In point of fact, he expected a hue and cry and a full-force patrol to be dispatched and didn't know whether to be relieved or apprehensive that neither occurred. He vaguely guessed, since the Bentar talked to and used birds, that the message was being conveyed by swifter means and that the avenues of escape would soon be closed off in the immediate area, with perhaps a bird search for the strangers in the forest. He hoped that Tiana and Marge could withstand the search until dawn.
Joe awoke and looked nervously around. He was human again, and that was definitely sunlight coming in through the wood slats of the stable. He was stark naked and unarmed, of course—there had been no way to take or transform his sword or breechclout—but definitely in control. Except for stepping in a little horse excrement and reflecting embarrassingly on where it probably came from, he was in fine shape. First business first, he decided, reaching up to his left ear. The device, somewhat to his surprise, had been transformed with him and was now still there. Keeping his voice low to avoid attracting a groom, he took hold of the earring, rubbed it, and said, Throckmorton P. Ruddygore and any in your service, you are free to enter the Dark Tower of Witchwood and invited to do so.
There was no apparent change, and he only hoped that the message had been heard and that the wording had been sufficient. If so, then Marge could reach him if need be by flying, and whatever the system was of getting word to Ruddygore would go into immediate action. If not, then he was in for a pile of trouble.
He wondered how late it was. The cool dampness he felt told him that it was still quite early, perhaps just beyond sunrise, which was fine with him.
He heard someone enter and ducked down, then crept to the front of the stall, crouching in expectation of an attack.
Joe? came a familiar whisper.
He stood up, cautiously looked out, smiled and nodded, then reached over and undid the latch. Good to see you, Marge, he said, keeping his voice low. And thanks.
She dropped a bundle at his feet and looked greatly relieved. That's heavy, damn it, and that sword hates me. I hope you appreciate what I did for you just now! I carried iron!
He nodded and quickly re-formed the breechclout and put it on, followed by sword and belt. Marge had taken a great risk carrying Irving, and not just from the terrible weight, even though Tiana had another simple spell to help her for the short haul here. The glorified loincloth, tied around the hilt and scabbard of the sword, was all that had been protecting her from the deadly iron blade. Only the ornate gold and bronze hilt, which covered the true iron base of the sword, had made it possible at all.
He hugged her. Now I think we better get out of here.
Those grooms or Bird-face and his friends will be here any time.
She nodded gravely. But where? There are sentries on the wall that I really had a time avoiding to get in here—that sword dragged me down a lot—and every place else is their barracks, the kennels, and the tower.
The tower, then. We might as well take risks here. If the old boy doesn't come through, I'm done for, and probably Tiana, too. He paused a moment. She's okay, isn't she?
When I left her, anyway. She's dug in within sight of the gate, figuring that's the last place they'll look for her. There were owls everywhere last night, and at dawn a huge flock of ravens lifted off from the top of the tower and fanned out in all directions. I thought I even saw some eagles up there, believe it or not. The hunt's really on, so her best bet is to stay still.
They made their way back to the stable door, and Joe peered nervously out. The sentries were visible on the wall, but they seemed to be looking either out or straight ahead, and the courtyard itself appeared clear.
At that moment there was a wild, maniacal cackling sound from the direction of the tower's upper levels, and the sentries turned and looked up. There was a sudden roar, and then all eyes followed a black figure on a broomstick riding out over the wall to the west.
I wonder why they always cackle like that? Marge mused.
Probably in the Books of Rules, Joe grumbled. Let's move before this one turns around for another launch.
They made the barely twenty feet to the tower door with no trouble, and Joe was relieved to find that it opened when he tried it. Quickly, both were inside and they shut the door quietly behind them.
Clearly the tower was a complex place, and they had entered on the ground floor. Stairways led around the whole outside, both up and down, and vanished in both directions through cavities in the floor and ceiling. This level in general looked barren. There was, however, illumination from torches around the hall, and a stone altar in the center.
