Karanissa, on a nearby chair, shrugged. “They’re clever enough to get us stuck here.”
“The notes said something about time being tricky; that must be what he meant, the angle of the sunlight. I wonder, will a tapestry just not do anything if the light’s wrong? The note said that transit time could be affected; maybe, if you step in at the wrong time, you just aren’t anywhere until the light changes.”
The witch shuddered slightly. “If that were it, why didn’t I just vanish completely when I tried to use the tapestry? I should be in limbo somewhere, waiting for poor Derry’s skeleton to disappear, and that would leave you stranded out front, starving to death, unless you could talk the servants into opening the door, anyway.”
Tobas thought about that. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe there’s a difference between predictable, regular changes, like sunlight, and unpredictable changes, like moving the skeleton. Or maybe that scene will never exist again, the roof will fall in before the skeleton is removed, or something, so that the tapestry couldn’t work at all.”
“I don’t like that idea, either,” Karanissa said, hunching forward.
“It’s just a suggestion,” Tobas said with a shrug. He thought for another moment, then said, “I guess it couldn’t just create a new world because the room used to exist exactly the way it’s shown. Once the spell was established, going to one place, it couldn’t switch to another; it could only shut itself down.”
The witch said nothing.
“And as far as one tapestry changing transit time while another doesn’t work at all, I suppose that’s possible, too. Wizardry is funny stuff. Some little variation in the original spell, something too small to detect, could make a difference, the spell would still work pretty much the same, but would react differently to special circumstances. Roggit told me about things like that, where a spell could work just the same, but would need a different countercharm, depending on whether the wizard held his left thumb up or sideways on one gesture. With something as complicated as the tapestries, I’d guess there will just about always be a little variation, I mean, the preparatory spell takes twenty-four hours! Nobody can do exactly the same motions, down to a fraction of an inch, over an entire day and night. And the magic goes on into the weaving, too, so even the scene itself might affect the spell.”
Karanissa shook herself, then asked, “Well, whatever the reason is, what do we do now?”
“I’m not sure; I guess we could put the skeleton into the scene, weave it in somehow, but I’m not sure that would work. I think I’d have to completely redo the entire tapestry...” He stopped dead for a moment, then demanded, “What am I thinking of? That’s stupid. The tapestry’s fine the way it is. What we have to do is remove the skeleton; then the scene will be right again.”
“How are we going to do that?” she demanded. “We can’t get back through the tapestry to move it until it’s been moved!”
“Oh, come on, Kara,” Tobas replied. “You’re a witch! You don’t have to reach out and touch something with your hands to move it. Can’t you move the skeleton from here?”
“No, I can’t!” she snapped. “I need to know where something is relative to myself, before I can do anything to it. I can sense such things ordinarily, I have the witch-sight and the witch-smell and I can hear minds and read hearts, but not from this world into another. We aren’t anywhere here. I don’t know where to look or how to look. I tried to call for help when I first found out I was stuck here and I couldn’t do it; I’m cut off.”
“Oh.” Tobas looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.
“Can’t you do something? Don’t you have some spell that will remove the skeleton?”
“I don’t know,” Tobas said. “I can’t think of any off hand.”
“What about that dream-spell. Couldn’t you-”
Tobas sat up, cutting her off. “Sure! Of course I could! At least, that is, I think so. It’s supposed to work no matter where the other person is. And we know wizardry works between worlds, even if witchcraft doesn’t, because you said Derithon got some kind of alarm or message from his other castle while he was here with you.”
“That’s right,” the witch said. “He did. You can call someone to come and move the skeleton.”
“I have to send the dream to someone specific; that’s the way the spell works.”
“Well, so what? You must know somebody.”
“It’s got to be someone who knows where that castle is, though; I can only send a message a few minutes long, and I couldn’t give clear directions. Not in a dream, anyway. I don’t know how much anyone would remember of one of these dreams when he woke up, either. The Lesser Spell doesn’t work in both directions; it just sends, it doesn’t receive, so I can’t check, can’t be sure I’m getting through.” He hesitated. “There’s only one other person who knows where the castle is; it’ll have to be him. I hope he hasn’t gone and fallen off a cliff or something.”
“Who?”
“His name is Peren the White; we met in Dwomor, no, in Ethshar, really. He went off eastward when we split up, across the mountains. I hope I can talk him into coming back.”
“Well, you’ll certainly have to try.”
“I suppose I will.” He lay back again, running the plan through his mind to see if there was anything obviously wrong with it.
It seemed sound. He would call Peren with the Lesser Spell of Invaded Dreams. Peren would come and remove Derithon’s skeleton, restoring the hidden room to its original condition and allowing the tapestry to work once more. He and Karanissa would be able to just step through into the fallen castle then. It should work, he decided.
“You called it the Lesser Spell,” Karanissa remarked, breaking into his thoughts. “Is there a greater one?”
“Well, yes, there is,” Tobas admitted. “And it works both ways at once, both sending and receiving, and gives the user complete control of someone’s dreams for up to half an hour, according to the book. But it’s much harder. It uses blood and silver and... well, it’s harder. Probably fourth-order.”
