“I’ll name him Tasslehoff.”
“Everybody names dogs Tasslehoff.” But Daev scratched the dog under the chin. “Maybe we can work him into the play.”
The dog grinned. So did Samael. “Why not?” said the youth. “She worked me in.”
“Very true,” Daev conceded, but it didn’t help his mood.
That afternoon, as he had for the past four days, Samael carefully weighed out ingredients and folded them into paper packets for his customers. An attractive but pinched-looking young woman watched him carefully.
“Thank you for buying this-um, Elayna,” Samael said mechanically. “You’ll receive your copy of the book the night before the play performance.”
Elayna clutched the package as though it contained jewels, “This will make me attractive?”
“You will be attractive,” he assured her. “Mix the ingredients as described in the book and drink them with water. Avoid leading military skirmishes while on this prescription.” He looked up to see that she understood that was a joke, saw that she didn’t, and looked down indifferently.
Kela, completing a sketch with a flourish, offered it to Elayna. She stared at it, pleased. “I don’t really look like this.”
“You do,” Kela said earnestly. “You just need the potion.”
Elayna, vastly pleased, bought the sketch as well as the ingredients and the book.
Daev stopped by, drenched in sweat. Without looking up, Kela ladled him a dipper of water. He drank half of it and poured the rest over his head. “The stage is finished.” He added heavily, “Thanks so much for helping.”
“I helped,” Frenni pointed out and poured water all over himself from the bucket. Kela and Samael shielded the items on the table protectively.
“You were a great help,” Daev rumbled, “as my bruises testify. As for you other two. .”
Kela held up a purse. “Doesn’t this help?”
Daev weighed it on his palm, impressed but trying to hide it.
Samael, tired though he was, grinned. “We sold some ingredients to a fat man named Mikel who wants to get thinner. We sold two doses of powders to thin women who want to get fatter. We sold powders and a portrait to a short man named Vaencent who wants to feel tall and powerful. We sold five or six packets with partial ingredients for love potions. The customers’ll use home ingredients to finish them out.” He laughed his demented laugh. “That’s a surprise, right? Oh-we sold four potions to make the drinkers fall out of love. There are a few broken hearts in this town.”
“They all bought books,” said Kela, “and tickets to the play.”
Daev rubbed his palms together. “I hope they like the play.”
“They’re dying for the play,”‘ Kela said frankly. “The way people talk, you’d swear that nothing new has happened in this town since the Cataclysm. Anyway, it’s a wonderful play, your best so far.” She added, starry- eyed, “Amandor’s lines-”
“-should do the trick, and Samael delivers them fairly well,” Daev finished.
“Perfectly.”
“Not perfectly, but very well.” Daev had been hearing far too much about the perfect Samael lately. “It won’t matter if we don’t finish the set paintings, the costumes, and the effects, will it? Samael, how is the proofing coming?” It seemed to be taking forever, and Daev had agreed to let the alchemist alone until it was done.
Samael pointed to a stack of trays, each filled with blocks of carved letters. “I ran the test copy this morning, then changed it and ran another copy. I changed it again-”
“You all think I change things too much,” Frenni muttered.
“It’s a wonderful book,” Kela chimed.
“I assumed it was perfect,” Daev said shortly. “It’s a good combination. The potions advertise the play, we presell the book, and happy customers tell all their friends about the next performance. Now all we have to do is get the book proofed and bound for tonight.” He emphasized “tonight.”
Samael looked up, shocked. “I want to proof it one more time.”
“How many times have you proofed it already?”
The young man looked down again, scanning the pages. “This next one will be the fifth.”
“The fifth?” Daev looked at the others in disbelief. They were all staring at him. “Listen, all of you. We have to complete the sets, finish the costumes, set up Samael’s special effects, print the book, bind the book, distribute all fifty copies as promised, and we have to do it all in one night.” He rubbed his eyes. “Gods, I can’t believe we open tomorrow.”
Now even Tasslehoff looked worried.
Daev pointed at the bare stage. “Kela, paint the backdrop. Samael, help me with the sets and the costumes. We’ll do the effects last. Frenni, your job is to print the book, bind it, and run it from house to house.”
Samael shook his head, frowning. “But I want to help print-”
“Frenni’s a specialist,” Daev assured Samael. “No more proofing,” he added firmly.
“He can do the book,” said Frenni. “I could work on the special effects!”
“Finish the book, Frenni, and you can help with the special effects. Now go.” Daev tugged on Samael’s sleeve, dragging him off to work.
The alchemist resisted. “Can’t I just proof it one more time?”
“Name of the gods, let it go. It will be fine.” Daev said with only a hint of bitterness, “I’m sure that, like everything you do, it will be wonderful and perfect.” He called back to Frenni with more asperity than was necessary, “Set up the print trays on the table and start running copies. Double time.”
“All right,” Frenni said sulkily. He watched the humans leave to work on the scenery.
“They don’t appreciate my hidden talents,” he muttered as he moved the trays of print and stacked them on the table. “I may not write, but I can sure improvise. You want a dragon? I can do a dragon.” He spun around, ducking and weaving from an invisible dragon, and set another tray down.
“You want magic? I can do magic-which is in very short supply nowadays.” He set one of the trays on the end of his hoopak and spun the tray, walking with it to the table. As the tray spun and wobbled, he slid it dexterously on top of the others.
Carrying the last tray, he kept up the griping. “Double time he wants, double time he’ll get. All the more time for special effects later on.” He wasn’t watching where he was going, tripped on a tree root and fell sprawling against the table. All eight trays of set pages slid down, letters and words raining down like stones in an avalanche.
Frenni dusted himself off and looked in dismay at the mess. The set pages had gaps interspersed throughout, ingredients and instructions and sometimes titles missing.
He thought of what the others would say when he told them what happened and sighed. Some days working with humans just wasn’t as much fun as he’d thought.
Scene 4. A Road at Night
Sharmaen: I fear my father’s thunder.
Amandor: Gentle sweet,
his love is tropical, his anger chill,
Such men mix hot and cold; their troubled air
will cloud and draw their lightning. Fear them not,
Saving your terror for the icy men
Loveless, unsummered with a wintry heart.
A hand crawled desperately on the road dust, as though trying to escape the body attached to it. The pulse
