And so at last I was forced to put the world behind me and go and hide. I made myself a hole to hide in, pulled the hole in behind me, and there I was: nowhere.
There was a moment of blue, endlessly falling mists, then solid stone under their boots, bright morning sunlight, and a smell of burnt sausage and scorched toast.
Caladnei blinked. 'I've been here before. Just once, when Van-gey was testing me-but then he cloaked it from me somehow. I've never been able to reach it again.'
Myrmeen Lhal was shooting wary glances in all directions, her sword half-drawn. She gave Elminster an enthusiastically venomous look, so he smiled and blew her a kiss-which turned her glare stony.
They were standing in a flagstone-floored cellar, the cross-vaultings of its low, arched ceiling perhaps a handspan overhead. Ahead, beyond two littered tables and a hoopback chair be-draped with some rather dirty towels, was what looked like a kitchen: a scarred marble counter heaped high with dirty dishes and pans, flanking two sinks. Above the counter was a window, deep-set in a ferny bank and looking out through a few trailing vines over a pleasant deep-forest glade.
Standing at the counter with a bowl of almond butter in one hand, a fat loaf of bread under one arm, and his other hand wielding a knife that was scooping and slapping between bowl and the sliced-off, exposed end of the loaf, was an all-too-familiar man.
He was stooped and fat and wore dirty black robes and sandals. His wild gray-white beard flowed down over his chest and reached in every other direction, too. The mouth hidden somewhere in the midst of it was hard at work creating the reason he hadn't heard the ringing sound of Myrmeen half-drawing her blade, or Caladnei's softly wondering words.
Vangerdahast the wizard was singing a bawdy song about a lass from Arabel-Myrmeen's lips tightened-who'd fallen under his spell-Caladnei frowned-and was now begging for more . . . despite certain wizards growing sore . . .
Vangey's singing voice was atrocious-a flat, rough wreck of a tone cloaked in the exaggeratedly fruity stylings he'd no doubt heard the haughtiest bards offer at Court (though they'd probably kept to one key, something the former Mage Royal was in no danger of doing), and he kept breaking off his song to choke, cough, and spit enthusiastically into the sink.
His knife was layering a finger-thick and still growing deposit of almond butter onto the end of the bread-loaf. Its swirl of oily brown was already bedecked with sprinklings of parsley, chopped garlic, and dill . . . and Elminster grinned slyly as he looked sidelong at Caladnei's horrified face and watched it tighten in revolted anticipation of what her former mentor would most probably do next-which was, yes, to start to gnaw on the spread end of the loaf without bothering to slice it off or find a plate-though where a clean one might be lurking, in all the clutter, was itself a puzzling challenge-or, for that matter, make any sort of nodded offering to the gods.
What Vangerdahast did instead was launch into a second and filthier verse, through a mouthful of almond butter and bread while rocking on his heels and rhythmically conducting his imaginary wanton lass as he sang. In this manner, he turned away from the window just enough to catch sight of three visitors he'd certainly never expected to see standing in his empty pantry instead of the strongchests of provisions whose arrival he was expecting.
He blinked, rocked back to face the window while singing the next line, then turned again to frown at the pantry-perhaps in hopes the three were some sort of momentary mind-dream or the result of recently emptying the bottle he now plucked up from the sink to glare at.
The three figures did not go away-even after he spat the gooey remnants of almond-buttered bread at them in sudden fear and mortification, following these offerings with a roared, 'How by all the Seven feldurking Sisters did you get here?'
'Magic,' Elminster replied brightly with the broadest of impish grins.
Vangerdahast's eyes blazed. He flung bread in one direction and knife in the other, letting the empty wine bottle crash back down into the sink. In the next motion he raised trembling arms and took a step toward the Old Mage as if he were going to try to strangle Elminster. At last he let his arms fall, looked from the tip of Myrmeen Lhal's now-drawn sword, which came equipped with the face of the High Lady of Arabel glowering at him over it, to the frozen and disapproving face of Caladnei, the lass he'd picked to succeed him as Mage Royal . . . and shrank visibly, letting out his breath in a sigh.
Vangerdahast shook his head as if to clear it, crossed his arms across his chest to glare at all three of them as if they were common thieves he'd caught publicly in a personally embarrassing act, and growled, 'This should not be possible. You arrived right atop my most powerful teleport trap and somehow bulled through it. You three should right now be standing bewildered in three separate and very distant spots on Toril. Far enough away to win me some time to myself, I had every reason to hope.'
Elminster smiled again. 'Remember, old friend, 'tis by Mystra's will such things work . . . and I myself continue to live and, ah, work by the same pleasure and divine power.'
Vangerdahast shook his head in clear displeasure, and turned away. 'You shouldn't have come here. You shouldn't be here now. I've retired from all the fawning and smiling and doing what's expected. My time is now my own.'
'Very well spent, I see,' Myrmeen said tartly.
The former Royal Magician rounded on her. 'You, miss, would do better to hold and keep Arabel for the Crown, for a change! If you weren't so determined to out-swagger and out-swordswash every man in the realm, like a pale echo of proud little Alusair, perhaps you'd've settled down to being a very useful governor instead of governing one man at a time in your bedchamber! I-'
'My Lord Vangerdahast!' Caladnei snapped. Wo one should speak so to any officer of the realm-nor to any lady! You-you disgust me! Your words lead me to wonder what were you really thinking about me when you praised me and named me your successor! 'Oh, here's some brown-skinned trollop who'll bed more noblemen than I could bring myself to do'?'
'You be still, little miss!' Vangerdahast roared, eyes catching fire. 'I've had about enough-'
'So have I,' Elminster announced pleasantly. 'Ye used to be far more deft and sly in picking fights and making folk lose their tempers and forget their intentions, Vangey. Ye're losing it, ye are. Wherefore I'm going to be just as unpleasant to ye as ye've been to thy fellow folk of Cormyr for-oh, some six decades now, hey?'
He took a step forward, not appearing to cast any spell or awaken any ring, rod, wand, or gewgaw-but Vangerdahast floated up off the floor and hung rigid, limbs unmoving. 'Now, speak. Unfold what ye're really up to here. Mystra wanted me to be a trifle more subtle about this, I'm sure, but I find myself not in the mood to be nearly so gentle with ye. Ye tried to enrage these two ladies so as to put their minds aside from prying some answers out of ye. Why?'
'I-I don't want to talk about what I'm at work on to … either of these two ladies,' Vangerdahast replied gruffly, 'whom I'm both sorry to have offended. I-no, I cannot. Caladnei and Myrmeen, forgive me, but your presence here ruins and reveals everything. I can't be honest with you. I daren't.'
'Nay Vangerdahast,' Elminster said calmly, 'Ye dare not fail to tell all and truly to these two: the Mage Royal of the realm, remember, and an officer of the Crown to bear witness.'
'You are no longer my teacher, El,' Vangerdahast said coldly. 'I need no more of your lessons on obedience or moral authority. I would judge, as many in Faerun do, that your own actions disqualify you from criticizing anyone else in this world on such matters.'
'Vangey,' Elminster replied gently. 'I'm not asking ye. I'm telling ye.'
He took another step forward and added, 'We both fell into the 'might makes right, and I know this is right anyway, so just hold still whilst I do it to ye' trap long, long ago . . . and I daresay we've both found it easiest to remain there. I'm still there now. Ye will answer me.'
