by Tanith Lee
"And the dungeon was bare."
"You mean she'd got out?"
"Yes. The spy-assassin and her nasty biting animal. Both gone. And the door locked fast and the bars still on the window. We said before, but we were sure then. A sorceress."
"Have you told the princess?" asked Oynt.
"We thought . . . you might . . . break it to her."
Oynt pulled a face.
When he came back to the carriage he was plainly worried. But Tanaquil, aided by her ridiculous magical powers, did not need to wheedle his worry out of him. Sorceress indeed.
The peeve, full of satisfaction, was asleep at her feet. Once again separated from the veepe, he seemed quite happy to come quietly. Tanaquil-Feather, grandly bowing to the Sulkana, had carried the peeve away. The veepe who, this time, had bitten Rorlwae and three guardsmen, was still a sizzling, cursing mass of fur and fangs, barely held by Princess Tanakil. And Tanakil was herself covered in honeyed wine that might have been poisoned. She glared at Lady Feather. But she seemed not to recognize the peeve either. All veepes, apparently, at least according to angry and bleeding Rorlwae, were the same.
Jharn had been congratulating Fnim, and taken little notice. Liliam herself had given Fnim her own clean white hanky to wipe off the dust, before she crowned him with the winner's garland.
When they reached Hoam or Harm, Oynt escorted Tanaquil-Feather up flights of marble stairs, and into anelaborate banquet hall. There was a huge fish tank set in the ceiling above, and Tanaquil, glancing up, was surprised to see large white gulls busily swimming or flying about in it. She made no comment on this to Oynt.
Although the Winner's Feast was very impressive, with endless dishes and wines, it went on, by tradition, from noon until Rose-rise—whatever that was. Tanaquil was soon bored and exasperated. She wanted to take the princess aside, get her alone, and there was no chance of that. Tanakil, in a new unsplashed dress, would presumably preside over the whole feast, with her sister. Jharn sat between them, too, and Tanakil's face had become beautiful again. It seemed she was in no hurry to rush off. Oynt meanwhile had obviously decided he would tell her of her double's escape later. Much later.
Instead he plied Lady Feather with food, (he was chirpy again with wine) and liquid.
Snatches of conversation, and Oynt's monologue droned round her like large flies.
"Magic is running wild. This boy saw a cup diving about by itself—" "—The guard had yogurt thrown at them by a demon!—" "Do you know I write poetry? For example, Lady Feather, your eyes so sweet, just like a sheep—" (surely she had misheard?) "—And someone has seen a unicorn red as rust, red as the princess's hair—"
When Tanaquil woke with a slight start, the light in the windows was much deeper, the bubbly clouds tinged pink. What had she been dreaming? Sweet sheep and the unicorn.
"Ah," said Oynt, "I do so value it, you know. A friend who's a good listener. I know you felt every word, the way you kept so still, with your eyes shut. Picturing it all." He was giving Lady Feather his most sugary gaze. "And how I admire your hair. You know, it even has a glint of red in it, in this light."
Tanaquil nervously checked her disguise. But nothing else seemed to have faltered even though she slept.
The peeve was now, however, standing on the table. A large silver dish had been brought in, smoking, of—as Oynt told her—fashionable aubergines fried in oil, with herbs.
Everyone was greeting the dish, praising the aubergines.
The peeve seemed shocked, offended.
"No, no," he prattled, "not say word in polite company. Say muttok!"
But muttok was the true swear word with which the peeve had confused aubergine. And apparently muttok was known here, for Oynt gasped and raised his brows.
"How naughty, Lady Feather. How daring. To teach it to say that."
As the servants served the guests with aubergines, (how did they have room?) she saw Fnim laughing. He was sitting at the Sulkana's right. Liliam was laughing too. Then Princess Tanakil was being handed a dish. On it was a big cooked tomato, and Tanakil was adding seasoning from lots of little silver shakers. Tanaquil also saw that the princess wore a large silver ring.
In how many stories did someone carry poison in a ring and let drop one drip upon some food, unseen?
"What is the princess doing?"
