“Nice to meet you, Mr. Turnipseed.”
“May I?” Mr. Turnipseed asked, holding out a liver-spotted hand.
Raine nodded and placed her hand in his. Sparks flew when they touched.
“My goodness,” Turnipseed said, shaking his burned fingers. “She is a strong one. A class five, at least.”
Brefreton was examining a display of seeing stones. “Really?” He jerked around. “That strong?”
“Without a doubt. You’re going to be spending a large sum of money with me today, Mr. . . . ?”
“Brefreton.” The wizard’s tone was resigned. Turning to Raine, he said, “Turnipseed is a sensor. He’ll find you the right stone. Bought my own from one of Turnipseed’s great-greats.”
“Did you, indeed?” Turnipseed beamed. “That would make you one of our first customers. Mind if I have a look?” He stepped closer to examine Brefreton’s green stone. “A class eight,” he said, his voice reverent. “The workmanship is deceptively simple. Old, but in excellent condition.” He dropped the stone with a contented sigh. “Thank you. It’s not often I get to see a work of such antiquity.”
“Delighted to be of service.”
“But I have offended you,” Turnipseed cried, “and such was not my intent. You should be thankful that the gods have blessed you with talent and a long life.”
“Immortality’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Brefreton said. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re in a hurry.”
“Of course, of course.” Rubbing his wrinkled hands together, the old man directed them to a crystal cabinet on one wall. “The wizard stones are this way.”
Stones of various sizes and colors glittered on glass shelves. The sensor reached inside the case and took out a stone. It was blue and reminded Raine a little of the river rock Chaz had given Tiny. She felt a pang of sadness at the thought of the giant. Where was Tiny now? She missed him.
The old man placed the cool stone in the palm of her hand and curled her fingers around it. “Concentrate. When you feel the power gather, push it through the stone.”
Nervously, Raine followed the sensor’s instructions. At once, the humming in her mind swelled to a roar. The stone shattered and blue dust trickled to the floor.
“Oh, dear,” she said, brushing the grit from her hand. “I-I’m so sorry.”
Brefreton and the old man exchanged a look of surprise.
“Dear me,” the sensor murmured. “And that was a class five. We certify stones all the way up to a class eight. Beyond that, we don’t warranty them.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Brefreton said. “It’s a rare wizard who requires a stone above an eight. In fact, I don’t know any class eight wizards.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “Except me.”
“Wow.” Raine was impressed. “What about Gertie?”
“Gertie’s in a class by herself.”
“Gertie?” Turnipseed tugged on his ear. “This name is not familiar, and I thought I was acquainted with all the adepts in Tandara.”
“You may know her as Glogathgorag,” said Brefreton.
The old man’s face creased in a delighted smile. “The kolyagga? But, of course.” He motioned to the animal head on the wall. “She animated Grapp for me. Dead as Xan’s toenails, he was, before she came along. She’s an accomplished animage, you know.”
Grapp gave a loud honk when the sensor spoke his name.
“I see you, you old thing.” Shuffling across the room, Turnipseed stood on tiptoe and gave the buffoose a fond pat. “Be a good fellow, now, and quiet down. Poppa can’t think.”
Grapp subsided, and the shop keep continued. “The kolyagga carries a white stone. Most unusual workmanship. Not one of ours, I’m sorry to say, although she did purchase a magic mirror from my father once.” The old man frowned, trying to remember. “For a friend, I believe.” He shook his head and sighed. “Or maybe not. I’m getting old.”
“Your memory is excellent,” Brefreton said. “The mirror was a gift to me.”
“You don’t say? Is it still in good working order?”
“Works fine.”
“Delighted to hear it,” the sensor said with a pleased nod. “We do our best to sell a quality product at Turnipseed’s, but magical instruments can be unpredictable.” He stroked the sparse whiskers on his sagging chin. “Glogathgorag is an excellent cook. She gave me her recipe for gingersnaps. Delicious! I was about to take a batch out of the oven when I heard the doorbell. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll nip into the kitchen, and get them.”
