The Sorcerer's House (9 page)

"Certain." I pointed to the apparatus. "I got your longlight when I got this. I had neither when I repaired the window."

"Good. You'll understand why I say that when you understand the triannulus. Where's my longlight?"

My eyes fell on the lamp. "I was sitting in here reading. . . ."

"Yes?"

I snapped my fingers. "A neighbor came and gave me that. It's an oil lamp."

Emlyn waited.

"We lit it and he blew out the candle. Blew out your longlight."

"You hadn't--never mind. Go on."

"He gave me a spare can of oil for it, too. I was afraid of what might happen if the oil got too close to the fire, so I put it in the kitchen after he left. Put the oil and the long light in there together, side by side."

I felt quite proud of myself for remembering that, George; but when we went to get it, it was gone. I looked and Emlyn, and he at me.

"This is where I put it," I said. "Right here next to the oil, on this shelf in this cabinet."

I had never heard the sharp bark of a fox before, but I heard it then and spun around.

The fox was Winkle, of course. She was standing in the kitchen doorway with the longlight in front of her; her expression was more mischievous than ever.

I said, "Well! I wondered what had happened to you," and went to get it.

At which, George, she picked it up and ran.

Emlyn yelled, "The facefox!" and sprinted after her.

We chased her, I believe, through most of the rooms on the lower floor, and there are a good many of them. Emlyn, who can run far faster than I, was always in hot pursuit. I tried to get ahead of her and block her exit.

Neither of us succeeded, and at last we gave up and sat down on the floor, panting.

At which Winkle sat, too, carefully set the longlight down in front of her, and grinned at us.

"Please, Winkle." I gasped for breath. "Let us have it. It belongs to Emlyn here."

Emyln said, "I've been trying to find you because I learned that Ieuan had caged you. I was going to set you free. Doesn't that prove I'm a friend?"

"Ahhh! Tho?"

"If you'll give it back to me now--it's mine, it really is--I'll always be your friend. I'll never try to force you like Ieuan did." Emlyn raised his hand. "That I swear by wind and tree, by grass, river, and hill."

Winkle nodded and looked at me. "Ahhh, tho?"

"You don't need a friend as poor as I am, Winkle. I know that. I was the one who needed a friend, and you were that friend for a day or two. I--I'd like for us to be friends again. Won't you be my pet? You'll always be free to come and go, and if there's any way I can help you, I'll do it. Any way at all."

At that, Winkle picked up the longlight, trotted over to me, and set it down in front of me.

I must end my letter here, George. This is my last sheet, and my eyes ache after so much writing by lamplight. I shall recount to you the rest when I have obtained more paper.

Please remember that I long to hear from you, whether you will assist me or not. How are you? How is Millie?

Yours sincerely,

Bax

Dear George:

This paper itself is interesting. You may recall that the first boy (Emlyn) promised to show me how his father's triannulus operates. Once we had reclaimed his longlight from Winkle, he did so.

"Each ring is a want list," he explained. "The inside ring has the shortest list, because it has the least room to put things in."

I nodded.

"The middle ring has everything that's on the inside ring and some more things of its own. Look here. See this symbol?"

I did. It was an oval surrounding something that might have been a flame.

"It's not on the inner ring, but it is on middle ring. See?"

I remarked that it was on the outer ring as well and asked what it meant.

Emlyn looked up at me. "I don't know. Do you?"

Lacking your imagination, George, I could only confess that I had no idea.

"See if you can find this snake on the outer ring."

I did, without much difficulty.

"Right. Everything that's on the middle ring is on the outer ring, and a few more."

(Winkle was between us, and bent over the triannulus with as much interest as I.)

"Tell me something you want," Emlyn instructed me, "and we'll use this to try to find it."

"Stationery," I said.

He looked up. "What's that?"

"Writing paper and envelopes. I've been writing my brother from time to time, and I've only a little left."

"That's terribly trivial, and I'm certain it's not on the inner ring. What we want now is something that's on all three."

"What about money? I need money badly."

Emlyn nodded. "That's on all three, I believe. Yes, here. It's on the inner, so it must be on all three. We'll line them up."

At this point, George, I recalled my fish; but I said nothing about them then. Each of the glyphs he aligned showed three small circles of varying size. I suppose they represent coins.

"Now move the pointer so it points to them. You're the one who wants money, so it will be better if you do it."

I did. "Does this mean I'll get it?"

"Not yet. You have to light the longlight."

I had obtained several folders of matches at the Lakeshore Inn. Producing one, I struck the match.

Winkle sniffed and backed away.

"That's a good trick." Emlyn's voice was icily calm. "A good trick but a bad spirit. Snuff the flame."

I blew it out.

"There's still a coal or four in there." He pointed toward my fireplace. "Puff them, and light the longlight from one."

I did.

"Good. Now listen carefully. The longlight must burn until you get what you want. If it goes out before then, you will acquire numen. Do you want it?"

I said, "I don't even know what you mean by it."

