THE TWILIGHT DANCER

by Ardath Mayhar

  Something must be done, it was certain. He must write to the Coven of Familiars.

  The wizard's rheumatic fingers were shaky on the quill, whose worn point sputtered ink onto desk and beard equally. Yet he managed to write a message, which he addressed to THE DEAN, School of Familiar Arts, Larkhampton Street and sent off by messenger.

  As the man's heavy steps receded down the stair, Procopius found himself hoping the Dean had a suitable candidate for the position. Being unprotected for even a few hours made him shiver, for those dream-borne visions were becoming dangerous. An old enemy lurked behind them, intent upon seizing him in demonic claws and bearing him away.

  He had Mrs. Jenks make strong tea, so he would not fall asleep and dream. He had only just pulled himself from the toils of his last nightmare, and the thought of being lost in that maze of terror forever was enough to make his old heart flutter erratically.

  That was not a restful night. By dawn, Procopius was a jangle of nerves and a quiver of withered muscles. When a scratching came at the door, very early, he sat upright in bed and listened intently as Mrs. Jenks pattered to answer it.

  "Sir, it seems to be a cat," she quavered as she entered his room. "Be you wanting to let it into the house?"

  "Yes! Oh, indeed yes! Bring it to me at once," he mumbled, getting out of bed to dress. Before he had his jacket properly buttoned there was another scratching at his bedroom door.

  "Enter! Yes, yes, enter. And welcome," he said.

  A small gray shape moved forward into the room, sat neatly on its haunches, and began grooming its fur. In that wordless manner affected by familiars, she said, even while washing, "I am Hermione. The Dean sent for me in great haste, and I have scarcely had time to gather my wits. You are Procopius Magister? Former wizard to Percival, now deceased?"

  "Indeed. You are more than welcome," he began. "But I must give you instructions at once, for I am old and tend to doze off unexpectedly. If that should happen – when it happens – you must be alert. Alert and wary."

  She sneezed delicately, wiped a tuft of fur off her nose, and gazed into his eyes. "That is my profession, among other matters," she conveyed to him. "Although I have retired from my life's work, so desperate was your case that the Dean asked me, as a great favor, to see you through this traumatic period while they train another to assist you."

  Procopius smiled. So proper was her demeanor, so precise her attitude that he could almost see her as a human woman, a widow perhaps, consenting to help in his extremity. Her gray coat did nothing to change that mental image.

  "I sincerely thank you," he said aloud, holding out his hand.

  She rose and rubbed herself against it, purring softly. The feel and the sound of her soothed his anxieties, and he patted the cushion beside his table. "Make yourself comfortable, Madame," he said. "It is a pleasure to meet you.

  * * * *

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF HERMIONE:

  The Wizard's House

  Leehampton Road

  London

  First November

  I had Thought, in my later Years, to take my Ease while Teaching young Familiars in the School from which I took my own Training. The Dean welcomed me back with great Pleasure, and I found my Quarters and my Students equally Pleasing. No Notion of returning to Duty had I when the Dean called me into her Study, some Year and a Month after I took up Residence there.

  So Urgent was the Plea from Procopius, so Dire the Need, that I was Persuaded, despite my Reluctance, to take the Position, on a temporary Basis. A Wizard at the mercy of Nightmare is a Pitiable Creature indeed, and I could not, in good Conscience, see one of Good Reputation and great Age subjected to such Danger. In addition, his lost Familiar, Percival, had been one of my own Litter-mates, and his Loss was Painful.

  Procopius was One to Whom no Familiar had ever Applied in Vain. His Help and Kindness to those in my Profession was Legendary, and the Dean Herself had, more than Once, required his Assistance, over the Years.

  Upon meeting him, I found Myself impressed with his Demeanor. A life of Useful Work and Kind Thoughts marks itself upon the Brow indelibly. The withered Features spoke of Long Study and Weary Hours of Thought, wedded to Responsibility so Heavy that it boggles the Mind to Consider.

  I resolved at Once to Ward his Slumbers with total Attention. Until the Dean sends a Replacement, I shall Wake while Procopius Sleeps. The Fate suffered by Percival shall not overtake me Unaware.

