Ithanalin’s Restoration loe-8

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  But she didn’t see the bench.

  She looked down Old Seagate Street, where it wound its way down the rocky verge toward the Fortress Docks and the shipyards; for once the curvature of the road favored her, so that she could see past the two docks and almost to the Throat. A crowd of men was hauling on ropes, securing a barge to the nearer of the docks, and a few other people were watching this labor, but she did not see the bench.

  A guardsman was coming up the street past the docks, the mustard yellow tunic and blood red kilt unmistakable even at this distance, but she wasted no time trying to determine whether this was Kelder or someone else. She turned the other way, to where Old Seagate Street zigzagged up the rocky slope toward the Fortress.

  The cliffs loomed above her, and the Fortress loomed above the cliffs. From her current position most of it was hidden behind the shops and warehouses that lined the inland side of Old Seagate Street, but the southern end thrust out from behind the other buildings, a sheer wall of sunlit gray stone that seemed to tower impossibly high into the western sky.

  She did not see the bench-but because of the twisting course of the street, that did not mean much. The bench could easily be somewhere around one of the several curves.

  She turned to the spriggan on her shoulder. “The bench went that way, up toward the Fortress, didn’t it?” She had to shout to be heard over the crashing of the waves.

  “Don’t know,” the spriggan said.

  “Why don’t you know?” Kilisha demanded.

  “Just don’t,” the spriggan said unhappily. “Don’t smell it, don’t feel it.”

  Kilisha hesitated, and threw a glance down the slope. That guardsman was still approaching, striding toward her quickly, and it did look like Kelder. The bench was probably farther up the hillside, and she ought to pursue it-but she couldn’t be sure it had gone that way, rather than ducking into a shop or alley, or dodging around a corner somewhere.

  And she was so far behind it now that another moment’s delay could scarcely matter; she waited for the soldier where she was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What happened?” Kelder demanded as he came within earshot. “How did you get the door open?”

  “The spriggan did it,” Kilisha shouted back, struggling to be heard over the pounding of the surf. “They can pick locks with their fingers!”

  Kilisha did not hear Kelder’s reply to that, but she was fairly certain she wasn’t meant to; he appeared to be cursing vigorously. When he had finished he called to her, “Well, that explains a few things, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “it certainly does.”

  “So the furniture got out, and you chased after it and caught it?”

  She started to nod, then realized what he had said. “I caught the chair,” she said. “The bench is still missing.”

  “Oh, for...,” He began cursing under his breath again, and by the time he had completed this round he had reached her side. He looked along the rope to where the chair was pacing back and forth across the bottom two steps of Steep Street, then asked, “Do you know which way it went?”

  “I think it went up that way,” she said, pointing. “I followed it up Shipyard Street and down Steep Street, but I lost its trail. If you didn’t see it go back down toward the shipyards, then it must have gone up.”

  “So it would seem,” Kelder said. “Now what? Do you have some magic we can use to track it and capture it?”

  “I didn’t bring any magic,” Kilisha admitted.

  This was not literally true; she had her athame, and the pouch on her belt, much smaller than the elaborate one Kelder wore, held the ingredients for a lew very minor spells. However, it was quite true that she had not brought any magic that would help in their present situation. She could see no way to use Fendel’s Spectacular Illusion or Thrindle’s Combustion in finding an escaped bench.

  Kelder looked at her. “I thought wizards always carried magic,” he said.

  “I’m just an apprentice,” Kilisha said, annoyed.

  “Still...”

  “Fine, I should have brought a few useful spells, but I didn’t, all right? I do have some magic, but nothing that will help.”

  “All right, all right.” He looked around. “You think it went that way?”

  “I think so, yes.” She looked at the spriggan on her shoulder. “Do you think so?”

  “Don’t know,” the spriggan said.

  “You can’t tell?”

  “Can’t tell,” it confirmed.

  “You’re asking spriggans?” Kelder said. “How would it know?”

