A Bad Spell in Yurt - Wizard of Yurt - 1 (5 page)

I set the spel in place and stepped outside. It worked perfectly, although I immediately stepped in a puddle and got water in my socks. But this was not the fault of the magic. My good humor restored, I turned back to lock the door to my chambers, then started across the courtyard.

I stopped in the stables, where the horses whickered at me and the cats came to rub against my legs. It was warm and dusty with the smel of hay. The sound of rain seemed faint and far away in the comfort and dim light. I stroked the horses on their noses and laughed when they tried to nuzzle my pockets. "No carrots," I told them. Also no malignant influences. I readjusted my spel and stepped back into the courtyard.

This time I walked to the north end of the courtyard, where a massive tower rose. The stones of the tower, unlike the stones of the rest of the castle, were not whitewashed, but were so dark they were almost black. There were no windows for the first thirty feet. It was in this tower, according to the chaplain, that my predecessor had had his study.

A heavy oak door was the only way in. I tested the handle, but it wouldn't open. With my eye to the crack along the doorjamb, I thought I saw a bolt on the inside. Delicately I tried a lifting spel on the bolt, or rather a sliding spel , to push it back in its track. Although I had to abandon the spel against the rain to give al my concentration to the bolt, my sliding spel actual y worked. With only the slightest squeak, the bolt slid back, and I was able to pul the door open. Damp but delighted, I went in and closed the door behind me.

Inside it was completely black, except for tiny streaks of light around the door frame. I needed a light; I wondered if maybe I should start carrying a wizard's staff. I could make a light, at least temporarily, but I needed something to attach it to. I found a piece of hay sticking to my trousers and tried that, but it made only a faint firefly glow. So I took off my belt and used the buckle. It was stil not very bright, but it was serviceable, and since the design of the buckle was the moon and stars, it was rather dramatic. I wondered why I had not thought of making the buckle glow earlier and wondered if it would be possible to attach the light permanently.

Pleased with myself, I started up steep, uneven steps. It wasn't until I had spiraled up at least halfway, I estimated, to the first window, that a sudden thought brought me to a halt. If the tower was empty, why had the door been bolted on the
inside
?

I listened for a moment, hearing nothing but my own heartbeat, and probed with my mind, without finding another intel igence in the tower. I shrugged, tel ing myself that there was perhaps a connection to the rest of the castle from an upper level, but I had again the goose-bump feeling of evil.

Shortly I reached the first window and looked out across the wet courtyard. Except for the smoke from the chimneys and a distant sound of voices and laughter, the castle looked deserted. From here on up there seemed to be windows enough that the stairs were never black. I had been walking with my belt held out ahead of me to watch for uneven places in the stairs, but now I put it back around my waist. To my disappointment, the moon and stars of the buckle slowly faded once I turned my attention from keeping them bright.

My legs were just starting to ache when I reached another oak door. I admired my predecessor if he had walked up and down from here for every meal. "But he probably flew," I thought.

"And that's why the door was bolted on the inside; the last time he was here, he closed it down below and then left through a window."

For some reason I had never liked flying. I could do it if I had to, at least for short distances, but I preferred my own feet on the ground. The king with his aching joints might prefer to skim above the grass, but I liked to feel my shoes among the blades. I was
quite
sure my dislike for flying had nothing to do with my experiences that first day our instructor had tried to teach us.

This door was not locked. It opened smoothly, letting me into a large and airy room. There were cupboards, desks, benches, and boxes, but al the cupboard doors were open, and there was nothing inside.

"So he took it al when he left," I thought, and then wondered what
it
might be. The room was almost disappointing. After the dark climb and the length of the stairs, it seemed as though there ought to be something significant here, rather than a room from which someone had removed his possessions and which he had swept thoroughly before leaving for the final time. I realized I did not know how long the old wizard had been gone; I had been acting and thinking as though it were a very long time, but in fact it might only have been a few days.

