Voice for Princess (v1.1) Page 3

  “No, I’m afraid… well, wait a minute, now. There may be something,” said the wizard slowly. He reflected for a moment, then shook his head. “No. No, I’m afraid it’s too much to ask.”

  “Too much? You’ve saved our lives. Just say what you’d like us to do, Master Kedrigern.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “We’d consider it an honor,” Mat replied, and all around him, the men nodded their heads in agreement.

  “In that case… do you and your men know the way to Silent Thunder Mountain? I have some land there, and I’ve been hoping to build a little place. Nothing elaborate, you understand, just a workshop and a kitchen, and a spare room or two, and some good storage space, and a terrace where I can sit in the sun, and plenty of fireplaces, and good chimneys that don’t smoke up the rooms,” Kedrigern said, putting his arm amicably around Mat’s burly shoulder. “Perhaps we should talk to Robey. He could do a few sketches, just rough ideas for us to discuss. And did you say that one of the men was a gardener? I’d love to have a nice herb garden, and a place to grow fresh vegetables.”

  “Well, I think maybe Goff knows a bit—”

  “Good. That’s fine. We’ll talk to him, too. And while we’re doing that, the others can be loading my household goods. No sense hanging about wasting time,” said Kedrigern, steering Mat to where the others sat. “I had planned on doing all this myself, with magic, but since it means so much to you I’ve decided to put the whole thing in your hands.”

  “The whole thing,” Mat repeated in a subdued voice.

  “Oh, and a breakfast nook. I’ve always wanted a nice sunny breakfast nook. And shelf space. Lots of shelf space.”

  “Shelf space,” Mat repeated dazedly.

  “No such thing as too much shelf space for a wizard. And if one of the men is a glass blower,” said Kedrigern enthusiastically, “well, that would be altogether too… but we can talk about all that later. This was a wonderful idea, Mat. I do appreciate it.”

  Mat nodded slowly. The rest of the men looked at him and at one another, and one murmured, “It’s an honor, Master Kedrigern.”

  “You’re too kind, really,” said the wizard. “I thank you. Spot thanks you.” He rubbed his hands together briskly and added, “And now let’s get moving.”

  Two

  the wizard’s home companions

  Mat and his men were speedy, skilful workers. Their speed was whetted by eagerness to complete the job and return to their homes, and their skill was such that even haste could not diminish the quality of their work. Kedrigern, feeling pangs of conscience, assisted them with spells for the heavy work and the small finishing touches, and refrained from anything that might be construed as criticism. Before the summer was out, a neat little cottage stood overlooking the great meadow halfway up Silent Thunder Mountain, facing south, out over the valley.

  Off to the east rose the mountain’s peak, gleaming white. Behind the house, and curving around to the west, was an arbor of shade trees dominated by an aged oak. Sunlight flooded the dooryard, where greens flourished in the kitchen garden, and a sheltered terrace provided an ideal site for afternoon naps in all but the most extreme weathers.

  Kedrigern stood at the far slope of the meadow, gazing up fondly at the house, hands clasped behind him, immensely pleased with everything. Mat was at his side.

  “It’s splendid, Mat. Just absolutely splendid. It’s exactly the place I’ve always wanted. You and your men did a wonderful job,” the wizard said warmly.

  “Your magic was a great help to us, Master Kedrigern. We wouldn’t be halfway along if you hadn’t cleared the ground and dug the foundation and cut and cured all the lumber for us.”

  With a smile and a little self-deprecating gesture, Kedrigern said, “Not much point in being a wizard if you can’t make things easier for your friends. Those earth-moving spells aren’t all that demanding, anyway.”

  “Still and all, you spared us the hardest work. It’s a pleasure to see you so satisfied.”

  “Far more than merely satisfied, Mat. It was generous of you and your men to make the offer. I fear I took some advantage of your good nature.”

  “No advantage at all, Master Kedrigern. Building a house is litle enough to do for the one who saved our lives.”

  Both men were silent for a time, embarrassed by the exchange of praise and gratitude. Kedrigern shielded his eyes and looked up, scanning the skies for an imaginary bird. Mat looked down and dug at the ground with the scuffed toe of his boot. The sound of voices drifted to them, and an outburst of laughter.

