The Price of Magic

by Wesley Allison

  “No fair using your wizard tricks on me,” said Abby, with a pout.

  “I was right?” he laughed. “I wasn’t using wizard tricks. I was just guessing. Honest.”

  “You must think I’m very dull,” said Abby, crossing her arms.

  “No, no, not at all. I think you’re something special. I know what I know because I’ve paid attention… because, as I said, I’m fond of you.”

  “If I’m such an open book, then you can just tell me about you. I don’t know any of those things about you. What’s your favorite color?”

  “I don’t have a favorite color. I like them all… except for orange maybe… although I like oranges. I guess they really are the color they should be. So there you go. I like all colors.”

  “Here we are,” said the waiter, setting plates in front of them. “A salad of select sun-dried vegetables and Mirsannan cheeses.”

  “Do you suppose he’s trying out experiments on us,” said Peter, looking dubiously at his plate, “or is he trying to clear out his pantry?”

  “I believe I like it,” said Abby, after taking a bite. “I wouldn’t have thought to pair them together. The chef is very daring. Don’t you think?”

  “It’s the dressing that makes it. Lemon juice and… olive oil, I suppose.”

  “Back to business,” she said. “What is your favorite flower?”

  “I’ll say roses. I don’t know a lot about flowers, but I do like roses. And before you ask: lemon tarts, parlor games, anything not written by Phoebus Dodson, and passing my journeyman wizard test.”

  The waiter stopped by the table, poured more wine, and then was gone.

  “You didn’t mention your greatest embarrassment,” Abby said, in a teasing voice.

  Peter’s face turned dark.

  “That’s not something I like to talk about.”

  She leaned forward, her face suddenly serious.

  “You must tell me. If we are truly to be one, you must trust me with your secrets.”

  “My greatest embarrassment,” said Peter, in a barely audible voice, “is that I’m a bastard.”

  “And here we are!” said Aalwijn, suddenly beside the table along with two waiters carrying enormous covered platters.

  The salad plates were quickly removed, the platters were set down, and the cloches were lifted with a flourish. On each platter were four slices of lean meat, if the color and texture were any indication, beef rather than dinosaur. On one side of the meat was a reddish brown sauce, while on the other side was a yellow sauce. Fried, sliced zucchini completed the plate.

  “What is this?” asked Peter.

  “The chef is calling this Saxe-Lagerport-Drille, in honor of General Staff.”

  “Well, all right then.”

  Alwijn topped their wine glasses once again, and then he and his waiters disappeared.

  “This meat is very tender,” observed Peter, slicing off a piece.

  “I hope it’s good. I don’t eat beef very often. We usually eat iguanodon, though sometimes my mother buys a pork roast.” She took a bit of hers. “Mmm.”

  “I’ve heard it said that you just can’t get a bad meal from a Finkler’s establishment,” said the young wizard. “I’m beginning to believe it too.”

  “Now that they’ve left us to eat in peace, tell me about your parents.”

  “Must I?”

  “Only if you really are interested in wedding me. If you weren’t serious when you spoke to my father about it, then I’ll just drop the whole thing.”

  “All right. My father was Master Bassington… that is Wizard Smedley Bassington. He’s really sort of a legend among magic circles. He worked for the war department and in his younger days was tasked with destroying the dragons that plagued Brechalon. As you know, he’s Senta’s father too, though I gather he never found out that fact.”

  “But the two of you didn’t have the same mother.”

  “Of course not. Senta’s mother was the sorceress Zurfina. She constantly reminds me that I’m only her half-brother. At first, I was quite offended, but then I realized that she wasn’t trying to minimize the relationship between us, but was rather, trying to distance herself from our father. Apparently they didn’t get on all that well. But he was always fair with me.”

  “He knew he was your father?”

  “Yes. I heard him talking with my mother, just before he took me as an apprentice.”

  “Tell me about your mother,” said Abby.

