Calling on Dragons (15 page)

“So that's where we are,” Trouble said.

“We missed our way,” Morwen called. “And we have an injured companion who needs to rest in a warm, dry place. We were hoping you could help.”

“Another one?” The man leaned precariously out, peering into the gloom. “How many of you
are
there?”

“Three humans, a donkey, two cats, and a dragon,” Cimorene said. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Help.” The man sounded mildly surprised by the idea. “I suppose I could. Since you didn't actually come looking for me.”

“What's that got to do with it?” Killer whispered. “I don't understand this person at all.”

“I expect we'll find out in a little while,” Morwen said. Raising her voice, she called, “Are you going to let us in or not?”

“I think so. Yes, I believe I will. Hold on a minute while I get the laundry basket.”

“Basket?” Killer's ears waggled. “I don't like the sound of this.”

“Neither do I,” said Kazul.

“Don't be unreasonable,” Cimorene said to the dragon. “You can't expect everyone to be able to accommodate a dragon on short notice.”

“This place doesn't look as if it could accommodate a dragon on
any
notice,” Kazul said.

“Here it comes,” said the man's voice above them. “Look out below.”

Something large and dark poked out of the window, trembled, and fell. Kazul ducked, and her rear legs slid back into the mud. An instant later, a large straw laundry basket jerked to a stop a foot from the ground, bounced once, and swung twisting in the air. Three short ropes stretched from metal anchors around the basket's rim to a much longer rope that extended upward into the dark.

“One at a time, please,” the man called. “And send somebody light first.”

“I don't like the sound of that at all,” Kazul said.

Morwen studied the laundry basket, nodded, and reached into her left sleeve. “One person at a time? Nonsense. There is no reason to drag things out.” She withdrew a fat round jar and opened it. “Trouble, Scorn, I'd like your assistance, please.”

Alerted by her tone, the cats slid down Kazul's sides and bounded over. Purring loudly, they took up positions on either side of the laundry basket without further instructions.

“What's that?” Cimorene asked, nodding at the jar Morwen was holding.

“Flying ointment,” Morwen said. “It's a standard spell for broomsticks, but it should work equally well on a straw basket. Be quiet for a moment, please.”

“What's going on down there? Hurry up, or I'll haul it in without you!”

“Kazul, would you mind?” Morwen flicked a finger at the rope.

“Not at all.” Kazul took hold of the knot where all the ropes met, inserting her claws carefully in the gaps between ropes so as not to damage anything.

Satisfied that the laundry basket wasn't going anywhere, Morwen dipped a finger in the flying ointment and smeared it along the basket's rim. The straw soaked it up much faster than a broom handle, so it took longer than she had expected to work her way around the basket. Overhead, the man in the tower shouted again, but Morwen did not bother to listen. Suddenly, as she neared the spot where she had started, Scorn hissed and the laundry basket swayed wildly.

Her concentration broken, Morwen looked up. A palm-size semicircle had disappeared from the rim of the laundry basket in front of her, and Killer was backing rapidly away. A ragged fringe of straw stuck out around the edges of his mouth.

“Killer!” said Morwen.

“I'm sorry,” Cimorene said. “I should have been watching him, but I got too interested in what you were doing.”

“Mm hmph
hmphrmph,
” said Killer. He swallowed and tried again. “I was
hungry.
You wouldn't let me eat those vine things.”

“Straw has no nutritional value,” Morwen said. “And after all that's happened to you already, I'd think you'd know better than to take a bite out of something while I'm casting a flying spell on it.”

“Oh, I was careful,” Killer said. “I aimed for the part you hadn't gotten to yet.”

“I think you missed,” said Kazul.

Killer's ears pricked up, then dropped. “What? No, I'm sure I—ouch! Oh no, now what? Morwen, this
hurts!
”

“What hurts?”

“My back. Owww! Can't you do something?”

“In a minute,” Morwen said. Whatever was happening to Killer, it was unlikely to damage him seriously. Finishing the spell was far more important. To break off now might cause difficulties, and even if it didn't, there wasn't enough of the flying ointment to start over from the beginning.

