Morwen shook her head but did not go back outside. As long as the cats left Killer alone and didn't damage each other too much, it was better to let them settle matters among themselves. Frowning in concentration, Morwen reached into her sleeve and pulled out the sample jar of clover. She set it on the kitchen table, then turned around and went out through the door by which she had just entered.
The door now led into her study. Making that door-and the various rooms it led to-had taken Morwen a great deal of time and effort, considerably more than her sleeves, but it had been worth every minute.
She had added a library, a study, several bedrooms for visitors, a magic workshop, and a large storage area since she moved in, and all without using up any of the garden. And there was still space for three or four more rooms, if she needed them, before she'd have to add a second magic door.
Frowning slightly, Morwen skirted the cluttered desk and stopped in front of an oval mirror in the corner. The silvered glass was the size of a serving platter, and it was surrounded by a gilt frame three inches wide.
The effect was a little too elaborate for Morwen's taste, but when someone makes one a present of a state-of-the-art magic mirror, one doesn't put it down simply because it doesn't fit in with one's decor.
I suppose I'll get used to it eventually, she thought. After all, I only got around to hanging it this morning.
"All right, let's see if this thing works as well as he said it would," she muttered. Taking a deep breath, she said clearly, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I would like to make a call."
Immediately, the mirror turned milky white and a pleasant voice from somewhere inside the glass said, "What party are you calling, please?"
"The King of the Enchanted Forest," Morwen answered, impressed in spite of herself. Telemain had been right; this was an enormous improvement over the mirrors Morwen had used in the past. And on top of that, it was polite.
"One moment, please," said the mirror.
Almost before it finished speaking, the glass cleared. Morwen blinked, startled. The face looking out at her was dark brown, with bulging eyes and a wide mouth full of crooked teeth. "This is the castle of the King of the Enchanted Forest, you lucky person," said the face with a leer. "Nobody else is here to answer the mirror, so you're gonna have to leave a message with-oh, it's you."
By this time, Morwen had recognized the bad-tempered wooden gargoyle that occupied the upper corner of King Mendanbar's study. "Good morning, gargoyle. Do Mendanbar and Cimorene know how you answer their mirror?"
The gargoyle snorted. "It was her idea. She thought it might cut down on the stupid questions people ask."
"I might have guessed. Where are they? I've got some news they should hear right away."
"They've gone to the beach with Kazul," the gargoyle said in tones of disgust. "Work's piling up, but do they care? No! Do they even ask if it's a good idea? No! They just pack a bag of towels and take off.
Poof!"
"I see. In that case-" "He humors her too much," the gargoyle went on confidentially.
"She's healthy as a horse, but you wouldn't know it, the way he fusses over her. And I'm going to have to put up with it for another six or seven months, at least! What he'll be like when the baby actually arrives-well, all I can say is that I'm going to have a full-time job trying to see that the kid isn't spoiled rotten."
"I expect Cimorene will help," Morwen said. "How soon will they be back?"
"How should I know? I'm not a secretary."
"Well, as soon as they arrive-either of them-tell them that I've reason to think that there's a wizard running around in the forest."
The gargoyle's eyes widened, making him look even uglier than before.
"A wizard? Hoo boy?"
"I'm going to call Telemain next," Morwen went on. "If we're not here when they call back, tell them to come on out anyway. The cats can show them how to find us."
"I bet," the gargoyle muttered. "Anything else? 'Cause if there isn't, I'm going back to sleep."
"That's all," Morwen said, and the mirror clouded over. As soon as it cleared, she repeated the rhyme and snapped, "Telemain," in response to the mirror's polite question.
This time it took much longer for the glass to clear. When it did, Telemain's face scowled out of the mirror. His ferocious expression lightened only fractionally when he saw who was calling.
"Oh, hello, Morwen! Will this take long? I've just set up an exceedingly sensitive spell to test the stability quotient of-" "It's wizards," Morwen interrupted. "Well, one of them, at the very least, though in my experience whenever one turns up a half-dozen more are sure to follow. They're worse than cockroaches."
"You're in a poor humor this morning." Telemain ran a hand across his neat black beard, a sure sign that he was interested but didn't want to show it. "What about this wizard?"