"Oh," said Oynt, irritated at being interrupted in further talk of his poetic self, "it's the Victory Treat for the Race Winner. He and the Sulkana share it, alone. And the princess always prepares it. The next about-to-be-fashionable vegetable."
And it was almost evening too. Careful poison, one drip, to make Liliam sleep and not wake up.
Lady Feather—Tanaquil—jumped to her feet.
Many of the guests were standing, moving about. No one noticed. The peeve was creeping towards the aubergines, loudly muttering Muttok.
And Princess Tanakil had given the dish of tomato to a servant, who was presenting it to Liliam and Fnim.
He too was to be a casualty. How heartless and careless frustration had made Tanakil.
The Sulkana was pledging Fnim.
The guests were applauding the soon-to-be-fashionable tomato, which was bursting with chopped nuts and cheese.
Fnim and Lili raised their silver forks.
Lady Feather threw her feather fan as hard as she could. It landed splat in the tomato, which burst, covering Liliam and Fnim son of Phnom from head to lap in nuts, cheese, pips, and red juice.
Astonished and accusing, Liliam's court turned to Tanaquil. Some of the guards had hands on their dress swords. Rorlwae was scowling.
"Good luck!" shouted Lady Feather. She stood there, full of merry kindness, beaming.
Even Jharn was looking at her, although she could suddenly see the corner of his mouth flickering.
"Old custom, you know," roared Lady Feather. "Wish the winner fortune. And the Sulkana, of course. At Umbrella, we throw them—tomatoes, that is—at launched ships. At the prince, too. Oh you should see him sometimes, covered in 'em."
Jharn made a choking sound. He put his hand over his face. He shook. Rorlwae was now doing the same.
Velvet managed, "Well, we'll just have to fetch another tomato."
Fnim (quite serious?), rose and bowed to Lady Feather.
Servants were mopping the Sulkana.
But Princess Tanakil's face was so furious that Tanaquil almost quailed.
"Who are you?" demanded Tanakil.
"Feather of Umbrella," said Tanaquil.
The peeve had reached the aubergines and slapped the dish with a paw. "Muttok."
Those who heard were stunned into silence.
Tanaquil was aware of an order for a new tomato being given, but Oynt was now drawing her away from the table. She had no excuse not to go. The peeve, turning sternly, came after them.
I should have watched her. I must watch her.
A terrace ran out from the banquet hall. One could see across the roof garden to the sea. A beautiful, a peaceful view.
And from the sea, the glorious sparkling flower-knot of stars was rising. Surely it never rose in the same place twice . . . which was just like the hideous moon of the hell world. This seemed odd, mixed up, like everything else.
But Oynt was pointing.
"Isn't it a romantic light, Lady Feather? The Rose. Now it's risen, the Winner's Feast ends. We can do just what we like."
The Rose. The stars were called the Rose.
But it was "The tomato!" she heard inside the room.
Tanaquil caught the peeve to her, thrusting Oynt, surprised, away.
"You must do it again. Do you see? Tomato."
"Muttok."
"No, you fool. Look, there's that bad veepe on the table. Go and fight the veepe again and knock the tomato off the plate."
The peeve looked at her. "Not polite."
Oh God, at this moment, as once more Tanakil sprinkled her killer's potion, the peeve chose to get stupid ideas about social behavior.
And then she thought, But I can do anything here. As Oynt said, we can do just what we like.
She stared across the room. No one could even blame her now. She willed the tomato off the plate, and there it went, soaring high, splashing down on the bad black veepe. She had not meant that to happen—
There were screams. "Wild magic" "I told you" And presently worse screams.
The peeve, better late than never, was sprinting back to the table. Landing in the aubergines, it skidded for several feet, fetched up by the veepe, and pulled it over among the fried vegetables.
Now they were fighting for the squashy tomato. Why? And if it were poisoned . . .
But the princess was rising like a red star of fury. She raised her arms above her head in rage and there was an awful crack.
Above, the ceiling tank broke open, green salt water poured upon the guests, the gracious table, the luxurious leftovers, and out flew sixteen seagulls, flapping and squawking and dropping unwelcome little wet presents on the heads of one and all.
So ended the Winner's Feast.
