A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  She was tempted to dive under the covers and get warm, but she picked up the comb on the bedside table instead, and ran it through her tangles. She was amazed at the change in her hair and she’d noticed changes in her body, as well. She didn’t need a looking glass to know that her thin arms and legs had filled out, and her breasts were fuller.

  She paused, comb in hand, and eyed the wardrobe. She’d avoided mirrors for years. Gray-skinned and gaunt, hollow-eyed and hollow-cheeked, the reflection she’d always seen was ghastly, another reminder of her chronic illness, and who needed that?

  But she wasn’t ill anymore, and Trudy said she was lovely. Raine didn’t doubt the inn-keep was being kind, but she couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like now.

  She laid the comb on the table and strode to the wardrobe. Taking a deep breath, she opened the doors and gazed into the mirror hanging inside. A stranger stared back at her, a full-lipped, round-cheeked young woman with a rosy complexion and dark, wildly curling hair.

  This was terrible, far worse than she’d imagined. All these weeks, and Mauric hadn’t warned her. He could have, but he hadn’t.

  Raine opened her perfect red lips and screamed.

  Chapter 30

  Stone Surprise

  The next morning, Raine stood on a ferry headed for the Dog’s Head with her gaze on the distant shore. The ferry was a bulky, unwieldy conveyance and, while it inspired more confidence than Kaffo’s flimsy garpolla, it was still a boat. The problem with boats, in Raine’s estimation, was they required water.

  But in the daylight the bay didn’t seem nearly so bad, and Raine couldn’t wait to explore the Great Market. Gertie had waved aside her protest that she had no money.

  “Of course, you don’t have money,” the troll said. “It’s not as though you can run down to a moneychanger from Urp. No worries. Bree will spot you, won’t you, Bree?”

  Brefreton had grunted in response and Raine had set her scruples aside. She was going shopping. It was an indulgence she’d seldom enjoyed, the sick kid, perennially homebound, perennially homeschooled. Hard to schlep around a mall when a trip from the bed to the bathroom wore you out. But she wasn’t sick anymore. She felt wonderful.

  “She’ll need a new wardrobe,” Gertie had said, sipping a tankard of ale, her second that morning. “Trudy’s things don’t fit her.”

  Raine smoothed the skirt of the dress Trudy had given her. The flounced hem of the serviceable green gown hit her above the ankles. “It is a little short.”

  “Hmm,” Brefreton said. “You’ll need new shoes, as well. You look like a fish wife in those great clomping boots.”

  “And a wizard stone,” Gertie had put in. “Don’t forget the wizard stone.”

  Standing at the rail of the ferry, Raine felt her stomach tighten. The wizard stone part of her shopping expedition made her nervous. Gertie had stressed the importance of matching the stone to the wizard. What if she picked the wrong one? She didn’t want to make a mistake. A gust of wind lifted the hooded shawl from her shoulders, and Raine tightened the woolen wrap with a ripple of guilt. Trudy had been kind to loan her the gown and shawl, and she’d repaid the innkeep’s generosity by causing an uproar.

  “Still fratching about last night?” Mauric asked, joining her at the rail.

  “Yes. I feel terrible.”

  “Not to worry,” Mauric said. “A few of the guests stayed, and Bree reimbursed Trudy for them what bolted.” He paused, adding, “And for the windows. Did you know you could shatter glass with your voice?”

  “Hush—of course not.” Raine glanced over her shoulder. Brefreton stood apart from them on the other side of the boat. Away from her, more like. Far, far away. “He’s still unhappy with me.”

  Mauric grinned. “Did you see his expression when he burst into your room last night? Don’t think I’ve ever seen him so flustered. Thought the Dark Wizard himself had you—roasting you alive from the sounds of it.”

  “It’s your fault,” Raine said. “You should have told me.”

  “I did tell you. I said you were attractive, remember?”

  “I thought you were joking.”

  “Well, I wasn’t. Your sister is lovely, but you’ve got something more.” He seemed to grope for the right words and shrugged. “You glow.”

  “Yay. That should come in handy on a dark night.”

