The Mammoth Book of New Comic Fantasy

by Mike Ashley

  “The bread was delicious.”

  “The trifle was a masterpiece.”

  “You are too kind,” rumbled Collindor with a flourish of his two unoccupied appendages and a subdued motion of all the rest. “The credit rightly belongs to my beloved master.” Aponthey sipped his wine and beamed. Collindor went on, “But the sauce for the trifle is of my own devising.”

  “That will be all, Collindor. Back to your kitchen,” Aponthey ordered.

  “As my master commands,” said the creature, rolling soundlessly from the room.

  “Did you make that?” Princess asked.

  “Had to. Clients used to come here all the time, and they expected a decent meal. Collindor can come up with a delicious dinner for twelve on an hour’s notice. Keeps the kitchen spotless, too.”

  “What a wonderful invention!”

  Aponthey frowned. “Collindor has his drawbacks, Princess. First year I had him, I gained sixty-one pounds. Had to redesign him to make him go easier on sauces, and once I started redesigning, I decided I’d make him completely functional instead of sacrificing utility for appearance. He’s the best cook I ever had, and a great help around the house. Winds up all the others, and winds himself, too. Great load off my mind, I can tell you.”

  “The perfect servant,” Princess said admiringly.

  “Not perfect. He still likes to experiment with new recipes.”

  “All good cooks experiment.”

  “They don’t put ants and gravel and mainsprings and glue over stewed figs,” Aponthey said angrily.

  “As a rule, no. One must be precise in instructing servants,” Kedrigern said. “We have a young troll-of-all work. Spot is strong, conscientious, and absolutely reliable, but it requires careful instruction. I recall once suggesting that it come up with something different for dinner, and it –”

  “Keddie, please!” Princess interjected with a queasy expression. “Not after eating.”

  “Sorry, dear.”

  “Enough talk about servants. What’s this crystal you mentioned? It sounds interesting,” Aponthey said.

  “It’s your crystal. You asked me to come and take a look at it,” Kedrigern replied.

  Aponthey looked bewildered. “I did! Then it must be around here someplace. Maybe up in the . . . no, not there. Out by the old . . .? No.” He frowned, mumbled to himself, then said, “Collindor will know. I’ll ring for him.” He picked up the little crystal bell once more. As he rang it, his face lit up and he cried, “Here it is, Kedrigern! It’s this crystal bell! Here, take it. Try to ring it. Go ahead, try.”

  Kedrigern took the handle of the bell between thumb and two fingers and shook it gently. It made no sound whatsoever. He and Princess exchanged a glance. She shrugged. He shook the bell again, more vigorously. Still no sound. Gripping the handle as one would a poker, he gave it three powerful shakes. Not a tinkle was heard.

  “I don’t understand. There’s a clapper, and it hits the side of the bell. Is it enchanted?” Kedrigern asked.

  Aponthey shook his head and turned up his palms in a gesture emblematic of helpless perplexity. “I don’t know about those things. That’s why I asked you here, I guess. I did ask you, didn’t I?”

  “You definitely did. You mentioned ‘unusual properties.’ What did you mean?”

  Bewilderment again settled on Aponthey’s features. “Well, it doesn’t ring,” he said at last. “That’s unusual, for a bell. Bells generally ring.”

  “Where’s Collindor?” Princess asked. “He came when Aponthey shook the bell before, but he didn’t come this time.”

  “Oh, that’s because I was thinking of him then, and Kedrigern wasn’t thinking of him just now. That’s how the bell works. I guess that’s another unusual property.”

  “I would say so.” Kedrigern held up the crystal bell so that the candlelight shone through its facets. He took out his medallion and examined the bell through the Aperture of True Vision, and cried, “Aha!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Aponthey asked with a guarded look.

  “Something’s caught in this bell,” Kedrigern said, keeping his eyes fixed on the object in question.

  “Is that all? I’ll have Collindor wash it off.” Aponthey gave a subdued, self-conscious laugh, and said, “I thought it was some kind of magic, and all along it was a piece of food. Well, the old eyes aren’t –”

  “It’s not food. You’ve got a spirit trapped in here.”

  “I do? Mighty small spirit.”

