Voice for Princess (v1.1)

by John Morressy

  Princess took a step backward, alarmed by the outburst. Kedrigern, glowering, bunched up his fists.

  “We’ll see who wears this medallion. Not Axpad, not the whole lot of them with all the magic they can muster and the help of their weasely, skulking alchemist friends…,” he blustered, subsiding into red-faced silence, inarticulate with righteous wrath.

  “Brereep,” Princess said.

  “Why else would he come here? This certainly isn’t the season for casual visiting. He’s not just passing by. Well, he won’t get it. That’s the last straw!” Kedrigern howled, waving his arms wildly as he stalked about the dooryard. “First you treat me like a clumsy apprentice, then Vosconu claims that I’m a fraud, and now this! It’s the absolute last straw! They’ll never get this medallion off my neck! Never!”

  Taking his arm, Princess led him to his chair. When he was seated, calm once again but still scowling, she patted his hand reassuringly and said, “Brereep.”

  “That’s true. Yes, that’s true, my dear,” he said, brightening. “But if Axpad’s not here for the medallion, then why is he here?”

  “Brereep,” Princess suggested.

  “Do you really think so? It would be… no, it’s not possible, my dear. He’d never come all this way in winter just to apologize. More likely the guild wants something. That’s bound to be the reason for this visit.” Kedrigern’s eyes narrowed and his voice grew steely. “Let him crawl. Let him grovel, let him beg and whine and cajole, let him apologize on his knees with tears steaming down his face and dripping from his beard and freezing into icicles. I will never lift a finger to help the Wizards’ Guild. Never! After the way they hounded me out…”

  Again patting his hand, Princess kissed him and whispered, “Brereep.”

  Rising and taking her in his arms, kissing her warmly, he said, “No call for you to be sorry, my dear. I did botch it with the crystal. Only natural for you to be a bit chary when I suggest a spell, after what you went through.”

  “Brereep.”

  “It won’t happen again, I assure you. I’ll work no magic to get your voice back unless I’m absolutely certain of the results. Trust me, my dear. And let us prepare to receive our visitor.”

  Axpad staggered into the cottage about a half-hour after they first caught sight of him. Kedrigern led him to a soft chair by the fire, Spot brought him a tankard of mulled wine, and Princess tucked a blanket around his skinny legs. He barely managed to gasp a feeble hello before falling into a deep exhausted sleep.

  That evening, over a late dinner, Axpad was talkative, but not overly informative. He retailed the latest news of the guild, snickering at Hithernils’s measures for collecting late dues, frowning at Tristaver’s litle intrigues, shaking his head in wonderment over Conhoon’s sudden aggravated enmity toward barbarian swordsmen. Kedrigern did nothing to interrupt the smooth flow of anecdote and gossip. At appropriate moments he would interject a monosyllabic expression suitable to the context, or show by a raised eyebrow or polite smile his feelings of concern, amusement, or surprise, but he made no attempt to open a dialogue. He knew that Axpad had not walked for days through cold winds and hip-deep snow merely to share a chuckle over the idiosyncrasies of mutual acquaintances. With patience, the whole thing would come out; Kedrigern knew he need only wait.

  Since Princess chose to remain completely silent, Axpad was not long in running out of chat. When they had settled in soft chairs before the fire, and Spot had brought a fresh bottle of Vosconu’s choicest vintage, Axpad sighed, gazed thoughtfully into the flames, and turned a melancholy gaze on his host.

  “It’s Quintrindus,” he confessed.

  “Ah,” Kedrigern responded, nodding.

  “You were right.”

  Kedrigern raised an eyebrow and remained silent.

  “He’s a fraud. It’s bound to come out. The guild will be a laughingstock. ‘Professor-Doctor-Master Quintrindus’ indeed! The man never got past his apprenticeship. And he’s not just a fraud, he’s a swindler, as well!” Axpad cried, his voice rising.

  “Oh?”

  “Transmutation of base metals. Lead into gold. That’s how he got us, Kedrigern: greed. Greed, pure and simple. It was our own greed that did for us.”