Morwen turned back to the laundry basket. With two more swipes, she covered the rest of the rim, including the part Killer had bitten out. She wiped her fingers carefully on the side of the laundry basket, nodded to the cats, and said,

“One of fire, two of light,

Three from ground at dead of night.

Four in strands of deep sea foam,

Five that sings and brings them home.”

The cats stretched upward and dug their claws into the straw. With a faint
pop,
a spark of dim purple light appeared on the rim of the laundry basket. It rolled around the edge, then spread down along the sides to where Scorn and Trouble held on. The cats meowed in harmony, and the light winked out, leaving a smell of burned nutmeg.

“There,” said Morwen. “Now, Killer—”

“Hurry!” said the donkey. “It's getting worse. Owww! None of the other things hurt like this.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” Morwen said after a quick look. “You're growing wings, and Telemain's lying across the top of them. Cimorene, give me a hand, please.”

“Wings?” Killer sounded stunned. “Me?”

Trouble snickered. “A bright blue six-foot donkey with wings. What an idea.”

Together, Morwen and Cimorene got Telemain off Killer's back and into the laundry basket. Killer sighed in relief as the weight lifted, then he craned his neck backwards to get a look at his new appendages.

“They're awfully large,” he said after a stunned moment.

“They're not just large,” Cimorene said. “They're enormous.”

“And they're still growing,” Trouble pointed out.

“Fertilizer,” Morwen said resignedly. “Magic fertilizer. I
thought
there'd be trouble over that hay.”

“Can't you stop them?” Killer asked nervously.

“They'll stop growing on their own, when they run out of—of the fertilizer magic,” Morwen said. “It shouldn't take too long. You didn't eat much of MacDonald's hay. Now, Kazul, if you'll let go of the rope and tell our future host to give it a tug—”

Fire ran down the rope from the window to the knot, then flared brightly and died. When Kazul opened her hand, the charred ends of the three short ropes fell into the laundry basket, along with a few horrible-smelling flakes of black ash. There was nothing left of the long rope. Above them, the window slammed shut.

Shaking her hand as if it stung, Kazul said, “I think he's changed his mind.”

“Too late,” Morwen said. “Trouble, Scorn, let's go.”

“Do we get a raise?” Trouble asked as he leapt into the laundry basket.

“Move over,” Scorn said, following.

“Morwen, what are you going to do?” Cimorene asked in a worried tone.

“Get Telemain inside where it's warm and dry,” Morwen replied. “I'll send the basket back for you and Killer.”

“Are you sure you should—”

“I'm sure.” Morwen settled herself against the side of the laundry basket and took hold of the rim. Tapping three times with her left forefinger, she said, “Onward and upward.”

The laundry basket shuddered, then slowly began to rise. Morwen made no attempt to speed it up. The broomstick spell was stretched a little thin as it was. As they passed Kazul's nose, Trouble stuck a long gray paw over the rim and waved. The laundry basket wobbled in response, and Trouble scrambled back toward the center.

“Hold still,” Morwen told him. “You could dump us over if you aren't careful. This isn't a broomstick.”

“Now she tells me.”

“I should think it was obvious.”

To this Trouble made no reply. Morwen sat motionless, watching the pale surface of the tower glide past. Finally, the laundry basket reached the window. “Stop,” said Morwen.

The laundry basket obliged. Peering in, Morwen saw a thin young man with bright red hair standing beside a fireplace, his back to the window.
A fire-witch?
thought Morwen.
In the middle of a swamp?
Well, not all red-haired people were fire-witches. Morwen glanced around the rest of the room. On the far side, a staircase led downward next to the wall. A stone bench, a small desk, and three comfortable-looking chairs were the only furnishings.

With great care, Morwen leaned forward and tapped on the glass. The young man jumped and whirled, and his eyes got very large. When he did not come any nearer, Morwen tapped the window again.

“Just break it,” said Trouble. “It would be less work.”

