A Handful of Men: The Complete Series

by Dave Duncan

  “Try that one!” Mist suggested, pointing to a rich auburn fabric.

  She held it up to admire it. It was a full-length dress.

  “That’s nice,” he said.

  “It’s too big for me.”

  “No, it isn’t. You chose it, so it’ll fit perfectly. Look!” He tossed his cloak on the table and pulled off another, in royal blue and silver. He held it against himself. “See? It’s the right length, and there can’t be many men here tall as me.”

  She must be plumper than she had thought, then. She must have filled out lately… on the journey, perhaps? The journey was very vague in her mind. Glancing over the other women, she saw no one wearing anything as bright as that auburn. And none of the men was as dazzling as Mist. She replaced the dress.

  “Start with shoes,” Mist said, “over here.”

  She rarely wore shoes, but everyone else was wearing shoes. He made a few suggestions and soon she was clutching three pairs, shiny leather beauties. One pair had shiny metal buckles that must be worth a fortune.

  He took them from her and led her back to the garments. Once started, she couldn’t stop; he encouraged her. In a few minutes her arms were loaded with skirts and blouses and a couple of heavy capes — after all, this was the rainy season. Mist remarked.

  “And a hat,” he said firmly. “You never know what sort of weather you’re going to run into here. There! That’s enough to carry, isn’t it?”

  “Oh!” she said, with sudden dismay. “Is it far?”

  He shook his head, grinning. “No, but you can come right back again if you want, now you know the Way. Let’s go.”

  Reluctantly she tore herself away from all the wonderful things. Mist led her back along the path, retracing their steps up the hill. The silence of the forest returned, and the sandy surface was cool under her feet. He continued to carry her shoes for her, while she labored under the weighty burden of skirts and cloaks and blouses. She thought he might offer those bulgy arms to assist her, but evidently such thoughts did not occur to Novice Mist.

  Still, the Market had made her feel better. She was going to enjoy trying on all these wonderful things.

  “Sorcerers?” she said cautiously. “Some of those people were sorcerers?”

  He smiled down at her with his pale yellow eyes. There was something almost appealing in the sleepy way he did that. “I expect so. ’Most everyone here seems to be either a mage or a sorcerer. There’s novices and recorders and archivists and analysts and archons — and the Keeper, of course. And a few oddball specialists, like Mistress Mearn. We’ll get all that explained to us when lessons start. Something to do with the moon and needing a sixth novice. Right now, we just wait, and enjoy ourselves.”

  The sky must have clouded over very quickly, for rain had begun to fall. She could hear it on the leaves, high above. Very little was getting through, so it wasn’t heavy. In the distance she heard wind, as if a storm were coming. The air had more of a piney smell to it now.

  The path was steeper than she had remembered, winding up a hillside. Strange that she did not recall noticing the great mossy rocks scattered around the forest floor. Big as cottages, some of them. And now she was seeing trees more familiar to her — cedars and cottonwoods. And even conifers.

  “This isn’t the way we came!” she said, with sudden alarm. She had seen no branchings, or side roads.

  Mist chuckled. “Yes, it is. It’s the Way we came, but the Way is not a usual sort of path, Thaïle. We’re going to your Place.”

  Inexplicably, her heart leaped. “My Place? The…. the…” Her confusion flustered her. “The Gaib Place?” That sounded wrong, somehow.

  “No. The Thaïle Place. Of course you’re Thaïle of the College now, to anyone outside, but here you can talk of the Thaïle Place if you want. Almost there.”

  Thaïle Place sounded horribly wrong, somehow. Thaïle of the… Gaib Place? What Place? That thought at the back of her mind…

  Then the Way swung around a massive cedar and came to an end at the edge of a rain-soaked clearing, carpeted with grass of brilliant green, speckled with tiny white flowers. At the far side stood a cottage.

  “Oh! Oh, my!” She stared. She looked up disbelievingly at Mist’s triumphant smile.