Oynt clutched Lady Feather to him. "Dear Feather, I'll protect you. You've become very dear to me, dear Feather. . . ."
But Tanaquil pulled away and left him, pretending that she did not know what Oynt meant.
XIII
No sooner had Tanaquil reached an alcove off the banquet hall, than she threw off her shapechange. She made herself again invisible. It was a vast relief. Only then did she call the peeve. Who, to her enormous astoundment, came charging up to her.
"Be invisible too. Right. Did you eat any tomato?"
"Not poison," said the peeve.
"How do you know?"
"Know, just."
"Don't talk backwards like that veepe. Did the veepe eat any?"
"Not important. Not poison."
"Wait," Tanaquil gathered her wits. "You knew I thought it was."
"She not done it yet. Scared."
"Again, how do you know?"
The peeve, which to her was visible, shrugged. It actually did so. "In," said the peeve. "You."
"What do you mean?" The peeve scratched. It was embarrassed, and had aubergine and tomato pips in its fur. She stroked its head lovingly. Had it come to harm? (Harm-Hoam) "If you feel at all funny, tell me."
"Funny? Joke?"
"No. Sick or unwell."
The peeve winked at her. "Muttok bad. Aubergine is vegetable?"
"Yes. You got muddled. But it's like that, here."
Through a window, the Rose . . . rose. Stars. Jharn. Honj. "Why did you go after the tomato, after I'd—"
The peeve said, very clearly, "Do anything here. Felt like it."
"Oh. All right. We'll leave it. I have to find the princess. She left when I did. Swept out. Let's try her apartment."
"Go up through floor?" asked the peeve eagerly.
"Yes." She picked him up. "Hold tight."
Like the star-Rose, they rose.
Tanaquil was thinking of what she had seemed to hear at the feast. The praise for Liliam. About a war, when they had been invaded, and Lili had ridden out on a primrosecolored horse, along the lines of the army, under the banner of the silver unicorn's head. She had encouraged her soldiers, Take no notice of the enemy cannon. She had helped them all. Her father, the Princess Tanaquil's father too, Tandor, had been cold and unkind. But Sulkana Liliam put her people first. And if she had chosen Jharn as her husband, because he was brave and handsome and strong, she should have him.
The peeve had not really reacted to Tanakil. Surely the peeve should have been confused between Tanakil and Tanaquil, worse than over the aubergines.
Anyway, they had now risen into the rooms of the princess. Who was not there.
"I know," said Tanaquil to the peeve, who was giving signs of seeking the soap in the bathroom again, "her sorcerium. The mirror. That might show me where she is."
In the sorcerium of Tanakil there was no evidence of poison-making. Everything was as before. The mirror loomed on the table. It was dark as an eclipse of the moon.
If I can do anything here . . .
"Mirror, mirror," said Tanaquil. She waited. The mirror cleared. Now it was like a silvery sheet of ice on a strangely vertical lake.
She had better test it. How?
"Show me the goat owner, Stinx," said Tanaquil.
Colors rippled through the mirror. It settled. A scene appeared. It was Domba's house in the village of Tweetish. Stinx was lying in a hammock, fanned by a girl with long brown hair. Honey, Domba, and two goats were fussing round him. While the rest of the village seemed crowded to the porch, hanging on Stinx's every word. The mirror gave no sound, but Stinx looked very well and utterly smug. The unpleasantness with the Princess's soldiers and his lost hopes of Tanaquil's introduction at the palace seemed to have done him no harm. Tanaquil was glad. Wishing to repay him for the food and the hat he had bought her, she tried to wish some money—some blonks, whatever they were—into his pockets. It was worth a try. If she had succeeded she would never know.
Besides, the image might not be true. Another test?
"Show me the banquet hall of Liliam."
The scene of Stinx faded. And there was the hall, littered with food, water and squabbling gulls. Some of the nobles were sitting on the floor, wringing out their hair and clothes. Veepes ran about, one adorned with tomato. There seemed too much here that was accurate for it to be a trick.
"Well, then," said Tanaquil. She drew in her breath. "Show me—Tanaquil!"
The moment she had said this, she swore. She had not meant that. She had meant Tanakil. She did not need, after all, to be shown herself standing here.
