Chapter 2
I took the rug of travel into town, and took a room at the Blue Demon.
The sign was even less well painted than I remembered. Given that demons are known for their mutability, the grossness of the form was not too inaccurate, but the execution of the painting was poor enough that it might just as well have been meant to be a dragon. It had too many teeth. Mind, there was the demon we knew as Pointy-teeth... but that had been at court, not far away in the provinces like this.
I drew a fake circle of summoning on the floor, set an invisible servant there holding a censor of sparkles, a magical toy which produces sparkles of light when shaken or when magic is nearby. I had borrowed it from Elizelle, having made it for her, as something to soothe and occupy her in her cot. With the invisible servant instructed to rotate slowly, moving it up and down from floor level to about six feet up, it produced a fair facsimile of a magical gate opening. Why waste serious spells when the little inadequate could be impressed by less? I had learned a lot of showmanship from Chessina.
I called for Zelly, the chambermaid, and with largesse she was persuaded to send Verro to my room.
“I don’t mind so much him handling me with a good vail,” she said.
I doubled her tip; I did not know about the handling.
“Threaten to shave him next time he passes out drunk,” I suggested. “All over. And not to be too careful of anything that sticks out.”
She giggled.
“Thank you kindly, Towermaster, I’ll do that,” she said.
Verro turned up with an ingratiating look on his face.
“What might I do for the Towermaster?” he asked. He did not seem to recognise me. I suppose it had been a long time, and now I was taller than he was, and broader of shoulder. He was still fat, though. His teeth were in worse condition now, as he grinned and cringed simultaneously. I had a moment’s sudden revelation that he did not see Orgo Plumber, who had been his punching bag, but Castamir, Towermaster, mighty wizard, and Seriously Scary Person. He was eyeing my staff and the manifestation of my unseen servant playing with my foster-daughter’s toy. Incongruously, I wanted to giggle.
“Verro,” I said. “You were seen slacking my predecessor’s girth when he hired a horse from this inn. I’ve had rather more weighty things on my mind, like dealing with demons and stopping an elven war, but now I’ve turned my mind to why you murdered my former master. You will tell me the truth, all the truth, or I may decide to use the portal I have there and send you to... well, let us just say, you would not enjoy it.”
“Oh mighty wizard! It wasn’t me, well, I mean, I was paid to do it, I never thought he would die, I was ready to laugh at him, because he did me a bad turn once, and when Lord Bertor said he wanted him delayed and injured perhaps, I did it!”
“And what do you count a bad turn that Harmon did you?” I demanded.
“He stuck my feet to the ground to stop me putting a snotty orphan in his place!” he yammered.
“No, actually, he didn’t,” I said. “The snotty orphan found he had magical powers, and Harmon released you and took him as his apprentice. Where I became more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” I stood to tower over him. It’s amazing what good food in the growing years of the teens do for a lad.
He soiled himself both ways.
“Oh, by all the gods! You have come to take revenge! Please don’t hurt me, I swear on Frottorand, Frottillina, Ogroval, Agapa and all the other gods never to hurt any more people smaller than me!”
“That rather suggests you have been hurting people in the meantime,” I said. “Why should I forgive you?”
He sobbed and knelt, and whinneyed like one of the horses he cared for.
“You are revolting,” I said. “I really can’t be bothered with you. So long as you tell me all about this Bertor who hired you to delay Harmon.”
“He wanted to propose to Lady Sheyla before Harmon did, because he knew he had no chance as a rival to the Towermaster,” sobbed Verro. “And he gave me a bonus because Harmon died! And he married Lady Sheyla, and they went to the capital to visit her cousin, Lady Renilla, Duchess of Osierleet. But they came home, and she’s aged beyond all recognition, and Bertor has taken to drink. That’s all I know.”
“It’s enough,” I said. “I lay a geas on you, by stone and stream, by sun and moon, by tree and grass to place into the poor box of the Sisters of Frottellina the sum of the bonus.”
No, of course the geas had no power; I wasn’t going to waste a rather powerful spell on someone whose terror and conscience would do the same thing, because his fear was enough to give him stomach problems if he delayed too long. Harmon had often spoken of using the magic of human credulity and Chessina, bless her, had actually explained this to me, and that it was not charlatanism, but pure psychology, and using my will against that of others.