  “Mine? Really for me?”

  “Yours. All yours. Unless you want to invite some young man to come and share it with you, of course. That’s entirely up to you.”

  She did not need Feeling to know what thought lay behind that smirk. Her happiness faltered. Young man? Live with her? The elusive shadow at the back of her mind…

  “I’ll show you the Mist Place,” he said. “Quite different! It’s on a lake, and I have a canoe. Take you canoeing.”

  “One Place at a time!” she said. “Let’s run.”

  They ran over the grass, although the rain was not too heavy. The cottage became ever more wonderful as she approached — a porch for sitting on in warm evenings and windows with some sort of shiny stuff in them and a tall chimney so the fire wouldn’t smoke. Gaib had tried to make one of those several times, but it had always fallen down in the next storm.

  When she drew near, she saw that the walls were made of flat wood with tight, straight edges. Disloyal as it seemed even to think so, the Gaib Place had been very drafty, because the chinking between the logs kept falling out. This sorcerous place did not seem to have any chinking, it fit so well.

  Probably Mist’s cottage would be woven basketwork, as that was how houses were made down in the warm lowlands. How did she know that? Could she have learned it on the journey? She really did not have any clear memories at all of a journey…

  There was no chicken coop, not that she could see, and no vegetable patch. No goats or pigs, either, but Mist had said she could help herself to food at the Market, and that would certainly be easier than growing and digging and weeding. What on earth was she going to do with herself all day? Apart from fighting off Mist in a canoe, of course.

  5

  Even had Thaïle believed all the marvels Jain had promised her, she could still never have imagined the glory of the cottage. She would not have believed that one person would be expected to need so much space: a room for sitting, a room for sleeping, a room for cooking, a room for washing. Floors and walls and furniture were all made of the flat, shiny wood, smooth and gleaming, and she had never seen a smooth wall in her life before. There were thick cloths to walk on, and soft chairs to sit on, all prettily patterned. More cloths hung by the windows, instead of shutters, and magical stuff like clear ice kept out the rain. Even the lanterns were sorcerous, needing no oil or candles.

  Perhaps the greatest wonder of all was the mirror. Thaïle knew about mirrors. Her great-grandmother had owned one, and when Thaïle had kept Death Watch over her, she had passed the time by playing with it. The family had almost come to blows afterward, determining who would inherit the mirror and who must continue admiring themselves in water. Phain’s mirror had been foggy, an irregular shape, and about the size of a cowpat. The mirror on Thaïle’s new bedroom wall was straight-edged, taller than Mist, big as a door, clear as air.

  She was definitely plumper than she had thought.

  Something about the Place roused her to assert herself. She was a pixie, this was her Place, and Mist was only a visitor. She resented his supercilious air as he showed how familiar he was with magic bathtubs and magic cookpots and beds made of feathers — less than two weeks ago, he must have been just as ignorant as she. She especially disliked his emotions when he demonstrated how to submerge in the featherbed. Let him fantasize about the girls he had left behind, she would rather be left out. She wanted to explore every tiniest corner of this wonderful cottage and experiment with all the magical gadgets, especially the hotwater bathtub. She wanted to try on all the sumptuous clothes now heaped so carelessly on a chair, and see what she looked like with no clothes at all. She most certainly did not want this brash canoeist with his oversize hands and buttery eyes rolling around when
she did so, not even if he sat outside on the porch. Maybe there were no chinks in the walls, but there might be knotholes.

  “Are you hungry?” she inquired.

  “Yes!”

  “Well, you may not be much of a cook, but I am. So you go back to the Market and get some food.”

  A big smile lit up his very ordinary face. “Right. What?”

  “Anything you like. And, Mist?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t hurry back.”

  For a moment she Felt hurt, then resignation. “An hour?”

  “Make it two.”

  She watched through the glass pane of the window as Novice Mist went striding off along the Way in the rain, magnificent in his gleaming new blue and silver cloak.