  “She was just an ordinary woman. She worked as a maid in several Brech City hotels. Her name was Hannah Sallow. She was born in Brechalon, but her parents came from Freedonia. I’m not really sure why they decided to move.”

  “Probably because Freedonia was evil.”

  “Perhaps.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally Abby broke it.

  “You know my biggest embarrassment wasn’t a fallen pudding.”

  “No?”

  “No. When I was eleven years old, I went to a party at Sherree Glieberman’s house. I didn’t have anything nice, so I wore one of Gabby’s dresses. It was the first time I’d worn a bustle and I had absolutely no hips. Halfway through the party, I got up to get a drink of punch, and my bustle just slid right down.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes. It tangled up around my feet and I fell right on my face.”

  “How terrible,” said Peter.

  “It wouldn’t have been so bad, if Sherree hadn’t made such a big fuss about it and then reminded me of it every time we met for the next five years.”

  “Yes, you’re not the only one that thinks she’s a right witch.”

  “And yet, she was at your New Year’s party.”

  “It wasn’t my party. It was Senta’s. And Sherree is engaged to Senta’s cousin Maro.”

  “Yes,” said Abby. “Family makes hypocrites of all of us.”

  “Well, are we ready for dessert?” asked Alwijn, making yet another appearance.

  It hadn’t seemed to Peter that he had been gone all that long, but looking down to see that about two thirds of his plate was now empty convinced him that he had lost track of time.

  “Yes, I think we definitely want a pudding,” he told the restaurateur.

  “Maybe we could look at a dessert menu,” suggested Abby.

  “No, we want pudding,” said Peter.

  “Don’t worry,” said Alwijn, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

  Scant moments later, the waiter brought out two small puddings. They were brown, filled with raisins, topped with powdered sugar, and looked totally unremarkable.

  “I could have had pudding at home,” she said.

  “Try it,” said Peter. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

  Abigail took a small bite. “Not bad,” she pronounced. She spooned another bite into her mouth. Suddenly her eyes grew large. She leaned over and opened her mouth and out dropped a golden ring onto the tablecloth.

  “Kafira,” she said. “The bloody cook lost his ring.”

  “No,” said Peter, getting up and moving around the table.

  He picked up the ring with a napkin and wiped it off. Then he dropped to one knee beside her and held it up, so that a large diamond and two smaller gemstones were clearly visible.

  “Abigail Bassett, would you make me the happiest man in the world, by agreeing to marry me?”

  Tears overflowed Abby’s eyes as she clasped her hands to her breast.

  “Yes,” she squeaked. “Yes, I will.”

  He had to pull her left hand away from her body in order to get at her ring finger, but he slipped it on without too much trouble. Nearby diners applauded politely.

  “Kafira’s eyes! That diamond is so big I won’t be able to raise my hand!”

  “It’s two karats,” said Peter, “but I doubt it’s so big that it will cause you any undue pains.”

  “What are the little s
tones on the side?” asked Abby. “They look like little square cubes of steel.”

  “They’re hematite—the Bassington family gem.”

  “It’s lovely. It’s all that I could have ever hoped for. I thought when you didn’t propose on the twentieth, you might have decided to wait another month, or maybe changed your mind altogether. After all the twentieth is the traditional day to start new enterprises.”

  “We’ll just have to get married on the twentieth,” he said.

  A little while later, they climbed into the lizzie-pulled rickshaw and started for her home. Abigail looked up into his eyes and he leaned down and kissed her perfect lips. Then suddenly she had her hands in his lap, unfastening his trousers.

  “What… what… what are you doing?” he asked in an abnormally high voice.

  “I’m going to show you what wonderful wife you’re going to have.”

  “Oh, sweet Kafira,” he murmured when he felt her hot mouth.

  “I hope this is okay,” she said, pausing and looking up. “I’ve never done it before.”

  “No, me neither,” he gasped.

