"Thank you," she said, giving Bib a chipper curtsey as she reached for the stack of thick black cloth sitting on one of the smaller study tables, now pushed up against the bookshelves.
"We're partners, Mi'Lady. As soon as you started to help me, that gave me the energy and magic to help you, which gave you more power to help me, and in turn gave me more magic to help you. Enchanters have searched for centuries for a self-sustaining source of magic power. Simple people without any magic at all have possessed that secret for just as long."
"Are you part philosophy book?" She spread the cloth out with a smile. Merrigan hoped he wouldn't give her miniature lectures like that all the time—and tried not to think it too loudly. It wouldn't do to insult and irritate the first real friend she had found.
WHEN FLORA AND FAUNA came to the library that evening, Bib took over helping them with their reading. Merrigan continued with her sewing while the girls read to her, this time from a book of fables about magical events in the country itself. The first time Fauna had difficulty with a word, Merrigan nearly dropped the robe she was hemming when her own voice asked Fauna what letters were in the word. She certainly hadn't spoken. Slowly, she glanced up to see if the girls were looking at her. They weren't. They sat in one of the massive cushioned chairs big enough for them both to share, with the book open between them, bent over the page. She thought it rather endearing how Flora ran her finger across the bottom of the line and mouthed the letters with Fauna as she recited them to Bib. He was a very good mimic, apparently.
Neither girl ever looked up, and Merrigan felt some gratitude that he had taken over. Not that she would have minded getting up and stepping over to the chair to lean over the girls and look at the word. A chance to stretch her legs would be welcome. Still, it was pleasant to have someone read to her, to let her mind wander a little, and have someone else tend to the teaching. She was more than willing to admit she wasn't the most skilled in teaching. Then again, why should she need the talent at all? She was a queen—other people were responsible for teaching underlings how to do their jobs. The day she had to teach a servant how to serve her, she would seriously fear for the state of the kingdom that would put her in such a position. Something was wrong.
Well, of course something is wrong, she scolded herself. Look where I am. Oh, Leffisand, why did you have to be such a fool? You had to go haring off and make even bigger mistakes, take bigger risks to cover them. Why couldn't you have thought of me first, for a change? Sometimes a king's life is more important than his reputation or his kingdom.
Now who's turning philosophical? Bib said, directly into her mind, even as his impersonation of her coached Fauna into pronouncing "vainglorious."
It's not philosophical, it's common sense. Why couldn't Leffisand have included me in the plot so much sooner? She sniffed and glanced up at the book that sat innocuously on the corner of the table next to her, half-covered with the skirts of the robe. Eavesdropping is rude.
You think so loudly, Mi'Lady. Bib chuckled, the cover of the book lifting a little to allow the pages to riffle in a whispering sort of sound.
Merrigan preferred carrying on a conversation with Bib outside of her head. Besides his tendency to eavesdrop, it disturbed her to do so much thinking. So when Flora and Fauna finished their reading lesson for the night, she was relieved. She bade them goodnight, remembered to thank them for the hot water they brought up to the library for her to wash with—odd, to consider hot water a luxury—and closed the door firmly to ensure no one would overhear her. Then with one shielded lamp sitting on the table, she curled up in the window seat bed, with Bib perched on a pillow on a chair nearby, and settled in to talk.
She asked how he had come to be torn apart.
"It's an odd tale, Mi'Lady. To begin: Under ordinary circumstances, the magic that infiltrates my pages requires that I only answer the questions asked of me."
"Despite all the tales in all those books," she gestured to one bookcase that contained nothing but tales of magic, the breaking of curses and the foibles of enchanters, "I find nothing ordinary about magic of any kind. You are most certainly magical. And rather extraordinary in your own right," she added with a smile.
"A lovely compliment, Mi'Lady. I thank you." Bib riffled his pages in a buzzy sort of laughter. "Yes, under ordinary circumstances, I am limited in my powers of speech. I only speak when spoken to, and only answer the questions asked me. It takes the presence of a majjian somewhat stronger than a hedge witch to break the geas and allow me to have intelligent conversations." He sighed melodramatically.