  He gave her a curious look. “You’re an odd one. Most women enjoy compliments.”

  “Most women don’t wake up in someone else’s skin.”

  “It’s your skin, lass,” Mauric said. “You’re not a changeling.”

  “I might as well be. It’s weird being . . . being . . .”

  “Lovely, gorgeous . . . easy on the peepers? And gifted, besides.”

  “I don’t know about gorgeous or . . . or gifted, but I damn sure didn’t recognize myself. That’s why I screamed.”

  Mauric slapped his hand on the rail. “That’s what I told Bree. ‘Bree,’ I says, ‘be patient. The lass is a beauty and a wizard. She’s positively cursed.’”

  “You’re impossible. There’s no talking to you.”

  “Aye, it can be a chore, or so my sisters tell me.”

  “You have sisters?”

  “Two. Tyra and Luanna.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Younger.”

  “God help them.”

  “Aye, they think me a right lummox, too.”

  They neared the Dog’s Head, and a heavy, noxious smell washed over them. Raine gagged, but, after a few moments, her nose adjusted.

  “Getting used to the stink?” Mauric asked.

  “That, or my olfactory nerves have died.”

  “Your what?”

  “My sense of smell.”

  The ferry docked at a stone wharf and they jostled down the gangplank, along with the other passengers headed to the Great Market or to jobs in the counting houses. They reached the flagged walkway, and Mauric pulled Raine aside to allow the human deluge to pass.

  “Gambolla Boulevard,” he said, waving an arm at the broad thoroughfare. “Named after Regerius Gambolla, the founder of the city. It starts here at Bollanese Square, runs between the counting houses, and ends at the Great Market on the far side of the bar.”

  “It’s lovely,” Raine said, admiring the pristine splendor of the square with its fine statues and sparkling fountains.

  “Should be,” Mauric said. “Takes an army of workers to keep it this way.”

  Brefreton joined them on the walkway. To Raine’s relief, his chilly attitude seemed to have thawed.

  He reached over and tugged the hood of Raine’s shawl up. “Keep your face hidden. Just because Glonoff knows about you, doesn’t mean we want to shout your presence to the world.”

  “Yes, Bree,” Raine said in a meek voice.

  “And stop being biddable. It makes me nervous.”

  Raine opened her mouth to say, ‘Yes, Bree,’ again, and decided not to push it. The three of them set out. Mauric took the lead, wading through the crowd like a Gulliver among Lilliputians. The hour was early, but the avenue leading to the Great Market was thronged with people—golden-skinned, dark-skinned, and pale as milk. Some were stolid and serious, others sharp-faced and devious, others still genial and mild-mannered.

  There were also dwarves, Raine noticed in astonishment, stocky, muscular men with comely faces, eyes the color of spring leaves, and closed, watchful expressions. One of them caught her staring and scowled. She jerked her gaze away, blushing.

  “The sneaky-looking fellows in red and black are Shads,” said Mauric, shortening his stride to allow Raine to catch up. “Up to no good, I’ll wager. Shads usually are.” He indicated a short man in a green and white tunic. “See that fellow there with the preoccupied expression? He’s a Tannish merchant farmer. Contemplating the merits of ma
nure—sheep versus cow, no doubt—or pondering the mysteries of crop rotation and seed drilling. Farming—that’s all a Tan ever thinks about.”

  “How would you like to contemplate the mystery of my boot up your rear?” Brefreton asked.

  “The folks wearing blue and gold are Gambolans,” Mauric continued, undismayed. “See the happy-looking fellow in the purple and gold? Valdarian. Winemakers, you know. Wine drinkers, too. Permanently pickled, the Valdans, which explains the happy part.”

  Raine giggled. “And the tall, thin man in the red and gold robes?”

  “An Esmallan spice trader,” Mauric said. “Or a drug merchant. Maybe both. The best gurshee is grown in Esmalla. They do a brisk little trade with Shad Amar.”

  “By law, anyone doing business in Gambollia must register with the Trade Guild and wear their colors,” Brefreton added. “That’s how the Guild keeps track of things.”