  6

  By the time he returned, the strange day was almost over; shadows were lengthening. She Felt him as he approached along the Way, but the urgent desires that now troubled Novice Mist originated more in his belly than in his groin. She was hungry, too, now.

  She had managed to stop her weeping some time before, and had washed her face in cold water. A last glance in the mirror persuaded her that the remaining tinge of red around her eyes was faint enough to escape Mist’s attention. She would certainly not start weeping again with him present.

  She stepped out on the porch, prepared to force a smile of welcome, but it came easier than she had expected. Jain and the recorders were the evildoers. Mist was innocent, she was sure. Well, not quite innocent. He had some illicit longings that must be discouraged, but he was not part of the conspiracy, only a fellow victim.

  Clutching a basket, he came hurrying along the path with giant steps. The rain had ended shortly after he left, but Thaïle had worked out the sorcery of the Way now and was not at all surprised to see that his cloak and hood were soaked. Then he noticed her standing there in her frilly white blouse and dark gold skirt, and for a moment food dropped back to second place on his wish list.

  “What did you bring?” she asked, grabbing the basket almost before he stepped up onto the porch.

  “Fish! You know how to cook fish?”

  “I can try.”

  As he stripped off his wet cloak, she went inside, rummaging in the basket already. By the time she had spread out the contents on the kitchen table, he had followed her and was looming in the doorway. He had changed his clothes again, to a frilly white shirt — open all the way down to his silver belt buckle — and very snug green velvet tights. Oh, he really did fancy himself! The cottage was growing dim, and somehow he seemed even larger than before.

  Thaïle stared at the four enormous fat perch, the crusty loaves, onions, yams, eggs, lemons, butter, three bottles with labels she could not read… “We’re entertaining the whole College?”

  “I can eat every bit of that,” Mist said firmly. “But I’ll spare you some. Do you like wine?”

  “Never tried it,” she said, and Felt a surge of satisfaction that raised her hackles.

  She took out one of the gorgeous metal knives and set to work. Her father owned one metal knife, and she had a dozen! Mist busied himself with opening a wine bottle. He filled two beakers, then brought a chair in from the sitting room and made himself comfortable to watch. She had a fairly good idea now what his talent was.

  Her hands moved deftly, needing little direction from her. “Funny,” she remarked airily. “I’ve completely lost track of time.”

  She Felt no reaction — no alarm, no guilt. Unless Mist was a sorcerer who could convey false emotions, he was innocent.

  “Not quite first quarter. This wine is delicious.”

  She lifted her goblet with care — he had filled it to the brim. “Which moon, though?”

  “Second!” He was surprised by the question, of course.

  “I don’t think I care for wine.”

  “It grows on you!” he said hopefully.

  I’ll bet it does. She could guess its effects just from his anticipation.

  Second moon of the year… that confirmed what she had worked out while he was gone. She began peeling the onions so she would have an excuse if her eyes misbehaved again.

  The cottage had been wonderful, and heartbreaking. As she had uncovered all its marvels — working out how drawers worked, and door handles, and the chimney flue — she had become more and more distraught. Eventually she had realized that she was frantic with the need to share all these marvels with somebody. Gaib? Frial? Or Sheel, her sister? None of those. Nor her brother Feen. Nobody she knew.

  Knew now?

  She had soaked blissfully in the bathtub with its magical hot water — after scalding her foot on a first attempt — and at the same time discovered that she was utterly miserable. Eventually she had begun to wonder if she could just be lonely. Lonely? A pixie? Many times she had spent days on end wandering the hills by herself and been almost sorry to go home and reassure her parents she was still alive. Pixies never got lonely!

  In the end, the mirror had convinced her.

  A thousand times in her childhood Thaïle had helped her mother and sister wash their hair, as they had aided her. She could easily call up their image in her mind, kneeling by the spring. The back of Frial’s neck had always been paler than the back of Sheen’s neck, because a goodwife wore her hair long and a maid did not.

