Wrede, Patricia C - Enchanted Forest 02 (12 page)

“Defective?” Mendanbar said suspiciously. Telemain didn’t
look
like a wizard, but that didn’t necessarily mean much. Wizards could wear disguises as well as anyone else.

“Oh, it will probably operate, after a fashion,” Telemain said. “But not well, and not for long. I’m surprised you got this far on it.”

“We didn’t, exactly,” Mendanbar said. “And we
have
had some trouble with it. What do you suggest?”

The sound of a pebble bouncing down a series of rocks echoed along the narrow canyon. “I suggest we talk somewhere else,” Telemain said, glancing toward the sound. “This isn’t a safe place, even with my defensive enchantments fully erected.”

“And how do you suggest we get there?” Cimorene asked.

“Like this.” Telemain raised a hand and made a circle in the air with his forefinger. As he did, he muttered something, then clapped both hands together.

The canyon flowed and melted into a sloping meadow halfway up a mountainside. “Much better,” Telemain said. “No rock snakes, trolls, ogres, or other dangerous wildlife. I guarantee it.”

Mendanbar was inclined to believe him. Trolls and ogres liked places where they could jump out from behind things or pop out from under rocks. An open meadow didn’t have enough cover. Besides, Telemain was no longer surrounded by the hum of magic, which meant he had dropped his guarding spell.

“Now,” Telemain went on, “how
did
the two of you get into a ravine full of rock snakes with a defective magic carpet? Having rescued you, I think I am entitled to some explanation.”

“We were on our way to the Enchanted Forest,” Cimorene said carefully, pushing wisps of loose hair out of her face. Mendanbar noticed with approval that she said nothing about their reasons for wanting to go there. “How did you happen to come by at such a convenient moment?”

“I was—looking for some people I thought might be in this area,” Telemain said. “By the way, what are your names?”

“This is Cimorene and I’m Mendanbar,” Mendanbar said. “Who were you looking for?”

“You, I think,” Telemain said, smiling. “That is, if you’re the same Cimorene and Mendanbar who visited Herman the dwarf earlier today.”

“‘That was us,” Cimorene said cautiously.

“Good! Then I can settle this quickly and get back to my work. How did you—”

“Excuse me,” Mendanbar interrupted. “But how do you know Herman? And how did you find us?”

“I know Herman because he bought his house from me,” Telemain said. He was beginning to sound irritated. “I also maintain certain defensive enchantments, which are especially designed to prevent incursions by noxious creatures, around the house and neighboring areas for him. When someone demolished the scrying spell I had established on the attic window, I felt obliged to investigate. Herman was in the middle of an explanation about visitors and dragons when I sensed an extremely interesting sorcerous flare to the northwest.”

“I knew that dratted sword was going to get us in trouble,” Cimorene muttered.

“Before I had time to locate it precisely, there was another burst of magic, which I recognized as a transportation spell,” Telemain continued. He frowned disapprovingly. “A rather confused one. It has taken me all afternoon to disentangle the traces and discover your whereabouts. Does that satisfy you?”

“I think so,” Mendanbar said. “I’m sorry if we seem overly mistrustful, but we’ve already had some trouble with one wizard and we’ve reason to expect more. So you see . . .”

“I am
not
a wizard,” Telemain said emphatically. “I’m a magician. Can’t you tell?”

“No,” Cimorene said. “What’s the difference?”

“A magician knows many types of magic,” Telemain said. “Wizards only know one, and they’re very secretive about it. I’ve been researching them for years, trying to duplicate their methodology, but I still haven’t managed a workable simulation.”

“What?” said Cimorene, looking puzzled.

“He’s been trying to figure out how the wizards work their spells,” Mendanbar explained, “but he hasn’t done it yet.”

“Why do you want to know that?” Cimorene asked Telemain with renewed suspicion.

“Because that’s what I do!” Telemain said. “I just told you that. And if you’ll answer a few questions for me, I can go back to doing it. How did you shatter that window?”

“We asked it to show us something,” Mendanbar said. “It couldn’t, so it broke.”

Telemain shook his head. “Impossible! That particular glass was enchanted to reveal anything, anywhere, even in the Enchanted Forest. If it couldn’t discover the object of your inquiry, the viewing plane would display an empty information buffer.”

“What does he mean?” Cimorene asked, frowning.

