"Yes," said Bertram plaintively, "but what's this about Uncle Broderick having designs on—"
"Oh all right, all right, all right," said Timaeus irritably. "Coming, coming. I don't suppose you have such a thing as a mackintosh about the place?"
Rain spattered off cobbles. Sidney was soaked through by the time she got to the door of Mistress Mabel's shop. The bat-shaped knob turned in her hand and the door opened. The cat arched its back and backed away from her, spitting madly.
"Beewzy!" shouted Mabel. The old woman was on her feet before the fire, cane raised as if to strike at the animal. "Where's yer manners?" The animal fled into the dimness of the shop.
"Don't blame her," said Sidney apologetically. "She smells a strange cat . . . It's only natural that she defend her home."
Mabel lowered the cane and rested her weight upon it. She did look tired, thought Sidney; it had not merely been the light of day that had made her seem that way. "I see," said Mabel thoughtfully. "Well, enow. Naow, let me see." She hobbled over to one of her shelves and selected an enormous leather-bound tome. With it under one arm, her free hand clutching her cane, she turned and began to hobble for the table at the center of the room—a slow process,burdened as she was by the volume's weight. "Here, let me," said Sidney, taking the book and placing it on the table.
"Thankee," said Mabel, flinging the book open with a crash. With authority, she spoke a Word. Between Mabel and the tome, a patch of air turned fuzzy; Sidney, peering over Mabel's shoulder, saw the letters of the page grow enormously in size, seen through the patch of air. Mabel's finger ran up and down the page, the patch of fuzzy space following. Sidney presumed that the spell was intended to allow the old witch's ailing eyes to read the small and rather crabbed letters of the tome.
Mabel turned several pages, ran a crooked finger down a line of text, then moved aside so that Sidney could read and said, "Here," tapping an entry and stifling a yawn.
" `Venenum Opinici,' " read Sidney aloud. " `We have it on ancient authority that the venom of the opinicus is of especial efficacy. The monster's poison sac lieth against the lower portion of the skull, hard by—' "
"Niver mind," said Mabel impatiently. "Gie me that." She took the book back, flipped a few pages, and said, "Read here."
Sidney cleared her throat and read once more. " `The earthly nature of the venom of the opinicus, which may be refined from the raw venenum through distillation and titration, is itself a poison, acting directly upon the black humors of the body. In small doses (a grain per stone), it induceth confusion, echolalia, thickness of speech, and black moods; at somewhat heavier doses, lassitude and depression, spasms, seizures, and severe speech impediment, sometimes such that the subject may be incapable of communication entirely. Above doses of a dozen grains per stone of body weight, it induces terrible seizures, often leading to death . . .' This is horrible."
"Aye," said Mabel heavily. "So it be."
"You found traces of venenum on the twist of paper I brought you?" Sidney asked.
"Aye," said Mabel.
Sidney reread the passage. "Is there anything to be done?" she asked.
Mabel played with the knob of her cane. "Mayhap," she said. "The venoom be quickly metabolized, ye ken. Barthord moost be remedicated every dee, or so."
"You figured out that it was the baron?" asked Sidney.
" 'Twere nar great trick," snapped Mabel. "See here, now. A sight increase in doosage, an' the owd man be dead. But, stop piesoning him, an' he'rr recoover in a dee or two. Och, mayhap he'rr niver be quite the man he were, but he'rr be in his oon right mind."
Sidney considered this for a moment. "I'm not sure we have a day or two," she said.
"Och, aye," sighed Mabel wearily. "Wherefore have I spent a seepress night, preparing a pootation." From under the table, she produced a plain stone jug that, by the words baked into the glaze, had once held the ginger beer of Jos. Eisdorfer, Brewer, Tsugash City, Lesser Dzorzia. "A sip or tee, and owd Barthord wirr recoover on the instant, at a cost in strength and pain."
"This is wonderful, Mistress," said Sidney. "It is, however, more than we had.bargained for. What do I owe you?"
"Nothing, rass," said Mabel roughly. "I sharr ask the owd man foor recompense."
"The baron?" asked Sidney.
"Aye," said Mabel, hobbling over to the wall, where a heavy shawl hung. She took it from the hook and flung it about her shoulders. "Sham we be off?"
Sidney blinked. "I suppose there's no reason not to dose the baron now," she said.
"Aye, aye, get a move on," said the old woman impatiently. She had taken a broom, and sat astraddle it now,the straw up toward her face and the shaft behind. She patted the shaft behind her, indicating that Sidney should take a seat.
"Is it wise to fly in such a storm?" asked Sidney; in truth, it was raging outside still, rain slashing down onto the cobblestone street, visible even through the grimy window.
"It'd take me a coon's age tee hobble oop the hill ersewise," said Mabel. "Coome naow, dammit."
So Sidney sat behind. Mabel shouted a Word, and the door flung open, crashing against the outside of the building. Another Word, and the three of them—the two women and the broom—slashed out through the door and up into space, barely missing the overhang of one of the buildings as they leapt into the sky.
