Over The Sea (20 page)

I clambered up on his boot — and had just enough time to shove my big medallion behind the buckle and then grab on with both arms when the fellow scuffed his foot forward, and my head rocked back and forth. I nearly let go.

And then he started walking. Now, I always did like swings, but not jet-propelled ones. (Not that I was actually ever on a jet-propelled swing.) Wedging the medallion behind the buckle was probably the only thing that saved me, because holding on during that
whoosh
-forward, thunk, yoiks!-upside-down,
whoosh
-forward, otherwise known as walking, would probably have launched me into orbit.

As it was, my arms got pretty sore. But the fellow did get me down those millions of miles of corridors, and stairs. I don't even want to think about those stairs, all of them now about three stories high, and the horrible
floosh
of dropping fast down stairs made my heart seem to drop faster. Ugh!

But at last he stopped, shoving his feet under a table full of feet. A mess hall! The smell of baked bread and cooked cabbage pervaded the room, along with the scent of wet wool. The rumble of voices from under the table didn't quite hurt my ears as much. I could pick out not just words but voices.

So I found me a guard who was going to the stable, and then came the nasty walk all over again. Then that got added to the terror of riding a horse bigger than a castle. But why dwell on that? I needed to get beyond the wards that kept all magic (except Kwenz's) from behind performed, so I could use my ring to summon Hreealdar, which is eventually what happened.

The Chwahir rode out, and after a million years of unpleasant jouncing they stopped to inspect something. I didn't know or care what; I got off that boot at last, and when they mounted up and rode away, there I was standing in roof-high grass.

I used the ring.

Hreealdar stayed in lightning form, zapping me in a glory of white light straight to the outside entrance of the Junky, and all without my having to say a word. It was the final proof that “he” (or she, or it) read minds.

So all I had to do was get inside the hideout. Now, that is easy enough when you're girl-sized, but finger-sized? At least the hollow tree that forms one of our entrances has rough bark. As long as I didn't look down, I got up there all right, but whew, what a nasty journey. I was scraped and achy when at last I reached the hollow part, and clambered inside. Then down. At least we had a rope as well as a ladder, because some of the girls liked dropping down a rope. Descending from knot to knot was easy enough.

Still, my journey had taken the better part of a day. It was late afternoon when I finally trotted down the long tunnel into the main chamber, to find the girls gathered there, faces and voices dismally unhappy.

“What are we gonna do?” Faline asked, in the tone of voice of one who's said it not once but a lot of times.

“I don't believe that snailgutbrain,” Irene stated with her usual drama. (It was more like
I
do
not
be
lieve
that ... you get the idea.)

“I don't either,” Seshe said. “But we have to admit CJ is still missing. I wish I knew if we ought to tell Clair.”

“No.” Diana crossed her arms. “Don't make her worry. We can go out again. CJ might have gotten lost, running from whoever that was. I wish I'd stayed! I thought she was right behind me.”

“I'm here!” I yelled, kicking free of the necklace and ring.

“No one blames you,” Seshe said, and Sherry shook her head, her eyes enormous and sad.

“I AM HERE!” I screeched, jumping up and down and waving my arms, but all it did was make my voice as sore as my arms were from all that buckle-hugging.

Seshe sighed. “We should search again, I guess. But if we don't find anything by nightfall, I guess it's going to have to become Clair's worry too.”

“If she doesn't already know,” Dhana said in a sour voice. “I mean, what's to stop PJ from sending another one of those heralds up to the white palace to rant on about ‘what we're going to get' if we don't move out?”

I climbed up the leg to the MP table and yanked at the quill.

“Because he hasn't really tangled with her yet, just us,” Diana said.

“I'm just worried about what Fobo is going to say to Clair if she does confront her — what she will demand,” Seshe murmured.

The quill was too big and unwieldy to write on the magic blotter, so I hopped up to the inkpot and yanked the quill after me ...

“Which hasn't happened yet.” Dhana crossed her arms. “Or she'd be here. And we'd know what the threat was.”

“That makes sense,” Seshe said. “If Clair had gotten a message of some sort, surely she'd be down here asking us about it.”

