by Jim C. Hines
Mel gasped, and her fingers loosened. Veka squirmed free and kicked her, knocking her down. Then she leapt to her feet and began to smash the ants on her forehead.
"What happened?" Mel asked. Her nose was bleeding where Veka had kicked her.
Veka rubbed her tooth. She had chipped the tip and her mouth was gritty with sand, not to mention a squirming ant or two. She grimaced and spat. "You know me," Veka said, pointing to the tunnels. "Always messing up the complex runes."
* * *
Veka watched as Mel used her magic to scrub the runes from her bed. Mel flicked her wand at tiny sand elementals who darted back and forth, grinding the stone smooth. Several ragged lines showed where Dakhan's ants had chewed through one of the outer runes, breaking the seal of slavery and freeing him from Veka's control.
"It's not fair," Veka muttered. "All that magic, destroyed."
Not that Veka would ever have been able to learn it. Dakhan's spell had been far too complex. When the Masters finished excavating the ants' nest, they had found runes extending ten feet into the rock and stretching nearly six feet across.
All that remained now was an ugly pit by the gates. A pit, and a lot of angry, homeless ants that had crept into the school and infested everything.
Veka stared at the ground. The other students didn't know what had happened, and the Masters weren't talking. Even if Veka told them, who would ever believe a goblin had helped destroy Dakhan's curse?
Mel clapped her hands, banishing the elementals, then sat down on the edge of the bed.
Veka walked toward the window. The movement startled Snick, who had been dozing in the sun. The ghost cat hissed and fled.
"What's wrong with him?" Mel asked. "He's been scared of you ever since we came back."
"How should I know?" Veka snapped. Mel didn't remember much about the fight, but Snick certainly did. Apparently he hadn't appreciated being levitated through Mel's head.
"Veka..." Mel bit her lip. "It's cloudy, but I remember you using magic to rip open the floor and expose Dakhan's spell. You saved me. Thank you."
Veka didn't answer. She didn't know how. No human had ever thanked her before, and goblins didn't talk to one another like this. "I saved me."
"Either way, I'm glad you were there." Mel stared into the distance until a shudder snapped her attention back to Veka. Even Veka could tell Mel's smile was forced. "I guess Dakhan's curse was no match for a goblin's fangs."
"That prophecy was nothing but a trick to get people to summon him," Veka said. She scraped her claws along her forehead. A cluster of ant bites spread across her brow.
"Maybe." Mel cocked her head. "Tell me, how are those bites doing?"
"They burn," Veka said.
"Almost like a crown of fire?"
Veka stopped in midscratch as she realized what Mel was saying. "You're mad."
Mel's lips quirked in a grin. "And have you noticed how scared Snick is of you?"
"The prophecy said death would fear the Prince of Os-Webra. Not a dead cat."
Mel shrugged. "These things are hard to translate precisely. And that was quite a powerful levitation spell. You've got potential, Veka."
Veka didn't answer. Mel was mocking her, the same as the rest of the humans.
Only her voice didn't have that nasty edge. And she was still smiling, baring those pitiful human teeth.
Veka? The Prince of Os-Webra? It was sheer madness. Almost as mad as a goblin trying to be a wizard. "You really believe that?"
"Come on," said Mel. "There are some aloe plants growing behind the school. The milk from the leaves should soothe those bites. There's just one stop we'll have to make on the way so I can teach you a spell."
"Why?"
"It's a simple summoning, one that should lure a few of those fire ants into a single spot." Mel's smile widened. "Unless the Prince of Os-Webra is too busy to learn a spell from a mere human?"
"Princess," Veka whispered. She shook her head. "The Masters dug up the hole. Let them clean it up."
"Even if we lure the ants into Jimar's bedsheets?" Mel asked.
Veka grinned so hard her fangs dented her cheeks. Mel had a wicked streak worthy of a goblin.
"A princess is responsible for the welfare of her kingdom," Mel added.
And Veka had come to Os-Webra to learn. She rose and headed for the door. "Let the lesson begin!"