  “I expect you and the men will be leaving soon,” the wiz-ard said, still intent on the vacant blue above.

  “We will, Master Kedrigern. It’s three years since some of us have seen our homes. We’re all anxious to get back to our families.”

  “Of course you are. Thanks again, Mat,” Kedrigern said, extending his hand. Mat clasped it in a firm grip, and before he could speak, the wizard went on, “I’ll just say good-bye to the others, and you can be on your way home before midday.”

  They walked side by side up the long slope to where the men were gathered. Under Kedrigern’s close supervision, Spot had prepared little packets of cold meat and bread, and filed water jars from the spring. Their job done, the workmen were packed and ready to be moving on. Kedrigern shook their hands, thanking each man individually and wishing him a safe journey, pressing a gold piece into each hand. He guided them through the maze of twisting, branching paths that protected him from chance intruders, shielded them on the way from the things that lurked in the shadows, and when they reached the foot of the mountain he stood careful watch until the last man was lost to view.

  That evening, alone save for Spot, he wandered through his new home. It was a roomy house, and seemed even roomier for being so scantily furnished. A few of the rooms were completely empty; the rest held no more than a battered, unsteady stool or chair, or a teetering table, a creaking bed, or a chest. This did not trouble Kedrigern. A satisfied and generous client had bestowed upon him a castle filled to bursting with magnificent furniture and the best of furnishings—fine crystal and plate, heavy tapestries for the walls and rich draperies, cushions and pillows of marvelous softness. He had only to collect them; but until now, he had had no room for such things, and litle desire for them. Even now, with lovely spacious rooms and a grand network of tunnels and niches and grottoes running in all directions under the house, he felt no need to clutter his life with such commonplace items as tables and chairs. Surely these nice rooms could be put to better use.

  Now, if he were married it would be different, he thought as he walked through the echoing spaces and his eye lit on the great dark carven chest that was sole occupant of one sizeable chamber. It was a gift from Ulurel, a charming sorceress whom he had once assisted with a timely counterspell. Ulurel had smiled in her inscrutable way and said only that the chest held a wardrobe fit for a princess and was her gift to Kedrigern’s bride, not to be opened until the appropriate moment. Wanting no trouble, Kedrigern had never peeked.

  He did not expect to view the contents of the chest soon, and would not have been surprised to learn that Ulurel had been speaking metaphorically, or in jest, and that he was to remain forever single. Wizards did not, as a rule, marry. Most of them were clubby types, fond of masculine surroundings and disorderly digs, keeping irregular hours and feeling comfortable amid the kind of clutter and stink that no wife has ever been known to tolerate. When their work was done, wizards generally preferred a friendly drink with colleagues, grousing about how spells don’t work the way they used to, or telling the latest alchemist joke, to being sweetly dangerous among the ladies. There were, of course, the occasional passionate relationships—wizards were only human, after all— but they seldom turned out well. Merlin’s disastrous affair with Vivien served as both scandal and exemplum on the subject.

  Kedrigern, however, had no objection at all to marriage, provided it came at the proper time. He felt that h
e was still a bit too young to make a commitment. A wizard in his early hundred-and-sixties had centuries ahead of him, ample time to settle down. Now was the time for work and study and professional growth. One had to be sensible about these things, and he was being very sensible.

  He knew, of course, that if the right woman came along all his sensible plans would go out the window like flung dish-water. But the likelihood of the right woman—or the wrong woman, or any other woman—ever finding her way to his cottage was so small that he felt in reasonable control of his own destiny, at least where marriage was concerned. And so the rooms of his fine new house were not filed with furniture and rugs, neatly-made beds and gleaming tableware. Instead, as the months passed and he settled in, they slowly filed with a mixture of dust and trash and unidentifiable objects collected at random during his fitful experiments in temporal magic. He had no idea what these oddly-shaped things plucked from the future might be, or what they were meant to do, but on the chance that he might one day find out, he kept them all. From time to time he would have Spot haul the bulkier ones down to subterranean storage so that he could move about the house more freely, but he discarded nothing. A wife would not have permitted this, he was certain.