I don't think we better stop here, Marge said nervously. That altar's stone, but it has a reddish look. Before long, this might be Grand Central Station.
Joe nodded. Up or down, though?
Well, down's probably either the dungeons or Esmerada's workshop, neither of which I particularly want to visit. I'd say up. If we hit some novice witch, I might be able to deflect some of what she has, although my power's not much against women.
Up it is, he agreed, and they cautiously crept up the stairs. The next level was a warren of rooms, but they had no desire to find out whose. There were definite snores coming from the darkened level, lots of snores, and some of them sounded decidedly nonhuman.
They went up through several more levels. These contained everything from rooms full of various sorcerous paraphernalia and wardrobes to an entire level in which young women were preparing meals. That one was not as hard to get through as they'had feared, since the girls were busy and there were few of them.
What happens when we get to the top? Joe whispered to Marge as they climbed and climbed.
We don't get that far—I hope. I think maybe we ought to find a hiding place and just camp out. The top level's the home of those packs of birds, I'm pretty sure.
The storerooms would be handy, he suggested. Shall we go back down?
One more level. I'm really curious about this place.
He shrugged and followed. They emerged into a brightly lighted room with a polished and stained oak floor and walls that squared off the chamber, made of some sort of paneling. There were no furnishings, but at the far end of the room, flanked by two floor-to-ceiling red satin curtains, was a huge and hideous multi-armed idol, seated in the lotus position. Its face was a travesty of a human woman's face, and it had eight human arms coming from its somewhat distorted human torso. Each of the hands held a different deadly weapon—dagger, sword, crossbow, garrote, and the like. While it seemed made of some black stone, its eyes were blazing red rubies of nearly impossible size and perfection.
Looks like something out of Gunga Din, Joe noted. He wasn't much on books, but he loved old movies.
The goddess of death, all right—or what passes for Kali here, she agreed. Together they approached the altar and its statue and examined it. Look at those stones! Wouldn't Macore love it?
I, for one, wouldn't touch it. It's probably cursed a thousand ways from Sunday.
Actually, I'm not, the idol responded. If you looked like this, would you need much in the way of curses?
They both jumped. Joe started to pull his sword—and found that it would not come out of its scabbard. He pulled and strained at it, but it just wouldn't come. There was a chuckling behind him, and he and Marge whirled to see a tall, attractive woman standing there. She was dressed in a black satin robe and, except for snow-white hair, looked very young and pretty. Both, in fact, had seen that face only weeks before. Esmerada, Marge said, feeling trapped. Joe stopped tugging at Irving and just stared at the witch queen. Swords wouldn't do for somebody like her. It would be like going against an elephant with a peashooter.
This is all quite amusing and interesting, Esmerada said conversationally. How in the world did you two get in? Well, never mind that for now. I assume the plot was to get inside somehow, then issue an invitation to Tubby Ruddy for a showdown. How droll. Well, you're here, but old Tubby's nowhere in sight; and since
the invitation must pass from inside to outside, I hardly think you'll get the chance. She turned and shouted down the stairs, All right, boys—bring her up!
There was a commotion below, and Tiana was brought up, flanked by half a dozen Bentar. She had her hands tied behind her back and her arms lashed with heavy rope around her chest. She looked at her friends, shrugged, and said, Sorry.
Since you two were taking the tour, come on up one more flight, Esmerada invited Joe and Marge, still being casual.
They followed her, with the Bentar and Tiana bringing up the rear. The next level proved to be a comfortably appointed apartment, obviously the witch queen's private quarters.
Untie the woman, Esmerada commanded the Bentar. They hesitated, and she added, She's no threat—now.
The rope and hand ties were swiftly cut, and Tiana massaged her wrists for a few moments.
You can go, the witch told the Bentar. I'll handle things from here on in. They looked uncertain, but left.
Please, take seats, all of you, the witch urged. We might as well be as comfortable as possible for a little while.
