by B. J. Beach
A voice, bright with surprise, brought him up short. “Master Karryl! Do you require any assistance?”
Dressed in the black knee-breeches and white ruffled shirt of a clerk, a figure stood in the light at the far end of the gloomy corridor.
Recognising Master Gibb, personal secretary to King Vailin, Karryl lengthened his stride. “Well met Master Gibb. You can probably tell me where I find myself, but as to the other problem, well, that has so far defeated me.”
The dapper secretary clasped his hands, steepled his forefingers and tapped his chin. “Perhaps then, I can help. Solving other people’s problems seems to be, without meaning to sound boastful, my speciality. Would you like me to try?”
Karryl looked to right and left, then behind him. Keeping his voice low he leaned towards Master Gibb. “Only if you think you can solve a fiendish word puzzle.”
Appreciative of Karryl’s apparent desire for secrecy, the secretary nodded. “I am on my way back to my office. If you would accompany me, I will give what help I can. As to where you find yourself; this is part of the original palace which now lies between your apartment, some other smaller apartments and offices, and the palace proper. I use this old corridor almost every day, as a short cut.”
After a quick glance down the corridor behind Karryl, Master Gibb marched importantly off along the adjoining one, at the same time regaling him with a potted history of the palace and whatever details of its layout he considered pertinent. By the time they arrived at Master Gibb’s office door, Karryl had learned more about the palace and its environs than he had during the five years he had been closely associated with it.
The secretary waved Karryl to a comfortable chair, and tugged on one of four corded silk bell-pulls behind his desk. “I’ve rung for refreshments Master Karryl. While we wait, perhaps you could show me this word puzzle that is causing you such concern. This seems to be the season for word puzzles. I am still pondering the prophecy with which His Majesty presented me a while ago.”
Karryl leaned back in his chair, stretched out his long legs and smiled. “Well, if you manage to solve them both, I think we shall all be indebted to you.” The young Mage-Prime’s smile changed to a frown. “I haven’t actually got anything to show you. I’ve been given what seems to be a random collection of single letters. All I can think of is that it’s a very complex anagram. The letters I’ve so far been given are all in my head.”
With a nod of approval, Master Gibb sat down behind his desk and prepared quill and parchment. “If you’ll tell me the letters I’ll see what, if anything, I can make of them.”
Karryl had just spoken the fifth letter when Jobling entered the office. The major-domo carefully set down a tray laden with pots, cups, a plate of savoury pastries, and cakes.
Turning to Karryl he made a brief but respectful bow. “Good afternoon Master Karryl. I hope everything will be to your liking. Shall I pour the tea?”
Impressed as always by Jobling’s uncanny ability to know who was where at any particular time, Karryl grinned. “Yes please Jobling. I was rather busy, and lunch got over-looked. Walking all the way up here has whetted my appetite.”
By the time Jobling had poured two cups of tea and left the office, Karryl was well into his second pastry. Between them he and Gibb cleared the plates. Suitably fortified, the pair prepared to return to the task in hand.
Before they resumed, Karryl indicated the sheaves of papers, parchments and half a dozen scrolls which lay on Gibb’s desk. “I hope I’m not holding up anything you have to do for His Majesty. It looks as though you have a lot of work here.”
Master Gibb patted one of the thick bundles as he sat down. “Loads, but I’ll work late. This little conundrum of yours promises to be far more interesting.”
Karryl began again, dictating each letter in the order he had discovered them. Before long Gibb had copied down all that Karryl had so far. The pair sat in silence, the royal secretary gazing intently at the long row of letters while Karryl went over them again in his mind. After a few minutes Master Gibb sighed. Moving from behind his desk, he picked up the piece of parchment bearing the letters.
Karryl’s brow furrowed. “Has it eluded you too?”
Standing beside Karryl’s chair, Gibb held out the parchment. He leaned forward, pointing to something as he murmured in Karryl’s ear.
Eyes wide with astonishment, the Mage-Prime looked from Gibb to the letters, then back at Gibb. “Why couldn’t Symon or I see that?”
