The children hurried to obey-or at least, to watch their mother struggle with the intermittently cooperative coatrack. Kilisha watched them scamper across the room, then turned back to the neighbors.
“So what will you do now?” Adagan asked quietly.
“I need to talk to Chorizel,” Kilisha said.
“Chorizel?” Nissitha asked. “Why him? There are cheaper wizards on the street.”
“Guild rules,” Kilisha said.
Adagan nodded; Nissitha threw him a glance, then turned up an empty palm. “I don’t suppose you care to explain what Guild rules have to do with this. Surely, you don’t have a rule specifically covering who an apprentice should consult when her master turns himself into a roomful of furniture.”
“I’m not permitted to tell outsiders the rules,” Kilisha replied.
That was the truth; Guild rules forbade her explaining the Guild hierarchy to outsiders, or admitting that Chorizel was a Guildmaster. A master wizard was allowed some discretion, but not an apprentice.
Nissitha shook her head. “You wizards are all mad,” she said. “It comes from working with chaos. And you’ve gotten it younger than most.”
“We don’t exactly...” Kilisha began. Then she stopped. There was no reason to defend the Guild to Nissitha, or explain that wizards didn’t work directly with the chaos that underlay reality, but only with symbols that tapped into it. “I need to talk to Chorizel,” she said.
“Then go talk to him,” Yara called. “I have this tied up.”
Kilisha turned to see that a loop of rope was now tied tight around the coatrack just below the hooks, while Yara held the other end of the line and the children stood by, ready to grab the rope if the coatrack tried to flee.
“Good,” Kilisha said. “I will.” She turned back to Adagan and Nissitha, and said, “If you two could please tell everyone that we’re looking for escaped furniture-”
She was interrupted by a knock.
“Now what?” Kilisha said. Before she could object, Nissitha reached over.
Before Nissitha touched it, however, the latch sprang open of its own accord, and the door opened. Kilisha remembered that the latch, too, had been animated in the disaster. She would want to talk to it when she had a moment; it was being far too cooperative for its own good.
Right now, though, she looked to see who had knocked.
A stranger in a green and brown silk tunic stood outside. “I have an appointment with Ithanalin,” he said.
“He’s not here,” Nissitha said; she started to close the door. Kilisha jumped to intervene, and caught the latch.
The handle wiggled under her grip, but she ignored it. “You must be the customer he mentioned!” she said.
“Yes?” the man said, tentatively.
“I’m his apprentice,” Kilisha said quickly. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”
The customer was staring past Nissitha at Ithanalin, and Kilisha resolved to move her master away from the front door. “Is he-” the man began.
“He’ll be fine,” Kilisha said, pushing herself in front of Nissitha and blocking the customer’s view of the wizard. “In a day or two. And I’m sure he’ll finish your spell then. I’d do it myself, but I’m afraid I haven’t learned all the necessary secrets yet. Could you tell me, please, where I can reach you when the master is himself again?”
“I live on Steep Street, near the corner of Hillside.” He frowned. “What happened?”
Kilisha saw no reason to hide the truth. “A spriggan spilled the potion my master was preparing,” she said. “It will need to be redone. I’m very sorry for the delay, and I’m sure my master will give you a discount for the inconvenience.”
“I promised my wife-”
“I know, but really, there’s nothing we can do. It should just be a couple of days.”
“Who are these two?” the man asked, looking at Nissitha and Adagan.
“Just neighbors who stopped in,” Kilisha said.
“That’s my shop next door,” Nissitha offered.
“And mine just beyond,” Adagan added.
“Wizards?”
“No,” Nissitha said.
“I’m a witch,” Adagan said.
“Oh.”
“I’ll send you a message as soon as we know when the spell will be ready,” Kilisha said.
The man looked uncertain. “You’re sure-”
“Quite sure,” Kilisha interrupted.
The man hesitated a second longer, then turned up a palm. “All right,” he said. He tried to peer over her head, but Adagan shifted to block his view, and reluctantly the man turned and departed.
Kilisha released the door, and Nissitha slammed it. The latch clicked a few times, apparently annoyed, then settled into place.
“This is going to be bad for business,” Kilisha said. “I’d hoped to fix things before word got out.”
“You seem very certain you’ll be able to fix them,” Nissitha said.
“I am,” Kilisha said.
This was not literally true. She was not certain she could fix the situation, but she was certain someone could. After all, there were hundreds of wizards in Ethshar of the Rocks; surely one of them could reassemble Ithanalin. Javan’s Restorative didn’t look like that difficult a spell, and if that didn’t work, some other spell would.
How hard could it be?
But it was definitely going to hurt business, turning away customers this way.
“I need to talk to Chorizel,” she said, “but before I do, could you give me a hand? I want to move my master to the back, where people won’t see what’s happened to him.”
Nissitha grimaced. “Arc you sure it’s safe?”
“Oh, come on,” Adagan said, stepping toward the motionless wizard.
Chapter Eight
Nissitha had fled once Ithanalin was moved, but Kilisha had left Adagan there, to help Yara and the children should anyone else turn up at the door.
She wished she could have stayed herself, but somebody had to talk to Chorizel, and she was the only wizard on hand. She was only an apprentice, but she was still a member of the Wizards’ Guild.
The sun was low in the west, brushing the rooftops as she hurried along Wizard Street. The afternoon had slipped away in capturing the bowl and spoon and coatrack, explaining the situation to everyone, and sending away the confused customer. It was the middle of Harvest, and the days were getting shorter, but it was still dismaying to realize that she must have spent hours on all that.
The only good side she could see was that Chorizel would probably be at home, getting ready for supper, rather than out somewhere.
Unless, of course, he had an invitation to dine elsewhere. She picked up the pace, almost running.
Chorizel did not have an ordinary shop, with a signboard and front room; instead he had a house, and the only sign that it was a place of business was a small card set in one window that read simply:
CHORIZEL
WIZARDRY
Kilisha had passed by it any number of times in the five years she had lived on Wizard Street, but had never set foot inside. She had only spoken to Chorizel two or three times in her life, all of them when she and Ithanalin