Figuring that they had no other choice, all three of them took seats. There really wasn't much else to do. Esmerada seated herself in a large, high-backed plush chair opposite them and crossed her legs. So, now. What shall we talk about? That idol—is it really alive? Joe asked, genuinely curious. She chuckled. Oh, yes. A former adept of mine who got too big for her robes. I changed her into the statue because it was amusing. She's totally frozen except for her mouth. She's a useful object lesson, though, to the newer girls, don't you think?
Charming, Tiana muttered.
Esmerada smiled. So glad you approve. I'll try and make things equally entertaining in this case. You, Kauri, are simple. Just neutralize your therapeutic qualities, remove your ability to think, and give you to the soldier boys. You and they will have a continual ball. Nothing but animalistic sex until the end of time.
Marge shivered but said nothing. As for you, big boy—you're more of a challenge.
Hmmm... Let's see... We really shouldn't lose the properties of that magic sword, I think. Maybe a gargoyle. Yes, definitely—a big, lurking, hulking gargoyle with bat's wings to guard the gate and attack any who enter that I wish eliminated. No, too ordinary. Well, I'll think of something. She sighed. I wish I had the complete set. Too bad I can't play with both you and the amazon here.
Joe looked up at her. What's that mean?
She's due on the ten o'clock broom to Morikay. There's a friend of mine there just dying to meet her.
Tiana bristled. You would not do this!
Why not? Then he owes me one. The witch chuckled. Seeing your reaction, I think it's the absolutely perfect thing to do.
Tiana started to rise, but Esmerada gave an idle flick of her hand, and it was as if a giant's hand pushed the big woman back into the chair. The witch smiled sweetly, then made a few gestures in the air. Marge switched to the magic band and was startled to see just what a riot of color and complex patterns filled the room. Still, she could see the witch's hand actually trace out a basic pattern of new material. It shot out from her rapidly moving fingers like spider's silk, reaching and covering the big woman. Just stay there for a few minutes, won't you dear? I have to stick these two in storage for a bit.
Tiana struggled, but she was bound tightly and securely to the chair with a pattern so complex that neither she nor Marge could have understood or duplicated it in hours—and the witch had done it almost as an afterthought!
Esmerada got up and gestured to Joe and Marge. Come with me. She paused. Oh, take the sword off first and just leave it over there on the floor.
He hesitated, and she gave another seemingly random series of finger motions. Abruptly the sword belt tore on the side opposite the scabbard, and both it and Joe's breechclout were flung against the far wall by a force invisible to him, but all too visible to Marge.
The witch smiled her sweet smile once more. Now, follow me and don't dawdle, or I'll have to get a little unpleasant, she warned them. It was enough, and they followed her.
To their surprise, they went not down but up. I put the dungeons up here when I redecorated, Esmerada told them. In the basement, escape was unlikely but possible. Up here, you not only have to break out but must get down through all the lower levels. Or fly, of course.
The dungeon level, as she called it, was second from the top and contained about two dozen small cells. They walked along and saw some pitiful remnants of humanity and fairy people in them, most certainly no longer sane. All were naked, but one wore on his head a helmet that totally enclosed it. As they passed, he rushed forward, crying, You must listen! I am King Louis! I aw!
Marge frowned and hesitated, then shook her head and went on.
They finally reached the end of the cell block, and Esmerada opened a cell door. In here, big man.
Joe hesitated, there was the hand motion, and he felt himself violently shoved inside the cell. The door clanged shut behind him. Marge made no resistance to entering the next cell. The doors, while of metal, bore no clear locks. They were made fast by Esmerada's spell, and that was better than any lock.
The witch looked back at the Kauri and thought a moment, then made a few more motions with her hand. Marge saw long threads of gold and silver emerge and bind her in a pattern even more complex than the one that held Tiana downstairs. What is that all about? she asked.
