Ethshar 08 - Ithanalin's Restoration

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "All right, I'm going." He glanced at the ceiling, then reached for the door.

  The latch popped open before he could touch it.

  "I don't think it likes you," Kilisha said, as Opir stared at the latch.

  "It's alive?"

  "For the moment. Now go!" She gave him another shove.

  He opened the door—and almost collided with another young man who was standing on the step, about to knock.

  "Istram?" Opir said.

  "Go!" Kilisha shouted, pointing.

  Istram stepped to one side, and Opir slipped past him.

  "I'll tell them to look," Opir called back over his shoulder; then he marched off quickly, eastward along Wizard Street .

  "What was that about?" Istram asked as he stepped inside.

  "A family emergency," Kilisha said. "What can I do for you, Journeyman?"

  "Master," Istram corrected her. "As of last month."

  "My apologies, Master Wizard. What was it you wanted?"

  "I'm here to see Ithanalin," Istram said. "On Guild business."

  "I'm afraid my master is indisposed just now," Kilisha said.

  "Indisposed?"

  "Yes."

  "Indisposed how?"

  "Just indisposed."

  "Could I speak with him anyway?"

  "No."

  "Because he's indisposed?"

  "Yes."

  Istram frowned. "I don't think Kaligir will consider that an adequate explanation."

  Kilisha looked puzzled. "What does Kaligir have to do with anything?"

  "Guildmaster Kaligir is organizing our efforts against the usurper calling herself empress in Ethshar of the Sands," Istram said, drawing himself up to his full height—which was a good bit more than Kilisha's. "He wants Ithanalin's assistance, and is somewhat irked that our master hasn't already joined the Guild's meetings. I believe the Guild wants Ithanalin to make some homunculi to serve as spies in Tabaea's palace."

  "She has a palace?"

  "She has the overlord's palace," Istram said. "She chased Ederd out. Now, where's Ithanalin?"

  "Excuse me, but hasn't anyone told Kaligir what happened to my master?"

  Istram blinked in surprise, "Told him what?"

  "Oh, this is stupid," Kilisha mumbled. More clearly, she said, "Chorizel knows what happened—I told him about it two days ago! And Yara talked to Heshka and half a dozen others last night."

  "Well, the news hasn't reached Kaligir or me," Istram said. "Chorizel didn't say anything. They sent me to fetch Ithanalin, since I was the only one who'd apprenticed under him. What's happened? Where is he? Did Tabaea kill him?" He looked around the room, as if finally noticing that something was not quite as it should be.

  "Tabaea has nothing to do with it," Kilisha said wearily. "He's in the workshop." She led the way across the parlor; the coatrack cowered away, and the table danced aside.

  "Why is all this furniture moving? What are all these ropes for?"

  Kilisha turned up an empty palm without answering and marched into the workshop, where she snatched the sheet from Ithanalin's head.

  Istram stared. "What happened to him?" he asked.

  Kilisha sighed, and explained the accident for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Have you tried Javan's Restorative?" Istram asked, as Kilisha pulled the sheet back into place on her master's head. He was studying the brass bowl and its contents. The lamp's flame had turned most of the bowl's metal an ugly black by this time.

  "Not yet," Kilisha said. "I don't have any jewelweed, and I don't have the red couch."

  "Well, jewelweed's easy enough," Istram said, giving the simmering bowl of foul-smelling muck a final glance before crossing to one of the herb drawers. "The master always used to keep it right here."

  "Yara's gone to the herbalist..." Kilisha began, but then Istram had the drawer open and pulled out a dried plant with white flowers and diamond-shaped leaves.

  "Here it is," he said.

  "That's touch-me-not," Kilisha protested.

  "Same thing," Istram said. "Didn't you know?"

  Kilisha was about to say that no, she didn't, when someone knocked on the front door.

  "Oh, gods and spirits!" she said. Why, she wondered, had everyone in the city decided to visit now"? She hurried back across the parlor.

  Istram set the stalk of jewelweed on the workbench and followed her. "Someone should tell Kaligir—" he began.

