He grinned. "Why, thank you, my dear!"
"Hey, hey, no free samples!"
"And there goes my afternoon!"
"Hah."
Tallain went off to the local saloon to meet with what she thought must be the most obvious of the suspects, the saloon keeper.
He was a slender, dark-haired fellow with coal-black eyes. "What do you want?" the man asked sharply.
"I thought you might need a new dancing girl."
"Sorry, no. I have all that I need."
She sighed. "So I thought. I heard about the murder of the banker. What a terrible thing!"
He turned out to be a champion knife thrower, but Tallain, experienced agent that she was, never flinched as the knives flashed by her, missing her by the barest of margins.
"If I'd wanted him dead," the saloon owner said coolly, "there would have been a knife in him."
"Oh, I quite agree."
She pulled free one of the knives and threw it back at him, missing him by very little. He did nothing but raise a black eyebrow, and then grinned in perfect understanding. There was certainly no need for any other type of violence here, Tallain thought, let alone magical violence.
As she left, Tallain, making sure that no one saw her, shifted shape again, this time turning into a proper middle-aged matron.
Let's see what the new banker has to say for himself, Tallain thought.
A youngish man, he was sitting behind a mahogany desk, dressed neatly, and looking like the very image of propriety. "Madame, may I assist you?"
"Oh, I just wanted to see who took over the bank. You are...?"
"I am Parlo Mikana." He paused. "Ah, that was such a tragic happening! I was the one who found the poor fellow dead on the floor. There wasn't a mark on him." Mikana shook his head. "I suspect a heart attack. He was under a great deal of stress, after all."
"And you, sir, are not?"
"I went through the books, and there was no real reason for him to panic or die. Everything, I assure you, is in proper order."
And you, I strongly suspect, are lying. But alas, Serein and I didn't get here in time to investigate the body.
That meant that it was far too late to prove a thing. The body would already have been buried, and by now was past any point of recovery—or any discovery of magical interference, which would, by this point, have faded completely.
"Thank you for your assurances that all is well," Tallain said in her most matronly voice, and left.
She returned to where Serein was hiding, sliding back into her normal self. "Nothing useful from the saloon owner. He's an expert knife thrower. If he'd wanted the banker dead, there would have been a knife in the banker."
"And the new banker?"
"Guilty as hell, but I'm not sure if he's our man, or just glad to see the old banker dead."
"Oh, and I found no brothel, by the way. Everyone seems too, shall we say, moralistic for anything as ungodly as that. No stores, either. I have no idea where they get their supplies."
"Caravans?"
"Maybe." Serein paused thoughtfully. "Of course, now we have a double problem: Where, oh, where is that missing talisman, yes, and who magically used it to murder the banker?"
"I agree that it's probably the same person. But right now," Tallain added, looking up at the fading light, "since night's coming on in a real hurry, we just need a place to sleep."
Serein shrugged. "We don't have to stay in human form."
"Ha, good point. I hear water flowing, a river, I think."
"It is."
"What say we curl up as otters?"
"Excellent suggestion. Otters have thick fur."
They shape-shifted into otter form, and curled up together to keep warm. They were so used to each other by now that they simply slept.
But towards the earliest signs of morning, Tallain woke suddenly. Someone was nearby. She prodded Serein. He lay absolutely still, just as she did, trying to figure out who this newcomer could be.
Well, what do you know? Tallain thought. It's the new banker. And what could he be hunting?
She slipped soundlessly into the river, and so did Serein. He headed upstream, she downstream, keeping Mikana between them. What was he hunting?
Suddenly she knew as magical instincts roused, knew without any doubt: It was the lost talisman. This was how he'd killed the older banker, with the talisman's help. And something, maybe her queries, must have triggered his alarm to be sure it was still here.
No wonder we couldn't find it! Tallain thought. No one could find a magical tool that was hidden in a river with free-flowing water.
Mikana pulled the talisman free from where he'd hidden it in the mud. Just then, Serein attempted to snatch it from him—and unfortunately received a full blast from it that left him unconscious in otter form on the riverbank.
Oh, damn! Tallain thought.
But Tallain, seeing her target, bit the banker full on the butt. He yelped, and fell into the river. She bit him again, on the leg this time, trying to get him to let go of the talisman. But he was clutching it tightly.
All right, then, let's try this.
Tallain swarmed up him, this time in snake form, and bit him on the hand. This time he yelled in horror and flung her from him. She hit the mud, came up as a snapping turtle, and bit him on the hand again, hanging on with all her might. He screamed in pain this time, trying his best to fling her off. But Tallain held on grimly no matter how hard he shook her.
Snapping turtles have really good, strong jaws, she realized with some pleasure, having taken this shape for the first time.
At last, though, he pried her jaws open and dropped her back into the water.
Serein, blast it, wake up!
No. He was out but good. The blast had caught him fully.
All right, Tallain thought, I can handle this.
She shifted once more, this time into a bird soaring up out of the water, fluttering around his head like a mother bird defending her nest. He tried to drive her off with his free hand.
Oh no, you don't!
