by Dave Freer
“There was a lot of divination equipment in the laboratory. He may just have been looking for her.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Kolumnus.
CHAPTER 14
A WITCH IN THE DOOR
The task he’d been summonsed to the laboratory for consisted of setting up a device to detect intruders magically, even outside the walls. Anything that moved — besides Tom, the master, Mrs Drellson’s skull and the raven — would cause it to sound an ominous chime. Personally, Tom had his doubts. “Master, it’ll pick up every bat or rabbit.”
To prove his point the device, powered by a small colony of ants fed colored sugar by micro-demons, promptly sounded the ominous chime, making both of them instinctively duck.
“Hmph. I will have to adjust the sensitivity,” said Master Hargarthius, scrawling a new spell and carefully tossing a psychedelic mushroom into the ants.
The ominous chime sounded again.
“More? Hmph.” He did so, for the same result.
“Er, Master. Could there be someone out there? Maybe the army come back or something?”
“Go and check,” said Master Hargarthius irritably, opening another book.
So Tom did. And came running back as fast as he could, wondering just how wise he was being doing so. “Uh. There’s um, a witch at the door. The… the witch called Emerelda. She was knocking.”
“Emerelda Tindrell?” Master Hargarthius looked startled. “Well. Go and let her in. I’ll be down shortly. Take her to my study and fetch some wine. Good wine.”
“Er. Is she… safe?” The magician’s reaction to her, seemed quite different now, than to his bumping into her at the castle had been.
“By Zoranthus’s red-hot pizzle, no! She’s the wickedest witch in the West,” said Master Hargarthius, with an evil chuckle. “But she didn’t blast the walls down, so this must be a social call. And that is flattery. Not flattery that’s ever come my way, but it is quite… widely talked of.”
Tom had heard something of the physical and magical strength of the tower’s walls. “She’s that powerful a magic-wielder?” he asked, warily.
“No, she’s a successful alchemist, and better than average at most forms of magic. But it’s the alchemy that’s a problem. She blows things up with intent and skill. Now get a move on. It won’t do to keep her waiting. I need a quick wash and change.”
Tom was too stunned to say anything, but, shaking his head went off to the door of the tower, and opened it. The witch was somewhat windswept, but otherwise just as she’d appeared in the illusionary sending. She had her broomstick, and her cat.
“Were you all asleep?” she said dryly. “Did the army get bored demanding entry and go away? We’ve been knocking for ages.”
“Er. No. The master was setting up a device in the laboratory,” said Tom. “We don’t get many visitors. The skull usually seems to know and tells us. Or the raven does.”
The witch shook her head. “Men. Can we come in?”
Belatedly Tom wondered if this was just another of Master Hargarthius’s traps. “Uh. Just a moment.” He scampered over to the far door and jammed it open with his knife. Ran back. Remembered his manners. Bowed. “Do come in. My Master bids you welcome, and will be with you shortly. He has asked me to take you to his study and to fetch you some wine.”
“Have you been feeding the grumpy old so-and-so black-spurred rye or something?” asked the witch, coming in with her broom which she leaned against the wall. “I was expecting a stand-up fight to get in.”
The cat had been staring at him, and now stalked in behind her and walked forward and rubbed against Tom’s legs. Tom leaned down and stroked the silken soft fur.
The witch snorted, but with amusement. “I suppose my telling you not be so forward would be futile,” she said.
Tom wasn’t sure just who she was addressing, him or her cat.
So he bowed and said: “If you could follow me, please.”
Tom retrieved his knife, and let them to a room he was seldom allowed in except to clean, his master’s book-lined study. The witch sat herself down, put her red high-heeled shoes on the book-crowded desk, helped herself to a chained volume, and said…”You haven’t got tequila have you?”
Tom swallowed. “No. But I could get you a salamander if you want to set fire to your mouth,” he volunteered.
“I think I’ll just have wine. White, dry. Chilled,” said the witch.
“Er. Yes. Would your cat like some milk?” That cat was… worrying. There was something very familiar about it. And it looked rather affronted to be offered milk.
