Chapter Nine

it gave me a chill, so I turned away, brusque and growling-to see the ghost hovering near the fire, half-invisible because of its light. Her eyes were glowing, though, so I couldn’t miss her. In fact, I wasn’t sure I was entirely happy about the way those eyes were glowing at me-but I had saved her afterlife, so I supposed I had some responsibility for her. I came over-and she drifted away with a look of alarm, but still with that morbid fascination in her eyes. At least, I thought it was morbid. I remembered the blanket rules for making friends with small animals and sat down, waiting. Sure enough, she began to drift closer-then hesitated as Frisson came up behind me. “Why’s she looking at me that way?” I asked him.

“Why, because she is in love with you, Master Saul,” he answered softly. “Do you not know the signs?”

I felt the chill again. “Yeah, but I was trying to pretend I didn’t.

Why should she be in love with me? just because I sort of saved her?”

” ‘Tis reason enough,” he assured me, “coupled with your face and form-but there is a greater. Did you not know that the verse you sang was a binding spell?”

My stomach sank. “Oh. Was it really,”’ “Aye, and a most venerable one.”

“What did it bind?”

Frisson stared at me as if I were crazy-or maybe he was seeing through my attempt at self-deception. “It binds her to yourself, Master Saul-or at least, her affections.”

That was what I’d been afraid of. “An old one, huh? I take it spells gain power with age.”

“Like fine wines, aye.”

So that’s why each verse ended with, Then she’ll be a true love of mine. “But she didn’t have time to make me a cambric shirt.”

“It worked by intent,” Frisson assured me. “She is bound to you now, Wizard, by the spell that most surely binds woman to man.”

Which would have been great, if it hadn’t been synthetic. Her ghost looked harrowed, but the marks of torture were fading even as I watched, and she was really, rarely beautiful. Her dress had even mended itself. I’d heard that love was healing, but I thought it had to be mutual to have that effect …

Nonetheless, it was having that effect. I clamped down on the implications. “How did you fall into the queen’s hands, lady? You don’t look to have sinned enough.”

“I have striven not to, Sir Wizard.”

“Saul.” I held up a hand. “Just ‘Saul.’ I’m not a knight.” I didn’t commit myself about the “wizard” part.

“Master Saul,” she amended.

I sighed, but told myself it would help keep distance between us.

“Okay, that’s my name. What’s yours?”

“Angelique,” she replied.

I frowned. “Given the local rules, a name like that should have helped protect you./, “That was my mother’s intent.” A tear formed at the corner of her eye. “She died when I was very small, though.”

Somehow, that made senseand seemed ominous. “But if you tried not to commit sins, how come the queen had a hold on you?”

“Because she wrested me from my father, Master Saul, and forced him to yield his authority over me.”

My blood ran cold. “What kind of a father would do that to his own daughter?”

“A father in Allustria,” Frisson murmured.

The ghost hung her head. ” ‘Tis so. He is a merchant who panders to the queen, immersing himself in every sort of vice to gain her royal favor-and grants of monopolies.”

“To the point of giving her his daughter?”

“Not quite so bad as that,” she said stoutly. “Nay, he protected and reared me in total innocence, until I had come of woman’s years, whereupon …” She broke off, with downcast eyes.

“I would not press her,” Frisson murmured.

“Right.” I slapped my knees. “I didn’t mean to get personal-” “Nay, I must have you know!” She was almost pleading. “No sooner had I come into earliest womanhood than my father attempted to reap the harvest of my innocence himself.”

I froze, feeling myself turn very, very cold. “Why, that infernal louse! “

“He did not succeed,” she said quickly. “The queen discerned his intentions and stepped in to halt his incestuous advances. I hailed her as my savior-until I discovered that she had taken me only to save as sacrifice to Satan. She told me that fell prince has a great taste for virgin souls, ‘tis said, and they are rare indeed, in Allustria.”

The inner chill was still there, and getting colder. “I really don’t think I like these people at all,” I growled. “And I was the cue for her to kill you? “

“There was some other cause,” she said quickly. “I i not grasp the whole of it-I could spare small attention for her conversation with her henchmen, the pains of the torture devices being so very severe .

. .”

 

“That would hinder concentration.” The chill had hit absolute zero and was beginning to bounce back up, as anger.

“There was some talk of barons rebellious,” she said, “and of the queen of Merovence readying her troops to invade.”

I looked up at Frisson sharply. “I caused all that?”

“I would doubt it,” he answered.

Gilbert said, “Nay, Wizard Saul. ‘Twas all of a piece with the mission of my order-the mill had been grinding before we came upon you. It Which meant I was only one part of a bigger plan-but whose? “So she was saving you up for a doozy of a spell that would have given her the power to blast her enemies-and when the time came, she decided to get double mileage out of it, by using you to decoy me out where she could annihilate me.” I shook my head. “What a horrible life you had!”

“Oh, nay! It was pleasant, with many causes for joy-until these last six years. I grew restive at never being able to roam the town or frolic through the fields, as I saw others doing from afar-but my home was spacious and comely, and I thrived in my father’s love.”

Her gaze strayed, then turned brooding. “Until it soured.”

Or until she discovered his real intentions. I wondered if he’d thought incest would score points with the queen. “What about the last six?

“I was a guest of the queen,” she said slowly, “though I could not leave my chamber. It was pleasant enough, even luxurious-but it was all the world I saw.”

“Then it’s a crime that you should have had so little of life! But at least you have Heaven waiting. Don’t tarry here, whatever you do-go on to your reward!”

“I cannot,” she said simply.

I stared. Then I said, “No! Not just my binding spell!”

” ‘Tis not that which holds me to Earth,” she said slowly, “though it fends off sorrow and brings rejoicing.”

I wanted a change of subject, quick. “What holds you here, then?”

“My body.” She moved her hands in aimless seeking. “It has not yet died; there remains some spark of life within it. I can feel it, I can sense it!”

“The queen has preserved her clay,” Frisson said softly.

“Of course!” I remembered what Suettay had said when she cast that fox-fire spell over Angelique’s body-and it made perfect sense.

“She didn’t succeed in sacrificing you the first time, so she’s saving your body to try again!”

“But would not the soul need to be within the body, in order for the queen to murder it?” Gilbert asked.

“Yeah, I’d say it would -especially if she wants to make Angelique commit the sin of despair, so Hell can have some claim on her. As it is, her soul’s still too pure for Satan to have any hold on it. Angelique’s goodness doesn’t protect her from physical force, of course, but it does make her ghost immune. That was the whole idea of this horror show the queen just put on-the agony and terror were supposed to make her stop believing in God and Heaven!”

“It would have done so.” Angelique bowed her head. “I verged on such despair; I had almost come to think that there was no God, or that the queen was right, and the Devil was stronger than the Creator. It was your words that restored my faith, if only for an instantbut in that instant, the knife fell.”

“Glad I could do some good,” I said lamely.

“But if she can cram your soul back into your body and torture you again, it might work this time.”

“Nay.” She gazed directly into my eyes. “You have restored my faith; I shall never despair again.”

How about if I told her I didn’t love her? That chilled me, too-it meant I didn’t dare be honest, which really rankled. But we were right. I’d read enough medieval literature to know the rules, if not enough to make me sympathize with the spirit. “So she’s going to be trying to get your soul!”

The ghost paled-or, in her case, turned almost transparent. “Then I must leave you! Or my presence will bring her down upon you!”

And she darted away. I jumped up to call out to her to stay-but she slammed into my unseen barrier and rebounded with a cry.

“Sorry about that,” I said quickly, “but we can’t let you go roamng off by yourself-she’d swallow you up in an instant, and you’d be back in the torture chamber.”

“I must chance it! I will not imperil you!”

I realized, with a sinking heart, that I could really get to like this girl.

Fortunately, Gilbert spoke up, with quiet certainly. “We would never forgive ourselves, lady, if we abandoned a maiden in peril. Indeed, it would weigh on our immortal souls.”

The ghost stilled in her frantic dashing.

“You would not wish to send us toward Hell, would you?” Frisson asked.

The ghost seemed to droop. “Nay, I would not.”

“You see,” I said carefully, “you’ve become a crucial element in the future of this country. There seems to be some sort of a campaign kick out the queen and all her ministers, and the evil going on, to that they serve. You were apparently her trump card, her ace in the hole, her secret weapon to give her more power to repel the invaders and the rebellious barons. Now that your sacrifice failed, the Devil and the lords will all drop her as having become too weak-too weak to be of any use to the Devil, too weak to defeat her barons if they rebel. That means that all the nobles will be jockeying for power, each one trying to prove to the Devil which of them is most evil and most ruthless, so that the Prince of Bullies will choose him to be the next king.”

Angelique’s ghost began to grow brighter, then dimmer, then brighter again, throbbing with anxiety. “But I am only a poor, simple maid of the common folk!”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so important,” I said softly. “Really good people are hard to find, in any age.” I should know; I’d been looking for a good woman for years.

“But you must not endanger yourselves for my sake!” she wailed.

“We’re already nicely endangered, thank you,” I told her. “Why do you think the queen brought you to us? No, I’d already made trouble for her before you came.”

Angelique stared, wideeyed. “Wherefore? ‘Tis folly of the worst sort to antagonize her with no cause!”

“She wants me to leave, if I won’t serve her cause,” I grated, “and to me, that’s reason enough to go back in. I’m not about to knuckle under to authority, unless it has won my respect and confidence. I’m going to do what I think is right, no matter what the rules say! And something tells me that trying to get your body away from the queen, and back to you, is right!”

Suddenly the chill within me stabbed all the way to my vitals, accompanying a sudden total sense of the rightness of what I had said.

With a sinking heart, I wondered if I had played into the hands of somebody else-the angels. Especially mine.

“I shall accompany you, then,” Angelique said slowly, “for there is merit in what you say, and I perceive that you are a good man.”

But the way she was looking at me said more, much more, and I went into panic. “No, I’m not! I’m a sour old cynic who’s bitter about human nature in general and women in particular! I think religion was invented by priests for their own self-interest, and I scorn its rules! I’m an agnostic and a secular humanist, and by the standards of this universe, I’m thoroughly despicable!”

I ran out of gas and stood glaring around at them all, panting. Angelique shrank back, but not much, and just hovered there, staring at me out of those huge, worshipful eyes. Frisson and Gilbert exchanged judicious looks, lips pursed, and finally nodded.

Gruesome, of course, just sat blandly by the fire, looking vaguely interested. Why should he care?

Right.

“And what are you two snickering about?” I growled at Gilbert and Frisson.

“That you lack faith may be true, Master Saul,” Gilbert said slowly, “but we have seen your works.”

I frowned. “My works?”

“You do not have it within you to turn away from a soul in need,” Frisson explained.

I glared at him, but what could I say? It’s my biggest failing. It gets me taken for a chump, time and again. Emotional leeches latch onto me like piglets to a sow, and I let them take and take and take before I finally get mad enough to tell them to bug off. I’m a sucker for a hard-luck story and a gloomy face.

Gilbert delivered the final verdict. “You are a good man, and we will follow you to the death.”

The chill hit again, and I snapped up a palm like a stop sign.

“Now, wait a minute. Who elected me leader?”

“Why,” Frisson said, “who else has the slightest idea as to what we should do, or where we should go?”

It was a good question. But I sure as heck didn’t.

I was still trying to figure it out as I rolled up in my cloak, to try to eke out a little sleep from what was left of the night. But Angelique was right in my line of sight-deliberately, I was sure, the way she was gazing fondly at my battered, hairy face-and just knowing she was there played hob with my concentration. Every few minutes, I found myself opening my eyes just a little, to drink in the sight of all that lush feminine beauty, that lovely face, those wondrous curves that showed as hints through her long, gauzy gown every time she moved a little, and even when she didn’t. I might not have been in love with her, but I sure got a charge out of looking.

Unfortunately, she seemed to have the same problem with me; every time I peeked, she was still gazing adoringly at me.

Suddenly, it hit me with a shock, and I went rigid, fighting to keep my eyes shut. That blasted binding song had worked both ways! I was just as much subject to it as she was! Like it or not, reality or illusion, I was in love!

My mind reeled, trying to adjust to the facts, trying to understand romantic love as a magical spell-not just the product of a spell, but the spell itself. My mind went over and over that idea, around and around it like a squirrel in a cage, until insight struck again, and I realized what the literature had always said love was-magic.

I relaxed, just a little. Of course, I’d been hearing that since I was a kid, from every adventure novel with a love interest, and half the popular songs on the radio.

Nonetheless, the reality was something of a shock.

On the other hand, I’d come to believe some time before that love was nothing but an illusion. I remembered that and got back some peace of mind.

But not much.

We were up with the morning star for a cold breakfast. I longed for a cup of coffee and was tempted to believe in magic long enough to conjure some up-but I turned mulish at the last second. Sunlight and morning had put me back into skeptical mode, and I was discounting all the spells I had worked as being part of the hallucination. Besides, nobody else there needed caffeine.

So we were off as the sun rose, following our shadows down the road to the west, not that I really expected to get very far. After about an hour, though, we climbed to the top of a ridge and stopped short, seeing the telltale shingled roof of an official toll station.

“I don’t mind paying for the use of the road,” I said to Gilbert and Frisson. “Where there’s verse, there’s gold. But I’m not exactly up for a session of arguing.”

“There is no avoiding it,” Frisson told me, “and I have wandered far enough to know. Even were we to slip into the high grass or the woods to bypass the hut, the witch within would know of our presence by her spells.”

“Magical border alarm system,” I grunted, thinking of electric eyes and radar. “Well, if we have to brazen it out, we might as well do it with style.” So I strode up to the doorway and knocked.

My friends stared, then ran after me frantically, but they skidded to a stop as I knocked a second time, their faces sinking as they realized there was no help for it now.

But by the third knock, they were beginning to look puzzled.

“Nobody home,” Gruesome grunted, disappointed; I think he’d been hoping for a quick snack.

“A border station, unmatched?” Gilbert stared. “Surely not! ‘Tis unthinkable! “

“Then how come you just thought of it?” I turned to Angelique. “I hate to take advantage of your special nature, but do you suppose … ?”

“Surely, Master Saul.” She was only an outline in sunlight, a gossamer strand or two-but she drifted through the cabin door as if it hadn’t been there.

We waited. I tried my best to look impatient and annoyed. Gruesome just looked hungry, and Frisson looked apprehensive. Gilbert, though, stood like stone with his hand on his sword hilt.

Angelique slipped back out, scarcely more substantial than birdsong. “There is no one within.”

I stared. “No one?”

“None,” she confirmed.

“But that cannot be!” Gilbert protested, and Frisson seconded him.

“No witch who was stationed to guard a road would dare leave her post while she lived, mademoiselle.”

We fell silent at that, exchanging glances. I put it into words. “But if she’s dead, where’s the body?”

“There are signs of haste,” Angelique said helpfully.

“Let me see.” I pushed at the door, but it was locked.

“Lemme.” Gruesome hipped me aside-his shoulders were too high-took the door by the handle, and yanked. Wood cracked and splintered; the door came loose, leather hinges flapping. Gruesome grunted and tossed it aside.

“Uh-yes.” I eyed the dismembered door and cleared my throat.

“Direct, aren’t we? Well, let’s have a look.” I went in.

it wasn’t in the world’s best condition, that was true, but it wasn’t all that bad, either-sort of like somebody had stopped doing the housekeeping a month ago; that rotten smell must have been the dirty dishes in the kitchen. At least, I assumed that was what the curtained doorway in the back wall led to; this part of the house just had a central fire pit under a hole in the roof, shielded by a louver, and a desk with a huge book beside an inkwell with a quill in it. I stepped closer and peered in; there was still liquid in the pot, but you could see the thick line above that showed it had evaporated. There was a fine coating of dust on the book, not all that obvious unless you looked; I guessed it had been a week or so since it had been used.

I looked up at that curtain hanging across the doorway. Something inside me balked and protested, wanting to leave well enough alone, but curiosity drew me on. Had to be curiosity, right? Couldn’t have been anything else.

I pushed the curtain aside and looked in. The smell got a lot worse, and I wrinkled my nose. I couldn’t pretend it was just rotting food any more-it was the stench that goes with sickness, bad sickness.

Angelique had been right, though-there was no one there, certainly not in the bed. it wasn’t made, though, and the dishes were piled up on the table. This was where the toll-witch lived-but where was she now?

I went back out, shaking my head. “You called it, Angelique. No one home.”

Frisson clapped his hands with a smile of delight. “Most excellent!

Let us go on past!”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, “let’s.”

But it nagged at me, as we went by the tollhouse. I didn’t like unsolved puzzles and I liked even less the idea that somebody might be lying around sick, with nobody to take care of him. However, there was every chance that the duty-witch had been taken in for an overhaul, and that her replacement just hadn’t arrived yet, so I pushed my misgivings aside and followed Gilbert into the woods.

Then I heard the moan from the other side of the trail.

Chapter Ten

it was hard to say whether that moan was of pain or terror-maybe both. But I couldn’t ignore it. I stopped. That meant Frisson and Gruesome had to stop, too, or bump into me-but they had stopped already and were frowning into the shadows under the leaves.

“What moves, Master Saul?” Frisson asked.

“Probably nothing,” I answered. “From the sound, I’d say whatever made it is too sick to do more than lie there.”

Gilbert heard and looked back. He stopped, frowning. ” ‘Tis not our affair, Master Saul.”

“Anybody hurt is my affair,” I snapped. ” ‘No man is an island.’ I thought you were a Christian, Gilbert.”

“I am indeed!” he cried, offended.

“Then remember the parable of the Good Samaritan.”

“The Samaritan,” Frisson said nervously, “was in no peril.”

“He speaks wisely, Master Saul.” Angelique’s voice seemed to come from thin air. “There may be danger.”

“Can’t let a little thing like that stop us.” I stepped into the shadows, pushing the branches aside with my quarterstaff-and just incidentally keeping it near the guard position. “Let’s see what we’ll find. ” Leaves rustled as we moved in-then Angelique recoiled. “Evil!”

I could smell it, too-or maybe it was just the aroma of illness. I reminded myself that this massive hallucination included a guardian angel, and kept going.

The underbrush opened out, and there, hovering near a sheer rock face, were two of the ugliest creatures I had ever seen, with multiple fangs and tusks sticking out of their snouts, under baleful yellow eyes set in red, leathery skin that turned into black as it stretched out into bat wings. Their fingernails were claws, and their feet were cloven hooves. I froze; the mere sight of them struck fear through my vitals-or maybe it was their sulfurous smell, or the aura of evil that hung about them.

They were chuckling and gibbering, jabbing long-nailed fingers at the poor bundle of rags and quivering flesh that huddled against the rock face. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that they were just hallucinations.

The deep breath was a bad idea, though; I caught a whiff of her stench and was almost glad the demons, sulfur smell drowned it out-but it was definitely the same as the trace lingering in the back room of the toll cabin.

She saw me and stretched out a hand in supplication. “Aid! Good trave er, ai !”

The devils turned in instant suspicion, saw me, and dove for me, howling.

Terror damn near immobilized me, but trained reflexes made me leap aside and slam a kick at the nearest one. I yelped; he was hard!

And hot; pain seared through my toes. My boot was charred.

The devil snarled and turned, gloating-but Gilbert leapt in front of it, holding his sword up like a cross and crying, “Avaunt! Leave off, in the name of the Christ! ” They actually hesitated, and I knew with a sick certainty that the only thing that protected Gilbert right then was his total, idiotic purity and the massiveness of his unquestioning faith. If I had tried it, they’d have torn me limb from limb.

Even Gruesome was cowering back, and Frisson was hiding behind him-but Angelique’s ghost drifted to Gilbert, glowing with righteous indignation and purity. “Get thee hence, in the holy name!

Avaunt, and begone!”

Now the devils did cower back-but they didn’t go. I figured they’d work up their nerve eventually-this was their prey, after all.

Which reminded me about the sick one.

I stepped over to the whimpering bundle. “What’s the matter?”

A claw pulled the hood open enough so that two rheumy eyes blinked out at me. “Oh, the pain!” She pressed one hand to her belly.

“It tears me apart from within! I have cast spells against it, but it eats through even that power! I die!”

The devils surged forward, cackling with glee.

“Avaunt!” Gilbert shoved his cross-hilt in their faces, and I swear he didn’t show the slightest trace of fear. Angelique glowed with wrath behind him, and the devils bellowed with anger, but retreated.

“They will take me,” the old woman whimpered. “They will haul me to Hell!”

Sympathetic fear wracked me, but I hung on to my composure and said, “No they’re not! Not according to the rules! All you have to do is repent! I remember that, because it always seemed like such a cheat to me, that a man could live his whole life making other people miserable and still go to Heaven if he just repented at the last secend! “

“With eons in Purgatory,” the witch moaned, “but even as thou sayest … The tortures would end, someday The devils howled with rage and sprang, vaulting around Gilbert and Angelique in two jumps. One of them slammed me back into the dirt, and pain tore through me where his huge hand pressed. His monstrous face was an inch from mine as his jaws gaped wide, and terror jellied my insides-but I heard the old witch scream in horror, and the sound galvanized me.

“Angel!” I cried. “I’m trying to do your work now! It’s in your own interest! Get rid of these monsters!”

Thunder cracked, and searing light filled the little clearing. “Even so!” the angel’s voice snapped, echoing all about me. “I am entreated by a mortal who seeks to do God’s work! Begone, loathsome fiends!”

The light shrank in on itself just enough to be an anthropoid form, and glowing hands reached out to yank the two devils aside. ” ‘Tis the power of God that flows through me to brand you! Get hence, in His name!

The two demons howled; the angel hurled them away, and they shrank, diminishing, until they were just two black dots that disappeared with a double pop.

I stared, awed, and muttered, “Dealer wins all draws.”

The shining form waved a hand at me. “Let thy pain be gone! Now aid the woman!”

And he disappeared. just like that.

Gilbert looked up at me, awed. “What manner of man are you, Wizard, that even angels will come when you call?”

“A do-gooder busybody,” I snapped. I was too busy being amazed to be polite; the burning pain in my chest was gone. I took a quick peek down inside my shirt and didn’t see the slightest scar, just a bright pinkness in the shape of a huge clawed hand. It was enough to give me a bad case of the shakes, until the poor lump of rags moaned.

I turned to it, trying to remember that this “poor thing” had probably burned peasants and gloated at their pain, in her time, and practiced the rest of the catalog of medieval minor witchcraft, such as making cows go dry and women barren. But I couldn’t resist trying to help when she looked so pitiful. “Apologize,” I advised. “You know you’re going to die-but if you repent, the devils can’t have you.