  The Wizard's House

  Fifth November

  Although my new Master sleeps Frequently, and often ill Dreams trouble his slumber, there was no Serious Problem until Yesterday. I was lying Watchfully in my Basket near the Wizard's Feet when he began to Mumble and to Moan, his long-fingered Hands clenching spasmodically.

  I was up at once and climbed onto his Chest, setting my Face close to His. The distinct Scent of Demonic Approach came to my Nostrils at once. He was, indeed, in the Grip of one of the Walkers of the Night. At once I set my Claws against his Wrist, Pricking him with just the Proper Amount of Pressure to Rouse him from Dream.

  He did not Wake, though I increased my Efforts. At last, as he Moved Painfully and Groaned most Pitiably, I scratched him, drawing four Streaks upon his yellowed Skin. At the same Moment, I yowled into his Ear with all my Might; he Woke and sat Upright, shaking off the Dreadful Grasp of his Attacker.

  He knew at Once what had Occurred. Although his Breast still heaved with Effort and Emotion, he smiled at me as I regained my Position on the Floor.

  "My Gratitude, Hermione," he gasped. "You have saved me from my Enemy. He draws Nearer every Time he visits me, and without your Care he might well have taken me, this Night."

  It was True, I knew. I hoped devoutly that the Dean had chosen One of great Strength and Will to become this good Man's permanent Companion, for he was in great Need of constant Attention. At my Age, I knew myself to be beyond such Stressful Endeavor over a long period of Time, yet I resolved to Maintain my Guard until my Replacement might Arrive. Long Experience can overcome a Lack of Youth, I have found, but the Scent I caught of that awful Spirit that hunted Procopius made my Fur stand on End and caused me to Shiver from time to Time for a long While thereafter.

  Seventh November

  Little did I suspect, upon taking upon Myself this Task, how Beset Procopius might be by his Nightly Visitor. Not a single uninterrupted Sleep has the unfortunate Wizard taken since my Arrival, and it is shocking to Consider what might have Occurred had I not accepted this Assignment.

  My own Rest is more Easily acquired, for Mrs. Jenks remains Alert during the Day. Her Concern for her Employer was fully Aroused when poor Percival Died at his Post of Duty, and she has accepted our shared Burden Willingly. This allows me to Doze during daylight Hours, leaving me fully Aware in the Dangerous period of Darkness, when I Rest at the Foot of Procopius's Bed.

  Tenth November

  It Seemed that our Arrangement worked well, as the Housekeeper and I took Turns at Watching. This, unfortunately, lured us into a State of False Security. For several Days, it required only a gentle Touch upon the old man's Wrist to Rouse him from Dream, and I congratulated Myself upon the Efficacy of my System. Foolish Hermione! One would Suppose that after a long Life of dealing with Occult Matters I would be more Sensible.

  It was Mid-afernoon, and I was Purring quietly in my Basket, when Procopius gave a great Groan. I woke at once and leaped onto his Lap, and Mrs. Jenks trotted into the Study from the next Room.

  The Wizard was in deep Trance, his Limbs twitching and jerking, his face Agonized. The Sounds from his Throat were Frightening, and I clawed his Wrist desperately, trying to Wake him. He did not Rouse, and I began to feel keen Concern for his Welfare.

  As I put my Face close to His, a Change came over his fine but wrinkled Features. As if reshaped like Clay, the familiar Countenance altered and something Demonic glared at me when my Master's Eyes opened. The Stench of Demon was very near and most Real.

  Reflexively, I leaped backwa
rd and landed, Spitting and Hissing, at the Feet of Mrs. Jenks. She, always Earthy and Practical and skeptical of Matters Occult, now seemed Transformed. She caught me into her Arms and held me, both of us Facing the Creature that had Possessed Procopius.

  Her sturdy Body, her Warm Kindness, and her staunch Loyalty seemed to enter my own Physical Self, lending me Strength far beyond my own unaided Capacities. I stared into those terrible Eyes and that reshaped Face, feeling my Training and my Will rise to this Challenge. Bolstered by Mrs. Jenks, I bared my Teeth and hissed the Words of Protection.

  That raw Face quivered, and the Features seemed to lose their Shape for a Moment. Encouraged, I increased my Efforts and repeated the next Set of Words of Power, watching their Impact disturb the Being who had seized Control of Procopius.