  Shaking his head sadly to conceal the warm inner glow of self-righteous pleasure that flooded through him at Axpad’s words, Kedrigern refilled his guest’s goblet. “To the guild,” he said, smiling.

  “What’s left of it,” Axpad muttered, raising his goblet half-heartedly.

  “Why don’t you tell me the details, Axpad?”

  His visitor drank, closing his eyes and sighing softly to express his sheer rapture. “Marvelous wine, Kedrigern. Your vines?”

  “A client’s. The details?”

  All rapture vanished from Axpad’s voice, manner, and countenance. He grumbled wordlessly, scowled at the fire, and said in a low unhappy voice, “It’s not an easy thing to tell anyone. Especially the one who warned us. We were complete dupes.”

  “You’ve already told me that. Presumably you haven’t come here to brag about the fact, and you certainly haven’t come looking for sympathy. I assume, then, that you’ve come for my help or my advice, or both. And I can give you neither until I know what Quintrindus has done.” Kedrigern said patiently, savoring every word he uttered.

  Axpad drew a deep breath and began his long account. It was a textbook case of swindling. Quintrindus had filled everyone’s ears with his talk of transmutation of base metals. “Lead into gold” became a catchphrase among the members of the guild. The traditions of wizardry were forgotten amid endless prattle of the Philosopher’s Stone and the White Elixir, both of which remained tantalizingly just out of reach. Then one day Quintrindus burst into a meeting, hollow-eyed and pale from long effort, to display a pinch of gold dust in a vessel and proclaim success at last. The secret was within his grasp. All that he needed now was financial backing. The assembled wizards—wise old Belsheer, suave Tristaver, and all the rest—practically fell over one another to offer their worldly goods. Hithernils moved that they place the guild treasury at the alchemist’s disposal, and the motion passed unanimously, amid loud cheering.

  Quintrindus thanked them humbly and tearfully, as they pressed their wealth upon him. He begged leave to retire to his chambers to rest and prepare himself for the final great effort, and took his departure to a chorus of good wishes.

  For the next two weeks, all the wizards could talk about was their shrewdness in admitting Quintrindus to membership, and their prospect of immense riches and eternal fame. For a day or two into the third week there was excited speculation on the alchemist’s progress. Then came a day of uneasy curiosity about his long absence; and after that, revelation. Tristaver returned pale and breathless from a visit to Quintrindus’s laboratory to announce that alchemist and treasury were gone without a trace.

  There were mutterings of vile enchantment by rival wizards or jealous fellow alchemists. But a close search of the laboratory turned up a mocking note in Quintrindus’s own hand that revealed his deception. Long planned and perfectly executed, his plot to swindle and humiliate the guild had been a complete success, thanks to the enthusiastic cooperation of the wizards themselves.

  “And that’s all we know,” Axpad concluded. “Quintrindus has vanished from human ken. We’ve tried every kind of spell at our command, and it’s as if he’d never existed.”

  “He, or the treasury,” Kedrigern pointed out cheerily.

  “That, too,” Axpad admitted.

  “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Find the treasury and get it back to the guild before that rotten swindler reveals to the whole world how he’s duped us. If you can find Quintrindus, or turn him into something more loathsome than he already is, that’s fine with us. Get his dog, too, while you’re at it.”

  “His dog?”

  “Quintrindus got himself a dog after you left. A nasty little mutt named Jaderal. Used to snap at all the wizards.”r />
  “I know Jaderal well. He used to snap at wizards even before he was a dog. But why bring me into this, Axpad? I have no love for Quintrindus, but if all the efforts of the guild can’t turn up anything, what do you expect of me?”

  “Well, we thought there might be a spell involved, and you’re the expert on counterspells.”

  “Quintrindus couldn’t cast a spell with a catapult. There’s more to it than a spell, Axpad. It’s impossible for a man to stay hidden if the most accomplished wizards in the world are looking for him.”

  Axpad waved off Kedrigern’s concern. “Quintrindus isn’t that important. All that really matters is getting the treasury back, so we don’t look ridiculous. This could do us a lot of harm.”

  “Yes, it certainly could. It could ruin you,” Kedrigern said with a broad smile.

  “It could ruin us,” Axpad said, with careful emphasis.