Maybe a long, long time in Purgatory, as you said, but not Hell.”

“I dare not,” the old woman whispered. “The pain is held at bay only by the spells I’ve cast-and even with their aid, ‘tis like to drive me from my senses!”

“And if you repent, you lose your magic powers, so the pain will rip you apart? But remember I tried to recall the rules, as I’d learned them from Dante. “If you suffer the agony patiently here on Earth for the few days you have left, it will take centuries off your tortures in Purgatory.”

“I fear the pain too much,” she gasped in despair. “I am too far sunk in cowardice!”

I bit back the urge to tell her she deserved what she was getting, then-I’m sure it wouldn’t have seemed that way to me, if I’d been the one that was in agony. I frowned; what to do? If she couldn’t repent because she was in pain, but the only thing that made her want to repent was that same pain …

No, it wasn’t. It was fear of eternal pain, in Hell.

“If I can make the pain go away,” I asked her, “would you still want to repent?”

“Aye, assuredly!” she gasped. “Anything to save me from an eternity of agonies as I’ve felt now!”

“Probably worse,” I reminded her. “Well, let’s see what we can do.

What kind of pain?”

“A gnawing, a hideous gnawing!” She pointed to her belly. “Here!”

“Not a burning pain, like a hot coal?l, “Nay! ‘Tis as if something did eat me from the inside, with terribly sharp teeth!”

Not appendicitis, I guessed-but it did sound like abdominal cancer, and she was sure old enough.

I sat back on my heels, frowning. How do you use magic to cure cancer?

Then I remembered that “cancer” is Latin for “crab,” and that the disease was named that way because it felt as if a crab were digging you out inside with its pincers.

So how do you fight an inside crab?

obviously, bring it outside.

“Gilbert,” I called, “come over here with your sword.”

“Nay!” the witch shrieked.

“Oh, it’s not for you,” I said impatiently. “No mercy killing-I’m not about to end your mortal agony by sending you to everlasting torture. ” Gilbert came up, sword ready, frowning. “What moves, wizard?”

“A crab,” I told him. “I’m expecting a giant crab, or something ery much like it. If it shows up, stab it. Frisson?”

“Aye, Master Saul.” The poet edged up, trembling.

“See if you can’t cook up a verse for killing shellfish. Okay, folks.”

I took a deep breath, tried to ignore the gnawing in my own middle, and reached out for the scrap of parchment Frisson handed me. I read it, chanting,

 

“Get you gone up-channel With the sea crust on your plates, And get out of that body With the burden of your freights!”

 

Nothing happened.

Frisson’s face stretched so long I thought it was rubber. “I have failed!”

“No, I don’t think it was you.” The rules again. “She’s in the power of evil now, and our spells are based on goodness, so they can’t touch her.” Except for spells inducing remorse-I’d found that out with Sobaka.

I wondered if I would have to use them again. “Woman! I cannot cure you unless you repent! You have to open your soul to God’s race, or all the good will in the world can’t touch you!”

She was still a moment, rigid. Then she convulsed around the agony in her middle again, screaming and crying out, “I repent me!

Aiiee, even if I die in agony, I will not suffer thus for eternity! I forsake Satan and all his lies!”

Then she screamed, as the king of all pains racked her body again-a souvenir from her boss, no doubt. But the woman had amazing grit; she held on, and when the spasm passed, she went right on where she’d left off, though in a husky whisper. “May God forgive my sins! I forswear my pact with the Devil!”

Then she screamed again.

I started chanting on the instant, repeating the verse:

 

“Come forth from salty bloodstream With your pain that cramps and grates! Get you gone up-channel With the sea crust on your plates, And get out of that body With the burden of your freights!”

 

The witch gave one last shriek ‘ then fell silent, panting hoarsely as, between Gilbert, Gruesome, yself, and the huddled witch, the air seemed to thicken, growing darker and darker. Then, all of a sudden, it snapped into sharp, clear detail-and a crab three feet wide, with yard-long claws a foot thick, was scuttling straight toward me, its pincers aiming for my throat.

I yelled and jumped back, just as Gilbert shouted, “For Saint Moncaire and for right!” and leapt in, stabbing down. His sword skewered right through the whole crab, pinning it to the forest floor-and he had the sense to jump back. A high-pitched keening pierced my ears, and I fell away, hands pressed over them. Gilbert was staggering, too, fingers in his ears, while the crab scuttled, thrashing about-until it pulled the sword free from the earth and came straight at the squire.

With a bellow that shook the trees, Gruesome leapt.

He landed on the monster with both feet; its shell gave with a sickening crunch. Pincers waved wildly, snaking back to snip at Gruesome’s feet-but he reached down, catching the claws in huge hands, and straightened up, wrenching them loose. The monster screamed-I heard it even through my hands-then went limp.

The clearing was very quiet.

I looked around and saw Frisson, over at the base of a tree trunk, his lips moving silently.

I sat up, dazed, taking my hands away from my ears, but keeping them close, just in case.

The only sound I heard was the roar of triumph as Gruesome jumped up and down on the shell, then tore open the claw and thrust it toward his mouth …

“Gruesome, no!” I shouted.

His fangs clashed together but held back, as if he’d just bitten down on a spare auto fender. Then he held off on the claw, looking down at me resentfully. “Hungry!”

“And you certainly deserve a ten-course banquet,” I said quickly, stumbling over to him. “I’ll conjure one up for you, as soon as we’re done helping this poor old lady! But not that meat, Gruesome! Bad for you! Shellfish has parasites! Very bad! Especially since the pieces of this one might pull themselves together inside you and start trying to eat their way out!”

Gruesome stared at the claw as if he’d never seen it before.

” ‘Tis well spoken,” Angelique said. “The monster weakened outside a host’s body, and quickly-but would it not regain strength, once within? ” Gruesome hurled the claw away with a howl of frustration-but even as he did, it was fading, fading … and was gone. So was the huge plastron he was standing on, and all the little legs, and the other big claw. Gruesome stared down, dismayed; the lower edge of his huge lipless mouth quivered.

“Shellfish never did stay with me long,” I sighed. “Always hungry again in an hour. Don’t worry about it, big fella-we’ll get you a whole steer, in just a few minutes.”

“The witch,” Gilbert said softly.

Something in his tone reminded me that without the lash of pain, our witch might not be feeling so remorseful. In fact, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t go back on her repentance.

She was sitting up, staring down at her midriff wideeyed, pressing experimentally here and there. ” ‘Tis ‘tis gone! I am well! No more hurt! ” ,i,d still take it easy for a while, if I were you,” I said. “Just because we’ve got it licked for the time being, doesn’t mean it won’t come back.”

“Nay, it will not, for I saw it torn apart by your huge troll! Amazing, most amazing! Who would have thought there was a crab within? Who would have thought to have conjured it out to fight it with steel?”

“It faded away,” I reminded her. “it could reappear inside you-or another one just like it.”

“Even if it does not, I may find myself beset by another illness, right quickly.” The old woman looked up with tears in her eyes.

“Alas! How comes it, good stranger, that you would help me, who have been so cruel to so many and torn the life from no few?

“I can’t resist a call for help,” I said, with some self-disgust. “I know that makes me a chump, but-”

“Then a ‘chump’ must be a most excellent thing! Oh, I will sing your praises wherever I go!”

“Mayhap,” Gilbert put in, “it would become you more to sing God’s praises.”

“Aye, indeed!” The witch sank down on her knees, clasped hands upraised. “I repent me of all my sins! I would that I could atone for each and every wrong I have done! Dear Father, forgive me!”

Nothing happened, no thunderclap … but a look of peace swept over her face, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Why … is it thus?” she whispered.

“The peace of God.” Gilbert nodded. “Yet you must seek out a priest, poor woman, as quickly as you may, that your sins may be shriven. “

“Even so! That I shall!” The ex-witch pushed herself to her feet, gathering the rags of her robes about her. “And I must go quickly, for if the queen should discover my betrayal, I shall die quite quickly!”

“And in agony,” Gilbert nodded. “Therefore tarry not.”

The old woman shrugged. “The agony matters naught; I deserve far worse than ever she could wreak upon me, for all the wrongs I’ve done. Nay, almost would I welcome it now, that it might ease my burden of guilt. Yet I would not have it for eternity, and therefore will I go hotfoot.” She whirled to me, hands upraised in gratitude. “Oh, stranger, I cannot thank you enough for your pity and aid! You have behaved as a true Christian, nay, as a saint would have! May you be blessed forever!”

“Glad I could help,” I said, uncomfortably aware of everyone’s eyes on me. “Now go your way and try to help others as I’ve helped you.”

“I shall! Oh, I shall! And shall praise your name every night, in my prayers! Farewell!” She turned and hobbled into the woods, and was gone from sight.

“You have wrought well for God this day, Master Saul,” Gilbert said softly.

I shrugged impatiently. “I did something good for a human being, out of entirely selfish motives.”

“Selfish?” Gilbert frowned. “How so?”

“Because it made me feel good inside.” I raised my voice. “Hear that, angel? I’m grateful for your help-but I had it coming, because what I wanted to do was also what you wanted done! I’m not on your side! But I’m not on their side either! Got that?”

But I felt a strange, vagrant wave of amusement that almost seemed to blow through me like a breeze, and I had to turn away fast to escape Frisson’s long and thoughtful gaze. “Come on, troops.

We’ve still got a long day’s hiking ahead of us.”

But we couldn’t have been hiking down that trail for more than ten minutes before the roadway exploded in front of us.

The explosion kicked up a geyser of dust, and there stood the wicked queen herself, shrieking pure venom, her rolls of fat shaking with rage. “Vile invader! Your meddling has cost me five minutes’ agony, hot irons searing all through my body! My master has punished me shrewdly for letting another soul escape damnation-and has commanded me to obliterate you and your friends! Yet first, I shall see you suffer as I have suffered!”

But it wasn’t me she threw the first whammy at, it was Frisson, stiffarming a gesture that twisted as it stabbed while she bellowed something I couldn’t understand.

Frisson screamed and fell, writhing.

I shouted,

 

“For the unquiet heart and brain, A use in measured language lies; The sad mechanic exercise, Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.”

 

Frisson relaxed with a groan of relief.

“Meddler!” Suettay yelled. “Rogue! Villain!” Yes, I did detect a note of panic there, a note of fear.

Of me?

No, Of her master.

“Mendacious mendicant!” she screeched, then added some syllables in the Latinlike language, winding up to throw me down.

I took a deep breath for a counterspell, hoping I’d think of one in thing pressed into my palm.

time-but on the inhalation, I felt some Looking down, startled, I saw some chicken-track lines scrawled on a scrap of foolscap. The misspellings were horrendous, but they were being viewed by a volunteer tutor who had fought his way through many a Freshman English paper, and I managed to catch the gist of it at a glance. I called out,

 

,wicked old queen, come losses or gains, Here is the verse to bring you fear: Go hand, go foot, till naught remains Gone with the snows of yesteryear!”

 

Suettay began to disappear, from the feet up. She howled in frustration, then lifted her arms to throw another whammy-but they disappeared, too. She screamed in full rage, face darkening and as ugly as I’ve ever seen, as her hips and abdomen faded. Then, unfortunately, she remembered herself and screamed something in the Old Tongue that made her arms reappear; they wove a quick, unseen symbol as she screamed another verse, and all of her reappeared just as it had gone, but much more quickly. Even as her nether parts were returning, she was winding up another verse that she belted out, hands rolling over and over each other, and a six-foot dragon leapt from them to charge roaring at us.

Gilbert gave a shout of joy and leapt in front of all of us, stabbing in low and jumping back. Ichor spurted from the dragon’s chest, and it bellowed in startled pain, swerving to pounce at Gilbert-but the squire leapt aside and chopped horizontally, shearing off a bat wing.

The dragon screamed, whirling and lashing out; steel talons cut through Gilbert’s mail, and blood slicked the metal. The squire clenched his jaw and chopped again, a roundhouse swing that clipped the beast’s head off its sinewy neck.

We all cheered.

But Suettay was chanting again, gesturing wildly, her volume building toward a crescendo.

I gulped. “It’s gonna be a big one.”

“Can you not hinder her?” Angelique pleaded.

“Frisson!” I snapped. “Any more verses,”’ The poet shook his head, huge-eyed. “Naught but an old song comes to mind, Master Saul-a child’s bit of nonsense.”

“Try it! Anything, right now!”

“As you will.” Frisson shrugged and started singing.

 

“As I went down to Darby town, ‘Twas on a summer’s day, There I beheld the biggest ram That ever was fed on hay! That ever was fed on hay! That ever was fed on hay! When this ram began to bleat, Sir, The thunder, it did break! When this ram began to walk, sir, The earth began to shake!”

 

A deep, dull, thrumming sound boomed through the air, and the earth beneath us heaved and settled. Then the sound and the earth tremor came again, and Suettay shrieked in anger and fear. I risked a peek.

A wall of wool blocked out the sun a hundred yards distant, supported on legs that would’ve shamed a sequoia. I craned my neck back; up, way up there, a hundred fifty feet up, floated a huge head with magnificent, curled horns the size of a highway cloverleaf-and sure enough, there were eagles circling around them. “Must be nesting season.”

But Suettay was still shrieking. “What magic is this, that I’ve heard naught of?”

“Ethnomusicology,” I called back.

But her attention was on the ram, and with good reason-it was ambling toward us, and with legs that size, ambling was high-speed.

“What hell-begot monster art thou,” Suettay cried, “that comes thundering down on this poor rotted world!”

“Nay, speak not of Hell!” The ram’s voice was a rumble in the Earth’s crust. “I am begot of the core of the world, a child of magma!

What art thou, tedious gnat, that would wake Darby’s sleep?” The ram advanced, the earth trembling in sine waves with his footfalls.

“For he who’d wake the ram must die, ere I can sleep again!”

Frisson turned pale as milk. it was borne in on me that I had roused an elemental.

“Nay, it was he!” Suettay shrieked, finger spearing toward Frisson.

“Pounce on him, jelly him! For he ‘tis who waked you!”

“Is it thee?” The ram swerved a fraction of a degree, glowering down at Frisson. “Aye, for I see in thy face that only now dost thou see the danger thou hast waked!”

Damn good eyesight, I noted; there was maybe three inches of Frisson’s head showing, from the ram’s angle. But, the hell with the risk-I couldn’t do anything cowering, and it was my asking that had nudged Frisson to sing the song. I stepped forward, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in my belly and the way my knees wanted to webble, and claimed the responsibility. “it was I who bade him do it, so it was I who waked you!” I felt a dramatic surge coming on. “Beware, mountain mutton! For I can slay you forever with the breath of a song! Hey, it sounded good, right?

“Dost thou threaten me?” the ram thundered in enraged disbelief.

I bellowed back at him, “Aye, I do threaten! Therefore beware, and do as I bid thee! Slay this foul witch! “

“Eh, would you dare?” Suettay shrieked. “Heed him not, mighty ram, but turn to slay him! For know that I, too, can slay you!” And her hands began to weave an invisible net, while she chanted, “Earth, give bellow; fire, blast!

Vomit molten rock and ash!”

I didn’t wait to hear any more. Queen or not, if that witch was going to be fool enough to open up a volcano under the ram, it could kill all of us. I grabbed Gilbert and Frisson and threw them to the ground, yelling at Gruesome, “Duck! And after the boom is over, run for your life! ” I was only glad Angelique had no body to hurt.

A flue opened, and a jet of ash shot out-but the ram stepped on it. The earth shook a little, and he set another foot down; the earth quieted.

Suettay just stared. Then she let out a screech that had some syllables in it, arms windmilling madly. A sudden whirlwind kicked up a lot of dust and stray ash, then dispersed and settled-and she had disappeared.

“Can we rise now?” Frisson asked around a mouthful of grass blades.

“Uh-yeah! Sure.” I stood up slowly, staring at the spot of meadow where Suettay had been.

“Why-she is gone!” Gilbert said, amazed, as he stood up again.

“Yet I remain!” the ram thundered, still quaking toward us. “Once I am waked, I cannot sleep again till my waker lies buried!”

“Wait a minute!” I barked. “Remember that spell I told you about!

“

 

“Wherefore ought I chance it?” The ram was fifty yards off now, and coming fast. “I shall crush thee ere thy lips can form the words!”

“I wasn’t kidding.” But I backed up as fast as I could. “I know just the verse for the occasion.” But my blood ran cold; I was bluffing.

Frisson stared at me, amazed. “How so, Master Saul? I know the same verse!”

“Then sing it!” I yelled.

“Aye, do so,” the ram thundered, only a dozen yards off.

“I hate people who call my bluff.” Actually, the verse was “Didn’t He Ramble”: he rambled till the butchers cut him down.” But when it came down to it, I just couldn’t stand to see something as majestic as that sheep converted into a mountain of ram chops-not if there was a choice, anyway. So I passed the buck and hoped like fury that Frisson hadn’t been bluffing, too. “Frisson! Sing it! Quick!”

The poet started chanting,

 

“You who were waked from a century’s sleep, in a place dark and timeless, unfathomably deep, Return to the slumber from which you were waked! Return, and go quickly! Your bloodthirst is slaked!”

 

It was working. The ram towered closer, only twenty feet away, and he filled the world-but his outlines were wavering, and the curls of his wool were blurring together.

He covered ten feet with each stride, though.

Somehow, Frisson kept it soft and lulling.

 

“Sleep, for your great eyes do close! Sleep, as the years and the centuries go! Lulled in the magma that rocks you so slow, Sleep where only the All-Father knows!”

 

The ram was a mountain, a McKinley, an Everest-but it faded off into the sunlight at the edges, and its body was growing translucent.

And it yawned.

I added my two cents’ worth.

 

“Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smile while sleeping, never rise. Sleep, mighty ram, and make no cry. Rock him, rock him, lullaby!”

 

Frisson and Gilbert joined me for a chorus: “Rock him, rock him, lullaby!

The great hoof swung up for the last ten feet, growing thinner as it came. it lifted high over my head. I held fast with every thread of determination I had, frantically singing, petrified, rooted to the spot, staring up at the great dark circle that seemed to fill the sky. It oised, then slowly came lower-but I could see the clouds through p it quite clearly, it faded to barely an outline as it dropped down, an outline that encircled our heads

And was gone.

And a vast, distant thunder echoed, fading away, half angry bellow, half yawn. it reverberated over the land for what seemed a thousand miles, and was gone.

I let out a very long and very shaky breath, then turned to Frisson.

“Fantastic job, Frisson!”

He was still gazing at the place where the ram had been. “It was, was it not? ‘Twas truly my verses that effected this!”

“It sure was.” I turned to Gilbert. “How bad is it?”

“Naught but a scratch.” He looked very happy, eyes glowing with pride. “I have slain a dragon, Master Saul! A small one, but a dragon natheless! I have actually slain a dragon!”

“You sure did, and we’re your witnesses,” I affirmed. “You didn’t hesitate for a second. If that doesn’t prove your worth, what could?”

I turned back to Frisson. “But where’d you ever learn that word, magma’?

“Why, the ram himself did say it,” the poet answered, “did say he was a ‘child of Magma.’ Who is she, Wizard?”

Chapter Eleven

The day passed without any further incidents, thank Heaven, and we set up camp in a nice, wide open river meadow. The most menacing wildlife in sight was a convention of spiders, and I was getting used to them. They seemed to be more and more abundant the farther we went back into Allustria-sort of a comment on Suettay’s housekeeping, I supposed. In fact, there was a web on every bush around the campsite, flickering with the reflections of our firelight. There were circular webs, triangular, strands of gossamer between branchesevery sort any arachnid architect ever thought of trying. Their builders ran the gamut, too, from humble little brown things, up through the medium-sized spotted ones, to the huge, wide-as-a-quarter specimens like the one that had gotten me into this mess in the first place. I glowered at them with transferred resentment, but I couldn’t really blame them for what one of their mates had done. On the other hand, I didn’t have to let them inside my guarding circle, either.

I suddenly realized that I was beginning to regard them as good company and decided I had definitely been here too long.

Not that I could do much about it. If this was an LSD trip, it wasn’t wearing off-besides, I hadn’t been dropping any lately-and if it was a dream, I couldn’t figure out how to wake up. I had pretty much decided to take the pragmatic approach to the whole problem of being in a world that couldn’t exist. Illusion, dream, hallucination, or altered state of consciousness coming from my maybe being hit by a car and lying in a coma-it didn’t matter; I was going to have to treat it as if it were real. Magic might have been only another part of this dreamworld, but within the context of the illusion, it worked, and it could hurt me just as badly as a revolver in my own world. I was going to have to treat it as if it were real.

Not that I was going to have to work any magic myself, of course.

I didn’t have to admit its existence that thoroughly-not as long as I had Frisson. Let him write up the spells, let him be the magician. So what if I was the one who read them aloud? That was just oral interpretation.

Hypocrite? Who, me? I was simply making an emotional adjustment necessary for psychological survival.

I took first watch, since I didn’t feel much like sleeping with all that speculation going through my head. It didn’t keep buzzing around very long, though, because Angelique was sitting there, unsleeping, just outside the range of the firelight, her form glowing in the night, her eyes glowing at me. I smiled in return, then closed my eyes, pretending to go to sleep.

I couldn’t, of course. My favorite fantasy had come true; a beautiful young woman was head over heels in love with me, and I couldn’t exactly be indifferent to that-couldn’t just dismiss it and yawn, even if she wasn’t anything more than a part of a very detailed hallucination-and even if she was just a ghost. Of course, pure love shouldn’t care about bodies, but I’m afraid mine wasn’t all that pure.

It also wasn’t love. At least, I wasn’t in love with her-or so I was trying to persuade myself. At least, I knew it wasn’t real, just the result of a slip of the tongue, so to speak, a rhyme snapped out without due forethought, in a place where verse had a far more potent effect than it had any right to. And I knew da-darn well that Angelique wouldn’t have been in love with me if I hadn’t accidentally come up with the wrong spell.

But what could I do? Tell her that to her face? I couldn’t quite summon that much cruelty-besides which, she probably knew already, but was still in love with me; knowing it was just the result of a binding spell didn’t make any difference to the way she felt. No, all I could do was to try to spare her the pain of a phony romance, by not letting her know how I felt-but that was definitely becoming harder, with Angelique sitting there watching me adoringly, looking almost mortal in the darkness.

Then all of a sudden, she wasn’t.

I mean, she was still watching me-but she was coming apart at the seams. Then even the pieces were coming apart, shredding into a hundred tatters, and her eyes had glazed, no longer seeing, no longer aware.