“You said you thought you could do a third-order spell; is there that much difference?”
“Oh, I suppose not, not really, but I’m not sure I’ve done any third-order. They might have just been tricky second-order, really.”
“Well, what harm can it do to try?”
“I don’t know, that’s what scares me.”
“I think you should try it,” Karanissa said emphatically.
“That’s because you don’t know any better. There are wizards who live their entire lives without getting past third-order spells, and you want me to go from a single spell to fourth-order in a couple of sixnights!”
“Oh, Tobas, don’t get so upset! You’re the wizard here; you do as much as you think you can. But fourth-order doesn’t sound like so much; you said Derithon must have used something higher than seventh to have created this castle, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “It would need at least that, but Derithon was probably a very talented wizard and two hundred years old. I’m seventeen, or more likely eighteen by now, and I don’t really know if I have much aptitude for wizardry or not. And these things aren’t just one-two-three, really; second-order is supposed to be eight or ten times as difficult as first, and third-order ten times harder than that, and so on. First-order spells are easy for me now, and I can handle second, but fourth...”
“Oh.” Her voice was small. “I hadn’t realized it worked that way. I don’t know much about wizardry.”
“There’s no reason you should. I’m sorry that I’m not a more powerful wizard, but I’m not; I’m just a failed apprentice, really. I’m going to go try that spell, though — the lesser one. I ought to be able to handle that. You go to bed now and get some sleep, I want to test it on you, see if I can send you a message in your dreams.”
“All right,” she agreed. “I could use a nap, anyway.” She rose, yawning.
They separated in the hallway with
out touching one another, he bound for the study and she for her chamber. Tobas glanced back over his shoulder at her departing figure and caught Karanissa looking back at him. He faced forward again, smiling.
CHAPTER 25
The Lesser Spell of Invaded Dreams worked perfectly every time he tried it on Karanissa, so he knew he had mastered it, but he had no way of knowing whether his repeated messages were reaching Peren across the gap between worlds.
He ran through the procedure again and peered intently into the eerie haze of dust and incense smoke that it created.
“Peren,” he said, “I don’t know if you got my earlier messages, but this is Tobas of Telven, using a dream-message-spell to talk to you. I need your help urgently. Go to the fallen flying castle, to the secret room, and move the skeleton, it doesn’t matter how, or where you put it, just as long as everything is out of that room. That’s all you need to do. I’ll pay you back any way I can, if you’ll do this for me, and I’ve got money and magic now.”
He paused. Saying he had money was a slight exaggeration; he had a few odd valuables from Derithon’s study, mostly precious and semiprecious stones used in various spells, but no more coin than when he left Telven. That didn’t matter, he told himself; he could get money easily enough once he was back in the World. “Move the skeleton!” he repeated. “Drag it back around the corner into the hallway, that’ll do. Just move the skeleton.”
The haze began to thin, and he stopped talking. That was all he could fit into that invocation of the spell; in an hour or two he would try again.
Meanwhile, it was time to go check the tapestry again, as he did after each sending. For all he knew, Peren had been right in the castle itself and might have moved the skeleton, or he might have wandered off and gotten lost somewhere in the eastern desert, fallen off a mountain, or gotten himself killed in a fight. All Tobas could do until he got up his nerve to try higher-order magic was to keep trying, sending messages and checking the tapestry.
Taking his prepared supplies with him, he went up to the exit room and poked at the fabric. The tapestry was still dead. He sighed.
He was still stuck in the castle. He had done what he could for the moment. He glanced about, trying to decide what to do with himself until the next attempt at contacting Peren.
His schedule had slipped out of synchronization with Karanissa’s as a result of the experiments with dream messages; she was asleep just now, leaving him alone in the castle.
Alone, that is, except for Nuisance, who smeared something ichorous on his slipper as he leaned against the useless tapestry and then ran away giggling. The little monster had gotten totally out of hand of late; he was unsure why, after four centuries of obeying Karanissa, it had decided to cause trouble now, but it undeniably had. Had he been able to see it, he would have kicked it soundly.
He pulled off the slipper and rubbed at it; the stuff was sticky and foul-smelling and clung to his fingers unpleasantly.
Furious, he decided that it was time he did something about Nuisance; he returned to the study, put his bundle of supplies up on the shelf, and flipped open the Book of Spells to Lugwiler’s Haunting Phantasm.
This, he was fairly certain, was a third-order spell, and as good a one as any to try out. He had gotten proficient at the spells he believed to be second-order and even the ones he thought might be third; it was time to try another, slightly harder one.
When he had thought that the Phantasm might have created Nuisance or the other servants, he had not yet read through it; that was not at all what it did. It was actually a sort of curse. It created a nasty little haunt that would torment its victim by appearing in unexpected places, looking hideous and startling, while being utterly invisible and imperceptible to everyone else. The Phantasm was actually quite harmless unless it frightened someone to death, but it didn’t look harmless, according to the instructions. It could be made to haunt the target relentlessly, randomly at its whim, or in response to a particular stimulus.
Tobas intended to have the Phantasm haunt Nuisance so long as Nuisance remained in the upper floors of the castle. He thought he could manage quite nicely without a servant, certainly without Nuisance, and, if he should later change his mind, he could remove the spell.