Splorch! I lost grip on the quill and fell into the ink. Bright blue ink!

Irene sighed, a loud dramatic sigh. “What we do know is that PJ and Fobo have been entertaining Kwenz. And that is bad enough!”

“Oh, let's go search.” Dhana headed toward the tunnel.

“Wait! Wait! Look here!” I bellowed, but no one glanced my way, not once.

They left. I sighed, climbed down, thought of one of my hankies (for I still didn't have any clothes) but ended up toiling down to Sherry's trunk, where she keeps some old little dolls she'd once gotten, with their frilly dresses. The dress I pulled on was large, but it was better than nothing.

So, there I was, all blue, dressed in flouncy pink. I scrambled down, ran to where the ring lay, and slid it on. Toiled up the rope to the tree, and summoned Hreealdar. Again he read my mind: when the light diminished, I found myself standing outside an open window, looking into a hideous room in which my frilly pink dress would have been understated.

Inside were PJ and Kwenz!

“... should not have sent that threat before I was actually through,” Kwenz was saying. “It is not wise to expose your plan before it's finished.”

They spoke in Mearsiean, which I'd bargained on, so I'd left behind the tons of medallion and chain.

PJ scowled, kicking smartly at the carving on a chair leg. It was quite obvious that he'd never been criticized before. “I couldn't wait to let those bratty girls know,” he said. “I think it was a perfectly good idea. Gives them lots more time to worry about what's going to happen to their stupid follower. Though from what you say, it's the scrawny black-haired one, calls herself a ‘prin-cess'.” He whined the last word, pointing at a covered bowl sitting on the mosaic-inlaid table. I hadn't noticed the bowl at first, because the mosaic was so bright and busy. I recognized that bowl. It probably held that blue jelly-gunk, into which Kwenz thought he'd reduced me. He'd been too magic-whacked to notice I'd escaped, and what a relief!

Of course, the girls hadn't noticed me, or my ring or necklace either, I thought morosely. Our rug in the Junky is a bright swirl of colors.

“If the white-haired brat finds out, you'll have her making trouble before we are ready to deal with her,” Kwenz said. “Come now, boy, you must think ahead.”

PJ sulked. “I want to see those girls
dead
. And begging for
mercy
from My Royal Highness. You didn't see what they
did
to us.”

Kwenz didn't ask how anybody could beg for mercy if dead. I bet he wasn't even listening. “You can achieve your heart's desire, and more, if you begin your magic studies now, and apply yourself.”

PJ grinned. “Teach me
spells
. Not that tedious beginner stuff. That's for commoners. A prince should have spells. I want to use them on those stupid brats
today
.”

I was really boiling by now. I also wasn't sitting still. My experiences with the girls had given me courage. As PJ whined and Kwenz mumbled, I climbed easily down the fussy curtains with their lace and frills and dangling pompons, and got busy untying the laces of his fancy velvet court shoes. The silken cords were thin enough for me to manage with only a little difficulty.

“I want good spells to
kill
them,” PJ added in a nasty voice.

“No, no,” Kwenz said. “When you get older, you learn to conserve energy. Prisoners can be so much more useful alive. Look at our present plan. Do you think we'd get the cooperation of the white-haired brat if she thought her little friend was dead? She would have nothing to lose, right?”

There, one shoe done.

“All right. So, what? Transform them?”

“So much more amusing for us, and frightening for them. For example, the white-haired brat can as easily become a pig rooting in your garden, eating the scraps your kitchen throws out. And who would know? Except her — and us.”

PJ snickered, an oily, mean sound.

I got his second shoe untied.

“What else? What else?”

Kwenz went on in a coaxing voice, “Well, if you were to study magic, why, you could perform the spells yourself. Make a frog of one of them. Stick her in a swamp. Snails, birds ... you can do anything. If you learn.”

“Teach me! Teach me!” PJ squealed.

And one knot done.

“I will and gladly, Prince Jonnicake. But even mighty kings must master the basics first.”

“But it's so bor-ring,” PJ whined. “Teach me the
spells!
Mumsie says I am smarter than anyone. My Royal Highness should have
smart
lessons, not stupid ones. Those basics of yours are
stupid
.”