You're grounded, dearie, Esmerada replied. In technical terms, I just increased your density and altered your specific gravity. You won't notice it, because I've compensated you for it, but if you try and take off, you'll get nowhere. You now weigh two hundred pounds, you see. I also removed your wings so you wouldn't smash them, although I fear that also removes any power you might have.
Marge gasped and raised her arms; they were totally free once more. She now must look pretty much like a wingless, naked, burnt orange version of Disney's Tinker Bell.
Well, goodbye for now, darlings! the witch queen called as she walked away. I have much to do today, including getting our big beauty off to the city, but I won't forget about you, never fear. Ta-ta! With that, she was gone down the stairs.
The cells were made of solid stone blocks, bound with some very hard mortarlike substance, and it was clear that escape was all but impossible from them.
Joe looked around his cell. There was a large pile of straw that served as a bed, he supposed, and what looked like a bronze chamber pot. That was about it. The old girl took no chances with her prisoners, that was for sure.
He walked to the only opening, the barred door. It was far too tight for him to do more than get a hand through between the bars, and there was no lock even to try to pick or reach.
It was hopeless. Marge? he called.
Yeah, Joe, came her voice, sounding a little far away. I'm sorry I have to stay back a bit, but those bars are iron.
I understand. He sighed. Well, I guess we just pray for rescue before she remembers us again, huh?
I guess so, Marge responded dejectedly. I hope it's a rush job. It wouldn't take more than a few flips of the wrist for her to do to me what she said she would.
Yeah, I know. ,He sighed again. Wonder why she even waited?
It's no fun to her unless she lets you stew for a while, came a man's cultured voice from the other side.
Joe was startled. What? Who's that?
A fellow prisoner, I fear, the voice replied sadly. I've been here quite some time. Months, actually, although it seems like years.
Huh? How come she hasn't turned you into a toad or something?
The voice sighed. She doesn't dare let me out of this box.
I am held, my friend, by the strongest, most diabolical set of locks you can imagine, and I'm actually inside an inner box as well. She is very evil and very clever. My inner box is but a scant foot from the outer one, which is only a fraction short of what I can reach. She is diabolical. Why two boxes and locks? Joe asked. One finger, the voic
e said mournfully. If I could just get one finger a fraction outside the cell, all would be changed. She knows that, and she's tortured me with this arrangement. Who's that, Joe? Marge called. I can hardly hear him. Yeah, Joe pressed, who are you, anyway? I am Count Esmilio Boquillas, the voice replied.
Chapter 13
OF FRYING PANS AND FIRES
No thief shall ever travel without all the necessary tools of his or her trade.
—Rules, VIII, 117(b)
It was the baron who did it, Boquillas told them as the morning passed. I believe in the necessity of social revolution, but the battle should be for the minds and hearts of the people, not their lives. Yet what could I do? As a theoretician, both of social principles and of the magical arts, I was no threat. I have no vast armies nor great cults. By common agreement, the City-States remain neutral territory, lest all Husaquahr strangle for lack of trade. I gave my word to them. I would be free to speak out against this terrible war, but I would not actively intervene on either side. As neutral, then, as morality would permit me. For a while it was enough.
The Baron thought you stabbed him in the back, huh? Joe responded.
Indeed. The Baron was convinced that his battle plans in the Valley had been betrayed, so that his flanking maneuver was in itself outflanked. He felt, too, that certain of his powers had been neutralized; and since he was facing Ruddygore, the only sorcerer with the guts to defy him openly, he felt that the additional sapping of power had to come from an outside source. He blamed me, but I didn't know it at the time. He was, in fact, quite cordial. He told me he was investigating his own lacks in that affair and, since I was the foremost theoretician in the area, he invited me to what amounted to a magical postmortem of the battle. Naturally, I accepted; even though I opposed the war; the idea of being able to study and analyze this methodology firsthand was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I had no reason to suspect his motives, as we had had many such meetings on a friendly basis before—and I've also met with the other members of the Council from time to time. It was three to one, though, and you got trapped, Joe guessed.
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