sorry.”

  Caber the smith rose to his feet. “That’s right,” he growled. “Mistress Amali’s a whore, but she’s no tart. If you don’t have coin for her—”

  “It wasn’t me!” The man clutched at his cheek. “There’s a beast at her side.” He pointed wildly. “That’s what did it! A horned beast.”

  “You’re drunk,” Caber said.

  The other man staggered to his feet. “Aye, but I’m not blind.”

  “I see it,” someone at another table said.

  “What is it?” another voice chimed in. “It looks like it’s made from pearl and gold.”

  “You’re all drunk,” Amali said, growing tired of the debate.

  “And it’s closing time,” Gran announced, stepping out of the kitchen. “Finish up, then get up to your rooms or to your homes, but you can’t stay here any longer.”

  Innkeepers’ words were law within their premises, and Gran was known to swing a heavy cudgel. So even though it was early, the customers meekly and quickly made their way out. That is, all but the members of the district council. While the serving girls began to clean up the taproom, the council members gathered around the table nearest the fireplace. Among them were Amali, Gran, and Caber, along with the schoolmaster, the scribe, the healer, a priestess, and the baker.

  The city had been devastated by siege during the war three years before When it was rebuilt the inhabitants of the town had decided not to put too much reliance on protection and services from the rulers in the castle. There was nothing formal about the councils that had formed to look after the interests of each district. But the city was working, which it certainly hadn’t done during the siege, or in the months after.

  “What business do we have tonight?” Gran asked, once they were all settled and warm cider and sweetcakes had been passed around.

  “I’ve been thinking about the children,” Amali spoke up.

  Ophi the schoolmaster groaned. “Tell me you’re not suggesting we take in more orphans.”

  Amali frowned at the caustic interruption. “Actually, I was thinking about the magi—”

  A banging on the inn door interrupted her this time.

  “We’re closed!” Gran shouted when the door flew open, crashing against the inn wall “I hate drama,” she muttered. “It’s hard on the plaster.”

  An officer in a gold-trimmed scarlet uniform swaggered inside, a hand resting suggestively on his sword hilt. A trio of black-cloaked soldiers wearing the insignia of the queen’s guard followed at his back.

  “To what do we owe this honor?” Caber asked, rising to his feet. Standing, his was an impressive height indeed.

  Amali thought it politic to follow the blacksmith’s example no matter how unpopular the queen mother’s men were in the city, and also stood. The other council members looked disgruntled, but one by one they rose.

  The officer preened at the council’s show of respect. “Honor indeed,” he said. One by one he gave them a steely look. “I am here to discuss the small matter of a large amount of taxes.”

  “Taxes?” Gran asked. “What taxes?”

  “The queen mother has been asking the same thing, old woman. She’s been wondering where the taxes from this district have gotten to.”

  “We’re exempt from taxes,” the schoolmaster said. “The rebuilding—”

  “You were exempt.” The officer cut him off. “Until such time as your dwellings were rebuilt and your businesses reestablished.” He gave a significant look around the taproom. “This place is hardly a burned-out hulk.”

  “It was,” Gran said. “No thanks to your employer’s soldiers.”

  “Her Grace was not responsible for the war.”

  “Yorke didn’t start it,” Caber spoke up.

  “I don’t care.” The officer then put out a hand and one of the soldiers handed him a parchment roll. The officer dropped the parchment on the table, and stepped back. “I could be arresting you right now for illegal assembly and subversion, but it seemed easier to deliver this district tax assessment while all you so-called district leaders are in one place.”

  “Assessment!” Gran sputtered.

  “Arresting who?” Arno spoke up suddenly from the kitchen doorway. The watchman strode toward the officer. “Lad, have you any idea who you’re talking to? Do you know who these people are?”

  “Shopkeepers and tradesmen and troublemakers,” was the haughty answer. “And tax evaders.”

  “Heroes,” Arno asserted. He pointed at Gran. “Who fed the district when we were nearly starved out? And Amali, why she practically ran this city, and her barely more than a girl at the time.”

  “Amali?” The officer sneered, and behind him his men snickered. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of her.”

  “From all my satisfied customers, no doubt,” Amali spoke up.

  Arno was red-faced and looked ready to continue his tirade. Amali was too aware of the officer’s sword, and the men who backed him up. She crossed the room and put her hand on Arno’s arm.

  But the officer’s startled cry made her nearly jump out of her skin.

  She whirled to face him. “What the—?”

  “Unicorn!” he shouted. “It’s a unicorn!”

  “What’s a unicorn?” Arno asked.

  “Where?” Caber
demanded.

  “What kind of vermin is it?” Gran asked. “I won’t have vermin in my house.”

  “No, you old fool!” the officer shouted at Gran. “It’s a sacred beast. A holy animal.” He looked suspiciously at Amali. “What’s it doing here? What’s it doing with the likes of you?”

  Amali was confused, but she answered calmly. “Don’t pay so much attention and the sight will fade.” Her tone became singsong, soothing. “You’re not from Yorke, are you? You don’t understand how our magic works. Calm down, breath deeply, look away, and it will go away.”

  He continued to stare at whatever invisible being he found so upsetting.

  “It’s white as snow—whiter. Gold and crystal and white. So pure. Its eyes . . .” He shuddered and put a hand over his face.

  “You’re not listening. Sergeant, your commander is upset,” Amali said to one of the officer’s men. “Why don’t you see that he gets home safely?”

  The sergeant took her advice, and hustled the officer out.

  “What was that all about?” Gran asked once they were gone.

  “Magic,” Amali said, and sighed. “Some people just can’t handle their magic.”

  “Others saw it earlier,” Caber said. He rubbed the back of his neck, and peered around with narrow eyes. “What would a unicorn be doing here?”

  “But what’s—?”

  “It’s a very rare beast,” Caber explained when Arno and Gran asked as one. “It has healing powers, among others. It’s attracted—” He glanced sideways at Amali. “To virgins.”

  Amali gave him an arch look. “Then it’s not my fault, is it?” She looked at the rest of the council members. “At least this invisible beast got the guards to leave. Now,” she asked, hands on nicely rounded hips, “do we continue the meeting?”

  “No,” Gran answered immediately. She gingerly fingered the parchment. “I want to read this and think on it. We all need to think a bit before we discuss what to do about”—she made a sour face—“taxes.”