"He appears to have been poking around near my home," Morwen said. "Or so I conclude from the splotches his staff left in the moss."
Telemain shook his head. "That is quite impossible. The warding enchantment that Mendanbar and I worked out keeps wizards from absorbing, manipulating, utilizing, or controlling any portion of the magical basis on which the Enchanted Forest is founded. So even if a wizard were unwise enough to enter the forest, his staff could not possibly leave, er, 'splotches in the moss."" "I know it's supposed to work that way," Morwen said. "But the splotches are there. So is a six-foot rabbit-this wizard is careless as well as nosy and impossible.
If you don't believe me, come and look at them yourself."
"I believe I shall," Telemain said. "It'll only take me a few minutes to set up the transportation spell, and firsthand observation is always superior to reports from even the most reliable of witnesses. Now, let me see; I had better bring the microdynometer, and some detection instruments, and-" He turned away, muttering to himself, and the mirror blanked abruptly. Morwen rolled her eyes.
"He's in rare form today," said Aunt Ophelia from behind her. "What was that about 'reliable witnesses'?"
Turning, Morwen saw the tortoiseshell cat standing just inside the open study door. "Since it came from Telemain, I'd have to say it was a compliment."
"Someone should take him in hand before he talks himself into a real mess."
"He can take care of himself," Morwen said. "If he couldn't, someone would have murdered him years ago. I've been tempted a time or two myself." Out of habit, she glanced around the study to see if there was anything she needed. Then she walked out to the kitchen and picked up the can of paint she'd abandoned there after Archaniz's visit. With a little luck, she could finish touching up the sign over the door before any of her visitors arrived.
4
In Which Morwen and Telemain Argue and Killer Discovers the Perils of Mixing Cosmetics and Magic
By the time Telemain appeared in the front yard, Morwen had finished the sign and was cleaning her brush. He did a tidy transportation spell, Morwen had to admit, even if her own taste ran more to flying.
The passage hadn't even ruffled his dark hair. He'd clearly come prepared: The many pockets of his open knee-length black vest were bulging, and so were the pouches that hung from his wide black belt.
Seven magic rings glittered on his fingers, three on his left hand, four on his right. His bright blue eyes were alight with anticipation.
"Well, it's about time," Aunt Ophelia said acidly as he walked up the porch steps.
"Hello to you, too," Telemain said, nodding far more politely than he would have if he'd understood her comment. "There you are, Morwen! Where are these hypothetical wizards of yours?"
"I bet he doesn't even know which one of us you are," Scorn said from the porch rail. "Hypothetical wizards, indeed!"
"What's that?" Fiddlesticks shouted from inside the house.
On the window ledge, Jasmine yawned, curling up her tongue and stretching her head back. Then she called back, "Telemain's here."
"Who's here?" Fiddlesticks poked his head around the e
dge of the door. "Telemain! Chaos, Murgatroyd, Trouble, Telemain's here!"
"Chaos and Trouble are watching that rabbit, "said Miss Eliza, in a tone that indicated clearly that she would have liked very much to call it something else but was far too polite to actually do so.
"If I knew where the wizards were, I wouldn't need your help," Morwen said to Telemain. "The dead spots in the moss are about twenty minutes' walk from my back garden, if the forest hasn't moved them."
"Twenty minutes! Morwen, I don't have time-" "I'd have told you to transport straight there, but I don't think you've been to the place before, and there's no sense in taking chances. Besides, it'll only take two minutes by broomstick, even riding double and with an extra load."
Telemain shook his head. "No. No. Absolutely not. I have no intention of riding on that uncomfortable contraption of yours ever again. Once was quite enough."
"Wimp," said Scorn.
"You only think broomsticks are uncomfortable because you insist on riding astride," Morwen said to Telemain. "If you'd sit sidesaddle, the way you're supposed to-" "No!"
"Well, if you really want to hand-carry a bucket of soapy water mixed with a little lemon juice on a twenty-minute walk-" "What? Morwen, you didn't say anything about buckets."
"Water?" Fiddlesticks sat up very straight, his nose twitching.