  The withered Body shook as if with Ague, and the Face shifted between Expressions as the Two Struggled for Possession. My Efforts increased, as the Face of Procopius began to Emerge from the wrinkled Mass of Flesh, while his Body Struggled and Shook with Efforts of his Own.

  Mrs. Jenks, shaking with Fear, continued to hold me Close, though her Heart thudded with Terror. That staunch Lady, true to her Vow, was Determined to save her Master and was doing all in her Power to achieve that Goal.

  My own Energies, depleted with Age and long Years of Effort, would not have been Sufficient to Banish the Demon without her Aid. Together, we poured our Strengths into my Spells, routing the Creature that threatened Procopius.

  I Feared for the Wizard's ancient Body as it writhed and wriggled in his deep Chair. His Pain was terrible and it seemed to Reach Out to Us as we fought his Captor.

  Drained and quivering, I desisted at Last. Mrs. Jenks, with a faint Sigh, fainted away and crumpled to the Floor. I landed upon my four Paws and went at Once to see to my Master.

  Procopius had returned to his usual Guise, although he looked strangely Weakened and Spent. His Eyes, now holding his own Spirit, turned toward me as I climbed his Shoulder and looked into his Face.

  He was too weary to Speak, but I rubbed against his Neck and Purred comfortingly. He understood, and as Mrs. Jenks began to Rouse from her Swoon, he sank into the first Gentle and Untroubled Sleep that I had ever seen him enjoy.

  For the Time, his Demon is Dispatched into its own Realms, there to Lick its Wounds and try for another Opportunity. It is my Hope that my Replacement will Arrive long before that May take Place, for I know Myself to be unable to put Forth such Power again.

  Until the Dean relieves me from Duty, I am responsible for a pair of Invalids, for both Procopius and Mrs. Jenks suffered greatly as a Result of their Trials. A granddaughter of the Housekeeper has come to attend their Physical Needs.

  As for Myself, I move between their Bedrooms, attending to each, at regular Intervals, with the Touch of my furry Coat and the soothing Sound of my Healing Purr. The Time of Peace is needful, for my own Body suffered great Depletion, and I, too, am being Healed and Rested, as I complete my Duties in the House of Procopius.

  THE SCIENTIFIC METHOD

  (A Sequel to the legendary folktale, "The Frog Prince")

  Birrip raised his water-drop lens cautiously between two reeds. Once he positioned the drop of liquid correctly, he secured the under-water stems by digging them into the mud at the bottom of the pond and crawled up onto a lily-pad to adjust the focus. Peering through the lens with only one bulging eye at a time made this a bit bothersome, but Birrip had patience inherited from both the frog and human sides of his ancestry.

  Stories about the founder of their line had come down through many generations of his family, since the sudden change came about in his incredibly-great-grandfather. The Ancestor had been kissed by one of the Large People and suddenly he became one of them. That was shocking and not quite respectable, though Birrip suspected there might be some mystery about it that none of his kin had ever discovered.

  The hundreds of tadpoles the Ancestor helped generate before his change had grown into respectable frogs, never expecting – or wanting – to become Large People or to live on land. They had produced tadpoles of their own by the thousands and protected their offspring well. Few had been eaten by herons and trout and other predators. Now the pond was alive with Birrip's kindred, who had also migrated to other ponds, by way of the brook that flowed through on its way to the river.

  Birrip suspected that something inherited from the Ancestor caused his descendants to be very brave and intelligent. Other groups like theirs still fell prey to herons' long bills, while in this pond and those nearest it – Birrip looked about approvingly – the long-legged birds had been tamed.

  No other lake in the Kingdom, he was told by the herons who served as messengers between ponds, held inhabitants who studied the Large People scientifically. Other groups simply sat croaking on their lily pads and were caught by people in boats, who took them away to some mysterious fate. Only Birrip's family pond and its close neighbors were immune to such attacks.

  The reed-stem armor invented by Birrip's grandfather protected the bodies of his kin. So effective was the protection, when placed over their soft bodies, that in time the Large People who lived in the castle just visible in the distance had given up bothering their neighbors in the pond. This accounted for Birrup's ability to study them, secure on his lily pad, though somewhat awkward in his armor.

