But the crowds had not yet completely dissipated. Cyrus, a thin black form, knelt in prayer at the high altar, and at least a dozen people, mostly women, knelt beside him. Colored light from the stained glass windows washed over them. Among them were Celia and the Lady Maria.
Hildegarde stepped out from behind a pillar to meet us. “They’ve been like that for ages,” she muttered. “I would have thought they’d be stiff by now.”
The Lady Maria and several of the others, among whom I now recognized the mayor, were indeed shifting uncomfortably. But Celia, her head lowered and face very white, seemed transported beyond issues of physical comfort.
The bishop went down on his knees beside them. In a minute the townspeople seemed to become aware of him. Several lifted their heads and glanced toward each other uncomfortably. After a few more moments, a man rose and tiptoed quietly away. Joachim, his eyes closed, paid no attention. Two women followed, then another. Last of all the mayor rose, murmuring, “I will not forget,” and patting Cyrus’s shoulder as he turned to go. Soon Celia and the Lady Maria were the only people left kneeling beside the bishop and his newest seminary student.
Maria looked up, then got to her feet, shaking out her skirt, and came over to the front pew to sit next to me. “Our chaplain never expects us to kneel on the stones like that,” she said in a good-natured undertone, “or not us old ones anyway! But then a little suffering may be good for the soul, or so the priests tell us.”
Both Cyrus and Celia lifted their heads then. I met the Dog-Man’s eyes fleetingly before he looked away, then reached for words of the Hidden Language to try to find indications of evil around him. A blatant but silent spell, worked directly contrary to what the bishop would have allowed me to do if I asked him, revealed no supernatural power beyond that of the saints. Maybe, I thought in disappointment, folding my hands and trying not to look like a wizard, Cyrus had checked his demon at the cathedral door.
Celia did not give me a chance to probe any further. “Holy Father, I am so glad for this opportunity to see you,” she said to the bishop, her voice low and vibrant. “My life and my spiritual calling have long been confused, but now at last they are clear. I shall leave tomorrow for the Nunnery of Yurt, there to make my profession as a novice.”
Just as I had feared all day. The bones’ infection had now gotten to someone else—not to Theodora, but to Celia. If Cyrus was responsible for the warriors—and the bones—then he had even more to answer for than perverting the people of Caelrhon. But I was also interested to notice that in those with a religious bent, like Celia and Joachim, this strange infection apparently made them want to throw away everything for quiet contemplation. Would the bones make another wizard as murderous as they made me? Perhaps, I told myself, dismissing the question, it was not good to ask too many questions about the differences between priests and wizards.
When I had spoken to Elerius on the telephone, he had reassured me that no one in Yurt had started demonstrating inexplicable behavior. While I waited, listening through the receiver to the distant sounds of the royal castle of Yurt and thinking I might hear Antonia’s voice, he had probed the bones again. A subtle, almost invisible spell, very unlike any school spell, had dissolved by itself while he was trying to find a way to neutralize it. That should mean, I tried to reassure myself, that Celia would be the last.
But in the meantime she had just announced, publicly and unequivocally, her intention to become a nun. “If that is your choice, my daughter,” said the bishop kindly, “and God has guided you in it, then of course I shall do all to assist you.”
“But, excuse me, Holy Father, she can’t!” cried Hildegarde. “Mother would kill her.”
“Christ said that those who would follow Him must forsake even father and mother,” put in Cyrus, “braving the cross for His sake.”
“You need her permission,” said Hildegarde, ignoring him and taking her sister by the shoulders. “You’re supposed to become duchess of Yurt. You can’t just throw it all over without even telling her!”
“We shall discuss this further in private,” said Celia in an icy tone that I myself would not have dreamed of arguing with. She dipped her head to the bishop—and to Cyrus?—and hurried down the nave, Hildegarde behind her.
