Ozark Trilogy 1: Twelve Fair Kingdoms (10 page)

When I woke up, I knew where I was. No mistake about it. The Guthrie crest was carved into the foot of the bed I lay on, it hung on the wall of the room beyond the bed, little ones dangled from the curving brackets that held the lamps, and it was set in every one of the tiles that bordered the three big windows. Furthermore, the woman sitting bolt upright in a hard wooden chair at my right hand, where turning my head to look at her would put me nose-to-shoulder with an embroidered Guthrie crest, not to mention more clouds of Guthrie hair, was no Granny. It was my maternal grandmother, Myrrh of Guthrie, and I was assuredly under her roof and in her Castle.

They had taken off my boots and spurs, but my clothing showed no sign whatsoever of a trip through the air into the side of a dock shed, nor did my body. I wasn’t likely to forget the thwack I’d hit that shed with, but I hadn’t so much as a headache, nor a scratch on my lily white hand. Being as this was somewhat unlikely, I looked around for the Magician of Rank that had to be at the bottom of it.

“Greetings, Responsible of Brightwater,” he said, and I was filled with a sudden new respect for those who found my mother’s physical configurations distracting. He had chocolate curls, and the flawless Guthrie skin and green eyes, and the curve of his lips made me think improper thoughts I hadn’t known lurked in me. He was tall, and broad of shoulder, slim of waist and hips ... and then there was the usual garb of his profession to be put in some kind of perspective. A Magician of Rank wears a pair of tight-fitting trousers over bare feet and sandals, and a square-cut tunic with full sleeves caught tight at the wrists, and a high-collared cape that flows in a sweep from his throat to one inch of the floor; thrown back in elegant folds over one shoulder to leave an arm free for ritual gestures. There’d never been a man that getup wasn’t becoming to, and the fact that it was all in the Guthrie tricolor—deep blue, gold, and forest green—was certainly no disadvantage.

I shut my eyes hastily, as a measure of simple prudence; and he immediately checked my pulse, combining this medicinal gesture with a thoroughly nonmedical tracking of one strong finger along the most sensitive nerves of my wrist and inner arm. It was my intention not to shiver, but I lacked the necessary experience; and I was glad I could not see the satisfied curl of those lips as he got precisely the response that he was after.

“Responsible of Brightwater; open your eyes,” he said, in a voice all silk and deep water, “and swoon me no fabricated swoons. You had a nasty knock on your head, you broke a collarbone and three ribs, and you were bruised, scratched, abraded, and generally grubby from head to foot—but you,
and
I might add, your fancy Mule, are in certified perfect condition at this moment. Every smallest part of you, I give you my word. That was the point of calling me, my girl, instead of a Granny.”

“Confident, aren’t you?” I said as coldly as possible, repossessing myself of my arm, and Myrrh of Guthrie remarked as how I reminded her very much of my sister, Troublesome.

“Neither one of you ever had any manners
what
soever,” she said, “and my daughter deserves every bit of trouble the two of you have given her ... bringing you up half wild and about one-third baked.”

I took the bait, it being a good deal safer to look at her than at him, and I opened my eyes as ordered.

“Hello, Grandmother,” I said. “How nice to see you.”

“
On the contrary!
” she said. “Nothing nice about it. It’s a disaster, and I’m pretty sure you know that. The young man on your left, the one you’re avoiding because you can’t resist him—and don’t concern yourself about it,
nobody
can, and very useful he is, too—is your own kin, Michael Stepforth Guthrie the llth. You be decent enough to greet him, instead of wasting it on me, and I’ll guarantee you safe conduct past his wicked eyes and sorrier ways.”

There was only one way to handle this kind of scene; some others might of been more enjoyable, but they wouldn’t have been suitable. I sat up in the Guthrie bed, propped on my pillows, put a hand on each of my hips right through the bedclothes, gritted my teeth against the inevitable effect, and I looked Michael Stepforth Guthrie up and down ... slowly

 
... and then down and up, and then I looked him over once more in both directions.