There was nothing else to see. One of the casement windows had had the glass broken out, but the rest were closed. I looked out the southern window toward the second highest tower in the castle, on the opposite end of the courtyard. It had a dovecot on the roof and was doubtless where the carrier pigeons came in. I opened the casement and climbed up on the sil , hesitated a moment, and stepped out into the air.

The rain had let up, but the damp cool air swirled around me. Although I would not have joined the king in characterizing flying as "extremely enjoyable," there was a certain sense of power in holding oneself up against the tug of gravity, of letting oneself drift slowly down, so that the ground sometimes came too soon. This time, however, I was glad to be back on the ground. I rebolted the outer door to the tower from the outside, as I had unbolted it, and started back toward my chambers.

With my door in sight, I stopped abruptly. The handle should have been glowing softly from my magic lock, but it was not glowing at al . I was certain I had locked it. I stepped forward, tried the door, and it opened at once. Someone had taken off my lock.

I stepped inside cautiously, but al seemed undisturbed. My books were as I had left them, and my clothes seemed untouched. I probed for a trap, both with magic and by lying down and looking under the bed.

Finding nothing, I sat back on my heels. Although it was impossible to say where it was coming from, and although it disappeared if one tried to sense it directly, the dark touch I had been feeling al day was here in my room. It was like trying to see something that could only be glimpsed from the corner of the eye.

To remove my lock, someone would not only have to know magic, but a lot more magic than I did. It was probably possible to break a magic lock, but a lot of the young wizards, including me, had tried to find the spel and never done so. I tried to dispel the chil that came from more than the rain. "Maybe I should be glad he or she left it unlocked; they couldn't have duplicated my palm print, which would mean that if they relocked my door it would only open to them." But who in the castle besides me knew magic?

It took me a week to figure out how to do the lights. During that week, Gwen continued to bring me breakfast every morning, though not quite so early. I had told her that, in spite of my friendship for the chaplain (or maybe, I thought, in order to preserve that friendship), I would not be attending chapel every morning. Once or twice she brought me crul ers, but usual y it was cake donuts.

Although she was perfectly cordial, I got no more winks or saucy looks. I wondered if she had been warned against me, and if so by whom. The constable, who oversaw the castle staff, seemed the most likely person, except that I couldn't picture him doing it. I preferred to think that she had found out that wizards are not supposed to marry and was trying to rein in her affections before she developed a broken heart.

My initial problem with the lights for the stairs was finding something suitable to which to attach the magic. The headroom was so limited that I decided to use a flat surface rather than the more normal globes. My first thought was to do something with glass.

The constable introduced me to the young man who blew glass for the castle. I recognized him as one of the trumpeters who played at dinner. Once he had his livery off and his leather smock on, however, I would never have known him.

When he had his fire burning so hot that his glass was liquid and I had to stand back at the far side of the room, he dipped a long tube into the molten glass and began to blow. I was fascinated; I had never seen glass being made before.

He blew a large, thin bubble, bril iantly red, then laid it down and rol ed it flat before it could cool. He stepped back, wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, and waited for comments from me.

It was exactly what I had asked for, an oval piece of glass a little thicker than a window pane. But I had had an awful thought. I had knocked my head on the ceiling going up the stairs to the chapel, and I was not the tal est person in the castle. I didn't want my magic lights shattered into shards of glowing glass the first time Dominic raised his head too quickly.

"I'd like to try something a little different," I said. "Maybe this time could you make something hol ow, like a flat-bottomed bottle that tapers toward the top--" I waved my hands in the air, sketching the shape. I was describing the base of a telephone.

"These are going to be strange looking lights," he said with a grin when he had blown it. "How many do you want?"

"Just one more, I think," I said, looking at my telephone; it was stil glowing hot. "And then I'l want some more parts in different shapes." For the next hour, he blew different shapes to my specification. The mouth piece was the trickiest part. At the end, I had a glass oval and two very lovely though very unusual glass telephone instruments.

