A Meddle of Wizards

by Alexandra Rushe

  Gertie raised her wizard stone. “If this doesn’t work, Raine, you’ll have to swim for it. Hide in the swamp until we find you.”

  Raine opened her mouth to inform Gertie that, on no account, would she put so much as a toe in the river. But Gertie’s wizard stone had begun to glow and Raine’s protest died on her lips as the quiet hum at the back of her mind swelled. A shaft of light shot from the stone in Gertie’s upraised paw and struck the mud dragon, sheering off its wings. Crippled, the goggin plunged into the river.

  The crew cheered and Braxx pounded his hand on the tiller. “Well, done. Oh, well done, Madam Troll. I’ll never say another unkind word about wizards, so help me, I won’t.”

  Mauric heft himself over the side of the boat and stood dripping mud and water on the deck. “No doubt you’ll save your curses for Finlars. Your cattle have scattered, and I fear we may never get them back.” He tossed Raine her sodden cloak. “Found this floating on the river. You may want it later.”

  “Never mind the horses. You saved my Lady from foundering,” Braxx said. “The beasties were nattered, what with the goggin and all, but I’ve no doubt they’ll come when you call. You’ve an uncanny way with ’em.” Removing his water-laden hat, he slapped it on his thigh. “In all my years on the river, I ain’t seen a mud goggin half so big. Good thing we had us a wizard.”

  “Don’t thank me yet, Captain.” Gertie raised a hairy arm. “This isn’t over.”

  The river churned and foamed, and the mud goggin rose from the depths, larger than before. The dragon was gone. A face formed in the spinning column, the features stretched and blurred.

  The watery lips parted. “Abandon the girl or die,” a voice thundered from the water spout.

  “You know me better than that, Glonoff,” Gertie said. “You won’t get her without a fight.”

  A tiny, jigging ball moved at the heart of the huge column of water.

  “What’s that?” Raine dropped the soggy cloak on the deck and went to stand next to Gertie.

  “The real mud goggin,” Gertie said, “the source of the destruction, greatly amplified by Glonoff’s magic, of course.”

  “Of course,” Raine muttered. “So, how do we stop it?”

  “We don’t do a damn thing,” Gertie growled. “I capture the water demon and send Glonoff packing.”

  She lifted her wizard stone once more. On impulse, Raine reached out and wrapped her hand around Gertie’s paw. It was like grabbing a live electrical wire. Energy coursed into Raine’s body until her nerves sang and her wet hair stood on end. The sensation of being connected to another being in such an intimate fashion was at once exhilarating and terrifying.

  The troll let out a stream of foul curses.

  Of all the rude, hen-witted, bumbling—Gertie raged inside Raine’s head. You never—and I mean never—grab another wizard’s stone. What you just did is a major breach of wizarding etiquette, not to mention any number of safety rules, but I will deal with you later.

  Calm down. I’m only trying to help.

  Did I ASK for your help?

  No, but—

  Not so much as a single lesson in wizardry, and you stick your nose where it don’t belong. Well, girlie, you’re in for it now.

  Raine felt a flicker of panic. Gertie was right. She was already finding it hard to focus. She batted feebly at the power surging through her, but it was like forcing a hamster through a drinking straw.

  Gertie took pity on her. No, gal. Like this. The troll formed an image in Raine’s mind, showing her how to relax and let the magic flow through her and out of the stone, instead of from her.

  Raine tried again, this time meeting with more success. Her skin tingled and her legs shook. There was a rush of warmth, and light streamed from Gertie’s upraised wizard stone. The beam hit the water spout, stopping it in mid-spin.

  “That’s the way of it. Get the tail out of the water,” Gertie said aloud, her voice hoarse with strain.

  Raine did not respond. The power surging through her was too great. She was going to fly apart.

  Gertie was breathing heavily. “Don’t let it touch the water, or it will regenerate.”

  The tip of the spout dipped lower, reaching for the river. Gritting her teeth, Raine concentrated on moving the funnel higher. It was like lifting an elephant with a rubber band. Her head pounded from the effort, and she felt like throwing up.

  “That’s right,” Gertie grunted. “Aim for the center.”