The witch gave a wicked little gurgle of laughter. “I think you are about to be clawed. Milk, I am sure would be good for her. And a novel experience. Why don’t you go with Tom, Kitty, and get some nice fresh milk.” The cat gave her a cold stare, but did follow Tom as he retreated from what was, altogether, a little worrying.
Of course, as any cat did, it didn’t so much follow as dart ahead, twist between his legs and stop to carefully wash a paw in front of the mirror. She was just doing this when the raven swooped in silently, and landed on the wall-sconce. It could be a very silent big black bird, when it chose.
The slim cat was plainly not expecting it, or the sudden “Nevermore.” She jumped for the shelter of Tom’s legs, as well she might, because the raven was eyeing her, shifting its head to try a different perspective, as she peered out from behind Tom’s legs, the hair on her back slightly raised.
“It’s only the raven,” said Tom. “The master’s familiar.”
“Nevermore,” said the raven, and clacked his big black dagger beak, quite savagely.
The cat looked at the bird, unblinkingly. She was not a very large cat, thought Tom. “I could carry you,” Tom offered, wondering if she would be affronted.
She got up on her hind legs, using his robe for purchase, so Tom bent down and picked her up. To his surprise, she adjusted very neatly to the crook of his arm, and snuggled into him and purred. “I’ll keep you safe from the raven,” Tom said, wishing he was sure of his ability to do so. The raven was watching them, and followed them, fluttering ahead, landing on a wall-sconce and watching them until they passed, and then doing the same thing again. It was rather un-nerving. Even more worrying than the white wine, dry, chilled. How did you dry wine? He’d learned from Old Grumptious that the requirements of magicians were by nature always unreasonable. It seemed female magicians were the same, only more so. He stroked the cat he was carrying, to help him to cope.
“Nevermore,” said the raven, sternly, as it flew and perched, watching.
They arrived in the kitchen, where the skull of Mrs Drellson was buzzing about like a worried housefly. The skull seemed magically aware of visitors — and of their station. “What took you so long, boy? She’s a powerful enchantress, and the Queen of Cats. Run, don’t walk!”
“Mwrow,” said the cat.
The skull paused, jaw open. “Oh. I suppose you couldn’t jar the cat.”
Tom blinked. “I am a cat, and you have jarred me. Often.”
“Huh. You’re a boy. A dirty, smelly creature who doesn’t work hard enough. Get the poor cat some milk. Do we have any fish?”
“No.” Despite the side effect of fish having made him into a human, Tom was still very fond of it. As far as he was concerned it was entirely too rare in the tower, and if it was there at all, it was salted and smoked.
“Well, cut her some strips of duck.” The cat had slipped almost bonelessly from Tom’s arms, onto the table and was looking curiously at the skull. Tom reached forward protectively. Feet on the table would never be tolerated. But it seemed that was only for him or even Master Hargarthius. It was Tom who got the sting of green lightning, not the cat. “Get on with it. Milk. Some strips of duck-breast. And no doubt you have to take wine to her ladyship.”
“Yes, white, dry and chilled. And we only have red and see-through, and all of it is wet.”
Mrs Drellson’s skull was not im
pressed with that answer either.
However the witch’s cat was impressed by the duck, or at least pleased to eat it. The raven hopped closer, and Tom was preparing to try and shoo it off, which usually didn’t work, when the cat hissed at the raven, and it backed off all by itself. She pretended to turn her nose up at the milk, but Tom noticed, when he got back from fetching the bucket of snow from the cave for the wine, that she was licking the fur around her perfect black lips, and the milk in the bowl was considerably lower. He reached out to stroke her and she rolled onto her back. He was unwise enough to take the invitation and reach towards the furry belly. She grabbed his hand with her front paws, raked his arm with her hind claws, and bit his fingers. The cat side of Tom knew this was in play, really. Had it not been, those would not be pinpricks. The human side noticed she had sharp claws and teeth.
She cheerfully climbed up him and draped herself over his shoulder as he walked back up to the master’s study with the silver platter and the ice bucket and the delicate wine goblets.
