A Quest-Lover's Treasury of the Fantastic

by Margaret Weis

  It was the only mirror in the room.

  The door proved to be unlocked. It opened when he lifted the latch and, as he stepped back into the hall, it closed behind him.

  Continuing to his right, Ciro opened the next door and found himself staring into the kitchen.

  This time, he closed the door on his own.

  The door to his left should now lead to the bedroom but he was no longer willing to take that for granted. He checked the crystal. The wizardry moving the house about was not directed at him—a mixed blessing at best. For lack of a better plan, he continued moving to the right.

  A spare room. An unmade bed and empty wardrobe. One mirror, not very large and not what he was searching for.

  The kitchen again. With luck, the shadows had changed only because the light had.

  A spiral staircase leading up to the cupola, a small square room containing only a pile of multicolored cushions. Peering through one of the louvered shutters that made up the bulk of the walls, Ciro found himself staring out at a view from some fifty feet above the house. Without actually lifting his feet from the floor, the thief backed up and made his way carefully down the short—the far too short—flight of stairs.

  The wizard's bedroom.

  A bathing room. A dolphin mosaic decorated the tiles surrounding the sunken tub. The drying cloths were large, thick, and soft. From the variety of soaps and lotions, it was obvious that the wizard was no ascetic. There was no mirror.

  He hadn't found a workshop yet but figured that he would in time. He'd never known a wizard who wasn't happiest puttering about with foul smelling potions and exploding incantations.

  The kitchen.

  The staircase.

  The bedroom.

  A sitting room. Big brightly colored cushions were piled high on round bamboo chairs. A carafe, two glasses, and a pile of withered orange peels had been left on a low table. On one wall, floor-to-ceiling shelves had been messily stuffed with scrolls and books and the occasional wax tablet. There were more shelves on the opposite wall, but they were less regular. Most held a variety of ornaments ranging, in Ciro's professional opinion, from the incredibly tacky to the uniquely priceless. Out of habit, he tucked a few of the latter in his pockets.

  In the exact center of the wall was an open section. In it, covered in a black cloth, was an oval object about two feet across at its widest and three feet long. Holding his breath, Ciro flipped the cloth to one side.

  Even knowing what to expect, he almost jumped back.

  The demon trapped in the mirror snarled in fixed impotence as it had for decades.

  Ciro smiled, rewrapped the mirror in the cloth, tucked the bundle under his arm, unlatched one of the large windows, and stepped out into the garden, politely closing and relatching the window behind him.

  He never noticed the watching lizard.

  “Well, Emili, did you miss me?”

  The tiny gray cat cradled in Magdelene's arms hunkered down and growled.

  “Because you're too old to leave by yourself, that's why. You're lucky Veelma was willing to take care of you.”

  The path from the beach to the top of the headland was both steep and rocky although generations of use had worn off the more treacherous edges. As the wizard climbed in breathless silence, the cat kept up a constant litany of complaint, squirming free with a final wail the moment the summit was reached and disappearing under a tangle of vegetation the moment after.

  “I know exactly how you feel,” Magdelene muttered, sagging against the end of the seawall and pushing a heavy fall of damp chestnut hair back off her face. “There's no place like home.”

  Magdelene seldom traveled. It needed far more exertion than she was usually willing to expend and experience had taught her that the easier she made it for herself, the more exertion it invariably required. This particular trip had been precipitated by an extremely attractive young man who'd come a very long way to request her assistance—and had cleverly exploited one of her weaknesses by making the request on his knees. He'd almost made it worth her while.

  Reluctantly rousing herself, she crossed to the kitchen door, latched it open, and went inside. The wind followed her, only to be chased back outside where it belonged.

  Sometime later, cleaned, changed, and holding a tall glass of iced fruit juice, Magdelene entered the sitting room and rolled her eyes dramatically when the opened shutters exposed a fine patina of dust.

  “I've got to get another housekeeper,” she muttered, dragging a finger along the edge of a shelf and frowning at the resulting cap of gray fuzz. The problem was, every time she got used to a housekeeper, they died. Antuca had been with her the longest and the fifty years they'd shared would make it even harder to replace her.

  “On the other hand,” Magdelene told herself philosophically, “someone has to do the cooking.” Taking a long swallow of the juice, she crossed to the other side of the room. “Well, H'sak, did you …?”

  The section of wall was empty. Even the black cloth she'd thrown over the mirror before she'd left had been taken.

  “Oh, lizard piss,” said the most powerful wizard in the world.

  The Five Cities were five essentially independent municipal areas set around a huge shallow lake. Reasoning they had more in common with each other than with the countries at their backs, they'd formed a loose alliance that had held for centuries. The Great Lake was the area's largest resource and the agreement allowed them to exploit it equally. Overly ambitious city governors were traditionally replaced with more pragmatic individuals practically before the body had cooled.

  Two weeks to the day after the thief had stolen the mirror and twenty minutes after she'd dropped the cat back at Veelma's, Magdelene appeared in Talzabadhar, the Third City, clutching a black velvet pillow in both hands. Gratefully discovering that the contents of her stomach had traveled with her, she released the breath she'd been holding and took a quick look around.

