After the other children had run off, I turned my attention to the little fellow who had been their victim. He was very distressed to see such a gash in his cloak, and he wept like a tiny baby, which was hardly surprising since he was barely more than an infant.
I quickly cheered him, though. I said, “What, then? Your cloak is ruined? Let us see what we can do.” Then I took the fabric, laid it out flat upon my table, placed the torn parts together, and cast Renny’s Plaque upon them. It is usually used to cover a wall, but I scaled it to a small size, just enough to cover the rip. At once, the cloak was mended, and the join was almost undetectable, except the fabric in that small area was now as stiff as steel.
The infant was very much cheered when he saw his cloak was once again restored, and all the passers-by who had stopped to watch the scene gave me a great cheer when they saw the kind thing I had done—and at no charge too.
Thanks to these and other acts of generosity and good craftsmanship, my reputation spread very quickly. I did not let fame swell my head, and I kept my prices very low. Even so, I completed each job so swiftly I was able to accumulate a great fortune in just a few months—hundreds of arrans, in fact. I saved this money in a chest which I kept in my room at the inn. To keep out thieves, I placed powerful wefts and bindings upon the chest, so it might not be moved or opened except by me. I also spent a couple of arrans on a large and ornate tent, which I set up in the marketplace to draw further business.
Naturally, my success did not please the other menders and joiners who worked within the city. This was partly because I was taking business away from them, but they also hated me because I was not afraid to speak out about them. I told everyone who came to me that the other menders were cheats and rogues who lacked any real talent.
After a time, the menders and joiners conspired against me. I started to receive notes which said such things as “Leave this city, or face the consequences,” and “Soon you will die,” and so on. I merely laughed at these threats, for I am no coward. But those rogues looked for fresh ways to strike a blow against me.
A cat used to follow me to the marketplace in the morning and, during the day, it would often come up to me as I worked and rub itself against my legs. One morning, as I left the inn to begin my day’s work, I saw the cat had been killed and placed near the inn’s entrance, together with a note reading: “Glissa: Cease your work!” This did not bother me a jot, though, because I had never asked for the creature’s affections, and I do not really like cats, although the inn’s gardener, who owned the cat, was sad when he came across the creature’s body.
They used magic against me then, or rather, I should say, some sorcerer they had hired used magic against me. I cannot say precisely how this transaction was negotiated, but I am certain it went something like this:
They said to the sorcerer, “This fellow Glissa is too fine a craftsman for us to endure his presence in our city, for he makes our work look shoddy by comparison, and he reveals to the citizens that we are cheats, and inept into the bargain, which is a secret we do not wish to spread.”
Then the sorcerer said, in evil tones, “What vile service would you have me do?”
And they said, “Kill him! Kill him! It would delight our wicked souls for you to spill his good and righteous blood.”
But the sorcerer told them, “There is no magic so strong it may cut a righteous man open or strike him dead upon the spot. But I can weave powerful spells so he will die of fear.”
They said, “Yes! Yes! That would be even better! O, what a cruel and unjust revenge we will have upon this fellow!”
So then, as I was in my room one night, I saw a green light at the window. When I looked out at the window, I saw a luminous globe hovering there, with a evil face inside it.
I am no illusionist, but I know enough of such magic to know these spheres are harmless, provided you do not lick them. Therefore, I just nodded, thinking, “Very pretty. That is a nice one.” Then I went to bed.
The next night another globe appeared. This time, within the globe, there was the image of a dagger. Well, that is not a very frightening thing, for a dagger is nothing more than a knife, so I opened the window and shouted out, “The face from last night was a more frightening image. Moreover, the detailing upon the dagger is shoddy, for the back of the blade is hazy, as is part of the handle.”
I am sure these words must have annoyed their sorcerer greatly, for all those illusionists think their creations are very perfect.
On the following night, I left my window open to see what would happen. Instead of hovering outside, the globe drifted into my room, so I could see it from where I lay in my bed.
This globe contained the form of a beautiful maiden eating fat, juicy strawberries, which she held out for me to try. The maiden vanished then, and all that was in the globe was a bowl of strawberries on a small, round table. I watched the strawberries for a long time, but they did not move or change in any way. I was puzzled, until I realized the sorcerer expected me to try to lick the strawberries, which would have killed me from the violent shattering of the magic into my face.
I know all this because I once built an illusion house, and I was told to add a barrier between the inner seats of the circle and the stage where the magical globes appear. The purpose of this barrier was to stop drunken patrons in the front row from leaning forward and licking the illusions.
Even if I had been unaware of the dangers of the illusion-spheres, however, I would have been a sad sort of fool if I had tried to lick those strawberries, for they glowed green; and furthermore, the table on which they stood hovered a foot from the ground. Besides, I am not in the habit of licking food while it sits within the bowl. Rather, I like to pick my food up with my hands, and if I were to find my hand passed through it, I do not think I would be inclined to make further explorations with my tongue.
Still, I found I could not sleep with those strawberries lighting up the room, so at last I left my bed and shouted from the window, “Yes, yes. I have tasted those luminous beauties, and they are quite delicious. Nyerm nyerm nyerm!”