"Buckets of water? With soap? Maybe I won't come with you this time, either, Morwen."
"I thought the buckets were obvious," Morwen told Telemain. "If there are wizards around, I want to be able to get rid of them in a hurry."
And the only way to do that, so far as anyone knew, was to dump a bucket of soapy water mixed with a little lemon juice over the top of them. For some reason, this made them melt into a gooey puddle, and it usually took several days for them to put themselves together again.
Cimorene had discovered the method by accident, back when she was living with the dragon Kazul.
"Soapy water," Telemain muttered. "Buckets. I still say it's terribly inelegant."
"If you'd finish working out a spell to do the same thing, the buckets wouldn't be necessary," Morwen pointed out.
Telemain flushed. "I've designed a prototype, but it requires the immediate accessibility of a target. It has therefore been impossible for me to run the necessary tests to ascertain its effectiveness."
"What?" said Fiddlesticks.
"He's invented a spell for melting wizards, but he can't tell whether it works because there aren't any wizards around to try it on," Miss Eliza said.
"Oh. Why couldn't he just say that?"
"Because that's how he is," said Aunt Ophelia.
"We still need the buckets," Morwen said to Telemain. "I haven't the slightest objection to your testing your new wizard-melting spell on any wizards we run across, but I want to bring something that I know works, in case your spell needs some adjusting."
"Reasonable." Telemain rubbed his chin thoughtfrilly. "But I still categorically refuse to travel on that broomstick of yours."
"Morwen?" Even muffled by the front door, Trouble's tone was clearly far too casual, and when he strolled out onto the porch Morwen felt a strong twinge of misgiving. Every whisker dripped the kind of deliberate unconcern that usually meant he'd been living up to his name.
"Excuse me a moment, Telemain," Morwen said. "What is it, Trouble?"
"You know that rabbit you wanted us to watch?"
Morwen's misgivings deepened. "Yes?"
"Well, he's kind of upset," Trouble said. "Murgatroyd thought I'd better come tell you."
If Murgatroyd thought Morwen should be told about it, it was probably serious. Not urgent, though, or he'd have come himself, at a dead run.
And he didn't expect Morwen to be happy about it, or he wouldn't have sent Trouble. Morwen sighed. "What is Killer upset about?"
"Oh, things. I wouldn't have bothered you if Murgatroyd hadn't insisted."
"Such a fuss about a rabbit." Aunt Ophelia sniffed.
Trouble studied the porch roof, as if he were hoping to spot a fly.
"Not exactly ."
"I see." Morwen turned to Telemain. "I appear to be needed in the garden. You're welcome to come along."
"Certainly."
All of the cats followed them, except Jasmine, who had fallen asleep on the window ledge, and Jasper, who was presumably still napping under the porch. When they reached the garden, they found the grass inside the gate trampled flat and a six-foot donkey with a blotchy brown-and-white coat standing next to the vegetable patch. The donkey wore a mournful expression, and half a cabbage leaf was stuck to the side of his muzzle. The green cabbage directly in front of him was missing a large chunk from its left side.
"Hello, Killer," Morwen said to the donkey.
"I thought Killer was a rabbit," Telemain said, frowning in mild puzzlement.
"He was, until he started eating my cabbage." Morwen eyed the donkey reprovingly.
"He ate a cabbage?" Fiddlesticks said, horrified. "Why would he do that?"
"I was hungry," said the donkey. His tail switched and he jumped, startled .
"Hmph," said Aunt Ophelia. "Just what I'd expect from a rabbit."
"Yes, you'd think anyone would have more sense than to nibble on plants in a witch's garden," Miss Eliza said.
"I thought the gray cat said it was all right. And it tasted very nice.
Almost spicy. And the crunch-" The donkey stopped as all the cats glared, and his ears drooped. "I must have misunderstood."
Morwen glanced around. Trouble was nowhere in sight. "I don't think you misunderstood him at all." She looked sternly at Chaos and Murgatroyd.
"Why didn't you stop him?"
"You've got plenty of donkey-cabbages," Chaos said. "And donkeys are nearly as stupid as rabbits, so it's not as if Killer lost anything by it."