It didn’t take much to figure out what was happening. I sat bolt upright, calling, “Angelique! Baby! Pull yourself together!” Then I snarled at myself for losing my poise and forgetting to make it rhyme. I racked my brains for an integral verse, but all I could come up with was a variation on “Danny Boy”:

 

“But come ye back, all bits of ectoplasm! Reintegrate, all shreds of lady fair! Remain you here, in firelight and shadow, one integrated whole, with those who for you care!”

 

Okay, so it was doggerel. What do you expect, on the spur of the moment? But it helped-a little, at least. The tatters and shreds stopped moving. They hung suspended in midair, so that it seemed as if Angelique had just expanded to take in a bit more volume. I racked my brains again, trying to think of a verse that stressed reintegration and harmony of disparate elements-but a voice behind me called out,

 

“Oh, come back together, All bits of my bonny lass, Pull all together, rejoin and tether! Be all of one, in mind and in body! Go not to pieces, go not so early! Stay! With those who care for thee, Care for thee rarely!”

 

Well, Frisson certainly had learned how to do odd things to rhymes and meters-but it worked; the tatters that were Angelique began to pull themselves back together.

Astonished, I whirled and saw Frisson sitting up in his blanket roll, sorting frantically through the scraps of verse he’d been scribbling since we pitched camp. I felt stunned-but I forced the feeling down and turned back to the rope in my magical tug-of-war.

She was looking a little more solid than before-but even as I watched, she was shredding again. Grasping at straws, I called, “Tarry, rash lady! Am I not thy lord?”

No, I wasn’t-and Angelique wasn’t growing any firmer, either.

The bits and pieces of her ectoplasm were still drifting away from one another, their form only vaguely resembling a woman’s now. After all, the couplet hadn’t rhymed-but at least she held steady for a minute.

Long enough for Frisson to thrust another verse into my hand, I gave it a quick glance, then read it aloud:

 

“Thou art too long awaited, for Thy presence to be ‘hated! Tarry, lady-stay awhile, Till the sun returns to smile!”

 

That bought us some time, at least. Angelique’s pieces began to pull together remarkably quickly; she was almost an integrated whole again. Frisson really didn’t know his own strength. She became so whole that I could see she had wakened from whatever longdistance trance the enemy sorcerer had put her in; she was staring about her in horror.

I preferred something without a time limit.

 

“Oh, mistress mine , Where are you roaming,’ Oh, stay and hear Your true love’s coming, That can sing both high That can sing both high

 

I was stretching the truth a bit, but I was sure her true love was coming some time-I just hoped she’d recognize him when he showed up. But it had worked; her shape was almost complete again, as Frisson found another scrap of parchment and held it out. I caught it up, gave it a glance and frowned, but read it anyway:

 

“Oh, lady fair, never be so wroth As to part the strong friendships thou hast wrought, When the spoiler pulls, as now she doth, Bear in mind the loyalties thou wast taught, And stay to bind thyself fast to us!”

 

The verse worked with overdrive; Angelique’s form pulled together so fast I could have sworn I’d heard it click.

And was just as quickly shredded again. The enemy sorcerer must have been putting every ounce of his-or her-energy into that spell.

I was amazed. I actually began to feel tension in the air around me, growing stronger and stronger, like strands of unseen force, pulling and low, and low.”

tighter and tighter, and I was the fly caught in the web. The fleeting thought went through my mind, that this must have been what an electromagnet felt like as you boosted the voltage-and I began to feel an intangible pushing, too, as if another field of force was fighting at my own. Was this how an electron felt, inside a transistor?

The webs of magical force intensified around me; I felt the unbearable tension of another magic field repelling my own, trying to pull Angelique apart. My mind reeled; I felt as if it were being stretched thin between two enormous engines, each pulling away from the other with enough force to bend an I-beam-and, in panic, I felt that Angelique’s ghost must be annihilated even if its semblance stayed with Gilbert and Frisson, destroyed by the sheer stress of being stretched between two such huge forces.

In desperation, I bellowed the first verse that came into my mind:

 

“What can a tired heart say, Which the wise of the world have made dumb? Save to the lonely dreams of a child, ‘Return again, come!’

 

Angelique’s tatters began to pull together one more time, becoming more and more integral. Before I could even think about the implications, Frisson thrust another scrap of verse into my hand, and I called it out without even stopping to think:

 

“Begone, dull tearing of the fair! Away, false render of the pure! Abductor vile, By thine own bile, Be stunned, and fade, And loose the maid!”

 

Something snapped all about us, something we couldn’t hear, something that slammed us all to the ground with its recoil. Dazed, I scrambled to my feet, but the tension was gone, the two vast magical fields dispelled, and Angelique was whipping up, arrowing straight toward me to bury her face in my doublet-and into my chest-arms winding about me in a desperate effort to cling, sobbing in terror and fear.

Automatically, I folded my arms about her, trying to hold them just outside her form while I murmured soothing sounds, but I was really too shaken to appreciate the contact; I felt some interesting prickling, but thrust it out of my mind. I looked up over her translucent head at Frisson and gasped, “Thanks.”

Frisson only nodded, though with shining eyes. The look on his face gave me a chill, but Angelique was beginning to gasp out syllables. I turned my attention back to her. “You’re safe now,” I assured her with more confidence than I felt. “It’s gone.”

“Aye,” she gasped, “yet it was so evil! I feel soiled by its touch, whate’erit was-it was so vile!”

“It was,” I muttered. “The magic in this land is of the most depraved sort, all right. Over Angelique’s head, I saw Gilbert standing in front of Gruesome, looking at me with outrage. Because he hadn’t been able to get in on the fighting, no doubt. I asked, “What sorcerer was that we fought?”

“It could have been none other than Queen Suettay herself,” Frisson assured me. “Without doubt, she was humiliated by the lady’s escape, and again by your countering of her spells.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Since she planned on adding Angelique to her routine of ectoplasmic slaves-it does reflect on her, having Angelique saved at the last stab.”

“And to lose all the rest of them to Heaven, too,” Gilbert assured me. “It lowers the esteem in which her barons hold her-lowers it drastically; and several may dare to take arms against her, attempting to seize the throne for themselves. We weaken her by protecting the maiden, Wizard Saul.”

“And thereby make it vital for Suettay to recover her,” I inferred.

“She has to save face, or risk a rebellion.”

“A nice little uprising would rather help us,” Frisson noted.

“So the queen must slay you, to prevent that revolt,” Gilbert summarized.

Angelique looked up, horrified, then stepped away from me, hands warding me off. “Nay, I must leave you, then-for by protecting me, you have made yourself a marked man!”

I felt my stomach sink, but managed to answer gamely, “Don’t let it worry you-I’ve been a marked man for a while now.” To keep myself from wondering how much I’d meant by that, I turned back to Frisson and said, “I really appreciate your help.”

“I did aid, then?” Frisson asked, eyes glowing. “I truly did aid? “Oh, yes,” I assured him. “You aided fantastically.” But I said it with a feeling of awe verging on fear, and couldn’t help wondering if Frisson should be classified as a secret weapon.

Apparently so, from the look on his face. His eyes were lit with joy, and his whole emaciated countenance was suffused with the look of a man yanked back from the grave. “I think,” Frisson said, “that I have found my metier.”

I knew we weren’t going to get off that lightly-Suettay may have lost the skirmish, but she was bound to come back for the rest of the battle. After all, we hadn’t eradicated her, just sent her away from us, presumably back to her castle-and once on her own territory, she’d be able to start plotting again. She didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would give up. Considering that she had sold her soul and promised her boss a sacrifice, she couldn’t give up, or she’d end up in Hellfire, permanently. Extremely permanently.

It made me uneasy, wondering what deviltry she was going to hit me with next. After all, she knew my weak point-I glanced over at my weak point, but she was only a heat shimmer in the sunlight.

That wouldn’t keep Suettay from being able to find her, though. I resolved to keep an eye on Angelique, even if I couldn’t see her.

About midafternoon, we came to a village that definitely looked as if it had seen better days. The thatches on the cottages were ragged and moldering; patches of daub were missing on the walls, letting the wattle show through. There was garbage in the streets, as if the people were too tired to take it as far as the garden patches to dig under for compost. The people themselves were ragged and gaunt, walking with a shuffling gait, hunched over, as if the weight of the world were on their shoulders. They darted us quick, suspicious looks out of narrowed eyes, and as quickly looked away, speeding up to get away from us. Within five minutes, we were walking down a street that showed not a single sign of life; there wasn’t even a dog or a pig to go snuffling among the garbage.

Too bad; I would have bought it for roasting. The pig, that is, not the dog. I was that hungry, and I shuddered to think how Gruesome must have been feeling. But I noticed a larger-than-average hut with a pole sticking out above the door, and from the pole hung a bunch of broom corn-dry enough to use for sweeping, but still a ” us which meant the place was a tavern.

“Let’s see if they have anything to eat.” I angled toward the house.

“If they do, I am not sure I would care to dine upon it.” Frisson gave the dried broom a jaundiced eye.

But Gruesome perked up and rumbled, “Food!” so Frisson decided it would be a good idea, after all. At least, they followed me in, and so did Gilbert. Angelique’s form brightened as she came into the gloom of the hut, but she disappeared instantly, leaving behind only a murmured, “I must not alright the landlord.”

We sat down at a table. It was quiet as a tomb. I waited restlessly, watching Gilbert fidget and Gruesome drool, until my impatience got the best of me. Finally, I cried out, “Ho! Landlord!”

A formerly portly individual-at least I assumed he must have been fat once, because his apron was wrapped completely around him, and the strings were cinched three times-came out, frowning. “What the devil do ye Then he saw Gruesome, and blanched.

The troll rumbled, “Foooood!”

“But-but there is no food!” the tavernkeeper stammered. “At the least, there is little enough so that only my wife and hairns may dine, and that poorly. All else has been taken by the queen’s bailiff!”

I sat rigid for a moment, then forced myself to relax and said, “That sounds like pretty high taxes.”

“Tax’ There is no question of tax-‘tis a question of what the queen will let us keep! ‘Tis simply that the crown takes all but the smallest quantity that will keep us alive to raise another crop! Every year they have taken more, and it has been two years since I had hops enough to brew my ale! We live by a small patch of garden, my wife and I, and poorly at that, for three-fifths of it goes to the queen, and on two-fifths must we dine!”

I felt instantly sorry for the guy, but Gruesome had started growling, and Gilbert was standing up, loosening his sword in his scabbard and saying, “If that be so, ‘tis my duty as a squire to-” just then, the door crashed down.

Yes, down, not open-and half a dozen men in steel caps and leather jerkins burst in, waving halberds and shouting, “Out! Out, one and all! into the square with you all!”

“What!” one shouted, seeing Gilbert’s hand on his sword. “Would you strike ‘gainst the men of the queen’s bailiff? Nay, Beiner, slay him!

Gruesome bellowed, surging to his feet.

The soldiers stared for about one second. Then they slammed back against one another, scrambling for the door.

“They are strangers! They burst in without asking leave!” The innkeeper ran over to the soldiers’ side fast. “I told them I have no food to sell, and they-” His fawning restored some measure of poise to the lead bully. He grabbed the man and threw him back to his mates, snarling, “Aye, like enough! We have naught to do with travelers-we have been bidden only to bring the townsfolk! Out with you, now!” And he made a hurried exit, leading his men out with the tavernkeeper in their midst-and Frisson and me right behind him.

in the middle of the press of bodies, Frisson hissed, “Master Saul, why have we come with the soldiers?”

“Because I’m curious,” I hissed back. “But they might spot me for a ringer, because of my clothes. if they chase me out, you stick with it and come back and tell me what’s going on.

“If I can,” Frisson muttered, glancing about him fearfully.

That struck me as amusing. Frisson was probably the most dangerous man there, but he was scared! Somehow, though, I managed to restrain my boundless mirth.

The soldiers herded us out into the village square, along with a hundred other souls of both sexes and all ages. Another dozen soldiers were drawn up there around a roaring fire, and in front of them strutted a little, stocky man in a long black robe embroidered with astrological symbols. He grinned as the villagers were herded up, as if savoring the sight. When they were all there, he snapped, “You have not paid your taxes!”

A moan of dread swept through the crowd-but the tavernkeeper stepped forward. “Nay, Bailiff Klout-we have paid, we have all paid!

“

 

“You know that we have!” an old woman wailed. “Why, you were young among us, yourself-”

“Aye, and the most despised and shamed of any!” Klout snapped back, eyes glittering. “Fools! You could not see my inner greatness!

But the shire reeve did, and has given you all into my power!”

“And every year you have made our taxes higher!” a woman groaned.

“The queen is never satisfied,” Klout retorted. “Yes, you have paid your taxes for each person, each household-but you have not paid the tax for your village!”

“A tax for the village!” A man with a long white beard stepped forward. “Never have I heard of such a thing!”

“You hear of it now! The shire reeve has given me leave to take as much from you as I will, the better to serve the queen …”

“He keeps a share for himself, right?” I hissed to Frisson.

“It is the custom,” Frisson acknowledged.

and I have deemed it fit to levy a tax for the village as a whole, due to the shire reeve and the queen! Ten pieces of gold! Pay!

Pay now what you owe!”

“But we have no more money!” a woman wailed. “All our coins you took long ago!”

Then I will take cattle or pigs, grain or fruit! But you will pay, you will pay, or I will burn this village down!”

The people gasped with horror.

Klout surveyed them, gloating. “You laughed at me when I was a small, clumsy runt of a child! There is not a woman of my own age who did not mock me for an ugly gnome when I was a youth! Well, mock now! Laugh now! For by the queen, I surely shall!”

A low moan rose and swelled among the villagers.

I could sympathize with Klout, but only just so far. Revenge I could understand, but this was way too much.

“No coin?” Klout cried. “Why, then, burn!” And he gestured to his men, who yanked torches from the bonfire and whirled them around their heads, setting the flames to roaring.

But another roar answered them-Gruesome, waddling out of the tavern, and beside him strode Gilbert, bright sword drawn.

Klout recoiled. “What monster is that!”

“Just a friend of mine.” I stepped forward. “We’re all from out of town, you see.”

Klout swung around, staring at me wildly. “You! Who are you?”

“Just travelers. I worked at being way too casual about it.

“Stopped at the tavern for lunch, but it seems they’ve gone out of business-no food to sell. So I got interested in the situation. Think I’d like to check on the details.”

“The queen has sent you!” Klout cried.

“I never said any such thing!” But I wasn’t about to stop him if he wanted to believe it. “I would like to see your books.”

“Books?” Klout turned ashen, and a murmur of gratification went through the crowd.

“Your ledgers, your accounts! So we can all see whether or not the village has paid the tax due! Come on, trot them out!”

“You have no authority to demand this!” Klout said.

Gruesome stepped up beside me, grumbling with his mouth and rumbling in his stomach.

“Just an interested bystander,” I agreed. “Call me a visiting magician, asking for a professional courtesy.”

Klout took another glance at Gruesome and didn’t seem disposed to dispute my claim. He only turned a lighter shade of ashen and snapped to one of the soldiers, “The ledger!”

“Cook the books!” I whispered at Frisson.

He stared at me as if I’d gone crazy. “What, Master Saul?”

“Give me a verse to make his accounts show he’s lying! Quick!”

Frisson formed an 0 with his lips and turned away, pulling out his charcoal pencil and a scrap of parchment.

The soldiers were collecting their nerves and themselves, pulling together into a knot in front of Gruesome, who grinned and licked his chops. The soldiers faltered, and the ones standing guard at the back and sides of the crowd began to pull together into clumps. T at left some unguarded peasants, who began to sneak away between the huts.

The soldier brought the book from a saddlebag and set it in Klout’s hands. He opened it and held it out before me. “There! You shall see every penny that each of these villagers has paid, and shall see that each has rendered no more than the levy set for him!”

Beside me, Frisson was muttering.

I paged backward, frowning. “Where does your tenure in this office begin?

“On page thirty-one,” he said.

I found it, and saw the change of handwriting-but I also saw the handwriting change. Nothing obvious, just a few Roman numerals transforming, two Is close together turning into Vs, two Vs merging into an X, and so on.

Now, I’m not exactly skilled at Roman numerals, so it took me awhile to puzzle it out. It certainly turned out to be cumbersome-I had never realized what a blessing the Arabs had given us when they invented the zero, and the decimal system that went with it. Doubleentry bookkeeping would have helped, too-this was just a list of figures, and I began to appreciate the layout of the checkbook I never kept up.

I took my time turning the pages, checking out all three of the years Klout had been in office, and he began to get nervous-I could tell by his fidgeting, while the crowd eroded at the edges. Finally, he snapped, “Will you study it all day?”

“No,” I said. “I’m up to date. Each person in the village has paid more than he owed, by anywhere from one penny to ten-and the extra more than covers the town tax.”

He stared, then whipped the book around and started doing his sums. His eyes grew wider and wider as he paged backward through the book, growing more and more frantic.

“In fact,” I said, “it looks as if you owe the village some money.”

“Witchcraft!” he bawled, and hurled the book away from him, “Liar and thief! I know what I wrote there!”

I was sure he did-always less than the person had really paid. I looked up at Frisson. “You saw the figures?”

“Well enough,” Frisson agreed nervously.

“Do those figures show anything more than any of the peasants really paid?”

“Not a penny,” he assured me, and he sounded much more certain about it.

” ‘Twas the foulest of magics!” Klout was turning hysterical. “Vile twisting of ink stains and marks! You cannot come from the queen, or you would not seek to make taxes less!

Any peasants who hadn’t taken to the tall timber were tiptoeing away now. The soldiers let them go, gripping their weapons tightly and edging around to surround Gruesome, with Gilbert, Frisson, and me around him.

“Smite them!” Klout pointed at us. “The queen shall not shield them, but my magic shall shield you!”

I pulled out my sheaf of Frisson’s verses.

The soldiers roared with delight and pounced.

Gilbert knocked aside a sword and sheared through the leather jerkin behind it in one blow. The soldier screamed and fell back, as Gruesome reached over the squire’s head and picked up another soldier in each hand. They screamed and struck at him with their halberds, but he only laughed as the steel glanced off his hide. Then he squeezed, and the men screamed even louder. Gruesome threw them away and reached for two more.

Klout shouted something in the Old Tongue, pointing at Gruesome with both forefingers. Gruesome froze. So did Gilbert, in midswing-for a split second.

just long enough for me to yell out,

 

“The sun beat down upon us, And we gasped for cooler air, But the sunrays melted all the ice That held us frozen there!”

 

The soldiers roared with vindictive rage and swung, but Gilbert came alive again, parrying two cuts with one swing, then chopping back to shear through two halberd handles. Gruesome came alive, snatching up soldiers and hurling them, Their mates yelped and leapt back.

Klout turned purple. He pointed at me and screamed,

 

“As a lying embezzler, I hearby indict you! Let all of these numbers rise up and bite you!”

 

They did. They really did.

Like a fool, I was holding the book again, open-and I saw the Roman numerals pry themselves off the page. That was enough; I threw it away with a shout, but the Xs and Vs were arrowing through the air to stab at me, and the Ls and Cs were growing diminutive jaws and biting. Sharp little pains shot through my skin, none more than all over my face, my arms, a mild nuisance by itself-but they were and my hands! I had never been so glad that I wore denim and boots!

I flailed at them, trying to swat them, and shouted, “Frisson! Take over! Don’t worry about me, just knock out the soldiers!”

Frisson stared, taken aback, then shook himself and yanked the sheaf of poems out of my pocket.

Fortunately, Gruesome and Gilbert were keeping the troops too busy for them to take advantage of my being out of the action. The troll gathered up two more soldiers in each hand, knocked their heads together, and threw them at the five who were charging him.

They went down in a tangle of steel and limbs, and Gruesome waded in, stony talons stabbing.

Klout wasn’t idle, though. He was making mystic passes and chanting in the Old Tongue.

Frisson flipped frantically through the sheaf of poems, found the one he wanted, and chanted.

“Letters and numbers are toys for the playing,

 

Able to hurt only when saying The vituperative injuries formed by a man’s mind. Freed now from that bondage, numbers assigned For forays of truth, wound the men of deception! Stab them and bite them, in justice’s reception!”

 

The numbers froze in midair, then turned and arrowed toward Klout and his soldiers.

“Flee!” the lead soldier bellowed, and suddenly the remaining soldiers were scrambling to their feet and running in panic.

Gruesome yodeled with joy and ran after them.

They looked back, saw him, yelped, and ran faster. They pulled away-they were much quicker than he was-but he kept it up for a while, having fun, shouting and blubbering and chortling like a whole chorus of haunts.

Klout leapt on a mule and dashed away down the road. But at the village limit, he reined in, turned back, and faced me, weaving complicated symbols in the air while he chanted something inarticulate.

Frisson took the next verse from the stack and called out, “Mule, you have labored right, Therefore of sleep you have great need, So vanish instantly from sight, And rest you from your worthy deed!”

The mule disappeared, and Klout slammed down, hard, on his tailbone. His verse broke off into a yell of agony-and the numbers caught up with him. He leapt to his feet with a howl, then ran hobbling away, hand pressed over his tailbone. The numerals shot after him, buzzing like mosquitoes, catching up with him, and away he went, surrounded by a cloud of the figures of his own deception, bleating in pain until his shouts faded away.

All of a sudden, the village was awfully quiet.

Then yells of joy burst out all around us, and the peasants came charging out to hoist Frisson, me, and Gilbert up on their shoulders.

They paraded us all around the square, singing our praises in terms that would have made Roland and Arthur blush.

“Did I do well, then?” Frisson called anxiously to me from his seat on the neighboring pair of shoulders.

“What do you think they’re praising you for?” I shouted. “You did great! And thanks, Frisson-for saving my hide! What’s left of it, anyway! ” He took the hint and got busy crafting a verse that would get rid of my integer rash.

The peasants had just about gotten the celebrating out of their systems by the time Gruesome came waddling back, grinning, whereupon they put us down, backed away, and got down to the serious business of trying to find something for the troll to eat.

They fed us, too, as it turned out-with their usual peasant shrewdness, they had managed to salt away a few staples that not even Klout and his soldiers had found. As darkness fell, full and replete, Frisson and I rolled up in our blankets with Gruesome already a snoring hill and Gilbert standing watch.

 

0 0 0

 

They fed us again in the morning, and we were hard put to refuse any of it. We managed to set off without being totally foundered, but the only one who had really avoided overstuffing was Angelique, and I could have sworn that, if they’d been able to see her clearly, they would have found a way.

our breakfast was beginning to settle, and we were beginning to pick up speed, when we came to the circle. The road met another at right angles, but instead of the two crossing at your average plussign-shaped intersection, they all ended in a ring-shaped track, for all the world like a traffic circle. I stopped, frowning. “Awfully advanced traffic engineering, for a one-horsepower culture. How come they don’t just let the two roads intersect?”