  It was strange and wonderful and exciting and unimaginable, and over in a disturbingly short amount of time. Abby finished refastening his clothes just as the lizzie came to a stop in front of her house.

  “There now. You go on home. You need your rest. I’ll go in and show off my lovely ring.”

  “Wait.” The young wizard pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her chin. “Are you okay?”

  “I feel wonderful,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve made the best bloody decision of my entire life.”

  * * * * *

  Peter skipped down the stairs the next morning and plopped down into his chair just as Cheery was sliding a plate full of bacon and eggs in front of his seat. Baxter was reading the paper while he sipped a cup of tea.

  “Where’s Sen?” asked Peter.

  “Rassy is getting her dressed. She should be down in a minute.” Baxter looked up. “How was your evening with Abigail?”

  “Marvelous,” said Peter, leaning forward. “She did this thing with her mouth.”

  “Gave you a bit of nosh, did she?”

  “There’s a name for it?”

  “We’re Brech,” said Baxter. “We have a word for everything. I’m surprised though. The girl seemed quite staid.”

  “Well, we’re engaged now,” replied Peter with a grin. “What’s in the news?”

  “War with the lizzies.”

  Peter almost choked on his tea.

  “You’re kidding. Right?”

  Baxter shook his head.

  “Some idiots got themselves taken prisoner by the lizzies in Yessonarah—prospectors apparently. They probably did something stupid, but people are up in arms. Mayor Luebking is calling for a rescue mission.”

  “What about the governor?”

  “She and Staff are calling for calm. They say we have a treaty with this lizzie city and they say it can all be worked out peaceably.”

  “Isn’t it Yessonarah where Senta knows the king?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Maybe you should volunteer to be a negotiator.”

  “Senta knows the king. I don’t. I don’t know any lizzies. More tea please, Rassy.”

  “Well, I’m sure Mrs. Government can handle it,” said Peter. “She runs this colony like a well-oiled clock.”

  An hour later, Peter was supervising the last of the Result Mechanism being loaded into the task lorry. He was about to climb into the cab when a lizzie handed him a note. It contained only two words—see Szoristru. After he had taken the enchanted metal to the foundry and watched it melted down, he paid off his workers and then headed to Lizzietown to meet the reptilian spymaster.

  “So what have you got for me,” he asked, once inside the dark interior of the lizzie lodging.

  “Hoonan use staahstiachtio.”

  “White opthalium? I figured he was a seer. That poison eats away at a man and leaves just a shell. You only have to look at him to see it. So he was here in Lizzietown to buy it, I take it? When?”

  “He not.”

  “Oh, bloody hell. Sembor uuthanum,” said Peter. “Speak your own language. I’ll understand you now.”

  “The man was using white opthalium, but he’s not now. None of the humans are coming to Lizzietown for it anymore.”

  “What do you mean? They’ve all stopped buying their drugs from you lot? They must have a new supplier—maybe a human.”

  “No. There is no other supplier. They’ve all stopped.”

  “They’ve all stopped their drug use?” wondered Peter, running a hand through his hair. “Now, that is quite odd. Anything else?”

  “He has a female.”

  “Oh? Have you seen her?

  “No. We do not know where she is.”

  “How do you know he has a woman, if you’ve never seen her,” wondered Peter.

  “He buys things that the human females want.”

  “All right. Keep watching him. Use a lizzie that knows humans and have him watch the house, because if any of you see her, I want a description.

  Chapter Thirteen: Bikindi

  “Ack!” said Senta, blowing water out of her nose.

  Szim rose to the surface of the little pool that was the lizzie bathtub and circled around her like an alligator.

  “No fair! How am I supposed to keep up without a tail?”

  Senta was not a strong swimmer even by human standards, having had little opportunity to swim, growing up first in a large city with few clean waterways, and then in a primordial land in which every body of water held frightful predators.

  The lizzie submerged briefly and then shot out of the water so quickly that she was able to land feet first on the stone edging. She reached down a clawed hand, and pulled the human female from the water.

