He thought it must have fallen in the tunnel or among the pebbles at Boreal Verge, a speck of paper that no one would ever notice. He was not greatly concerned, though, for the spell was clear in his memory. He spoke it.
Nothing happened.
He tried several more times before admitting to himself that he truly needed the written version. With a sigh, he pushed the onyx ring under the pillow and settled himself over it, hoping that Rianna would be the one to find him. He was disappointed in that. Turjan himself read the Fourth Evolution from the book of spells and restored him to his normal size.
“These are difficult spells,” Turjan said, closing the book. “Even the greatest of us have some difficulty maintaining more than three or four of them in our memories at any one time. You are fresh at the lore to recall even two.”
“Which is why I wrote down the Second Evolution.”
“Perhaps you should have inked it on your arm instead of on paper.”
Bosk brightened. “I’ll do that next time.”
Turjan laughed. “As you wish, young Bosk. Then you’ll have no trouble restoring yourself at either end of the Eye.” At Bosk’s wary expression, he added, “Oh come now — don’t you think I know every instance of sorcery within these walls? Now, if you intend to range so far at the size of a caterpillar, you should know another spell to keep you safe. I would not wish to tell your father that a house cat ate his son.”
Bosk swallowed hard.
For the rest of the day, he and Turjan were cloistered in the anteroom to Turjan’s own quarters while Bosk learned the spell of the Omnipotent Sphere. When he was certain he had it, Turjan tested him again and again. In the end, Bosk did write it on his arm in indelible ink.
“Write it and rewrite it,” said Turjan. “Until you have it so committed to memory that you will never forget it.”
Bosk nodded.
“We will repeat the test from time to time.”
Bosk nodded again.
“Now go ask the Twk where your golden thread can be found.”
“But sir, I have nothing with which to pay them.”
Turjan smiled at him. “Are you so sure of that?”
Bosk raised his hands in perplexity.
“Well, young Bosk, perhaps it will help you to know that the Twk are very fond of mushrooms.”
“But I have none,” said Bosk.
“Indeed? What a shame.”
And then it was time for dinner, which included no mushrooms at all.
In his bedchamber that night, Bosk searched through his panniers, but as he had thought, his mushrooms had all been used up in the journey to Ascolais. He climbed into bed, and when he slid his hand beneath the pillow to tuck it against his cheek, there was the onyx ring of the Insinuating Eye.
And he realized that mushrooms, even fresh ones, weighed far less than pebbles.
With the dawn, he was in the cold pantry of Boreal Verge, where the family’s private stock of fresh mushrooms was kept. He could only carry one at a time, and so he made half a dozen trips from there to his bedchamber at Miir.
At the morning meal, he asked how one of the Twk could be summoned.
“They visit when it suits them,” T’sain said. “They answer no one’s call.”
“Then I must go to them,” said Bosk. “Can someone give me directions for the journey?” He looked to Turjan.
Turjan glanced at Rianna.
“I’ve been to Twk town,” she admitted.
In the library, she drew a map. The Twk lived in the forest, with no signposts showing the way, but there was an unmistakable pattern of boulders and trees leading to them, with the largest tree of all the destination. “If you stand below and call for Dandanflores, he will come,” she said. “Tell him you’re there at Rianna’s request.”
That afternoon, in his bedchamber, he guided the Eye to the Twk town, a cluster of perhaps a hundred hollowed-out gourds set high in the branches of that enormous tree. For a time, he watched the Twk and their dragonfly mounts ferrying goods to homes that were as large to them as his room was to him. He peeked inside a few gourds and found Twk families gathered at tiny tables and chairs, searching in tiny chests and cabinets, or napping in silky hammocks, each no larger than the finger of a glove. Seeing them so, he could well understand Rianna’s wish for Twk to live in her doll house.
He set the far end of the Eye near the round entrance of one of the larger gourds, shrank himself to Twk size, and perched at the terminus of the tunnel, legs dangling over the edge of the smoky ring. Presently, a dragonfly emerged from the gourd and hovered beside him, and the draft from its wings was strong enough to make him hold tight to his seat. At his size, the rider’s voice seemed deep as any human’s.
“Who are you,” said the Twk-man.
“Rianna sent me. I am Bosk, and I seek Dandanflores.”
The dragonfly darted away. Shortly, another rider arrived. “I remember you,” he said. “You were formerly larger.”
“It’s Rianna’s spell,” said Bosk.
“Oh, has she put you in her doll house?”
“I have visited it.”
“A vile place,” said the Twk chieftain. “No Twk would consent to inhabit it.”
“So I understand. But I have not come to ask it of you. Rather, I seek information.”
“Many do. And what do you have to offer in exchange?”
“I am Bosk Septentrion. Perhaps you have heard of my family.”
“I have,” said the Twk-man.
Bosk leaned back into the tunnel and brought forth a mushroom larger than his head. “This is an excellent example of our wares,” he said, “and fresh, not dried, with all the nuances of its flavor intact. Steamed, sauteed, or even raw dipped in mustard sauce, it makes a royal dish. It is my gift to the chieftain of the Twk.” He held it out. “I have others to offer if you and I can strike a bargain.”
Dandanflores curved an arm around the mushroom, pinched off a fragment, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it with a thoughtful expression. After a moment, he said, “Now what could a creature who emerges from nothingness and sits on its edge want from me?”
“The location of a certain golden thread,” said Bosk, “formerly in the possession of Chun the Unavoidable but the property of one Lith, a witch with golden hair and eyes.”
“Oh, that,” said Dandanflores.
Bosk nodded. “I seek to return it to the lady.”
The Twk-man shifted the mushroom to a net behind his left hip. “The thread changed hands in most equitable fashion.”
“Yet it was stolen property.”
“The new owner did not steal it. That fault was Chun’s.”
“If the new owner will not surrender it for the sake of conscience, then I will buy it. To whom shall I make the offer?”
The Twk chieftain cocked his head to one side. “Let us discuss the situation in more detail. My home is nearby, and my steed is strong enough to carry two.”
The chieftain’s home was one of the larger gourds. Within, it was like the other Twk dwellings, the space illuminated by windows cut in the walls and partitioned by shelf-like platforms that held the furniture. A Twk-woman and several children were there. Dandanflores and Bosk dismounted from the dragonfly at the lowest platform and climbed several ladders to the uppermost. From there, the family’s sleeping quarters were within easy reach, a hammock for each suspended from the rounded ceiling, loosely woven of thick fibers and padded with dandelion fluff. The largest hammock was trimmed with spiral-wound golden rope.
