"What are you thinking, Mi'Lady?"
"Who would argue with a magic book?"
"Only fools, Mi'Lady."
"Bib." She smiled and sat back. "Playing obsequious does not suit you."
"Yes, Mi'Lady." He chuckled, his pages rippling hard enough to flip himself closed again. "I see where you are going with this. If we walk into the Overseer's office and I disgorge all the papers in front of him, he can't very well argue against the evidence that I am magic. That ought to convince him of the truth of our story."
"If only we could find the miller's—Corby." She nodded, pleased that she had remembered his name. "If only we could find Corby and have him back up our story."
"We could take the baker with us, as he seems the next target of the nefarious schemes."
"No, we won't take him—we'll ask to ride with him." She glanced down the length of the table. On one side were all the papers, all the signed documents, the town records that Brimble and Swickle had rewritten, alongside the originals. On the other side of the table were the clothes that needed to be finished before she could leave the judge's household. "We have one more day to make our plans."
Chapter Six
That evening, Merrigan looked up at the sound of the library door creaking open to see Cook with her supper tray, instead of Flora or Fauna. He paused in the open doorway and looked around the room. For just a flicker of time, he wasn't the iron-gray, stooped man with the weathered face and a stained leather eye patch. He was taller, younger, straighter, with two eyes that shone like emeralds, and flickers of purple magic spun around his outstretched hands, cradling a bowl full of rose-colored smoke. Then he was simply Cook again. He limped a little as he walked down the length of the table. His gaze raked over the books on their shelves with regret, rather than the awe Flora and Fauna displayed when they looked at them.
"You'll need this," he muttered, his tone soft and earthy, almost gritty, as if it came from deep underground. He put down the tray and shrugged one shoulder, letting a thick strap slide down, attached to a sturdy, thick shoulder bag, such as foot travelers or apprentices used to carry their masters' equipment.
His hand brushed over Bib as he set the bag down next to him, and Merrigan shuddered, fully expecting him to snatch up the book and walk out.
"Thank you," she said, her voice softer and weaker than she liked.
"I'm not him." Cook winked at her, which was odd, since she had always thought it difficult to wink with only one eye.
"Not who?"
He gestured around the library, then spread both arms, taking in the household. She understood. He meant the enchanter who resided here when this had been a castle.
"What happened?" She reached as if to catch hold of his sleeve, then thought better of it. "Who are you, if you aren't him? You know about ..." She rested her fingertips on the edge of Bib's cover.
Cook smiled, and again she had a glimpse of the young man he had been, strong and ruggedly handsome and full of power.
"I am usually blocked from coming in here, until I have learned my lesson thoroughly and permanently."
"Usually?" she prompted.
"Some of us take longer to learn our lessons than others. I suppose the higher the heights of the fall, the longer the climb upwards again. The wise learn from the mistakes and foolishness of others, Highness."
She shuddered. Hearing this man acknowledge her rank, her position, was entirely different from hearing Bib say it. Merrigan wondered why it frightened her.
"Learning is more than gathering facts and knowledge. Learning leads to wisdom, but we stopped at knowledge, like a dragon hoarding gold and jewels, only to sleep on them."
"Where is ..." She gestured as he had done, indicating the former castle.
"It doesn't matter, except that we each must learn a bitter lesson. I am pleased to note that I have ... paid, learned enough, to see a little of the spells swaddling you like a baby. Yes, that is an apt metaphor. You must be reborn, remade."
"How long have you been suffering?" she whispered.
"I don't really know. Time passes strangely, for those under enchantment."
"That is so unfair."
"There is no law that says magic that teaches a necessary lesson must be fair. At least," he added with a smirk that made his remaining eye brilliant green for a few seconds, "not fair while the spell is in force. When the change is complete, well ... let the enspelled judge."
"I don't want—" She squeaked as he pressed a gnarled, calloused finger against her lips, silencing her.
"It is useless to complain, and no one to appeal to for a change in judgment. I had to wait more than a century before I learned that. Learn from me, Highness. Don't waste your energy complaining or fighting. Focus on learning and becoming better than you were."
"Why are you telling me this?" Merrigan muffled the urge to shriek in a most un-royal manner.
"Learning requires passing on knowledge, especially lessons learned through pain. I would not wish my lessons on anyone. Not even the enchanters who were once my enemies." He executed a graceful bow, so utterly incongruous with his crooked form. He turned and went to the door. "I daresay we shall not see each other before you leave, which I recommend you do quickly. Your hair is darkening. Leave before someone notices the change and suspects you of magical doings. It could be uncomfortable."
Then he stepped through the door and out of sight. Merrigan couldn't even hear his footsteps moving down the hall. Then again, she hadn't heard him approaching the library.
"Well," she said, letting out a deep breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.
"Indeed," Bib said.
ROSCO SHOWED UP TO take