He disappeared into the back of the shop, leaving Brefreton and Raine alone.
Raine wandered over to the case. Rows of wizard stones glistened on the shelves like dyed eggs.
“If Mr. Turnipseed knows all the adepts, does that mean Glonoff bought his wizard stone here?” she asked.
“Don’t be absurd. Didn’t you read the sign over the door? The Turnipseeds have only been in business sixteen hundred years. Glonoff was born before the Great Cataclysm.”
“Which was . . . ?”
“More than four thousand years ago. Compared to Glonoff, I’m still wet behind the ears.” Brefreton lifted his brows. “And if you’re thinking of asking my age again, don’t.”
“Do I look as though I enjoy having my head bitten off?”
The door opened and Turnipseed bustled back into the room before Brefreton could answer. The sensor carried a plate of cookies, and Grapp honked frantically until the old man tossed him a treat.
“Here we are,” Turnipseed said, setting the plate on one of the glass counters. “Help yourself.”
While Raine and Brefreton enjoyed the cookies, the sensor hovered over the arrangement of wizard stones. After much deliberation, he gave Raine a black stone. She sent a tentative pulse of energy through it and felt a jarring tingle.
She gave the stone back to the old man, almost dropping it in her haste. “It’s pretty, but it seems wrong, and I don’t want to break another one.”
“No worries, my dear,” he said, giving her another rock. “We’ve plenty more to try.”
One by one, she tried the class seven and eight stones, but none of them felt right. She stopped when a shiny gray rock—a class eight—cracked.
Brefreton winced. “There’s another one I’ll be paying for.”
“Sorry,” Raine said, her face growing hot. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Turnipseed said. “There’s a stone for every wizard. We just haven’t found yours yet.” He scratched his head in thought. “There’s one we haven’t tried, but I’m not certain . . .” His gaze grew distant. “Came in years back with a shipment from Seth. Powerful stone. Too powerful to classify, in fact. Had a strange feel to it. Most unusual.”
The old man hobbled behind the display cases and began to poke around.
“Almost threw it away,” he said, sticking his skinny rump into the air. “In the end, though, I decided to keep it. Stone’s not much to look at, but the workmanship of the chain and casing was so fine I couldn’t bear to toss it.” He straightened with a small wooden box in one hand. “Here it is.”
He slid the small container across the counter. Raine eyed it dully. She was thoroughly discouraged. So far, her search for a wizard stone had been a bust, but it seemed impolite to refuse him. She glanced at Brefreton for approval. This was his money, after all, and she’d already broken two stones.
“Go on.” He closed his eyes briefly as if in pain, and opened them again. “I suppose it has to be done.”
Raine opened the box and found a brown stone inside, circular and flat and roughly an inch thick. Unlike the other polished stones on the shelves, this one was dull and unremarkable. The casing, however, was quite beautiful, a silver band engraved with strange symbols. The chain was lovely, too, beaten silver threaded through a loop at the top of
the pendant.
Brefreton stepped closer. “Not much to look at, is it?”
“It comes with a chain,” Raine said, feeling an odd compulsion to defend the homely rock. “None of the others have one.”
“That’s right,” Turnipseed said with a nod. “Generally, the wizard chooses a stone and then I fashion it into a pendant. This one arrived finished.”
Raine held the necklace aloft. The stone wasn’t flashy or pretty like some of the others, but in the firelight it glowed like a fine opal, her birthstone. She placed the stone on her palm and curled her fingers around it. It was a perfect fit. The stone warmed at her touch like a living thing.
Brefreton sighed. “Give it a try, but, for Rebe’s sake, try not to break it.”
“Yes, Bree.”
Raine closed her eyes and reached for the power. It flowed through her, easy as flipping a light switch, and her skin tingled. The stone in her hand fluttered in her hand. It was a strange sensation but not unpleasant. The constant humming at the back of her mind swelled to an exultant song; joy coursed through her, and a feeling of completion. This was it. She’d found her wizard stone.