"These actual y aren't al going to be lights," I told the young man. "Have you ever seen a telephone?"

"Those are telephones?" he said with interest. "And I made them? Can I make a cal and tel my mother?"

"Does she have a telephone?" I said quickly, hoping that she didn't and wanting to forestal explaining that these were far from operational.

"No," he said and frowned. "I hadn't thought of that. You need two of them, don't you, one for each person. I expect that's why you made two. She lives in the next kingdom, about fifty miles from here; maybe I'l send her a message by the pigeons."

"You do wonderful glass blowing," I said. "And I also very much like your playing at dinner." I hurried back to my room with my prizes.

The telephones I set careful y on a high shelf, but I sat down with the oval of glass to try to make it glow. This piece, I thought, I could use for just inside the door from the great hal , where the ceiling was stil high. Once I had been able to attach magic light permanently to it, I would talk to the armorer about getting some pieces of steel made in the same shape, for further up the stairs.

At first I was no more able to make my piece of glass shine permanently than I had been able to do with my belt buckle. I had been spending much of the day with my books of spel s when, in the middle of the week, Joachim, the chaplain, invited me to his room after dinner.

I think I was the only person who cal ed him Joachim. I had in fact known him for some time before even learning he had a name. Almost everyone else in Yurt cal ed him Father, which I resisted doing, both because he wasn't my father and because I was afraid that to do so would let down the dignity of wizardry. He didn't seem to mind.

As I sipped the wine he poured me, I looked around his room. It was lit with candles, no magic globes here. He had only the one room, rather than the two I had, and his bed looked hard.

The wal s were unadorned, except for the crucifix over the bed, and al the books on his shelf seemed wel -thumbed.

"Have you started feeling comfortable with your duties yet?" he asked, setting down the bottle and sitting on another hard chair opposite mine. The air from the window made the candle flames dance and his shadow move grotesquely behind him.

"I keep on hoping I'l find out what my duties are," I said. I was wondering if I could trust him with my climb up the north tower and the sense of evil I had first felt there. "They hired me as Royal Wizard, and they've given me some tasks, but these aren't going to keep me busy forever--or I hope not. Do you know exactly what your duties are?"

"A chaplain's are a little clearer. I perform the service in the chapel every day, or oftener if needed, I encourage the sick, give solace to the dying, write treatises if treatises need writing, and am here whenever I'm wanted. But maybe a Royal Wizard's duties are not much different; I would think your principal responsibility is to be at hand whenever magic is needed."

"Is that what our predecessors did, perform useful tasks if cal ed upon and spend the rest of the time waiting to be needed?" I had a vision of spending the next two hundred years of my life trying to make glass glow, and I didn't like the picture.

"I think that's what your predecessor did, at least part of the time, though he spent much of his time alone up in his tower. He sometimes wouldn't emerge for days. He always said he was trying to gain new knowledge. Certainly his il usions at supper were livelier when he'd been gone for a few days. As for my predecessor, I don't know; he was dead when I came."

"He was dead? I hadn't realized that."

"He's buried in the cemetery out beyond the gate. I think he was very old. But as I told you before, there had clearly been some sort of disagreement between him and the old wizard, and though it colored the wizard's attitude toward me, I never found out what it was."

I slowly drained my glass, giving myself time to think. I had a vague recol ection of hearing that young priests were rarely sent out to their first positions alone. Usual y they went where older priests could guide them for a few years before retiring themselves. Everyone knows that we wizards fight with each other al the time, which is why a new Royal Wizard only takes up his post when the old one is wel out of the way, but priests are supposed to show each other Christian charity and support.

The shadows from the candle made my companion's eye sockets enormous and so dark that his eyes were invisible. I shivered involuntarily, not liking what I was thinking. Four years ago, the king had married, and, according to Dominic, had stil been strong and vigorous. Three years ago, probably after their old chaplain had died unexpectedly, the kingdom had had to send for a new one. Not long afterwards, the king began to grow weaker.