The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic (7 page)

“You took care of me.”

“Yes, yes,” Raclin said, smiling down at her. “All right, that's over with. What next? Shall we get married now? Will you like that?”

Nora nodded. It was almost funny that he would have to ask her. Of course she wanted to marry him. It was all she wanted. “Oh, yes, darling.”

“Ilissa will throw us a big wedding. She'll outdo herself. It will be a bother, but I expect you'll like it. You'll have a new dress to wear. Of course you have a new dress every day as it is, but this will be special.”

“Pretty?” Nora knew she needed more words to say what she meant, but she was too tired to think of them, and Raclin understood, as he always did.

“Yes, the dress will be pretty, you'll be very pretty. No worries about that. Ilissa will make sure of it.” He laughed. “She'd better.”

“So happy,” Nora said.

“That's a good girl.” Raclin studied her face for an instant, then kissed her, carelessly. “All right, enough for now. What do you say we leave this inflatable rattrap and go see the city? It's a beautiful night. June, I'd say. A good time to be in Paris. We could take a cab over to Montmartre and find a café and drink red wine all night. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“Paris?” Nora looked over Raclin's shoulder and saw a familiar-looking triangular silhouette picked out in lights against the night sky. She looked down and saw more lights: the S curve of a river flowing through the city, the glowing lines of the boulevards. But she couldn't recall the name of the river or the tower. “I came here once,” she said with an effort. “Paris.”

“Did you, my dear?” asked Raclin. “You'll have to tell me all about it, once we're at the café. Well, you won't be able to tell me very much, I'm afraid, but do the best you can.”

T
he wedding plans were in Ilissa's hands, for which Nora was hugely grateful. Ilissa was very scrupulous about consulting her on various points, and Nora did her best to help, but sometimes it was all she could do just to understand what Ilissa was saying. “Darling, would you prefer pink or white lilies in the silver vases?” Ilissa might ask, and Nora would be a million miles away, thinking about nothing but how blissfully happy she was. Her love for Raclin seemed to stretch on and on, and she could only contemplate it with awe, the way you might gaze at distant mountains. “Pink,” she said finally, taking a stab. Ilissa would laugh and give her a kiss and tell her what a great help she was, thank goodness that Nora was so decisive.

Then there was the wedding dress to be fitted, a blizzard of white satin that fell to the floor in gleaming drifts. But then, Nora wore long dresses all the time now, and so did the other women. The men wore long coats and breeches or sometimes tunics and tights. They carried elegant swords with filigree handles almost as lacy as their collars. People arrived at Ilissa's parties in carved and gilded coaches drawn by matched teams of horses, and they danced in the warm, wavering light of hundreds of candles. One day Nora realized that the telephone was gone from her room. She hadn't noticed when it disappeared, and now she couldn't even find the jack in the wall.

She tried to ask Ilissa about the change. “Everything looks so—” she started to say, and then frowned. It was frustrating, because she knew that precisely the right word existed for what she was trying to say.

“Yes, darling?” Ilissa said. They were riding along a bridle path—sidesaddle, because of their skirts—after a day spent hunting in the forest.

“Everything looks different,” Nora said. “Old.” That wasn't the right word, but it would have to do.

Ilissa understood what she meant. “Yes, I suppose this all may seem a bit archaic to you.” She smiled, as though she knew it was exactly that word that Nora had been searching for. “You gave me so many good ideas! But I know you have other things to think about now. And this is a nice change from having everything so modern, don't you think? I do love the old ways. Like the hunt today. Wasn't it a delight? It makes one feel so alive.”

There were dark bloodstains on the green brocade hem of Ilissa's skirt, but even while jamming a spear through the entrails of the wounded stag, she had looked exquisite.

“Wait until we go hawking,” she added. “You will love that, darling. Watching the hawks and falcons dive for their prey—I never tire of it. And of course, it's very stylish. We always make such an elegant picture when we go hawking.”

“I'd like to see the hawks,” Nora said.

“We'll go tomorrow, my dear,” Ilissa said.

•   •   •

Ilissa, though, stayed behind, as Nora, Vulpin, Moscelle, and a few others rode out the next day. “I have some very dull business affairs to see to, my dears,” Ilissa said, seeing them off. “And some wedding matters, which I like much better. Give my regards to the falcons, Nora!”