She opened her eyes and yelped in surprise. She was hanging, suspended, six feet in the air, nose to nose with the startled buffoose. The sensor’s shop was in shambles. Shelves were overturned and display cases had been shattered. Glass and broken magical paraphernalia littered the floor, and a dozen wizard stones lay scattered about in pieces.
Horrified, Raine looked down. The flesh and bones of her hand were translucent, and she could see the wizard stone glowing at the center of her clenched fist. Light leaked between the webbing of her fingers. The wizard stone thumped happily, as though delighted by her notice. Raine cried out and flung the stone away. It hit the floor and rolled under a broken shelf. She wobbled drunkenly in the air for a moment, then crashed to her knees.
Brefreton helped the old man off the floor. Brushing bits of glass from his clothes, Mr. Turnipseed perused his damaged shop. There was a calculating gleam in his faded eyes.
“I-I don’t know what to say,” Raine said, getting to her feet. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Turnipseed.”
Moving slowly, the sensor salvaged the brown rock from the rubble, and slipped the chain over Raine’s head. “Well, young lady. I believe we can safely say we’ve found you the right stone.”
He reached into one of the pockets of his apron and pulled out a shiny brass instrument with bells and buttons. Sweeping the detritus of a dozen broken potion jars off a small table, he set the gizmo down. With a metallic cough, the magical abacus began to whir and jingle.
Joints creaking, Turnipseed bent and picked up the dish of cookies off the floor. “Have a gingersnap, Mr. Brefreton,” he said, holding out the plate with a toothy smile. “I’ve a feeling you’re going to need your strength when you see the bill.”
Chapter 31
The Tailor Adept
Raine surveyed the damage to the shop with a sick feeling. First the inn, and now this. She should give the stone back, before she did something else awful. She tried to remove the necklace, but the chain slid through her fingers like water. She tugged, but the chain would not break. Desperate, she grabbed the stone pendant to pull it over her head. It wouldn’t budge, and the harder she tugged, the heavier it became.
Brefreton and the sensor were haggling over the bill. Mr. Turnipseed seemed inordinately cheerful for a fellow whose business had been demolished.
With a metallic bing, the magical abacus totted up another charge.
“Oh, yes, the potions. Mustn’t forget them.” The old man rubbed his hands together in glee. “Some of them were quite rare, you know.”
“By all means,” Brefreton said in a dry voice. “Add them to the bill.” Glancing at Raine, he noticed her in an all-out struggle with the necklace, and frowned. “What are you doing?”
The chain writhed in her hands like an angry boa constrictor. “Trying to get this thing off. I changed my mind. I don’t want a wizard stone.”
“There’s no changing your mind. The stone has bound itself to you. It happens that way with some wizards, if mage and stone are perfectly matched. ’Twould seem to be the case with you. The stone won’t ever come off.”
Raine stopped wrestling with the chain to stare at him. “What? Nobody told me that.”
“That’s because it seldom happens.”
“Gertie should have warned me. I want it off.”
She gave the recalcitrant pendant another tug, and Brefreton strode over and took her by the hands. “Stop that. The stone stays around your neck until it’s broken or you die, whichever comes first.” He looked thoughtful. “Though, sometimes, the two occur simultaneously.”
“I won’t use it.” She stamped her foot in frustration. “I suck at being a wizard.”
“Don’t be absurd. Of course, you’ll use it, unless you enjoy destroying things?” He turned and strode back to the sensor, leaving her to fume. “Now, where were we, Mr. Turnipseed? Ah, yes, the seeing stones . . .”
Raine stood there, seething with fury, until a loud honk drew her attention. She made her way to the fireplace and looked up at the head on the wall. “What is it, old fellow?”
The buffoose snuffled and rolled an eye at the sensor. No, not at the sensor, Raine realized. Grapp’s entreating gaze was on the plate on the table beside the cha-chinging abacus.
“You want another gingersnap?” she asked.