  “Size means nothing to a spirit,” Kedrigern said distantly, turning the little crystal bell over in his hands. He set it on the table before him and, without moving his eyes from it, said, “Would you mind keeping absolutely quiet and not moving? I’d like to speak to this spirit.”

  Princess and Aponthey both nodded. Kedrigern pulled a thread from his tunic, tied a loop around the handle of the bell, and suspended it from a spoon, which he supported on two empty goblets. The bell now hung free. He spoke a phrase in an unintelligible tongue, and the bell began to vibrate in utter silence, and then slowly stilled. A shimmer of tiny points of light crept downward, from crown to waist, and congealed in a glowing golden band around the lip.

  In a soft, solemn voice, Kedrigern said, “Spirit in the bell, do you hear and understand me? Tinkle once for yes, twice for no.”

  A single brittle tinkle sounded in the room. Kedrigern glanced at Princess and winked before going on with the next question.

  “Are you a prisoner in the bell?”

  Tinkle.

  “Have you been a prisoner for long, lonely ages?”

  Two emphatic tinkles.

  “You haven’t? A recent entrapment. Less than a century?”

  Tinkle.

  “Less than twenty years?”

  Tinkle.

  “Less than five?”

  An excited tinkle that set the spoon shaking.

  “This is a very recent spell. Odd that I’ve heard no mention . . . unless . . . Spirit in the bell, was this spell cast by someone you can identify?”

  Tinkle. Tinkle.

  “I think I see it now. Was it a trap waiting to capture anyone who came within its grasp?”

  Loud tinkle.

  “And do you wish to be released?”

  Very loud tinkle.

  “All right. Listen carefully, now. If I’m going to get you out of there, I’ll need some information, and this system of questioning is very slow.”

  Tinkle.

  “I’m glad you agree. I’m going to learn what I can from Aponthey, and then try to devise a faster method of inquiry. I’ll be back to you as soon as I have something. Are you comfortable?”

  Tinkle. Tinkle.

  “Sorry. I’ll put you on the table. Will that be better?”

  Tinkle.

  Kedrigern untied the thread and stood the little crystal bell on the table, safely distant from the edge. The glow around the lip broke into motes of golden light that swirled and slowly drifted upward, toward the crown, fading as they rose. Princess looked intently at the moving particles of light, frowning.

  “Ask that thing one more question,” she said.

  “If you wish, my dear,” Kedrigern replied, taking up the bell and refastening the string. “What’s the question?”

  “Ask it if it was once in the crystal of Caracodissa.”

  “My dear, do you really think . . .?”

  “I’d know those motes anywhere. That miserable little spirit had me speaking sideways, and backward, and upside down, and every which way but right, and if it thinks I’m going to stand idly by while you set it free, it has a big surprise coming. Go ahead, ask it,” said Princess, and her voice was as steel.

  “Well, spirit, what about it? Were you ever in the crystal of Caracodissa?” Kedrigern asked.

  There was a pause as the golden motes crept slowly downward to form a band of light at the lip of the bell, then a hesitant, muted tinkle.

  “And did you cause this lady to speak
in a variety of awkward and embarrassing ways?”

  A single tinkle, softer than before.

  “I see. That does change things, doesn’t it?”

  This time the tinkle was barely audible.

  “I don’t mean to be cruel, Keddie, but it laughed at me. It made me talk absurdly, and then it laughed when I set it free!” Princess said, her eyes flashing.

  “But it did make you speak, my dear.”

  “For a very brief time. In ridiculous ways.”

  “And you didn’t really mean to set it free. You smashed the crystal to bits, and the spirit escaped,” Kedrigern pointed out.

  “And good riddance,” said Princess icily.

  “Perhaps it wasn’t laughing at you. It might have given vent to a laugh of sheer joy at being released from its confinement.” The bell gave a single emphatic tinkle at these words, and Kedrigern concluded, “You see, my dear? No mockery was intended.”

  “It laughed.”

  “Wouldn’t you, under the circumstances?”

  “As a princess, I would consider the feelings of others, and suppress any expression of merriment until I got out of earshot of people I had caused to talk backward,” said Princess with hauteur.