  Kilisha turned to him angrily. “They can sense magic,” she retorted.

  “Can they? Well, why don’t we ask that one, then? Maybe it’s got a more sensitive nose.” He pointed up Steep Street.

  Kilisha turned, and saw that indeed another spriggan was descending Steep Street, apparently headed directly for the enchanted chair.

  “Where’d you come from?” Kilisha said. Then a thought struck her. “Maybe it’s one of the ones that was on the bench!”

  “There were spriggans on the bench?” Kelder asked.

  Kilisha had been about to run up the steps toward the spriggan, but then she thought better of it; that might scare the newcomer away. Instead she gave the rope a gentle tug.

  The chair clambered down a step so that two legs rested on Old Seagate Street and two on the bottom step of Steep Street.

  The spriggan came bounding down the steps happily, ignoring the two humans who were maneuvering into position on either side of the chair. It jumped from the steps onto the chair seat- and Kilisha jerked the rope, tipping the chair up so that it wobbled wildly on one leg.

  The spriggan slid from the polished wood and landed facedown on the hard-packed dirt. Kelder dove for it, and managed to grab one splayed foot before it could scramble away.

  The guardsman sat up on the street, the front of his tunic smeared with dirt, his tax collector’s pouch twisted around to his left hip, and the spriggan dangling from his hand, squirming wildly.

  Kilisha hurried over and demanded, “Were you riding our bench?”

  “Let go let go let go let go!” the spriggan yelped, still struggling, “Answer the lady’s question!” Kelder rumbled.

  The spriggan stopped wriggling and turned to look at him, then decided to cooperate. “Rode bench, yes!” it said. “Fun ride. Bouncy, fast, bouncy, and fast, then got bounced off.”

  “Where’d the bench go?” Kilisha asked.

  The spriggan twisted its head to stare solemnly at her. “Don’t know names,” it said.

  “Point.”

  The spriggan hung down from Kelder’s hand and slowly turned its head back and forth, taking in the scenery.

  “World upside-down,” it said. “Makes head hurt, thinking directions this way up.”

  Kelder grabbed the creature around the chest with his other hand and turned it over, releasing his hold on its foot.

  “Better!” the spriggan squeaked, as it looked around again. “Came that way!” It pointed back up Steep Street. “Around corner.”

  “You mean the bench was on Straight Street?”

  “Street was straight,” the spriggan said uncertainly.

  “Did it go up the street, or down?” Kilisha asked. Kelder tightened his grip warningly.

  “Up!” It was plainly relieved to be able to answer this one.

  “Good,” Kelder said. He lowered his hand.

  “Don’t let it-” Kilisha began, but it was too late; Kelder had released the spriggan, and it had promptly dashed away, down and across Old Seagate Street, toward the rocky shoreline.

  “-go,” she finished. She sighed, then beckoned to Kelder. “Come on.”

  Kelder got to his feet and looked around for the spriggan, but it had vanished from sight. He brushed off his tunic, straightened his belt, and followed Kilisha as she climbed back up Steep Street, tugging the chair behind her.

  Ten minutes later they had
crossed Fortress Street and the dry moat and neared the top of Straight Street; the huge red doors of the Fortress loomed before them, tightly shut, a spear-wielding guardsman to either side. The chair seemed reluctant to go anywhere near these two men, and hung back at the end of its rope.

  There was no bench in sight.

  The soldiers were looking at them with interest; Kilisha supposed they were wondering what a tax collector and fellow guardsman was doing here, and how he had managed to get his clothes so dirty.

  And, she supposed, they could sec the chair. People out walking a chair on a leash were not a common sight in Ethshar of the Rocks.

  “Hai!” she called. “Have you seen an animated bench running loose? Seats two, with a humped back?”

  “That way,” the right-hand guard replied, pointing north with his spear. “We wouldn’t let it too close to the door here-you understand, in case it had some sort of dangerous spell on it, an explosive rune or something. We had to chase it away three or four times before it gave up.”