Grapp honked again. Unable to resist the entreaty in the buffoose’s velvety brown eyes, Raine picked her way across the minefield of shattered merchandise and got the cookies. She dragged a chair over to the fireplace and climbed up, feeding the cookies to Grapp one by one, until they were gone.
“That’s the last of them,” she said, setting the empty plate on the mantel. “Where do you put them, anyway?” Reaching up, she rubbed the buffoose’s sleek nose. “You’re all head and no stomach.”
Grapp blew out a gust of air and looked vaguely insulted.
By the time Brefreton had settled the account more than an hour later, he was in a bad mood and his purse was considerably lighter.
“Excellent, excellent.” Bursting with good humor, the sensor escorted them to the door. “You and the young lady come back any time. Anytime atall. Door’s always open to adepts. Of course, there’s no warranty on the stone you bought—it’s not classified—and the chain’s not one of ours. But we’ll be more than happy to sell you another if something happens to this one.”
“Generous of you, I’m sure,” Brefreton said, stepping onto the street. “But I’m afraid it will be several lifetimes before I can afford your services again.”
The old man cackled and slammed the door in their faces. Going to the window, Raine peered inside. The shop was once more dark, dusty, and empty.
“Stop fooling around.” Brefreton twitched the hood of Raine’s shawl back in place. “After this fiasco, I shudder to think what the tailor is going to cost me.”
“I’m sorry, Bree. Let’s skip the tailor. I can wear Trudy’s things.”
Brefreton’s expression softened. “And have Gertie flay me for a clutch fist? No, thank you. Besides, you’re a head taller than Trudy. At any rate, this is partly my fault. Gertie warned me that you have talent, and I didn’t listen.”
“A talent for breaking things, maybe.” Raine squared her shoulders. “I’ll repay the money you’ve spent. I promise.”
“No hurry. I’ll set you up on a payment plan once you get settled and have money of your own—so much a year for the next thousand years. Plus, interest.”
Raine felt the blood drain from her face. “A thousand years?”
“I’m joking. It won’t take you more than a hundred years to repay me.”
“Listen, Bree. I can’t do this. I can’t be a wizard. I’m no good at it. Look at the trouble I’ve caus
ed already.”
“Nonsense. That’s part of it. Why, when I was your age, I accidentally drained a lake.”
“So?”
“It was a very large lake, Raine. All that water had to go somewhere. As it happens, it drained into Amedlar. The elves have yet to forgive me and that was . . . well, let’s just say elves have long memories, and leave it at that.”
They left Turnipseed’s and wound their way back through the market, coming to a halt before a small red and gold silk tent with a pitched roof. A pendant fluttered from the peak at the top, and the words “Abbah’s Needleworks” were emblazoned in big, bold letters above the tapestry door. Little shooting stars danced around the name.
“See the stars?” Brefreton said. “They signify that Abbah is a tailor adept. You’ll have new clothes in no time.” He bowed Raine inside the tent. “After you, my dear.”
Raine stepped through the opening and received a shock. The inside of the tent was many times larger than it appeared from the street. Brass lanterns hung from the canopied ceiling and cast a rosy glow over the interior. Bolts of cloth in a rainbow of colors and a variety of textures were piled in heaps about the room. Tasseled curtains divided the front of the shop from the back.
The curtains parted, and a slim, golden-skinned man hurried out, his black braids swinging. “Welcome, welcome.”
“Abbah,” Brefreton said. “It’s been a long time.”
The man’s dark eyes widened in recognition, and he bowed deeply. “This is an unexpected pleasure, narooch. And unexpected pleasure, indeed. Have you, perhaps . . . is it too much to hope that you require a new cloak? If so, it would be my honor and delight to fashion one for you. My father, I believe, made the present garment.”
“Your grandfather, and, no, I don’t require a new cloak. This one is barely broken in.”
Abbah eyed the threadbare cloak askance. “As you say, narooch. One does not argue with a client, my honored father always said. If you do not require a new cloak, then how may I serve you?”
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