Sidney clutched Mabel's ample waist for dear life, wondering how the nearsighted old witch could see in the raging storm.
"How are you going to find her?" asked Nick as they climbed the spiral stair.
"Sir Bertram," said Jasper. "Would you have anything belonging to Beatrice? A piece of clothing, perhaps the arrow she used today? Anything that might have come into contact—"
"I have a lock of her hair," said Bertram, removing a small packet from a pocket near his heart. "Would that do?"
Jasper halted in midair. Everyone else stopped climbing the stairway with him. "Lock of hair?" he said, flitting about the ribbon-tied auburn strands that Bertram displayed. "How did you get that?"
"Oh," said Bertram embarrassedly, tucking the envelope back into his jacket, "we were childhood sweethearts, you know."
"No, I didn't know," said Jasper severely. "When was this?"
"Well, you know, her father, Sir Benton of Bainbridge, was one of the few noblemen around. She and I played as children, and when I was sixteen, I was quite sweet on her."
"And then?"
"Well, and then, I went to university, you know," said Bertram. "And well, with one thing and another, you know . . ."
"O thou inconstant heart," said Jasper accusingly. "No wonder she thinks you're a twit."
"Did she really say that?"
Without another word, Jasper had begun flitting up the stairs again, and the others likewise resumed their climb.
"Is that," said Timaeus, "the same Sir Benton your uncle broke on the wheel?"
Bertram cleared his throat. "Afraid so," he said apologetically. "Apparently the old man rebelled against my father, his liege—"
"You weren't here?"
"No, I was at Durfalus University. Father had his stroke, and Uncle Broderick came from his own demesne, in the Lesser Dzorzia, to help out. Apparently—"
"And Benton, outraged at Broderick's usurpation, took arms to defend Baron Barthold, his liege, against the conniving younger brother—"
"You think so?" said Bertram thoughtfully. "That's not how Broderick tells the story."
"Bertram," said Timaeus, almost fondly. "You really are a twit, you know."
"I don't know," said Bertram. "You see, Uncle's been very kind to me. I don't know how I'd manage the barony without—"
"Of course he's been kind," said Timaeus irritably. "You're a useful figurehead."
"Yes, but—"
"Here we are," said Jasper cheerily. "Hand over the old lock, my boy."
"Here" was a watchtower; the windows gave onto what might have been a glorious view, if the wind and rain hadn't restricted visibility. Unlike much of the re
st of the castle, it had not been modernized; the windows were unglazed, and the cold stone floor was slick with water swept through the windows by the breeze. Thunder crashed outside as lightning blasted a pine tree, down there on the mountainside, into flinders. Kraki was leaning out a window, into the rain, letting the wind whip his hair and the water spatter against his skin, a fierce smile on his face. Timaeus shuddered and drew the mackintosh he'd been lent close about his body.
Somewhat reluctantly, Bertram handed over the lock of hair to Jasper. "What are you going to do with it?" he said.
"It's no good our blundering about the forest in search of Beatrice," Jasper pointed out. "Your uncle and Captain Blentz are already doing that, I imagine, and Beatrice, woodswise as she no doubt is, won't want to be found. We shall have to use magical means."
"But how—"
"I am a mage of the mental arts, dear boy," said Jasper condescendingly. "There aren't too many human minds out there in the forest; the region is lightly inhabited. Even so, picking out one would be difficult, without some token of its person; but I have a lock of her hair, which, by the principle of similarity, is tantamount to having Beatrice here, by our side. It shall be but the work of a moment to locate her."
And as Jasper spoke Words of power, the green light spiraled up, up over the heads of the others, into the air of the high tower chamber. Thunder crashed, and—
"I sense her," Jasper said. "To the north-northeast. Come, we shall have to act quickly; I can maintain the spell for a time, but keeping it active requires power."
"Right," said Timaeus, heading for the stairs. "We'll have to get our horses."
"No," said Bertram. "I think not."
Timaeus looked up in alarm. "What do you—"
"After all," said Bertram, "I am Magister Aeris." And he began to chant. Thunder flashed and power drew about him.
"A wizard, too?" said Nick. "I hadn't realized—"
"Why do you think he went to university?" said Timaeus irritably. But he looked rather worried.
"What's wrong?" said Nick.
"He's attempting a fly spell."
"Yes," said Nick. "That makes sense. So?"
Timaeus sighed. "Bertram did not exactly cover himself with scholastic glory," he said.
"He didn't take a first?" said Jasper.
"No," said Timaeus. "Far from it. But that's not the worst of it."
"No?" said Nick.
"No," said Timaeus. "Air mages have no power over earthly human flesh, but great power over the zephyrs of the air."
"So?"
"So their idea of a fly spell is a tornado."
"What?" said Nick, alarmed.
But before Timaeus could respond, ears popped as air pressure precipitously dropped. They were sucked forcibly out the tower window.