Master Gibb smiled. “Your minds are far too complex, and you were too close, too involved. It simply needed a fresh pair of eyes and a more direct approach. You were looking for something that wasn’t there.”
Karryl sprang up from his chair and clapped Gibb enthusiastically on the shoulder. “Well done Master Gibb! I don’t think you realise just how much help you’ve been, but I will make certain that you do know in due course. Now, I must get back. There is much to be done.”
Stuffing the parchment in the pocket of his robe, Karryl hurried out of the office, almost colliding with Jobling who watched him stride purposefully down the corridor.
As the major-domo entered the office, Gibb gave him a wry smile. “I’d swear Master Karryl gets more like Symon every time I see him.”
Eyeing the empty cups and plates, Jobling picked up the tray. His only response was a barely audible “Quite” as he left the office.
8 - A Crisis Averted
Symon was dozing in his chair by the fire when Karryl returned to the apartment. Deciding not to disturb him, he slipped quietly into his study. Leaving the door half open, he returned to the task of recovering the rest of the letters from the pages of Keril’s book. It would still be slow going, but nowhere near so difficult now he knew what to look for. With what he knew now, he was confident that, in the unlikely event of being unable to find some of the letters, an educated guess would probably suffice. It would then be a simple matter to retrieve the words which could lead him to the hiding place of the second artefact. An hour later he had, he believed, found them all. With a sense of accomplishment he placed book, parchment and medallion in a secret drawer to be returned to later.
Having heard no sound to tell him Symon was awake, he decided to go and start preparing supper. As he headed for the kitchen he noticed the fire had burned low. Symon was still dozing in his chair and looking, Karryl thought, decidedly pale. As he bent down to mend the dying fire he accidentally nudged Symon’s outstretched foot. The little magician didn’t stir. He gave Symon’s arm a gentle shake. Knowing that the little magician was a light sleeper, he expected some response. There was none. Karryl’s heart began to race as if it would burst through his ribs. Recalling what Mordas had taught him, he placed his fingers against Symon’s throat, a great gasp of relief exploding from his lungs as he detected a faint but steady heartbeat. His immediate thought was to relocate them both to the infirmary. Quickly rejecting that as being too risky, he looked around for the grey cat before remembering D’ta had gone away on some business of her own. Reluctant to leave Symon alone, Karryl nevertheless decided he had no option.
Not wishing to startle anybody, he chose to materialise in the deep shadow which filled an angle of the Infirmary’s exterior wall. He dashed to the door and flung it open. Fervently praying she would be there, he hurtled down the corridor to the little room Mordas used. Without pausing to knock he burst into the room. Startled, Mordas barely had time to draw breath before Karryl had barked “Symon!” and dematerialised. Needing no further information, the physician-mage snatched up her bag, crashed open a side door and pelted up the hill towards the palace, leaving a couple of shocked and bewildered nurses in her wake.
When Mordas arrived at the apartment, the door was standing wide open. She ran inside to find Karryl on his knees, chafing his old mentor’s small, slender hands.
Quickly she knelt beside him. “How long has he been like this?”
Karryl shook his head, his face a mask of dejection. “I�
�m not sure. He was in his study when I went out earlier. When I came back he was here, so I went and did some work for an hour. It was only when I saw the fire was nearly out and he hadn’t moved that I realised something was wrong.”
Mordas stood up. Leaning forward she stretched out her hands, slowly passing them over Symon’s sleeping form, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. With a deep sigh she straightened up.
Her eyes were troubled as she turned to face Karryl. “He is old and tired. There is little energy left in his body. Has he done anything or been anywhere recently that could have drained him so completely?”
Without going into detail, Karryl told her of the incident with the Assassin-Wraith, the trip into the mountains, and how it had been necessary for Lhoura to cast a spell to make Symon more comfortable. All the while he was speaking, Mordas kept her eyes on Symon.
When Karryl had finished, she nodded slowly. “It was too much for him, going into the mountains after such a traumatic experience.”