  “Frogs swim very well, and they have no tail.”

  “Do I look like a frog to you?”

  The lizzie tilted her head, looking at the human with one eye.

  “Oh very funny.”

  “Come, I will paint you,” said Szim.

  A table in the corner of the room served as a sort of vanity for reptilians, and was stocked with pigments that the lizzies used to decorate their bodies. Two days earlier, Szim had convinced Senta to let her paint her body, and since then she had spent her time naked but for a bit of red, black, and yellow body paint. After all, she reasoned, there were no other humans within a hundred miles, and the lizzies could hardly tell the difference. There was no one to be scandalized and no one to accuse her of going native. Though Szim had tried several designs, she had at last settled on outlining or emphasizing the sigils already imprinted on the sorceress’s body. Senta had fourteen sigils, sort of magical tattoos, adorning her body. Up and down her front were twelve two-inch stars, while on her back were two images of Bessemer, one with open wings that covered both shoulder blades, and one of the young dragon curled up and sleeping in the small of her back. They were the result of creation and summoning magic.

  “Okay, my turn,” said Senta, when Szim was done.

  She used the same cups of paint to draw designs on the lizzie—red stars surrounded by yellow up and down her back and a large yellow happy face on her belly.

  “It is too much,” said Szim. “I’m not important enough to have so much paint.”

  “Nonsense. You’re the close personal friend of the most powerful sorceress in the world.” She stopped and looked around.

  “What?” wondered the lizzie.

  “Just checking to see if someone was going to pop up to contradict me. Oh well. Come on. Let’s go down and eat.”

  Szarine had finished setting the table and the food looked delicious. At Senta’s direction, the cuisine had improved greatly over the past week or so. Now boiled eggs and poached fish sat beside fruit salad and a mashed tuber that was almost a potato. The lizzie cook joined them at the table and the three of
them began passing the dishes and filling their plates.

  “What do you want to do today?” asked Szim. “I don’t think there is anything to show you in the entire complex that you haven’t already seen. Maybe we could climb the mountain.”

  “Hmm. Or maybe we could hunt down Khastla and torture him until he calls that stupid dragon home.”

  Both the lizzies rolled their eyes in shock.

  “You mustn’t say such things!” said Szim. “The god cannot be summoned!”

  “Don’t I know it, or he would be here already.”

  “Khastla says the god is asleep in Tsahloose,” said Szarine.

  “I’ve been waiting here an entire fortnight.”

  “Hissussisthiss used to sleep for months,” said Szim.

  “Bessemer’s not as big or old as Hissussisthiss was,” said Senta. “It hasn’t been that long since I used to dress him up in my doll’s clothes.”

  “You still have your little goddess,” Szim pointed out.

  “Yes, I do.” Senta frowned. “You know, I think it’s been four days since I saw her. She’s never been away from me for more than two before. I should scry her and see what trouble she’s into.”

  “After that, we can go mountain climbing,” said Szim.

  When she had finished eating, Senta left the two lizzies, and climbed the stairs to the bedchamber. Along the way, she stopped and picked up a washbowl from the bathroom and filled it with water. Once upstairs, she placed the bowl and the floor and sat down cross-legged in front of it. The magical art of scrying, observing something or someone from across time and space, wasn’t something that Senta specialized in, but it was simple enough, as divination magic went.

  “Uuthanum,” she said, but nothing happened.

  “Uuthanum,” she said again.

  The water remained transparent and completely unremarkable.

  “Uuthanum eetarri.” She touched her finger to the water, and still nothing.

  “Kafira’s tits!” Senta growled. It had been a long time since anything had foiled her magic.

  Getting her handbag, she reached into it and pulled out a piece of chalk. On the solid stone floor, she drew a large circle and inside of that, a pentagram. Then she drew arcane symbols all around its circumference. Placing the bowl of water in the center of the circle, she sat down next to it once again.