All The Turns of Light (16 page)

Meralda stared. “What?”

“My people have certain ways of seeing the world,” said Donchen. “I have explained all this to your Court. Should the
Intrepid
arrive at Sheng Zhen with only four of the five Realms represented, the insult would be grave. The forces within my country that seek to undermine relations between Hang and the Realms would use this as an excuse to hamper peaceful relations.”

“So the King kidnapped a random Vonat, hung a title around his neck, and hopes to pass him off as a genuine ambassador?” asked Mug.

“It’s more complicated than that,” said Donchen.

“Which means it really isn’t,” Mug said. He tossed his leaves in an impressive wave. “What an idiotic thing to do! For all we know this is another Vonat wizard, here to kill us all!”

“No,” said Donchen quickly. “He is not a wizard. Not a warrior. He was found by Phendelit fishermen fifteen years ago, half-dead, clinging to a log in the Lamp River, emaciated and brutalized. He wound up in Tirlin, and after the Secret Service determined he wasn’t a threat, he was allowed to remain in an apartment off Valor Lane, under constant guard, of course. He translates Vonat texts and offers cultural insights whenever the Crown requests them.”

“Valor Lane?” Meralda asked. “I buy my hats from a shop on the corner. You mean the apartments halfway down the block, beside the cafe where they make those little frosted cupcakes?”

“Why wasn’t Mistress told?” Mug said. An umbrella, open and dripping with rain, floated down from the ceiling. “What if this Vonat is behind all this somehow?”

“It is my belief he is not,” said Donchen. “But I am a lowly line cook. I want the Mage herself to decide whether the Vonat is telling the truth.” He looked at Meralda. “Will you do that, Meralda? Will you talk to the man, hear what he has to say?”

Meralda took in a breath. “Does this Vonat have a name?”

“His name is Kurbus Yksinare, and I can take you to him tonight.”

A jaunty yellow kite fell to the floor. Catastrophe leaped upon it, batting at the kite’s tail with his forepaws.

“Didn’t you say his room is guarded?” asked Meralda, sipping at her coffee.

“It is. But I know a way.” Donchen ignored Mug’s sudden many-eyed glare.

“Tell me,” Meralda said.