“Wasting no time, I see,” said the witch dryly, as Tom set the wine down and the cat abandoned him without so much as a backward glance, and climbed onto her lap.
Tom didn’t quite know how to reply to that, so he bobbed his head and turned to leave, just as Master Hargarthius arrived… in his court robe, his beard combed.
He bowed to the witch. “Madame Emerelda Tindrell. What brings you to my humble tower?”
She laughed. The same snort of amusement, and possible devilry Tom had had from her. “‘Madame’ is a bad choice of words, Hargarthius. I’ve never been at that end of the business. And I’m here to look for your help, obviously.” She took her feet off his desk and smiled at him.
“Ehrm yes,” said Master Hargarthius, looking stunned. “Of course. What can I do for you?” And to Tom. “Run along, boy. I am sure you have work to do.”
“Let him stay, please, Hargarthius,” said the witch. “He is one of my subjects.”
“Eh?”
“I am the Queen of Cats.”
“Oh. Yes,” said the Master. “One forgets. He is prone to asking questions and butting in… Emerelda.”
“That is very much a part of what he is. Cats are curious and have little idea of precedence. That is why cat may — and do — look at Kings. Personally, I like it.”
“Hmph. They’re mediocre famuluses,” said Master Hargarthius, reverting to type. “But if you want him here, he can stay.”
Tom wasn’t sure if he should be glad about this or not. He was, of course, curious. And that was an exceptionally beautiful cat that had scratched him and made his hand smart. On the other hand, well, Master Hargarthius could be exceptionally dangerous, when he didn’t get his own way. Tom had the feeling that this witch was no different.
Being allowed to stay did not go as far as ‘being invited to drink the wine’. But he was told to pour it. “Hmm,” said Master Hargarthius on tasting it. “Chilled. An excellent idea. Makes the taste of white wine less obvious.”
“And more pleasant on a hot day,” said the witch, pushing the cat’s nose away from her wine. The cat sneezed.
“Yes. Quite. Now, what help do you want from me?” asked Master Hargarthius. “I, er, do have some leads on the Princess.”
“I know,” said the witch.
“Well, er, I could probably use your help to rescue her. To return her to the court,” said Master Hargarthius.
“I don’t think that is a good idea. In fact that’s exactly what I don’t want you to do,” said witch, calmly.
Hargarthius took a deep gulp of his wine, choked, coughed, and spluttered, and exclaimed: “What?” he exclaimed dangerously, and reached for his staff, standing up as he did so.
The witch didn’t stir. She just shook her head. “Karst has a ‘suitable’ husband lined up for her, and besides, there is the faction trying to kill Alamaya. I — or she — or even Karst may be able to deal with the latter, but you know as well as I do that the first part would kill her.”
“Nevermore,” said the Raven, gloomily.
“Precisely,” agreed the witch. “Now my glass seems to have developed a leak.”
“What?” he exclaimed again, shaking his head. The calm, or the statements, had knocked Master Hargarthius off balance. “Those are finest Genitian glass…”
“Well, it is empty,” said the witch. “So is yours. Must be a leak. Refill them, Tom, and we will test them again.”
So Tom did. Master Hargarthius hadn’t set aside his staff, or sat down. But as the witch just sat there and drank her wine, he did set it aside and sit down. His eyes were still narrow and intent. He tugged his beard, bit his long forefinger, and then took another mouthful of wine. “This chilling process,” he said. “I believe it makes it sublimate.”
“Aha,” said the witch. “I suspect the only way to prevent that would be to drink it.”
“You took her out of the palace?” asked Master Hargarthius, after another mouthful of wine.
The Witch shook her head. “No. She did that herself. I found her though, before those who were hunting her, and not with good intent, did.”
“And then?” asked Master Hargarthius.
“And then I hid her, to the best of my ability and entirely with her consent. She is free to go back to the Castle at any time she chooses. She is, for now, as safe as I can keep her.”
There was another long silence. Finally Master Hargarthius sighed. “I see. Very well. I’ll stop looking. With the curse hanging over her, I suppose it is for the best. Karst won’t like it, nor will he stop searching, Emerelda.”