“Twelve roses,” I said, “twelve sugarpies, and twelve turtles! You are for
sure
the comeliest man ever my eyes have had the pleasure to behold, my Guthrie. Your buttocks, just for starters, are superb ... and the line of your thigh! Law, cousin, you make my mouth water, on my word ... turn around once, would you, and let me see the swing of your cape!”

Not a sound behind me from Myrrh of Guthrie; and I didn’t glance at her, though I would of loved to see her face. Michael Stepforth’s eyes lost their mocking laughter and became the iced green 1 was more accustomed to see in Guthrie eyes. I faced the ice, smiling, and there was a sudden soft snapping sound in the nervous silence. One rib, low on my right side.

“Petty,” I said, and found the pain a useful distraction, since not breathing was out of the question. “Cousin, that was
petty
.”

The next two ribs sounded just like an elderly uncle I’d once visited that had a habit of cracking his knuckles, and breathing became even more unhandy.

“See where bad manners will get you?” observed Myrrh of Guthrie. “And as for
buttocks
—at fourteen a woman does not mention them, though I must agree with your estimate of Michael’s. Who will now leave us alone, thank you kindly.”

I didn’t watch him sweep out of the room. His mischief had immunized me temporarily against his charm; you don’t feel the pangs of desire through the pangs of broken ribs.

“Uncomfortable, are you?” said my grandmother; but she had the decency to move to the end of the bed where I wouldn’t have to move around much to look at her while we talked.

“I wouldn’t have him on my staff,” I said crossly, hugging my ribs.

“He’s an
excellent
Magician of Rank,” she said. “Such quality doesn’t grow on every bush, and I’ve need of him.”

“And if he takes to breaking
your
ribs, Grandmother?”

She chuckled. “The man has principles,” she said. “Infants and old ladies ... and anyone he considers
genuinely
stupid, I believe ... are safe from his tantrums. And do
not
ask me which of the three categories I have my immunity under, or I’ll call him back.”

I sniffed, and gasped at the result; the breaks would be neat, and simple, but they were a three-pronged fire in my side. And what can’t be cured for the moment must be endured for the moment.

“Grandmother;” I said, “while we’re on the subject of manners, would you care to explain why my visit has to be called a ‘disaster’? That strikes me as mighty sorry hospitality. Castle Guthrie wealthy as sin from the shipping revenues,
and
the peachapple orchards,
and
your share of the mines in the Wilderness. You telling me you can’t afford to put up one girlchild for twenty-four hours?”

“It’s the twenty-four hours that we can’t afford,” she said, and she sounded like she meant it. “This is not one of your la-di-da city Castles, we’re
busy
here. Right now we’re so busy— I want you gone within the hour, young lady. With your ribs set right, of course.”

“Not possible,” I said firmly.

“Responsible,” she said, “you exasperate me!”

“Myrrh of Guthrie,” I said back, “you bewilder
me
. Here I lie, your own daughter’s daughter three ribs broken by your own Magician of Rank, not to mention whoever or whatever was responsible for that encounter my Mule and I had with the architecture that graces your docks—”

“That was not the work of Michael Stepforth Guthrie!”

“And how do you know
that?
”

Her lips narrowed, and she turned a single golden ring round and round on her left hand. Her wedding ring, plain except for the ever-present crest.

“I am not entirely ignorant,” she said, which I knew to be true, “and though he’s skilled he’s like any other young man, a regular pane of glass. I know what he was doing at the time of your undignified arrival.”

“If he’s as skilled as you say, he’s equally skilled at pretending to a transparency that’s convenient for his purposes. Who trained him?”

“His father. And a Magician whose name you’ll know ... Crimson of Airy.”

Crimson of Airy ... now there was a name. It was a concoction absolutely typical of Castle Airy, and in dreadful taste, but she had lived up to it. She was a
one
, and she had everything that went with being a one, and of the five women to become Magicians on Ozark in the thousand years since First Landing, only Crimson of Airy had made any mark. If it hadn’t been forbidden, she’d have been a Magician of Rank herself, no question; and I knew her reputation. That of the father of Michael Stepforth Guthrie I didn’t know, but my never hearing of him—plus the fact that he’d allowed a woman to meddle in his son’s education for the profession—told me all I needed to know.