He could simply have ordered Nuisance to stay away; the thing did still obey direct orders. That, however, was far too dull and easy. This curse seemed a good way to proceed with his wizardly training, and he thought it might be fun to see Nuisance on the receiving end of unpleasantness for once.
Not that he could actually see Nuisance at all, perhaps, he thought, he should say that it would be nice to hear Nuisance being on the receiving end. A few whimpers would be a welcome change from the constant giggling and squishing about.
The spell required a mirror and an assortment of odd ingredients; he selected them carefully from the shelves, then arranged everything on the big worktable, ready for use.
He read through the spell four times; it looked tricky, very tricky, but at last he felt himself ready to attempt it. He began the ritual. Halfway through he knew something wasn’t working right; a greenish-yellow flicker of some sort was crawling around the table, and that was definitely not anything that had been mentioned in the description. Besides, the spell didn’t feel right; he had had enough experience of wizardry by now to know that. He had made an error somewhere. He was unsure whether it would be better to stop or to continue, and he felt his instant of hesitation damage the spell further.
Grimly, realizing that he had now botched it completely, he continued, hoping to minimize the damage. There was no telling what he had done until he finished it; perhaps nothing would come of it.
He completed the spell as best he could, then laid the small round mirror down on the table.
The yellow flicker was gone; he could see no sign of magical activity. Perhaps nothing had come of his bungling. Perhaps he had not actually bungled it at all; he had never placed a curse before, and the odd feeling of wrongness might be normal with curses. Somewhat reassured, he was about to call for Nuisance to see if the Phantasm had appeared, when something climbed up out of the mirror.
He stared at the little creature, horrified. It stood on the tabletop and stared back at him.
It was no more than eight inches tall; its glossy hide was a muddy greenish-brown color, and it was shaped something like a man, something like a frog. It stood upright on two bow legs, long-fingered hands on its hips, staring back at him with bulging popeyes, its big, pointed ears cocked forward. He could see no sign of any sex, but then, many magical creatures were said to be sexless.
It was not the Phantasm; there was nothing very horrific about the creature, and it was indisputably solid. He reached out and poked it in its fat little belly.
It squeaked with alarm and stepped back, away from the mirror.
“And what in the World are you?” Tobas asked aloud.
It puffed itself up proudly, then pointed a thumb at its narrow chest and said in a ridiculous little voice, “Spriggan.”
Startled, Tobas said, “What?” He had not expected it to be able to talk.
“Spriggan, me!” it squeaked.
“Oh,” Tobas said. Curiously, he reached out to pick it up.
It squealed again, and scampered away; before he could catch it, it had bounced off the wall, dived off the table, and vanished out the doorway.
Oh, well, Tobas thought. It seemed harmless enough, and it might not be permanent in any case. In time it might well vanish of its own accord.
So much, though, for trying any high-level spells in the near future. He reached out to pick up the mirror.
Another spriggan, identical to the first, climbed out of the glass before his hand reached it.
“Hello,” he said, surprised.
“Hello,” it squeaked in reply. Its voice was pitched lower than the first, but was still somewhere well up into soprano range.
“You’re a spriggan?” Tobas asked, slightly worried; he had not
expected a second to appear and feared that more of these mysterious little creatures might be forthcoming.
“Yes, yes!” it said, smiling up at him. “Spriggan!”
“Where did you come from?” Tobas asked. Its origin might give a clue to its abilities or purpose.
It looked puzzled for a moment, its face contorted into a ludicrous parody of perplexity, and then suddenly smiled again. “Here,” it yelped, jumping up and down and pointing at the mirror. “Here! Here!”
Tobas stared at it for a moment. The thing did not seem very intelligent, but he had no one else to question. “Is there a reason you’re here?” he asked cautiously.
“Fun, fun,” it said. “Have good fun, yes?” It grinned toothlessly up at him.
“I suppose you will,” Tobas answered doubtfully. He wondered how many of these things were going to emerge from the mirror before the spell wore off. Were these two all of them, or would the castle soon be crowded with these little creatures?
The second spriggan suddenly scampered to the edge of the table, yipped, “Bye-bye!” and jumped to the floor; before Tobas could stop it, it had, like the first, dashed out of the door and out of sight.
Quickly, before another could appear, he snatched up the mirror and threw it into a convenient wooden box. That, he thought, should keep any more spriggans from getting loose in the castle.
He watched for several minutes, but no more appeared; he closed the box and turned the key in the lock, just in case.
No more tricky spells, he promised himself. He would work his way up gradually. The Lesser Spell of Invaded Dreams would have to do. If he couldn’t reach Peren with it, he might try Arden or Elner or Alorria.
He felt suddenly tired; all this magic, and the stress of trying to arrange an escape from the castle, was wearing on him. He had no idea how long he had been awake; he had no way to tell time without the sun. The castle contained no hourglass, water clocks, or other timepieces.
He packed away his books and tools and went to bed.
A moment later, behind him, behind the closed door, inside the wooden box, a spriggan emerged from the mirror and began whimpering dismally upon realizing that it was confined.
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