  Kedrigern took her hands in his. “My dear, not everyone has the advantages of good breeding and polite upbringing. A young, adventurous spirit, on its own in the world, trapped in a magic crystal, is unlikely to learn good manners.”

  “Then it needs to be taught.”

  “Perhaps it’s learned from its ordeal. If I could speak to it more easily . . . Let’s see what Aponthey can tell us. The spirit may be truly sorry for what it did.”

  “Sorry it was caught again, that’s all. A pretty dumb class of spirit, I’d say.”

  “All the more reason to be charitable, my dear,” Kedrigern said. Princess responded with an uncharitable little sniff, and he turned to Aponthey. “Can you tell us anything more about the bell? Are there any other unusual properties that you recall?” When Aponthey only gestured helplessly and looked bewildered, the wizard asked, “How did you come into possession of the bell in the first place? Perhaps that has some bearing –”

  “Unusual properties! That’s what I meant! A whole barnful of them, and that little bell was in one of the chests, so I took it to use calling Collindor.”

  “A barnful of unusual properties?” Kedrigern asked.

  “Pemmeny’s old furniture – chests and dressers and sideboards and bedstead and tables and chairs and stools and mirrors and –”

  The bell tinkled wildly at Aponthey’s mention of mirrors, and continued to tinkle until Kedrigern admonished it to be silent so he could question his host further. “Are there five identical mirrors, by any chance?” he asked.

  “There might be. I never checked. Old Pemmeny, the merchant trader, used to buy up furniture all over the kingdom. I let him keep his things in my barn, and he let me use anything I wanted. Never had much use for mirrors.”

  “I’d like to see these unusual properties.”

  “Just a pile of old furniture, Kedrigern. Nothing to interest a wizard.”

  “Perhaps not, but I’d still like to see them.”

  “Anything you like. We can take a look after dinner.”

  “We just finished dinner.”

  “Oh. Well, then, let’s go look at this furniture. Mirrors, you say?”

  Again, the crystal bell burst into enthusiastic tinkling, and this time Kedrigern spoke to it. “Tell me truly, spirit: Have you been seeking the mirrors of Moggropple?”

  Tinkle.

  “And was it in the course of your search that you became trapped in this bell?”

  Tinkle.

  “Was it your intention to free Moggropple from the mirrors?”

  Tinkle.

  “Do you know how?”

  He was answered with two dull, dispirited tinkles.

  “Perhaps I can do something for both of you.” Turning to Princess, Kedrigern said, “Surely, my dear, you can have no more objection to my helping this spirit. It was on a mission of mercy when it was trapped in the bell.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Princess, throwing up her hands in frustration.

  “What’s going on, Kedrigern? Who’s Moggropple? Are you saying I have a bunch of magic mirrors in my barn? What’s it all got to do with this bell?” Aponthey demanded in cranky bewilderment.

  Kedrigern calmed him down. As they walked to the barn, he recounted the history of the unfortunate Moggropple, assisted in his narrative by sotto voce remarks of a sardonic nature from Princess.

  It all began with a magical object called the crystal of Caracodissa, a cube of unknown origin that held a vast array of helpful spells and counterspells. In order to gain access to a particular spell (or counterspell), one summoned up the indwelling spirit of the crystal, which then caused the desired spell (or counterspell) to appear on each of the six faces, though the summoner could see only the side that he or she was directly observing. But no two versions of a spell (or counterspell) were exactly alike, and only one was correct; reading the wrong one had unanticipated, and often undesirable, results.

  For some centuries, people accepted the odds at one in six. But a clever and resourceful witch named Moggropple thought of a way to beat those odds. She set the cube on a glass surface and surrounded it with mirrors, five in number, observing the sixth face herself, from below. When the spell she summoned made its appearance, she recited all six versions as rapidly as she could, one after another.

  Whether in her haste she recited some portions inaccurately, or whether the spirit in the crystal, the crystal itself, or the maker of the crystal was angered by her presumption, no one could say; but the next thing Moggropple knew, she was trapped in the mirrors. Five of her. And which was the real Moggropple, no one knew, anymore than they knew how to find out or how to release her.

  “I first heard of Moggropple when I was studying with Fraigus o’ the Murk. I’ve always wanted to see those mirrors,” Kedrigern concluded.