The Lady Maria bounced up from the pew. “I should get over to the castle,” she said. “I brought the Princess Margareta with me, and she’s probably wondering what’s been happening all day. We got in first thing, you realize, and I knew something was up but that it would take a wise head to straighten it out, not the princess’s curls!” I had known the Lady Maria twenty-five years and had not yet once thought of her as having a wise head, but it was much too late to explain that to her. “So I’m afraid I’ve left the little princess sitting all by herself, when my plan had been to give her some amusement by taking her on this trip. I don’t think she ever had more than a school-girl’s infatuation for the king, of course, but after what’s occurred I thought it better to provide her with some change of scene.”
And she pranced out, leaving me staring after her. What had occurred? I wanted to shout. Elerius had not said anything about Paul and the Lady Justinia having eloped, or whatever else they might have done, but then he probably would not see it in the same light as I would. I had needed to get back to Yurt for two days, now more than ever—if it weren’t for the matter of an acolyte working with a demon.
Cyrus, left alone now with Joachim and me, made as if to go, but the bishop did not give him a chance. “I need to talk to you, my son,” he said gently, “about the miraculous restoration of all the burned houses and businesses. Even the Bible does not record such events.”
“Compared to the Lord’s parting of the Red Sea,” said Cyrus, looking at me suspiciously, “the rebuilding of a few charred structures is trivial.”
“But you,” said Joachim thoughtfully, “are not Moses.”
“No,” said Cyrus promptly, “and that is why I am so profoundly grateful to the saints who have listened to my poor prayer.”
I bit my lip to keep from saying several things, mostly doubting and sarcastic. This was Joachim’s cathedral, and especially now that Cyrus was starting to act as if it was his instead, the bishop would not want the interference of a wizard. “Why,” he said, even more gently, “do you credit your own prayers, my son, rather than those of others?”
Cyrus looked up at him quickly, dark eyes shadowed. In his quiet answer there was a trace of something that I would have called smugness. “Because the saints told me so, Father.”
I couldn’t listen to him anymore. I walked halfway down the nave and leaned my forehead against a pillar. The only point on which I felt unsure was whether he was deliberately trying to mislead the bishop or whether he was deceived himself. He seemed horribly sure of himself, but was that because he did not even know that a demon was working beside him? Suppose the demon, who must be lurking somewhere in the city, waiting for him to emerge from the cathedral again, had deluded him into thinking that it was not a demon but a saint?
I turned my head to glance back toward the front pew where Joachim and Cyrus were talking. If he was now trying to deceive the bishop, then I would take him by the scruff of the neck with my strongest binding spells, regardless of what disrespect I might be doing the church, and drag him to the demonology experts at the school. (This of course assumed I would have the slightest success against someone who used supernatural power to oppose me—a point on which I did not want to dwell.)
But suppose, said a cold doubting voice in the back of my mind, a voice that remembered all the times over the years that my absolute convictions had been absolutely wrong, that the reason my best spells could now find no direct sign of evil about him was because there was nothing to find?
Wizardry could reveal nothing about the state of a man’s soul, and might not reveal a demon who was carefully hiding, but it should certainly indicate if someone was practicing black magic in my face. “Let me ask him something,” I
said brusquely, striding over to where the other two sat.
“Ask me no more questions about wizardry,” said Cyrus in a meek tone, his eyes lowered. “I already told you I have left all that behind.”
“But,” I said, clenching my fists so I wouldn’t grab him by the throat and shake him, “you yourself may not be working magic, Cyrus, but you’ve sold your soul to the devil!” The bishop went very stiff but did not interrupt—maybe he was too shocked to do so. Or maybe he was preparing himself to spring on me if I showed signs of trying to murder Cyrus as I had threatened to murder him. “Admit it!” I said, just below a shout. “You’re working with a demon!”
Echoes ran up and down the aisles, then for a long moment there was silence in the church, while I wondered if the bishop would ever speak to me again. At this rate he might still decide to go become an apprentice hermit, just so that in leaving the affairs of the world he would never have to see another wizard.