  A wife would also have had something to say about Spot. At this early stage in its training, Spot could be very exasperating. One had to think carefully before issuing the simplest instructions, and check minutely afterwards. Kedrigern vividly recalled the time he had bagged a bulky object from the future, a shiny white box with a glass door and dangling entrails. Uncertain whether it was alive or mechanical, he had said irritably, “Get this out of here, Spot,” and turned just in time to see the little house-troll making ready to hurl it through the wall. Neither could he forget what had appeared on his plate in response to his casual, “Throw together something for dinner, Spot,” though he would have preferred to obliterate it from his memory entirely. His experiences taught him the importance of communicating with Spot in only the simplest and most direct language. Loose, inaccurate, or figurative speech was out.

  Whatever its limitations, Spot was living, moving company. It could carry on conversations—not very abstruse in nature, since its vocabulary consisted of a single expletive, but at least it responded verbally to Kedrigern’s own speech—and it was roughly human in general configuration. When trained, it would be useful.

  Kedrigern had given some thought to acquiring a pet, but could think of nothing satisfactory. A dog would not do at all. A large one would go for Spot at once, and a small one would be too tempting a morsel for the little house-troll to resist. A cat, the traditional domestic companion of people in Kedrigern’s field, would constantly be competing with Spot for mice, causing rivalry and ill will. A bird, like a small dog, would quickly become an item of Spot’s diet.

  For a time he toyed with the notion of something more exotic. A wyvem could be a pleasant little pet if raised from the egg and kept small by a spell. For that mater, a miniature dragon would do nicely, and would have the additional advantage of being useful for starting fires. But he came to the sober realization that such pets were meant more for display than for companionship or utility, and since he expected no chance visitors, he would have no opportunity to display them. The only callers he expected to see in the next few months were the representatives of the guild, come with profound and groveling apologies and belated acknowledgment of his superior judgment regarding alchemists.

  But they did not come. He waited patiently, a full year passed, and no one from the guild came to apologize and beg him to return and give them the benefit of his sagacity. Kedrigern was adamant. He counted up all the demands on his time and attention and told himself that he was the most fortunate of wizards to be so far removed from the intrusions of the world.

  By the end of the first year on Silent Thunder Mountain his magic was back to full strength. During the construction of the cottage, and in the early days of getting all the details just right, he had been profligate with his power, moving trees and boulders, clearing pathways, stocking up for his first winter. It had taken most of the fall and winter, and a good part of the spring, to rebuild his resources. Plenty of rest, good food, and regular study had left him feeling fit and ready to take on the occasional commission.

  Still no word came from the guild, and no colleague dropped by for a casual visit and a chat about old times. On occasions when he craved the sound of a human voice, Kedrigern conjured up Eleanor of the Brazen Head, who served as his filing system. Her conversation was not much more scintillating than Spot’s, but her vocabulary was considerably larger.

  It occurred to him one quiet evening to test the extent of Eleanor’s power. He was well aware of her retentive memory and made good use of it, but he had never inquired about her other talents. After dinner, leaving Spot to clean the kitchen, he went to his workroom and stood before the brass head at the end of the cluttered table.

  It was a head ample of chin and jowl, tidy of coiffure, prim of expression. Behind tiny round rimless spectacles, its eyes were serenely shut. Raising his hand, Kedrigern solemnly intoned, “Eleanor of the Brazen Head, I conjure you to speak.”

  Eleanor blinked, yawned, and turned to fix her gaze on him. “Come to give me a nice dusting and polishing, Keddie? My, that’s sweet of you. I knew that if I just waited, and waited, and sat up here all alone in the dark, sooner or later you’d think of me,” she said, sighing patiently.

  “No polishing right now, Eleanor. I’ll have Spot do it later on, as soon as it’s finished the kitchen.”

  “I’d rather have you do it, Keddie. I like to have a nice chat with whoever polishes me, and it’s hard to chat with Spot.”

  “I know,” said the wizard. “But I don’t have the time this evening. I really have a lot to do.”

  Eleanor sighed once again. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to wait. I must remember, I’m not with Friar Bacon anymore, where a brazen head was treated with respect. I’m just an index now.”

