Chapter Twenty-four
Kelder was waiting on the doorstep. “I see you caught it,” he said.
“Yes,” Kilisha said, relieved to see him still there. “Is my mistress all right? Is everything else still secure?”
“Your mistress is fine,” he said. “And I didn’t see anything else get out.”
“Good.” She looked down at the spriggan clutched in her hand and wished she had some way of confining it-but she didn’t. She stepped inside, set it on the floor, and released it.
Kelder watched as the spriggan promptly ran in circles, frightening the bench and chair. “There was another customer while you were out, but I told her the wizard was indisposed, and she went away,” he said.
“Thank you,” Kilisha said, as she disentangled the leather-and-feathcr device from her hair.
“I really need to go now-but I’ll pass the word about your couch.”
“Thank you,” Kilisha repeated.
For a moment they both hesitated, as if something more was expected but neither of them quite knew what, and then Kelder said, “Well, I’ll come back if I have any news.” He bowed, then backed out the door, turned, and was gone.
Kilisha watched him go, then looked down at the ornament in her hand and decided against restoring it to its customary place. Instead she thrust it into the pouch on her belt, closed the door, ordered the latch to stay closed, then wagged a finger at the spriggan and admonished it, “You stay in this house!”
The spriggan stopped running and stared up at her. “Stay! Stay!” it said, nodding vigorously.
“Good,” she said, as she straightened and marched to the workshop.
Yara was there, peering into the brass bowl. “This looks like overcooked beef gravy,” she said, straightening up. “What is it?”
“I don’t know what it is,” Kilisha admitted. “It’s something Ithanalin had cooking when he was interrupted.”
“Cooking? Don’t you mean brewing?”
Confused, Kilisha said, “Well, something. Heating.”
“You’re sure it’s magic? That Thani wasn’t secretly cooking behind my back?”
Kilisha realized that she wasn’t sure of anything of the sort; Ithanalin might have been cooking, and the magic her athame had detected might have just been a minor protective spell or the like. That would explain why the stuff in the bowl hadn’t done anything magical for two days. Telling Yara that just now, however, did not seem like a good idea. “There was definitely wizardry there, and it chimed once,” she said.
Yara frowned, “Chimed?”
“The bowl rang like a bell without anyone touching it.”
“Ah. Yes, that’s magic.” She nodded, then changed the subject. “You caught the spriggan? That soldier said that that was why you disobeyed my order to stay here.”
“I caught it,” Kilisha said. She was chagrined to realize that in the urgency of pursuit she had completely forgotten Yara’s orders.
“I got your jewelweed,” Yara said. “You didn’t say how much.” She lifted a sack as large as Lirrin.
Kilisha suppressed the urge to say anything about the absurdity of such an amount, or to mention that in fact Ithanalin had had jewelweed on hand all along. Instead she merely said, “Thank you.”
“I told everyone I spoke to that we were looking for the couch,” she said. “Just in case anyone sees it.”
“That’s good,” Kilisha said.
“I told them, too!” Pirra called from the kitchen.
“Good for you!” Kilisha called back.
“Now what?” Yara asked.
“Now I practice Javan’s Restorative, and we hope the couch is found soon.”
“Oh.” Yara hesitated, then asked, “Is it dangerous?”
“Any magic can be dangerous if it’s not done well,” Kilisha said, automatically quoting a statement Ithanalin had made to her countless times in the five years of her apprenticeship.
Yara recognized the words and grimaced.
“I’m sorry,” Kilisha said. “I mean, he’s right when he says that. I don’t think this spell is going to be especially difficult; Istram thought I could do it easily enough.”
“Istram?”
“Yes, he stopped by while you were out.”
“And he didn’t stay for lunch?”
“He’s on Guild business, and couldn’t spare the time.”
Yara frowned. “What sort of Guild business?”
Kilisha hesitated; Yara, despite being Ithanalin’s wife, was no wizard, not a member of the Guild or, at least in theory, privy to its secrets. All the same, this particular affair was hardly secret. “Something about the usurper in Ethshar of the Sands,” she said.
“Oh, I heard everyone talking about that!” Yara said. “Rumors are everywhere.”
“Yes, well, I don’t know any details, but the Guild is studying the situation, and Istram’s helping.”
“Good for him. Well, I hope that when this is all over he’ll come by again and stay a little longer!”
“As you please, Mistress,” Kilisha said, bowing slightly, and wondering whether Yara would be glad to see her come back to visit when she was a wizard in her own right, rather than an apprentice.
That assumed, of course, that she ever did become a wizard- and if she didn’t learn Javan’s Restorative and use it on Ithanalin, that might well never happen.
“I should practice the spell,” she said.
“Of course,” Yara said. “I’ll sec to the children, and bring you something to eat in a bit.”
“Thank you.”
With that Yara withdrew into the kitchen and closed the door.
Kilisha hesitated, glancing at the parlor door. Ordinarily that, too, would be closed while serious magic was being practiced, but she did not want to miss any callers-especially not with the enchanted latch apparently eager to let in anyone who knocked.
And she wanted to keep an eye on the spriggan and the furniture, as well.
The door stayed open, and she turned her attention to the ingredients she would need for the spell. Peacock plumes, incense, water...
First she went through the motions slowly and carefully without drawing her athame or invoking any actual magic, just to get the feel of them. She recited the words until she was comfortable with their rhythms. She handled the ingredients, sensing their magical natures. She lit a candle and set her pan of warm water on a tripod above a charcoal burner, then opened a vent into the chimney so that the charcoal fumes would not poison her. She lit the charcoal and waited until the water began to steam gently.
And when it did she found a stick and snapped it in two, then placed the two pieces on the workbench.
Then, finally, she drew her athame, recited the initial incantation, and lit the block of incense.
She could feel the magic begin to gather almost immediately.
She proceeded slowly and carefully, crushing the jewelweed leaves in her hand and flinging some in the water, others onto the incense, where they flared up briefly before being reduced to flying ash. Smoke and steam and ash rose and thickened, gathering in an increasingly unnatural fashion.
After some forty minutes of this the entire room was thick with smog, and a great opaque cloud of it hung swirling over the workbench. She made the transitional gestures, completed the first chant and began the second, and with her athame clutched in both hands began to cut the cloud into the shape she wanted.
How she knew what shape to make she could not have explained; by this time the magic was as thick as the smoke. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she could not possibly be breathing the air in the