Scorn snorted. “You are thinking about as much as that blue winged imbecile down below. If she breaks the window, some of the glass might fall on top of them.” She waved her tail at the figures of Kazul, Telemain, Cim­orene, and Killer beneath them. “She can't count on
all
of it falling inside, even if she's careful.”

For the third time, impatiently, Morwen rapped at the window. The red-haired man blinked, as if he were coming out of a daze, and then walked over to the window.

“Who are you?” he said, his voice slightly muffled by the glass.

“My name is Morwen, and I have an injured friend here who needs rest and warmth. Open this window immediately, please.”

“I suppose I might as well.” The redhead unlatched the window and swung it open, narrowly missing Morwen's head. “Sorry.”

“And well you should be,” Morwen told him. “Are you always so careless?”

“Mostly,” said the man. “How did you get up—That's my laundry basket!” He stared for a moment, then hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. You enchanted the basket. Why didn't
she
think of that years ago? Why didn't
Rachel
think of it? Why in heaven's name didn't
I
think of it?”

“Because you're stupid?” Scorn suggested.

“When I think of all the effort I could have saved, hauling that thing up and down and up and down and—”

“Yes, of course,” said Morwen. “Now, if you could just give me a hand with—Trouble! Not yet.” The cat had crouched, preparing to spring out of the laundry basket.

“What's that?” said the man. “What sort of trouble? And why do you want a hand with it?”

“Cats,” said Morwen. “And I don't want a hand with them. It's Telemain who—”

As if the sound of his name had partially awakened him, Telemain grunted and stirred. The laundry basket swung sideways, throwing Trouble off his feet. This made the basket swing even more wildly. Morwen bent forward and grabbed the window ledge, which helped stabilize things a little. Then Telemain moaned and tried to sit up. The laundry basket wobbled violently, nearly spilling everyone out. The cats wailed, and Morwen was only just able to keep hold of the window ledge.

“Blast the man!” Morwen said. “Why does he have to pick just this instant to start recovering? Telemain, hold
still.”

The red-haired man leaned out of the window and grabbed the rim of the laundry basket. “Stop that immediately,” he said sternly. “Stay
put.
”

The laundry basket froze. Trouble yowled and leapt from the bottom of the laundry basket to the young man's bent-over back, and from there into the room. “Good idea,” said Scorn, and followed.

“Oof! Oof!” said the man. “What was that?”

“Cats,” Morwen said again. “Help me get Telemain out of here before he dumps us over.”

Between the two of them, they wrestled Telemain out of the laundry basket and through the window. To Morwen's mild surprise, the basket remained perfectly stable throughout the entire operation, but as soon as the red-haired man turned away the basket began to wobble once more.

“There's another person and an oversized donkey at the foot of your tower as well,” Morwen said when Telemain was safely inside, lying comfortably on the floor in front of the fireplace. They'd have to wait to do anything about the mud that covered him from head to foot, but fortunately the red-haired man did not have much in the way of carpeting. The stone floor would sweep up easily enough. “I'd like to bring the others up as soon as possible. The donkey will be a bit tricky.”

“I'll be glad to—” The young man broke off, and his expression darkened, as if he were remembering something that annoyed him. “No. I shouldn't have let you in. You had your chance.”

Morwen looked at him sternly over the tops of her glasses. “If you are sulky because we didn't allow you to haul us up immediately, you are being unreasonable, unmannerly, and overly bad tempered, even for a fire-witch. Enchanting that basket of yours has saved you a good deal of effort, now and in the future, and you ought to thank us for it.”

“How do you know I'm a fire-witch?” the man demanded angrily.

“You have red hair, a touchy disposition, and an instinctive control over magic, even other people's spells,” Morwen said. “And from the way you burned that rope, you've some affinity for fire as well. It's obvious. Now, are you going to let me bring up those people or not?”

“I don't—”

“Morwen, company,” said Scorn.

Morwen turned. Outside the open window, enormous wings flapping furiously, Killer was coming in for a landing. Cimorene lay low along his back to avoid the wings, her arms wrapped around his neck.