  "I tried to tell Chorizel," Kilisha said, as she pushed the chair out of her path. "He insisted it would have to wait until after the usurper in Ethshar of the Sands had been dealt with." She reached for the latch, but it sprang open before she could touch it.

  "Oh," Istram said. "He might have a point, at that." He stopped a few feet into the parlor, where the bench had blocked his way.

  Kilisha ignored him as she peered around the door at the well-dressed stranger who stood just outside. "May I help you?" she asked.

  "Is this still the home of Ithanalin the Wise?"

  "Yes, it is, but I'm afraid my master is indisposed right now."

  "You're his apprentice?"

  "I am." She essayed a quick curtsy.

  "Well, he made me a self-pouring teapot about ten years ago, and a sixnight ago my daughter broke it, and I was wondering—"

  "I'm afraid he really is indisposed just now," Kilisha interrupted. "I'm sure that once he's himself again he'll be happy to enchant a new teapot for you. Could you come back in two or three days? I can't set a definite appointment until he's feeling better, but..."

  She didn't finish the sentence; she was distracted by the sight of Kelder, walking up the street behind the customer, waving to her.

  "Ow!"

  That came from behind; she turned to see Istram fending off the coatrack. "Leave that alone!" she called. Then she turned back to the customer. "Today is the eighteenth; I'm sure my master will be well again by, oh, the twenty-second. Could you stop back then? If he's not ready right then, at the very least we'll make an appointment."

  "Maybe I should just find a different wizard," the man said uncertainly, "Well, you could do that, but as I'm sure you know, Ithanalin does the finest animation spells in the city, perhaps in the entire Hegemony. And I suspect we might be able to arrange a discount for a returning customer, especially after putting you to all this inconvenience." She smiled.

  The customer ignored her smile as he realized someone was right behind him; he turned to find a large guardsman looming over him.

  "I'll come back," the customer said. He slipped away and let Kelder step up to the door.

  Kilisha watched the man go with mixed feelings; animating a teapot was a relatively simple and profitable engagement, but one still beyond her own abilities. She hated to see that commission walking away, possibly to wind up in another wizard's hands, but what else could she do?

  "Kilisha," Kelder said. "Any news?"

  "I have everything but the red velvet couch," Kilisha replied, forgetting the teapot buyer and meeting Kelder's gaze. "Do you have any idea where it might be?"

  "I last saw it heading up the East Road toward the Fortress," Kelder said. "I told you."

  "And you haven't seen any sign of it since then?"

  "No."

  She hesitated, then asked, "Could you do me a favor, then? Could you ask the guards at the gates, and make sure it hasn't slipped out of the city?"

  "All eight gates?"

  "Yes, please."

  "That'll take all day."

  "I know. I'm sorry, but-—"

  "Who's this person?" a voice asked from behind.

  Kilisha started; she hadn't realized Istram was so close. She turned aside and made introductions. "Kelder, this is Istram the Wizard; he was Ithanalin's first apprentice, before me. Istram, this is Kelder, the tax collector who was at the door when the accident happened."

  Both men made semipolite noises of acknowledgment; Istram's might have been intended as the words "
Pleased to meet you."

  After that the three of them stood in awkward silence for a moment. Then Istram said, "I should be going. I need to tell Kaligir what's happened."

  "You're sure?" Kilisha asked. "I was hoping you could help me with Javan's Restorative, or figure out what that stuff on the lamp is."

  "I might come back, if Kaligir doesn't need me—but I have no idea what's in the brass bowl, and you ought to be able to do the Restorative yourself, after five years of training."

  "I'm sure I can, but I wouldn't mind having a more experienced wizard on hand when I try it."

  "I'll see if I can, but the Guild really is keeping me busy."

  "You're sure that's jewelweed?"

  "Oh, quite sure. It's called jewelweed when you want the leaves, and touch-me-not if you want the seeds or flowers."

  Kilisha stared up at him for a moment. "Why?" she asked.

  Istram turned up a palm. "I have no idea," he said. "It just is."

  "I could have told you that," Kelder said. "We use jewelweed leaves to soothe chafing—the oil's very cooling. What do you need it for?"