Merrigan chuckled. She liked the warm feeling from sharing genuine laughter with someone, not staged, public-face laughter.
"I assure you, Bib, I have no magical powers to speak of."
"No, Mi'Lady, but you are permeated with magic. It radiates from your flesh and bones. Now that's a consideration I hadn't taken into account until now."
"What?" She sat up, just when she was starting to feel deliciously drowsy. "You have an idea how to break my curse?"
"No, Mi'Lady. It just occurred to me that once we break the curse, there won't be any magic enfolding you, and we might not be able to talk, really talk, anymore."
"Oh." She lay down again and tugged the blankets up to her chin. "That's ... that's rather sad. We've only known each other a day, but I suppose when you've been sorting through someone's innards like I have with your pages, that produces a kind of ... intimacy." She echoed his last sigh. "I truly think I will miss you when that happens, Bib."
"Thank you, Mi'Lady. On the bright side, the curse may be on you long enough, magic soaking into you, when it's broken, enough magic will remain to allow me to speak freely."
"Hmm ... yes." Merrigan would much prefer to break the curse before any more magic soaked into her. The mental image was of swamp ooze clinging to her skin. "So, I assume the inability to do more than respond to questions led to you being destroyed?"
"The previous owner of this house, Judge Brimble's uncle, discovered my ability to speak. A curious, sad family history. The uncle's father cheated his brother, Judge Brimble's grandfather, out of his inheritance as the oldest son. As I recall, there were several brothers in between the heir and the cheat. His trickery earned him a curse. Odd, if you think about it. Usually the youngest sons are the good ones, the heroes and recipients of majjian help."
Merrigan reflected that she was the youngest, and the various local magical folk never went out of their way to help her. Maybe that was the problem? People had scolded her for her attitude and her siblings referred to her as "the brat." She sensed she had been cheated of her magical birthright as the youngest, the favored one. Wasn't that enough to sour anyone?
"The curse kept the previous two owners of this house from enjoying any success in the family way. The great-uncle found eight wealthy maidens to agree to marry him. Each one vanished, either carried off by a black knight or running off on a quest of her own before the wedding could take place. His son was adopted, though they always denied it. He went to a foreign country for a year, then returned with a tale of marrying an enchanted princess. Supposedly the day their son was born, she vanished, turned into a black swan. People stopped believing him when no black swans ever came to visit the baby. There are rules to magic and curses, and usually a loophole that leads to breaking them."
"I wonder how long it will take to find the loophole to break mine," Merrigan murmured into her pillow.
"Be that as it may," Bib continued, "the curse kept the adopted son from finding any joy in wife and children. He ended up adopting his orphaned cousin or nephew or whatever Judge Brimble was to him. The house and all the books, mostly law books by this time, came back into the possession of the proper bloodline."
"That doesn't explain how you were torn up and looked like you had been dropped into several mud puddles."
"Painfully accurate guess, Mi'Lady." He sighed, the pages riffling louder, so Merrigan felt a slight breeze. "Brimble's uncle didn't as
k the right questions, so I couldn't give him the answers he wanted. He became so frustrated with me, he tore a few pages out of me at a time, to loosen my tongue. His own words. The fool. When it was just a few pages at a time, I had the strength to repair myself. He tried to burn some of my pages, but I killed the flames. Eventually, he got so infuriated that he took me outside and ripped pages out by the handfuls and threw me into the hog pen."
"How awful! I'm so sorry. You must have suffered terribly." In her travels, she had encountered far more hog pens and the attendant stench than she cared to remember.
"While I have the power of speech, Mi'Lady, fortunately I lack a sense of taste or smell unless I can borrow the senses of the people I serve, if they so permit by an act of will."
"I will keep that in mind." Such an ability might come in handy.