Cyrus lifted his head, looking not at me but at Joachim. “I have not despaired of my soul or abandoned it to the powers of darkness,” he said, quietly but very firmly. This sounded like prevarication to me. “I can swear on whatever saints’ relics you like, Holy Father.”
Joachim rose abruptly, not looking at me either. “That will not be necessary. Forgive us, my son. I hope you realize that with a miracle this spectacular it is the duty of an officer of the Church to investigate it fully. And I’m sure you realize that you must acknowledge this miracle with abject humility of soul. You may return now to your studies and devotions.” He started rapidly down the nave, scarlet vestments flying behind him, and I almost had to run to keep up.
But the bishop slowed and turned his deep-set eyes on me as we reached the door. “Weren’t you saying, Daimbert,” he said coldly, “that you needed to get home to Yurt tonight?”
IV
After leaving a message at the little castle for the twins and the Lady Maria, saying I hoped to see them in a day or two back in Yurt, I flew homeward through the twilight, trying to cheer myself up by reminding myself that at last I would be back with Antonia again. It didn’t work.
“It’s just not fair,” I said as though I was presenting someone a logical argument—perhaps Theodora? “Joachim forgave me for trying to kill him. Why should he now be furious with me for being maybe just the tiniest bit harsh with one of his seminary students, when all I was trying to do was protect his cathedral? You’d think he wanted to have a demonic acolyte developing a cult following right under his nose.
“Well,” I continued, “I just don’t care! If Cyrus has sold his soul, that certainly doesn’t bother me. And since what he apparently wants in return for his soul is to be thought a holy miracle-worker, then there should be no danger to anyone else. And why should a wizard care if some priests are misled? They’re confused most of the time anyway.”
Whoever I was addressing had no good answers, except to point out that I seemed to be protesting quite a bit for someone who didn’t care at all. And I didn't even want to raise the point that an experienced wizard, one whom the masters of the school trusted to be able to deal with a demon, could not find one in spite of being convinced that it was there.
The drawbridge was up when I reached Yurt, just as dusk was darkening at last into night. I was pleased to be challenged immediately as I flew over the wall, although the knight excused himself when he recognized me.
Antonia would have been asleep for some time, I thought, heading toward the kitchens, remembering that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast with Theodora. There I found Gwennie, disconsolately eating leftover strawberry shortcake straight out of the serving bowl. There was still enough in it for at least four people.
The fires were banked for the night, and she ate by the flickering light of a single candle. I took the bowl from her and pulled it toward me. “Did anything interesting happen in Caelrhon?” she asked with complete indifference.
I didn’t answer, my mouth full of strawberries and whipped cream.
“It looks like the fine Lady Justinia is planning to stay all summer,” Gwennie said after a minute. At least, then, she and Paul had not eloped. “The stable boys tell me her elephant is eating like a dozen horses. I tried to find out, politely of course, how long she planned to stay in our best guest rooms, and she said she could not say until she had word from Xantium that things were safe there again.”
I made myself recall the situation here in Yurt. If I was completely wrong about Cyrus—and even if I was right—I was still responsible for defending both those who lived here and the lady who had been entrusted to my protection.
Gwennie sighed and played with her spoon. “Paul is teaching Justinia to ride a horse. Can you believe she’d never learned? She said at dinner today that she could captain a sailing ship, but what good will that do her in Yurt?”
“None,” I said, scraping the bowl.
Gwennie looked at me properly at last and started to smile even through her glum mood. “You’re very hungry, Wizard,” she said, with the recognition of the obvious which any good castle constable had to have, “or else you’re depressed. Or both.”
I didn’t ask which of these explanations accounted for her sitting by herself, polishing off the leftovers after the cook and the kitchen maids had all retired. She found me some cold meat and salad from dinner.
“Could you contact that mage in Xantium?” she asked with more of her accustomed energy, sitting across the table from me again while I ate. “It seems a shame for the lady to have to wait without any word from home.”