  “Us?”

  “Well, you were a charter member of the guild. You’re well known in the profession. What’s bad for wizards is going to be bad for you, Kedrigern. Once people start gossiping, they don’t pause to make fine distinctions. You’ll be tarred with the same brush as the rest of us.”

  Kedrigern was stunned into silence by this appalling prospect. He pictured Vosconu filling page after feverish page with disparaging remarks in his tiny script, spreading word of the guild’s folly throughout the literate world and giving him, Kedrigern, a totally undeserved leading role in the fiasco. No one would believe that he alone had seen through Quintrindus, had warned his friends and colleagues and been ignored. And what Vosconu invented, others would rush to embellish. Ruination would be upon them. Trust in wizards would vanish, and in its place would come laughter and alchemy. The alchemists would sweep all before them. Wizards would be reduced to healing boils and telling fortunes.

  “That’s outrageous. It’s completely unfair,” he said angrily.

  “Oh, it is, I agree. But you know it’s true. That’s the way of the world, Kedrigern,” said Axpad, looking at him with studied innocence.

  Kedrigern made a sour growling noise. He did indeed know that it was true, and that he had no choice but to help the guild. His long-awaited gloating time had come, and had vanished in the wink of an eye. He gulped his remaining wine and slammed the empty goblet down noisily on the table.

  “You’ll help us, then?” said Axpad.

  “Yes,” Kedrigern snarled.

  “We do appreciate it. If I can help in any way, I’m at your service.”

  “Thank you,” said Kedrigern bitterly.

  “We’re in this together, after all. Must stand shoulder to shoulder at this time of trial. Do our bit. Put aside personal differences. Think of the greater good.”

  Only by a heroic effort did Kedrigern refrain from throwing himself on Axpad, seizing him in a throttling grip, and howling “Shut up, you idiot! Shut up!” He bit his lip, nodded, and was silent.

  “Any assistance I can give, Kedrigern. You need only ask,” Axpad went on.

  “My books,” Kedrigern said.

  “Certainly. What about them?”

  “They’re a mess. You can help me get them in order, so I can research this thing properly.”

  “Happy to be of service. I don’t mean to pry, but this does puzzle me. Is something wrong with Eleanor of the Brazen Head? As I recall, she used to do your cataloguing, and she was quite efficient.”

  “I had to let Eleanor go. She got involved with a poltergeist.” Kedrigern was silent for a moment, then said, “Too bad. She might have been able to catch a glimpse of Quintrindus.”

  “Is there any possibility of summoning her back?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  Kedrigern refilled Axpad’s goblet and his own. When he turned to Princess, she shook her head, rose, delicately covered a yawn, and with a kiss for her husband and a wave of the hand for her guest, silently took her leave of the men.

  “A lovely woman, your wife. Quiet, too,” said Axpad.

  “Yes. Princess isn’t one for small talk.”

  They sipped the excellent wine, gazed pensively into the fire, and passed the time in companionable silence. Kedrigern began to melow. Axpad was a decent sort, all things considered. The rest of the guild were good fellows, just a bit too easily impressed by flashy mountebanks. And when all is said and done, a man must stick up for his friends and his profession. Especially against alchemists.

  “Did Quintrindus leave any clothing behind?” he asked abruptly. “If Spot could get a scent, he might be able to track him.”

  “No. All he left was the note.”

  “That would do.”

  Axpad shook his head. “We tore it to shreds and burned the pieces.”

  Again they drank in silence. This time it was Axpad who made a suggestion. “I’ve heard of a miraculous crystal ball that allows one to see distant people and places. Perhaps we could obtain it…”

  “I don’t work with miraculous crystal objects of any kind,” said Kedrigern flatly.

  They took up their goblets, which by now were nearly empty. Kedrigern refilled them, and they imbibed of Vosconu’s best once again. The next thing Kedrigern was aware of was coming suddenly awake to the sound of snoring. Axpad was sunk deep in his chair, mouth gaping wide, making sounds like a man drowning in thick syrup.

