The Mammoth Book of New Comic Fantasy

by Mike Ashley

  Kedrigern sprang forward an instant too late. Princess swept up the crystal of Caracodissa in both hands and raised it over her head. With a furious “Peererb,” that drowned Kedrigern’s cry of horror, she hurled it with all her might to the stone floor.

  From the wreckage rose a myriad motes of golden light. They merged, and danced together in a glimmering spiral, and then, with a tinkle of crystalline laughter, the spirit of the crystal of Caracodissa floated out a crack in the shutters and vanished into the light of day, free at last.

  “Princess!” Kedrigern cried, dashing to her side.

  She flew to his arms, and he clasped her tightly, to still her trembling and conceal his own. “It’s all over, my dear,” he said gently. “The spirit of the crystal was obviously determined not to be helpful. Malignant lot, those imprisoned spirits. I should have known. We’re well rid of it. I promise you. I’ll have you talking again as soon as I possibly can. I’ll leave no spell unwoven until you’re speaking as sweetly as ever. But we’ve had enough magic for one day, and enough talk of magic. We’ve earned a holiday, I think. Let’s have Spot make up a picnic. What do you say to that?”

  “Brereep,” she said.

  II

  Outside the breakfast nook the birds were singing merrily. The morning was sunny, breakfast was delicious, Princess was looking her loveliest, and the spells were going well.

  Kedrigern finished his third muffin and looked upon the world with a benign eye and a full belly. A single muffin remained on the dish. On an impulse, he swept up the crumbs from the tabletop, dropped them on the dish beside the muffin, and rose, saying, “My dear, if you don’t want this muffin . . .”

  “I couldn’t eat another bite, Keddie. You take it,” said Princess; not a particularly memorable utterance, but to Kedrigern’s ears celestial music. After repeated spelling and despelling, enchantment and disenchantment, dashed hopes and embarrassments, she was finally speaking in her own sweet voice, thanks to his own efforts and the timely assistance of a Cymric bard.

  “I’m quite full, too. I thought I’d bring it outside and feed the birds.”

  “A lovely idea,” Princess said. “I’ll come, too.”

  Birds were here and there about the dooryard, hopping, chirping, pecking, darting glances from side to side, going about their avian affairs. As the first crumbs hit the ground, the birds fluttered off cautiously, then returned and began to eat.

  “Pretty things, birds,” the wizard observed.

  “Very. And such skilful fliers,” said his wife.

  “You’re very good yourself, my dear.”

  Princess looked away modestly. “Thank you.”

  As Kedrigern dispensed the last handful of crumbs, a new bird alighted, with a faint but distinct clink, scattering the rest. It hopped toward the wizard, folded its wings, and bowed. This was uncommon behavior for a bird, and Kedrigern turned his full attention to the newcomer.

  The bird was about the size of a blue jay, but it was no blue jay. Its body was gold, its wings gold and silver, its tail silver and electrum. Its eyes were emeralds; crown, wingtips, and tail were studded with emeralds and rubies; its bill was pearl; its feet, niello. The little creature glittered like a treasure chest by torchlight.

  “Am I in the presence of Master Kedrigern, the famed wizard of Silent Thunder Mountain?” the bird inquired in a small, high, but very clear voice.

  “You are, my good bird. Is there anything I can do for you?” Kedrigern replied.

  The bird clicked rapidly several times, cocked its head, hopped closer, and said, “I have a message for Master Kedrigern from his old friend Aponthey. To wit: ‘Have come into possession of magic crystal with unusual properties. Not my line. Would appreciate your opinion. Come if you can. All best wishes, Aponthey.’”

  “Is that all?” the wizard asked.

  The bird swiveled its head around completely, gave a flirt of its tail, and said, “That is all. At the sound of the chirp, I will be ready to accept your reply whenever you wish to give it. Please do not hurry. I am a mechanical device and can wait indefinitely.”

  “Polite little fellow,” Princess observed.

  “Aponthey was always meticulous,” said Kedrigern.

  “Who’s Aponthey? You’ve never mentioned him.”