“And you’re still prime suspect,” she said with faint amusement.
“They came and searched, already,” said Master Hargarthius. “And left two magical ears.”
“Which you destroyed?” asked the witch.
“Zoryanthus p…, er. No. We know where they are, and they can listen to the housekeeper berating the boy about his cleaning skills, and me muttering about what idiots they are and how important it is to find Princess Alamaya, and how I am failing to do so.”
She chuckled wickedly. “I have under-rated you. Excellent. They can also be turned to listen to the listeners, you know.”
“Pnagrythis contrarian incantation? Doesn’t work.”
“There’s a deliberate error. He switched the lark-tongues quantity with the owl fewmets. It’s a pattern in the old man’s spell-books to hide his methods.”
“Drat the old gibbering wreck,” said Hargarthius crossly. “I spent a lot of time and money on those spells.”
“Didn’t Estethius teach you the pattern?” asked the witch, raising a manicured eyebrow. “He certainly knew it.”
“He taught me as little as possible. And then only when he had to,” said Master Hargarthius, with a shrug. “I had to work most of it out myself, afterwards.”
Tom thought that he’d learned a lot by imitation, then, but he said nothing. He just exchanged glances with the cat.
The witch gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “You were a cocky, snooty stuck-up know-it-all, when you were young. You let on that you had had the very best and very wickedest teaching you, so we’d better all keep our distance.”
The Master drained his glass. “Of course I was. I knew almost nothing, and didn’t dare tell anyone, in case they, well, took it away from me. I did have Estethius’s library, so I learned. Anyway, most of the other magicians would have nothing to do with me. Half of them thought I was evil and dangerous because I was Estethius’s apprentice. The other half thought I was a traitor for letting the King’s Army in. Boy. This glass needs filling.”
“I wish I’d known then,” said the witch.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t telling anyone.”
“Yes, but you were probably the only magician’s apprentice I wasn’t experimenting with. I feel deprived, now. My reputation is threatened. It wasn’t easy earning the title of the wickedest witch in the West, you know.”
Master Hargarthius
spluttered on his wine, and gulped the rest.
She continued smoothly. “Anyway, yes, I would like your help in hiding the Princess. But that wasn’t why I came to see you. It was about the curse.”
Hargarthius wiped his beard with his sleeve. Shook his head. “The royal council of wizards questioned me at the time. They put me under a magical truth trance, and that was with the Enchantress Saliana, and she made Kolumnus look like a green apprentice. I knew nothing of the curse. Not how it was done or what magics were used.”
“Oh I know all that,” said the witch, with a wave. “I even know Saliana tried on her deathbed to tell them something terrible she’d done to King Uther. I suspected she’d been in cahoots with Estethius… there always are a few that admire such people. I got all that out of the demon. Well, enough to start on, anyway. The important bit. That he used the demon to collect her blood and tears… and that he’s not dead.”
“Nevermore!” said the raven, a savage look in the beady eye. “Nevermore!”
“The raven does not like demons. And they always lie,” said Master Hargarthius.
“Yes. I know,” said the witch. “But I still need Estethius’s brain.”
There was a silence, and then Master Hargarthius picked up the bottle and attempted to pour more wine, without calling Tom to the job, a sure sign he was troubled. Barely a drop fell into his glass. “Hmph. This bottle seems to have developed a leak, similar to the one in the glasses,” he said.
“Perhaps it is infectious. You’d better check the other bottles,” said the witch, draining her glass.
So Tom went to fetch another. If he had not been a suspicious cat-turned-famulus he would have thought the witch was trying to get his master drunk. As he was a suspicious cat-turned-famulus, he was certain of it. So he collected bread, cheese, and pickles, and some ham as well as more of the precious snow to chill the wine, and more wine to be chilled, then hurried back, because he was inevitably curious, wondering what he’d missed.
And the witch knew. “We have just been exchanging scurrilous gossip about our peers, Tom. No doubt interesting to your long ears, but not important.”