Second knot done. I skedaddled out of there.

Kwenz sighed, and then launched into pretty much the same explanation Clair had first given me on the basics of magic, including the dangers of using black magic — but he added in a lot of hogwash about how real commanders took the risk of black magic because force should not come easy. Only those with strength of will and skill ought to have access to the force of magic, which meant taking its risks. By the time he was done, I'd climbed back up the curtain-pompons and was sitting on the window sill, waiting.

PJ looked mutinous. He crossed his arms, puffed out his pimply cheeks, and said, “Even emperors? Because Mumsie says that if she can keep my uncle from marrying some stupid climber, I'll inherit
two
kingdoms, and that makes me My
Imperial
Highness!”

“But first your mother must secure this kingdom, which she can do with my help. And in turn, I need your help. If you study and become a mage, an alliance with two mages would be the more powerful, hitting the foolish child from both sides. You here in the west, and I from the east.”

“Yeah! Let's do it next week!”

“Let's see how far you get with the basics, then, is it agreed, Your Highness — ”

“My
Royal
Highness!”

“ — Your Royal Highness. I must return, in case my men have brought any more of them for me to transform.”

“But you have to be back for dinner,” PJ warned. “Mumsie is expecting you.”

Kwenz scratched his chin through his beard. “Yes, I will return. You may tell Her Gracious Majesty that for me. We will discuss our business later this evening — ”

“Oh no,” PJ whined. “You can't. She won't do any business except after breakfast. Nighttime is for court, and courtship. Mumsie has a lot of suitors. I'm to make sure you spend the night. Mumsie will be very upset if you don't. She considers it a royal duty for you to protect her. I think she's worried that that white-haired brat will send an army, or make a nasty spell against us, or something. Mumsie is very delicate. She says I am, too.” He finished on a sulky note.

“I'm an old man, “Kwenz said. “I have no interest in courtship, and I like my own bedchamber. I can as easily return in the morning, if tonight's festivities leave us little time for our plans. And if your mother perceives a problem, you can always contact me with the token I gave you. I shall come to your aid, as promised.” And before PJ could protest Kwenz muttered the words of transfer, and vanished, a puff of air nearly knocking me backwards.

But I scrambled upright, in time to see PJ get up, shove aside his chair — and fall flat on his face.

He screamed and wailed as if attacked by a thousand bees. While servants rushed in to fuss about him, I made it back up to the window, climbed out onto the ledge beyond the sill, and when the room was empty (the servants bearing PJ off as if he'd been wounded in a glorious battle with a hideous army) summoned Hreealdar, and got back to the Junky.

Before the girls returned, I splatted down the hollow tree, crossed the floor, toiled back up the MP table, and this time I emptied the inkpot all across the nice white blotter, and when the girls finally trooped down the tunnel, weary, dispirited, there I was, standing at the edge, waving the white quill before the dark blue splat.

Seshe saw me first. In a moment I was standing on her shoulder, and while the girls marveled silently at how tiny I was (and why was I blue?) I shrieked all my news into her ear.

Seshe told the others what I had to report. Pausing only to let the comments die down (“Snails!” “A frog!”) she concurred with my insistence that we go instantly up to Clair.

And so we did.

The girls had been impressed, or amazed, when they saw me, but she frowned in worry. I was only a strange sight to the girls, almost a toy (Sherry told me later she really had to resist wanting to pick me up, as if I were a live doll) but to Clair I presented a magical problem of no mean order.

“This is rotten news,” Clair said, as soon as Seshe was done.

“CJ has a plan,” Seshe said next.

Clair's brow cleared. After all, the mess was new to her, but I'd had all that time to think about it.

Now, you have to realize that my voice was about as loud as a baby bird's chirp. Less, in fact. (Back on Earth we had mosquitoes, whose whine I probably emulated, but they don't have blood sucking things on this world.) So I yelled something, and then Seshe translated it. But writing that over and over has to be as boring to do as to read, so when I say that I said something, just mentally put in Seshe's translation.