"That trick with the little stick made me think you might want it."

"Numen? Is that what you said?"

He nodded. "I've got it already because of you, and I think you've got it, too. We're both dangerous--dangerous to ourselves and to each other. Sorcery is the power wielded by a sorcerer, someone like Father. Do you know what a sorcerer is?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good. For an object like this to work, it must have numen. The making of it endows it with numen. If it fails to, the object is useless. When it's used, its numen creates sorcery and directs it. Directs it mechanically, I ought to have said. Not intelligently, unless the device possesses intelligence. Intelligence is very rare."

I nodded. "I know."

"When the object is a triannulus, lighting a longlight begins the process and snuffing out the longlight ends it. I assume you know about swords? Lighting the longlight is like drawing a sword and snuffing out the longlight is like sheathing that sword."

I was not sure I followed that, and I said so.

"You mustn't draw a sword too soon, and sheathing it too soon is even worse. That's all I meant. Suppose--"

"Wait!" I can be forceful when I want to be, George, and I was forceful then. "There are fish on there. Fish on all three rings. Suppose I lined up the fish, and moved the pointer, and lit the longlight to read by."

"That would be very foolish."

"But say that I did it. Then, before I'd gotten any fish, a neighbor came to the door and gave me an oil lamp, then blew out the longlight. What would happen then?"

"Is that what happened?"

I nodded.

"I want to blame you," Emlyn sighed. "I want it so much I'm going to do it. You should never, ever, have toyed--which is what you did--with sorcerous things you don't understand. It's all your fault! Everything's your fault and you deserve everything that happens to you."

Winkle barked and snarled at him.

"Yes, he does! By marsh and mere, he's got it coming to him." Emlyn stamped. "He's a dirty donkey, and you know it."

Winkle shook her head.

Emlyn turned back to me. "My own disaster is your fault, too, Bax. You got into my father's house and came upstairs with your blinding torch and made me drop the longlight. It went out, and that's how I acquired numen I'm too ignorant to wield."

"I deeply and humbly apologize." I know I must have sounded contrite, George, because I felt contrite. "If there's some way I can make it up to you, I'll certainly do it. On one point I must correct you, however. This isn't your father's house. It's mine."

Winkle ran to the window, jumped up onto the sill, and barked.

"I think someone's coming." Emlyn went to the window and looked out.

I followed him. "That was the postman, I believe. The flag's down."

He looked at me quizzically.

"The flag on my mailbox," I explained. "Last night I wrote a letter to my dear brother George. He never writes to me, but I hope to soften his stance eventually."

Emlyn nodded. "Do you have a courier or a page to run with your letters?"

"The postman takes them. That's what I'm trying to make clear. When I'd finished my letter and stamped it, I put it in my box and raised the flag. The flag tells the postman to stop even if he hasn't any mail for me. When he's picked up my letter--or she has, postmen are often women--he puts the flag down."

"I don't see the flag. Can you show it to me? I think I've finished reviling you, for the present at least."

We went out to the box, and I showed him the little metal flag, raising and lowering it. Several cars passed, and I have wondered since what they thought of the three of us gathered around my rusty mailbox in the bright summer sunshine--of Emlyn in his knee breeches and wide-sleeved shirt, and Winkle, an animal of flame, ice, and night.

There was mail, including--oh, wonder of wonders--my allowance. I opened it when we had returned to the house, and explained what a check was to Emlyn.

"There! It's money, you say?"

"It certainly is, and very welcome money, too."

"Then we must snuff the longlight." He held it up. "Moisten your fingers and pinch the wick. That's the best way."

I did.

"Now the operation is over." Emlyn smiled. "If you had put out the flame too soon, the numen would have been directionless and unfulfilled. That's what happened to me when I dropped the longlight and the flame went out, and it's what happened to you when you let someone put the flame out before you got your fish. I ought to warn you that fish may keep coming until you get three of them. That could easily happen."

Here, I felt, was confusion that should be dealt with. "I got three that night," I explained. "The neighbor who gave me fish actually gave me three of them."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, three fish. I recall that distinctly. Each was about so big." I indicated their length with my hands.

"Did they differ in some other way? In any way at all? That may be important."

"They were of three different kinds, I believe. One was a catfish. I believe both the others were bass, but--but . . ."

"Yes?"

"Different kinds of bass, perhaps. I don't know much about bass, but they didn't look quite the same."

"This could be bad." Sighing, Emlyn resumed his seat on the floor.

"Do you mean that the numen might continue to get fish for me?"

"Exactly. It may get you three fish three times, for example. What's the matter, Bax?"

"I think perhaps it already has. I lunched on fish chowder. First, I mean. Before the entree I had a cup of fish chowder. They might easily have chopped up three fish to make a big kettle of fish chowder. Wouldn't you think so?"

Emlyn nodded.

"Then for my lunch, I had three sorts of fish. There was blackfish, which I'd never eaten before. It was quite good. The others were . . ." I stopped to think.