I never argue with my wife.
“If you start bullying again, I’ll know,” I said. “You may go.”
He staggered out as well as unpleasantly filled trousers permitted him. I cast a few air freshening spells. His diet was not of the best, and it was detectable.
And then I swore several blistering oaths.
Sheyla, widowed many times, preternaturally beautiful, and cousin of a woman who had summoned a demon. And Sheyla had also lost her looks.
One had to assume that it was she who had introduced Renilla to demonology, and with the same patron, the demon we knew as Pointy-teeth.
I was too close to this.
I clenched my fists, and my jaw, and fought with myself not to let my rage out over this senseless killing of my master, who had no interest in this blasted woman! I wanted to blast Bertor into a million little pieces, and I was having to clamp down because the inn was beginning to shake. Verro... I had dismissed him before I obliterated him. He was a brainless thug. He had not thought things through. Bertor... no, I would not think of Bertor, while there were breakable things near me like the town of Stonebridge, or my beloved foster-daughter’s favourite toy.
I would write a report to Dragovar and let him deal with what to do about Bertor, and Harmon’s murder; and what to do about Sheyla.
He is the Royal Wizard, after all. They pay him for these headaches.
I dismissed the invisible servant, and took my carpet home, where Chessina, who could read my moods very well, promptly grew horns and a tail and let me chase her to bed where she could enjoy manipulating me into being what she called masterful.
I felt a lot better after she had loved me into submission.
Doubtless after my report had been read, we would get a summons to the city.
Oh, well, a quiet life is not for the likes of wizards.
As Dragovar is my best friend, I was seriously considering opening a gate to Adalsburg, the capital of the country of Ezrustry, so that I did not have to waste hours flying by my rug of travel.
I sent a second letter, asking Dragovar to purchase a house for me, modest and unassuming, and let me have the precise co-ordinates of a convenient room within it.
He would know what I intended. And I could ward the convenient room so that any incidental burglar did not even realise the room of the gate was there.
And I wanted to get back to examining the items Tancryfwys had thrust upon me which had been taken from Sekhemef.
He had a torc of disguises which was a fine gold torc which was not obvious, of ancient design from the wild folk of the west, though enchanted, I thought, by Sekhemef himself, or at least, the spell design seemed to me to be Agarakian in nature. It permitted limited height, build, and skin colour changes, eye and hair colour, and shape of ears. I tried it out and it even permitted a greenish cast to be a goblin. On a whim, I willed it to give me horns and a tail.
It complied. Well, that might come in handy.
There was a ring of confusion; it worked a bit like a will-weakening potion, and basically, when willed to work left those in its sphere of influence in a receptive state of not being quite sure what was going on, and open to persuasion. It did not work on those of strong will or with magical protection, hence his need for the will-weakening potions as well.
The third item was definitely demonic; and I needed Chessina to look at it. She frowned.
“I think it’s some kind of scrying or communication device,” she said. “Perhaps for reporting to Fishface? Shall I go and throw it in devilfish pool, so all he gets is bubbles?”
“No, put it in a lead box,” I said. “In case we want to taunt him.”
“I’ll start thinking up insults,” said Chessina.
I was unaware of the near quarrel between Dragovar and his wife, Tasayne, with regards to this, what I considered, simple request. Dragovar was enthusiastically planning the purchase of the town house of Duke Ogier of the Western Marches, who could find no joy rattling around the mansion which felt so empty without his dead wife and son in it. He had apartments in the Royal Palace in any case, since his daughter, Froselle, was married to Crown Prince Vellatral, and the lonely old man took comfort in his grandchildren. Tasayne laid down law to her lord and master, and pointed out that I would hate a mansion, could not keep it up, and would feel very uncomfortable. I blushed when I found out that she had guessed my thoughts of a small house with a room upstairs under the roof and downstairs one room and a lean-to, with plans to make anyone think it had but one floor.
In the end, she wrote to me for Dragovar who was still, I surmise, sulking gently over not being allowed to do something he considered nice for his friend.