  The picture embroidered on the pillow over the barely legible words “A Souvenir of Scenic Talzabadhar” had been more or less accurate. The small stone shrine, five pillars holding apart a floor and a roof, had been rendered admirably true to life. Unable to anchor the transit spell in a place she'd never seen, Magdelene had taken a huge chance using the pillow for a reference. Fortunately, it appeared to have paid off.

  Unfortunately, the shrine was not standing in isolation on a gentle green hill as portrayed but in the center of a crowded market square and the clap of displaced air that had heralded Magdelene's appearance had attracted the attention of almost everyone present. Fidgeting under the weight of an expectant silence, Magdelene looked out at half a hundred curious eyes.

  Then a voice declaimed, “She has returned!” and everyone fell to their knees, hands over their faces, foreheads pressed against the ground.

  Obviously, it was a case of mistaken identity. Magdelene, who had no time to be worshiped—although she had nothing actually against it—ran for an alley on the north side of the square.

  Someone peeked.

  “She goes!”

  Experience having taught her how quickly a crowd can become a mob, Magdelene ran faster. Ducking into the mouth of the alley, she tossed the pillow back over her shoulder.

  “A relic!”

  “I saw it first!”

  The sounds of a fight replaced the sounds of pursuit and Magdelene used the time gained to cover the length of the alley, round a corner, and run smack into a religious procession. By the time the first of her pursuers had come into sight, she'd borrowed a tambourine and an orange veil and was dancing away down the road, indistinguishable from any other acolyte.

  At the first cross street, she returned her disguise, regretfully declined an invitation to lunch, and went looking for a member of the city guard.

  “Excuse me, Sergeant?” When he glanced down, dark eyes stern and uncompromising under the edge of his helm, Magdelene gave him an encouraging smile. “I was wondering, who would you consider the best th
ief in the Five Cities?”

  “Ciro Rasvona.” His dark gaze grew a little confused, as though he wasn't entirely certain why he'd answered so readily.

  “And where would I find him?”

  The sergeant snorted. “If I knew that, I'd find him there myself.”

  “Maybe later,” the wizard promised. “I meant, which of the Five Cities does he use as his base?”

  “This one.”

  “This one? My, my.” Magdelene was a big believer in luck—luck, coincidence and just generally having life arrange itself in her favor. It made everything much less work and she was a really big believer in that.

  “If there's nothing else I can do for you …”

  “Maybe later,” she promised again and reluctantly let him walk on.

  Ciro Rasvona had an average set of rooms in an average neighborhood under another, average name. His neighbors, when they thought of him at all, assumed he worked for the city government, a belief he fostered by living as outwardly boring a life as possible. He met his clients in public places and he brought neither friends nor lovers home.

  His own mother hadn't known where he lived. This was fortunate since, during the trial, she'd cheerfully implicated everyone she knew in the hopes of clemency.

  All things considered then, Ciro was astonished when he opened his door and saw an attractive woman in foreign clothes sitting in his favorite chair absently fondling his rosewood flute. Leaving the door open in the unlikely event she turned out to be a constable and he had to make a run for it, he took a step forward, smiled pleasantly and said, “Excuse me. Do I know you?”

  Behind him, the door closed.

  Heart pounding, he whirled around, yanked it open, and ran back into his rooms, ending up considerably closer to the woman in the chair before he could stop.

  “I've come for the mirror,” Magdelene told him.

  His jaw dropped. “You …? You're …?”

  “The most powerful wizard in the world,” Magdelene finished when it seemed as though he wouldn't be able to get it out.

  “But you're … I mean …” He swallowed and waved one hand between them for no good reason. “You, uh, you don't look like a wizard.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. No pointy hat, no robe, no staff.” Magdelene sighed. “If I had a grain of sand for every time I've heard that, I'd have a beach. But we're not here to talk about me.” She leaned forward. “Let's talk about the mirror.”

  “I don't have it.”

  “You've sold it already?”

  “Not exactly.” When her gray eyes narrowed, he felt compelled to add, “I was hired to steal it.”

  “For who?”

  “My clients don't tell me their names.”

  “Oh, please.”

  Ciro supposed he might be reading a little too much into the way the wizard's hand closed around the shaft of his flute, but it sure looked uncomfortably like a warning to him. “All right, I know who he is. But I can't give you his name,” he added hurriedly. “I took an oath.”

  “You also took my mirror.”

  “It was a blood oath.”

  “A blood oath?” Magdelene repeated. When he nodded, she sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. The thief had turned out to be attractive, in an unprincipled sort of a way, with good teeth, broad shoulders, and lovely strong looking hands. And he played the flute. In a just world, she would have found him, retrieved her mirror, and suggested a way he could begin making amends. But he didn't have the mirror and a blood oath, unbreakable by death, or even Death, put a distinct crimp in her plans.

  Then, suddenly, she had an idea. “Could I hire you to steal the mirror back?”

  Ciro shook his head, a little surprised that he wanted the answer to be different. “I'd never be able to get it.”

  “You got it from me.”

  “Your pardon, Lady Wizard, but your door wasn't even locked. You relied too much on your reputation to protect you, forgetting that a reputation can also attract unwanted attention.”

