The Sorcerer's House (10 page)

"Were they two different kinds?"

"Yes, I'm certain they were. One was pike, I'm sure. The other was quite dry and served with black butter."

"That may have done it. Three wheels, you see. Three pictures of fish. So three fish for the three pictures, and three occasions for the three wheels. If that's it--I'm not saying it is--you may be free of the entanglement. We can hope you are, at least."

"But what about you?"

Emlyn nodded. "I was about to get to that. Do you remember what I told you about my twin? About Ieuan?"

"Cold anger? I recall that."

"I said he would wait for an hour or longer, then do something quite horrible. Well, he has." For a moment, Emlyn smiled at Winkle. "Your friend here is a facefox, so I assume you know about them. One--"

"I don't know what they are!"

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I know what a fox is, of course."

"Do you know what a werewolf is?"

I was about to say I did, George, but that I didn't believe in them, when I realized that I do. Too many strange things have been happening to me. My old disbeliefs have been crumbling.

"If you do, it's quite simple. Make it a fox instead of a wolf and do it backwards."

Winkle smiled at my confusion and put her paw in my lap. "Tho thimple . . ."

"It may be so simple," I said, "but it confuses me just the same."

"It really is simple," Emlyn told me. "A werewolf is a man or a woman who puts on a wolf's skin. A facefox is a fox who puts on a human face."

I stroked Winkle's head. "Is this true?"

She nodded.

"A werewolf may look like a wolf," Emlyn told me, "but it's really a man. Or a woman. When I was small I thought it would be fun, but there's nothing fun about it. They want human flesh, as much as they can get. They'll do just about anything to get it. Brave any danger."

"If you're saying Winkle's like that, I don't believe it."

"Oh, she isn't. Facefoxes are foxes who become human. As foxes they may kill poultry and so forth--do the things foxes do. But when they become human, they act like other women." Emlyn rose. "They're nearly all women, and there may not be any men. I've never heard of one, though there might be some." He picked up the triannulus.

"Where are you going?"

"Up to the attic. It's where I was going when you hit me with your stick. Ieuan caught a facefox, you see, and caged it. I think it may be in the attic."

"It's not. That's where I found Winkle."

"Really?"

"Yes," I said. I got the cage and showed it to him.

"I wish Father were here."

"So he could discipline your brother?"

"So he could explain things to me." Emlyn sighed. "To tell you the truth, Bax, Father's not much of a one for explaining. Or for disciplining, either. But if he were here, I'd know that someone understood. Just knowing that might make me feel better."

"If you were to explain it to Winkle and me, you might understand it better yourself."

"I suppose. What I did, you see, was to set up the triannulus to find a facefox. I'd never tried it before. Never tried anything like that before, really. Only I know it can be done. Father could have done it in a wink."

He got the triannulus to show me. "Here in the outer ring is a fox. See?"

It was certainly a rough picture of a four-legged animal with a tail.

"And here in the second ring is a face. I lined that up with the fox. Then the first ring has an arrow. See? I put that in line with the other two. Find the facefox. Then I moved the pointer to them and lit my longlight."

I cleared my throat. As you know, George, I have been a substitute teacher in the public schools when there were no alternatives on the horizon; and at that moment I felt that I was once more in a classroom. "I feel compelled to point out," I said, "that your longlight was extinguished before you found Winkle."

"Exactly." To judge by Emlyn's looks, he certainly had the wind up. "I have found a facefox now. Or perhaps the facefox found me. She stole my longlight just to get me to chase her."

"Us to chase her. I remember."

"Girls enjoy being pursued, and so do foxes. It may be that was the end of it. I hope so. But I ought to go up to the attic just the same. I may find another facefox there. There could even be more than one. In entanglements, you never know."

"You won't object if Winkle and I come with you?"

"I was hoping you would mend the window Ieuan broke while I was gone."

I shook my head. "I can't keep replacing the glass over and over. I'm not going to do it again until I get some sort of commitment from him."

All of which was true enough, George; but my chief reason was that I hoped Emlyn would show me an easier route to the attic.

As he did. At the back of the butler's pantry was a door to which I had never given the least attention. Emlyn opened it to reveal a helical staircase I had not known existed. He and Winkle went up the steep steps much faster than I--which gave me an opportunity to open a door on the second floor.

The room beyond was large and dirty. A four-poster stood somewhere near the middle; it was surrounded by other furniture, which
appeared to be paying homage at a polite distance: chairs too many to count, small tables, chests, and wardrobes. A dead animal on the floor appeared to be a rabbit; another, sprawled over a chest, was clearly a large fox.

"That's Ieuan's bedroom," the boy called. "I wouldn't go in there."

I rejoined him in the attic, where he had stopped to wait for me.

"Ieuan doesn't leave that door unlocked often. When it is, it's usually because he's hoping to catch something. You, for example."

"I'll remember that."

"You'd better. You're an intruder in my father's house, after all. If Ieuan were to slash your throat, nobody could breathe a word against him."

