Settling down with a hamster, rather than a man, hadn’t been at all what she had in mind.
* * * *
The wizard Esotissimus was clearly a traditionalist. His establishment was built of wrought iron, smoke-blackened oak, and equally smoke-blackened granite, lavishly trimmed with spikes and gargoyles. Maribelle paused on the street and looked up at it before entering.
Maribelle usually liked traditionalists; they tended to be easy targets, never ready for the unexpected. They either ignored her completely or tried to seduce her, and both options provided plentiful opportunities for poison or a quick stroke of the blade.
She wasn’t here to kill this particular wizard, though, but to coax a favor out of him, and traditionalism might work against her there. Wizards had a traditional dislike for reversing their spells.
And Esotissimus was not merely a traditionalist, but a very powerful wizard. That was why Maribelle had chosen the direct approach. Armus swore he hadn’t even seen the wizard’s hands move when the transformation spell was cast. He hadn’t even realized the wizard was really angry with him until he started shrinking and growing fur.
Armus had attempted a ruse; he had pretended to be a prospective customer, hoping to study the layout of the wizard’s home and learn a bit of his capabilities. He still, he said, didn’t know what had gone wrong, or how the wizard had known he was lying.
Maribelle lifted the immense iron knocker and let it fall; a muffled boom echoed, and with a creak of bending metal the two black iron gargoyle faces on either side of the door turned to look at her.
She looked back, quickly putting on her dumb-and-demure working expression and smiling at first one, then the other. Just because the iron faces could move that didn’t mean they could see her, but there was no reason to take unnecessary chances.
And it was very obvious that this was real magic here, not the cheap imitations offered by Derdiamus Luc and his ilk.
The oaken door opened a crack, and a heart-shaped female face framed in lustrous black curls peered out at her.
“Hello there,” Maribelle said. There was no point in turning the charm on full for a woman, but she smiled brightly. “I’d like to see Esotissimus, please.”
“You don’t have an appointment,” the black-haired woman said accusingly.
“I didn’t know how to make one,” Maribelle explained. “Please, it’s very important.” She adjusted the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder.
“What’s it about?” the woman demanded.
Maribelle looked at her, trying to judge whether to admit the truth or insist on seeing the wizard. The woman was short, shorter than Maribelle—she would scarcely have reached Armus’ shoulder if Armus were still himself. She wore a low-cut, tight-fitting gown of black velvet that combined with her lush mop of hair to frame and accentuate her pale skin and fine features. She had made herself up expertly, but Maribelle could see that she was past the first bloom of youth—perhaps thirty, or even thirty-five. If she were a slave-girl kept entirely for her decorative appearance she could expect to be cast aside any day now, whenever her master might trouble himself to really look at her and see past the cosmetics.
If she had other talents, Maribelle couldn’t see them.
She was likely to be balky, then—she would be insecure in her position, and reluctant to risk any disturbance should she admit the wrong person. Better, then, to tell her the truth.
“It’s about my husband,” Maribelle said.
The woman’s eyes darkened. “Oh?”
“Yes,” Maribelle said. “The wizard turned him into a hamster. I’d like him turned back.”
Enlightenment struck; the woman’s eyes widened with sudden understanding.
“Oh, the hamster!” she said. “I hadn’t…well, come in; I’ll tell the great Esotissimus you’re here.” She swung the door wide, and ushered Maribelle inside, down a corridor to a small, windowless, sparsely-furnished room lit by a dozen fat candles.
“Wait here,” the attendant said.
Maribelle settled onto an oaken chair and waited. She opened the bag so that Armus could have a little light and air—though the air was sufficiently thick with candle-smoke that it probably wasn’t much of an improvement over the inside of the pouch.
“Was that woman here before?” Maribelle asked.
Armus nodded and gave an affirmative cheeble—the two of them had worked out a few simple codes to aid communication.
“She let you in?”
Again, Armus nodded.
“Did you see any other servants?”
That drew a negative hiss. Of course, that didn’t mean there were no other servants. The place might be full of spying apprentices, for all she or Armus knew, peering through invisible eyeholes in every wall, or watching them with scrying spells.
Armus was looking up at her expectantly, as if he had more to say, but she couldn’t think what it would be. They hadn’t brought paper and ink; it hadn’t seemed practical.
“Did Esotissimus keep you waiting…”
She didn’t have a chance to finish the question, as the door opened just then. The dark-haired woman stood in the corridor, beckoning. Apparently Esotissimus did not keep visitors waiting long.
Maribelle gave Armus a second or two to settle securely back into the pouch, then rose and followed the woman down the passageway and through an imposing set of double doors.
The room beyond was large, dim, and mostly empty. At the far end a dais held a throne, and seated on the throne was a robed figure; all the light in the room came from some hidden source behind the throne, so that the figure’s face was completely hidden in shadows.
Maribelle knew she was supposed to be impressed—in fact, she was impressed—so she dropped her jaw and said, “Ooooh!” in her best little-girl voice.
