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here to fight with the local wizard."
She raised her eyes to heaven and rolled them. "I know that. Silly. I didn't
want to walk into Rewnor's shop with an almost-built spell hanging over his
head, and mine. Not a friendly thing to do. I was busy,"
she said, and her lips split in a remarkably sexy smile, "eating my words,
eh?" She patted my shoulder.
"You handle the sneaking around; leave the magic to me." She pushed through
the curtains; I followed.
* * *
Some day, if I'm lucky, I'm going to walk into a magician's shop or workroom
that's lit like a library, clean as McDonald's, and sterile-smelling as a
hospital.
I wasn't lucky today.
Rewnor's workshop smelled like a gym locker, redolent of old dirt, unwashed
sweat, and variously related fungi eating away at toes and crotches.
Ugh.
No, the standard history of me is right, but I'm not a witling; I decided in
junior high that football was to be a way of paying for college without
slashing a four-year hemorrhage in Stash and Emma's savings.
What I did in the fall was a job, and that's all. The stink of unwashed sweat
holds no whiff of nostalgia for
me. I spent too many hours in gym lockers, back on the Other Side, and don't
miss the stench at all.
What light there was came from a pair of sputtering candles set into
reflective holders high on the wall.
Not even a glowsteel. What light there was revealed a smallish room lined by
workbenches, an open door at the far end leading to immediate darkness.
The day was heating up outside, but the air was dank and chilly in here.
Shaking her head, Andrea walked to a workbench, picked up a fist-sized copper
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bowl, and took a sniff.
"Myrryhm, hemp, and cinnamon?
Really?
I am unimpressed." She turned to me. "I've always been unfond of love potions,
but if you're going to do them, it's perhaps best to do them. A simple
increase of libido is hardly the same thing, don't you agree?"
There was no answer.
"Oh, please, " Andrea said to the empty air, with a sniff. "I know you're here
just as well as you know that I am, and for the same reason. Trying to hide
your fire is useless, you know; you're being very silly, and that's starting
to irritate my bodyguard. I wouldn't want to irritate him, and I suspect you
don't, either."
A bronzed god of a man strode out through the doorway, into the room. He stood
a head taller than me, and I'm not a short man, and his wide shoulders
threatened to split the seams of his wizard's robe.
"I was doing nothing of the sort," he said. "I was busy with a preparation in
my back room." His voice was a baritone rumble, almost smooth enough to be
singing. He clasped his hands in front of him and bowed his head slightly. "I
am known as Rewnor; you are welcome in my humble shop."
Andrea returned the salute. "Call me Lotana, although that is not now and
never has been my name."
He raised a protesting hand and tried to smile ingratiatingly. "Please,
please, dear lady. Name spells are beyond such as me, and I'd know better, in
any case." He squinted, as though looking at something hovering over her right
shoulder. "I can't tell quite what it is, but it's about one syllable away
from eating me, eh?"
"Or something." Her smile seemed genuine. "I thought I'd hidden it well."
"I thought you said you'd swallowed all your spells," I whispered, not
particularly afraid of Rewnor hearing.
She crooked a smile. "You'd have been telling the truth, if he'd put a truth
spell on you, wouldn't you?"
"I don't see the need." Rewnor spread his hands broadly. "I've recognized you
as my better, good
Lotana, but that doesn't make me blind. You're here for some purpose, and I
doubt it's for love philtres of guaranteed harmlessness and questionable
efficacy. Can I be of help?"
"Possibly," she said, idly picking up a tool from the table, a fairly serious
violation of wizard etiquette, as
I understood it. It looked more like a dentist's probe than anything else,
except for a dim glow at the point. She tested the point against the ball of
her thumb. "There've been rumors of things coming out of
Faerie. I'd wondered what you've heard."
Rewnor looked down at her, and over at me, his face studiously blank, as
though he was forcing himself
not to take offense at the cavalier way she was handling his tools. "Things
have been happening, Mistress
Lotana, and that's the truth. As to what, you'd have to ask the likes of
better than I."
"There was a murder here, a few tendays ago. A note was left behind. We would
like to arrange to see it."
"How did you know I had it here?" He frowned. "You are good."
Well, actually, we hadn't known it was here. We were going to ask his help
getting access to it.
Andrea started to say something, but I stopped her. "You know that Lotana is
better than you are. You perhaps don't want to know how much, or all that is
involved."
I made a mystical sign. It didn't mean anything, not on This Side, although
Sister Berthe of
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Toulouse the nun we used to call "Sister Birtha de Blues" would have been
proud at how easily I did it.
Rewnor raised a hand. "Ah. I see."
Andrea glared at me, irritated at how I was interfering, but I spread my hands
in apology. "I'm sorry, Lotana, but there was no avoiding it. Rewnor was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]