Dear Castamir,
Having compromised between what I suspect you were thinking, and Dragovar’s grandiose ideas, you are the possessor of an old merchant’s dwelling on the riverfront with a cellar, and a small quay. Wizards are, after all, cautious [!!!!] and having more than one way in and out seemed reasonable. It is detached messuage, which is to say, it has a small garden front and back, with a stone wall around, has three downstairs rooms plus wash-house, outhouse and what I think may have been a dairy; there is a nice herb garden. There are four smaller upstairs rooms, and one has a walk-in cupboard over the stairs which will do very nicely for a gate. There is a front and back door, a side gate as well as a gate to the quay, and a front gate, and a cellar with a passage to what used to be the merchant’s ware-house but now has a tumbledown shack covering the exit to the passage. I hope this is suitable for your purpose.
Tasayne.
To cut a longish story to its essentials, Chessina and I flew on our rug of travel to the capital, were suitably effusive over Dragovar’s generosity, and hugged Tasayne for her cleverness. It was bigger than I would have chosen, but it would be nice to have a place of our own in the city, with a ritual room and somewhere to brew potions. And of course some duplicate books from the Tower library. It was similar in many ways to Agravar’s house in Braidfleet, which he had set up very nicely – for a demonologist – as a working place for a sorcerer.
I was much inclined to copy his layout, with the gate opening from the library. If the ritual room and apothecarium were in two of the other upstairs rooms, we might sleep in the fourth, and no visitors had any excuse to go upstairs.
“Are you sure it’s big enough?” asked Dragovar, almost petulantly.
“Quite big enough, thank you,” I said. “I love the extra ways in and out as well. I might just add a tunnel off the main one to the dock, with a grille of course, which I can unlock with a rune, and a small skiff. You can never have too many ways of escape.”
I did not mention my thoughts of a balcony off which to fly, now that I had learned how to do so, or, indeed, to land on, and then hasten through the gate if ever pursued.
Wizards take caution to new levels. And though there was no reason I should be pursued through the city… well, we were still dealing with mopping up demonologists and their abyssal friends. Not to mention that I had yet to meet other eminent wizards, and knowing what Harmon had told me of eminent wizards, this was likely to cause a lot of childishness over my power, when they had studied many more years than I had.
The tower helped, but being prodded by gods and goddesses, and needing a sharp learning curve to survive demons and diplomacy also added to my overall development. I fully anticipated that a wider than hitherto-realised outbreak of demonising would have Dragovar involving the Royal Academy of Wizardry, as well as specialists from a number of Schools of Magic.
The language is misleading here.
By ‘Schools of Magic’ I meant spheres of magic; if you will, specialists in single aspects of Arcana. I had tried to explain this to Chessina, who wanted to know why they called the aspects ‘schools’ not ‘aspects.’
I had no explanation.
“I expect it’s because ‘professor’ is a term of respect, and they want the association with academe,” Chessina answered her own question. “Stuffy old men who have lost the chance of enjoying life and can’t even get a good shag because they’ve used it so little they can’t make it work any more, so they have nothing but a reputation for Mighty Wisdom, and you can hear the capitals as they speak of it. You and Dragovar have more sense than to get sidetracked on poking deeper than anyone ever needs into a single aspect of magic, and, oh, look! Dragovar has Tasayne, and you have me. And you have healthier minds for healthy bodies and plenty of good shagging.”
I’m not sure it constituted a scientific explanation, but as the general perception of a wizard is that of an old man with an unkempt hairstyle and beard, and the dress sense of a colour-blind troll on magic mushrooms, there has to be something in it.
And don’t talk to me about needing Chessina to work on my dress sense. I had nobody to dress for before she came along, and ‘comfortable’ was about my most pressing requirement. It still is, but since I started adopting my own adaptation of Dwarvern garb, I have been shown more respect. I love the brocades they weave, and the gowns with sleeves you can slip your arms into if you wish, or leave hanging loose out of the way behind the shoulder. And their sashes can be folded to hold a number of useful things which are not immediately noticeable. Wizards are cautious.
In the extreme. As you should be aware by now; do keep up.
And I hated the tight robes of court wear.
I beamed at Dragovar.
“And now we have somewhere to stay, I am at your disposal,” I said.
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