“He means that if the window couldn’t find what we were asking about, it should have just stayed blank,” Mendanbar explained.

“That’s what I said.” Telemain nodded emphatically. “It should
not
have broken.”

“Well, it did,” Cimorene told him. “And we don’t have time to stand around arguing. We have to get to the Enchanted Forest and rescue a friend of mine. So could you just tell us what’s wrong with our carpet?”

“Nonsense,” Telemain muttered. “You
must
have done more than frame a question.” He intercepted a look from Cimorene and sighed. “Oh, very well, I’ll examine the carpet. Spread it out so I can see all of it at once.”

They unrolled the carpet the rest of the way. Telemain’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of the teddy bears, but he did not comment, for which Mendanbar was grateful. When the carpet was stretched full-length on the meadow, Telemain paced twice around it, frowning and gesturing occasionally. Then he turned to Mendanbar and Cimorene and shook his head.

“The landing compensator has a gap in it, and the flight regulator has completely deteriorated,” he said. “It needs more than I can do without special tools and yarn for reweaving. You’ll have to take it to a repair shop.”

“Wonderful,” Cimorene said sarcastically. “This
would
happen with a borrowed carpet.”

“Can you recommend a good place?” Mendanbar asked Telemain. “Preferably somewhere close,” he added, noting the pink tint of the sky to the west. The sun would be completely down in another hour, and he didn’t want to wander around the Mountains of Morning in the dark.

“Or can you send us straight to the Enchanted Forest?” Cimorene asked. “We’re in kind of a hurry.”

“The Enchanted Forest requires a complex and destination-specific enhancement to the basic transportation spell module,” Telemain explained. “But the repair shop is simple.”

He raised his left hand and made the same circular gesture he had before. “Gypsy Jack’s,” he said, and clapped, and the meadow and the mountain melted and flowed. The mountain bulged higher, and the meadow flattened and grew rockier. A long, rectangular section of ground squeezed upward and settled into the shape of a narrow house on wheels.

“There,” Telemain said with great satisfaction. “We’ve arrived.”

T
hey were standing in front of the wheeled house. At least, Mendanbar assumed it was the front because there was a door at the end of the long side facing them. Two iron steps, black and worn with age, led up to the door. The house itself was painted a cheerful blue with yellow shutters and a yellow trim around the door. There were four windows on the side facing Mendanbar, lined up in a neat row next to the door like chicks following a hen. The roof above the windows was low but not quite flat, and covered with wooden shingles that looked brand-new. There were four pairs of wheels, too, the rims painted blue to match the house and the spokes painted yellow to match the shutters.

A beautifully lettered sign on a stick had been pounded into the ground next to the door: “Ask About Our Low Prices!”

Mendanbar looked at Cimorene. Cimorene looked from Mendanbar to the wheeled house to Telemain. “Don’t do that again without asking first,” she said to the magician.

“°I thought you’d be pleased,” Telemain said. “Look at all the time you’ve saved.”

“Asking doesn’t take much time.”

“Where are we, exactly?” Mendanbar put in before they could start arguing. “And what is that?” He pointed at the house on wheels.

“That is Gypsy Jack’s home,” Telemain answered. “If anyone can mend that carpet of yours, he can. As to where we are, all I can tell you is that we are still somewhere in the Mountains of Morning. If you want a more precise location, you will have to ask Jack. Assuming he remembers; he moves around a lot.”

“How did you find him, then?” Cimorene asked.

“Oh, Jack supplies me with unusual things now and then, when I need them for a spell or an experiment,” Telemain said. “I pay him by enchanting his house for him. Any good magician can find his own spells.”

“Enchanting his house?” Mendanbar said. “You mean, to keep ogres and things from bothering it, the way you did Herman’s?”

Telemain shook his head. “I offered, but Jack wasn’t interested. He has his own way of discouraging unpleasant company. No, what he wanted was a spell to keep the paint from fading.”

“Why does he need you to put spells on his house?” Cimorene asked.

“Jack isn’t a magician,” Telemain said. “He does a little bit of everything—smithing, gardening, music, tailoring, pretty much any trade you can think of. For example, he designed and built his house. He has a rare knack for patching up a spell that’s wearing thin, but he can’t set up a complex enchantment on his own. That’s why he deals with me.”