  “How they control things, you mean,” said Mauric. “Foreigners can do business here, so long as they pay their taxes and Guild fees. But no one who isn’t related to one of the great families exerts any real influence over city affairs. Outsiders who try, disappear into the bay, or wind up in the city jail on trumped-up charges. Here, you play by Guild rules or you don’t play at all.” He straightened his broad shoulders. “Which is why you won’t see many wearing the black and silver in Gambollia—Finlars aren’t easily brought to bridle.”

  “Bollocks,” said Brefreton. “If Finlars are few and far between in Gambollia, it’s because you’ve nothing to sell.”

  “That’s not true,” Mauric protested. “We make the finest ale in the world.”

  “And drink it as fast as it’s brewed. You can’t export what’s in a man’s stomach.”

  They reached the end of the counting houses, magnificent buildings decorated with frescoes and statuary, and passed under a towering arch into the Great Market. Raine was at once assaulted by a riot of sound, color, and smell. Tents and booths in bright colors crowded the bustling space, tradesmen peddled their wares in singsong voices, and shoppers buzzed around them, hurrying past or pausing to examine the merchandise.

  “Dwarvish knives.” Mauric rubbed his hands together, his eyes alight, and pointed to a booth containing a display of weaponry guarded by three stocky men in leather tunics. “Beautiful workmanship, and hard to come by. Mind if I have a look, Bree?”

  “Go on. You can catch up with us at the tailor’s. You could use a new vest. The dogs have been at that one.”

  “Eaters,” said Mauric, “and you’re one to talk. Your cloak isn’t much better.”

  He strode off before Brefreton could answer.

  “Did you hear that?” Brefreton said. “He insulted my cloak.”

  “You insulted his vest.”

  “That’s different. His vest is riddled with holes, and no longer serviceable.”

  “Your cloak is torn.”

  “One little tear,” Brefreton said. “Not a thousand.”

  Raine shrugged and looked around at their surroundings. “If you say so.”

  The market was huge and enclosed by a dome. Sunshine poured through a large hole at the top.

  “The ceiling closes in inclement weather,” Brefreton said, following her gaze. “Even in rain, snow, hail, the market stays open. A neat bit of magic, if I do say so myself.”

  “You created the dome?”

  “Rebe, no. I’m no engineer. At the Guild Master’s request, I charmed the dome to respond to the elements. Unpleasant sort of fellow, Selleg. Couldn’t stand the man.”

  “Why’d you do him a favor, then?”

  “It was in my own best interests to keep him happy. I married his daughter.”

  “You’re married?”

  “Was, and you needn’t sound so surprised,” Brefreton said, stiffening. “I’m not a complete goggin. Quite a few women find me attractive.”

  “It’s not that. I’m surprised, that’s all,” Raine said, hastening to smooth his ruffled feathers. “You’ve never mentioned a wife.”

  “Not much point. She’s been dead a thousand years.”

  “A thou—” Raine stared “How old are you?”

  “Old enough to know better than to ask such a personal question. Now, if you’ve quite finished, let’s see about that wizard stone.”

  “Maybe I don’t need one,” Raine said, striding beside him. “Maybe I’m a drab.”

  “Highly unlikely, especially after last night.”

  “You mean the windows? Maybe I didn’t do that. Maybe it was something else, an earthquake or . . . or a high wind.”

  He stopped. “My dear girl, I felt the surge of magic when you shattered them, and so did every adept within three hundred leagues, including Glonoff. You’re a wizard, all right.”

  “But—”

  “I know it,” he said. “Gertie knows it, and the Dark Wizard knows it. The sooner you accept it and begin your lessons, the better. Few things are more dangerous than a green wizard.”

  “I know. Gertie told me. That’s what scares me.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re not the dimmest star in the heavens. You’ll be fine.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They waded into the crowded bazaar, winding through a sea of cramped stalls and vendors hawking everything from lobsters to sewing needles.

  The narrow aisle opened onto a small square. Brefreton paused to look around. “Things have changed, but, if memory serves, magical accoutrements are near the apothecaries and the herbalists.”