  “Did it have any spriggans on it?” Kilisha asked. If it had still had one or more to dislodge that might help locate it.

  The guards exchanged glances. “I didn’t see any,” the left-hand guard replied.

  “Excuse me for asking,” the right-hand guard said, “but what’s going on? I expect our captain will want a proper report, what with all this fuss about the usurper in Ethshar of the Sands. Did she send this bench?”

  “No,” Kilisha said. “Nobody sent it. An animation spell went wrong, and it ran away from home. It’s harmless, so far as we know.”

  “It seemed to want to get into the Fortress.”

  Kilisha turned up an empty palm. “I don’t know why,” she said. “It can’t talk, so we don’t know much about its thinking. We don’t know why it ran away in the first place, let alone why it came here.”

  “Fun!” the spriggan on her shoulder suddenly piped. Kilisha resisted the temptation to punch it.

  “Well, it did seem to want to get in, so maybe it went to try the other door,” the left-hand guard suggested.

  “Thank you,” Kilisha said with a curtsy. “We’ll try there.”

  “Is that chair... I mean... ” The left-hand guard pointed down the street, along the rope.

  “That’s from the same ruined spell,” Kilisha said.

  “Should we know who you are?” the right-hand guard asked, looking at Kelder.

  “Kelder Goran’s son of Sixth Company, on tax duty,” Kelder replied. “I was the one who interrupted the animation spell, and I can’t collect the wizard’s taxes until it’s fixed.”

  Kilisha doubted this was true-Yara could probably pay the taxes-but didn’t say anything to contradict it.

  “Which wizard?” the guard asked.

  “Ithanalin the Wise,” Kilisha said. “I’m his apprentice.”

  “Ah.” The soldier straightened up, raising his spear into position. “Well, good luck, then.”

  A sudden thought struck Kilisha. “If the bench did get inside- well, maybe we should look in the Fortress.”

  “It didn’t get inside,” the guard said. “Nobody gets inside today without special permission, because of the usurper.”

  “Oh,” Kilisha said. “Then we’ll check at the other door. Thank you!” She curtsied again, then turned away.

  They made their way back out across the bridge over the moat and turned left onto Fortress Street, toward the north door.

  As they walked Kilisha looked first to the left, where massive jagged revetments rose up from the moat guarding the Fortress grounds, then to the right, where the mansions of the older noble families stood. The contrast was not as striking as one might have expected; these old homes were themselves forbidding structures of blackened stone, nothing like the glittering palaces the wealthy merchants and newcomers to the overlord’s court had built themselves over in Highside.

  She could see no openings in the mansion facades, no alleyways where the bench might have concealed itself-but on the other side, might it have fallen down into the moat? If it had been turned away at the north door and had still wanted to get into the Fortress, crossing the moat and finding an opening was the only other possible route. She crossed to the left side, paying out more line so that the chair could continue down the center of the street; when she reached the curb she paused to lean over the iron railing and peer down into the ditch.

  The bottom of the moat was lined with a thin layer of black mud and debris, and she could sec a few discarded odds and ends- a woman’s hair clip, a wooden doll’s crudely carved arm, a boot with the sole torn away. There was no bench in sight, nor did she think there was anywhere one might hide.

  “What are you doing?” Kelder asked, stopping a few feet away while the chair wandered aimlessly about the street, the rope swinging back and forth as it moved.

  Kilisha looked up from the moat to answer Kelder’s question, and suddenly there it was, just around the curve of the street, clearly visible through the railing-the bench!

  There were no spriggans clinging to it; it had apparently finally managed to dislodge them all. It did not seem to be in any great hurry; instead of the headlong dash she had seen before it was ambling along Fortress Street at no great speed, just inside the railing, heading directly toward them.

  “There it is,” she hissed to Kelder.

  “I see it,” he hissed back, crouching.

  “Bench!” Sprigganalin shrieked.

