"Hmm ..."
She did not like the sound of that.
"Have we found another limit to your magic, Bib?"
Merrigan stopped short, startled by the snap and sharp edges to her voice. What was more disquieting? The familiarity of it, like stepping into a favorite old ball gown from two years ago, full of comforting, delightful memories—or the realization that she didn't really like it? In essence, the ball gown smelled like someone had loaned it to a number of people who chose perfume over soap.
"Focus," she muttered, and held Bib up a little higher, closer to the signpost.
"I'm trying, Mi'Lady. Forgive me, but I think there have been some changes in boundaries and kingdoms and the names of towns and roads since I was essentially put into storage. My original master would update me regularly, feed me maps and reports on the political doings and wars in other kingdoms, so I knew who was who and what was where and ..." He sighed. For a few terrifying seconds, his cover turned spotty with wear. "I am sadly out of date. I must syphon information from other books or documents to catch up. I fear I am not much good as an advisor if my information is behind the times."
"It's not your fault," she said, hating the tight cords underneath her voice, and the effort it took to comfort him.
After all, who was the queen and who was the servant bound in the book, here? He was supposed to be looking out for her, not the other way around. By rights, she should have at least one servant just to carry Bib, so she didn't have to endure the weight of him, riding in that bag that bounced on her hip with every step she took.
But that was the problem with all this—nothing was right.
They stood there long enough that her arms got tired and she cradled the book against her chest.
"There's nothing to do but pick a direction, a destination, and start walking. After the good deeds we did, certainly we've earned some help from someone magical, don't you think?" he offered.
"Hmm, I suppose so." Merrigan sighed, slightly nauseous from the surge of anger that curdled through her belly.
What kind of fool had she been, to feel so utterly disappointed at this turn of events? She was under a curse, no matter what game of semantics Bib tried to play. Curses never let up so easily. What made her think that getting involved in the petty crimes and political games and lies of a minor town in a minor country would earn her a reprieve? Landing in a candlespice bush certainly proved there was no mercy extended in her direction.
With a decisive nod, she tucked Bib back into his bag, adjusted the straps of her two bags, and stepped up to the crossroads post, to study the names of the cities. Wardenkraft sounded pleasant, even friendly. Then again, maybe it was because the marker said Wardenkraft was only two miles away, while the other towns were eight, six, and twelve miles away, depending on the direction she walked. She had to be a pragmatist, after all.
Perhaps those trees looming closer to the road, maybe half a mile away, harbored someone magical. Even if it was just a handful of pixies, or a brownie. Brownies always wanted to be helpful, didn't they? Merrigan considered limping, to gain some sympathy from anyone watching. While that might work with simpletons, like farmers and goose girls, that wouldn't work with magical creatures. They would see the spells woven around her, get suspicious and wonder why she was shrouded in magic. Merrigan dearly hoped curiosity would get her some sympathy, if not bring someone close enough to investigate.
"Bother," she muttered, when she walked far enough for the woods to close in on both sides of the road, and the paving was replaced by pebbles and dirt, then plain dirt. Merrigan found the lack of wheel ruts highly discouraging. "Bib, should I turn around?"
"It might be wise, Mi'Lady. You are vulnerable to any highwaymen or common thieves lurking in the shadows hereabouts. Even as poor and feeble as you appear to be, you do have two bags under your cloak. Someone might be desperate enough that whatever they take from you will make them richer."
"I do wish you would stop with the philosophy." Merrigan stopped and looked over her shoulder.
She glimpsed some sort of structure among the shadows. As she took a few steps closer, an errant gust of wind moved branches overhead, letting a beam of light reveal a simple slanted roof over a well, with several buckets hanging from the support posts, and two cranks to raise and lower the buckets on ropes.
"I don't suppose the water is enchanted, and if I drink some, it will break the spell?"
"We need to expand your education, Mi'Lady," Bib said as she followed the little beaten dirt path from the roadside to the well. "More often, an enchanted well will only make your situation worse, unless you drink from a special cup, or you have a magic coin to appease the guardian of the well, or you know the right words to say to convince the water to help you. You're better off if it's just plain water."
"I'm thirsty enough to appreciate plain water." She stepped up onto the platform of boards surrounding the round wall around the mouth of the well. "How do you propose to expand my education?"
"I could tell you stories as we walk along. It will certainly pass the time. Oh, and maybe if we're in a safe town, where some greedy magistrate or mayor or merchant doesn't try to take me from you, I could earn you food and shelter by telling stories. I'm sure even the simplest villagers would pay to hear a magic book talk to them."
"Bib, you are brilliant." Merrigan swayed for a