“Because,” said Frisson, “that would make a cross, like to that on which our Savior was hanged.”

I seemed to feel the air thicken at the mere mention of words that were forbidden here, but I did my best to ignore it.

“It was a crossroads once.” Gilbert pointed. “The newer grass, growing where there once was beaten earth, is some small part browner than the old. Look closely, and you can still see the sacred sign.

The air seemed to thicken even more with foreboding. I looked closely, and sure enough, I could just barely make out where the old intersection had been. “Getting a little fanatical, aren’t they”

“I assure you, it would have inhibited the power of the queen and her henchmen,” Angelique’s voice murmured, though I could scarcely see her.

“Well, we do need to get across it, if we’re going to keep going,” I said. “Let’s go, folks.” I stepped out onto the circle, turning to my left.

just then, a man wearing black velvet with a dull silver chain rode out of the woods and into the traffic circle. There were a dozen armed men behind him, so I could just barely hear him shout, “Halt!”

He shouldn’t have bothered; I’d stopped already and was feeling in my pocket for the sheaf of Frisson’s latest poems.

“Fool, turn!” the man in black barked. “Would you break the queen’s law by going with the sun,”’ I stared at him. ” ‘With the sun’? What are you talking about?”

“He speaks of the direction in which you were walking, Master Saul,” Frisson said in a low voice.

The head honcho barked, “Go widdershins! Against the sun! Thus is it commanded of all who come to a road-circle!”

I stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged and turned around. “Okay, so I’ll go from west to east-counterclockwise, if you insist. Big deal!”

“Hold!” he shouted again. “I like not your manner of speech.”

“Well, you’ve got a pretty lousy accent yourself.” I looked up, frowning.

He narrowed his eyes and moved his horse closer, glaring down at me. I stood my ground, beginning to feel mulish.

“Odd clothes, odd speech, insolent manner.” He looked up at my companions. “And accompanied by a troll.” Back down at me. “You are he who has been curing witches of their deadly ills, are you not?”

“Only two.” I definitely did not like the way this was going, especially since his men were making a lot of noise rattling their sabers as they drew them. “What’s the big deal?”

“Know that I am the reeve of this shire!” the man snapped. “Word has come to me that you bilked the queen of tax money yesterday, and raised your hand against a bailiff into the bargain!”

“Self-defense,” I snapped, “and what’s so bad about curing the sick? “

“Have you a permit for it?” he returned.

I stared. “A permit saying I can cure people? What is this, the AMA? “

“The queen has ever banned the curing of a witch on her deathbed!

None who had her license to cure would ever dream of doing so! Nay, and worse-you have encouraged them to repent, to break their bonds with Satan!”

“Breaking bondage is definitely what I had in mind.”

His sword whipped out. “You had no right, nor license! You shall cast a spell this instant, revoking those cures you have worked-or you shall die!”

Chapter Twelve

Gruesome rumbled, and the soldiers had to quiet their horses. They started looking nervous.

I waved my group to be still and said to the reeve, “Can I see your license for breathing?”

He stared. “What license?”

“For breathing,” I said, impatiently. “if you have to have a license to get well, you must have to have a license to breathe! Hasn’t the queen gotten around to informing you about it? Show me your license!

“There is no such thing!” he snapped.

“Ah-ha, you don’t have it!” I waved an admonishing finger at him.

“Everybody who lives in this country lives at the queen’s pleasure, right? “

“Well … aye “Any heart that’s beating, is beating because the queen lets it beat, right? “

“Well … aye, but “Then anybody who’s breathing is only breathing because the queen lets them! Because the queen gives them license! So where’s your license to breathe?”

“I… I have not any - - .”

“No license to breathe? And you trying to lay down the law!

Where do you get off telling me to stop curing people just because I don’t have a license’ If you really think that makes sense, then you stop breathing-because you don’t have a license!”

That shut him up, and I thought he was just staring at me, until his face got red. Then I realized, all of a sudden, that his chest wasn’t moving.

“Master!” the soldiers cried, and started forward.

Gilbert drew his sword with an entirely unnecessary clatter, and Gruesome growled loudly as he stepped up.

The reeve fell off his horse.

I leapt forward and caught him just as the soldiers shouted. They started forward again, but hesitated, seeing him in my hands.

“This is ridiculous!” I snapped. “Don’t you know satire when you hear it? Now stop this silliness this instant, and start breathing again! “

He turned blue instead.

“You don’t have to obey the queen!” I shouted. “Besides, she never said anybody had to have a license to breathe! I made it up!”

His face grew darker, and I realized with a shock that it wasn’t just that he wouldn’t breathe-he conldn’t breathe. I had made the argument sound too sensible, and he had something like a posthypnotic command going that compelled him to obey the queen’s will-or whatever he even thought of as her will!

But that was impossible-hypnotism couldn’t make people do something they were dead set against, I knew that.

It followed that the reeve wasn’t set against being dead.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. She had linked a posthypnotic command to his death wish! “Frisson! Praise life!”

The poet held up a scrap of paper in front of my eyes. I read it aloud, and quickly.

 

“You find yourself in love with Death, Yet be assured, she Is a damsel most distressing, And confers no blessing. Turn from her, and gain some longer breath!”

 

I remembered a Drayton couplet, and added it in:

 

“Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life, thou might’st him yet recover.”

 

And, just so Tennyson wouldn’t feel left out-but I made a few modifications:

 

“Drink life To the lees; all times you shall enjoy Greatly, as you’ve suffered greatly, both with those You’ll find to love you, and alone!”

 

The reeve’s body convulsed with a huge, shuddering breath, and his complexion lightened. I went almost as limp as he did.

“You … you have saved me!” He looked up at me, staring, wide eyed.

“Darn right I have! Another minute, and you would have been at Hell’s door!” I suddenly realized an implication. “That’s right-being a civil servant to a sorceress-queen, you must have sold your soul to the Devil, too, didn’t you?”

“Aye! Yet I have gazed at the fiery portal! ‘Tis no children’s tale, but truth!” He looked shaken, but even so, his eyes were narrowing, and he was beginning to look at me as if estimating how much torture I could take before dying. I decided the view of Hell hadn’t been enough for him. “Frisson, do you have a verse for empathy-feeling what other people feel?”

There was a quick riffle of papers behind me, and the reeve shook himself, glaring over my shoulder. “Is he your scribe?”

“With his handwriting? Not a chance!” I reached for the slip of parchment Frisson was handing me-but the reeve started to chant in that confounded ancient language, so I snapped out a Shakespeare verse that had been tugging at my memory:

 

“My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, ‘Guilty! Guilty!’ Oh no! I rather hate myself, For hateful deeds committed by myself!”

 

The reeve froze in midsyllable, a stricken look on his face.

So far, so good. I held up Frisson’s verse and read it.

 

“There is no creature but I should love, And all that I have wronged, should feel my pity. For hateful deeds that I have done to others Should each and all be visited upon my heart, That I myself should feel the pain That I have done to others!”

 

The gathering malice in the reeve’s face suddenly dissipated. His eyes widened, then turned into pools of misery. He bent over, as if there were a pain inside him. “Aiiee! What have you done! I remember every cruelty I’ve wrought; I feel the pain of those I’ve injured!

How have you done this thing to me!”

“By poetry,” I answered. “That’s one of the things it’s supposed to do-make you aware of what someone else is feeling.”

“I ache, I burn! Oh, how could I have done such vile things! Curse you for having given me a conscience! Never again shall I be able to smite down an innocent!” A single large tear formed at the inside corner of his eye. “How can I ever make amends for those I have wronged?”

“Well,” I said gently, “You could start by repenting.”

“I do, I do! I repent me of my sins! Alas the day that ever I swore allegiance to the Devil, and banished my conscience! Ah, I ken not who to hate the more-he for having taken it, or you for having given it back!” The reeve groaned. “Oh, where is there a priest? For I must confess my sins, I must be shriven!”

I stared at him a long minute; then I said, “I have a notion you know better than I do-if there are any priests hiding out in your shire, you’ve got a strong suspicion where they are. You just haven’t gotten around to hanging them yet-too many other things to do, like whipping peasants into paying another tax.”

” ‘Tis even so.” He managed to get his feet under him and stood, bracing himself against his saddle. “I shall find such a one, I shall confess! I must know that G … that Go … that I am forgiven by the Most High!” But his body convulsed like a whiplash as he said it, as if the mere attempt to speak of something sacred had resulted in intense pain. He set his teeth and pressed on in spite of it. “I forswear my pact with Satan! I shall turn to G … to Go … “

“Keep trying,” I urged, “You’ll get it out eventually.”

One of the soldiers screamed and charged his mount at the reeve, his sword swinging.

Gruesome took two steps and picked them up, both horse and rider, gave them a hard shake, and threw them away. The man struck his head against a stone and lay still. The horse scrambled to its feet and bolted.

The other soldiers backed away with a moan.

“I take it that was your second-in-command?” I asked.

The reeve nodded. “He would have become reeve in my place, if he had smitten me down for treachery to the Devil and the queen.

Another will do so soon enough, I doubt not, but I shall have made some amends for the harm I’ve done.”

I looked at his glossy black hair and realized it was no longer glossy. In fact, I was definitely seeing a gray hair or two. “Uh … if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

“Ninety-seven,” he answered. “I have preserved life and youth by black magic-and ahhh!” He almost screamed, back arching in pain.

“What I did to bring about that spell, the number of those I bled!

Nay, ‘tis only justice if all my years come upon me now!”

They were doing just that-he was aging even as I watched. The black magic that had kept him alive and relatively youthful was gone, now that he had rejected his bargain with Satan, and his debt of years was pressing to be paid.

“Find that priest,” I suggested, “and quickly, while you still can.”

“I shall!” He scrambled back onto his horse and clutched at the pommel grimly. To his men, he said, “Get thee back to my castle, with word that I shall never return! Say also that even my witchcraft succumbed to that of this stranger! I bid thee repent, for the hegemony of evil is passing!”

Frisson, pale-faced, pressed another slip of parchment into my hand. Surprised, I gave it a quick once-over, then nodded emphatic approval and muttered,

 

“He is a sinner, I know full well, And yet his death is not God’s will. But his return to live and dwell Until a priest has seen him, still Bitten by sin and doing ill. One thing is certain, that life flies Yet can be slowed for he who tries To seek the solace of his faith, And find the peace repentance buys!”

 

That last one sounded like something out of The Rubaiyat, but I wasn’t about to criticize.

The reeve looked up, startled. “What did you say?”

“Nothing to worry you,” I answered. “Better get on your way. Who knows? Suettay might appoint a new reeve before the day’s out.”

The erstwhile reeve shuddered at the thought and turned his horse away. “Aye, ‘tis even as you’ve said! Farewell, stranger! I withdraw my curse on you; I bless you instead, for the agony of conscience you have wrought will save my soul. But beware the queen, for she never had a conscience, ever, so no spell can give her one!”

“Thanks for the warning.” I exchanged a worried glance with Frisson. “Hope your trip is smooth.”

“If it were rough as rapids, I could not complain of injustice. Farewell!” He rode away into the woods-but I noticed that he went clockwise around the circle.

His men groaned and turned back the way they had come, riding fast.

I turned back to my friends. “Let’s just cut across the circle-what do you say? And get under the trees fast. I don’t think we want to linger.

The trees petered out in late afternoon, and we found ourselves on an open tableland with occasional straggling lines of undernourished scrub to show where there was a watercourse. We camped by one of them just as the sun was sinking, ate a meal of journey rations that tasted like cardboard and hot water, then turned in. At least, Gilbert and Frisson did, and Gruesome curled himself up into a very large ball. But Angelique didn’t sleep, of course, and I took first watch; I was too restless to doze.

So were Angelique and Frisson, to judge by all the whispering that went on for the next hour-but Gilbert corked right off like the seasoned campaigner he was, so I woke him up for the second watch, sometime in the wee hours.

I couldn’t sleep, of course. Suettay’s threats were too much on my mind.

Gilbert looked up in surprise to see me wrapped in my cloak against the night’s chill, but still sitting by the camp fire, staring into the glowing coals. He came over to say, very softly so as not to wake Frisson, “Will you not sleep, Master Saul? You shall need your rest on the morrow. “

“I don’t doubt it-but I’ve got much on my mind. I’m trying to meditate, Gilbert,” He frowned. “Do you speak of prayer?”

“It’s like praying,” I hedged. “in fact, prayer can lead to meditation, and vice versa. Either way, it’s a good way to relax and get the worries of the day off your mind.”

“All.” He nodded, satisfied, and stood. “Then I shall leave you to your holy thoughts, Master Saul. Good night.”

“Good night,” I answered, and went back to gazing at the coals, reciting a mantra.

At first I thought it was doing no good-the coals just reminded me of Hell, which reminded me of Suettay, which reminded me of danger. So I gazed down at my cupped palms instead, trying to imagine the sound of one hand clapping, and it was just beginning to work when there was the faintest of whispers beside me, and Angelique murmured almost in my ear, “Why are you so sad, Master Saul? Can I aid? ” Now, that was exactly what she was not doing. Maybe she didn’t have a body, but she certainly still looked as if she did, especially at night, when her form glowed its brightest, complete with all her curves, which certainly were not in the slightest conducive to a tranquil state of mind, and definitely not the holy one Gilbert was hoping I’d have.

“I’m not sad.” My voice was more gruff than I intended it to be, and she drew back a little, hurt-so I amended my statement and tried to soften my tone. “I’m troubled, yes-worried about the queen’s being after us. But I’m trying to calm down and put her out of my mind.”

“Mayhap I can aid.” She reached up to touch my forehead with her hand, and insubstantial though it was, a breath of coolness seemed to touch my skin. I shivered, but not with the chill, and reached up to push her hand away with what I hoped was gentleness. “Your touch would inspire anything but tranquility. Might distract me from thoughts of the queen, maybe, but it sure wouldn’t put me to sleep.”

She frowned. “I do not understand.”

I just stared at her, then nodded. “Good. I think it’s better that way.”

Then I unwound myself to my feet. “You’ll have to pardon me. just sitting isn’t doing any good, so I think I’m going to have to take a walk.”

“Oh, beware!” Concern replaced the hurt that had been briefly in her face. “The world is not safe for good folk, at night!”

“Then I shouldn’t be in any trouble.” I turned and went away quickly, before the sight of her made me feel any less good. I glanced back briefly as I restored the guarding circle, behind me, and saw that she was looking hurt, which made me feel wretched-but what could I do? And don’t give me any guff about spiritual union-under these circumstances, it would have been highly unsatisfying.

I strode out into the long grass, walking fast, trying to work out the sudden spurt of energy her presence had given me. I kept telling my hormones that ghosts can’t emit pheromones, but my glands weren’t listening.

There were too many longings in my body to let me relax enough to put the witch-queen out of my mind. Besides, Angelique’s presence reminded me that Suettay knew my weakness, and that weakness was entirely too beautiful, even as a wraith, for my peace of mind-and far more appealing than she knew. I hoped.

But Suettay knew it, I was sure. I wondered if Angelique was safe back there, with only Gilbert and Frisson to protect her if the queen tried anything again-but I decided that, at the least, they’d manage to call me if anything went wrong. I turned back to see just how far I had come, then stared, shocked-the coals of the camp fire were only a glow in the distance, and I couldn’t even see any of the bodies around it. I had come entirely too far. I started back.

A cloud of green smoke erupted ten yards ahead, a silent explosion in moonlight.

I dropped into a defensive crouch, whipping out my clasp knife.

Adrenaline slammed through my veins.

The green smoke thinned and drifted away in the night breeze. A squat, bulging shadow stood black against the moonlight, a floorlength robe blending its outline into a monolith. A low, mocking laugh came from the silhouette. “Come, novice! Do you truly think you can defend yourself from me by force of arms?”

I recognized the voice: Suettay, gilded by moonlight.

I straightened slowly, folding the clasp knife and putting it away.

“No … but then, I don’t really need weapons, do I?”

But my heart was hammering, and the adrenaline of fear was flowing. I had faced Suettay and won, yes-but that had been with friends beside me, including a squire who was as skilled as any knight, and a poet whose talent verged on genius. How could I stand against her alone?

Not that I was about to let her know it, of course.

“Ahhhhhh, insolence!” the sorceress breathed. “You have gained arrogance since our last meeting, Wizard Saul!”

“Oh, so now I’m a wizard, am I?”

Suettay laughed, a noise like a nut grinder. “Certes! ‘Tis what the common folk call you. Did you not know? I assure you, I did. Naught could happen in my kingdom that I would know not of-for if anything transpires, my ministers and their clerks tell me of it! Though there was no need for such offices in this instance; yourself was enough.”

“Enough?” I frowned. “You mean just by living, I give myself away?”

“There is something to that.” Suettay wheezed; I think she meant it for a laugh. “You should not think so hard about magic-it makes you quite conspicuous, to those with the Sight.”

“True-but you’ve been watching me all along anyway. How come you didn’t just send another of your minions tonight? Figure you’re ready to take me on personally now?”

“The audacity of the slave!” Suettay breathed, almost in admiration. “Indeed, I have your measure-and you’ll be like a child’s toy to my power! I am sure of your strengths and weaknesses and know best how to use them!

illogically, I felt a flow of confidence that spread a grin across my face. “Sure of yourself, eh? Is that why you’ve bushwhacked me out here in the middle of nowhere, away from Gilbert and Frisson?”

“Perhaps,” Suettay sneered. “They are, indeed, part of your strength-and you are shorn of them now. You are quite at my mercy.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow in polite skepticism. “Mercy? Do you have any? “

“None to mention,” Suettay snapped, and her arm swung down like the arm of a catapult, a fireball leaping from her fingertips.

I dodged, but the fireball swerved to follow me and exploded against my chest in a soft fountain of sparks. A huge, mushrooming pain answered from inside my chest, an instant of unbearable agony, then …

Nothing. No sensation at all.

The night seemed to darken about me, and strength ebbed from my legs. As I fell to my knees, I realized, with horror, that my heart had stopped. Panic thundered in, but I threw it back with a wrench.

Think fast, or die!

And my mind chilled into total clarity, with an icy lack of emotion that almost frightened me in itself. There was, after all, no time for panic-scarcely time for a single sentence. I rasped it out with what breath was left in my lungs:

 

“Life ebbs now in full retreat, Till once again begins the beat Heavy, steady, short, and hard, Beats the never-ending heart!”

 

Pain wrenched my chest again, but blood roared in my ears and a jackhammer yammered inside my ribs. I breathed in against its beat thankfully. As the haze cleared from my eyes, it cleared from my mind, too: This wasn’t going to be a trial of strength, or any other limited form of conflict-Suettay was playing for keeps. If she could kill me, she would.

Could I bring myself to try to kill her?

The sorceress came into focus as my heart slowed and steadied.

Suettay’s hands were weaving, her lips moving. Then the sorceress froze, and I realized she’d finished another spell while I was trying to restart my pump.

Suddenly, the air was filled with darting, whirling streaks of silver-a thousand knives spinning toward me. I threw myself to the side, but the knives followed me, swooping. I whipped out my pocket knife, swinging it in a frantic figure eight as if it were a rapier, chanting,

 

“I, the spirit master, Can fend off all disaster. Multiply my slight stiletto A thousandfold, by whirling ditto!”

 

There was one slant rhyme, and the meter wasn’t exactly constant, but it worked-the air was suddenly filled with a thousand whirling clasp knives. They buzzed out at Suettay’s daggers, and I grinned as I watched each of the poniards collide with one of the pocket knives and fall to the ground.

Then the grin slipped as I caught sight of Suettay; I realized I shouldn’t have taken time out to watch the show. The sorceress’ hands were weaving air again, stringing a pattern of forces. My face tightened grimly, as I realized the nature of the fight. Working a spell took time-so, while I was chanting my counterspell, Suettay was working up her next attack. That meant that I was going to stay on the defensive, unless I could figure out how to jump a spell.

I had to, or I was dead. Sooner or later, I’d tire-and if I was late on just one counterspell, I was had.

Dust writhed, and a hundred serpentine heads lifted up around me, spreading cobra hoods.

It threw me back to my childhood, and Kipling’s stories.

 

“Let us have a mongoose plural From an Indian village rural, Skilled at fighting snakes, and glad to A hundred mongeese, fighting mad, too!”

 

I carefully did not watch as the dust boiled alive about me; I didn’t have time. Suettay’s arms were weaving, and I took the offensive:

 

“Let a dust storm boil up from the plains of the thirties, Filling the sky; and before the next word she’s Trying to speak, let it blow in and under A real Kansas dust storm, sudden as thunder!”

 

I didn’t even get to the chorus before the tableland was filled with a howling wind, laden with dust. it swept between the sorceress and me, blocking us from each other. Far off, I heard a roar that just barely penetrated the thunder of the churning dust wind-Gruesome, letting out an unbelieving, horrified bellow.

Yes-my mascot was out in this, too. He must have waked, seen I was gone, and realized I was in danger. I felt an instant panic-had he broken the guarding circle as he came waddling out to search for me?

I whipped a fold of my cloak over my nose and mouth, but Gruesome wouldn’t know he should do that. Besides, he didn’t have a cloak. The storm would kill him as quickly as Suettay’s spells.

And maybe not just Gruesome; my chest heaved with a huge, wracking cough. Some of the dust was getting in through the cloth.

But I only needed a few seconds to rank the priorities in my mind:

One: Get rid of whatever it was that Suettay was whipping up for her next spell;

Two: Throw another spell of my own at her, and keep on throwing; and

Three: Get rid of the dust.

Right. Get going on number one.

 

“Still more fool shall she appear By the time she lingers here. With one fool’s head she came to war, But she’ll go away with more!”

 

Actually, now that I thought about it, that took care of point two, too; Suettay couldn’t do much of a spell with an IQ suddenly lowered to slightly better than an onion’s.

If she hadn’t deflected my spell in time. The dust was thinning, and the wind was dying down. So Suettay had wasted time lessening the loesS2

Then I heard a rumble of thunder and realized I was wasting time, myself.

Too late. With a sound like a lireaking sieve, the rain drenched down. The dust settled, fast; and through the curtain of water, I saw Suettay-or something that had been Suettay.

It still wore the queen’s robes, but it had small eyes under a very low forehead, and a wide, gaping grin-on one of its heads. The other two were similar, and maybe worse. I stared, appalled-was this what happened when you practiced magic without a license?

Certainly without really knowing what you were doing. I was disgusted with myself. A clean death would have been infinitely better!