"A protective spell brought me back to the library while I repaired myself. By this time, most of the family fortune had vanished, and the uncle only came into the library when he needed another rare book to sell. He was nearly apoplectic when he saw me sitting on the reading stand where I belonged. Much bedraggled and worse for wear, but in one piece again."
"Oh, dear," Merrigan murmured, envisioning what likely came next. Mostly because, she was oddly ashamed to admit, she would have done the exact same thing. She had never ripped apart books, but she recalled destroying other things that had failed her. "He tried again, didn't he?"
"Five times. Until he learned he had to rip all the pages out of me so I couldn't repair myself. Each time, he rode farther away, trying to defeat the magic that brought me home."
To her surprise, Bib chuckled. More accurately, he snickered.
"What's so amusing? I can't imagine any of those experiences were pleasant for you at all. You didn't actually feel yourself being torn apart, did you?"
"Yes, and no. It wasn't how I imagine you would feel if say, someone peeled off your skin and then pulled off your arms and legs, but yes, it's a disquieting sensation to feel yourself going to pieces. Accompanied by maniacal laughter. My only consolation was that each time that wretched man saw me again, he had an apoplectic fit. The fourth time, he was confined to his bed for two moons. Most of that time, he was unable to speak. Quite fitting punishment, if you ask me."
"Indeed." She reached out and stroked the cover. "Am I imagining things, or is it the candlelight, or is your cover ... thicker? The colors darker?"
"My repairs are still progressing, Mi'Lady. Your sympathy, your discomfort on my behalf, comfort and strengthen me. Hastening the healing."
"Oh ... well ... I'm glad I could be of help." She wriggled a little, feeling somewhat squirmy inside. Being helpful to someone was a good thing, wasn't it? It wasn't like she was breaking any sort of rule for being a queen. Was it?
Merrigan scrambled for something else to focus on, to get her mind off the odd thoughts that seemed to focus beams of uncomfortably warm light back on herself.
"The glass—in the corner case—it had a spell on it?"
"Oh, yes, indeed. That was part of the curse put on me by the enchanter who—no, let me back up in the story. When that despicable, temperamental old man—"
"Why don't you ever say his name? You always refer to him as the uncle, but never his name. Don't you remember?" She found it amusing, despite her own inability to remember people's names.
"I don't want to speak it. I loathe him. Even more than I loathe the enchanter who put me behind that enspelled glass. Now, as I was saying ..." Bib paused, and Merrigan wondered if he expected her to interrupt again. "When that fiend recovered from his last fit, he promised all the magical books remaining in this library to an enchanter who could deal with me. He offered me in the bargain, but the man didn't want me." He snickered. "He had once fought with the enchanter who made me. He refused to even touch me, and declared the world was safer if I remained within the confines of the ruins of my master's castle."
"So the stories are true?" Merrigan sat up again and looked around the shadowy library. She thought about the rows upon rows upon shelves upon stacks of books in this library. What were the chances that a book of magic could be found in here that would break Clara's curse? Then she sighed and curled up again. "The enchanter took all the books, didn't he?"
"Oh, no indeed. There are a great many books of magic still here. He couldn't remove them any more than he could remove me. Despite the punishment cast on the warring enchanters, binding their magic until they could act with proper civility and concern for and duty to others, some magic remained in effect. My previous owner put a spell on all his magic books so no one could take them from his castle without his permission. Even if he died."
"Oh. Then ... When we take care of the judge and the miller, I won't be able to take you with me, will I?"
Odd, how disappointing that was. Merrigan admitted she had grown quite fond of Bib in such a short time. He was amusing and clever and kind, and he flattered her without making her feel he was maneuvering for something to benefit him rather than her.