  “Like yours?” Magdelene muttered.

  He bowed. “Like mine.”

  In the silence that followed, Magdelene considered her options and found herself a little short. Magical artifacts were essentially null and void as far as wizardry was concerned, and she couldn't force the thief to tell her where it was. Tossing the flute onto the table, she stood. “Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way.”

  Suddenly drenched in sweat, Ciro took a step back. “Lady Wizard, I beg you …”

  “Relax. I haven't time to deal with you right now.” She paused, one hand on the door and half turned to face him. “But I know you, Ciro Rasvona.” Her voice lingered over his name, sending not entirely unpleasant chills up and down his spine. “When this is over, I can always find you again.”

  A thief had no need for a conscience, but a remarkably well developed sense of self-preservation made a handy substitute. “I could show you where the mirror is. Actually taking you there wasn't covered by the oath,” he explained when both her brows rose. As they slowly began to lower again, he smiled nervously. “I, uh, guess I should've mentioned that before.”

  Wondering what had happened to his policy of never taking risks he could avoid—She'd been about to leave, you yutz!—Ciro led the way down the stairs and out onto the street, exchanging a silent bow with a neighbor in front of the building. When that neighbor raised a scandalized middle-class brow at the sight of his companion, he took her elbow and began hurrying her toward one of the hub streets, aware of eyes watching from curtained windows.

  “Did you really want to spend the rest of your life as a cockroach?” Magdelene asked conversationally.

  “Sorry.” Praying he was imagining the tingle in his fingers, he released her arm. “It's just that I've worked very hard at remaining unnoticeable and you're attracting attention.”

  A little surprised, Magdelene tossed her hair back off her face and turned to stare at him. “I'm not doing anything.”

  Ciro sighed. “You don't have to.”

  “They're not used to seeing wizards around here?”

  She was wearing an orange, calf-length skirt, red leather sandals, and a purple, sleeveless vest held closed with bright yellow frogging. “Yeah. That's it.”

  “I guess you should've considered the consequences before you stole my mirror.”

  “I took every precaution. You shouldn't have been able to track me.”

  “I didn't. You're dangling a Five Cities talisman from your left ear, so I came directly here.”

  Unable to stop himself, Ciro clutched at the earring. So much for that protective crystal he'd been carrying. “You had a spell on the house to capture my image.”

  “No. I had a lizard.”

  Both sides of the hub street were lined with shops, merchandise spilling out onto the cobblestones. Magdelene shook her head as she followed the thief through the glittering displays. “This is really unfair,” she muttered. “First time I make it to one of the Five Cities, and I'm here on business.”

  Ciro deftly snagged an exotic bloom from a hanging basket, tossing the vender a copper coin in almost the same motion. “Perhaps when you've brought your business to a close,” he said, presenting the flower with a flourish, “I can show you around.”

  “Are you sucking up?”

  “Is it working?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Should I keep trying?”

  “Couldn't hurt.” He really did have a very charming smile, Magdelene decided, tucking the blossom into her hair, and she'd never been very good at holding a grudge. “Is the mirror in the city?”

  “I can't tell you that, Lady Wizard.”

  “Call me Magdelene.” Titles implied a dignity she certainly wouldn't bother living up to. Stepping over a pile of mollusk shells, their pearly interiors gleaming in the sunlight, she rearranged the question. “Are we staying in the city?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I might just find H'sak in ti …”

/>   “It is Her!”

  “Oh, nuts.” Grabbing Ciro's arm, she ducked into the nearest shop.

  “What's going on?”

  “I'll explain later.”

  “How may I help you, Gracious Lady?”

  Magdelene flashed the shopkeeper a somewhat preoccupied smile. “Does this place have a back door?”

  “But of course,” he nodded toward a beaded curtain nearly hidden behind bolts of brightly colored fabric. “And on your way through, perhaps I can interest you in this lovely damask? Sale priced at only two dramils a measure. I offer a fine exchange rate on coin not of the Five Cities, and I deliver.”

  The most powerful wizard in the world hesitated, then sighed and shook her head. “Unfortunately, we're in a bit of a hurry.”

  “Because of the demon?” Ciro asked in an undertone as she pushed him through the curtain.

  From outside the shop came an excited babble of voices, growing louder.

  “Yeah. Him, too.”

  * * *

  “You appeared in the Hersota's shrine?” Ciro tapped his forehead twice with the first three fingers of his right hand—just in case. “No wonder you caused so much excitement. Her return has been prophesied by three separate sects.”

  “I didn't know it was her shrine, did I? It was just the only reference point I had in any of the Five Cities.” She peered around the corner, then led the way back onto the hub street some blocks from where they'd left it. “So what was the Hersota like?”

  “According to her believers, she was a stern and unforgiving demiurge who preached that hard work and chastity were the only ways to enlightenment.”

  Magdelene stared at him in astonishment. “And they want her to come back?”

  “I never said that I was waiting for her.”

  He sounded so affronted that Magdelene chuckled and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. There was muscle under the modest sleeve of his cream-colored shirt she noted with approval, and when he shot her a questioning glance, she answered it with her second best smile.