She pecked him hard on the head. He raised the hand holding the talisman, and she pecked that, too. And finally, to her great satisfaction, he lost his hold on the talisman, which went flying. She turned human, and the two of them raced for the talisman.
They caught it at the same time, and they fought over it. Tallain was a trained agent, and even though she was barefoot and naked, she stomped on his instep, and then kicked him with her heel directly on the knee. It must have hurt even so, because he lost his grip on the talisman.
But in the struggle for it, Mikana must have somehow triggered the thing, because suddenly they were both in a gray nowhere noplace. Tallain, tired of being naked, quickly conjured up clothing to cover herself.
"Where are we?" the banker cried.
"I haven't a clue. You triggered the thing, not me."
"Is this even a real place?"
"Again, I haven't a clue—
"Uh-oh," Tallain interrupted herself, "I hear something large and heavy coming towards us."
It was large, it was ugly, and it was, without any doubt, a demon. Something that lived in this misty nowhere.
"Oh no, no, no," Mikana cried in terror, "get us out of here."
"How?"
Tallain was studying the demon. No sign of intelligence in the dull eyes, but great strength in those massive muscles.
Wonderful, just wonderful.
Well, no intelligence meant that it had no way of knowing how she could hit it. And Tallain zeroed in on the demon's most vulnerable region, between its legs. And hit it hard. The demon doubled over, and she tried hitting it again, on the chin this time.
Ow! Ow, ow, ow! That is one rock hard chin!
Tallain sprang back, out of the demon's reach, trying to figure out what animal might hurt it the most. All right, she'd try an eagle. She soared up, talons reaching for the demon's face, closed them—on nothing. The demon seemed to be made up of pure stone, exc
ept, of course, for the genitals.
It couldn't reproduce otherwise. Ugh, and there's an image I really didn't want.
And how do we get the hell out of here?
"Do something with that cursed talisman, anything!" She hung onto him, not wanting to be left behind.
Mikana did something, she wasn't sure what—and suddenly they were gone from that nowhere noplace, and on the edge of a steep cliff, hanging onto a tree root for dear life.
Oh great, this isn't much better! It's a long way to the ground!
"Do something else, quickly!"
He hit the talisman—and suddenly they were in the middle of a frozen wasteland, with a pack of hungry, black-furred and flame-eyed Hell Hounds closing in. For one wonderful moment, Tallain pictured grabbing the talisman and hurling Mikana at the hounds. But no, he must face human justice.
Unfortunately.
As the Hell Hounds closed in, salivating with their eagerness to taste this suddenly appearing prey, Tallain decided, All right, I've had enough of this. We're getting back now!
She grabbed the talisman from Mikana, held onto him with one hand, not much caring that she had him firmly by the ear, and thought with all of her focused mental will, Serein. Serein. Serein.
And as suddenly as that, they were back. Serein was still out, flat in otter form, but to Tallain's relief, he was breathing. She didn't dare use the talisman on him, but nudged him gently with a foot.
He stirred, stirred again, and then shifted back into human form, snatching for his clothes and scrambling, half-dressed, to his feet.
"You got him!"
"And the blasted talisman with him. This talisman's a really nasty thing, believe me, one that only does bad things. We know that it killed the banker. It then got us into a nowhere place where there was a demon, then brought us to the edge of a cliff, hanging on for dear life to a root, and finally dropped us in the middle of a frozen waste surrounded by a pack of Hell Hounds."
Just then, Mikana tried to make a break for freedom. Tallain, with one efficient blow to his jaw, flattened him.
"You don't know how much I wanted to throw him to the hounds!"
"I can imagine," Serein said with a faint grin. "Ah well, let's get him to justice."
Tallain grinned. "You might want to get fully dressed first."
"Ah, so should you."
Tallain looked down at herself. Her hastily conjured clothing was gone, and she was stark naked.
"Oh. Right. We have a murderer here, and a stolen talisman."
"Uh-huh. We don't really want to add an indecent exposure rap to the charges."
He wrapped the talisman in a strip of cloth torn from a sleeve, and pocketed it. Tallain hastily dressed, and then tied up their murderer with more strips of cloth torn from her clothing.
"All right, Mikana, on your feet. We're taking you to prison for the murder by magic of your senior officer."
"But I—you—who are you?"
"That isn't for you to know," Tallain said mysteriously.
Serein added, "We are what we are."
"And you, Mikana, are what you are: a murderer."
They took him to prison, explained the whole story to the officials, saw Mikana locked up, presumably for an execution, and then gladly got on their horses and rode at a full gallop away from that dusty town.
It took a moment for her to realize it, but then Tallain burst into laughter.
"Do you realize this? We are riding off," Tallain said to Serein, "into the sunset."
"Now, that is just too perfect!"
Laughing, the two agents rode away.
Simon's Fish
Barbara Tarbox
Rennik was the King's senior mage, sent to heal an elf who had fallen mysteriously ill. But it was Simon, the fish-seller's lowly apprentice who stumbled upon the solution.
Barbara Tarbox lives in upstate New York with her two dogs, a short commute from her two elderly horses and various distances from assignments as a home/hospital instructor for students unable to attend school. Besides writing, her interests include art, Reiki, and serious paranormal research.