Karryl folded his arms and gazed fondly at the little magician who seemed somehow more old and wizened than he remembered. “He assured me that he had fully recovered. That’s why I agreed we should go. Obviously he wasn’t as fit as he led us to believe.” His brow furrowed. “He will recover, won’t he?”
Mordas touched his hand to reassure him. “Given enough time and a great deal of rest and care, he will; but not here. We must get him away from this environment. Somewhere that has little opportunity for him to work or study. For now, we must get him into his bed and comfortable. Then with your permission, I’ll make arrangements for him to stay where he can be properly cared for.” She smiled. “I think he deserves a little pampering, don’t you?”
Karryl returned the smile. “I do indeed, and I’m sure he’ll enjoy it no end. But, first things first.”
Purely for Mordas’ benefit, Karryl made a small gesture towards Symon’s chair. Without so much as a shudder it lifted about two hand-spans from the floor. With another gesture from Karryl, the chair spun gently round and drifted steadily towards Symon’s bedroom, Mage-Prime and physician-mage keeping pace beside it. Mordas darted forward to open the door, and Karryl guided Symon’s unconventional mode of transport into the room, setting it down beside the bed. They had just finished turning back the covers when a tremulous little voice brought them hurrying to Symon’s side.
The indomitable little magician’s grey eyes twinkled up at Mordas. “I hope you weren’t thinking of undressing me, my dear.”
Gently taking his hand, Mordas smiled. “Of course not. I had every intention of leaving you in your shift.”
Karryl crouched down beside him. “You gave us quite a scare. How are you feeling?”
As if imparting a secret, Symon leaned forward and locked eyes with Karryl. “I certainly feel better than I did earlier on. It would seem that some of the energy from the transportation spell you used has perked me up a little.”
Mordas perched on the edge of the bed. “Unfortunately, that won’t have a lasting effect. The only thing that’s going to do you any good is a complete rest, and I for one intend to see that you get it. Now, have you enough left to get yourself undressed and into bed?”
Surprisingly, Symon didn’t offer the expected argument. Instead, he eased himself out of his chair and shuffled a little unsteadily over to the window.
After pausing to take a little peek outside, he closed the curtains. “I’m sure I can manage, if you’d be so kind as to make an old man a cup of tea. Then when you’ve done that, perhaps we can talk about where would be the best place for me to recuperate.”
Mordas paused in her pillow arranging and looked hard at Symon. “Did you hear what Karryl and I were saying?”
Symon nodded. “Every word. I just found myself completely unable to move. It felt almost like an immobility spell, but there was a certain something lacking that told me it wasn’t. Now, I shall prepare myself for bed.”
Mordas settled the last pillow, signalled Karryl with her eyes, and the two left the room. As they headed for the kitchen, Karryl gave voice to his question. “What do you think happened?”
Slightly puzzled, Mordas shook her head. “The only thing I can think of is some kind of cataplexy, brought on initially by the incident with the Wraith.” She stopped in front of the kitchen door. “Once he returns from his rest-cure, I think it would be advisable to keep an eye on him. It’s possible he may never completely recover, but we’ll worry about that when, and if, the time comes. Now, while you’re relighting the fire, I’ll make the tea.”
With a little judicious cheating Karryl soon had a good blaze going, and by the time Mordas had brewed tea, the two magicians were engaged in serious conversation, Symon propped up against a veritable hillside of pillows, while Karryl availed himself of the temporary comfort of the armchair.
Mordas frowned at Karryl as she brought in the tea. “Try not to tire him out.”
She handed Symon a large mug of tea. “You can talk some more tomorrow, when you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”
Symon’s round face registered his disappointment. “I thought we were going to discuss my recuperation.”
Mordas twitched unnecessarily at a pillow. “I’ve already thought of an ideal place. First though, I have to go and talk to Lady Evalin. If she agrees, you’ll more than likely come back feeling fitter than you have for years.”
The two magicians exchanged glances and Symon raised an eyebrow in query. Karryl grinned. “Can I go with him to...wherever it is?”
Mordas looked faintly disgusted. “That was very transparent Master Karryl, and no, you can’t. Maybe in another five hundred years or so, but not this time. Now, before I go, I’m going to leave this in the room.”