One of the windows scraped open and a head poked out. “Yo! You going to stand there all night and maybe get eaten by a dragon? Not that I would dream of interfering with your plans, but if a quick exit is what you want, I got a dozen faster ways, all very cheap.”

“Hello, Jack,” Telemain called. “I’ve brought you some customers.”

“Customers! Why didn’t you say so? I’ll be right out.” The head vanished and the window screeched closed.

“Customers?” Cimorene said, looking at Telemain.

“You want that carpet fixed, don’t you? Jack can—”

The door of the house flew open with a bang, and a large man leaped over the steps and landed in front of them. He had a thick black mustache, long black hair, bright black eyes, and a wide white grin. Pushing a soft, baggy cap back from his forehead, he bowed deeply.

“Welcome to my home, friends of Telemain!” he boomed. “And very welcome you are. What’s the problem?”

“A little difficulty about transportation, Jack,” Telemain said before Mendanbar or Cimorene had quite recovered from the man’s abrupt appearance. “We were hoping you could help.”

“No trouble! What do you need? Shoes? I got a barrel full—sandals, clogs, dancing shoes, walking shoes, horse shoes . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked hopefully at Telemain.

“Nothing that simple,” Telemain said. “The difficulty is magical in nature.”

“Ah! You want seven-league boots! Well, you’re in luck. A pair of ‘em just came in this morning. They’re practically brand-new, hardly been used at all. Or there’s a swell pair of ruby slippers that’d be perfect for the lady. I’ll throw in the magic belt that goes with ‘em for free. Or—’

“No, no, Jack,” Telemain interrupted. “The problem is with this.” He stepped aside and let Jack get a good look at the magic carpet.

Jack’s eyes narrowed to slits of concentration. He stepped forward and studied the carpet, then paced around it, much as Telemain had done earlier. “No kidding,” he said at last. “That carpet’s a problem, all right.”

“Can you fix it?” Cimorene asked.

“Sure. Give me a week, and she’ll be good as new.

“A week!” Cimorene looked at him in dismay. “Can’t you fix it any faster than that?”

Jack spread his hands out and shrugged. “Maybe, but I can’t promise. It depends on how fast I can get parts.”

“Then we’ll leave it here and go on without it tomorrow,” Mendanbar said. At least they wouldn’t have to carry the thing around anymore, and they wouldn’t be tempted to use it in spite of its hazards. “You can send it home when it’s finished, can’t you?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Jack smiled. “Where do you want it?”

Cimorene hesitated. “You’re not one of those jacks who go around killing giants, are you?”

“Lady, what do you think I am, stupid or something?” Jack asked. “I’m a businessman. I don’t
do
giants.”

“Then please send the carpet to Ballimore the Giantess on Flat Top Mountain when you’re done fixing it,” Cimorene said. “And the bill to Cimorene, Chief Cook and Librarian, in care of the King of the Dragons.”

“King of the Dragons, eh?” Jack said thoughtfully.

“Yes, and don’t go padding the bill, Jack,” Telemain warned.

“Me? Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jack kicked the carpet into a loose roll and heaved it up onto his shoulder. “Anything else?”

“Is there a safe place near here where we can spend the night?” Mendanbar asked.

“Sure,” Jack said. He balanced the carpet with one hand and jerked the thumb of the other at the blue-and-yellow house on wheels. “Right there. I got two spare rooms on the end I can rent you for as long as you want ‘em.”

“Tonight is all we need,” Mendanbar said, and Cimorene nodded.

Jack bobbed his head in a way that managed to suggest a full-fledged formal bow, then started toward the house, carrying the carpet. Mendanbar turned to Telemain. “Thank you very much for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Telemain said, and started after Jack.

“Hey!” Cimorene said. “Where are you going?”

“To arrange for my own bed and board,” Telemain explained patiently. “You didn’t really expect me to leave before you’d answered my questions, did you?”

Without waiting for a reply, the magician followed Jack into the house. Mendanbar and Cimorene looked at each other, shrugged, and went in after them.

*
            
*
            
*

The front door of Jack’s house opened into a cluttered room painted a bright green that clashed with almost everything. Fortunately, most of the walls were hidden behind piles of boxes, barrels, bales, and bundles. Jack propped the carpet in a crowded corner, where it leaned precariously against two paintings balanced on a stack of books. Then he set about fixing dinner.