  “He’s a bright young lad, very talented. He’s an inventor, a clockmaker . . . a mechanical genius. He worked on the famous Iron Man of Rottingen.”

  “I’ve heard of it, but I never saw it.”

  “Nothing but a heap of rust now, I’m afraid. But that’s not Aponthey’s fault. He did the interior works. The local boys did the body, and they botched the job. Aponthey was always at his best with smaller things, anyway – like this bird.”

  “It’s exquisite,” Princess said, stooping for a closer look just as the little automaton chirped its readiness. “And so richly adorned! Seventeen jewels, at least.”

  “Aponthey did a very similar one for the emperor of Byzantium, all hammered gold and gold enameling. A couple of Grecian goldsmiths got all the credit, but it was Aponthey’s work. Marvelous thing, from what I’ve heard. It used to sit upon a golden bough, and sing of what is past, or passing, or to come. The lords and ladies of Byzantium loved it, but the emperor claimed that it kept him awake.”

  “Emperors are very hard to please.”

  “Aponthey took the bird back and replaced it with a dozen mechanical ladybugs. They used to fly in formation and do tricks, very quietly. The emperor was pleased.”

  “How nice for Aponthey. And what are you going to do about his request?’’ Princess asked.

  “I really don’t know. I have no pressing work at the moment. But it would involve . . .” He paused and made a sour face, then forced out the hated word, “. . . travel.”

  “Is it far to Aponthey’s workshop?”

  “It’s far to everything, my dear. And it’s always uncomfortable going, and ugly and dusty and hot along the way, and dangerous and nasty, and disappointing when you finally get there, and twice as bad coming back.”

  “You sound as though you don’t want to go,” said Princess.

  “Actually, I do. It sounds as though it might be interesting. I haven’t had anything to do with magical crystal objects since our contretemps with the crystals of Caracodissa. You remember that, I’m sure.”

  “I certainly do,” said Princess grimly.

  “Tricky thing, magic crystals, but they can be useful. Good sources of information.”

  “I’d rather trust to gossip and hearsay,” Princess snapped.

  “Now it sounds as though you don’t want to go.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea? It’s a perfect season to travel. We can make it a little holiday.”

  “Ugh.”

  “You can gather nice fresh herbs along the way. We’ll pack up lovely snacks. It will be nice to see Aponthey again, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” Kedrigern said reluctantly.

  “And how far is it, really?”

  “About three days’ ride each way.”

  “That’s no distance at all! Tell the bird we’ll go.”

  With a resigned shrug, he said, “Very well, my dear. If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what you want, too, and we both know it.”

  Turning to the bird, Kedrigern extended his arm and said, “All right, bird, I’m ready to reply.” The tiny automaton unfurled its wings, ascended smoothly, and perched on the wizard’s left wrist.

  “Please speak directly into my beak, and do not get too close,” it said.

  Kedrigern raised his arm until the bird was at the level of his chin, about a forearm’s length away. “Is this good?” he asked.

  “Excellent. Please proceed,” said the bird, and opened its beak wide.

  Kedrigern looked into the gaping beak and suddenly felt very foolish, standing in his dooryard talking into a clockwork bird. But he pulled himself together, cleared his throat, and, in a voice only slightly strained, said, “He
llo, Aponthey. Are you listening? This is Kedrigern. I hope you’re well. It’s lovely here this morning.”

  “The crystal,” Princess whispered with an urgent gesture.

  “Ah yes, the crystal. About this crystal of yours, Aponthey. We’re coming to have a look at it. My wife and I, that is. We’ll leave tomorrow, and we should arrive in three days. Won’t stay long.”

  “Keddie, we can’t just pop in and run. What if he has a serious problem?”

  “All right, then. We won’t stay long unless there’s a serious problem. Good-bye, Aponthey. See you in a few days.”

  When Kedrigern finished, the bird closed its beak with a snap. Uttering a crisp. “Thank you,” it rose from the wizard’s wrist and circled the couple once, then headed northwest.

  “Well, what do we do now?” Kedrigern asked.

  “We pack,” said Princess, and, taking his hand, she led him into the house.