Mifrav was gravely ill, but he bore the pain in silence.
This was more than could be said for his consort.
"Do something! It's your fault; you have to do something!"
"My fault?" I pushed back from the pile of ancient texts on my improvised desk and stood. My height advantage didn't bother her at all; she still looked like she might pummel me with her tiny fists.
"You—humans! With your horses and oxen and plows. There's hardly a glade left on the eastern side of the isle. Your diseases. Your..."
Tears followed. It was awkward trying to comfort someone whose head only reached my knee. What was worse, she was right; but there was no human cause or malice that I could detect in Mifrav's illness. In fact, the King's Council had sent me to investigate. Leppian Island's elven sub-race was dwindling and there was much belated sympathy at Court for their plight.
My robe of office had no pockets, but the skirt beneath held a handkerchief I could offer. It was clean and bleached white by the sun, but the linen looked like sacking in her hands. "I'm sorry, Lady Lammet. I will do all I can to help."
She nodded. Hair the color of a winter oak leaf fell forward from beneath the fine gold circlet around her brow. She and Mifrav were nobility, maybe even royalty; I've never figured out the complexities of their race's society.
But status might be important. If politics were a factor, Mifrav would be a logical target. He and Lammet were virtually newlyweds. No children. If Mifrav died, a family line would be nipped in the bud.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not used to being so helpless."
Most people would find it hard to believe that this tiny, female wisp could be anything but helpless.
They would be mistaken.
The Jiyel are lovely, peaceful folk, as a rule, but don't cross one.
Take my advice. Don't.
"That's quite understandable, Lady," I said. "Would you mind going over the details yet again?"
She folded the handkerchief like a pillowcase. "If you think it will help."
I pulled a chair close to the desk and helped her up steps I had devised from chunks of firewood. When we had arranged robe and skirts, I pulled a piece of the coarse paper I use for notes and dipped my pen in ink.
"When did Mifrav first show signs of illness?"
"Tuesday last."
"Had he eaten anything unusual, attended any banquets?"
"No. I had prepared everything myself for several days." She sighed. "Really, Mage Rennik, I can think of nothing new. If Mifrav is ill because of food or drink, I don't know why I am not also... dying." The last word was muffled by a quadruple thickness of linen, but she lowered the handkerchief and looked up with a flash of green ice beneath new tears. "You suspect that I am responsible?"
"No, Lady, I do not." This was true. She would have no rights of inheritance before the first child was born, and tactful inquiries had led me to believe that this was a match of hearts as well as bloodlines. "It is fortunate that you were not taken ill as well."
Mollified, she agreed to continue, but I scratched down a note to consider later. Why wasn't she dying?
* * * *
Next morning, I woke before dawn. My dreams had been full of dusty books whose pages went blank when I tried to read them. My real books had been of little more help than the ones cluttering my sleep. Human magic—and human ailments—are not precisely parallel to those of elven races, so I admit I was doing a lot of—yes, I have to call it guessing.
I sent to enquire about Mifrav's condition.
Refusing food or drink. Not news I wanted to hear.
Jiyel healers had ruled out contagious diseases both elven and human. I had eliminated curses—unfortunately. With more than forty years of study behind me, I could have turned a curse back neatly onto its creator.
Alas, no such tidy solution.
The possibility o
f poison showed promise; but Mifrav's symptoms were not exactly right for any poison I, or the Jiyel physicians, had ever seen.
Mifrav and Lammet had been the only children in their families to survive the fifty-odd years to adulthood, so constitutional weakness, that much-favored diagnosis, was ridiculous in this case; just a convenient excuse for failure.
No. I was the King's senior mage, and I was not going to fold my hands and assign the blame to fate.
* * * *
Yesterday's crate of books helped little. Today, I skipped breakfast and visited the cottage across the meadow where Mifrav lay ill. He looked shrunken; his eyes had faded to a watery shade.
Later in the morning, I abandoned my tomes and interviewed a smith, three farmers, two farmer's wives and a goatherd. All human, all of no use whatsoever. Two elves answered my summons, expressed sorrow that Mifrav wouldn't live to see a first child or even his sixtieth birthday—and were equally useless.
Discouraged, I treated my grumbling stomach to bread, some bits of beef and cheese and a glass of water. Wine would have been much better, but it would have made me comfortable prey for the fatigue that was waiting to pounce.
I stepped out to the new gathering of folk willing to talk to me for a copper piece. A boy of ten or so caught my eye. He was standing near the front of the group, but looked at me like I would put him on my dinner menu.
"You, lad," I said, trying not to sound like a cannibal. "Come in. Young ears are keen ears."
When he sidled past me and into the room, I could see that one of his young ears was very red and that there were tear tracks in the grime on his face.
"Sit down, boy. No need to bow, I'm not a noblewoman."
"You're a magic lady, a sorceress."
"Hmm..." The boy's expression made me wonder what he'd been told. I'm not particularly impressive even in the gilded robes expected at court; in my plain brown, I could be any scholar. "Mage, though I'm not overly concerned with titles; and I've never changed a boy into a toad or into anything else, for that matter. Sit down, please, and tell me what brings you here today."
Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXV Page 26