Mug fumed, but held his silence while Donchen revealed his plan in a whisper.

~~~

From the private journal of Mugglesworth Ovis, Novembre 22, RY 1969

And I thought an attack by sea serpents was bad.

Now we’ve got a Vonat hiding on board, and naturally Mistress is determined to pop by his murder room for a spot of tea. At midnight. Accompanied only by Donchen, who is a capable enough chef, but this is a Vonat spy we’re talking about.

My wise counsel concerning caution and keeping one’s distance might as well have been a treatise on bird calls and pumpkins. Mistress and Donchen spent all morning whispering, most of the whispers delivered from unnecessarily close quarters on that tiny bed, plotting to sneak past the guards and present themselves to the one person within eight thousand miles who might have motive to do them grievous bodily harm.

Donchen will use his Hang ring to sneak past the guards. I surmise his ring can not only change his form but render him and Mistress briefly invisible. Donchen already knows the word that will put the wards to sleep long enough to pass them by.

This is just the sort of mad scheme that invariably ends with phrases such as ‘unspeakable tragedy’ or ‘messy demise.’

The only good thing to come out of this is that Meralda is no longer considering telling the Captain or the King about her newfound ability to snatch household goods from home to here. I suppose learning that the Court kept secrets from her makes keeping secrets from the Court easier.

I won’t be allowed along as they sneak off to visit the Vonat, because who wants to listen to reason when one is fully engaged in an act of folly? I’ll watch via Goboy’s Glass though, and the first time I see the glint of a dagger I’m calling for the Bellringers, mark my words, King’s secret or not.

All this skullduggery and sneaking about takes place at midnight tonight. I’ll be a nervous wreck by then; I’ve already lost three leaves and another is turning yellow at the edges, not that anyone cares, they’re too busy cooing and whispering.

Penned by my remaining frail fronds, I remain, though unacknowledged and unappreciated, Mugglesworth Ovis.

Chapter 9

Meralda, accompanied by Mug and the Bellringers, hurried to the
Intrepid’s
maintenance bay.

Kervis carried a basket, and Tervis a bed sheet. Mug darted back and forth, singing and making a scene any time a fellow crew member approached. If an object appeared out of thin air, Kervis scooped it up and added it to his basket. Tervis’s sheet was intended for anything too large to fit in the basket.

To reach the maintenance bay, Meralda had to walk the entire length of the starboard passageway, climb two flights of stairs to the upper deck, and then make her way through a series of gangways and catwalks until she reached the plain iron doors of the bay.

By then Kervis had filled his basket with assorted dry goods, and Tervis was struggling along with a storefront mannequin concealed under his sheet. The Bellringers hastily deposited their burdens inside the empty maintenance bay and shut the door, taking up positions on either side of it.

Alone with Mug at last, Meralda slumped over the workbench and caught her breath.

“We made it, Mistress.” Mug flew about, inspecting the sparsely equipped room with dismissive snorts.

A billiard cue appeared beside Meralda, standing on end for a moment before clattering to the deck.

“We did,” Meralda said. “Let’s get to work.”

Hours passed. Mug watched as Meralda calibrated the new thaumeter, saw her face fall when it registered nothing, even as a small oak wardrobe packed with men’s undergarments popped into existence right beside the thaumeter’s metal case.

Meralda charged wands, performed a series of simple latchings and unlatchings. Objects appeared, including a pocket watch and a glass of lemonade, but Meralda could find no source for the conjurings, or even detect them as they occurred.

“Fine,” muttered Meralda, as she glared at the pocket watch. “Let’s see if you’re even real.”

Her wands flashed. The pocket watch rose, hovering above her hand, and just for an instant Meralda dared turn the least portion of her Sight upon it.

“Mistress!” Mug said after a moment. “Such language!”

“Sorry,” Meralda said. She closed her eyes, let her Sight fall away, and caught the pocket watch before it fell.

“Is it real?” asked Mug.

“It is. I’m stumped. This cannot be happening, yet it is.”

Mug sighed. “I hate to ask this, Mistress, but how did Donchen come to land in your water closet?”

Meralda glared.

“I’m not trying to be abrasive,” Mug said. “You wished to see him, didn’t you?”

“I’ve wished to see him since we left Tirlin,” Meralda said. “You’re just being cruel.”

“I’m trying to make a point,” Mug said. “Why must you be so stubborn?”

“And just how did Donchen acquire a post aboard in the first place?” asked Meralda. “It’s almost as if he had help. Help, perhaps, from a pair of elderly meddlers and a certain verbose dandyleaf plant.”

“Now who’s being cruel?” asked Mug. “I was as surprised to see Donchen flee from your bathtub as you were!”

Tervis tapped on the door. “Begging your pardon, Mage, but we hear voices coming up the stairs.”