I wasn’t fooled by her concern for Justinia’s peace of mind, but it was a good idea. “I don’t think there are any telephones in Xantium, Gwendolyn,” I said thoughtfully. It was a different experience eating dinner at the kitchen table, in a room usually full of bustle and activity but now dark and quiet—and also different to have the dessert before the meat course. “Telephones work by western, not eastern magic. But I can try to find out tomorrow how the merchants in the great City manage to get important messages through to their representatives there.”
I rose and stretched. It seemed much more than two days since I had left. “Is Elerius still in my chambers? And is Antonia still in with you?”
“The wizard is still in your chambers,” said Gwennie in a neutral voice. “But,” with more animation, “your niece is in the Princess Margareta’s room—did you see her down in Caelrhon, by the way? The princess decided she wanted the little girl with her after she’d broken that precious doll of hers, and Antonia stayed when she left.”
I supposed wearily that a good wizard should protect those he served from their own folly as well as from undead creatures. Maybe it would be a relief to worry about whether the princess whom everyone (except of course Paul himself) expected the king to marry still liked playing with dolls rather than about whether a demon was loose in Caelrhon with Theodora.
“I’m glad you’re back, Wizard,” said Gwennie with almost her usual good spirits as we left the kitchens together. “If you’d let me eat all the strawberries by myself I probably would have gotten sick—and a castle can’t function with a sick constable!”
Elerius finally went home to his own kingdom in the morning, reassuring me that there were no more latent spells in the bones and no undead warriors within a three kingdom radius. “This was an unexpected but most enjoyable opportunity to meet your friends in Yurt,” he said before he left, stroking his black beard and fixing me with his tawny eyes. “It was an especial pleasure to meet your niece.” Did he put an extra emphasis on that last word? “What a charming little girl, and intelligent too. I am happy to do you a favor any time, Daimbert, so be sure to call if any more problems arise. After all,” with a smile, “I may want your help some day.”
The twins, the Lady Maria, and Princess Margareta all returned to Yurt in the afternoon, accompanied by the knights Maria had taken with her, so Hildegarde ended up being escorted like a lady across the countryside after all, rather than
getting to be a knight herself.
Celia closeted herself at once with the royal chaplain, but Hildegarde came to my chambers to see Antonia. “Have you been practicing your riding while I was gone?” she asked, swinging the girl up over her head until she shrieked with delight. “Is it time to start you on your sword-play?”
“Will you mind too much if I don’t become a knight?” Antonia asked once she had her breath back, looking up at Hildegarde with a serious frown. “Because I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should be a wizard after all.”
When I entered my chambers the night before the rooms had nearly reeked with magic—as well as being scattered with enthusiastic if strangely-proportioned drawings of wizards. Although Elerius had said nothing about it, it was clear to me that he had been entertaining Antonia with flashy spells in my absence.
“That’s the way,” said Hildegarde approvingly. “If you’re going to learn magic, be a wizard. Don’t let anyone make you settle for being a witch.”
“My mother’s a witch,” said Antonia proudly.
Hildegarde started to say something and changed her mind. She looked at the girl thoughtfully a moment, then shrugged and turned to me.
“I haven’t been able to talk Celia out of it,” she said quietly. “By evening yesterday she’d lost that possessed look she had earlier—you must have seen it—but she said that now that she had announced to the bishop her intention to become a nun she had to take her vows. I must admit that miracle of Cyrus’s staggered me too, Wizard; I’d been on the bucket brigade, and I saw those buildings consumed. But I tried to remind Celia that she’d always wanted to be a priest instead of a nun—suggested she disguise herself as a man and go to some other seminary, even got so desperate as to offer to go in disguise as an acolyte myself and then come home and teach her what I’d learned!—but nothing would budge her.”
“When does she plan to take her vows?” I asked uneasily, thinking of the duchess’s wrath.
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