Myrrh of Guthrie leaned toward me and I burrowed into my pillows hastily, for it looked to me as if she was going to grab my shoulders and shake me, broken ribs and all. But she caught herself.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You’re thinking that it’s our Michael Stepforth that’s been souring your milk and kidnapping babies and making your Mules giddy, purely because he’d be able. I’ll grant you he’s that good, I won’t deny it—but he’s been far too busy here to be involved.”

“Too busy for such piddly stuff as souring milk? And sending some trash into a church after one little baby, with the Spell already set?” It’s not that easy to scoff with three broken ribs, but I scoffed. “Dear Grandmother;” I said, “with every word you speak you undo three others. Either the man’s a humbler and an egotistical fraud—which I’ll not accept, not if Crimson of Airy taught him his tricks, and very lucky we are that
she’s
dead at last!—or he is more than clever enough to tend to whatever brews here at Castle Guthrie and carry on all that other mischief with one of his long clever fingers, just on the side! And the
latter
, Myrrh of Guthrie, the
latter
is the truth of it!”

“You say that only because you don’t
know
what’s brewing here!” she hissed at me. “It’s been weeks, if not months, since he’s had more than snatches of sleep ... the Farsons are at our backs and at our throats, the Purdys are determined to ruin us all and have ignorance and black luck enough to do it, and you come here,
now
, at a time like this!”

“Grandmother!” I lay back, easy, and realized that I was a rattled young woman and that the pain was fast getting to me. “Grandmother;
what
are you talking about? I agree that the Purdys make bad neighbors; very well. Granted. They seem forever determined to win whatever foolishness awards are going round. But the only ruin the Purdys will bring is ruin to themselves, and the Farsons have their own Kingdom to run-”

“You’re ignorant,” she said flatly. “Plain ignorant!”

It was possible, I was beginning to realize, that I was. I had more than a strong suspicion that I had been
deliberately
ignorant ... and I would of given a large sum for the intelligence reports that lay in my desk back at Brightwater. I had read them, I would never have
not
read them, but had I perhaps been reading them with a selecting eye for what I preferred to find there, and ignoring patterns that would have required some efforts?

My grandmother stood up suddenly, hurting me as she jarred the bed and well aware that she hurt me.

“I want you up,” she said, “since you won’t leave. Up and able-bodied. If you insist on meddling in our affairs because Brightwater can’t manage its own, then I intend you to hear just what it is you’re meddling
in!
You lie there, and I’ll send Michael Stepforth—oh, hush your mouth, he’ll do what needs doing on orders from me, and no nonsense out of him!—and an Attendant will be here in one hour to bring you down to the Hall. Where we’ll tell you what you’ve gone and blundered into!”

“I know my way, Grandmother,” I reminded her mildly. “I’ve been here before.”

“An Attendant will come for you,” she said again. “I’ll hear no more of our lack of hospitality out of you, or from anyone else. And a Reception and Dance in your honor this evening, missy, as befits a Castle rolling in its wealth!”

My grandmother was furious, that was quite clear without her slamming the door behind her and making all the crests hanging about rattle on their hooks. I hadn’t expected warmth here, but this exceeded my expectations; I was amazed. And where was her husband, her own sixth cousin with the utterly prosaic name and the utterly prosaic manner? The most boring of all the Guthries? Ordinarily he would at least have been mentioned, if not present for our little altercation ... where was James John Guthrie the 17
^th
in the midst of my welcome?

“A man’s name is chosen for euphony,” I said aloud, “and James John Guthrie is not euphonious. It sounds like three rocks landing on a pavement, and the third one bouncing.”

Whereupon something replied, after a fashion. Considering what I had said, “Shame, shame, shame, you wicked chiiiiiiild!” did not really follow.

I topped it.

“Three times six is eighteen,” I told the thing, and then there were eighteen of them, and I was glad I hadn’t decided to say nine times nine.