Until I realized the loose grins were forming themselves into words. Sure-two heads are better than one, and three idiots add up to a modicum of sense. Whatever spell it was going to be, it wouldn’t be too effective-committee work never is-but I didn’t feel like waiting around to find out. I grabbed for another verse:

 

“This monarch will be hanged With a silver chain ‘Tis not the chain of many! Stole the lives of serf and peer, And must be hanged for any!

 

A silver chain lashed down out of the rain, snaked around the center head, and snapped taut. Suettay’s body jerked upward a good three feet and dangled, kicking and writhing, from a chain that wasn’t attached to anything.

But the other two heads were still forming words, slowly and painfully …

Alarm sizzled through me. I’d only solved one-third of the problem! Quickly, I started muttering,

 

“Triad, by the rule of three, Multiply this spell for

 

Too late. The other two heads were fading, disappearing, and the loose grin on the one in the noose was tightening as intelligence came back into the eyes. The forehead moved up-and it was Suettay’s normal face again! The lips writhed in a snarl as she hoisted her hands up to grab the chain above her head. She pulled, got her throat clear of the links, and took a deep breath.

I grabbed for another verse.

 

“They plucked the entrails of an offering forth, And could not find a heart within her breast!”

 

Suettay looked up, grinned, and started chanting.

I froze. It hadn’t worked! Okay, it was only a couplet, and it didn’t rhyme-but it was Shakespeare! It should’ve shown some result!

Then I remembered an old medieval tale, transformed into a modern fairy story, about sorcerers who, afraid of death, put their hearts outside their bodies for safekeeping-say, in an egg, which was inside a duck. Or an amulet. How that could work, I couldn’t see, unless … yes … wait a minute … Assume a hyperspatial link, so that blood could flow from the sorceress to the heart in another dimension, and back …

I came to myself with a jolt. Too much thinking! Suettay was spitting out the last phrase, and I had lost the initiative. Suddenly my whole body went rigid. I couldn’t move! And the paralysis was creeping over my chest to seize heart and lungs, then trickling up over my shoulders toward my neck. If I didn’t get a quick spell out, I’d have lockjaw! Plus death.

And Suettay was spell-weaving again!

Chapter Thirteen

I took as deep a breath as I could and spat out:

 

“Can’t freeze my bones or rot my spleen, ‘Cause I’ve been shot with Salk vaccine! So I’ll hang loose from stern to prow Paralysis can’t touch me now!”

 

My knees suddenly flexed, and my hands relaxed at my sides. I tried a step and managed it-but slowly and painfully. Well, you couldn’t expect a cheap spell like that to work wonders …

But Suettay hadn’t wasted the time. She was back on the ground, the silver noose still hanging above her head, and was finishing up another chant, her hands pantomiming yanking something up from the earth.

And four lions leapt out of nowhere, straight at me, roars shaking the plain.

But a greater roar drowned theirs out, blasting from behind meand Gruesome thudded past me, straight at the lions!

They hit the brakes, plowing up sod with iron claws and terrified howls-or three out of four did. The fourth bellowed all the louder an eapt straight at the troll. I couldn’t help thinking that this was how evolution put an upward limit on courage.

Gruesome was very direct; he slammed in an uppercut. His timing was just right; he caught the lion under the jaw. It went flipping up over his head and down in an arc, its head flopping at an unnatural angle.

The other three decided their initial instinct had been right, and fled out across the plain with howling yips of fright.

Suettay’s hands flew; crooked syllables clanked off her tongue.

Gruesome turned slowly toward me, a hungry glint in his eye.

“What’s the matter?” I backed away. “Look, I didn’t mean to get you into this!”

“Juicy.” Gruesome’s slab of tongue came out and smacked around his chops. “Taste good.”

I yelped and whirled to run; Suettay had canceled the fairies’ antihuman-eating spell.

Gruesome’s feet pounded behind me, coming closer, and I knew that, though his legs were much shorter in relation to his body, they were longer than mine, since he was so much bigger-and he could move them faster, no matter what he looked like. I wasn’t going to get out of this by running-just by talking. Or rhyming, rather. I swerved around behind the biggest boulder I could find in that barren land and started chanting.

 

“You cannot eat but little meat For your stomach, I’m not good. Obey elf-prince and wizard friend, Not sorceress in hood! Why then should you seek quarry more, And still seek friends anew, When change itself can give no more’tis easy to be true!”

 

A huge fist came down and smashed the boulder to smithereens.

Gruesome loomed up, huge eyes lit with glee, mouth spread in a horrible, drooling grin, upraised hands hooked to pounce, and I turned to run. Huge nails clawed my back, and I howled with pain, tripping and falling. I rolled to my feet. And I was just in time to see the glee dim from his eyes as his mouth puckered in confusion. “Wizard? What I do?”

“Nothing.” I went limp with relief. “You chased away some lions for me, Gruesome. Thanks.”

But beyond his bulk, I saw Suettay, hunkered down on her knees, belt over diagrams she was drawing in the dirt, and intoning a long, diconing chant.

My heart sank. Whatever she was whopping up, it was big-if symbolic gestures increased magical power, symbolic drawing would be even worse!

Then full inspiration hit me, and I realized that a sword can cut both ways, no matter how clumsy. “Gruesome!” I cried. “There’s another one!” I pointed at Suettay.

“‘Nother one what?” the troll rumbled, turning to look. I chanted quickly, “What you see amid the waste, See as something you would taste!

 

Be it horse, or cat, or bear, Or a sorc’ress, kneeling there. In your eye it shall appear As a morsel sweet and rare!”

 

Slant rhyme again, but I hoped it would work.

It did. Gruesome let out one gusty “Yum!” and started runningstraight at Suettay.

The sorceress looked up, startled. Then she sprang aside with a howl of fear, in the nick of time-Gruesome thundered by, plowing up her diagrams with his great taloned toes. Suettay howled in rage and frustration-and I seized the moment, my mind shifting into high gear. I knew better than to waste a single second by this time.

While she was on the run, I chanted, “Be reversed from Galatea;

May your limbs and joints betray ya!”

I ripped a thread loose from my shirt, frantically tying knots in it as I went on:

 

“Knot the stomach, bind the head Let your limbs go weak with dread!”

 

The sorceress collapsed, falling back on the ground with a howl of anger and fear.

Gruesome bellowed victory and stooped for the kill.

“Be as thou wast wont to be!” I shouted. “See as thou wast wont to see!

Gruesome froze.

Then his face wrinkled, and he turned away in disgust. “Yugh! Sorceress! Tough! Sour!”

Suettay stared, not knowing whether to be insulted or relieved.

The fear spell was still on her, but she started muttering anyway, Gruesome whipped about, looking from side to side in total bewilderment. “Where goody,’ Where juicy piglet?”

So that was what he had seen, instead of Suettay. “it got away,” I said quickly. “Why don’t you go back to the camp fire and see if Gilbert has any leftovers from dinner?”

“Deer haunch.” Gruesome nodded sagely and turned away.

Yom!

I pulled out my clasp knife, snapped it open, and stepped up to touch the point against Suettay’s throat. “Cut it,” I snapped, “or I will! ” The last syllables of the chant died in the sorceress’ throat as she read the conditional sentence in my eyes.

But she saw something else, too, and a slow, mocking smile spread over her face. “You believe you have beaten me, then?”

“I did sort of have that impression, yes.” Privately, I wondered how long I could hold the knife still.

“Slay me, then.” Suettay smiled, showing teeth.

I stared.

I clamped my jaw, narrowed my eyes. She was mocking me, riding a bluff. She should have known better; it only made sense for me to kill her. I braced myself for the thrust-and stayed braced.

Suettay’s eyes danced, mocking me.

I ground my teeth and tried to summon up the resolution for the fatal blow. “Start a spell.”

Suettay shook her head, grin widening.

“Damn”’ I whirled away, plunging the knife into the earth.

Suettay laughed, a mocking bray. “I congratulate you on your … honor, Wizard.”

I swung about, fuming.

“Aye, slay the helpless old woman,” the sorceress jeered.

“When you rendered me defenseless, Wizard, you bound your own hands.

“Nothing,” I ground out, “gripes me more than someone who takes advantage of someone else’s good nature.”

“I could not be more pleased with your … virtue.” Suettay made the word an insult.

I spun away, burning, taking a deliberate step away from the woman so I wouldn’t do something I’d feel sorry for in the morning.

Behind me, the sorceress sang out a rhyme in that ancient language I didn’t know. I spun about in alarm. She was stretching luxuriously. “Thank you for affording me a moment to recite my counterspell, Wizard. Be assured, I’ll not return the favor.” Her hands started weaving.

I. snatched up the knife and turned back to her, shifting from side to side, coming in low. Of course, she could have blocked that with three words, so I chanted,

 

“Her freedom is gained, Her malice unfeigned! The blow need not hold, For blood’s no longer …

 

Suettay stared, alarmed, then broke off her chant to cry, “Hist!”

She held up a hand, turning her head a little to the side and frowning, as if listening to a distant sound.

Then she turned back to me, snarling, “How you have worked your vile spells, Wizard, I do not know-but I grant You’ve been far more formidable than I had thought you would be./’ A truce? I wondered if it was wrong of me to feel relieved.

“I would I could stay and finish what we’ve so lately begun,” Suettay spat, “but sudden, urgent affairs have arisen, which require my Personal attention-blast that monk and his obstinancy! We shall meet again, be certain-yet I must own, I’ve gained some respect for you. When next I see you, ‘twill be with an army at my back.”

Yes, I decided, wanting a truce was wrong. I screwed down my mercy and began reciting.

“Fear no more the heat ol the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages

Suettay looked up in amused surprise. I set my teeth and went on:

 

“Thou thy worldly task hast done; Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages.”

 

Suettay cocked her head to the side suddenly, as if she were again listening for something.

Trying to distract me, I thought. I focused tightly on her face, chanting:

 

“Golden lads and girls all must

 

Suettay turned back to me with a long, gloating laugh that ended abruptly in a shouted, unintelligible phrase as she swung her arms in opposing circles.

“As chimney sweepers!” I shouted.

Suettay disappeared.

“… come to dust,” I finished. “Damn. too!

Then I started wondering what she had been laughing about. Probably just trying to distract me, as I’d thought … but …

How about if she had seen some trouble coming for me and my companions?

On a wide-open plain? In the dead of night? Ridiculous! After an act like that, what trouble could make any difference?

Then I heard the clank of arms, Gilbert’s shouting, and Frisson’s howl, faint but clear across the plain. Gruesome roared, and a crowd of voices answered him. Metal clashed on metal.

“She sent an ambush party while she had me out of the way!” I cried. But I didn’t answer; I was already running, and trying to figure out how I could get there faster.

Faster? I skidded to a halt. I was a wizard, wasn’t I? At least, that’s what they kept telling me. I could get to any place I wanted, instantly-at least, within this hallucination. All it took was the right spell.

 

“The trouble’s fast-moving, and so must move I, Till I’m set by the fire ‘Neath this bright midnight sky. Let me, in an instant, a league or more gain, In the bat of an eye, far out ‘cross this plain!”

 

There was a sudden rush of giddiness-then my head stopped swimming, and I looked up at mud-and-thatch walls, crude plank furniture, and dirty, unkempt people in ragged, dun-colored home spun.

The man of the house looked up, startled, from his place at the table. He had a long beard and a large axe.

I stared. What had gone wrong?

Terminology. I’d said “by the fire,” but I hadn’t specified which one. And I had said “across the plain”-so here I was, in a peasant hut presumably on the far side of the plain.

I gave the denizens a toothy grin and tipped an imaginary hat.

“Sorry about the intrusion, folks. just semantics, that’s all.”

The man’s lips writhed back in a snarl as he came up from the table, hefting his axe.

Obviously a grammarian. I adlibbed, I And I had a good excuse,

 

“The lure missed the fish, and wound up in a shack. I return to the world, ‘cross the plain. I go back!”

 

The axe swung down-and I was suddenly in the midst of bright moonlight again. I turned around, totally confused-and saw a bright spot on the horizon. Dimly, I heard clashing and yelling.

I sighed. Overshot again! Well, I hadn’t exactly had time to get specific.

But my friends were in a jam. I had to come up with a spell while I made it to them.

“The starry welkin cover thou anon With gloomy fog as black as Acheron And lead these treacherous soldiers so astray As each come quickly in the other’s way!”

Suddenly, fog rose up from the ground, getting thicker and thicker as it climbed. In two minutes, it had hidden the stars-and the distant clash of arms was liberally interspersed now with shouts of surprised and angry pain, and cursing.

That would hold them for a while. I dredged up an orientation verse:

 

“Take me back to my new friends At the campsite where they fend And guard themselves with might and care From the foes attacking there!”

 

There was that moment of disorientation again-then things steadied, and I found myself staring at the coals of our camp fire. I whirled about to see Gruesome tossing soldiers like Indian clubs. Gilbert was laying them about him with his broadsword, and Frisson crouched by the fire, reading scraps of paper aloud. Angelique flitted here and there, trying to scare enemy soldiers, and not terribly worried by their weapons.

But I was-because the fog suddenly lifted. Only ten feet or so, but that was enough for the soldiers to see where we were and turn to center on us with some very nasty oaths.

If their field sorcerer could disperse my fog, he might be able to trap Angelique! I had to find some way to bust up his party.

“Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen.

Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown That host in the morning lay withered and strown.”

A huge unseen hand seemed to slap back and forth in the middle of the raiding party, and troopers went flying. That left only a man in a gray robe and pointed cap, frantically dodging the unseen force. He was going to be confused for a few minutes, and I decided to make it worse.

“I’ll chant to him in summertime, And in the winter, too!

But the only, only thing That I’ll sing for his song is to shroud him in the foggy, foggy dew!”

-and among The fog came down again, all the way to the ground the moans of the soldiers, I heard a tenor cursing. I grinned; that should keep this junior sorcerer confused for a few minutes.

kly. I needed something a But he’d pick up the pieces pretty quic uld scare the symbols off his robe-and little more enduring, that wo his soldiers, too.

And I knew just the thing. I grinned with anticipation as I took a deep breath and recited, with my best attempt at the original pronunciation,

 

“The fierce spirit painfully endured hardship for a time, He who dwelt in darkness … The grim spirit was called Grendel, a rover of the borders, One who held the plains, fen and fastness … There came gliding in the black night the walker in darkness, From the plain under the mist-hills Grendel came walking, Wearing God’s anger!”

 

Night thickened around them, and I took off, following the crashing Gruesome was making. on my third step, I slammed into something hard and furry. A roar resounded around me, and a huge, clawed hand reached down through the darkness toward me. Far above, two little red eyes gleamed. I howled, ducked around the giant shin, and ran.

Grendel apparently wasn’t about to change course for so small an irritation, because the crashing of boulders being ground into pebbles behind me, and I didn’t think that was just because was going away he was running so fast. A yell of horror confirmed it, followed by the rattle and clash of suits of armor being jumbled together. I slowed and looked back, but all I could see was a black cloud with a horse arcing above it and a sorcerer beyond, sawing the air frantically with his hands. The horse landed on its hooves, by some miracle, and streaked off in a panic-but the sorcerer had to stand his ground and keep trying. I didn’t think he’d have much luck when he couldn’t even tell what the monster was-especially since I didn’t think the man knew Middle English. Too bad the Dark Age bards hadn’t left a few verses with a wider range of applications-but their interests had seemed to be rather narrow.

Wide enough for current purposes, however. I noticed that the crashing seemed to have stopped. So did the sorcerer-he was frozen with his arms half-raised, looking uncommonly as if he were surrendering to a Wild West sheriff. Then he whipped about and disappeared back into the pass. The black cloud drifted after him, leaving huge, clawed, vaguely anthropoid footprints.

I didn’t really care about the sorcerer, but I couldn’t leave a scourge like that to prowl the countryside. I tried to remember how the fight had gone, decided to be a little more humane, and improvised a different ending:

 

“Grendel must flee from there, mortally sick, Seek his joyless home in the fen-slopes. He knew the more surely that his life’s end had come, The full number of his days.”

 

The black cloud kept moving up toward the pass-but as it moved, it thinned until, by the time it reached the top, it was almost gone.

A vague outline hung in the air for a second, huge and gross, like a monstrous parody of the human form-or was it reptilian?-then was gone, so quickly that I wondered if I’d really seen it. I sighed and turned away-there had been something heroic about the monster, after all.

Gilbert was glancing warily up toward the hilltop, then back to the place where his opponents had been. There was only a dust cloud there now.

I looked at it, surprised. “What did you do-knock them all the way back to the mountains?”

“Nay. They saw that black fog you raised, and turned tail. They fled, and I came near to fleeing after them.”

“Near! If I’d had a clear field, I would’ve been flying out of here so fast, my backwash would have knocked you over!”

“Me, too!” The troll actually looked shaken. “Goosum go, fast!”

I looked up at Gruesome, frowning. “I thought trolls weren’t scared of anything.”

“One.” Gruesome nodded vigorously. “Found it.”

“And you banished it, Wizard. Gilbert looked up at me, the whites still showing all around his eyes. “Nay, you have certainly cleared our pathway! Have you disbanded them so quickly, then?” ” ‘Dismembered’ may be more like it,” I answered. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t go back to check.”

“Aye, Certes.” Angelique looked down from where she wafted around Gruesome’s shoulders, eyes huge. “And what monstrous apparition was that which you did raise against them, Wizard Saul?”

Being a ghost, she had a professional interest in the question.

“That’s a long story.” I sighed. “And a very old one. I’ll tell it to you some time-but right now, I think we’d better reset the guarding circle that Gruesome broke when he came out to help me-thanks, old monster .

“Help you?” Angelique looked up, ready to fibrillate.

“That’s another story,” I said quickly. “I thought you wanted to hear the one about the monster while we wait for daylight.”

“Aye, but I pulled out my can of talcum powder “Then we’d better get busy.

and stepped over to the break in the circle. Angelique drifted after me anxiously, but by the time she caught up, I was deep in, mumbling the spell. When I finished, I looked up brightly and said, “Okay. Anybody want to hear?”

Angelique’s protest was drowned out by noisy concurrence from Frisson and Gilbert. I glanced around and saw that even the troll was looking mildly interested. I relaxed and took a deep breath. “Okay.

Now, once, long ago and very far away, a hero named Hrothgar built him a hall, hight Heorot …”

And they sat up around the camp fire listening for what was left of the night, eyes growing larger and larger as they listened to the wondrous tale of the hero Beowulf.

What with one thing and another, we weren’t in the world’s greatest shape for traveling when we broke camp and buried our fire the next morning. We made it until noon, but when we saw the gleaming castle in the distance, sitting on top of its mound in the middle of the plain with bright banners flying from its turrets and the midday light glistening off the white stone of its curtain wall, I couldn’t resist it.

“Just a little farther,” I coaxed my friends. “We’ll ask for hospitality there, and if they say yes, we’ll be able to rest in peace and security.

“Aye,” Angelique said, “for surely no one evil could live in so fair a fortress!”

But Gilbert didn’t look convinced, and Frisson said, “Can any who are not evil hold a castle in Allustria?”

But Gruesome grinned from one side of his face to the other and chortled, “Food!”

“Yeah, but just grain, okay?” I looked up at him nervously. “No gobbling up the castle horses, now-we don’t want to eat out our welcome.”

“Goosum be good,” he promised, and we pressed on to our new short-term goal with renewed vigor.

As we came up the slope, though, I frowned. “Odd. Drawbridge down, banners flying-but not a soul in sight.”

“Mayhap they are all gathered in the bailey for some purpose,” Frisson ventured.

“Surely they would have left sentries at the walls!” Gilbert expostulated.

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough.” We had come up to the drawbridge’s edge. I called out to the little slit windows in the gatehouse, “Is anybody home?”

A face with a steel cap showed at one of the windows. “What wish you? ” I let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Hospitality. We are wayfarers who seek a night’s lodging-and we are of gentle blood.”

The face looked up a little above my head. “He is not.”

I looked around. “Who, Gruesome? No, he’s a troll, but he’s friendly. “

“I doubt the castellan would countenance his entrance,” the porter called back. “He must stay without until the lord of the castle has spoken-but the rest of you may enter.”

I stood rigid for a moment, then hissed to my friends, “Maybe we’d better look for a different campground.”

“Mayhap,” Gilbert said. But Angelique, unseen, said, “You could do well with a soft bed and a strong wall about you for a night, gentlemen, and the troll will not fret,”

“Goosum hunt!” the troll averred.

“Well …”

Frisson’s eyes were feverish. “A real kitchen, with true food! A dinner of any other thing but journey rations!” He turned to Gruesome. “Surely you would not feel neglected, would you, good monster?”

Gruesome shook his head-or the whole top half of his body, whichever way you wanted to look at it. “Goosum no trouble! ” Well now, that could have meant that he wouldn’t be any trouble if we took him into the castle, or it could have meant that it wouldn’t trouble him to be left outside, but I chose the latter interpretation. “Okay, Gruesome, you wait out here. Go hunt a boar or something. We’ll see you in the morning-sooner, if the lord of the castle has a change of heart.”

Gruesome nodded affably and turned away toward the nearest woods.

Somehow it bothered me, having him out of sight, but I reminded myself that I was probably safer that way, anyway. “Okay, he’s taking a hike,” I called up to the soldier in the little window. “Can we come in now?

“Aye! The drawbridge is down, and the keep awaits you!” he called back, and disappeared.

I turned to my companions. “Shall we, friends?”

We went through the gatehouse, Angelique glowing visibly in its shadow-and the skin on the back of my neck prickled, expecting a volley from the little windows all along both sides of the passage. But nothing happened, and we came into the bailey.

” ‘Tis fair enough,” Frisson said.

It was. The courtyard was bare in the center but with a broad fringe of grass, where a few horses were grazing contentedly. They wore only bridles, but they were big-knights’ mounts. Smoke came from some of the buildings against the wall, with cooking odors from the kitchen range and the steady clang of metal from the smithy.

Both of them relaxed me a little more, though it still seemed odd not to see anybody around.

“No doubt they are all inside.” Frisson sniffed the delicious aromas and smacked his lips. “Come, friends! To the keep! Must we not present our compliments to the lord and his lady?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s the correct protocol.” But this time, I let Frisson take the lead.

We walked across the courtyard to the tall, round building that was the keep and went through the doors at its base-into total gloom, in which Angelique shone brightly again. Frisson stopped with an exclamation, and Gilbert came through last, looked about him, and growled.

” ‘Tis a ruin!” Frisson cried.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” I prowled past him, looking around.

