connectors are, I'll hook this to a low-level identification spell and-' 'If all you want to do is find Mendanbar's sword, you shouldn't need an identification spell.
The mirror is quite capable of handling the whole thing itself, if it's approached correctly.'
'Who's approaching what, and why do you have to be correct about it?'
Cimorene asked, climbing the last few stairs into the room. Trouble, who seemed to have been escorting her, bounded over the last step and stopped dead in his tracks. Cimorene did not quite trip over him, but it was a near thing.
'Telemain wants to use Brandel's mirror to find the sword,' Morwen said, giving Trouble a reproving look. Trouble looked away and wandered casually toward Killer, who raised his head and blinked sleepily at the cat.
Dubiously, Cimorene examined the mirror. 'Can it do that?'
'I see no reason why not,' Morwen said. 'You heard what it said last night about hunting for the fairest in the land. If it can do that, it ought to be able to look for a sword.'
'Good,' said Cimorene.
'Mirror, mirror, on the wall, I would like to make a call.'
Nothing happened. 'What's the matter?' said Cimorene. 'Is it broken?'
'Possibly,' Telemain said. 'Antique spells are easily disrupted.'
'They're also cranky,' said Morwen. Stepping forward, she tapped the mirror briskly on the left side.
Immediately, the mirror turned white, as if someone had thrown a large bucket of milk at the reverse side. 'Now what?' it said, sounding extremely cross.
'I want to see where Mendanbar's sword is,' Cimorene told it.
'Too bad,' said the mirror. 'I told you yesterday, that has to be specified in the verse. Get it right, or don't bother asking. I really can't make any more exceptions.' Without waiting for an objection, the mirror turned its usual blotchy silver.
'Come back here!' said Cimorene, but the mirror remained obstinately silver.
'Hmph,' said Morwen. 'I suppose I should have expected this. My first magic mirror used to be irritable in the mornings, too.'
'What can we do about it?' Cimorene asked.
'Give me a minute to think.'
'I could constrain a certain level of performance,' Telemain said, frowning. 'However, the accuracy of the information obtained might leave something to be desired. On the other hand-' 'Better think fast,' Trouble said to Morwen.
Footsteps sounded in the stairwell. 'You're all up early,' said Brandel.
'Would you like some breakfast?'
'I'd like your blasted mirror to cooperate,' Cimorene muttered under her breath.
'Got it,' Morwen said. 'Move over, Cimorene.'
'Mirror, mirror, on a hook, Where's the sword the wizards took?'
As the mirror's surface reluctantly faded to white, Telemain stared at Morwen in disbelief. 'You call that a spell?'
'It rhymes and it scans,' Morwen said. 'What more do you want at this hour of the morning? And on the spur of the moment, too.'
'I agree with him,' the mirror said. 'That was a lousy couplet.'
'If you'd found us the sword to begin with, you wouldn't have had to listen to it,' Morwen said, unperturbed. 'Do your job.'
Cimorene leaned forward. 'And this time, please don't-' Whirling colors filled the mirror, and a soft but penetrating off-key hum echoed through the room.
'-hum,' Cimorene finished, half a second too late. 'Bother!'
'As long as it finds the sword for us, I don't care if it sings an aria backward,' Morwen said. 'If it annoys you that much, put your fingers in your ears.'
Trouble jumped onto the window ledge and curled his tail around his feet. Two seconds later, Scorn and Horatio tore out of the stairwell and raced around the room, startling Killer into wakefulness. A loud bray drowned out the mirror's humming, and Brandel winced. As the cats settled onto various pieces of furniture for their morning wash, Cimorene nudged Morwen's side. 'Look! It's working.'
Morwen turned back to the mirror and smiled in satisfaction. The glass had cleared to show a large, ramshackle house with two chimneys and a steeply pointed roof. The windows were made up of small glass rectangles, and ivy covered most of them so thickly that it seemed unlikely that anyone could see out.
'That's the central office of the Society of Wizards?' Cimorene said.
'No,' Telemain replied. 'Apparently I was wrong, and they aren't keeping the sword at the central office. It's a good thing I thought to check.'
He sounded extremely smug. 'Now all we have to do is find out where that house is.'
'It's about five miles past the edge of the swamp,' Brandel said.
'Right outside the town where I grew up. But I don't think knowing that does you much good.'
'Why do you say that?' Morwen asked.
'Because you said the Society of Wizards stole this sword you're after.
That house belongs to Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist.'
'What?'
'You mean it's the wrong place?' Cimorene said. 'After all that?'
'It is not the wrong place? the mirror said indignantly. 'I've been a magic mirror for one hundred and forty-seven years, and I haven't made a mistake yet. Look here!'
The scene in the glass swooped and whirled dizzyingly, and then the view plunged through one of the ivy-covered windows into a dimly lit room.
Inside, two men sat at a dusty table, drinking black coffee and contemplating a shiny sword lying on the table between them. One of them was bald and sharp faced, while the other'That's Antorell!'
Cimorene said. 'He's gotten himself back together awfully fast this time. It must be all the practice he's had.'
'That's Arona!' Brandel said at the same instant, staring at the bald man. 'Is that the sword you're looking for?'
'It appears to be,' said Telemain.
Cimorene nodded. 'That's Mendanbar's sword, all right. See how it looks twice as bright as anything else? I bet it's leaking magic all over.'
'Leaking magic?' said Killer, poking his long nose over Morwen's shoulder to peer at the mirror. 'You never said anything about that sword leaking magic. It doesn't sound very safe.'
'It isn't,' Cimorene told him. 'Which is another reason why we have to get it back to the Enchanted Forest quickly. The longer it's outside the forest, the worse it gets. That sword belongs in the Enchanted Forest.'
'Don't worry about it,' Morwen said to Killer. 'It won't hurt you unless you try to eat it.'
'That would be fun to watch,' said Trouble, cocking his head to one side.
'Mrow?' said Horatio.
'Probably not,' Scorn said with some regret. 'Even Killer isn't that stupid.'
Brandel was still staring at the mirror with a grim expression. 'So that's it. That no-good, interfering, lousy little troublemaking weasel has gotten the Society of Wizards to help him!' His voice rose steadily until he was shouting, and on 'troublemaking' his hair burst into flames.
'Yow!' said Killer, jumping backward. 'Ouch! That was my ear.
Whoops!' As he recoiled from Brandel's blazing head, his wings flopped open, catching air and throwing him off balance. Twisting frantically to keep his left wing tip away from the fire, Killer flapped twice and fell over in a tangle of legs and ears and feathers. The cats bounced away from him; startled and bristling.
'Hey, watch what you're doing,' said Scorn. 'You could hurt someone.'
Horatio gave her neck a reassuring lick.
Slowly, Killer settled his wings into place and climbed back to his feet.
'I think I sprained something,' he said mournfully. 'And my ear is singed.'