Timaeus flailed, his mackintosh flapping about him as he and the others began to plummet down, down through driving rain, the ramparts of the castle speeding upward toward them in the gray day, an instant of frozen terror—
Another gust of wind smashed them upward at the lastinstant, whipping them up and away, lofting them in a high curve out over the forest, out to the north-northeast.
Was that a witch on a broom, there in the aether? Whatever, it was of no account; they were soon far beyond the crone, whipping out over the wilderness, tumbling willynilly through the sky.
The gust failed. Again they plummeted toward the forest green, enormous firs like daggers stabbing upward into the sky as they fell—
Again the wind gusted, whipping them upward and on.
Timaeus moaned, soaked to the skin, his mackintosh no use in this wildness, stomach lurching, bile rising in his throat.
Firs whirled crazily below as they plunged downward, down, limbs snapping, branches scratching faces, until they smashed into the needle-covered forest floor.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by the whistle of the wind through the trees above, the crash of thunder, the steady drip of rain—and moans of pain.
Jasper, who had flown under his own power, circled down. "What ho," he said. "Bracing, what?"
Timaeus sat up, spitting out pine needles, wiping rotted leaves off his face. His cheeks were scratched, bits of twig were stuck in his beard, and he was soaked to the bone. "Bertram!" he roared. "By all the gods, I shall roast you until your eyeballs pop! You silly twit, if you ever do that to me again, I' ll—"
There was a moan of agony. Kraki was stooped over Bertram's.form. "Clench your fist, man," the barbarian said. "Breathe through the pain."
"What's wrong?" asked Nick.
"S-sorry, chaps," came a ragged voice. "I seem to have busted the old gam."
They all crowded around Bertram. He was white-faced; his right leg lay at an awkward angle. Nick crouched, took out a dirk, then pulled away Bertram's hose and ran a razor-sharp edge up the garment, splitting it open. There was a large bruise on the front of the leg, where the bone pressed against the skin. "Not a clean break," was Nick's opinion. "I don't dare try to set it without a healer."
"Dandy," said Timaeus. He hauled out his pipe and thumbed the bowl disconsolately; the weed was almost certainly too wet to light. "Well, perhaps I won't kill you, Bertram, old son; looks like you're having a go at it yourself."
"Someone must go for help," said Kraki.
They considered this. In the wilderness, halfway up some mountain, with no clear idea of their location, in the midst of a thunderstorm—the prospect of help seemed pretty remote.
"Ah," said Jasper. "Not to fear." And with that, the green spark zipped aloft, into the cover of the branches above.
"Jasper, dammit!" shouted Timaeus. "What are you going to—"
"Hold, an you value your life," said a voice. There was a thunk, and an arrow vibrated from the bole of a tree, not inches from Nick Pratchitt's head.
"Not again," complained Nick.
"Well," said Timaeus, "we were looking for trouble."
"I kill them now?" asked Kraki.
"Oh, I suppose not," said Timaeus.
"No more talk!" rang out that voice, and a slim, greenclad figure stepped out from behind a tree, holding a bow of yew.
"Hallo, Be," said Bertram weakly.
"Watch out!" shouted Sidney into the rain-swept air. The window, all glass and lead runners, loomed before them, flanked by the stone walls of Biddleburg Castle—
With a crash, they hurtled through the glass, tumbling to the stone floor.
"Damn arr moodern contrivances to herr an' goone!" spat Mabel. "Tha's where me tax mooney goes, instarring grass in every window in Bidderburg Castle, by arr the demons!"
Mistress Mabel had a ragged cut in her left hand, but it did not appear to be serious. Sidney herself felt uninjured, though she was soaking wet and chilled to the bone. Glass and strips of lead lay everywhere across the room-a bedroom, apparently untenanted at present. At least there were no trunks, bags, or personal accoutrements, though the bed was made and the room recently cleaned. Sidney had no idea where in the castle they might be.
"First thing is to find the others," said Sidney. "Broderick will be hard-pressed to stop us, with Timaeus and Kraki to lend a hand—"
"Brodick be oot in the woods, searching foor Beatrice," said Mabel. "Nar need to woory aboot him, foor the nonce." She was hobbling for the doorway.
"Pardon me, Mistress," said Sidney apologetically, "but perhaps we'd move faster if I carry you." And she swept the older woman up.
"How oondignified," said Mabel. "Hurry, hurry, hurry. Tha's the trooble with this new generation." But she clasped her arms about Sidney's neck, and suffered herself to be carried.
Mabel was heftier than she appeared; by the time Sidney reached the Great Hall, she was staggering. .She let Mabel gratefully down on a bench.
"Timaeus!" she shouted. "Jasper! Kraki! Halloo!"
There was no reply.
"Nick? Vincianus?"
Still no reply.
"Where the blazes can they be?" she demanded.
"No one else is here," said Sidney in annoyance. "What makes you think—"
"Nnnn-nnnn-nnn," said a voice from an armchair. It was at the far end of the enormous room, facing away from Sidney and Mabel and toward the fire. Mabel rose, and the two women walked toward it.
One Quest, Hold the Dragons Page 8