  Today, in the mirror, Thaïle had seen that paleness on the back of her own neck. Then she had noticed the edges of her hair. She had never seen hair cut so neat and even — until today, here at the College. All the people she had observed at the Market had been well trimmed like that, although the detail had not registered with her at the time.

  The second moon of the year…

  She could not even remember Winterfest!

  At fourteen she had kept Death Watch for old Phain in the first moon. Almost exactly a year later, Jain had come to the Gaib Place and told her she had Faculty. She had hung around there, moping, for a couple of moons. Then she had gone to visit Sheen at the Wide Place. And then… And then what?

  She could not remember. She could not recall coming to the College, even this morning. She had just been here. Trying to think about the journey made her feel sick.

  She must have run away!

  So Jain and the other recorders had followed her and found her. She remembered how strangely sleepy she had felt at the Meeting Place, and his curious probing questions, testing what she could recall and what had been deleted from her mind.

  “Smells terrific!” Mist remarked.

  Thaïle stared down at the sizzling fish in the pan.

  When had she learned to cook fish?

  She was a hill-country girl. She had never eaten fish at the Gaib Place, but now her hands had known what to do, how to gut them and scale them, how to smear them with egg and roll them in breadcrumbs. Who had taught her?

  Part of her life had been stolen away. Months were missing, the better part of a year.

  And someone was missing, the person she had wanted to share the wonders of this cottage with. Who? The boy she had always dreamed of? The one with the smile and the pointy ears?

  She looked up at Mist with eyes that dripped, and onions had nothing to do with it… This was not the one, certainly! Not him, with his empty glass and his open shirt and his fancy boots up on a stool and the trail of mud wherever he walked. Never him. She would not have run away with Mist.

  She must have run away with someone, though, or why had she let her hair grow long?

  Jain and his foul friends had done this awful thing to her.

  She gulped away the ache in her throat. “You say you can’t cook, but you knew exactly what supplies to bring.”

  “I’ve seen it done often enough,” he remarked blandly. “You haven’t touched your wine.”

  “You take it. I’ll stick with water. And I think this is ready to eat.”

  He swung his feet down to the floor. “I know I am.”

  She would not have run away with Mist. Oh, he was likable enough, but she knew now
what his talent was.

  * * *

  Mist pushed his chair away from the table, stretched out his long green legs, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was delicious! You are a terrific cook.”

  Thaïle had finished her meal some time back. She had never seen anyone put away quite so much at a sitting as Mist just had. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He smiled tolerantly, missing the sarcasm. His emotions were oddly fuzzy, because of the wine. “It’s very nearly dark out there!” He stared at the window for a moment and then began to emit worry. “There’s a lot of places I was supposed to show you and haven’t.”

  “There’s a moon.”

  “There is here…”

  “But it may be raining elsewhere? Mist, how big is the College?”

  He shrugged blankly. “No idea.”

  “There’s only the one path, isn’t there, the Way?”

  “’Sright.” He grinned. “That’s quite a trick, isn’t it? No branchings, no side roads. It starts where you are and ends where you want to go.”

  “Provided you’ve been there already.”

  He nodded, and stretched. “You have to be shown the Way. Just means you have to know what your destination looks like, I think — it’s only a Way back! But I ought to show you a few more places before it gets too dark. Course we can take a lantern.”

  “Can you show me the Gate?”

  He shook his head as he stood up. “No, I was blindfolded when… You mean you weren’t?” If butter could look suspicious, then it would look like his eyes now. “Why do you want to know the Way to the Gate?”

  Thaïle was not worried by Novice Mist, or what he was thinking. “Maggot and Worm and whoever the other one is — they were blindfolded also?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’ve talked about it with them?” She Felt his uneasiness and did not wait for an answer. “I was just wondering if you and I came in by the same Gate. There must be several, mustn’t there?”