Behind her, the dark-haired woman slammed the great doors shut. Maribelle blinked foolishly, then turned to look—she always wanted to know whether anyone was in a position to stab her in the back.
The serving woman, or whoever she was, was leaning casually on the closed doors. Maribelle suppressed a frown. It was probably silly to worry about such things when she was facing a powerful wizard, but she really hated having anyone behind her during a negotiation.
At least she could put some distance between them. She put on a scared-but-attempting-bravery expression and marched forward, toward the throne.
“Greetings, mighty wizard!” she said, letting her voice squeak a bit.
The figure on the throne raised one hand and said, “Come no closer!” The wizard’s voice was deep and rich and echoed from the stone walls.
Maribelle stopped and looked puzzled. “All right,” she said. “I didn’t want to shout, that’s all.”
“I will hear you well enough where you are,” the seated shape announced. “What would you have of me?”
“Well,” Maribelle said, holding up the pouch, “you turned my husband into a hamster. I’m sure you had your reasons—I know he can be very annoying at times—but could you please turn him back now? I promise he’s learned his lesson, and we won’t bother you again.”
“You say that the assassin who intruded upon me was your husband?” the wizard boomed.
She hesitated before replying as she debated whether she should object to hearing Armus called an assassin. If she were truly the naive innocent she was pretending to be, she should at least express some surprise.
Generally speaking, though, arguing with wizards wasn’t a good idea.
“Well, we never got around to a formal marriage ceremony, but we’ve been together for a few years,” she said.
Then, abruptly, she turned—she wasn’t consciously aware what had alerted her, whether she had heard breathing or felt the air moving, but she knew someone was co
ming up behind her, and she whirled to find the black-haired woman had come forward from the door and was now just a few feet away.
Maribelle let out a yip.
“You startled me!” she said, backing away—but carefully not even beginning to reach for any of her hidden weaponry.
“Pay no attention to my servant!” the wizard thundered.
“Oh, excuse me, sir!” Maribelle said, turning back toward the throne. She bowed, and then stepped aside, farther off the line between the woman and the throne, so that neither the woman nor the wizard would be directly behind her when she spoke to the other.
The woman frowned at her, and drummed her fingers on the black velvet covering her thigh. Maribelle noticed that the servant did not glance at the wizard for direction before retreating to one of the side walls. There she leaned back against the stone and stared at Maribelle.
“Does she have to be in here?” Maribelle asked the wizard, jerking a thumb at the woman. “She makes me nervous.”
For a moment the wizard sat silently—Maribelle couldn’t see his face, couldn’t guess at his thoughts. Finally he spoke.
“She makes you nervous?”
“Well, I mean, of course you make me nervous, too, but you’re supposed to. You’re a wizard, after all.”
“She makes you nervous.”
“Yes, she does. Could you send her away?”
“No.”
That didn’t leave much room for argument. Maribelle shrugged. At least the woman was at the side now, rather than behind her, and Maribelle had had plenty of practice watching people out of the corner of her eye.
“Whatever you say,” she said. “But could you please change Armus back to a man?” She held up the pouch, displaying the hamster.
“Why should I?” the wizard asked. “He came here to slay me. The two of you are fortunate that I permit him to live in any form!”
“Oh, absolutely,” Maribelle agreed, “it was very kind of you to let him live. But you know, he didn’t come to kill you at all, he swore to me that he didn’t!”
“And you believe him?”
“Of course I do! He’s my husband.”
“And why did he come to me, then?”
Maribelle glanced at the servant, still leaning against the wall; she couldn’t make out the wizard’s expression at all, but the woman’s face was interestingly blank.
The time had come, Maribelle thought, to surprise Esotissimus and tell the truth.
“Oh, he came to decide whether or not to take the job of killing you. But he hadn’t agreed yet, and he wouldn’t have, once he saw you.”
Maribelle thought she saw the woman’s mouth twitch, as if she were suppressing a smile.
“And you think I should forgive him for even considering an attempt to slay me?”
“Well, yes,” Maribelle said. “It was stupid, and he should have known better, definitely—but everyone does stupid things once in awhile.”
“And when they do, they must pay the price!” Esotissimus roared.
“But no harm was done,” Maribelle insisted. “Won’t you please forgive him? Isn’t there anything I can offer you to change him back? We have money—we could pay you.”
“What use do I have for earthly wealth?”
Maribelle blinked foolishly. “The same uses as anyone else,” she said. “I know you charge people for the magic you do for them.”
“If I did not, they would never cease to trouble me,” the wizard said. “I need no gold.”
“Maybe we have information you could use?” Maribelle suggested. “After all, Armus knows who hired him.”
“Derdiamus Luc,” Esotissimus said.
“Oh,” Maribelle said, crestfallen. “You knew.”
“Of course. My servant knew where to take the hamster, did she not?”
Maribelle glanced at the woman leaning against the wall—she was the messenger who had delivered Armus to Luc?