  “Augh!” Kilisha said, her left hand flying up and stopping just short of grabbing the spriggan by the throat. “Shut up!”

  The bench had stopped dead at the sound of the spriggan’s voice; it seemed to be wary, but it wasn’t fleeing.

  Yet.

  “Circle around,” Kilisha whispered to Kelder. “Get behind it.”

  “Right,” he said, veering sideways across Fortress Street, while Kilisha stayed close to the railing.

  The bench turned, keeping its front toward Kelder. “I think it recognizes him,” Kilisha whispered to the spriggan.

  “You bet!” the spriggan said cheerfully-and loudly. The bench abruptly swung back to face Kilisha.

  It didn’t like spriggans, Kilisha thought. That was why it had gone charging off, trying to dislodge them. If the spriggan kept talking the bench might run away again, frightened off by the sound of its voice.

  For the present, though, its attention was focused on her and the spriggan, and Kelder was circling around it. He was on the far side of the street, creeping along the front of an ancient stone mansion, his eyes fixed on the bench.

  “Do you think it sees us?” Kilisha asked the spriggan.

  She knew perfectly well that the bench knew where they were-though “see” might be the wrong word, since it had no eyes. Just how animated objects perceived their surroundings was a mystery even to the wizards who created them; when customers asked, the universal reply was simply, “It’s magic.” She was just hoping to keep the furniture confused, unsure whether to flee, by asking foolish questions.

  Kelder was now safely north of the bench, moving away from the facade toward the center of the street; if the bench tried to run he should be able to grab it. Kilisha slid her hand along the iron rail and took a step forward, around the curve to where she could look at the bench without the railing between them.

  “Why, hello there, bench!” she said. “Do you remember me? You used to stand in the parlor of my master’s house.”

  The bench took a step back. Kelder moved across the street behind it, getting ready to lunge. Kilisha slid farther along the railing.

  The bench backed away another longer, faster step, then started to run-but Kelder was coming up behind it, so it changed direction quickly, trying to double back south, past Kilisha.

  That was exactly what Kilisha had hoped for. She ran northward past the bench, then cut east, across the street.

  And the bench ran into the rope strung between Kilisha’s hand and the chair.

  The im
pact was enough to jerk Kilisha’s hand painfully, and the chair toppled over completely and lay thrashing in the dirt.

  Kilisha wasted no time in racing around behind the bench, encircling it in the rope, before it could step over the rope or slide under it. The chair was dragged up against the bench, entangling the two pieces so that neither could move freely, and allowing Kilisha to spiral in, wrapping the rope around them both and tying them together.

  “There,” she said, satisfied with her performance. She called to Kelder, “Now, sir, could you give me a hand?”

  A few minutes later the bench was tied securely to one end of the rope, the chair to the other, and Kilisha held the center in both hands, leading the reluctant furniture back down the hillside toward Wizard Street.

  Sometimes the two pieces cooperated, and sometimes they didn’t; holding them was often a struggle, and more than once Kilisha had to call for Kelder’s help in holding onto the rope. She almost wished she had used the Spell of Optimum Strength. By the time they got safely back to Ithanalin’s shop they were exhausted-but more of the furniture was back where it belonged, and Kilisha was pleased.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kilisha did not trust the bench and chair; they had put up too much of a fight. The chair seemed glad to be home, running around the parlor like a puppy rediscovering familiar surroundings, but all the same, Kilisha made sure the door was closed and locked before she let go of the rope for even an instant.

  And she didn’t untie cither piece at first; instead she looped the rope around the door latch and left Kelder to guard it while she went to make more permanent arrangements. The line holding the coat-rack was tied to a lamp bracket, but somehow Kilisha doubted that would be strong enough to hold the bench; she wanted to find something that would be.

  Yara had heard the noise of her return, and the thumping and rattling as the bench and chair moved around the parlor; she met Kilisha in the workshop, worried by the racket but eager to know what was happening.