The hawks had fearsome golden eyes, and their claws dug into your arm, Nora found, even through heavy leather gloves. But Ilissa was right, it was exhilarating to feel the bird leap from your arm, wings pumping, and to see it flash through the air after its prey. The next part Nora found less enjoyable, but the whole process was undeniably exciting. By the time they stopped for lunch near a brook, Vulpin had a brace of rabbits and a couple of doves swinging from his saddle.

Moscelle had brought a picnic hamper, but one of the men, Leptospeer, scoffed when she opened it. “I'm in the mood for some fresh meat,” he said. “Let's put some of this rabbit on the fire.”

“I'm not sure we should stay out that long,” Vulpin said.

But Leptospeer persisted. “What's the harm? It's early yet.”

As the meat was roasting, Leptospeer flirted with Moscelle, and Nora and the other two women made daisy chains. Nora listened to her companions gossip, but the conversation went too fast for her to join in. After a while, she got up to hunt for more blossoms of a small, blue, starlike flower that she had taken a fancy to. It was relatively rare, compared with the masses of daisies and bachelor's buttons and poppies that filled the meadow.

Nora crossed the brook, balancing on water-worn stones, and climbed the far bank and the little rise just beyond. She spied a promising patch of blue not far away. Kneeling to pick the flowers, Nora could still hear the murmur of her companions' voices on the other side of the slope, but she could not see them.

She felt an unexpected sense of release, as though she had stepped outside after too long in a cramped room. A white butterfly danced across her view. The sunlight touched her face and bare arms, and she thought wistfully about lying down on the warm turf and taking a nap, peacefully alone, just for a few minutes.

Then a shadow fell between her and the sun. Just as she registered the figure in front of her—she could not see its face—someone else grabbed her arms from behind. She was jerked to her feet.

“Looky what I got, will you?” said a male voice behind her.

“Don't be greedy, boy,” said the one in front of her. “I saw her, too.” Nora blinked as the sunlight danced off a slim steel blade pointed toward her throat. The blade was as long as her arm, longer.

“Careful, now,” said a third voice, also behind her. “They may not look dangerous, but they're fast and they're mean.” It wasn't easy to understand him. His voice, like the others, was thick with some sort of guttural accent.

The blade moved up and down in the air, now pointing at her face, now her heart. “No tricks, now. Stay still,” the man holding the sword said to her. With the sun in her eyes, she still couldn't make out his face, but she could see that he was wearing a helmet like a stocking cap and a dented metal breastplate.

“Does she understand what we're saying?” asked the man holding her from behind. Glancing down, she could see his hands—meaty knuckles, covered with reddish hair—pinning her elbows.

“She understands well enough. They're not stupid.” The owner of the third voice stepped in front of Nora. He, too, was carrying a naked sword, and he wore the same kind of helmet and breastplate. Most of the lower half of his face was covered with a brushy blond mustache that did not appear to have been washed recently.

“Please let me go,” Nora faltered.

“Be quiet, you,” said the other man with a sword. He moved a little, and now Nora could see that he had a red face and long, grizzled hair under his helmet.

“I never saw one before,” said the first man, right in her ear. “Are they all this pretty?”

The red-faced man snorted. “Like you never saw before, and dressed in silk and satin, like this one.”

“She smells good, too,” said the man holding her. “I wouldn't have known what she is, except maybe for her being so pretty.”

“Oh, you can usually tell,” said the man with the mustache. “Something about the eyes.” Warily, he came a half step closer to Nora and looked hard into her face. “Yes, they have a nasty look, like an animal that's cornered. They may look just like us, but they're not like us.”

“The master will want to see her. Get her moving.”

“I say we have some fun first. Three against one, she can't be that dangerous.”

“Listen,” Nora spoke up, summoning all the confidence she could muster. “My friends are nearby. They'll be angry that you're bothering me.”

“More of them?” said the man holding her.

The man with the mustache looked to the left, then the right. “The wizard's spell is supposed to protect us all the way to the creek.”

“The creek's right over there,” said Nora quickly. “My friends are on the other side.”

“Oh, hell.” The red-faced man coughed heavily and spat onto the ground. “That's too close.”

“Please let me go,” Nora said again.

“Shut up and start walking,” said the red-faced man. They bound Nora's wrists in front and forced her to walk, the red-faced man holding one arm, the third man—a big, round-faced youth—holding the other.

As they walked, it dawned on Nora that the landscape around her had changed. The green grass had bleached to a withered gray-brown, crusted here and there with patches of glassy snow. A winter sun sat low in the sky. She felt the frozen ground crackle under her riding boots, and the wind bit her all the way to the bone, plucking and tearing at her bright silk dress. She began to feel a little envious of her captors, who wore thick leather tunics and layers of wool underneath their armor. Their clothing was grimy and patched, but at least it looked warm.