Bib chuckled, several ripples of his pages, before saying, "Oh, you must take me with you, Mi'Lady. I think it was ordained. But let me finish my story. The enemy enchanter created the glass to seal the corner cabinet that held my pieces. Only someone with magic, from outside the household, outside the town of Smilpotz even, could find me. Ask anyone in the household. They'll tell you that corner is solid wood, not glass. The uncle was mightily relieved when he came in here to remove some ancestral silver plate and couldn't see me. He searched all over the library, and kept walking right past me. I think there was a don't-notice-me spell in force. The spell was intended to keep my first master from finding me, if he ever regained his magic. A codicil in the spell says my rightful owner cannot take me up again until other hands, disinterested hands, someone with justice on their minds, repaired me. Then I could leave the ruins of this castle, either with the one who saved me or with my original owner."
"How long have you sat there, waiting? Judge Brimble is ... well, he's so huge, it's hard to tell his age, and I'm very sure he dyes his hair and paints his face."
"Well, perhaps two centuries since my master was defeated and exiled, and maybe thirty years or so since my pages were entirely ripped from my spine."
Merrigan winced at the imagery. "And no one has seen you, even come near you?"
"Well ... I have my suspicions. Several people with magic have visited this house. I'm very sure Cook has inherent magic, but chooses not to use it. Although, some would say that cooking is a kind of magic all its own."
"Certainly far more useful than most magic," Merrigan retorted. That earned another rippling chuckle from him. "How do you know Cook has magic?"
"He used to come up here. Streamers of magic would follow him around, soaking into the books that were sleeping—that's what magic books do when no one has used them in decades. They sleep. Cook has enough magic to leave a trail, and it ... I don't know, it soothed the other books. Made it easier for them to sleep. You don't want a magic book to wake up from a bad dream or simply wake up cranky or furious at being ignored. No, indeed, Mi'Lady. A few times, he stopped and put a hand on the glass, and he looked right at me. He never said anything, but there was such sorrow flowing off him, through the wards of my prison."
"Bib ... what if Cook is your original owner, but he couldn't get through the glass to take you out and repair you?"
The silence from the book lasted so long, Merrigan feared she had said something to offend him. Or worse, hurt his feelings.
That just showed how low she had fallen, to be concerned about the feelings of a book.
"I think ..." he said slowly, when he finally did speak, "I think, Mi'Lady, I should like to get out and see the world, when the time comes for you to leave."
"We still don't have a plan yet to punish the judge and Swickle." Merrigan lay down again and snuggled up under her blankets. There was that warm spot again, pure pleasure that Bib wanted to go with her.
Perhaps
it was pitiful, to be happy a book wanted to be with her. Then again, she had always preferred books over people when she was a child.
"We can't leave until we do something about them," she continued, as a yawn thickened her voice. "And time is running out, if you consider how quickly the sewing is coming along. That was you again, helping me, wasn't it?"
"Always delighted to oblige, Mi'Lady."
"I think you just enjoy showing off."
"What I enjoy is being able to do things, move things, help people, after sitting idle for so long. There's nothing more dreadful, more depressing and destructive to the soul, than being unable to help others, unable to fulfill my purpose in life."
Merrigan swallowed hard, to keep down the urge to ask what exactly her purpose was. Had she ever had a purpose, other than to be a queen, standing beside a powerful king? Now it seemed ... well, not useless and empty, but limited. Lonely. Truth be told, there was something cozy about being here in this library, her world made so very small, surrounded by her handiwork.
I'm sleepy and worn out from a long day of work, that's all. Merrigan turned her mind toward the challenge of finding proof to use against Judge Brimble and Swickle.
"We need an excuse to get into his office and look through the papers," she murmured, after a long, comfortable, deep silence had fallen on the library. One nice thing about Bib was that he didn't feel the need to keep talking when there was nothing to say.
"You get me into the office, Mi'Lady, and I will take care of searching all the papers right under the big buffoon's nose. He'll never notice. My master once remarked that ordinary, un-magical people have a remarkable talent for blinding themselves to magical, un-ordinary things around them, so they don't have to admit that magic is everywhere. Some people are happier believing magic always happens to other people, in other kingdoms."
"Bib, you're brilliant." Merrigan smiled at the sleepy, muffled tone of her voice.
The Kindness Curse Page 9