The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic

for me.”

“You’d like my world,” Nora said impulsively. “I think you’d fit right in. Maybe even better than you do here.”

“Better?” Hirizjahkinis raised her eyebrows.

“Well.” Nora stalled for an instant. “There are more educated, self-sufficient women, like you. And people of all different skin colors and”—Nora paused, unable to translate “sexual preferences” into Ors—“women who take women as lovers, or men who take men as lovers, can do so openly. Most of the time.”

Hirizjahkinis blew air out of her cheeks, a puff of pure incredulity. “I make no pretenses about whom I invite into my bed. And in my country, let me tell you, there are no white people. I fit in very well.” She shrugged her shoulders under the Kavareen’s pelt. “Furthermore, I am a magician. Of course I am self-sufficient. It goes without saying.”

“I’m sorry,” Nora said. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“No, no. It is true, there is no one exactly like me here. Plenty of women practicing a little ignorant country magic, but very few who are trained magicians.”

“How did you become a magician?” Nora asked curiously.

“I started out as a witch—a nun of the order of the witch priestesses of Kirajahn Alanafar Muris, the Holy Sister Night. My parents dedicated me before I was even born, as a thanks offering for a prayer that was granted. So I learned the chants and the rituals, and worshipped the goddess, and grew to be quite a strong witch, in my way. Of course, all that was almost useless, after I had to leave the order and the goddess withdrew her blessing. I did not learn to wield real magic until I studied with Aruendiel.”

Hirizjakinis’s account raised more questions than it answered. “How did you get Aruendiel to teach you magic?”

“Oh, it was a kind of trade. He was interested in some of the spells that I had learned in the order.” She added, after a moment’s reflection, “There is always this kind of exchange going on among magicians. There is always something to learn, even from bad magicians. At least you can learn what not to do.”

An idea bloomed rapidly in Nora’s mind as Hirizjahkinis was speaking. She thought: I bet Hirizjahkinis would teach me magic. And I’m sure she never stabbed anyone to death. How hard is it to learn magic? How long before you get to be really good? Nora pictured herself, grave and puissant, lifting a hand with lazy grace to summon a thunderstorm or—better yet—making Ilissa cower.

But Hirizjahkinis didn’t know the magic to send Nora home again. And as for becoming a magician—how much do I want to believe in this stuff, Nora thought rebelliously. There was something there, you couldn’t deny that. But was it really magic? Whatever magic was.

She wanted to take up a number of questions with Hirizjahkinis, not the least of which was the little matter of Aruendiel’s wife. But just then, a servant came up to them to say that Lord Aruendiel had requested that the ladies meet him at the south gate, and Nora had to go to her room to gather up her things. She changed, with some regret, out of her borrowed dress back into Mrs. Toristel’s brown one, and wrapped Pride and Prejudice inside her gray smock for discretion and safekeeping.

Making her way to the gate, she found Aruendiel looking rather tired but obviously in good spirits as he talked to Hirizjahkinis. The reason, she gathered, was that he had just been paid. It was compensation for the job he had done for the merchant cursed by the sea god. One of his client’s ships had arrived in Semr with a full cargo the day before; Aruendiel had collected a purseful of gold for the share promised to him.

“You see,” said Hirizjahkinis, “it was a very good idea to come back to Semr. Otherwise you would have missed the ship and, I am sure, forgotten all about collecting your reward.”

“He would not dare to let the debt go unpaid,” Aruendiel said with a crooked smile. “The consequences would be regrettable.”

“Only if you remembered that he owed you the money. So you will not stay here longer? It is late to be setting out; it is almost midday.”

“No, there is a banquet tonight, and I have no desire to be pressed into service to amuse a roomful of tipsy fools a second time. Although that ridiculous episode has had an interesting sequel,” he added. “Both Savo and Tirinist asked me to work the portrait spell for them. Savo wishes to see his first wife again, after thirty years. And Tirinist possesses an antique portrait of an unknown woman, with whom he wishes to become better acquainted.”

“You would have many more such commissions, you know, if you occasionally took the trouble to remind people of what a powerful magician you are.”

“Commissions? I said no to both.”

“No! Tell me you didn’t. Tirinist, at least, is a very rich man.”

“I will not work that spell again.”

“Then you must teach me the spell, and I’ll do it,” Hirizjahkinis said. To his raised eyebrow, she added, “I came to Semr to work. One travels lighter with a full purse. Would you have refused Savo and Tirinist if your purse were not so full?”

“Yes,” he said shortly. “But if you wish, I will tell you how to do the spell. It comes from Duisi Tortor’s Concerning Necromancy and Other Reversals of Fate (although there is almost no true necromancy in the entire book). It’s an elaboration of an ordinary testimony spell, the kind of charm you’d use to get any stone to speak. So you work the summons on the painting itself. The trick is to push it hard, and perhaps help it along with an awakening charm or a manifestation sequence. But the paint is fragile, so you need a fat wick. Tortor used to sacrifice a baby.”

“That’s a great deal of power.”

“More than really necessary,” Aruendiel agreed. “Fire or water work just as well.”

The spell he’d described almost made sense in a general way, Nora thought. But then Hirizjahkinis asked a string of questions that were too technical for her to follow. Aruendiel answered them in equally obscure terms.

“Did you resolve the little problem of the queen’s aunt—her unexpected death?” Aruendiel asked, lifting his travel bag and easing it onto the shoulder that stood slightly higher than the other.

“With great success. And no, I did not raise the dead, you will be pleased to hear,” Hirizjahkinis said. “Although the queen’s uncle thinks that I did. Fear loosened his tongue amazingly.”

Aruendiel looked at her for a moment. “Good for you, Hiriz. You always find a way.”

“Peace be your friend, Aruendiel.”

“And yours.” He turned away.

Nora said swiftly to Hirizjahkinis, “Thank you for everything. I hope that I’ll see you again.”

“Well, I do not come north very often these days—but I would like that, too. Be safe, little one.” She raised her hands briefly to lay them against Nora’s hands, a formal dab of leave-taking, and then Nora ran to catch up with Aruendiel.

The magician’s gray gaze slid toward her as, out of breath, she fell into step beside him. “So you do not wish to remain in Semr?”

“No.”

“Why not? It will be dull for you, back at the castle, with no one to talk to except Mrs. Toristel.”

“That’s true enough,” Nora said stolidly. “But I’ve had enough of court life.”

The answer seemed to please him; at least, his mouth curled for an instant and he stopped questioning her. He led the way downhill through the tangle of streets until they entered another marketplace, bigger and shabbier than the one that Nora had visited with Inristian, with a greater variety of goods. The narrow shop fronts and the open stalls were piled with ceramic pots and plates; copper kettles and pans; harnesses and saddles; iron tools, some recognizable, some not; bolts of cloth; animal hides; wheels of cheese; crates of live chickens, frogs, and doves; casks of beer and wine; glass beads; glass bottles; spices; salt; knives, swords, and shields.

Aruendiel picked his way through the maze of stalls and then ducked into a small, dark storefront that, unlike the other shops, had a lettered sign above the door. Nora remained outside for a moment, carefully sounding out the letters, then followed Aruendiel inside. He was talking to an immensely fat man whose girth had been poured into an equally massive leather-sided chair. Behind the fat man shelves and boxes overflowed with books, scrolls, and maps in various stages of dogearedness.

“. . . The Augur’s Companion just came in, but I don’t think it’s to your lordship’s