They had been walking for about ten minutes—she was already thoroughly chilled—when a pair of horsemen appeared in the distance. After a moment, they veered toward Nora and her escort.

“There,” said the man with the mustache, sounding relieved. “The master's seen us now.”

The two riders pulled up, and the lead rider swung down from his horse. He was wearing a fur-trimmed cloak and the same sort of helmet and breastplate as the soldiers, although his armor was covered with fine, sinuous engraving and polished to a brilliant silver sheen. He had longish brown hair and straight, well-balanced features, but when he came closer, she saw that he had only one clear blue eye. The right socket was scarred and empty.

“Well, Sergeant, what do we have here?” he asked the man with the mustache.

“We were patrolling, sir, near where those cattle disappeared, and we found this one by herself. So we brought her in. She said she has friends nearby.”

“Is that true? How many?” the horseman asked Nora sharply.

“I'm not going to say,” she said. She hoped that he could tell she was shivering from cold and not from fear.

“Don't be foolish, girl. We can make you tell us.” He spoke lightly, but his hand went to his sword hilt.

Nora looked at his face and saw no softness there. After a moment, she said, “I don't remember exactly. Not many. A hunting party.”

“Hunting on
my
lands,” he said. “If you're not stealing my cattle and my horses, you're hunting my deer and my quail. I'm tired of all the games your people play. We're supposed to have an agreement, but I've lost four cows and a dozen sheep in the past year, and just yesterday, you people killed a deer from my preserve. Next thing, you people will start stealing children again. I'm inclined to make an example of you, just to send a message to that queen of yours. Yes, you may have your magic, but I have a wizard here, and he could make you feel real pain. Any reason why I shouldn't tell my friend to make you howl for mercy?”

Nora's head felt tight as she tried to make sense of this. “I don't know anything about any cows. The deer—I didn't know it was your deer.”

“Whose deer did you think it was, then?”

“Wait a moment, Lukl.” The second rider, a man in a black cloak, with long black hair that blew in the wind, had been listening from the back of his horse. Now he dismounted and came over to where the others were standing. He was taller than his companion, and he walked with a limp that made his body twist slightly as he moved. He stooped and gave a swift look at Nora's face, and then turned to the other man. “She's human, this one. She's not one of them.”

“Human?” The other man, the one called Lukl, looked disbelieving. “Where did she come from?”

The second man shrugged and looked to Nora. “Where are you from?”

She had to stop and think. “New Jersey,” she said tentatively.

Lukl shook his head impatiently. “New Jersey?” He pronounced it
Now Jarsey
. “I've never heard of it. This is one of their tricks.”

The tall man in black looked thoughtful. He had a lined, battered-looking face—it came as a shock, Nora thought, to see people who looked old and ugly or had an injury like the one-eyed man's. Everyone in Ilissa's circle was young and beautiful. “What's your name?” he asked her.

“Nora.” Less confidently: “Nora Fischer.”

“Nora is your given name?” he asked, and she nodded. “Are you living with Ilissa now?” the other man asked. She nodded again. “How long have you been there, Mistress Nora?”

She could not say, exactly. “A little while.” To impress them, she added: “I'm going to marry Ilissa's son. They both must be very worried about me by now. You should let me go.”

“You're going to marry Ilissa's son,” the tall man repeated, curling one side of his mouth. “Raclin.”

“Yes.” She tried to return his smile, if it was a smile. “Raclin.”

The tall man turned to his companion. “Well, it's clear enough what's going on.”

Lukl nodded. “She's found another wench to breed her cub to. I wonder where the cold hell she got this one.”

“You haven't lost any women from your villages?”

“I would have heard about it,” he said, shaking his head. “There was that girl from Orimist village who disappeared last summer. But then we heard that she was living in Bruekl market town with a cavalry officer.

“Anyway, you can tell from her speech that this one isn't from anywhere nearby,” he continued, gesturing at Nora. “Now Jarsey. That could be the other side of the world.”

The tall man grunted deep in his throat and looked back at Nora. “When does this marriage take place?” he asked.

“It's—um, soon,” Nora said.

Lukl sighed and rubbed his chin. “Well, I don't see why we should keep her,” he said to the other man. “It's one thing to work over one of their females and send her back. It's another thing to take Ilissa's prospective daughter-in-law with us. That's tossing the rock in the beehive.”

Frowning, the other man said: “What if he gets an heir on her?”