  “Ah, but you needn’t be just an index,” Kedrigern said brightly. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, as a matter of fact. Have you the power to observe distant people and places?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I’m sure I could do it very nicely if I was all dusted off and polished,” she replied.

  “You’ll be dusted, Eleanor. I promise. This very night.”

  “And polished?”

  “Yes.”

  “By you?”

  “By Spot!” the wizard snapped. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply to calm himself, he said after a time, “I’m sorry, Eleanor. I have something on my mind and you can resolve it for me. I really want this information. Now.”

  “Why, of course, Keddie, of course,” she said in a soothing tone, as one speaks to a petulant child. “You just tell Eleanor what you want to know, and she’ll have a look.”

  “I want to know how Quintrindus is getting along in the Wizards’ Guild. Have they seen through him yet? Has he been sent packing?”

  Eleanor closed her eyes. Her mouth tightened; a double furrow appeared between her brows. She was silent and motionless for sufficient time to make him wonder whether his conjuration had worn off, then she said loudly, “No.”

  “What do you see? Can you tell me?”

  In a hushed oracular voice, Eleanor said, “I see the alchemist Quintrindus at a table with .. with three members of the Wizards’ Guild. The wizards are laughing merrily. One of them pats Quintrindus on the back. The alchemist smiles. He looks very happy, content, fulfilled. Everyone drinks ale. They all look happy. One of the wizards summons two… no, three colleagues to the table. They all shake the hand of Quintrindus warmly, affectionately. One of them puts his arm around the alchemist’s shoulder. The wizards raise their mugs in a toast…”

  “That’s enough, Eleanor,” Kedrigern broke in.

  “Don’t you want to hear the toast? It’s very touching.”

  “I don’t care to listen to a lot of grown wizard
s making fools of themselves over a shifty fraudulent sneaking dirty rotten alchemist.”

  “Is this Quintrindus fellow so bad? He looked like a pleasant man,” Eleanor said mildly.

  Icily, Kedrigern replied, “He may look like a seraph, but he has the greed of a shrew and the morals of a graveyard rat. I’m not sure what he has in mind, but I know the guild is going to lament the hour they first heard his name.”

  “He’s very popular now. He even has a little yellow dog following him around and wagging his tail.”

  “Oh, he can be ingratiating. That’s the first thing an alchemist learns. It may be the only thing they learn, but they learn it well. Quintrindus could probably charm a dragon off its gold-hoard. He’s already swindled a small kingdom and two principalities out of their treasuries. I can’t figure out what he expects to get from the guild, though.”

  “Respectability?” Eleanor suggested.

  Kedrigern laughed unpleasantly. “People who befriend alchemists forfeit their respectability among respectable people. And it can’t be money. The guild treasury isn’t big enough to interest a swindler.”

  “All the same, Keddie, maybe you ought to warn them.”

  “Warn them?” he cried. “I tried, Eleanor. I was calm, and logical, and perfectly reasonable, and they flew into hysterics! Shouting, threatening… they were like a bunch of barbarians. It was a disgrace. I had to resign. No, let them learn for themselves,” he said, setting his face like flint.

  After a pause, Eleanor said, “Well, if that’s all you wanted, Keddie, would you send Spot up to polish me?”

  “At once, Eleanor. Thank you for the information.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, Keddie,” she said, smiling and closing her eyes.

  So Kedrigern, having examined the alternatives, opted to bide his time and keep his arrangements, both domestic and professional, as they were. He spent the days as he pleased. He worked until he felt like stopping, dined when he was hungry, and slept until he was in the mood to get up. Now and then a messenger would arrive, sent by an old client in sudden need, and the wizard would hear just enough news of the world to make him reaffirm his decision to keep it at a comfortable distance. He made it his practice to have messengers wait until he had finished the necessary counterspell, so they might carry it back with them. In this way he avoided travel. Only one case, a counterspell for the unfortunate daughter of Morgosh the Indulgent, required too much work to make this practicable, so he sent the messenger on his way and put Morgosh’s request on his list of things to be done at his earliest convenience.