A Familiar Tale
"Where the hell have you been, Shimmer?" Darima said, slamming the spellbook she was reading back on the table.
Shimmer raised expressionless eyes, one green, one blue, to Darima's angry face, but made no reply, sitting down on the windowsill she entered through. It mattered not at all that the window was closed. It was part of the magic of cat kind that there were no doors or windows locked to her.
"Well?" Darima insisted, tapping a satin-shod foot. "Where?"
Humans are the worst busybodies, Shimmer purred in her mind. I don't see my whereabouts being your business. She padded silently along the windowsill and then leapt lightly to the table Darima sat beside.
"When a potion I've been working on all yesterday hardens to useless muck because my familiar decides to choose that night to go explore, it damn well is my business. It's my job on the line, here. It's bad enough I have to waste my considerable talents . . . "
Our considerable talents, Shimmer corrected.
"Our considerable talents on a trivial love potion for the king's pimply son, but, since the first potion blew up in our faces, we have to do it more than once." She pointed an accusing finger in Shimmer's face, which Shimmer was washing unconcerned.
So?
"So, you never admitted what went wrong, Shimmer. It's not like you to let a spell go awry."
For the first time, Shimmer looked a little guilty. It's not my fault I'm not a truly black cat, she said defensively, stroking down fur black at its base but lightening to a silvery gray at the ends.
"You can do anything a black cat can do and you know it. I think you just weren't concentrating!"
Maybe you weren't concentrating.
Darima was forced to choke down a hot denial, well aware that this was far more likely. It did not, however, improve her temper. "So where were you?"
Jealous? You have been irritable ever since Sendat left, Shimmer observed dispassionately.
"Sendat was a moron," Darima snapped.
I mentioned that when you first met him, if you remember.
A sudden suspicion struck Darima. "Did you go and get pregnant last night?"
I don't have to answer these personal questions, Shimmer huffed.
"Did you?"
Silence.
"Damn it, Shimmer, you know it screws up everything when you're pregnant. We're liable to give Prince Quorn a potion that will turn him into a bumblebee instead of a love potion!"
I didn't get pregnant last night, well not entirely, Shimmer said with a touch of apology.
"Shimmer! So that's what happened with the last potion! Darner take you, cat. I'll look the fool if I can't produce a simple love potion. What kind of court sorceress am I?"
I'm in heat. What kind of cat would I be if I worried about your pride at a time like this? It's not as though your job were hanging on this. Sorceresses of your caliber are few and far between and King Morthand surely knows this.
"And he pays dearly for the privilege, too. You can't explain that sorcery requires the abilities of a talented cat, in proper non-pregnant health, and a magically adept chemist with a sensitivity to that cat's mind. He just knows he want magic when he wants it. His son, too."
Take his son to bed. You're considered pretty enough by human standards. That should quiet him for a while . . . if you're any good at it.
"Ugh! Spare me! Even if my job was on the line . . . no! And what do you mean if I'm any good at it?"
Amber, the wartiger stretched out behind Darima's chair, roused from sleep, lifting his massive head from his huge paws. Someone's running up the steps, he told her in his deep mental rumble.
Darima stretched an affectionate hand to his head and scratched beneath his chin, inches from the seven-inch teeth. "It's too bad tigers can't do magic," she mourned.
Tigers have better things to do than waste their time with magic, he said proudly.
Shimmer jumped to the floor and regarded him skeptically. True. After all, one can't have brains and brawn.
Amber made a swipe at her, but she magically disappeared, reappearing on the windowsill. Alright, smarty-cat, why didn't you know someone was running up here?
I did, but I didn't feel the need to act like a door-chime.
You're a pest, Amber snarled, bested.
You're only upset because I'm in heat and you're too big to do a thing about it!
Amber's rich laughter rolled through their heads. Talk about delusions of grandeur! You impertinent little bitch!
Oh! Shimmer jumped back to the floor, hair raised all over her body and tail twitching furiously. There was no greater insult for a cat. You'll see what this little cat can do, you stone-headed . . .
"Damn it, you two, will you behave?" Darima said tiredly. There was an imperious knock on the door. Darima gestured and Shimmer leapt to the waiting shoulder while Darima straightened her gold crusted robes.
"Enter," she said softly, and Shimmer mentally opened the door . . . partway before it began to close again. Darima kicked it open with her foot and directed a glare to her familiar.
Darima quickly schooled her features into a model of lofty unconcern that revealed none of her surprise when she recognized the short round figure of her King and employer. Before haughty words of greeting could find their way to her lips, the King pushed the door shut and wrung his hands.
"Witch, this is desperate!" the King wheezed uneasily as more than the usual amount of sweat poured down his face.
"Please, Your Majesty, I prefer sorceress," Darima said disdainfully from her superior height. "What can your lowly servant help you with?"
"Lowly servant?" the King asked, confused. Perhaps he was recalling the exorbitant salary his sorceress demanded or the lack of humility in her manner. He looked around the room owlishly, as if for someone else. "Damn it, Darima, this is not for the maid's ears. Send her away!"
From the corner, Amber's earthy rumble echoed across the room. The King sent a glance of terror in the animal's direction and swallowed.
Darima stifled a sigh. "She is gone. How can I aid you, Your Majesty?"
"A dragon! You must help us!"
"You wish me to conjure a dragon? Whatever for?"
"Conjure a dragon? What kind of nonsense is that? Why would you bring another dragon here when there is already one, smashing and tearing up the countryside? Why I would want another drag—? Can you do that? Call up a dragon? Can you specify colors and sizes?"
"Ah, you want to be rid of a dragon. That makes more sense." She glanced disgustedly at Shimmer. "I can fit purging a dragon into my schedule in two months' time if you'd like."
"Yes, a small dragon, say ten feet long, with green and gold scales—like the royal colors, you know—in a golden cage or better chained to the throne with a golden chain! Ah!"
"Your Majesty?"
"Eh? What? Oh, yes, the marauding dragon. Too big, really. Pity. Why they say it's 70 feet long and breathes fire. One can't very well chain a beast of that size to a throne. Not safe. You'll have to get rid of it. Say, by nightfall."
Darima gasped. "Your Majesty, even under the best of circumstances, I couldn't conjure a spell that quickly. I must gather ingredients, look up incantations. Yes, and there is another problem. Today marks the beginning of, er, Sorcerer Hiatus where one is restricted from performing magic for two months."
"Sorcerer what? You never made mention of this before."
"It only happens every ten years," Darima said through gritted teeth, fixing her familiar with a horrible stare.
"Why would I pay a salary for two months in which you'll be useless? It should have been mentioned before."
Darima closed her eyes in pain. "I will, of course, forgo my salary for the two months I am unable to be of service."
"That's all well and good for you, but what about the dragon? Can't very well have a dragon going around eating unsuspecting citizens and destroying farmland while we sit here, comfortably ensconced in the castle, idle."
&
nbsp; "But, Your Majesty . . ."
But the King lost himself in righteous anger at this ill-usage. He drew himself to his full height, some four inches above five feet, and fixed Darima with a cold regal eye. "I won't stand for it! I'm the King! You must either dispose of this dragon forthwith or I will immediately dispose of your services."
"Forthwith . . . ?" Darima queried faintly.
"By tomorrow." With that, the King turned on his heel and all but went headfirst into the door. Darima, distracted, forgot appearances and hastened to open it by hand.
Darima leaned against the door, brow furrowed in thought. Shimmer rubbed her head against Darima's cheek and purred apologetically. Darima wasn't impressed. "Well, cat, what have you got to say for yourself?"
Oops.
Conjuring Dreams or Learning to Write by Writing Page 28