But a fresh scene was forming in the sorcerous mirror.
"No. No, I meant—"
Tanaquil broke off.
Clouds melted at the edges of the mirror. The whole of it was tinged with softest blue, then green.
Tanaquil saw . . .
"But that can't—"
It was the guest room in Jaive's fortress. The green walls, the green and gold bed. And on the bed . . .
On the bed.
"Don't play about. Let's try again. Mirror, mirror, on the table. Show me what is real and stable."
The image did not even tremble. It stayed solid now as if it were only the view beyond a window.
On the green and gold bed lay a young woman with long, fiery red hair. She wore a tunic and a divided skirt. She seemed to be asleep. You saw her breathe slowly, in and out, in and out.
On her knees lay a small fur rug. No. A furry peeve. You could not be mistaken. The snout and ears, the paws and tail.
The peeve was asleep, too.
At the side of the bed, Jaive was standing. She was crying. Crying just like a girl of fifteen or a child of four. Crying. Big glistening tears.
"Oh, Mother, what is it?"
And then there was Worabex, the grand magician, patting Jaive's shoulder, putting his arm around Jaive. He looked grave and perplexed.
This time, sound came from the mirror. Tanaquil heard his voice. "I'm sorry. I've tried everything I can think of. She's alive. You can see that. But I can't get her back. Even the peeve won't respond. He's her familiar, of course. He'll be with her wherever she is. You must take comfort, my love, from that."
Tears spilled out of Tanaquil's eyes also. She did not know why.
At the foot of the bed sat a smaller blonder peeve, quite still. Was this Adma?
And there in the corner, the woolly camel, its forefeet tucked under, lying and looking on with big, old, tolerant eyes.
"Oh," said Tanaquil. She turned from the mirror, at a loss. There beside her sat the peeve, who had come in unheard. The peeve looked at the mirror. "Us." He sounded sure and pleased. Then, sad, "Us."
"How can it be us? We're here."
"In," said the peeve.
A door slammed.
The image in the mirror cracked and sheered off like a green-blue-red snow storm. The mirror was blank.
&nbs
p; "Damn! Damn!" someone shouted outside.
Tanaquil and the peeve oozed invisibly out through the walls.
The princess stood at the center of her pillared room. She was covered in trifle, tomatoes, and seagull droppings.
"I will!" she screamed. "I couldn't but I will. For Jharn—for me—I'll do it tomorrow. Worraday. At the vyger hunt!"
XIV
In the morning, it was Worraday. (Worry-Day?)
Tanaquil had not slept. She had not wanted to, or felt she could.
She had stood some while near the bed of the princess, watching her sleep. Asleep, Tanakil looked just like Tanaquil asleep in the magic mirror.
But the mirror, it seemed, had shown a false image after all. Tanaquil and the peeve could not be both there and here. Anyway, how had the camel got upstairs to the guest room? Had Jaive really been crying? Had Worabex, powerful and a know-all, lost his sorcerous knack and not been able to help?
She dismissed it. There were other things to think about.
As Princess Tanakil slept, the veepe crawled into her arms. The peeve, apparently no longer in a fighting mood, left it alone.
Tanakil, perhaps dreaming, said to the veepe, "I should have. I meant to. I could have poisoned the tomatoes, and that wine at the race. Why didn't I? She'd be dead by now. I'd be Sulkana. I'd marry Jharn."
So Tanakil really had not tried to murder Lili yet. All the mad confusion, after the race and at the feast, had been quite unnecessary. What else?
Tanaquil had been determined to talk to the princess. In the end she had not been able to think what to say. What could you say to your other self?
But I have to do something.
In her dreams, the princess was muttering about potent ancient herbs that killed.
Finally, Tanaquil, still invisible, and the invisible peeve, went floating off through the walls of Hoam-Harm, and up to the calm of the roof garden.
Some birds were singing beautifully to the sinking Rose of stars. In the east—it probably was the east—the red morning sun was rising. The sky washed through black to dark turquoise to apple green.
Where is this place? The animals are weird and crazy. It's lovely with colors. They don't eat meat or fish here, yet they 're going on a vyger hunt. What is a vyger?
