The duchess looked flustered, which was surprising in her. “Where did you hear that?”
He looked up and smiled. He had a slow smile that lit up his face like the sun. “It’s scarcely a secret that you’re trying to track some magic creatures. Horned rabbits, aren’t they?”
“And you think you could help?” She almost sounded nervous, but not as though she felt any fear of this huntsman-rather, if it had been anyone but the duchess, I would have called it girlish shyness.
He stood up and came over to her horse, where he faced her nearly at eye-level. “I’ve never failed as a hunter and tracker,” he said, still smiling. “Call me Nimrod.”
“And Nimrod was a mighty hunter before the Lord,” quoted Joachim in a low voice next to me.
Diana studied him in silence for thirty seconds. “All right, Nimrod,” she said abruptly, almost triumphantly. “I’ll give you a chance to prove your ability. We’ve spotted the great horned rabbits several times. But we’ve never been able to catch one.”
“Then let’s begin. I’ll leave you to place your huntsmen and your hounds.” He strode off purposefully toward the woods.
“All right,” said the duchess. “Well, good-bye, and thanks again for your offer of help!” she added to me, then kicked her horse into motion. Evrard waved at us and galloped after her.
Joachim and I looked at each other a moment in silence, then started up again for the long ride back to the royal castle. We had ridden a mile when Joachim asked, “Do you think he might have made the great horned rabbits himself?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “It would take a wizard, and one wizard should always be able to recognize another. But he certainly seemed fully informed about them. Do you think the duchess already knew him?”
“It seems unlikely,” said the chaplain. “After all, he had to tell her his name.”
“I must say,” I answered slowly, “there seems to be a whole lot going on in this end of the kingdom that I don’t yet understand.”
We had gotten a late start from the count’s castle, and the sun was setting by the time we came up the hill to the royal castle. In the courtyard, the staff was just finishing a volleyball game.
“I think you should probably wait until morning to go see the old wizard,” said Joachim.
“Of course,” I said, startled at the implication that I might not. I had no intention of going into a black forest, full of creatures composed of dead bones and magic life, to face a wizard who might be growing senile or might have sold his soul to the devil, or both.
But the next morning saw me flying down the hill from the castle and into the woods below. In daylight, what I might find at the wizard’s cottage seemed at least slightly less terrifying than it had the night before.
For a relatively brief distance, I was always happy to fly. The rush of air past my face was exhilarating, now that I had become good enough that I no longer had to give constant attention to my spells, and I liked the chance to show the old wizard that, even though I had been trained in the school he scorned, I was still perfectly competent. Not that he ever seemed fully convinced …
I followed the brick road a few miles through the trees, gliding along five feet above it, turned off at a track marked by a little pile of white chalk, part of a giant protective pentagram the wizard had made for himself when he retired, and proceeded down his narrow green valley. As usual, an illusory lady and unicorn waited by a little bridge. The lady raised her sky-blue eyes to me as I passed over. Beyond, the wizard had a volley of magic arrows ready to repel the unwary, but the spell was tripped by someone walking down the valley floor, and no arrows bothered me today.
Usually when I came to visit my predecessor, I found him sitting on a chair in front of his little green house, built under the spreading branches of an enormous oak. But today I saw no one, and the door was closed. I dropped to the ground, remembering guiltily that it had been several months since I had last come to visit.
I thought again how strange it would be if someone who prided himself on being a wizard of light and air, who had even mocked me for the moon and stars on my belt buckle the first time I had met him, had descended into black magic.
The wizard’s calico cat emerged from the long grass and pounced at my socks, making me jump. I squared my shoulders and raised my fist to knock at the door, expecting the old wizard to call for me to come in even before I had a chance to rap. Little happened in his valley of which he was unaware. But no voice called.
I did knock then and had to wait several moments for an answer, even though I immediately heard a loud crash inside. But then the door opened, and the old wizard glared out at me.
“It’s you,” he said, as though highly disappointed. Where I had been steeling myself to face someone deeply sunk in evil, I found only an irritable old man.
“Excuse me, Master,” I said. “I don’t want to interrupt your experiments, but I need your wisdom and advice.” He was not in fact my master, but I had always called him that, feeling it was appropriate for his superior age and experience.
“No wonder, being trained at that school,” the old wizard snapped. He seemed unusually brusque, even for him. I wondered briefly how the Cranky Saint would hold up against him in a contest of irritable natures.
“I won’t keep you very long.” I glanced around surreptitiously, wondering how I could bring up the topic of the great horned rabbits. “But with your knowledge of the magic of earth and growing things, I thought you might be able to counsel me what do about the wood nymph.”
To my surprise, his expression immediately softened. “The wood nymph,” he said with even a hint of a smile. “I haven’t seen her in years.”
Emboldened by his mood change, I asked, “May I come in?”
He scowled again at once, but then he nodded grudgingly. “You might as well.”
I probed, very quickly, for supernatural influences, and did not find them. There was nothing about him, any more than there had been about Evrard, that indicated the use of black magic. He turned and I followed him inside, enormously relieved but still wary.
I was shocked when I came through the green door into the cottage’s single room. Even though it had always been full of herbs, books, mortars and pestles, and piles of dishes, he had managed to preserve some semblance of order, and the floor had always been swept clean. Now mounds of decayed plant material were heaped on the floor and the furniture, amidst dirty crockery. There was an acrid smell to the place I could not identify. Shards of broken glass lay in front of the fireplace, the result, I guessed, of the crash I had heard. The calico cat sensibly refused to come in with me.
“Find a chair,” said the old wizard with a vague wave of his hand. The word “find” seemed well-chosen; it took a moment for me to identify which of the shapeless masses around me might be a chair at base. “I’m afraid the place has gotten a little messy.”
I let this understatement pass and shifted a pile of dead leaves and a plate with the remains of what might once have been a fried egg. Having thus uncovered a chair, I pulled it up next to his rocking chair, the only piece of furniture not covered with debris.
He sat down himself and arranged his long white beard over his lap. It seemed full of twigs and bits of food, at which he picked as he rocked. Even his ring, shaped like an eagle in flight, was dirty and tarnished. But nothing here suggested he had been using diabolical power to bring dead rabbits back to life.
The old wizard had already been well past two hundred years old when he had abruptly decided to resign as Royal Wizard of Yurt. If he was starting to feel himself old and even incapable two years ago, when he moved down here from the castle, I wondered uneasily if his decline might have been accelerated by living alone, with no one to talk to besides his cat.
He kicked half-heartedly at the broken glass and continued to rock in front of his cold hearth. He seemed willing to let the silence stretch out until I finally decided to break it myself. “I need your advice,” I began, “on how I might be able to shift the wood nymph out of her grove.” If I started with her, I might be able to work around to the rabbits-and whatever had made that inhuman footprint. “I gather she’s been there for generations. Is it even possible to shift a nymph?”
The old wizard smiled, quite pleasantly for him. “Are you sure you
“I did see her,” I said. “She was down from the trees at least for a moment, but when I tried to speak to her she disappeared at once, without saying anything.”