Meralda began replacing the holdstones on their racks and the discharged wands in their copper cases. Mug flew to the door.

“Stall them,” he said. “Tell them Mistress is working with a volume of lifting gas.”

A moment later, Mug could hear muffled voices and soft laughter.

He flew to Meralda’s side. “What about the mannequin and the basket?” he asked.

Meralda shrugged, dumped the contents of the basket in a corner, and propped the mannequin next to the stack of odds and ends.

“We’ll leave them and let them wonder,” she said. “Let’s go.”

She opened the door, smiling at the pair of Air Corps mechanics who stood waiting nervously outside.

“Good morning, Mage.” The youngest one doffed his cap and smiled. “Is everything in order, ma’am?”

“Quite,” Meralda said, handing Kervis the basket. “We must be going. Good day.”

“Keep us aloft,” Mug said, bobbing and weaving. “That’s an order!”

Meralda hurried for the stairs, hoping nothing appeared before she was out of sight.

* * *

Back in her cabin, Meralda sipped from one of the six cups of tea that had so far appeared on her desk. This one is very nice, she thought. It’s light and tangy, with just a hint of something special–lemon?

Mug napped beside her, his leaves spread to catch the late afternoon sun pouring in through Goboy’s Glass. Among the many items which had appeared that afternoon were a pair of dark spectacles, which Meralda donned so that Mug might enjoy a snack of sunlight.

He had been looking a bit wilted of late. Poor dear. She had been neglecting his watering schedule.

“That’s nice,” Mug said, dreamily. “Just one more spade of mulch.”

She glanced at her clock and sighed. In five hours she’d be meeting Donchen, and they’d be committing a number of state crimes as they snuck into the Vonat’s cabin for a talk.

Meralda considered Mug’s comment about her wishing for Donchen. “Nonsense,” she muttered. “One cannot simply wish grown men into existence over a bathtub. Magical effects require magical causes, and I obviously did no magic.”

But still…

He had appeared the moment she spoke his name. She wished it. It happened.

Meralda shook her head. “Coincidence.” Tim the Horsehead, String the Stormbringer, even Otrinvion the Black–they were masters of magical law, but not a one of them ever broke it.

Because it can’t be broken. The fundamental makeup of creation won’t allow it.

“I would like a cup of apple cider,” whispered Meralda. “Hot, with two lumps of sugar, in a bright red cup, right now.”

She waited, but nothing happened.

“Foolishness,” she said. Mug’s leaves stirred.

“Hush,” Meralda said, softly. “Go back to sleep. You were dreaming.”

“Tell the horse to wait,” muttered Mug. “I’m making a hat for my cheese.”

Meralda heard a knock.

She took a careful step toward her cabin’s plain single door before stopping dead in her tracks, her right foot coming down with a crunch on a shallow bowl of popcorn.

Her cabin door was gone. So was the bulkhead. In its place, the great old Laboratory doors stood, and a portion of the Palace wall.

“Mug,” Meralda said. “Wake up. I’ve gone mad.”

The knock was repeated. Mug stirred and mumbled, but did not wake.

Meralda blinked and rubbed her eyes, but the Laboratory doors remained. The doors appeared to be scaled down, as were the stones of the Palace wall, or perhaps seen from a greater distance than that allowed by the confines of Meralda’s cabin.

The knock was repeated. “You really should open the doors,” said a familiar voice from beyond the soot-stained oak. “We’ve come a very long way to see you, Mage Ovis.”

“Tim?” Meralda asked. “Now I know I am mad.”

“It’s Timea, as you bloody well know, and I’m the one who’s going to be mad if you don’t open these doors and talk to us,” replied the voice. “You’re not dreaming. You’ve not gone daft. It’s magic, perhaps you’ve heard of it. If not, perhaps we can offer you a pamphlet on the subject?”

“My groomsmen ride the toads,” Mug said, in his sleep. “Sack the entire kitchen staff, won’t you?”

Meralda made her way to the doors. As she walked, they rose up, taking on their proper size. “Or is it I who am diminishing?” Meralda said, aloud.

“A little of both,” replied Timea. The floor beneath Meralda’s feet changed from the cluttered white deck of her cabin, becoming the smooth worn flagstones of the hall before the Laboratory.

Still a dozen steps away, Meralda looked back. Mug still slept on her desk, and her cabin remained, but it was smaller, and seemed very distant, though she knew she hadn’t walked such a trek.

Meralda’s ears popped, and she heard voices. Voices and footsteps and laughter, and she knew, beyond any doubt, that she walked in the Palace again. >From the smells, it was just past lunch, and Monday, which meant chicken.

A harried waitress darted past Meralda, nearly bowling her over. Meralda leaped quickly aside and spoke, but the girl hurried on, as if she hadn’t seen.

Meralda put her hands on the great brass latch and turned it, and the Laboratory doors opened to her with the familiar well-oiled swing of their hinges.

Meralda spoke the ward word out of habit, and stepped quickly inside.