  Aponthey’s residence was an easy, pleasant ride of less than three days. The roads were dry, and free of travelers. The weather was neither too warm nor too chilly. Each night, Princess and Kedrigern made their camp in a field of wild-flowers and slept under the stars, lulled by breezes heavy with the sweet scents of summertime. In the mornings they augmented their simple breakfasts with fresh berries. So idyllic was the journey that Kedrigern could find no cause for complaint; he had to content himself with dire predictions of rain, cold, and brigandage upon their return. To lighten his mood, Princess broached the subject of their host.

  “What kind of house does Aponthey have?” she asked.

  “Nothing grand. It’s really just one big workshop. You might find it a bit messy, but it’s certain to be interesting. Clocks of every kind and shape and size, with figures that wave their arms and kick their feet and roll their eyes and cut capers . . . things that whiz and click and clank and tick and buzz . . . terrible uproar on the hour, when all the clocks do whatever they do all at once.”

  “We must ask for a quiet chamber.”

  “Aponthey probably doesn’t have one. Better to put something in our ears at night.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “A sprightly chap. Full of energy. Hops about like a flea, always doing a dozen things at once and planning two dozen more.”

  “He sounds exhausting.”

  “Well, most of his energy goes into his work. Still, he can be a very lively companion. Oh my, yes,” said the wizard, smiling nostalgically and shaking his head. “I think you’ll like him, my dear. A charming lad, really.”

  “How much farther is it to his house? You said three days, and this is our third day on the road.”

  “We should arrive at any moment. We have to pass through these woods first. Aponthey’s house is in the center of a large cleared area. He always liked to have a lot of open space around, so he could get a good – wait a minute, now.”

  “Is something wrong?” Princess asked.

  Kedrigern pointed to a black column of stone that rose from the ground twice the height of a man. One side was smooth and polished, and on that surface, at about head height, was incised an elaborate A above a curious angular symbol.

  “This shouldn’t be here, in the middle of the woods. It’s the boundary marker of the clearing,” said the wizard.

  “Are you sure?” Princess asked.

  “I’m positive. I marked out that symbol for the stonecutter. It’s a warning to ogres. I watched this column being set in place.”

  “Maybe someone moved it.”

  Kedrigern’s only response was a thoughtful grunt. He tugged the medallion from inside his tunic and raised it to his eyes, sighting through the Aperture of True Vision. “There’s the house,” he announced. “And someone’s moved that, too. It’s surrounded by trees. I don’t like this.”

  The road was narrow and erratic here. They made their way slowly through the trees and to the dooryard before Kedrigern reined in and said, “This is the place. He’s made some alterations, but this is definitely Aponthey’s house. How on earth did it get here, though, in the middle of all these trees? I’ll go and knock at . . . ah, here’s a servant. We can ask this old fellow.”

  An aged man emerged with slow steps from the doorway. He stood blinking for a moment, leaning on his stick, gazing vacantly ahead, and then he noticed the two figures on horseback. He stared, but did not speak.

  “Good day to you, aged sir. Is Aponthey at home?” the wizard asked with a friendly salute.

  “He did not,” the old man snapped.

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Who?”

  “Aponthey.”

  “What do you want with Aponthey?”

  “Aponthey wants something with me. I’m Kedrigern, the wizard, and this is my wife, Princess. Aponthey asked me to come.”

  “Kedrigern? You’re Kedrigern? The wizard?” The old man asked in a high, piping voice. He began patting various parts of his person and eventually drew out a pair of thick spectacles and fumbled to put them on, dropping his stick in the process. When the spectacles were on, he shuffled closer to peer intently at his visitors, and at last wheezed happily. “Kedrigern! After all these years! You don’t look a day older, you scoundrel!”

  “Aponthey?” the wizard asked softly.

  The old man let out a cracked peal of laughter. “Didn’t recognize me, did you? You never did have a memory for faces, not you. Spells, that’s all you remembered.”

  “Well, well . . . it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

  “Sixty years, almost,” said the old man with relish. “I bet you don’t remember the last –”

  “I do, I do! It was at my tower. You and Fraigus and some of the others gave me a surprise party for my 110th birthday. It went on for days.”