  Easier said than done. Raine’s arms trembled and she longed to release the wizard stone, but she couldn’t. She and Gertie had merged and her hand was glued to the stone. Slowly, the beam of light inched higher, piercing the heart of the twister. The face in the geyser folded in on itself and disappeared.

  “Hah,” Gertie said. “That’s got him on the run.”

  Raine was too tired to speak. Though it was cold and her clothes were wet, sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts.

  “Don’t quit on me now, gal,” Gertie growled. “We’re almost there. Mauric, be ready to catch it with the net.”

  “Catch what?” Mauric asked, but he was already running to obey. Snatching up a long-handled fishing net, he ran to the bow of the boat.

  Raine’s mind and body burned with fatigue. Had they been trying to reel in the mud goggin for minutes or hours? Slowly, she and Gertie pulled the funnel closer, though it wriggled like a marlin and twisted and writhed in their grasp. Drop by drop, they milked the water from the spout until it was no bigger than a dust devil. The last of the water evaporated with a loud sucking noise, and something dark and slimy dropped into Mauric’s waiting net. Raine let go of Gertie’s paw and sank to the deck, exhausted.

  “Meantempered little sprite, ain’t it?” Mauric held the net at arm’s length.

  “More fiend than sprite, I think,” said Gertie.

  Raine pushed onto her elbows to get a look at what they’d caught. “That’s what caused all the trouble? It’s the size of a squirrel.”

  A spiteful, rabid squirrel, maybe. The mud goggin was black, with glittering red eyes, a long snout, pointy ears, and a sharp little tail. It was hairless and slick as a lizard dipped in butter. Bellowing with rage, the goggin threw itself against the mesh.

  “Tro,” Mauric said, so startled that he nearly dropped the net. “The thing has a mouth like a war horn.”

  “Enough,” said Gertie, waving her stone at the goggin.

  A strip of red silk materialized. The band of cloth whipped around the goggin’s snout and tied itself in a neat bow. The mud goggin buzzed with fury and plucked at the binding with its tiny paws, but it would not budge.

  “Come here, Raine,” Gertie said. “You’ll want to see this.”

  Raine obediently pushed to her feet and staggered to the troll’s side.

  “See that shiny thread dangling over the water?” The troll pointed out a glowing wisp of confetti in the air. “That’s a spell line.”

  “So?” Raine said, too tired to care.

  “So, Glonoff has grown careless.” Gertie’s black lips curved in satisfaction. “That spell line is still linked to the Dark Wizard. I’m about to send him something to remember us by.”

  She motioned, and Mauric hurried over. Gertie reached in and plucked the wriggling goggin out of the net.

  “For goodness sake, don’t let it get away,” Raine begged in alarm. “We’ll be right back where we started.”

  “Relax, gal,” Gertie said. “I didn’t just fall off the peat wagon.”

  She muttered something in Trolk, rolled the furious little imp into a ball, reared back, and threw it. The mud goggin whizzed over the river with the speed and power of a fastball, and slammed into the glowing spell line. The line whipped around the goggin, and rolled up like a window shade. With an audible pop, the mud goggin disappeared.

  �
�It’s gone.” The net in Mauric’s hand clattered to the deck. “Where did it go?”

  “Back to Glonoff, with a timer spell attached.” Gertie showed her teeth. “Glonoff is notoriously vain. It’s common knowledge that he enjoys a daily soak in a perfumed bath. The sprite should liven things up the next time he’s in the tub, don’t you think? If we’re lucky, the mud goggin will do enough damage to keep the Dark Wizard busy for a few days.”

  Braxx stirred from his position at the helm and set Chaz down on the deck. “Run along, young ’un. There’s work to do.”

  Turning, he shouted a stream of orders at his shaken crew. The long process of cleanup had begun.

  Chapter 28

  Through the Spree

  After the encounter with the mud goggin, the Lady Gar was a mess. There was a hole in her side, her bilge was full of mud and water, the decks were ankle-deep in filth and dead fish, and captain, crew, and passengers were dirty and soaked to the bone. Moreover, a sizable portion of Braxx’s cargo was in the river, and they were stranded, crippled and helpless as a beached whale.