“Structurally, it’s in good shape.”

“But ‘tis filthy, with the dust and dirt of a century at least!” Angelique protested.

It was. A little light came in from two small windows high up on the walls, enough illumination to show us a huge round room with fat pillars holding up the ceiling-and huge cobwebs that stretched everywhere there was a right angle. A few of them were new, with active spinners busily mending tears or rolling flies, but the others were lank and ropy, thick with dust. The floor wasn’t much better, coated with humus that had once been moldering straw. Broken benches and tables poked up here and there, and I could see the remains of a few camp fires, where wanderers had spent the night.

“But how could it be?” Frisson protested, visions of a good supper fleeting away. “The outside is so fair, so well kept and well tended!”

“Wherefore would they neglect the keep?” Gilbert looked about him, frowning. “Do not the lord and lady live here?”

The answer hit me like a thunderbolt. “No, they don’t, and they haven’t for fifty years or more! The place is deserted! Somebody just tidied up the outside to lure us in!”

“But who would go to such great labor?” Gilbert cried.

“What great labor? It just took a little magic! And I’ll give you three guesses who uses magic on that scale! Out of here, folks!” I turned and headed for the door.

just a second too late. A howling war cry cut loose all around us, waking echoes that the old hall hadn’t even known it had.

Chapter Fourteen

Soldiers came charging out from behind the pillars. Around the edges of the room, knights stepped out from doorways, clanking down on our little group. iced. He swung it with a Gilbert’s sword was out before I’d not bloodthirsty howl, as I snapped my staff up to guard. The squire chopped into a helmet, used the rebound to slash at a belly, and snapped the sword straight ahead to fend off the oncoming soldier.

But a huge net fell from the rafters to enshroud him. Gilbert roared and flailed at the net with his sword. He managed to cut a few strands, but more of them entangled the sword.

I howled in anger, yanked out my knife, and sawed at the mesh, trying to free my friend-but soldiers crowded me from either side, and I had to turn to dodge a halberd and lunge at its owner. The soldier yelled with pain and went down under the feet of his comrades, and a pike head jabbed at me from the side. I managed to parry, then remembered I was supposed to be a wizard and frantically tried to think of a verse. Difficult, because I was also dancing around the guardsmen, trying to leap in to cut at them and get out before a sword or halberd hit me. Worse, I was distracted by the sight of Angelique, almost a whirlwind of gauze, swishing across a trooper’s eyes long enough for Frisson to thwack him with his staff.

Angelique undulated in front of another trooper long enough to make him stop in his tracks. The man behind him jarred into him, and the two of them turned to fighting each other with shouts of anger. Angelique sped away, flitting through the attackers, causing havoc.

Frisson fought gamely with a staff, though he was clearly getting the worst of it.

A bellow split the air, and the soldiers drew back in fright, for a behemoth strode into the fight with teeth and claws. “Gruesome !” I shouted with relief. The monster must have heard the sounds of the fight and come running back to get in on the pounding.

Then some sixth sense warned me, and I spun around. Someone had managed to get behind me, and a weighted club was swinging down toward my sinuses with a fully armored knight behind it. I took a breath to rattle off a verse, but the club swooped down to fill the world, a huge pain exploded at the side of my head, and I didn’t get to see how the fight came out.

The murk cleared enough for me to see something gleaming. I blinked, focused, and saw shining, pale-yellow teeth curving upward in a grin. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head-and immediately regretted it; pain wreathed my brain in fire. I groaned, clutching my poor fevered pate and squeezing my eyes shut.

Something nudged my shoulder, none too gently. “Look up, Wizard! Ere I cut your lids from your eyes!”

There was a certain gloating quality to the words, one that made me think the speaker would just love an excuse to carry out her threat. I gritted my teeth and forced my eyes open. The murk, mercilessly, had fled, forcing me to see the smile in context-and the context was pretty repulsive. In fact, it was Suettay’s face.

I winced and turned away, hoping for a better alternative.

There was an alternative, all right, but whether it was better or not was decidedly moot. We were in a dank stone chamber, filled with wicked-looking instruments that I vaguely recognized-an iron maiden; thumbscrews; and, beside me, several racks. on one lay Frisson, bound hand and foot-and beside him, Gilbert, who was awake but groggy, and sitting up. Gruesome was missing. Oddly, I felt a spurt of relief-at least one of us had escaped the ambush. Then anxiety reawakened in the wake of the thought, and I hoped the troll wouldn’t be so fanatically loyal as to try to rescue us. After all, what could he do?

On the other hand, I was a bit more anxious about Angelique.

In fact, she was my prime worry, because she was here, too-in the flesh! Although now that I looked at it, the body’s chest was still, none of the gashes were bleeding, and it was deathly pale.

Deathly …

Suettay had put her corpse in with us.

Outrage hit me. How dare Suettay save Angelique’s mortal clay like a trophy?

Or was it for some other purpose?

Suddenly, I remembered what the witch-queen had said about preserving Angelique’s body, and why. I found myself really hoping my favorite ghost wasn’t in that room with us-but I was very much afraid she was, and in some condition I couldn’t detect.

No way around it-I decided I’d have to recognize that we were in real, genuine, bona ride predicament, and no matter how ugly it was, I was going to have to face it. I turned back to Suettay.

The queen saw my resignation and laughed, a sound like a truck trying to roll with a broken hearing. I sighted and reevaluated herwhen you got right down to it, the queen was a very ordinary-looking fat woman, if you didn’t count the cruel glint in her eye or the gloating, eager smile on her glistening lips.

A scream scoured the air. I turned frantically to my companionsand was hugely relieved to see that none of them had made the noise.

it did, however, jerk Frisson rudely back to consciousness, staring about in instant panic. Suettay laughed again.

I turned to look at her and was amazed to see that the queen wasn’t looking back. In fact, she was looking off to my right with rapt fascination, nodding slowly and grunting. “Good, good. Again, again! ” Sure enough, the scream split the air once more, and Suettay’s eyes glistened like a connoisseur regarding a Picasso-or, I revised it, like a voyeur watching a pornographic movie. I turned to follow Suettay’s gaze, puzzled.

I turned away again, as quickly as I could. I could tell from the sounds that my companions had made the same mistake.

Suettay, apparently, watched torture for fun.

Fortunately, the victim wasn’t anybody I knew. I wondered if the poor man had done anything to deserve torture, or if Suettay’s soldiers had just grabbed the nearest passerby.

The queen turned toward me, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you not find this pastime amusing, Wizard?” She said the last two words with so much sarcasm that they might have cracked under the load.

But I was in no condition to notice; I was fighting a rising gorge.

“Uh, no thanks, Your Majesty-that’s more like my idea of work.”

The torturer giggled as he turned some minuscule device, and the prisoner screamed again.

Suettay’s face reddened on the instant, engorging with rage. “Do you think yourself so much better than me, then? Torturer!” She waved at the official. “Release the prisoner! We will save the rest of his agony for a time of proper leisure!” Then, to two apprentices standing by in leather loincloths and black masks, “Seize this churl and lay him on the table!”

In the middle of the apprentices’ giggles and my friends’ cries of outrage, all I could think, as they unstrapped me and hustled me over to the table, was that at least I’d spared the poor peasant some pain.

“Fight, Wizard Saul!” Gilbert shouted. “Do not let them doom you without a struggle!”

But I didn’t have any time to fight-I was too busy thinking up verses.

The torturers slapped me down on the table. Very effective-it knocked the breath out of me long enough for them to put the shackles on. Then the main torturer advanced, grinning over a glowing branding iron. I tried to forget it was for me and started to mutterbut the torturer nodded at an apprentice, who stabbed the ball of my thumb with a fat pin. I yelped, the verse going completely out of my mind. But it reminded me of another one:

 

“By the pricking of my thumbs Something wicked this way comes! Open locks, whoever knocks!”

 

The shackles sprang loose with a clatter, and I bounded up, stiffarming the torturer as I passed. “Sorry, but I don’t really have time today, I have an appointment with-” Gilbert and trisson shouted approval, but the queen stared, appalled; whatever she’d been expecting from me, that hadn’t been it.

Her face darkened then, and she barked, “Seize him!”

Two guards jumped me and slammed me back down on the table.

Suettay gave a curt nod toward the rest of the captives, and other guards backhanded them both across the mouths. Frisson reeled back down, and Gilbert recoiled.

Anger filled me, for which I was thankful. I glared at the queen, who laughed with vindictive pleasure as the torturer came back with the heated iron, its glow dulled to a sullen red. He moved it slowly toward my forehead, his gloating grin growing again.

I stared at the horrid, glowing pentacle, as fascinated as I was horrified, trying for the life of me to think of a verse-and I did.

‘Tears are for the craven, Pleading for the clown, Halters for the silly neck That cannot keep a crown.’ He was taken prisoner, He was cast in thrall, iron, cold iron, is master of them all!”

The iron star cooled amazingly, its glow dimming to blackness as it neared. The torturer cried out-was that fear, or just disappointment?-but Suettay’s hands moved in some odd pattern while she snarled something with a heavy meter in a tongue I didn’t know, and the star glowed into brightness again-not just red, but white-hot. The torturer’s grin grew back with it, and I just had time to realize that Suettay had been expecting some sort of cooling spell, before the heat of the iron seared my whole face, then passed beyond my sight, and pain, bright liquid pain, worse than any I had ever known, shot outward from the center of my forehead, drowning out all other sensations-my friends’ shouts of horror, Suettay’s victorious crowing, my own scream.

Gradually, the pain diminished until the things I saw could regisill wrapped in agony, and my ter again, though my whole head was St whole spirit quailed in total, abject, gibbering fear. I could hear Suettay soothing, “Softly, softly. Pain on pain will yield no gain; he will not feel the pins, while he’s curled in agony from the iron.”

Good advice, and I realized the smart thing would be to keep screaming and pretending I was delirious-but I saw Angelique’s bruised corpse; Gilbert, a bruise darkening on his cheek; and Frisson, crumpled against his rack, blood trickling from the hand cupped over his mouth.

There was no room for anger now; my whole being was filled with fear, horrible fear that the torturer would do that again, and I whimpered, “Please … please …”

“Yes, it does please me.” Suettay chuckled. “And will please me for all of this day, and part of this night, I doubt not.” Suddenly, her eyes blazed, and her whole countenance contorted. “Fool! To defy my will! Now will you learn the fate that befalls those who oppose Suettay! Now will you learn what it is, to die in torment!”

She motioned, and pain lanced through my hands. I screamed; then, as the pain dimmed, the thought fleeted through my mind that at least I didn’t have any major sins on my conscience at the moment, so I’d die Heaven-bound …

The realization blossomed like a flower, even through the pain, and I had no doubts as to where it had come from. By myself, I wouldn’t even have thought of those terms, and if I had, I would have thought that because I wasn’t holier-than-thou, I couldn’t have been good. But the inspiration came, and I realized that, yes, I was in a state of grace at the moment-not perfect, but I’d been doing more good works than bad-enough so that Satan had no power over me.

That meant Suettay could only control me with physical force; as far as magic went, her spells were by no means unbeatable.

If I could only find the right one. And if I could just get it out of my mouth.

But Suettay saw the hope rising in my face, and screamed, “Lance him!

Pain bit through my thumbs again. This time, though, I knew it was coming, and I could grit my teeth and ride it out. I held tight to the thought of defense. My mind searched frantically through the verses I knew, rejecting anything the queen might expect, seizing the least likely:

 

“You get a good spadesman To plant a small tradesman (First take off his boots with a boot tree), And his feet will take root, And his fingers will shoot, And they’ll blossom and bud like a fruit tree!”

 

The torturer cried out in alarm as invisible hands wrenched off his boots. A block of stone flipped itself out of the floor, and the unseen hands jammed the torturer into the dirt beneath. Then he howled with pain and fright as his arms stretched out like tree limbs. His fingers elongated like little branches, the tips bulging into buds that sprang open into flowers.

My friends shouted with delight, and the apprentices shrank back with a moan.

“Mercy!” the torturer cried. “Mercy!”

“You’re welcome,” I muttered. I wasn’t thinking too clearly, what with all the pain.

Suettay paled, falling back a pace. I started to flounder up off the torture table, though, and the queen snapped out of her shock.

“Guards! Seize him!”

But all of a sudden, the guards were reluctant, and it gave me time to climb to my feet, searching frantically for another verse.

“Will you not seize him?” the queen ranted. “Must I turn you all into flaming brands?”

The soldiers paled and started forward.

I decided to stay with Gilbert and Sullivan.

“If you want a proud foe to make tracks, if you’d melt a cruel monarch in wax, You’ve but to call in the old resident jinn, From Seventy Simmery Axe!”

An explosion of expanding air rocked the chamber, and there it was, a full-fledged Arabian jinn, complete with turban and beard.

“Your command, master?”

The companions and guards both stared, and somebody made a sick moan-maybe it was Suettay.

“More like a client, actually,” I clarified, remembering what one tradition said happened to jinn’s masters. “I’d like you to clear the guards and torturers out of this chamber, banish them to some oasis dded, rememberin the nearest desert. But not too lush an oasis,” I a ing what the torturers had done to me.

“Your wish is my command.” The jinn raised his hands …

And Suettay got her mouth working. Her hands twitched through the air as she recited some incomprehensible syllables-incomrehensible to me, but apparently something understood them somep where, because when the jinn cried aloud some ancient syllables of his own and threw his hands up, the whirlwind that sprang up just as quickly died down.

The jinn stared, unbelieving, then suddenly gasped and spat out a string of words, making mystic passes all around himself. His form wavered and thinned, then solidified again.

Suettay grinned, chanting again as her hands stirred the air.

“I cannot,” the jinn gasped. “The sorceress moves against me! ‘Tis all I can do to fend off her magics! ” But I had taken time for a thinking break, and chanted,

 

“And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!”

 

The guards cried out as a huge, invisible hand slammed them against the wall. They crumpled to the floor, out cold.

“I cannot prevail,” the jinn gasped. “I can at best withhold her might! “

“You’re doing just fine,” I assured him. “While you’re holding her off, I’m free to work on her henchmen. Now, let’s see … a verse about torturers …”

Suettay’s face twisted, and she snarled, “Seize her!”

The apprentice torturers leapt to Angelique’s body.

Frisson and Gilbert struggled against their bonds, but Suettay snapped, “Hold! Move, and her spirit dies!”

I whirled to her, staring. She was holding a corked bottle over her head-and it looked to be made of very thin glass.

One of the torturers, hearing, whisked out a knife and held it to the throat of Angelique’s body.

“So,” I said. “When your men knocked me out, you managed to compel her ghost into a bottle.”

“W by, how quickly you understand!” Suettay crooned.

“So break it.” I frowned. “All you’ll do is free her ghost again.”

“Nay, for I’ll scream the spell as I do-and as the lady comes out from the flask, her ghost will leap to her body. Look at it! The boot is on!”

I whirled to look. Sure enough, the iron boot was clamped around one of Angelique’s feet, and there were thumbscrews on each hand. I knew, with a sick certainty, that they had been there ever since she’d died. If her ghost went back in there, and the body came alive again, it would be in instant agony.

But the explanation had taken time from Suettay’s spells, and the jinn shouted what sounded like an oath. A huge scimitar appeared in midair, slicing down at Suettay. The queen answered with a curse, and the huge blade winked out just before it hit her. She broke out in a sweat and snapped, “Banish him, Wizard, or the woman lives!”

I was in no shape to appreciate the irony.

Neither was the jinn; he was chanting again. Suettay’s face reddened, and her hands sawed the air furiously; she managed to croak a verse …

The torturer pricked, and a drop of blood welled up on Angelique’s pale throat. Frisson groaned, and Gilbert cried out in dismay.

I capitulated. “Thanks, 0 jinn-but I’m afraid we’re outflanked.

Back to the place of your people, now.”

The jinn cried out in relief and delight, and disappeared.

Suettay wiped her forehead with a shaking hand, drew a deep breath, and forced a grin. “Now, Wizard. I believe we understand our positions.”

“Not quite.” My eyes narrowed. “If that slab of beef harms a hair on her head, I’ll turn him into a turnip.”

The torturer looked up, appalled.

“I think not,” Suettay purred, “while I can prevent it.”

“True. First, I’ll turn you into a pig. Not that it will take much.”

Frisson crowed his approval, then caught himself, eyeing the queen fearfully.

Suettay reddened, and her eyes narrowed. “Attempt it, and she will wake into agony while you chant.”

“Not if the torturer knows you’ll gobble him up the next minute-or do you really think you’d be able to resist the temptation?

You’re not too good at that, you know.”

“I think I shall still be as I am, and you shall be a toad!”

I raised my hands, ready to gesture. “Ready to try it? On the count of three “Be still!” Suettay watched me with narrowed eyes. Beyond her, I saw Frisson’s abstracted gaze, and knew I could count on magical help from an unexpected quarter. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure what the effects of that help would be-if inspiration struck, he was apt to forget practicalities.

“You prevaricate,” the sorceress guessed, “for you would not chance the woman’s life.”

I said slowly, “Not if there’s a way to guarantee her safety, and that of my friends, no. Trouble is, I don’t see any such way.”

“There is one,” Suettay said, with a leer. “Ally yourself with myself and with evil, and the maid shall go free.”

I lay rigid with shock-but beside me, Gilbert called out, “Nay, Master Saul! She would smite the lass nonetheless!”

“I would not,” Suettay retorted, “for if I did, the wizard might turn against me.”

“That … makes sense,” I said slowly.

“Surely you are not tempted!” Frisson cried.

“Tempted, sure.” I shrugged. “Anybody can be tempted, right?

Can’t avoid that. Giving in to it is another matter-but yes, I am tempted.”

“Tempted most shrewdly.” Suettay’s leer broadened. “Come, Wizard! Swear allegiance to me and to Satan, and the soul of the lass shall go free. Nay, further-I’ll remove the spell that keeps her body alive, so that her soul may fly to Heaven.”

It was a good deal, and it was very tempting; I loved Angelique dearly, and sending her to eternal bliss would have made her very happy. Unfortunately, it would have made me very sad-I finally admitted to myself just how thoroughly I’d fallen in love with her, and how much I wanted her with me. With me, in body as well as spirit, I might add-I might have been substantially in a state of grace, but I was no plaster saint. I wanted Angelique and I wanted her alive, well, and corporeal.

But that was selfish.

“No, Master Saul!” Gilbert cried. “You must not! Without you, we should all be-” Suettay nodded at a guard, who slapped Gilbert hard across the mouth, then stuffed a gag in, But he’d said enough. Without me, this whole complex of forces that was gathering to oust Suettay and clean up Allustria might falter and fail. I know that sounds conceited, but I didn’t really know what my part in the whole scheme was-only that I was definitely a part of it, and if one part failed, all the rest probably would, too.

But more importantly, Suettay still needed Angelique for that virgin sacrifice-and once I committed myself to the power of evil, I would be under her authority, and powerless to stop her.

“He hesitates,” Suettay snapped. “He is a fool, and will do us no good. ” The torturers rumbled agreement-of course-and Suettay stepped up to Angelique’s body. She handed the flask to one of her henchmen.

“Pull the cork when I bid you, and the spirit shall be sucked back into the clay.” Then she began to weave a pattern of strange, vaguely obscene gestures over the corpse, chanting in that strange, eerie language.

I had a sudden vision of that poor, gentle body coming alive, convulsing in pain, screaming in agony. “No, wait!”

“Will you join me?”

My heart twisted within me, and my whole body twisted with it.

All the fears and horrors of the evil I’d seen flitted through my memory, and an intuitive impulse such as i,d never had surged through me, adding up to a panic of denial-but there lay Angelique’s body, with her ghost ready to hand “No.”

“Curses!” Suettay spat. “How strong is your love, then, if you will not sell your soul to save the maiden from pain?”

That suddenly made everything clear, and I felt the peace of certainty flow back through me-for I realized that selling my soul would be the denial of love. Love is healing, love pulls the soul toward Heaven ‘ because it’s a tiny taste of Heaven-so if I sold my soul, dedicated it completely to evil, I’d be locking myself away from love. If I signed up with Suettay, I would no longer really be able to love Angelique.

But I would still desire her-and what might I do to her then, with no conscience and no empathy?

“No,” I said. “if I sold my soul, then I’d be placing her completely in your power-there would be no one left to shield her.”

“A curse upon the spirit that has told you that!” Suettay snarled.

I suddenly realized where all these inspirations had been coming from. “Won’t work. He’s curse-proof.”

Suettay’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll proffer you another bargain.

Cease your hold on this world, and I shall let the girl’s ghost go free.”

Panic again, at the thought of leaving Angelique-but the logic of it made me hesitate. Sure, if Suettay could augment her power by converting a wild card of a wizard to her side, it would make her that much stronger, and her enemies that much weaker-but if she couldn’t subvert me, she could at least get rid of me. That would give her one less thing to worry about.

A return to my own world was what I wanted anyway, right? Except that I was trying to find Matt-but I’d sure found out where he had gone, and there was no particular reason to think he wasn’t alive and well. If I really wanted to find out, all I had to do was go back to my own world, find the parchment he had used, and read whatever spell it contained-it would take me to him. Nice double cross for Suettay, too.

But what would happen to my friends in the meantime?

I summoned all my nerve and said, “No.”

“That was my final kindness, fool!” Suettay screamed. “Why do you disdain it?”

“Because,” I said, “as soon as I’m out of the way, you’ll go ahead and sacrifice Angelique, then start in on my friends.”

“But you would have no knowledge of that! You would not care!”

“Oh, I would care,” I assured her, “very much.”

Her eyes narrowed to glitters of malice. “Then we shall remove all the sources of that care-by simple murder! I am loath to waste objects of pleasure in quick killing-but if it will speed you hence, I shall do it! Guards! Slay-”

“No!” I shouted. “You kill them, and I’ll hang on in this universe just to get revenge on you!”

She broke off, looking up at me with a strange, malicious smile.

” ‘Tis tempting-for revenge is sinful, and in letting yourself be consumed with hatred and the desire for vengeance, you would succumb to the lure of evil, and be subsumed in it.”

My heart sank.

“Sweet though that would be,” she said regretfully, “it would be of no aid to me, myselfand might hinder me, in your rebellion.”

I saw my chance. “Yeah! And the sinfulness of my revenge might even be balanced by the good I did in getting rid of you!”

” ‘Tis even so.” Her eyes were back to the nasty glitters again. “So it would seem that you must join me, or die.”

I felt my stomach drop down to the bottom of the shaft, but I set my jaw and said, “Death. Definitely death.” And I tried to sneak in one more spell:

 

“He took the Wine and blessed it, He blessed and broke the Bread

 

“Enough!” Suettay screamed. “Silence him!”