  "The spell to restore Ithanalin," Kilisha explained. "You knew what jewelweed is?"

  "Of course."

  "Why does everyone know this but me?" She started to demand to know why he hadn't said anything, but then realized she had never asked him, had never mentioned jewelweed in his presence at all.

  It was reassuring to have Kelder's confirmation, all the same; she didn't entirely trust Istram, though she couldn't say why. And this meant that she had all the ingredients for the spell, and Yara's trip to the herbalist was unnecessary.

  That trip also seemed to be taking longer than it should, she realized. She hoped Yara hadn't run into difficulties, or had to inquire of more than one herbalist.

  It seemed more likely that Pirra was distracting her, or that she was taking the opportunity to restock some of the household supplies.

  "I should go," Istram said, moving around Kilisha toward the door. "I'll come back as soon as I have the chance."

  "Please do," Kilisha said. Kelder stepped aside to let Istram pass.

  Something thumped behind her, but Kilisha assumed it was just the furniture moving about. She asked Kelder, "Could you please ask at the gates? Maybe you could get some friends to ask at some of them; you wouldn't need to do it all yourself."

  Kelder rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I could do that," he said. "In fact, I could pass the word for the whole city guard to keep an eye open and look for your couch. We have a system for spreading urgent news."

  "Oh, that would be wonderful!"

  "I'm happy to do it, then. I still feel responsible for—"

  He was interrupted by a scream from the workshop. Kilisha whirled.

  "Get it off me!" Yara's voice shrieked.

  Before Kilisha could react Kelder charged past her, truncheon drawn—and promptly tripped over the bench, which was running back and forth, panic-stricken, across the parlor. The guardsman managed to catch himself before he actually fell, but his rush to Yara's aid was still quite effectively interrupted.

  Kilisha pushed aside the chair that was trying to nuzzle up to her, rounded Kelder and the bench, stepped over a tangle of rope, and dashed to the workshop, where she found Yara standing in the middle of the room, bent almost double, prying at the rug that had wrapped itself around her ankles. She must have come in the back way, as usual, Kilisha thought—but how did the rug get out of its box?

  She would worry about that later; for now she fell to her knees, caught one edge of the rug, and tried to pull it loose.

  It struggled ferociously. It was trying to climb up Yara's legs and shake off Kilisha's grip when Kelder arrived, reached down, and grabbed a handful of rug. He heaved.

  Yara went over backward; Kilisha snatched at her, and managed to break her fall but not prevent it. Yara sat down hard on the plank floor.

  That made it much easier to pull the rug off her legs, and a moment later Kelder and Kilisha held it by either end while it squirmed and wriggled.

  "Talk to it, Yara!" Kilisha called. "It loves you!"

  "Augh!"

  "Mama?" Pirra called from the kitchen doorway.

  "You just settle down right this minute!" Yara barked at the thrashing rug, wagging an angry finger.

  The rug's movements stopped.

  "Now, you go back in the box until we get the couch back! No more escapes! No more trouble!"

  The rug sagged. It rippled its upper edge as if nodding, then went limp.

  Kelder looked at Kilisha, who said, "The box is behind you." A moment later they had the rug secured once again. Kilisha fumbled with the lock.

  "Mama?" Pirra called.

  Yara had been sitting on the floor, her legs stretched out before her, and watching the rug's incarceration; now she turned and asked, "What is it, darling?"

  "What's that spoon doing?" She pointed.

  Yara turned and saw the spoon just as it reared up its handle and stretched out toward the waistband of her skirt; she let out a wordless shriek and smacked it away.

  Kilisha saw, and dove for the spoon as it spun and skittered across the floor. She caught it one-handed.

  "How did that get loose?" she demanded of no one in particular, as she got back to her feet, clutching her prize. She looked for the box that had held her first two captives.

  Sure enough, its lid was wide open, flung back to one side. She looked inside.

  The bowl was still there; apparently it had not been sufficiently agile to climb out the top. Kilisha dropped the spoon inside, then slammed the lid.