  A stout woman waddled up to them and shoved a painted fan at Raine. “Here, dearie. All the rich merchants’ wives carry them to show their consequence.” She noticed Brefreton’s ragged cloak and worn boots. “Though belike your husband’s last ship foundered, from the look of ’im.”

  Brefreton snatched the fan from Raine and handed it back to the fat woman. “My affairs prosper, madam. You, however, are clearly a purveyor of inferior goods. In any event, chicken skin gives my good lady hives. Good day to you.”

  Taking Raine by the arm, Brefreton tugged her down the street. “Don’t encourage the vendors. Otherwise, we’ll never get out of here without a load of junk we don’t need.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Bree, it was a fan. You needn’t be so rude.”

  “There was every need. For all we know, that woman works for Glonoff and that fan had been dipped in poison.”

  “Oh. I didn’t think about that.”

  “Obviously. Now come along and don’t dawdle.”

  So much for shopping, Raine thought with a wistful sigh.

  They traversed another dozen dusty, clangorous streets, turning at last into an empty lane. Raine looked around with unease. The shops on this street were seedy, and the vacant windows in the derelict buildings seemed to watch them with rheumy eyes.

  “Here we are,” Brefreton said, pausing in front of a door with peeling paint. The sign above the shabby business read Turnipseed’s Magical Miscellanea.

  Raine peered through the grimy storefront window and saw a gruesome display: a cracked skull, a tarnished goblet, a vial of what looked like black blood, and a broken sword. The interior of the shop was no more inviting, dark and dreary, with bare, dusty shelves.

  “From the looks of it, this place hasn’t been open in years,” she said. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

  “Of course, I’m sure.”

  Brefreton twisted the tarnished brass door knob. Deep inside the building, a bell gonged. The sound was hollow and ominous.

  “Coming?” Brefreton asked, holding the door for her.

  Raine hesitated and stepped inside. Thick dust lay on the floor and the shelves were curtained in cobwebs. The door swung closed behind them, and the bell stopped ringing.

  “Creepy little place,
ain’t it?” she said, throwing back the hood of her shawl.

  A hinge creaked and an old man wearing an apron with deep pockets shuffled out of the back to meet them. His flyaway hair stood up in startled puffs, and he smelled strongly of ginger.

  He blinked at them owlishly. “Buying or selling?” he asked in a powdery voice.

  Brefreton showed the man a heavy pouch. “Buying.”

  The proprietor’s watery eyes widened, and he clapped his thin hands. “Shop, we have a customer.”

  At his command, the bleak interior transformed. Dust and grime vanished, a crackling fire sprang to life in the sooty grate, and scented candles flared to life in sconces on the wall. A bewildering assortment of magical goods and instruments overflowed the previously unoccupied shelves—wands, staffs, seeing stones, pendants, strange powders, and mysterious potions—and tumbled from baskets along the crowded aisles.

  Raine looked around in amazement at the change in the place. The damp, mildewed walls were gone, replaced by rich mahogany paneling. The floor, which a moment before had been adrift in dust bunnies, assorted bits of trash and mouse droppings, was now a colorful tile mosaic of strange and wonderful creatures. Over the fireplace mantel, an enormous animal head had been mounted, a creature unlike any Raine had ever seen, an odd combination of buffalo and moose, with large, liquid eyes and a tangle of horns. To her amazement, the buffoose yawned, showing a yard of tongue and a set of large, square teeth.

  “Are you looking for something particular?” the old man asked, and Raine jerked her startled gaze from the animate head. “I’m running a special right now on magical rugs.”

  “No rugs today, thank you. We’re in the market for a wizard stone.”

  “I see.” The old man’s expression became wary. “Your present stone...is it still under warranty?”

  “Oh, it’s not for me,” Brefreton said. “It’s for her.”

  “Indeed?” The old man’s expression brightened, and he gave Raine a creaky bow. “A new adept in our midst, and an exceptionally pretty one, too, if these old eyes don’t deceive. How do you do, my dear? Talis Turnipseed at your disposal. Always a pleasure to meet a new customer.”