_____
Author's Note: I wanted to explore what happened to Veka after the events of Goblin Hero. I knew she wouldn't stay in the lair; she was far too adventurous and ambitious for that.
Mel Lapin is the daughter of James and Alycia, who were first introduced in my Writers of the Future story "Blade of the Bunny." I wrote several other stories about the Lapin family, and they all had the same light, fun tone as the goblin stories. So when I was invited to write a story for Magic in the Mirrorstone, it only made sense to throw Mel and Veka together and see what happened.
Mightier than the Sword
My name's Isaac Sky. I spend fifty-one weeks a year doing acquisitions for a Chicago-area library.
The fifty-second week is when things get interesting.
I crossed the lobby of the Lakeshore Plaza Hotel, heading straight for table where an alien with a bumpy forehead, long black hair, and futuristic armor was stuffing registration packets. He wore a clip-on convention badge with a picture of a wizard and the words, There are some who call it...Timcon.
I traded a twenty for a one-day membership. He handed me a blue badge, which I clipped to my trenchcoat. His eyes went to the iron cage hanging from my right hip. "Nice spider."
I pulled my trenchcoat closed.
He glanced over his shoulder, then lowered his voice. "Don't let the hotel staff see. They get pretty uptight about pets."
"Thanks." I squinted at his con badge. "Larry, which way is the dealer's room?"
He pointed toward the east wing. "Looking for anything in particular?"
"A rip in the space-time continuum."
Larry didn't miss a beat. "Room parties are on the fifteenth floor. Check the pirate party in fifteen-twenty. They've got rum. We'll also be doing homemade ice cream at the pool tonight, if you're interested."
The drink was tempting. I hadn't been to a con in over a decade, and the presence of so many fans made my jaw clench.
I no longer belonged here, and I knew it. I listened as one group passed by, urgently debating the strengths and weaknesses of Eragon. Not one of them had the slightest idea how powerful—how dangerous those books could be.
No, that wasn't true. Someone had an idea. The council hadn't been able to identify our rogue libriomancer, but they had narrowed the location to this hotel.
I patted my spider's cage. "Come on, Smudge. The sooner we fix this, the sooner we can get out of here."
The dealer's room was a maze of tables, displaying everything from brass sculptures to leather brassieres. I made a beeline for the book dealer, a pleasant-looking man with gray hair swept back in a loose ponytail.
He was in the middle of a sale. Perfect. Stopping at the corner of his display, I unclipped the cage from my belt. I opened the small door, and Smudge hopped onto the stacked books.
An older fellow wearing a gaming T-shirt yelped and leapt back. A girl with fox ears whispered, "Cool!" I did my best to ignore them all.
Smudge was roughly the size of my palm. Red spots decorated his dark body. He scurried over the books, knowing exactly what I needed from him.
I reached into one of the many pockets sewn into my trenchcoat and pulled out a silicone cooking mitt.
"What's he doing?" asked the girl.
Smoke rose from beneath Smudge's feet. He hopped onto a row of books by Garth Mason. When he reached one with The Crystal Queen embossed in silver foil on the cover, he turned around to look at me.
The book burst into flames.
I was already there, scooping Smudge into my mitt and easing him into his cage. The bookseller was shouting, the girl was applauding, an
d someone was running for a fire extinguisher.
I hooked Smudge's cage shut, then patted out the flames with my mitt. "I'll take this one," I said, handing the smoking book to the dealer. I pointed to two other books with singed spider footprints. "Those too."
I set a pair of fifties on the table, which mollified the dealer somewhat.
Garth Mason. The name sounded familiar. I knew most of the names in the field, of course, but...
I grabbed the program book Larry had given me and scanned the guest list, spotting Mason's name halfway down the page. "Oh, hell. Not another author."
Few people have the inner strength to pierce the boundary between our world and the written word. We call ourselves libriomancers. The council keeps an eye out for those with potential. The first time one of us uses our power, it tends to be messy. I had vaporized a good chunk of my high school library.
Bad as a first-timer can be, authors are worse. Egotistical as hell, the whole lot of them. And when they realize how much power they hold in their pens...a part of me thought I'd be better off tracking Mason down and vaporizing him on the spot.