  "Who opened these?" she shouted. "Don't tell me they both just managed to get themselves unlocked at the same time!"

  "Maybe the spriggan?" Pirra said, pointing.

  Kilisha turned her gaze to follow the girl's finger. Kelder and Yara turned, as well, until four sets of eyes were fastened on the little green creature that cowered under a corner of the workbench.

  "You," Kilisha said. She checked to make sure the bowl and spoon were securely confined, then took a step toward the spriggan. "You let them out, didn't you?"

  The spriggan nodded. "Fun?" it said uncertainly.

  Kilisha growled and reached for it.

  The spriggan, moving far more suddenly than Kilisha would have thought possible, sprang over her outstretched hand, made a right-angle turn on one foot, then dashed out through the parlor door, weaving between the bench's legs and bounding over a rope.

  Kilisha followed, calling, "Lock the door!"

  The latch clicked helplessly; Kelder had left the door standing open, and the latch could not reach the frame to obey. The spriggan dodged around the edge and vanished into the street.

  "Oh, blood and death!" Kilisha muttered, as she narrowly avoided tripping over the ropes and catapulted herself across the parlor. She snatched the door open and ran outside.

  The spriggan was heading west; she could just see it, scurrying past three startled pedestrians. She charged after it.

  The three passersby stared, and one called out a question, but Kilisha could spare no time for them; she ran on, chasing the spriggan. She had to squeeze around a wagon the spriggan ran under, then dodge around a puddle the spriggan ran through, but she was slowly gaining.

  "Apprentice!" someone called, and she looked up just in time to avoid running directly into a woman in green velvet. She skidded to a stop and belatedly recognized Lady Nuvielle.

  "I was just on my way—" Nuvielle began.

  "I'm sorry, my lady," Kilisha gasped. "No time right now!" Then she stepped to the right and dashed past the startled noblewoman.

  The encounter had cost her precious seconds, and the spriggan was almost out of sight. She lowered her head and ran all-out, her skirt and hair flapping behind her. She felt her hair ornament slip out of place, falling down behind her ear, but she ignored it as she ran.

  They were almost to Cross Avenue when she finally dove forward, landing flat on the di
rt of the street, and grabbed for the spriggan with both hands.

  Her right hand missed, but her left closed on one scrawny leg. The creature squawked, waving its arms wildly, but she held on.

  "Let go! Let go!" it shrieked.

  "Never," Kilisha said, closing her right hand around its plump throat. With her prize thus secured, she slid forward, tucking her elbows under her. Then she pulled in her knees, so that she was on all fours, then slowly and carefully got to her feet, keeping both hands and both eyes fixed solidly on the spriggan.

  She stood in the street, aware that the front of her apprentice's robe and her hands and arms were all smeared with black dirt, aware that several people were staring at her, but with her attention focused entirely on the spriggan.

  "Why did you do that?" she asked, her voice trembling.

  The thought that the spriggan might have gotten away was terrifying; if that happened she would never be able to restore her master to life! Finding an enchanted couch or a runaway bench was one thing; those were unusual, and magical, and could be tracked down somehow. Finding one specific spriggan, though, in all the city, in all the World, a spriggan that not only had the normal stealth and idiot cunning of its kind, not only had a spriggan's innate resistance to wizardry, not only could pick locks with its fingernails, but that could not be bound because it held the essence of Ithanalin's athame...

  That would have been virtually impossible.

  "Do what?" it squeaked, in that voice so oddly reminiscent of Ithanalin's.

  "Why did you run away?"

  "You scary!"

  Kilisha clamped her teeth tightly shut for a moment to keep from trembling, then said, "If you think I'm scary now, you should see what I'll be like if you ever try that again! You are going to stay in my master's house until my master is restored to life, do you hear me?"

  "Sprigganalin hear fine!"

  "Do you understand me?"

  The thing's cars drooped, and its eyes widened.

  "No," it said.

  "Augh!" Kilisha fought a temptation to fling the idiotic little beast against the nearest wall.

  Its eyes widened even further; its cars folded back.

  "Listen to me," she growled.

  "Sprigganalin listen!" it said, nodding desperately.