(You always ridicule me for failing to get to the point, George, and I am about to hand you a capital opportunity; but I feel that this should be said, and I have no better place to say it. Ieuan--it is pronounced "
yai
-yan"--never seemed to me a particularly euphonious name; but it sounded positively sinister in that attic.)

I said I hoped he would not and asked what had become of Winkle.

"Oh, he went off that way." The boy waved vaguely. "He'll yell if he finds something, I'm sure."

"We had better go after him," I said.

"Good idea. Lead the way."

"I should introduce myself." I offered my hand. "I'm George Dunn."

(You will pardon the liberty, George, I feel certain. You will doubtless recall that we often did the same thing in school.)

"My name's Emlyn."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Emlyn." I raised my voice. "Winkle! Come here, Winkle!"

The boy stepped back and put his fingers in his ears. "Must you? You'll deafen me."

"Hurry!"

The boy turned and bolted down the stairs with Winkle in hot pursuit. I believe she sank her teeth into his calf once at least.

"What's all this?" It was Emlyn.

"Your brother was waiting for me at the top of the steps," I explained. "He pretended to be you, though I fear he has no future as a thespian."

"Really?"

I nodded. "Yes, really."

Winkle favored me with a smile more attractive than I would have supposed any fox could manage. "Tho withe!"

"No, not really. Emlyn has the triannulus. Ieuan did not. He could have put it down somewhere, of course, but that started me wondering, and there were other things.

"What were they?" Emlyn asked.

"He gave his name an ugly sort of emphasis I've never heard you use, for one thing. It sounded like a curse."

Slowly, Emlyn nodded. "I don't imagine Ieuan likes himself much."

"His shirt was a bit soiled, too. Yours looks as if you put it on fresh this morning. His looked as though he had worn it yesterday. I decided to test him, and said my name was George Dunn."

"Your brother's name?"

"Correct. He accepted that without a qualm, although you knew my name and had used it. At that point, I felt quite sure. I called for Winkle, fearing that he had done something to her."

"He must have slipped in behind us on the stairs. You didn't hear him?"

I shook my head. "I neglected to say that his face showed fading bruises. They were hard to see in this light, but they were there. Also, he assumed that Winkle was male, calling her 'he.' I noticed that, too. Why did he run when she appeared? Do you know?"

"He knew she was female," Emlyn said. "He just didn't want you to know it. He ran because she'd have denounced him, of course."

"I wouldn't have fought him, only asked why he broke my window."

Emlyn sighed. "You don't understand him. He tried to deceive you and failed almost from the start. He's deeply humiliated, and if he had stayed, it would have been worse--or that's what he thinks."

"I believe I understand."

"He'll hate you now, because you saw through him. He may hate you worse because you saw him run away."

"If he hates as easily as that, he must hate a great many people," I said.

"He hates everyone, himself included."

(I abandoned this letter for something or other, George, and have only now come back to it.)

After the conversation related above, we searched the attic for more foxes. Or at least, Emlyn and Winkle searched it for that purpose. I am afraid I only feigned to be looking for foxes, George, when in fact I was simply looking for anything that might be of use or interest to me.

The first thing I found was a massive old four-poster heaped with dusty blankets and sheets. Winkle at once set her teeth in the mattress and gave it several good yanks. Releasing it, she told me solemnly, "For theep."

"You're right," I said. "We'll see about that."

The next thing was a dormer window, a very small and rather dirty window made to open with a crank. Peering out, I could see nothing but miles of trees. And then, far off, a hilltop crowned with a single pointed tower, as if a needle had been thrust into the very summit of the hill. I called Emlyn over then, and asked what the tower was.

"That's Goldwurm's Spire," Emlyn told me.

I asked him to explain.

"He's a warlock, that's all. He killed his master and took his home--and other things, too. Everything that his old master had, though I've heard that he could never find his master's weapon of sorcery and is still looking for it."

"I've never heard of a weapon of sorcery. What is it?"

Emlyn shrugged. "It's complicated, and I certainly don't know everything there is to know about them. A sorcerer can take a part of his power and put it into an external object for safekeeping."

"Like putting money in the bank?"

For a moment Emlyn looked blank. "Maybe it is. Like putting gold in a chest instead of holding it in your hand. It makes it harder for anybody to attack the sorcerer, because they can't touch that power unless they know what the object is and where it is."

"Like opening an account under another name."

"I suppose. Anyway, the early ones were just about all weapons. Swords, mostly. That's why they're called weapons of sorcery. A lot are staffs and wands these days. I've heard of cups, too. I imagine Goldwurm thought he'd find his master's without much trouble, so he didn't keep him around to question. Just strangled him and threw him in the river. It was before my time, but I've heard that the old sorcerer's name was Ambrosius."

"I doubt that it matters now," I said.

Emlyn shrugged.

"I suppose this Goldwurm was acquitted."

Before Emlyn could reply, my cell phone chimed. I pushed a button that I hoped (not exactly fervently) was the correct one, and said hello.

"Bax? This is Martha Murrey. How's your phone? Are you satisfied with it?"

I said that I was very satisfied, although the truth was that I had never so much as attempted to use it.