I searched the tables for familiar books. If our libriomancer was also an author, I needed to stock up. "Also this one by Pullman, and the Heinlein back there. The Bujold, too. Keep the change."
Out in the hall, I set the books on the floor and grabbed a bag of chocolates from my left breast pocket. I picked a large one to drop into Smudge's cage.
Sparks flickered along Smudge's legs as he stalked his prey. He circled the edge of the cage, then pounced. Chocolate dripped down his legs as he stuffed himself.
While he ate, I bent back the cover of each book, securing them with rubber bands so the pages were exposed before slipping them into various pockets. By the time I finished, I felt like a medieval warrior in full armor.
According to the program schedule, Garth Mason was currently doing a panel on "How to get Published," in the Ontario room. I read the back of his book as I walked. I had skimmed it when it came out a few months back, but the books tended to blur together after a while. This was typical fantasy crap, with goblins and dragons and elves and magic. One of these days, J. R. R. Tolkien was going to climb out of his grave and devour the brains of every hack who published a third-rate Xerox of his work.
I stopped outside of the panel to check on Smudge. His cage was warm to the touch, but not so hot as to burn the skin. Smudge heated up when he got scared, and he'd given me a number of burn scars over the years. He had also saved my life at least twice. I had learned to pay attention to his warnings. Right now he was nervous, but he didn't seem to think there was any immediate danger.
That changed the instant I opened the door. I could smell my blue jeans beginning to burn.
I sat down in the back, then hastily shoved the cooking mitt between the cage and my leg.
Only a handful of people had shown up to listen to the three authors at the front of the room. A slender, straw-haired man in the middle was saying something about waiting over two years to get a damn form rejection. A copy of The Crystal Queen was propped up in front of him.
"Is it true you're doing a fourth book in the trilogy?" someone asked.
"Daughter of the Queen." Garth Mason stared at me as he spoke, and he sounded distracted. "Should be out by summer."
I took a deep breath and adjusted my jacket. The inner pockets of my trenchcoat were devoted to books. The outer pockets held the essentials: Smudge's chocolates, my cellphone, and a chrome-and-gold laser pistol with a tiny nuclear-fueled power cell. I rested my left hand on the pistol's hilt.
"Mister Mason," I called out. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but—"
Red sparks leapt from Smudge's back. Mason swore and grabbed his book. He flattened his other hand, shoving it between the pages like a knife.
Even as I raised my gun, I couldn't help but envy the ease with which he reached between worlds. There was a time, years ago, when it had been that easy for me.
I pulled the trigger. Heat flushed through the gun, and a beam of brilliant blue illuminated the room.
The gun was on its lowest setting, and should have disintegrated the book. Probably a good portion of Mason's arm, too.
Instead, Mason somehow blocked the shot with his forearm. His shirt burnt away in an instant to reveal a bracer made of cloudy crystal.
When he pulled his hand from the book, he wore a gauntlet of the same crystal. I fired again, with no better results than the first time. He pointed at me, then clenched the fingers of his gauntlet.
By now both the audience and Mason's fellow panelists were fleeing the room. I followed moments later, tossed through the doors like a discarded toy. Footsteps pounded past my head. I tried to sit up, but when I raised my head, the world turned dark and the drumming in my skull hit a new tempo.
If I moved slowly, I was able to turn my head enough to check on Smudge. He clung to the top of his cage, still glowing faintly.
"Isaac?"
I looked up to see my bumpy-headed friend from registration staring at me, along with several hotel staff. I grunted something unintelligible.
This wasn't the first pummeling I had taken in the line of duty, so I knew what to do. I shoved my gun into my pocket, out of sight. Then I turned to Larry the alien. "I'm going to need Tylenol. Lots of Tylenol."
Larry helped me stagger into the Ontario room. Mason was long gone, of course. I sagged into the closest chair and dry-swallowed four pills. "Thanks."
"I'm trying to decide whether to call an ambulance or the police," Larry said, his voice level.