  He sighted through his lens, choosing the next window in the bottom row along the side of the castle. Every day when visibility was reasonably good he studied either the people moving about on the lawns or the interiors of the rooms visible through the wide panes.

  Faces sometimes swam into view there, and though they faintly resembled very homely frogs, there was enough resemblance to his own people to give him some sense of kinship. There was one particularly fat fellow who looked so much like Birrip's father it made him wonder if this might be one of the Ancestor's human offspring.

  Although there were many things about human habits that were total mysteries to Birrip, there were some he understood quite well. In the huge room behind the glass doors, humans squatted around a large flat surface and ate. Eating was something Birrip did with enthusiasm, whenever a fat fly came zooming past his tongue. That he could understand.

  Behind another wide window was a room filled with colored patches, which seemed to lie flat against the sides of the space beyond. Sometimes, when the sun was at the correct angle, he could see one of the Large People take down one of the pieces and unfold it in his lap, sitting for long spans of time simply gazing down at it. That was a true puzzle, upon which he often thought when he had the time.

  Smaller windows framed the faces of people leaning out and waving or shaking dust mops or trailing lacy handkerchiefs. None of these matters meant anything to Birrip, although he felt certain that he would soon begin to understand. Beings so similar surely must have more than eating in common with his kind.

  So secure had his people become that Birrip kept no watch upon his surroundings while he made his notes on a scrap of leaf. When a net swooped down and swept him up, he was taken completely by surprise. Dangling in its bottom, he found himself face-to-face with one of the small-sized Large People, whose eyes bulged with glee, making him look incredibly like Birrip's brother Byallup.

  The creature was dancing about, bobbling his terrified victim in the net and calling at the top of his voice, "Grandsir! Grandsir! Come see what I have caught!"

  Birrip had learned to understand the human language, during his years of study. The human tadpole was going to show him to an Ancestor of his own.

  By the time they reached the castle beyond the lawns he felt his stomach heaving. Only when the net was plunked onto a flat space (he quickly learned that this was called a table) and his world steadied again did the awful sickness leave him.

  A huge person came and bent over the table, staring into Birrip's eyes. His great voice boomed, "Malcolm, be very careful. Frogs are ... very nice creatures, and you would not want to hurt him. Get the large glass bowl
and put a bit of water into it. You may study this fellow for a bit, but then he must go back into the pond."

  Birrip turned to look at the small one, whose eyes widened. "But Grandsir," he protested, "I caught him. He is mine."

  The big one frowned, and even Birrip could see he was displeased. "I was once a frog myself," he said. "I understand how they feel. They belong to themselves, just as you belong to you and I belong to me. In fact, I have not had a good man-to-frog chat in a very long while. Go along to the parlor for your tea. You may come back, when I am done."

  Birrip found he could understand their words clearly. Now he sat in the glass bowl and stared up over the rim into the man's eyes. Something about those eyes seemed very familiar ...

  "I wonder," said Maxim, "if you might be one of the fellows I knew, back when I was one of you. Old Barrup was the head frog, then. Bibilip was my best friend. And there were all those lovely female frogs ... Pollip and Fiplip and Lollipop ... " he sighed.

  Birrip felt excitement growing warm under his reed-stem armor. Those were names from his own family tree! Was it possible that this – this was the Ancestor himself?

  It was hard for a frog to form man-words, but Birrip made a great effort. "Arr yoo tee un?" he asked.

  The man looked puzzled. "Did you actually speak?" he asked.

  Birrip nodded impatiently. Giving it his best, he repeated, "Are you te one? Te Ancestor who turn into a Man?"

  Maxim rose, knocking over his chair. He bent closely over the bowl and stared into Birrip's face. "I am the man who was a frog and was turned back by my Princess. Who – " he cleared his throat, almost like a croak. "Who are you?"

  Birrip raised one hand and counted his long, limber fingers. "Wun, too, tree-times grandson," he said. "Many tadpoles you leave behind in te pond. We not live so long as you."

  The Prince began to smile. "The frogs in my pond – they are my own family? How wonderful! I must make sure the children never trouble you again. But tell me about yourself. Why do you wear that?" He pointed to the armor.