Cimorene kept Telemain’s attention occupied while Jack worked, and at first Mendanbar was glad of it. He wanted time to think and to sort out some of the confusing things that had happened in the last two days. He was sure that a few of them were important, and if he could only concentrate for a little while he could figure out which ones.

He quickly discovered that it was not going to work. The conversation between Cimorene and Telemain was much too distracting, even though he was not particularly interested in anything they were talking about. Finally he gave up trying to think and listened instead.

“—window wasn’t up to it,” Cimorene was saying, “So I used a spell to boost it.”

“And that broke it?” Telemain said, frowning.

“No,” Cimorene replied. “It worked just fine. The window turned white, and then showed Kazul and a lot of wizards.” Her face darkened. “And when I catch up with them—”

“Yes, of course,” Telemain said hastily. “What happened next?”

“I told the window to show me where they were, and
then
it broke.”

“I can fix up a new one for you,” Jack put in over his shoulder. “I got some glass around somewhere, and it’s no trick at all to cut it to size.”

“I’ll think about it, Jack,” Telemain said. He looked at Cimorene. “The window just . . . broke? It didn’t show anything at all?”

Cimorene nodded. “Not a thing. Right, Mendanbar?”

“Right,” Mendanbar said. “The picture of Kazul and the wizards disappeared, and the window turned bright green, and then it broke. I think it was trying to show us a place inside the Enchanted Forest and couldn’t.”

“It should have been able to,” Telemain said. “I tested it very thoroughly. I suppose the enchantment might have been wearing thin. What kind of spell did you say you used to boost it?” he asked, turning to Cimorene.

Cimorene hesitated, then shrugged. “It was a dragon spell I found in Kazul’s library last year. It’s very adaptable, and—”

A shout from outside the house interrupted Cimorene in mid-sentence. “You in there! Come out at once. There’s no point in hiding.”

Jack muttered something and stuck his head out the window. “Hang on!” he shouted. “I’ll just be a min—”

Something exploded outside, knocking Jack back through the window and making the whole house rock. “Come out!” the voice repeated. “Now!”

“Wizards got no patience,” Jack muttered, glaring at the
window.

Mendanbar stiffened and looked at Cimorene.

“We’d better go out, or he’ll tear the house down,” she said. “Jack, can you mix up a bucket of soapy water with a little lemon juice in it, quick?”

“Huh?” said Jack.

“A bucket of soap and water and lemon juice,” Cimorene repeated impatiently. “It melts wizards. Hurry up and bring it out after us. I think we’re going to need it.”

“Soapy water with lemon melts wizards?” Telemain said with great interest. “How did you discover that?”

Another explosion rocked the house. “Never mind that now.,” Cimorene said. “Come on!” She pushed the door open and darted out.

With a muttered curse, Mendanbar followed. He remembered the steps just in time to jump over them instead of tripping. As he landed, he dodged to one side and pulled his sword out. Only then did he stop to look around.

Cimorene stood with her back against the house,
watching the wizard warily. The wizard was very easy to see, even though it was by now quite dark, because he was glowing as brightly as a bonfire. He was taller than the wizard who had invaded Cimorene’s cave, and he wore red robes instead of blue and brown, but his staff was of the same dark, polished wood and his sandy beard was just as long and scraggly. Mendanbar wondered irrelevantly whether the Society of Wizards had a rule against its members trimming their beards.

“Cimorene!” the wizard said. “I might have guessed. What have you—no, you
haven’t
got it. Where is it?”

“Where is what?” Mendanbar demanded. “And what do you mean by causing all this commotion? Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock on doors and ask for things politely?”

“So you’ve picked up a hero,” the wizard said to Cimorene with a sneer. “He won’t do you any good. Where is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cimorene said.

“Neither does he,” Telemain commented from the doorway. “Unless he’s even more fuzzy-headed than he seems. From the way he’s been leaping to conclusions without any evidence at all, that’s entirely possible.”

The wizard’s eyes narrowed and he pointed his staff at Telemain. “Who are you?”

“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said since you arrived,” Telemain said. “My name is Telemain. I’m a magician.”

“A magician!” The wizard sucked in his breath. “I suppose we are after the same thing. I warn you, you had better not cross me. I represent the Society of Wizards in this matter.”

“
What
matter?” Cimorene asked crossly.

“Yes, you have displayed a lamentable lack of precision in your account of your purposes,” Telemain said. “Just what—”