"Neither," I said. "Where did Garth Mason go?"
He ignored me. "One person says she saw you try to shoot Mister Mason. And I hear someone with a spider started a fire in the dealer's room." He glared at Smudge, who stared right back, then turned and began to clean himself. The smell of burning dust made my nose wrinkle.
"If you don't want to leave here in cuffs," Larry continued, "you need to tell me what's going on."
"I wish I knew." Mason had spotted me the instant I walked into the room. How had he known? And how had he deflected my laser? Mason was new to magic. He had to be, or else the council would have spotted him sooner. They might be a bureaucracy-loving gang of cranky old men and women, but they were good at their jobs. Mason shouldn't even have known other libriomancers existed, let alone recognized one on sight.
I reached into my jacket and tugged out my copy of The Crystal Queen. "Ever read it?"
"I've got a first edition in my room. I was going to get it autographed tomorrow." His forehead wrinkled with impatience, and the edge of his latex headpiece began to separate from the skin. I studied him, trying to evaluate the man behind the makeup. This was a hardcore fan, a grown man who paid money to dress up like a science fiction character. In other words, he was exactly the kind of person who might believe me.
"I'm going to show you something," I said, reaching into another pocket. I pointed my gun toward the front of the room, aiming at a steel water pitcher sitting on one side of the table.
"That's what you threatened Mason with?" Larry asked. "Nice. Very 'Golden Age.' Custom job?"
"In a way." I made sure the doors were shut, then fired a quick shot, burning a hole through the water pitcher and searing a black starburst on the wall. "I got it from L. Ron Hubbard. One of his books, rather." I frowned. "Or maybe it was Asimov. It's been a long time."
Larry's mouth moved, but it took several tries for him to form words. "Holy shit. You met Isaac Asimov?"
If I hadn't been in so much pain, I would have smacked him. Instead, I opened The Crystal Queen and pressed my index finger against the page. It took close to a minute for me to pierce the page, sinking my finger to the knuckle. "I told you, I got it from a book. The same way Mason pulled some sort of crystal gauntlet from his own book to deflect my shot."
Larry stared at the book. I raised it from my lap so he could see that my finger wasn't sticking out of the back cover, then pulled free.
<
br /> He turned back to Smudge. "And him?"
"He's a fire-spider. I brought him out of a fantasy novel a few years back. Can't remember the author's name. Another midlist hack, but the spider...Smudge was awfully well-written." I studied Smudge more closely. He had settled into a ball, legs tight to his body. He hadn't even finished grooming himself. "Are you okay, buddy?"
I offered Smudge another chocolate, but he ignored it. Maybe the fall had shaken him up, too.
"You spider has a sweet tooth?" Larry asked.
"Chocolate-covered ants. I make them myself."
Larry turned a little pale.
"Every book has power. The more widely read, the stronger the power. But Mason doesn't know what he's doing. If I don't stop him, he's going to get himself and a lot of other people killed." I stood, testing to see how painful the movement was. "We should check his room first."
"Can anyone do it?" His voice was hungry as he followed me into the lobby. He reminded me of myself a decade ago. "Can you bring characters through? Imagine sharing a meal with Gandalf, Valentine Michael Smith, and Paul Atreides." He looked like he was about to drop to his knees and beg me to start yanking characters from the pages like a magician pulling handkerchiefs from his sleeve.
"Intelligent beings don't manage the transition well."
"What do you mean?"
I snorted. "My first job was to visit a kid who had managed to pull a Smurf out of a comic book."
"What happened?"
"The more intelligent the mind, the harder it is to accept your world as real. The little blue bastard was convinced the kid was going to use him for some kind of magic spell." This had been before the council cleared me to carry my laser. "I was too late to help the cat, but I managed to save the girl."
"How did you stop him?"
I tapped my foot against the floor. "Steel-toed boots." I wondered if they had ever gotten the stain out of the carpet.
"What about Smudge?"
"He's borderline. Bright for a spider, but not intelligent enough to lose his mind. At least, not yet." I checked his cage again, but Smudge was still curled into a ball.