"I think it's a definite improvement," Murgatroyd said, nodding.
"A six foot donkey doesn't look nearly as silly as a six-foot rabbit," Aunt Ophelia put in.
"Seven feet, eleven inches, counting the ears," said the donkey, twitching them. "I always know how big I am."
"That is not the point," Morwen told the cats. "You were left here to prevent any untoward happenings. This is an extremely untoward happening.
I am seriously displeased."
"And you know what that means," Scorn said. "No fish in the food bowl tonight."
"No fish?" Fiddlesticks looked up at Morwen with large, distressed eyes. "Not even for me?"
"I'm sorry about this, Killer," Morwen said. "Those cabbages aren't supposed to work on rabbits." She paused, considering. The red cabbages on the other side of the row were an antidote, but she wasn't sure she wanted to mention that. It was entirely possible that they wouldn't work, or that Killer would end up turning into a twelve-foot-tall rabbit or something even more inconvenient.
"Can't you do anything?" the donkey said. "It's not that I mind being a donkey, exactly, but I don't like what it did to my coat."
"He is awfully blotchy," Scorn said. "Is it supposed to work on rabbits, Morwen? And this rabbit was already under the influence of a magnifying enchantment. So the layered interaction of the two magical energies produces a synergistic effect…"
Killer looked at Telemain, and his ears twitched forward. "Is that why my coat is all funny?"
"Highly unlikely," Telemain said. "The two spells seem to affect primarily the parameters of form and stature, rather than coloration."
Morwen stared at the donkey. Suddenly her eyes narrowed. "Killer, do you dye your fur?"
"I, um-well, actually…"
"I thought so. That's what your problem is. Spells are hard on cosmetic changes. The dye job lasted through one spell, but now that you've been enchanted twice it's wearing off."
"Oh no," said Killer. "You mean if you turn me back into a rabbit, I'll look even worse?"
"Probably," Morwen said. "And you won't be able to redye it until the residue of the spell wears off. That usually takes about s
ix weeks."
"How do you know all this?" Telemain asked her.
Morwen gave him a look. "Why do you think witches never color their hair?"
"This is terrible." Killer's ears waggled in distress, and several of the cats snickered. "I won't be able to hold up my head. This is awful. Can't you do anything?"
"Not right now," Morwen said. "We have some wizard hunting to do.
And if you're willing to help, you may have solved a little problem for us."
"I don't mind being helpful," said Killer. "What problem?"
Morwen turned to Telemain. "You can ride him instead of the broomstick.
He knows how to find the clover patch, and at that size he ought to move fairly quickly. I'll take the broomstick and a bucket and meet you there. And you can study the interaction of the size– and shape-changing spells on the way."
Less than ten minutes later, Morwen, Telemain, and Killer met at the half-eaten patch of clover. As Morwen landed her broomstick-with some care, so as not to spill the bucket she had hung on the front end-Scorn and Fiddlesticks slid out of the bushes and sat down at the foot of the nearest tree. The two cats wore identical smug expressions.
"What are you doing here?" Morwen said.
"We all discussed it and decided you might need help," Scorn replied.
"Aunt Ophelia and Miss Eliza came last time, Trouble and Murgatroyd and Chaos are in disgrace because of the cabbages, and Jasmine didn't want to be bothered. So it came down to the three of us."
"Three of you?"
'Jasper's around somewhere."
"I came because I'm very brave," Fiddlesticks announced. He rose and sauntered over to the clover patch. "Don't you think I'm brave, Morwen? What's all this prickly stuff?" He sniffed at the bare stalks on the eaten portion of the patch.
"That's Killer's clover patch," Morwen said. "Don't eat any of it."
'Eat it?" Fiddlesticks looked up, green-gold eyes wide. "Why would I eat it? It's some kind of plant."
"We know," Scorn said. "Shut up."
Telemain slid down from Killer's back, stepped quickly to one side, and shook himself as if to check that everything still worked. Then he walked over to Morwen. With a glance over one shoulder to make sure Killer was out of hearing distance, he said in a low voice, "Morwen, this is absolutely the last time I agree to one of your… your ideas. That beast has a gait that would rattle the teeth out of a troll."
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