“Well, if you like, Armus could kill Luc for you,” Maribelle said.
“I could dispose of him myself, should I choose to do so,” the wizard replied.
That was probably true enough. Maribelle was running out of suggestions, but there was always one possibility. Her voice suddenly dropped the better part of an octave and turned husky. “Surely there must be something I can do for you?”
“Are you offering to betray your husband?”
“I’m trying to save my husband,” Maribelle protested, holding up the pouch.
“I have no interest in you,” the wizard said coldly. “I am above such worldly concerns.
“But you must be lonely…” Maribelle began. Then somewhere in her head something fell into place, and instead of finishing the sentence she turned to look at the dark-haired woman.
A mighty wizard who claimed to be above any sort of earthly matters, but who still had one servant—and only one—who he insisted must be present during this audience. A woman who was not quite the young beauty she tried to appear. Armus hadn’t seen the wizard even move when he was transformed. And Armus tended to fiddle with weapons behind his back when he was nervous.
Maribelle looked down at the hamster. “She was behind you when it happened, wasn’t she?” she asked.
Armus cheebled, and Maribelle looked up in time to see the dark-haired woman’s hands raised, fingers arranged to cast a spell. Maribelle flung herself sideways, out of the line of fire, ignoring Armus’ tiny shriek of terror as he flew out of his pouch; she landed rolling on the floor, and rose to her knees as she pulled one of the concealed daggers from her sleeve.
She didn’t want to use the knife; for one thing, it probably wouldn’t work. Even as she prepared to throw it she groped for alternatives, and one came to her.
If her guess was right, then the black-haired woman might well want something Maribelle was uniquely equipped to provide.
“Wait!” she shouted, as she readied the knife. “Please, wait!”
The black-haired woman turned, hands raised to enchant.
“Aren’t you lonely?” Maribelle called.
The woman paused, fingers poised and ready but unmoving. Clearly she had expected Maribelle to beg for her life, or offer some sort of bribe, not repeat the question she had asked the wizard. “What?” she said.
“Aren’t you lonely?” Maribelle repeated, lowering her dagger. “I mean, living here all alone with just him—is he even real? Wouldn’t you like someone to, you know, just talk to?”
The woman looked at the dagger, and belated realization dawned—a realization very much like the one that had struck Maribelle. “You aren’t just an assassin’s wife, are you?” she asked.
Maribelle risked a faint smile. “And you aren’t just a wizard’s servant.”
The woman lowered her hands. “Go on,” she said. “What did you want to say?”
“Armus wasn’t going to kill you,” Maribelle said. “If we’d taken the job, I would have. Armus is a sweet boy, but he isn’t much of an assassin—I’m the brains, he’s the decoy. And you’re the wizard, and that thing on the throne is just for show.” She pointed to where the wizard sat, unmoving and completely uninvolved in the rather intense discussion going on a few yards away. “You’re the brains, it’s the decoy.”
“So now I really should kill you,” the woman said, raising her hands again. “Not only are you an admitted assassin, but you know my secret.”
“And you know mine,” Maribelle said. “You can kill me any time—but wouldn’t you rather have someone you can talk to? Someone you can trust? Someone who’s used to keeping secrets? Aren’t there times it would be handy to have a trusted friend who’s trained at theft, deception, and assassination? Someone you can talk shop with?”
“It would be nice,” the wizard said hesitan
tly. “It is lonely. But can I really trust you? Both of you?”
“Why not?” Maribelle said. “I’ll vouch for Armus—he can be foolish, but he can keep his mouth shut, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to be a hamster. We’ve kept our secret well enough—why not yours?” She put the dagger on the floor and displayed her empty hands. “My name’s Maribelle, by the way.”
For a moment the dark-haired woman still hesitated, but then she gave in. “I’m Essi,” she said, reaching out a hand to help Maribelle to her feet.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Maribelle said. “I’ve never met a female wizard before.”
“I don’t think there are any others,” Essi said. “My father trained me in wizardry, but after he and my mother died no one would ever take me seriously—it’s not just that I’m female, but I’m so short, and not ugly enough for a witch. Besides, I don’t know witchcraft, just wizardry. I could have changed my appearance, but that’s so uncomfortable and hard to maintain! So I made Esotissimus over there—he’s a homunculus, sort of half-alive—and played the part of a servant.”
“Nobody would hire a woman to fight openly,” Maribelle said, dusting off her skirt. “So I tried to hire out as an assassin, but even that wasn’t working until I teamed up with Armus.” She looked around, and spotted the hamster trying to scramble up onto the dais. “Could you please change him back?”
“Of course,” Essi said. A moment later Armus, restored to human form, sat on the corner of the dais, looking dazed.
“Mari?” he said.
“I’m fine,” Maribelle answered. “Now shut up and let us talk.”
The Witch and Warlock MEGAPACK ®: 25 Tales of Magic-Users Page 72