  There was no point in trying to rouse him. Being a wizard, inured to the rigors of the road, Axpad could sleep as comfortably in the chair as anywhere. Kedrigern rose stiffly, stretched, yawned profoundly, and shuffled to Axpad’s side. He raised his guest’s feet and rested them on a cushioned stool, then covered him with a blanket. And then to bed.

  After an early breakfast, the two wizards withdrew to Kedrigern’s workroom to begin putting his library in proper order. It was a slow business, for neither of them could take up a book without leafing through it, or leaf through a book without pausing to read an interesting passage that caught his eye, or read an interesting passage without sitting down in the nearest cleared space and reading on until forcibly interrupted. And since each was engrossed in the contents of the book at hand, the interruptions were few. By the end of the first day they had organized eleven books into three neat stacks, and confronted the necessity for more speed and less browsing.

  On the second day they made heroic progress, and by the third morning they were halfway through their task.

  Kedrigern’s workroom began to approach something like order, and he and Axpad paused to admire their work.

  “You have a lot of books that I haven’t seen in other wizards’ libraries,” Axpad said.

  “You never know what’s going to come in handy,” Kedrigern replied.

  “But histories? Memoirs? Jest books?? Come, now.”

  “Well, the jest books are strictly to help me relax, but the others… this one, for instance,” said Kedrigern, taking up a fat volume that chanced to be near at hand and opening it at random. “They’re full of odd bits of information. Take this anecdote about Zluc the Decisive, for example,” he said, propping the book up before him and reading aloud. ‘”But the oxen of the kingdom, which for greatness of body and sweetness of flesh were without equal in the world, did then fall prey to a strange rot. Whether from drinking of hurtful waters or grazing in unwholesome fields or from the machinations of wicked men I know not, they began to lose their appetite and to walk with halting gait, as if lame, and soon to die and give forth a great stink. Which when Zluc learned, he gave order that all infected cattle were to be put to death forthwith, and buried in quicklime in a far…’” Kedrigern looked up with a sudden wild grin and began to laugh and clap his hands. “Do you hear that? Wonderful! It’s wonderful!”

  Axpad gaped at him in utter bewilderment. “Is that a jest, Kedrigern? If it is, you’ll have to explain it. I don’t get the point.”

  Kedrigern bounced up and said, “It’s a jest on a picky client of mine, Axpad. It’s an example of chance working at her lovable, unpredictable best. It’s exactly what I was
talking about—you simply never know when one of these books will come in handy.”

  “No,” said Axpad, befuddled.

  “Let’s have lunch. It’s a propitious time for lunch. A marvelous time for lunch!” Kedrigern said exuberantly, leading his guest from the workroom with a sprightly step.

  Princess joined them for lunch. She remained silent, communicating by means of dazzling smiles and graceful gestures and completely captivating Axpad. He replied in monosyllables to Kedrigern’s cheery flow of anecdotes, but his eyes remained on Princess. As they put down their napkins at the end of the meal, a knock sounded at the door.

  “Yah!” Spot cried from the kitchen.

  “Never mind, Spot. I’ll get it,” said Kedrigern, rising. Smiling, he told Princess and Axpad, “I have an odd feeling that I know who it is.”

  Axpad looked blankly at Princess, who shrugged and shook her head. Kedrigern’s voice boomed from the hall in merry greeting, and he entered with his arm draped over the shoulder of a snow-covered, red-cheeked, sniffling youth, whom he led to a bench by the fire.

  “You sit right there and have a good warm, my boy, while I read your master’s message,” he said. Returning to the table, he seated himself, and with elaborate care, opened the seal and perused the contents. Here he chuckled, there he frowned; he clucked disapprovingly at some passages, nodded at others, and several times muttered, “Oh dear. Temper, temper.” At last he refolded it, tucked it in his tunic, and said, “It’s from Vosconu, my dear. His cattle are still doing poorly. Well, I must correct that forthwith, as Zluc the Decisive would say. Will you excuse me while I write a reply?”

  He left the room, returning in a short time with a packet which he gave to the messenger. “Just tell your master to follow my instructions to the letter, and the murrain will be lifted from his herds. He must do exactly as I’ve set down. I’ll attend to all the necessary enchantment at this end. You’re welcome to sit by the fire until you’re ready to leave, my boy.”