  The morning after the attack, an unnatural quiet settled over the swamp. Mauric took a skiff and went in search of the water horses. Worried and uneasy, Raine watched him glide away. Bree had left them, Tiny was gone, and now Mauric was going, too. What if he never came back? The river was dangerous. Draped in the silvery mists of dawn, the marsh had seemed mysterious and beautiful. But with the sun up and the fog gone, the bog sprawled around them like a moldering corpse. It was easy for Raine to imagine the twisted vegetation abandoning the banks, strangling the helpless warrior and the skiff in a tangle of vines.

  Raine set her dark thoughts aside, and went to find Gertie. The troll and Braxx were arguing over provisions, and the irascible old captain was flushed and angry.

  “A bit of bread and cheese will tide the men over just fine,” he said as Raine joined them.

  “There’s hard work ahead, and men can’t work without hot food in their bellies,” Gertie argued.

  “It’s a waste of good stores. At the rate you’re going, there’ll be nothing left to sell by the time we reach Gambollia.”

  “If we reach Gambollia. Are you going to let me feed the crew a proper meal, you cheese-paring old pirate, or are we going to sit here until Glonoff finds us?”

  Braxx threw up his hands in defeat. “Go on then. Give ’em what you like. I never seen such a one for mollycoddling a bunch of grown men. Their own mothers didn’t give ’em such tender care.”

  He turned and stomped away, muttering to himself.

  Days blended into one another, and the captain’s Lady was soon in first rate shape once more. The hull had been mended, the decks cleaned of mud and slime, and the cargo accounted for, but there was still no sign of Mauric. As the days passed, Raine grew increasingly worried. It became her habit, once her chores in the galley were done, to sit and watch for him.

  “Staring at the river won’t bring him back any faster,” Gertie told her.

  “Maybe,” Raine had said, not taking her gaze from the water, “but it won’t slow him down, either.”

  “Keep your vigil then, pet, if it makes you feel better.”

  Late in the afternoon of the seventh day, Raine finished her chores in the galley and took her customary place at the bow. The wind off the water was cold, and she was grateful to have her cloak once more. The Lady wasn’t the only victim of the goggin attack: it had taken days for her sodden cloak to dry, and Raine had been cold without it. Snuggling deeper into the folds of the garment, she settled down to wait. In the rays of the lowering sun, the river was a stream of fire, and the trees drooping along the bank shimmered in the golden light. The sun felt good on her face, and Raine’s eyes grew heavy. She’d been up since dawn, and she was sleepy. She jerked out of her half-doze and sat up. Was she imagining things, or had there been a flicker of movement on the water? Shielding her eyes against the glare of the setting sun, she saw a huge water horse round the bend. Her heart thumped with joy when she saw the figure astride the stallion.

  “Mauric.” Raine jumped to her feet and waved her arms. “Mauric’s back, and he’s got the horses.”

  The warrior held the water horse’s weedy mane in one hand. Behind him came the rest of the herd. He saw Raine and raised his hand in greeting.

  Braxx strode to the bow. “I knew he’d find ’em. High-strung critters, water horses, but the lad has a way with ’em. He could make a fortune on the river training and selling water horses, if he’d a mind to.”

  Mauric and the stallion swam up to the barge. The herd crowded about them, their shrill, bird-like cries shattering the quiet of the river.

  Gertie rolled to her feet and strode to the edge of the boat. “Good to see you, boy. We were beginning to think you’d gone on to Gambollia without us.”

  “Nay,” he said. “There are dozens of sloughs along the river, and it took me the better part of four days to find them.” He gave the stallion a fond pat. “At first, this one wanted nothing to do with me, but a bucket of eels soon softened him up.” His eyes gleamed with appreciation. “Isn’t he a beauty? Handles like a dream.”

  He slid off the stallion and into the frigid water to harness the herd.

  Braxx motioned to several of his men. “Into the river with you, and help him.”

  “The water’s freezing, Captain,” a man protested. “We’ll catch our death.”

  “You’ll catch my club along the side of your head, that you will,” Braxx said. “Into the water with you, or, by Gar, I’ll toss you in myself.”