My words brought no response, so I took a little water from the jug at my bedside and flicked a few drops at the globe. This action caused the globe to evaporate in a bright flash, and I heard a voice in the street give a cry of pain, so I suppose the illusionist had burnt himself through some kind of sympathetic reaction.
On the next night, the globe showed a group of excellent dancing fiends, then showed a beautiful maiden being devoured by a snake. This was a fair display, and could have been a very good one if the snakes had eaten the maiden starting at the feet rather than at the head, for then I would have seen her terrified face to the last.
On the fifth night of these entertaining displays, I saw a truly marvellous show, which I will tell of now.
It started, as usual, with the sphere appearing at my window, then drifting through the window into my room. It stopped a few feet beyond. It was a little further from the foot of my bed than I would have liked, but I suppose the sorcerer who was casting the spell could not see my room from where he stood. (He would have stood somewhere in the streets below, for that is the way this magic works.)
Within the globe, which was green, I saw the image of a beetle. “Well,” I said to myself, “that is not so frightening. This will not be a good show.”
I was wrong, though, for the next thing you know, the beetle began to walk, and it seemed as if he walked towards me, for he grew bigger and bigger. Then I saw the beetle burrowing into something. As the image emerged from the haze, I saw it was burrowing into the neck of a sleeping man. I think the man was supposed to be me. Certainly he had clothes much like those I wore then. His face, though, was a little different from my own, and not so handsome.
In any case, the beetle burrowed into his neck, and then the man awoke, and he clutched his throat. As I watched, his body seemed to rot away,
until only the bones remained. His skeleton then started to move. It stood, walked away from me, apparently looking for something. Suddenly, it stopped as if it heard a sound. Then it slowly turned and started walking towards me, with an accusing finger stretched out.
A very remarkable effect followed this. The skeleton grew closer and closer, until its skull filled the globe and became hazy. Then, very suddenly, the globe itself grew and took the shape of a skeleton, hovering horizontally above the floorboards. Its mouth opened wide then, and it actually spoke, saying “Aaaaaaaaahhh.”
Well, I jumped when I heard it speak, you may be certain! I had never before seen an illusion that spoke, and I have never seen one since. Or at least, not speaking with a voice of its own, for the voices you hear in the best illusion halls are provided by actors who hide under the treddle boards.
I quickly realized the skeleton was supposed to be hovering over my bed, staring down at me, but, once again, the sorcerer had made a bad guess of where my bed was placed in the room.
Because I was anxious to receive the full effect of the illusion, I pushed my bed over to the part of the floor where the skeleton was hovering, then climbed back under the blankets.
It was very exciting to look up and see a great skeleton hovering over me, although it was now silent once more. Well, I wanted the full effect, so I shouted out, “Oh! That is a horrible thing! By the gods, I hope the skeleton does not once more return to the globe, then emerge in exactly the same manner as before, moaning in the same fearsome way!”
Sure enough, the illusionist heard my words, and, taking me to be almost at my wits’ end with terror, he repeated the last few minutes of the illusion, with the skeleton inside the globe walking towards me, then the globe growing and changing shape so it became a skeleton hovering directly over me. When it opened its huge mouth and started moaning once more, I was so thrilled and frightened I pulled my blankets over my face with the excitement of it all.
Then the skeleton returned to the confines of the globe, and it danced around and shook for a time. Then, I saw a kind of story unfold. First, the skeleton was in the marketplace, when it saw a beautiful girl. She looked at it very lovingly, and it was clear the skeleton was in love with her. But when her father, who was a king, saw she was looking at the skeleton, he pulled her back and beat her, then sent soldiers to drive the skeleton away. The skeleton ran off, but later it came back to the marketplace and looked up to the tower of the castle, where the princess could be seen.
There were roses growing on the wall of the tower, and the skeleton picked one of these flowers, then threw it to the ground. At once, the rose changed to a floating shell, and the skeleton stepped on and flew up to the window of the tower. Then the princess stepped out of the window onto the floating shell, and they flew to a distant cave.
When the king saw what had happened, he waved his arms, summoning six huge bats, and, by means of further gestures, he ordered the bats to seek the lovers out and kill them both.
I do not think I need to tell more of this story, for I am sure you have already recognized it as the story of Addo and Corithane. The illusion continued to follow the plot exactly, except Addo, instead of being a handsome youth, appeared as a vile skeleton. This made no sense, of course, for why should Corithane fall in love with a skeleton? And, for that matter, why should a skeleton wander freely in the marketplace without the common folk screaming and running in fear?
What is worse, there is one part in the story where Corithane places an enchanted lotion upon Addo’s ears, so he will not hear the death-wail of the witch, but in this rendition of the story, she placed it upon the sides of the skull, for the skeleton, being a creature of all bones, had no ears.
The scenes of their lovemaking were unsatisfactory, and a little gruesome. But as to the rest, it was very entertaining all in all, particularly the fights, and I was generally able to put out of my mind that Addo was a skeleton and imagine he was the attractive lad who had won the princess’s heart.