  “What became of the crystal?” Aponthey asked.

  “I dashed it to tiny pieces,” said Princess fiercely. “That’s how the spirit got free. Didn’t stay free for long, though, the silly thing.”

  “It must have a great weakness for crystal,” Kedrigern said.

  Aponthey’s barn was very large and very cluttered, and totally disorganized. Once his workshop, it had fallen into desuetude as he became increasingly more nearsighted and turned from life-sized clockwork figures to ever tinier creations, such as the precision marching band of ninety-six mechanical ants he was now making. To defray expenses, he had let out the barn as storage space, and paid little attention to what was stored there, and how. Consequently, it took nearly an hour of climbing over and around large, dusty objects before he cried out, “Here it is! Here’s the chest that held the bell.”

  “Then the mirrors must be nearby. Look for five mirrors,” Kedrigern said, lifting his lantern high.

  “Over here, Keddie!” Princess called minutes later. “Five mirrors, all in a row!”

  The men joined her and set their lanterns down to illuminate the gloomy corner of the barn in which the mirrors stood neatly lined up side by side. At first glance, they were identical: a bit higher and broader than a tall, husky man, they stood on elaborately carved and gilded stands. As Kedrigern inspected them more closely, he found a single distinguishing characteristic: each mirror had a Roman numeral, from I through V, engraved on a gilded medallion set into the stand. The mirrors were covered with heavy cloths, presumably to protect the glass, but conceivably to protect any onlookers. All faced in the same direction.

  “Did you look in the mirrors, my dear?” Kedrigern asked.

  “I just lifted the corner of the cloth, to make certain it was a mirror, then I let it fall back into place.”

  “Good. I’m not sure what we’re liable to see, and we mustn’t take chances.”

  “Tricky things, mirrors,” Aponthey said uneasily
.

  “These mirrors are trickier than most. Did Pemmeny tell you why he set them up in a row?”

  “No. But he told me not to move them. He was definite about it.”

  Kedrigern nodded. “Then we won’t move them. I imagine some kind of reaction takes place when they’re able to reflect one another.”

  “Better leave them alone altogether, if you ask me. Just let them be. You can’t trust mirrors,” Aponthey said.

  “It could be dangerous, Keddie,” Princess added.

  “It might well be. But when I think of Moggropple, trapped in a mirror for all this time . . . and that poor, foolish spirit losing its own freedom in an attempt to free her. . . . If we can help them, we must.”

  “You’re right, I suppose,” Princess murmured without any discernible enthusiasm.

  “You’re crazy, both of you. You were always too softhearted, Kedrigern,” Aponthey grumbled.

  “This isn’t softness; it’s professional courtesy.”

  “It all comes down to the same thing. Leave me out of it. I don’t want to get mixed up with a bunch of witches in mirrors. I’m no wizard. I’m an honest craftsman, retired and trying to spend my old age in peace and quiet. I just want to work on my mechanical ants.”

  “Why don’t you wait for us in the house, then?” Kedrigern suggested.

  “And miss everything? I’ll sit over here, by this sideboard, where I can get away quick if things turn bad. Go ahead, do your magic. I won’t interfere,” Aponthey said, shuffling to a narrow chair near an open lane of egress.

  “I’ll sit with Aponthey. We don’t want him to be frightened,” Princess whispered, and slipped off to join their host.

  Kedrigern licked his lips, which suddenly felt dry. He pushed up the sleeves of his tunic, looked at the mirrors one by one, and then gingerly lifted the dusty cover of mirror I and draped it over the back. He saw his own reflection and the reflection of the large cherry armoire behind him, and nothing more. He followed the same procedure with mirrors II through V, and in none of them did he see anything that might be the form of a witch.

  “Nothing magic about them. Just ordinary mirrors. Still, I don’t like them,” Aponthey muttered.

  Kedrigern drew out his medallion and looked into each mirror, in turn, through the Aperture of True Vision. He saw a vague shape stirring in each one, but it was so dim and fleeting that it might have been nothing more than the optical aftereffect of peering through the aperture, which he always found to be a strain. He returned the medallion to his tunic and stood with folded arms, looking thoughtfully at the mirrors.