  “They don’t have parties like that anymore,” said Aponthey. “Good thing, too.” He squinted at Princess and said, “Who’s she?”

  “Aponthey, I’d like you to meet my wife,” Kedrigern said. At his words, Princess tossed off her riding cloak, gave a little preliminary flutter of her gauzy wings, and then rose slowly from the saddle to come to ground at her husband’s side.

  “She flies,” Aponthey said in a hushed voice. “She has little wings, and she flies! That’s beautiful work. Who made her?”

  “Nobody made her. She’s real. She’s my wife.”

  “Real?”

  “So pleased to meet you, Aponthey. I’ve heard ever so much about you,” said Princess sweetly, extending her hand.

  “You’re real. And you fly,” he said softly, awed.

  “They’re magic wings, but they’re permanent. Very strong, and very handy,” Princess said with a smile and a quick flutter of her wings.

  “Where’d you get them?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, tell me over dinner,” said Aponthey. To Kedrigern, he said, “You’ll have a lot to tell me, too. Good to see you, old scout. Glad you dropped by. Whatever brought you here?”

  “You asked me to come. Something about a crystal.”

  “Crystal?”

  “A crystal with unusual properties,” Kedrigern prompted.

  “Oh, that crystal! Remind me to show you the crystal before you leave. Interesting thing. I was going to send for a wizard I know, and ask him to. . . .” Aponthey stopped, thought for a moment, then said, “I did. That’s why you’re here.”

  “It is. You sent a bird with a message.”

  “Little gold-and-silver bird with a pearl beak?”

  “That’s the bird.”

  “His name is Skibreen. Faithful messenger, but absolutely no sense of direction. He’ll probably show up in a month or two. Where’s my stick? I had a stick,” Aponthey said peevishly.

  Kedrigern picked up the stick and placed it in his hand. Aponthey took it, studied it critically, said, “Well, come in,” and started into the house.

  “Bright young lad, Aponthey,” Princess said under her voice, smiling innocently. “A sprightly chap, too.”

&nb
sp; “It’s been only sixty years, my dear. Not even sixty, in fact. I keep forgetting what a long time that is for people who aren’t wizards.”

  “It’s a long time for trees, too. They grow into forests.”

  “I know, I know. We got here, didn’t we?”

  “I just want you to keep alert. Your friend’s memory is failing, and you’ll have to ask very precise questions if you expect to help him out with his crystal.”

  “Aponthey’s memory hasn’t failed. He was always absentminded. Kept a good kitchen, though, even in those days. We should have an excellent dinner,” said Kedrigern, taking her arm.

  They did. The food was superb, the preparation masterful, the service punctilious. Three lovely ladies, all of pale gold and ivory, with emerald eyes and coral lips and dresses of pale blue enameled silver covered with tiny white flowers, brought dish after dish from the kitchen, placed them on the sideboard, and curtsied daintily to the guests. Three bronze footmen with beryl eyes and colorful livery of black, red, and green enameling served the meal, moving on smooth feet with no more sound than a barely audible ticking from their inner works.

  When the last dish was removed, Kedrigern breathed a soft sigh of repletion and said, “A feast, Aponthey. A meal to be proud of. My compliments to your cook.”

  “I’ll bring him in, so you can compliment him yourself. Old Collindor loves praise, but I don’t have many visitors these days,” Aponthey said, taking up a little crystal bell that stood by his hand. He shook it, but it made no sound.

  A creature looking something like a pair of copper caldrons joined by a large spring glided into the room on silent casters. Eight flexible arms extended from the upper caldron. Two of them held whisks, one a spoon, two others forks, and one a towel. Raising its two remaining arms, the creature said in a deep, rumbling voice, “You summoned me, Master?”

  “Yes, I did. My guests want to compliment you,” said Aponthey, gesturing to Princess and Kedrigern.

  “The roast was done to perfection,” said Kedrigern.

  “And the vegetables were the best I’ve ever tasted,” Princess added.