In total, the spectacle lasted the best part of an hour. Clearly, the illusionist had merely taken the standard pattern for casting the story, and added a skeleton so it might frighten me. I am sure he did not suspect I knew the story, because there are no illusion houses in America (or at least, none I ever came across) and neither are any of Obic’s tales known there. I deduced, then, that the sorcerer who sought in vain to torment me was from the east, like me.
If you remember the end of the story, you will recall that Addo is killed by a poisonous arrow, and then Corithane weeps over his body, and, as her tears fall onto him, he is suddenly transformed into ten thousand butterflies, which lift her away. Now, this last part did not happen in the illusion I saw in my room. Addo was struck by the arrow and fell, and then Corithane wept over him, but at that point the illusion ended, for I suppose the wizard did not think the sight of a skeleton turning to ten thousand colourful butterflies would be a frightening thing to leave me with.
I was annoyed at this, though, and I rose from my bed and looked out of my window, shouting, “What about the butterflies?”
Then, from down below, I heard a frustrated and angry scream, and a voice shouted out, “Here are your accursed butterflies!” And with that, a large clod of dry earth came flying at me and hit me in the forehead in a painful way.
I determined not to open my window to any more globes on the following nights, but, as luck would have it, no more globes came, so it seemed the sorcerer and I had reached some sort of agreement, for he knew now that I was not the kind of man who might be terrified into leaving the city. I imagine the sorcerer’s failed endeavours must have cost the joiners a fat purse though, for the casting of such illusions as I saw is an expensive business.
About a week later, the joiners tried to kill me. It was late at night, and I woke to hear a grating sound at my window. When I went to look, I saw a man, all in green, and with a large metal cutting disk strapped to his back. He was standing on the ledge, slowly waving his arms to indicate I should open the window.
I guessed he had thought to disguise himself as one of the wizard’s globes, so I would open the window and let him into my room, thinking I had let an illusion in, whereas he was actually a murderer.
Of course, a man in green smear with a metal disk upon his back looks nothing like a shining illusory globe, and the joiners were fools for thinking I, or any person with eyes to see with, would be tricked by this disguise.
In any case, it was this fellow, not I, who soon fell victim to trickery, for I leaned forward, as if I would open the window on the right, but instead I unlatched the window on the left, which he stood directly behind, then I pushed it open with such force that he tumbled from the ledge and fell to the ground, where he lay dead of a broken neck.
After that, the joiners did not dare to attack me physically, and instead they spread malicious rumours about me, which harmed my business.
The first I heard of this was when one of my customers, a very wealthy man named Bariah, came to me with a little tree carved from moonstone. I recognized this tree, for I had repaired it some weeks earlier with my novel techniques, using bindings powerful enough to hold up a building, yet intricately cast over a tiny area to form an invisible and indestructible repair.
I said to him, “What, is there an imperfection? Would you like me to strengthen the bindings still further?”
He said, “No, indeed. I would like you to remove the bindings you first placed upon this carving.”
I was mystified at this, and said, “If I remove the bindings, the carving will fall into broken pieces once more.”
He said, “That is what I wish, for I will then take it to a true joiner, who will mend it in the correct manner.”
I said, “What do you mean by this? A fool could see the repair is already perfect. Why do you wish to undo this beautiful work and to squander your gold upon some inferior craftsman?”
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He said, “I have heard that small objects repaired by you have a habit of exploding with great violence.”
I laughed at this, saying, “That is not so.”
“Indeed it is,” he said. “My good friend Irech Ven brought you a bowl to repair, and a few days ago it exploded, injuring his wife’s arm. Also, I have heard a precious brooch which you repaired for Teal the Trainer exploded so violently it took down one of the walls of his house.”
The truth of this was immediately evident to me, and I told him so. “These explosions are not the result of poor craftsmanship,” I said, “but of a terrible hatred which is levelled against me.”
Then I explained how desperately the other menders and joiners wished me to leave the city. Now it seemed they were creeping into houses, under cover of darkness, and placing explosives near those objects which I had repaired so my reputation might be harmed.
Well, this put his mind at ease a little. But then he said, “How do you explain that other items repaired by you, which are worn upon the person, such as rings and clothing, cause welts and blisters to appear beneath the places where the repairs were done?”
I told him, “It is true that contact with powerful bindings can sometimes cause a tingling sensation (and anyone who has accidentally leaned against the wall of some great building only to find his back is against the principal bindings will immediately attest to this), but I have never heard of it causing welts and blisters. If these symptoms are as you have stated, it can only be that the menders and joiners, in their mindless hatred for me, persecute my customers by coming to them in the night and secretly placing caustic substances upon their skin.”
He said then, to my great dissatisfaction, “If their hatred for you is as strong as you say, and their ability at committing violence by stealth is so cultivated, then I am by no means sure I wish to side with you in your feud against them.”
At length, though, I persuaded him. I said, “What, you are afraid of menders? Tell the myrmidons of your house to keep special vigilance for intruders, and no harm will come to you.”
The Ultimate Stonemage: A Modest Autobiography Page 21