  Grumbling, the deckhands stripped to their drawers and jumped in the water to help Mauric harness the fractious cattle.

  “What about the damaged cables, Captain?” Gertie asked. “Will they hold, do you think?”

  “Should do. I plan to replace them when we get to Gambollia.” He yelled over his shoulder at the cook. “Stoke up the fire, Prude. The men will want to thaw their arses when they’re done.”

  Gertie rubbed her paws together. “I’ll whip up a hot toddy to warm the poor dears. They’re bound to be chilled. A bucket of mulled ale will be the very thing.”

  She sent Prude scurrying after the ingredients. He returned a short while later with a tub of ale and a flagon of brandy.

  “Here now, that’s Valdarian brandy,” Braxx protested. “And is that an orange? Have you any notion what oranges bring this time of year in Finlara and Seth?” He scowled at Gertie. “Now I think on it, I loaded that brandy myself. Stowed it separate from the rest of the goods. How’d you find it?”

  “Stumbled across it in my cooking,” Gertie said with a vague wave of her paw. “I had a hunch you might have a little brandy aboard.”

  “Hunch my arse. You nosed it out, you great snuffling troll. I daresay you know the contents of my hold better ’n I do.” Braxx looked outraged. “I’ve allowed you a great deal of license, madam, but I’m a poor man. I can’t and won’t waste luxuries on men who don’t know good brandy from dog’s milk.”

  “Stop poor mouthing. You’re full of juice and everyone knows it,” Gertie said. “I’ll stake my tusks you have the first garvon you ever made.”

  “Grow up on the docks as I did, and you learn the value of thrift.”

  “This is not the time to cut up cheap. Think of it as preventative medicine. A drop or two of my special toddy, and there won’t be a sick man in the bunch. Spend a little now, save much in the future.”

  Braxx puffed out his cheeks. “You’re mighty free with what’s not yours, madam.”

  Muttering under his breath about ruination and marauding trolls, he went back to the tiller. Gertie, humming to herself, emptied the ale into the kettle over the fire and measured out the brandy. She threw in a handful of sugar, a few spices, and a sliced hot house orange from Tannenbol, and stirred the concoction with a long-handled wooden spoon. Soon, the
pungent aroma of spiced brandy filled the air.

  Gertie took a taste and smacked her lips. “Needs more brandy.” She emptied the contents of the flagon into the iron pot, and took another sip. “Better, but it’s still not right.”

  “Throw in a few more oranges,” Braxx suggested bitterly from the helm. “By all means, don’t skimp.”

  “An excellent notion, Captain,” Gertie said. “Thank you.”

  She sliced several more of the costly oranges with her claws and added them to the brew, ignoring Braxx’s grumblings. The sailors climbed out of the river, blue-lipped and miserable. Mauric hoisted himself up after them. His wet leathers clung to his long, muscular legs. His blond hair had come unbraided and poured down his back in a pale, yellow sheet. He accepted the linen towel Raine offered him and put it to vigorous use on his head and chest.

  The shivering deckhands gathered round the fire and Gertie ladled the hot toddy into their cups. She offered a tin mug to Mauric. “Drink this, boy. It’ll warm your innards.”

  “Anon, mor. First, I want to get out of these wet things.”

  Gertie shrugged and downed the libation in one swallow. “Suit yourself. It’s damn good. Best I ever made.”

  “You say that about everything you cook.”

  “And it’s always true.”

  Mauric chuckled and bent to remove his boots.

  “Here, let me,” Raine said, hurrying over.

  She grabbed Mauric’s right boot and tugged; it came off without a struggle. Raine shook the water out of it, set it aside, and wrapped her hands around his other boot.

  “This . . . one . . . seems . . . to be stuck,” she said, pulling with all her strength.

  The boot popped off without warning. Raine teetered on her heels, arms wind milling, and crashed to the deck.

  Mauric threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, lass, but I’ve missed you. I’m told you missed me, too. Judd—he’s a good fellow. Helped me bridle the horses—tells me you were inconsolable in my absence.”

  “In your dreams, Mauric Lindar. I swear, you are so conceited.”