«The real or — The one who was at Satyrane’s tournament recently.»
«That would be the false one, made by the Witch of Riphira. A fair piece of work — though I will say I care nor much for these witches. Duessa is the only one who has any standing in the Chapter — And that brings me to remark, magical sirs, are you members of one of the outland Chapters? My memory is practically infallible, and I do not recall having seen you at our meetings.»
Chalmers stammered: «We. uh. that is. can you tell me a little more about this Florimel? The. uh. false one.»
Dolon waved his hand. «A mere witch’s thing — a creature made of snow, or no special value. You must let me show you the really fine chess player I made sometime, or the imps I conjured up to handle my torture work. Really an achievement. Busyrane, our archmagician, doubtless called this false Florimel in for inspection.» He accented the last word and snickered. «But you haven’t answered my question, magical sirs.»
Shea spoke up boldly. «The point is, we’d like to join up with you.»
«You mean you have been working independently and we know it not?» Dolon narrowed his eyes suspiciously. «Aye; Busyrane opened the Chapter but a twelvemonth ago and you may well have slipped his attention. I trust you have not refused his invitation. Our archimage is not soft or slow with unlicensed magicians He has a spell that turns ’em into spiders. Witty, is he not, eh?»
«Good gracious!» said Chalmers. «But how does one acquire a licence?»
«That falls somewhat upon the applicant. Our charter calls for a round twenty-one master magicians, the magic number. Naturally, you behold in me one of the leading masters, whether by ability or seniority. There is also a class of journeymen, who handle the ordinary work, and one of apprentices. Perhaps you have talent enough to be elected to mastership. There are three or four places unfilled, I believe. The next meeting comes in five days, and with my backing your election would be certain.»
SIX
Dolon, in the form of a handsome stallion, trotted in front. Shea leaned back in his saddle, and, watching the stallion’s ears carefully, murmured: «Doing all right, aren’t we, Doc?»
«I suppose so, but I admit to being somewhat apprehensive as to what will happen if both the Companions and the Chapter of Magicians learn we’ve been cooperating with the other party. This. ah. playing both ends against the middle may get us in trouble.»
«Maybe,» said Shea. They rode on in silence.
Once a tiger glided out from between the trunks ahead. Gustavus and Adolphus, both rapidly approaching nervous breakdowns, tried to bolt from the trail. Dolon turned himself from a stallion into an immense buffalo. The tiger slunk off, snarling.
The sun was already low when the trail made a right-angled bend and dipped under a bank. A huge oak door was set into the earth. Dolon, again in his natural form, waved a hand, and the door flew open. «Fear not for the safety of your mounts,» he said. «An invisible wall, which none may penenate without my warrant, surrounds this place.»
Shea, dismounting, said: «That ought to be nice for keeping the mosquitoes out.»
Dolon laughed dutifully, then shook his head. «Ah, good ’prentice, how true! Is it not sad that a man of genius must concern himself with petty moils and worries?»
The air was stuffy inside. The first thing Shea saw was a huge pile of dirty dishes. Dolon was evidently not the neat type of bachelor. Beyond was an object that made his scalp prickle. It was the life-sized nude statue of a young man, stiff, at one side of the room, emitting a faint bluish glow. It held aloft a torch, which Dolon set alight.
The enchanter noticed Shea’s glance of inquiry. «A former ’prentice of mine,» he remarked. «I found he was a spy from Queen Gloriana’s court, where a few of those high-born grandees practise a kind of magic they call ‘white’. So there he stands, with all his sensations alive and the rest of him dead. Eh, Roger?» He pinched the statue playfully and laughed. «I’m really the best humorist in the Chapter when I’m in the mood. Let me show you my collection of Mallamies.»
«What’s a Mallamy?» inquired Chalmers.
Dolon looked at him hard, then decided it was a kind of joke and laughed. He began taking bottles off a shelf and holding them up to the light. Each contained a human figure about an inch tall. «Homunculi from the hand of great master, Mallamy himself,» he explained. «He specialized in this art, and none other has been able to shrink folk to so small size. Even I, Dolon, cannot equal his art. This is the finest collection of his figures in existence. It wants only a blond Saracen. Busyrane has one, but he will not yield it, though I have offered him a water fay, which his own collection tacks. He insists that water fays arc not permanent, since any accident will bring water in contact with the bottle and they can work a spell of their own and so escape.»
He sighed. «You see how things fall sort of perfection even for the greatest of us. But come in, good sirs, and seat yourselves in my cabinet. Only ’ware the cockatrice as you go down this passage.»
«A cockatrice?» said Shea.
«Aye. A rare, priceless idea of Busyrane’s. All masters of the Chapter are supplied with them. They are just outside our inner cabinets and under an enchantment, so they may not look on any member of the Chapter — or his friends. But should any of Gloriana’s people essay to enter, the cockatrice looks on them and they turn to stone.»
* * *
Dolon threw open a door and led the way down a dimly lighted passage. Behind bars at one side the beast stalked to and fro with a clatter of its scaly tail. It turned its head this way and that. The stench made Shea want to vomit. Over his shoulder he saw Chalmers’ lips moving. He hoped it was with a protective counterspell, not prayer. Dolon’s voice floated back: «— had to get them after Cambina, one of those ‘white magic’ practitioners, got into Mallamy’s cabinet and drowned him in a pool of alkahest. Thank Lucifer, she married that oaf, Sir Cambell, and marriage cost her some of her powers —»
The door banged behind them. Shea gasped for air as though he had swum up from the bottom of the ocean.
The table was ready and the food — thank Heaven, thought Shea — not too highly spiced. Whittling at a steak, he asked:
«What’s this meat? It’s good!»
«Fried Losel,» said the magician calmly.
Shea saw Chalmers halt a mouthful in midair. He felt himself gag momentarily; it was, after all, on the borderline of cannibalism, and after the cockatrice — He forced himself to go on eating. Squeamishness right now was a luxury.
Dolon poured out some wine, sat back and, rather to the travellers’ astonishment, produced and lit a clay pipe.
«Aye,» he pronounced, «competition is the curse of our business. One playing against another, and those curst companions of Gloriana making sad work of us all — that’s how matters stood till Busyrane organized our Chapter. Why, I mind me, I had a very good thing once, very good. Found a man of property who wanted a love philter. I made it for him, and he refused to pay. As he was more ass than human, I promised him his ears should grow an inch a day, with the price doubled for each inch they grew till he got me to take the spell off.» Dolon laughed and puffed. «I told you I was a good deal of a humorist.»
«Well, what does he do but go to Malingo, who gives him a counterspelt at half price! No more of that now.»
Shea had a question: «Look here! If you magicians all cooperate so well, what went wrong at Satyrane’s tournament? That girdle wouldn’t stay on the false Florimel, or on Duessa either for that matter. I should’ve thought Busyrane would see to that.»
Dolon chuckled. «Briskly questioned, springald! The trick with the girdle was doubtless Duessa’s doing. It’s in her style. She tried to remove the enchantment already on it, but when she found she couldn’t do that, clapped another atop, so ’twould fit nobody. But Florimel’s case was an error, I fear me much.» He shook his head.