From her large embroidered bag which still lay at the foot of Symon’s bed, she drew something out and removed the dark blue cloth which concealed it. In the palm of her hand sat a huge teardrop crystal, flattened at its broadest end enabling it to stand upright.
Dozens of facets caught the lamplight in a rainbow of colours as she carefully placed it on the bedside table. “Let that stay there, and make sure it doesn’t get covered up with anything. I’ll collect it sometime tomorrow. Now, if you’re comfortable, I’ll be off. Goodnight, and sleep well.”
Symon nodded and raised his mug of tea to her as she hitched her bag onto her shoulder. With one final glance, she left the room, Karryl only a step behind.
As he held the outer door open for her, he asked one more question. “Do you think I ought to sit with him through the night?”
The tall physician-mage seemed a little distant as she answered. “That won’t be necessary. He seems quite stable, and I want the crystal to do its work. Goodnight Karryl. I’ll see you both tomorrow. Oh! Just one more thing. Symon will probably be sleeping by now. I put a little something in his tea.”
With that, she strode off down the long corridor which led towards the interior of the palace. Quietly closing the door, Karryl thought that Mordas had seemed a little snippy. He set about turning out lamps and settling the fire before going first to check on Symon, then heading to the kitchen for some supper.
9 - A Cryptic Clue
The crystal had changed. Its once pristine clarity was now marred with streaks of grey and patches of dense black.
As Karryl moved towards it, Symon raised a cautionary hand. “Be careful not to touch it. Some essence of the Wraith had entered my body and the crystal has now assimilated it. Fortunately you seem to have been unaffected, but if you handle the crystal that essence may well transfer to you.”
Karryl prudently backed away and stood at the foot of Symon’s bed. “Do you feel well enough to join me in the kitchen for breakfast?”
The little magician patted his palms together as he beamed up at his tall companion. “I do indeed; especially as you’re doing the cooking. I’ll have a wash, and then I’ll join you.”
A few minutes later, while Karryl was turning potato cakes on
the griddle Symon shuffled into the kitchen.
Wrapped in an oversize dressing gown, he sat at the large whitewood table and poured himself a cup of tea. “Have you made any progress with those letters in Keril’s book?”
Karryl nodded as he cut doorstep slices from a large loaf. “I have, but it was Master Gibb who gave me the answer.”
He then went on to relate the fortunate coincidence which led to the solving of the puzzle. “Now that I have all the letters I can make them into words and hopefully make a start on retrieving the artefact.” He carried on talking as he filled warm plates with grilled bacon and potato cakes. “One thing I haven’t got the answer to, is what do I do with the thing when I’ve found it? I asked the entity a couple of times but all I got back was silence.”
Symon spread butter on bread. “Perhaps when you find it, the answer will be with it.”
Once breakfast was over, Karryl floated Symon’s armchair back to its usual place by the fire. He had just settled him in it when the brass door-bell jangled briefly and Mordas called out “May I come in?”
Holding open the ante-room door, Karryl stood to one side as Mordas strode across the sitting room to peer into Symon’s face. “Your colour’s a lot better. I think I’ll go and have a look at the crystal.”
His curiosity aroused, Karryl followed her into Symon’s room, keen to discover how she would deal with the crystal. Telling him to stay by the door, she dropped her bag on Symon’s bed and drew out the dark cloth which had been wrapped around the crystal the night before. Standing well back, she studied the contaminated object for a while. It seemed to Karryl that the black patches and grey streaks with which it was now imbued, writhed and twisted in their glassy prison. Holding the large dark blue cloth at arm’s length she murmured an intricate cantrip as she stepped slowly forward, her voice growing steadily louder until, almost shouting the final word, she threw the cloth over the crystal. Returning to her bag, Mordas took out a soft pouch made of smooth black fabric with a metallic sheen. With her hand thrust inside it, she approached the covered stone. Using the pouch as a glove, she picked up crystal and cloth together. With her free hand she inverted the pouch, turning the metallic sheen to the inside. She then pulled the drawstring tight, wound it three times round the neck and knotted it.