A hard hand backhanded me across the mouth. I saw stars, and wondered if I’d need a dentist or an orthodontist.

“To the dungeons with them!” Suettay ranted. “The wench shall remain imprisoned in this flask, till I incorporate her to watch his final agonies! Let them rot in my most dreary cell, while I begin preparations for a revenge dealt in a manner that will most please my master! ” Then I was running to try to keep from falling as the apprentice torturers hustled the three of us down the hallway and into a cell.

My skin crawled with apprehension. Somehow, I didn’t think the “master” Suettay had referred to was anyone human. I had a nasty, sneaking suspicion that I knew how high up in the nonhuman hierarchy that individual was-and what kind of revenge he would find most pleasing.

Chapter Fifteen

We landed sitting down-hard, and it hurt. The door boomed shut behind us.

Oddly, my initial impression was one of peace. It was so nice and cool after the heat of the torture chamber, and the darkness was soothing, especially since it was relieved by the dim glow through the little barred window in the door.

My second impression was one of amazing satisfaction. I had put a long-term crimp in Suettay’s plans; there was no telling how long the queen would be tied up trying to figure out a way to cancel my existence. Apparently I was an odd enough customer that she would have to do it carefully. For a moment, I was tempted to believe it was the overwhelming strength of my “spells,” the legacy of my nearly completed English major-but skepticism got the better of ego, and I realized that it probably had more to do with who had brought me into this cockamamy universe, than with me, myself.

if I ever met that guy …

I chopped off that line of thought as a new suspicion dawned. if I was such a delicate article, no wonder Suettay had tried to deal!

Which raised the possibility that she might try to bargain again; I decided I’d better get busy figuring out a new set of counterspells. if she had any brains, she’d gag Frisson at the outset.

or kill him …

I mumbled a quick charm to clear my head; I knew I couldn’t concentrate through the pain. Then Gilbert swore, with loathing.

“What’s the matter?” All other concerns were instantly forgotten.

“Something with warmth and fur did brush my thigh!”

“Don’t try to hit it if you can’t see it!” I had a sinking certainty that I knew what it was.

Then I heard a dry, high-pitched chuckle from the depths of the lightless hole.

I froze and hissed, “Everybody stay still!” Then, aloud, “Who’s there?

The chuckle came again, with a nasty edge to it.

It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I warn you, I’m a wizard-and the queen herself has just found out to her sorrow that I’m not without power even here, within the realm of evil! Answer! Who are you?”

The chuckler was still. Then a rasping voice came out of the darkness. “Have you hurt the queen, then?”

“Not really,” I said, “but I do seem to have snafued her system.”

“I do not know that spell,” the voice said. “Tell me, does it cause her humiliation?”

“Because she can’t fix it? Yeah, I’d say so-and frustration. But nothing compared to what I’m feeling! Are you going to tell me who you are, or do I have to come over there and drag it out of you?” The day’s woes suddenly boiled over. I shoved myself to my feet and strode toward the voice.

There was a scrabbling in the darkness ahead of me, and the voice hissed, “Beware! Or my pets shall have you!”

There was something sinister in the way he said “pets” that made me halt, in spite of the loss of pride it entailed. “Blast! We need some light in here!”

“Nay!” the voice cried, but I chanted,

 

“Oh, light was the world that he held in his hands, And light shall bloom here, to show us this man!”

 

A torch flame flared in the darkness, and I saw a fat, bald man with a wrinkled, chinless face, deathly pale from being too long in darkness. His clothes were filthy rags, but they had once been fine robes. He flinched back from the light, baring long, yellow teeth. Half a dozen huge rats scrabbled back with him, lips writhing in snarls, long, stained incisors bared. A couple of them burrowed into his robes.

I swallowed. ‘I see your point.” I cleared my throat and said, “Odd choice of associates, don’t you think?”

“There’s little enough else by me here,” the bald man snarled, /land they are better company than most folk I have known.”

That was a signal, if I had ever heard one. I stilled inside, and inquired, “People done you wrong?”

The bald man laughed, a hissing series of expelled breaths. “Who among them has not? Yet I must own there was a rightness to it-for I did them harm, as oft as I might. Is not this the way of the world?”

“Nay,” Gilbert croaked.

“Aye,” Frisson contradicted. “Yet that’s not to say it should be.”

“Should be!” the bald man spit. “A pox upon your ‘should be’! I will abide with what is, not with what ‘should be’!”

“As you always have?” I murmured.

“Aye! There’s at least some slight honesty to it! Your ‘should be’ is hypocrisy! “

“Not if we look for the better world,” Frisson said softly.

“if all could behave as they should, look you, the world would become a far better place,” Gilbert insisted.

“Yet your ‘all’ will not do so, not even a moiety!” the bald man declared. “Nay, I shall abide by my ‘is’!”

“After all,” I said, “it’s done so well for you.”

The glare the bald man gave me was pure hate. “It did well indeed for me, young man, for three dozen years! Ever did I rise higher through the ranks of the queen’s clerks, till I stood above them all as chancellor, with a dozen desks ‘neath my sway, and twenty scriptoriums to each! Directly below the queen’s privy chamber I stood, and would have risen to a post within it, had not misfortune intervened!”

“The queen’s privy?” Frisson murmured. “I should think that an unfortunate position.”

The bald man’s eyes narrowed again. “Mock if you will! But those who are the queen’s most senior servants have power indeed, because they are privy to her counsel!”

“So you were the top man in the second level of the bureaucracy,” I interpreted.

The bald man frowned, peering keenly at me. ” ‘Bureacracy’? What is that? “

“Literally, ‘government by desks,’ ” I answered. “It’s the organization of clerks who actually run the country.”

The bald man held my gaze for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“Aye. ‘Tis oddly said, but ‘tis how Suettay doth govern.”

“And,” I inferred, “you made a little mistake in your climb to the top?”

“Aye, a small mistake only,” the bald man grated, “and one that I should have seen would be so-for I did bethink me of a means toward greater power for the queen, believing she would create a new chancellery for it and for me, and raise me to the privy chamber. Yet she saw, and clearly, that such power might give me some chance to move against her, and therefore sent me here.”

I nodded. “You did your job just a little too well. She realized the true scope of your ability, so she made haste to Put you where you couldn’t do her any harm.”

“Would she had slain me instead!” the bald man hissed.

“That would have been nicer,” I agreed. “Trouble is, it might not have made you enough of an example for ambitious young men who show too much initiative and do more than they’re told. How many times has she pulled you out to parade before her clerks?”

The bald man frowned. “Twice, o’er the yearsand, as you say, ‘twas before her clerks assembled. Yet ‘twas to demand of me the scope of my chancellery, matters which my successor had forgotten.”

I nodded. “And, conveniently, on the inauguration of the new chancellor, each time-just as a little warning to him.” The bald man’s eyes widened, burning. ” ‘Tis even as you say! What a fool was I not to have seen it!”

“Understandable.” I shrugged. “You fell victim to the bureaucrat’s big weakness-you started caring about the job itself and forgot it was just supposed to be a means of personal advancement.”

The glittering gaze held for a minute, before the bald head nodded slowly. “Aye. Fool that I was, I thought that excellence of work would raise me up by itself.”

“The race is not always to the swift ” I quoted, “nor advancement to the most able-at his job, at least. It is to the most able, at currying favor and influence. Of course, if he can’t do the job, he gets fired.

Gilbert shuddered. “Woe to Allustria! If it is to be governed by such willful incompetence!”

No, it is competence,” I corrected, “but only competence.” I turned to the bald man. “And you let the queen see that you could actually excel. ” The long teeth bared in a mirthless smile. “Aye, fool that I was.”

“Then you hit the midlife crisis.” I lifted an eyebrow. “I take it your chancellery had something to do with the fall of Allustria The bald man grinned. “You may say that if you will. Certain it is that Queen Graftus, the queen unseated by Suettay’s grandmother, became greedy and boosted the taxes-but then, at the recommends tion of her chief adviser, began to try to be sure the taxes were collected. First she had a complete list of all possessions made up, then verified the taxes each person owed and, when they were paid, checked them against the record-all under the direction of her chief adviser, of course. In cases of underpayment, she dispatched a squad or more of royal knights with a clerk, to collect. When recalcitrant dukes managed to resist, her adviser recommended magic, and went herself, with a small army, to work sorcery against the reluctant dukes.”

“Let me guess,” I said softly. “The chief adviser was Suettay.”

The bald man frowned. “Nay, her grandmother, the Chancellor Reiziv. We speak of events two hundred years gone, young man. How old do you think the queen to be? ” I exchanged a quick glance with Frisson, but only said, “Sorry. I guess I’m just overly impressed by Her Majesty. I take it Queen Graftus was happy with her sorceress-adviser?”

“Aye; the stratagem was so successful that the queen allowed Reiziv to recruit junior sorcerers, and no baron dared to resist again.

Queen Graftus thus became very wealthy and very powerful.”

“Very,” I agreed. “How long did it take her to realize her chief adviser Reiviz really held the reins of power?”

“Never, till she waked in the middle of the night with a knife in her throat, and the sorceress’ laugh of glee ringing in her ears, all the way down to Hell. Then did the sorceress become queen, and all the people did witness the power of sorcery.”

“Yes, of course-after all, it had won, hadn’t it? So you grew up

“Aye.” A shadow crossed the bald man’s face. “Yet I was found wanting to become a sorcerer.”

wanting in talent. Therefore did I turn with zeal to becoming a clerk.

“Next most profitable career, I guess. What was your dazzling improvement on the system?”

The bald man’s gaze darkened with self-contempt. “Oh, ‘twas a marvelous scheme, to be sure, and so simple! ‘Twas only the posting of a junior clerk to each town, to oversee all transactions and judgments, and to undertake whatever actions the queen would think good! “

“With a junior sorcerer to guard him, of course,” I murmured.

“Aye. Being of the royal household, the clerk would pay no heed to the wishes of the townsfolk, or their mayor and reeve. He would be answerable only to the queen.”

“Which meant, of course, to his bureau chief,” I murmured, “which would have been you.”

Aye,” the bald man spat. “Fool that I was, I did not realize the extent of the power this would have given me.”

“But the queen did. “Oh, aye! Therefore did she set out the clerks as I had suggestedbut kept their governance to herself.”

“And threw you into the dungeon.”

The bald man nodded, bitter as a London pint.

“The reward of the capable man,” I sympathized, “but of the man who is more capable of doing the work than of currying favor. “

“I was a fool,” the bald man spat. “A talented fool, mayhap, but a fool nonetheless.”

“Quite talented,” I agreed, “though not at the sorcery you wished for. “

“Aye.” The bald man’s eyes brightened with bitter satisfaction.

“Yet here, at the end of my course, I have discovered that I did have some modicum of a true and most singular talent-much good may it do me in this place!”

“Oh?” I asked softly. “What’s that?”

“I have befriended the rats,” the bald man hissed, “so well that they come when I call. Nay, I could raise up a hundred of them now and tell them to overwhelm you!”

Gilbert growled with menace, but Frisson asked, “Would they do what you bade them?”

“They would.” The bald man showed his long yellow teeth.

“Aught that I told them, even to running headlong into death, so long as they could do it in a body.”

“Lord of the rat pack,” I mused. “Frisson, do you ‘remember’ that verse about cats?”

“Nay, but I will bring it to mind most quickly.”

“And I know one about terriers.” I gazed thoughtfully at the Rat Raiser. “A very considerable power. With them at your command, why do you languish here?”

“What should I gain by their use?” the Rat Raiser countered. “It would appear that even you, at a thought, can summon up creatures to oppose them! What, then, could my sovereign Suettay do?”

“Annihilate them,” I answered, “probably by calling up a demon or two.”

“And would annihilate myself with them,” the Rat Raiser answered. “Nay, I’ve no wish to die, or to see my pets fry. An I wished it, I could have bade them slay me long ago.”

“And you’ve thought about it, eh?”

“Who would not?” the Rat Raiser returned. “Yet I abide. Why, I know not-but I abide.”

“No doubt just waiting for us to come help you out,” I said breezily, and turned to Gilbert. “How long do you think those locks can hold you?” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Rat Raiser sit up straight-but he slumped again, glowering. Of course, I realized.

Who knows better than a bureaucrat, to distrust promises?

“I have tried them,” Gilbert answered. “There is a spell to hold us here; the locks will not budge, nor the bars bend, and the wood is like armor. ‘Tis you who must take us forth from here, Wizard, or we will rot with the rats and their friend! Nay, bend thy talent to its utmost and bring us forth from here quickly! For with every moment that passes, the lovely maiden comes closer to torment!”

The Rat Raiser laughed, a shrill, high stuttering of breath. “Fool!

Do you think you can prevail ‘gainst the vile, twisted power of the queen?”

“It’s possible,” I said slowly. “I seem to be in a state of grace, at the moment.” More thanks to my guardian angel than to myself, I had a notion. “Let’s start by trying to get out of this cellar.” Not easy, for a guy who claimed not to believe in magic-so I relayed it to one who did. “Frisson, if I sing you a couple of songs, can you craft them into a spell that will get us back to the torture chamber?”

“Why would you wish to go there?” the Rat Raiser gasped.

“Because the queen is about to visit a friend of ours with a fate worse than death-it must be worse, because she’s going to bring her back to life just for the occasion. How about it, Frisson?”

“If you wish it, Master Wizard, I shall essay it,” the vagabond said slowly.

Before they could talk, I recited,

 

“Over his parchment the musing hard, Beginning doubtfully and far away, First lets his quill wander afar, As he draws on his muse for his lay Then as his point drinks up sable ink, So his heart takes fervor, feeling his theme, Rising in flashes, in darkness to sink, To make realize that are as they seem.”

 

I shuddered to think what I’d done to Lowell’s verse, then consoled myself with the thought that there was so little of it left, he’d never have noticed.

A pen, an inkwell, and a sheet of foolscap appeared, hovering in the air. I took them and handed them to Frisson. “Write it down-I taught you how! That way, I can check to make sure it’ll work before it gets said aloud.”

Frisson took the pen with a show of reluctance, which I didn’t believe for a moment. “If you say to, Lord Wizard. Natheless, I am yet slow to form my letters.”

I had to admire how well he took a cue. “Try,” I urged. “Do you know an old song called ‘The Castle of Dramouye’?”

“From the Isle of Doctors and Saints? Aye, I have heard it.”

“You might try a variation on that, to get us into her dungeon.

Then we’ll need one to get us out of this castle; have you ever heard a song that goes like this?” I hummed the first eight bars of “Greensleeves.”

The poet nodded. “I have heard them. Must I hold to their limits, though?”

“Of course not! If the muse visits, wear her out! Write what comes to you; I’m just giving you a starting point-call it muse bait.”

But Frisson was already sitting down cross-legged, gazing off into space. After a moment, he dipped his quill and scratched a few words, gazed off into space again, then dipped his quill once more and started scribbling furiously.

Slow to form his letters. Right. Well, I had known the man was a genius-I wasn’t surprised that he’d learned so quickly.

The Rat Raiser was, though. He was staring, though the rest of his face was immobile. He didn’t say a word, of course-too experienced a bureaucrat to give anything away-but from the way he watched, I knew he was reassessing our skill as wizards. Admittedly, Frisson was too ragged to look like much, and my clothing was too outlandish-but if the “spells” we used were so potent that we had to write them down and check them before we read them aloud to cast them, we must be mighty indeed.

I didn’t argue.

Frisson looked up and held out the page, looking very anxious.

“Will it sail, Lord Wizard?”

I took the parchment and studied it. My eyes widened. Could this really be as excellent an adaptation of a folk verse as I thought it was?

it could. After all, I had just finished reminding myself that Frisson was a genius. “This is very good, Frisson,” I said slowly. “Almost too good to be used as a spell.”

Disappointment shadowed the poet’s face. ” ‘Almost,’ I said! if I weaken it a bit, it should work stronger magic than anything I’ve ever made up. Brace yourselves, men-and join hands.”

Gilbert seized my right hand, and Frisson seized my left as I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and began to recite.

 

“Summer winds turn chill around The Royal Keep of Doom. Cries of pain and fear resound Within its torture room. There let us be transported all, Its anguish to subsume!”

 

The cell darkened, the light went out, and the Rat Raiser cried in the darkness. A wave of nausea swept through me and was gone;then the light came back, and I saw Angelique, still stretched out on the torture bench, eyes wide and unseeing, chest still.

Beyond her, Suettay was just taking the cork out of the bottle, intoning a chant. The torturer, restored, was chuckling as he tightened the thumbscrews on the corpse.

The ghost rose from the bottle, trembling with apprehension. Then Suettay saw us, and stared at us in amazement and alarm.

The assistant torturer held the corpse’s leg, stroking it lasciviously, as the chief torturer paused to make a last adjustment to the iron boot. He looked up, saw the expression on his queen’s face, spun about, and smashed a fist into my face.

I saw it coming just in time to roll with the punch-but I saw stars, and pain racked my head, stirring up anger. I was too slow, though-the squire beat me to it Gilbert roared and leapt forward; the torturer was just beginning to turn when the squire’s fist caught him under the jaw. I heard something snap, but all I saw was the torturer sailing over the table in a perfect parabola. He crashed into the wall just above the floor, but by that time, his first assistant was in midair heading for the south wall, and Gilbert’s fist was in the second apprentice’s midriff. Then he picked up the man like a javelin and sent him after the first; he almost had all three in midair at the same time. I hadn’t known the squire was a juggler-or such a strong one, either.

It only took him a few seconds, but that was long enough. Suettay whirled about, teeth bared in a snarl, and began to shout a verse.

I rose up from the floor, trying to forget that my momma had taught me never to hit a lady, and slammed a fist into her jawbone.

She slumped, out cold, and the bottle hit the floor, shattering. The ghost drifted free with a cry of relief.

Two guardsmen shook off their stupors and stepped forward. One drew a sword; the other hefted his pike, then realized it wasn’t there.

I leapt forward, shouting, “Go down!”

The guard looked up, startled, just long enough for Gilbert’s fist to connect with his cheekbone. As he was crumpling, his mate was looking around for his pike when he tripped over its butt, fell sprawling, rolled over, and found himself staring at its blade. Gilbert spared him confusion by clouting him neatly on the crown, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Then Frisson whirled and stabbed down with the pike he’d used to trip the guard. He plunged it straight into the queen’s chest.

It was a good move, and one Gilbert couldn’t have forced himself to do, since it was in cold blood, and therefore without honor-but Frisson wasn’t a knight, or a squire. I just didn’t have the heart to tell the poor vagabond it wouldn’t do any good.

Gilbert whirled to Angelique’s body, unscrewing the boot. “Be consoled, maiden! It shall not hurt you any longer, even if you are reincorporated! Nay, fear not-your tormentors shall harry you no more!

He wasn’t even panting.

I turned to Frisson. “Thought you were a poor, law-abiding victim.

“What-this?” The poet looked at the pike as if he’d never seen it before. “Well, I have learned some knack of separating people from objects, aye.”

“Valuable objects, right? And without their ever noticing it.”

Frisson shrugged. “The mammon of wickedness can be turned to a good purpose, Lord Wizard.”

“Oh, I don’t dispute your use of the techniques-just wondering how’d you’d learned them.”

Then Angelique’s ghost gave a cry of horror.

Gilbert was at her side in an instant. “Be assured, fair maid, ‘tis only us, who are your friends.”

“But who is he?” Angelique gasped.

Frisson followed her glance and said quietly, “We came accompanied, gentles.”

“Aye,” Angelique said. “Who is yonder old coil?”

“Old coil!” a voice behind me cried. “I’ll have you know, lady, that I am scarcely into the middle of my years.”

I turned slowly. “That’s right. It’s just that a lot of those years passed while you were in a dark dungeon. That aged you a bit.” Then, to Angelique, “Milady, may I present to you a former star of Suettay’s administration, fallen upon evil days-the Rat Raiser.”

“A henchman of Suettay’s?” she cried. “How came he to accompany you?”

“Why, by seizing hold of the wizard’s hand, when he bethought him ‘twas that of one of his comrades,” the Rat Raiser cackled.

I turned to Frisson. “I thought it was you holding my left hand.”

“Nay,” the vagabond said, “I did seize the squire’s fist.”

I turned back to the Rat Raiser with a face like an iceberg. “You definitely were not invited.”

The bureaucrat glared up at me with vindictive malice. “You would have gone off and left me no better than you had found me, would you not?”

I cocked my head to the side, considering. “Maybe not, if you had asked. But of course, if you were going to continue working for Suettay “Wherefore should I do that?” The Rat Raiser stared, appalled.

“To try to get back into her good graces.”

“Wherefore? So that she might turn me out again? Faugh!” The Rat Raiser glared at the unconscious queen, gloating. “Let her look to her own!

“She cannot look to anything!” Frisson stared, frightened at his own accomplishment. “She is dead!”

“I fear so small a stroke as steel through the chest will not kill so puissant a witch,” the Rat Raiser said bitterly. “We should have some few minutes ere she wakes-but waken she shall.”

Frisson backed away from Suettay, trembling.

“Would she would not,” the Rat Raiser said, lips tight. “Nay, if I find any way to injure her at no risk to myself, I shall do it!”

“Even if it means repenting your sins and adhering to God?”

The cell was very quiet as the two of us stared at each other across a gulf of tension.

“Aye,” the Rat Raiser breathed. “Even that.”

“Even if it means devoting yourself to the good of your fellow man? Becoming the servant of the poor and weak?”

The silence was even longer this time, but I saw the Rat Raiser’s countenance begin to lighten, eyes widening at a new concept. “Aye, even that,” he breathed. ” ‘Twould hurt the queen grievously, would it not? So that is the meaning of the ‘coals of fire upon his head’!”

“I can think of better motives for taking up a life of goodness,” I said “but I’ll take what I can get. Who knows? Maybe it’ll grow on you, after a while.”

“You do not mean he shall accompany us!” Gilbert protested. Angelique touched his arm and said, “Aye, he must. Ask me not why, but I feel the rightness of it.”

Gilbert opened his mouth to protest further, but saw her face and fell silent.

“Shall I swear?” the Rat Raiser demanded.

“What good would that do? If you’re secretly holding fast to a life of evil, you’ll break an oath without even thinking. No, I can feel the rightness’ Angelique is speaking of. I’ll take a chance on you, Rat Raiser.”

The bureaucrat cracked a smile. “I thank you, Wizard. You shall not regret it.”

“I hope not-because if I do, you will, too.” I gazed into his yellowed eyes a moment longer, then turned back to my friends. “Okay, time to leave, before the posse arrives.”

“But who can know?

“Suettay’s second in command. I’ll bet she had six kinds of magic alarms rigged to our cell. When they find us gone, they’re bound to try here. No, don’t try to kill her by magic-you’ll just trigger some kind of ectoplasmic guardian that will be really rough to handle.”

” ‘Tis even as he says,” Angelique quavered. “I ken not what they may be, but I sense some dark and lingering presence that awaits any threat to her body.”

“But I slew her!” Frisson cried.

“Nothing fatal, I’m afraid,” I sighed, “which is why the guardian didn’t respond. She doesn’t keep her heart within her chest. Don’t let it worry you, Frisson-you’ll get another chance. Remember, the idea right now is to escape-we’ll figure out a way to kill her some other day.”

The poet looked crestfallen, but he squared his shoulders-and his chin.

“Okay,” I said, “everybody hold hands, now.” I took the Rat Raiser’s paw myself-after all, I already had once, hadn’t I? Knowingly or not. Everybody else linked up on my right hand. “Here we go, folks!

Frisson, the parchment, please?”

The poet held up the sheet of foolscap, and I read it, chanting,

 

“Alas, foul witch, you do us wrong To chain us so unjustly, Where folk have suffered oh, so long, Amusing your foul cruelty. Green grass is my delight, Blue skies are all my joy! I yearn for freedom with all my heart, in a place of great security!”

 

The door was opening, and soldiers were bursting into the torture chamber, just as it faded and sank into the void.

Chapter Sixteen

There was no world and no time, and no sight but light. There were colors swirling about me, but mostly what there was, was Angelique.

I wasn’t alone in the mist this time. I was a separate identity, but I was also integrated with Angelique. Somehow, her soul was interleaved with mine, touching me far more intimately than any embrace of bodies could achieve, in contact with me at every point, and the thrill of her touch was ecstasy. I couldn’t see her, but I could perceive her, perceive the memories of horror, the aftershocks of agony, but all of it was muted now, numbed and faded, far less important than her joy at having found a man who loved her deeply.

Because I couldn’t hide that from her, now-our souls were open to each other. The only way I could have hidden my feelings was to have locked her out entirely, and to do that I would have had to become catatonic, completely cutting off perception of everything but myself.

But I didn’t want to hide my feelings, somehow.

Maybe it was because she couldn’t hide anything from me, either, and I could perceive her love for me, ardent and deep. I realized that the spell had only made her see my good qualities before-but now she saw all my faults, too-the temper, the mulishness, the hypocrisy, the sprees, the sordid little affairs, the chip on my shoulder. But my virtues were so important to her, so much of what she needed and admired, so much like her own ideas of what was good and right, that my harshness and abrasiveness seemed unimportant to her. She knew them for the front, the shield, that they were, and knew also that they didn’t really matter-but that what they protected, did.

As for me, I was a total goner. I’d been able to see beneath the bruises and see in her glowing ghost that her face and body were beautiful, the most beautiful I had ever seen-but I began to realize now that her beauty was only partly physical, that what raised her above every other woman I’d ever known was the sweetness and steadfastness of her soul. Her spirit was far more beautiful than her body could ever have been, than any woman’s body could ever have been.

My own lack of purity saddened but did not repel her. I could feel, through the beating of her energy field against mine, her urge to heal my soul of the rifts made by the women who had hurt me, the men who had ground at me until I had learned to strike back.

Her touch, if the contact of spirit with spirit can be called that, was cool and soothing, then heating, inflaming. It crossed my mind that this beat sex all hollow, until I realized that this was sex, in the ultimate-or rather, that this intimacy was what we poor, fumbling men of clay are trying to achieve, through the use of our physical extensions.

That’s when I really began to believe in the soul-and with it, I began to suspect that there might be an afterlife.

Then, suddenly, there was a rude pain-or no, not a pain, really, but a jolting shock that made Angelique cry out soundlessly and made me grapple her to me more tightly, trying to surround her, to shield her, anger kindling against the being who had disrupted our idyll, defaced our Eden. But the anger did no good; a stern voice was echoing all about us, commanding,

 

“Maiden, leave that body! Depart, and leave him breath! Separate, if you do love! Would you make him yearn for death?”

 

With a soundless cry, Angelique disengaged herself from me, breaking apart at the horror of the thought. Raging with anger, I surged up, snapping to alertness, body in fighting stance, eyes open

…

 

I saw Frisson’s face, staring right into mine not six inches away, with a grimness that I hadn’t even suspected he had in him.

Then the room spun, and so did I, with a dizzy spell unlike anything I’d ever had before. A hand caught me, a hard arm braced me, and as the stars faded from my vision, I saw that Frisson and Gilbert had propped me up between them.

“What … what happened?” I croaked.

“You did blend your soul with Angelique’s ghost,” Frisson explained. “In our journey through that realm that is and is not, from one place to another, your soul loosed itself from your body, as it ever does, and clasped Angelique’s soul, as your hand did hers-for that was the only way in which you could carry her from one place to another.”

“Thank Heaven for small duties,” I breathed, “and Heaven it was!

“

 

“Only a small taste of Heaven, if what I suspect of that state of bliss has any truth in it.”

“You mean it gets better?” I shuddered in anticipation of unguessable ecstasy. “I’d be glad to spend a whole lifetime being good, if it got me into that state again after I die! In fact, now that I think of it, why bother waiting?”

“There, maiden, is the peril in which you have placed his soul,” Frisson said severely.

Angelique lowered her gaze, abashed.

“For shame, maiden!” the poet went on. “Moments more, and you would have made him yearn for death before his time-and the fruit of that yearning is suicide, which would have reft him from you for eternity! You have tempted him into ending his life before his worldly tasks were done-and how many would have suffered because of the work he did not do? How many would have perished because he was not there to save them?”

“Hey, that’s low and dirty!” I stood up straight, glaring at him.

“Emotional extortion!”

“A new term, but perhaps an apt one,” Frisson acknowledged. “Yet the words I’ve said are true. Bear this in mind-if she did tempt you to take your own life, that would be a great sin upon her soul. How then could you be joined after death?”

“Well … maybe not in Heaven, but-”

“There is no joining in any other realm.” Frisson chopped his hand sideways, in total denial. “Each suffers alone in Hell; there is no companionship of any kind. The greatest torture there is the total absence of God, and of even the small reminders of his presence that are other souls. ” Now, that kind of stubbornness always gets me angry. “How would you know?” I demanded.

“Why, how think you I would?” For the first time, Frisson showed a flash of anger. Only a flash; it was gone in melancholy a moment later as he said, brooding, “I have sought early death more than once, Wizard Saul. A maiden whom I loved with ardent passion spurned me, and in the misery of love unrequited, I yearned for death so greatly that I tied a noose about my neck and hanged myself from a tree. I live to speak only because a wandering monk happened by and cut me down ere I had quite strangled. He spake with me long and earnestly, showing me that lovers’ despair is like any other despair, and to give up hope of love is to cease to strive for the touching of souls-which is to say, to cease in striving for Heaven.” He turned to me alone. “I have great cause to be thankful to you, Wizard Saul, even though death by hunger would have satisfied my hunger for death-thankful because, in staying alive, I have come to know friendship and the caring of those for whom I care. Though it is not love, it is enough to live for, and to give me hope of greater worth.”

“Why … uh … thanks, Frisson.” I felt outraged and humbled all at once. “I’m glad I did some good. I mean, it would have been ridiculous for a nice guy like you to let himself die, just because he didn’t think anybody could ever like him!”

“Yet so would I still believe, had you not taught me how to shift this curse of poetry, by the gift of writing.”

“Then you’ve just paid me back.” I sighed. “Well, if it’s too soon for the real thing, let’s get back to trying to make Heaven on Earth, shall we? Or at least to get rid of Hell.” I looked around me, regretfully shouldering the burden of life again.

Sunlight beamed down upon us from some high window, showing us a pool of thick dust over rock. I looked around and saw a large room, a hundred feet across, ceiling just barely visible in the shadows. An old, faded tapestry hung on one wall, showing a maiden in Norse garb gathering golden apples from a tree. There were only a few trestle tables and benches over by the huge, cold black fireplace-but there was nonetheless a feeling of peace to the place, even of coziness. Over at the bottom of the stair was a dark archway, with more steps going downward-but strangely, it didn’t seem threatening.

” ‘Tis a castle long vacant,” Gilbert said. “Praise Heaven! We are free! “

“Be not too quick with your thanks,” the Rat Raiser said, but even he was having trouble restraining a smile. “I know this place; ‘tis a castle taken from Lord Brace, who could not pay the fullness of his taxes. The queen hath said she will someday set a court here, for we are in her capital of Todenburg.”

“The queen take up residence?” Frisson looked about him, wideeyed and smiling. “Nay, how could she? For the peace of this house doth fill my soul, and the traces of laughter and kindness that emanate from its walls do exalt my spirit!”

“Even so,” the Rat Raiser said sourly. ” ‘Twill be easy enough to desecrate, look you-but until she does that, she cannot bring herself to reside here for any length of time. Therefore has this castle stood thus abandoned these ten years. I came with a troop of clerks to list all goods within, then remove them-and I was sorely tempted to cease my sinning.” His face twisted. “As I am now.” He turned squarely to me. “What you would do, I advise you, do quickly, for we are still in Todenburg, not a mile from the queen’s stronghold, and she will surely be working divination, even now, to detect our presence.

I looked up in surprise. “That’s right, she will, won’t she? Quick!

Everybody down to the dungeons!” I turned away toward the dark doorway at the foot of the stairs.

The Rat Raiser started, astonished, and Angelique gasped. “Wherefore the dungeons?”

“Do not ask, milady,” Frisson answered. “He knows what he is about-and there is small time to explain.” He set off after me.

“Belike we would not comprehend, even if he did lay it all before us.” Gilbert offered his arm. “Come! Have faith in the Wizard Saul.”

Reluctantly, Angelique came with him, though it was an open question whether her hand was on his arm, or in it. They were last in line; the Rat Raiser was scurrying ahead of us.

Fortunately, there were torch butts in the sconces, and Frisson turned out to be carrying flint and steel.

“Wherefore do you not make light with a spell again?” the Rat Raiser fairly howled. “Quickly! The queen will be upon us!”

“That’s why I don’t want to use magic,” I said evenly. “It’d be like a flame in the night, showing her where we are. Besides, the wood’s old and dry. See?” I held up a lighted torch. “Thanks, Frisson.”

“Oh, ‘tis my delight.” The poet rose and stamped out his pile of tinder. “May we go, Wizard?”

“Right this way.” I led down the curving steps. I stayed close to the wall; there wasn’t any guard rail.

Angelique looked about, frowning, as we came out into the middle of a huge underground chamber. “Even here, there is peace, and no aura of misery.”

“What would you expect?” The Rat Raiser spat. “Lord Brace kept no prisoners, nor did any of his forebears, and I doubt he even thought of torture! That is why there are no cells!”

“But there is water.” I frowned, listening.

My companions quieted, and heard the sound of dripping.

“Yon.” Gilbert pointed toward an archway.

“Just fine.” I headed for the portal.

“Hold, Wizard!” the Rat Raiser rasped. “That way leads to a vault beneath the courtyard!”

“Even better for my purposes.” I looked back over my shoulder.

“Come on! Believe me, it’s important!”

My friends exchanged baffled glances. Then Frisson shrugged and turned away. “We have followed him thus far; why not farther?”

“Is there peril yon2” Gilbert asked the Rat Raiser.

“None to speak of.” The bureaucrat frowned. “Only rats, who will do my bidding. Yet wherefore would he wish a parade ground over him, not a castle?”

“We shall learn, I doubt not.” The squire turned toward the archway. “Milady, will you walk?”

“Willingly, good sir.”

The Rat Raiser shrugged and followed us.

As they came up to the torchlight, they found me standing by a large puddle, fed by a drip near the wall. The drops had worn a little channel to the center of the vault and formed a small pool. But I wasn’t looking at the water; I was frowning around. “Wood … wood … ” My eye lit on Frisson. “You’re wearing wooden shoes!”

Frisson looked down at his feet. “Sabots, we call them.”

“Then let’s try a little sabot-age! Lend me a foot, will you?”

The poet stared at me as if I were mad, but he passed over his shoe.

“Okay, everybody grab hold.” I knelt and poked the toe of the shoe in the pool underneath the drip from the ceiling.

Gilbert looked at Angelique, then at Frisson. The poet shrugged and knelt, hooking a finger into the sabot. The ghost and the squire sighed, knelt, and took hold. Grumbling, the Rat Raiser knelt at my left and touched the shoe.

“And now?” Gilbert asked.

“Ground the torch,” I grated.

“We must not be without light! ” Angelique cried.

“Have to. Be brave, folks-it’s vital. No, don’t drown it! We’ll need it later. just grind it out.”

Gilbert looked up, startled, the torch poised over the pool. Then he shrugged and jammed the flame against the stone.

It was totally dark, except for the glow from Angelique. Personally, I couldn’t have found a more lovely light, but the darkness bothered her-reminiscent of the grave, no doubt; but it had to be. She was brave, though, and only gave a half sob, then was silent.

I reached out to push my hand into an overlap with hers. Her touch was cold, very cold, but she seemed to gain reassurance from mine.

“What do we do now?” Gilbert asked.

“Now we wait,” I answered. “Get comfortable, folks. This could take a while.”

They waited. Time passed even more slowly than the drips from the ceiling.

Claws clicked on stone, and something furry brushed my calf. Angelique cried out.

The Rat Raiser’s voice crooned, “Peace, little one. We shall not disturb thy silence long.”

The chamber was silent for a moment. Then the claws sounded again, fading away.

“Be of good heart,” the bureaucrat’s voice advised us. “They shall not trouble you.”

“Thanks,” I breathed. “Kind of glad you came along for the ride.”

“We are ever pleased to be of service,” the Rat Raiser said dryly.

A sudden chill touched my spine, and I felt a strange sort of tingling along my scalp. Frisson’s head snapped up, eyes widening.

“Hist!” the Rat Raiser rasped. “She comes!”

Interesting that he could feel it, too.

“Just hang on,” I said, voice low and calm. “As long as you keep touching the shoe, we’ll be all right.”

Angelique was trembling, and white showed all around Gilbert’s irises.

Then the feeling of “presence” was gone, abruptly, totally.

I relaxed with a sigh. “Okay, folks. It’s over-and she won’t be back.” I stared straight ahead, murmuring,

 

“Suns that set may rise in glare So if we lose this torch’s light, We won’t be in perpetual night. Our brand once more will flare!”

 

The torch burst into flame again.

“How can you be certain?” the Rat Raiser demanded.

“Because I jammed her radar.” I straightened up, holding the shoe out to Frisson. “She couldn’t see us, because it was dark-so she had to go by feel. She could tell we were here-but she was going by clues, indirect evidence. She knew we were under earth, under stone, and touching wood which was touching water.”

“A coffin!” Frisson cried.

“You’re quick, mate. Yes, she figured I had somehow transported us all into our graves.”

“Then she shall not trouble us further!” Angelique cried. “She will think us dead!” Then she remembered her own state and blushed, which is no mean feat for a ghost.

Gallantly, I affected not to notice-I only nodded.

But the Rat Raiser cautioned us, “She will nonetheless seek us now and again, in case she might have guessed wrongly. Yet, all in all, she will cease to concern herself with us.”

“It gives us some time, anyway,” I said.

Slowly, the poet took the wooden shoe and put it back on. “I will the’er question you, Wizard, after the manner in which you freed us.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess.” I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with such faith.

“Praise Heaven she is beguiled!” Frisson sighed, leaning back to look up at the ceiling. “Ought we not to fly, Wizard? You have bought us time by your subterfuge, but it is not by any means the eternity which the queen thinks it to be. We cannot stay in any one place, or Suettay will find us again.”

“No, we don’t want that,” I mused. “I want to find her, insteadbut only after I’ve gathered enough force to restore Angelique to her body, then free that body.”

Gilbert glanced at me, troubled. “Beware covetousness!”

I shrugged. “Look at it this way-if I can bring her back to life, I can ask her to marry me.”

“True,” Gilbert allowed, and looked much more comfortable-but Angelique was staring at me, huge-eyed.

“Just ask,” I hastened to reassure her. “Nobody’s going to force you to say yes.”

That brought her out of it. “Wherefore would I need force!” Her insubstantial hand brushed through mine.

“Beware the death wish!” Frisson scolded.

“Aye, and beware the queen,” the Rat Raiser said sarcastically. “To free the maiden’s body, you must first slay Her Majesty.”

I shrugged. “Okay by me.”

“Nay, Saul!” Angelique cried. “Must you alright me so? To wish to murder another is to imperil your immortal soul!

“Not in this instance,” Frisson demurred.

I nodded. “Wishing to kill a woman who is corrupting a whole kingdom isn’t a sin. In fact, if I were able to do it, the amount of good I’d achieve would balance out the evil of the murder.”

Somehow, when I put it that way, it didn’t sound hypocritical.

Maybe it was because it was me who was saying it.

Gilbert, of course, looked very happy about the whole thing. The Rat Raiser, though, just stared at me as if I were insane.

“However,” I said, “on a more practical level, how could I find enough force to go up against the queen?”

“A telling point,” Frisson said, relieved. “We were best to use this time the wizard has bought us to find a deep hole in which to hide.”

“Or a vast enough space in which to run.” The Rat Raiser looked relieved, too.

“Aye,” Gilbert agreed. “Where shall we go to escape her wrath, Wizard? “

“Nice question.” I pursed my lips. “Anybody have an idea?”

They were all silent, looking at one another in alarm. If the wizard had no idea where to hide, how could any of them know?

Light glinted off a thread of silk. Looking up, I saw a spider, stretching a fan between two layers of the barrel vault.

The Rat Raiser followed my gaze. He saw, and his eyes glinted.

“There is a legend, Wizard-one told by prisoners, who know no other life but rats and spiders …”

“Aye,” Frisson said, with the ring of one who knew the subject, “a tale told of a King of Spiders, who dwells in a land no mortal can discover. ” I felt a sudden prickling up the spine and across the scalp, very much like the one Suettay’s surveillance had just given me.

Angelique shuddered. “What a loathsome thought! To dwell with a vasty spider!”

Frisson grinned. “Nay, milady. He is not himself a spider, but a man, though one in a weird.”

“As I am not a rat,” the Rat Raiser grunted, and glared at me as if to contradict him.

I didn’t answer, because the feeling was stronger than ever, and the spider was one of those big round-as-a-quarter jobs. Who was watching me now?

“And are we, then, to seek him, this Spider King, and walk into his weird, never to return?” Angelique demanded.

The dungeon was silent. Nobody answered her-but they all turned to me, and the look on my face must have been answer enough.

Angelique’s eyes began to grow wide and frightened. “You cannot truly think it!”

“Why not?” I shrugged. “We’re in the dungeon already; we can’t go much lower.”

“But you can! Are we to step into the underworld, then?”

“Nay,” Gilbert said slowly, “for therein dwell Suettay’s masters.

Yet I, too, have heard of this Spider King, and his kingdom is a realm apart, neither underworld nor afterworld.”

I recognized an allusion to an alternate universe. I frowned.

“You’re talking about going through another dimension to gain access there. How do we do that?”

They were quiet again. Then Gilbert said, with deference, ” ‘Tis you are the wizard. if you cannot say how to come to this Spider King, which one of us can? “

“But I’ve never heard of him before!”

“You had not heard of Suettay, either,” Angelique reminded me, “Yet you countered her.”

I glanced at her in annoyance. “When did you switch to pushing for this travelogue? All right, I suppose I could work up a longdistance projection spell using this Spider King as the focus Frisson took on a faraway look.

“Write it down,” I said quickly.

The poet sighed, coming back down to earth. “If I must-yet ‘tis such labor, to carve words with a pen when they are so easily spoken aloud. “

“Yeah, but it takes us so long to clean up the mess afterward!”

“As you say,” Frisson said, with rue. “Yet we cannot simply spell ourselves a long way to this enchanted realm, Wizard.”

“Aye,” the Rat Raiser agreed. “The Spider King’s realm is said to be everywhere, but nowhere.”

“Overlaid on ours like an egg on a flapjack.” I nodded. “That’s a description of an alternate universe if I’ve ever heard one!”

Gilbert frowned. “Then how can we come there, Wizard, if ‘tis all around us, yet beyond our ken?”

“Through another dimension,” I explained. “No, don’t ask me what a dimension is-you already know. Length, breadth, and depth-those are the three dimensions, and they’re all at right angles to one another.”

The squire frowned. “But there is no other!”

“Yes there is, though we can’t perceive it-and not just one, but many. How we go through the fifth dimension in order to come back to the third, though, is a problem I haven’t tackled before.”

“Then do,” the Rat Raiser urged.

I pursed my lips. “Other dimension or not, we won’t get there by standing still. We have to start walking somewhere.”

Gilbert, Angelique, and Frisson glanced around us, perplexed, but the Rat Raiser said slowly, “There do be sewers underlying all this town-huge old drains, small tunnels, left to us from the empire great Reme spread throughout this middle earth.”

I nodded. “That’ll do. Do you know your way around them?”

“No,” the Rat Raiser said, “yet I have friends who do.” He made a peculiar kind of squeaking noise, and Angelique let out a very funny, throaty noise, like the sound of a scream being stifled. We men stiffened, hackles rising, as a troop of huge gray rats scampered into the pool of torchlight, coats filthy, fangs gleaming.

The Rat Raiser knelt, holding out a hand and crooning. The rats came up to him, nuzzling his fingers. “Nay, I’ve no food for you now, little friends,” he said with regret, “but there shall be feasting, if you can bring us where we wish to go. Lead us down below ground, yet through tunnels high enough for us to walk without stooping. Lead us down, and bid all like you withdraw, to let us pass.”

Angelique shuddered.

“Not the most salubrious notion in the world,” I agreed, “but it’s better than staying here and waiting for Suettay to catch us, isn’t it?”

Angelique swallowed and nodded. Gilbert murmured, “Be brave, lass. However long it may be, we shall pass through; it shall end.”

“All right, we’re ready now,” I said to the Rat Raiser, softly.

“Off, little ones!” the bureaucrat commanded with a wave of his hand. He rose as the rats scampered away. “Follow,” he said over his shoulder, and stepped off after his pets.

“Ready?” I asked. “Well, we’re going, anyway.” And I followed the Rat Raiser.

off we went into the gloom, the poet and squire bunched protectively around the lady’s ghost, leading onward and downward, following the wizard-me-who was mumbling some very strange verses indeed as we descended into the lower depths.