Sword and Sorceress XXVII (17 page)

Airs Above the Ground

by
Michael H. Payne

Readers of
previous volumes will be familiar with this non-human mage. Cluny is a
squirrel, and her familiar Crocker is human. But there are some things that no
magic can save you from, and a visit to your judgmental family is high on that
list.

Michael
H. Payne continues the whole library clerk /church singer-guitarist /web-cartoonist
/college radio thing, and in the last year he has also sold a story to what he
hopes will be the first of many anthologies devoted to the new My Little Pony
phenomenon. Check hyniof.livejournal.com for details.

****

“No way!” Crocker crossed his arms and
settled himself more firmly in his desk chair, shiny and squeaky like
everything else filling their new dorm room. “And that’s final!”

Cluny blinked up at him from the blotter
pad, her neck fur prickling. Crocker? Acting assertive? And was she imagining
it, or had his round, doughy face firmed up a bit from her first sight of him
at that pre-frosh mixer eleven months ago when he’d introduced himself, the
only human to do so that whole night?

Of course, with all the people who’d
tried to kill them since then, she supposed it would’ve been even more
surprising if he
hadn’t
begun making some sort of progress from
bewildered novice to semi-bewildered sophomore....

Still—and as much as she hated herself
for having to do it—Cluny knew she couldn’t let him forget who was the sorcerer
here and who was the familiar. So with a sigh, she put on her ‘small helpless
woodland creature’ expression, the one with the big eyes, her paws clasped, her
tail puffing up over the tufts of her ears. “Please, Crocker?”

That made
him
blink, and she
could smell him wavering, the cozy, supportive feeling she always got from his
magic wrapped around hers suddenly more than a little itchy. “It’ll be bad,
Cluny,” he said, his voice cracking. “And I mean
bad
bad.”

A snort from Shtasith, the firedrake
draped over Crocker’s bedstead like a black and gold scaly necktie. “Should you
wish a true definition of that word, Crocker, I will relate several anecdotes
from my years within the Realms of Fire.”

Crocker scowled at him. “Or you could
just breathe on me, Teakettle! That’s the worst thing
I
know!”

Flexing his nostrils, Shtasith gave a
greenish puff, the rotten-egg stench making Cluny wince. Crocker groaned,
leaped for the window, the tiny tornado Cluny had conjured to stir a breeze in
the August Friday morning heat ruffling his black curly hair. “That!” Crocker
shook a finger at Shtasith. “A weekend with my folks will stink exactly like
that
!”

Cluny flared her claws, stretched the
tornado’s tail into Shtasith’s cloud, sucked it outside. “I’m sorry, Crocker,
but if we’re truly going to come together as a team, balance each other, and
keep each other honest, we need to—”

“To what??” His anguish folded Cluny’s
ears. “Totally humiliate me??” The half-angry, half-queasy look on his face was
like nothing she’d ever seen there. “My folks already thought I was a blot on
the family name before I got the lowest passing marks possible on the Huxley
entrance exams!” He flailed his arms. “And now I can either pretend I’m a
crazy, ultra-powerful super wizard like Master Gollantz wants ev’ryone to
think, or I can tell ‘em the truth: that they were right all along, that I’m
not
good enough to be a wizard, that I’m nothing but the world’s only human
familiar!”

The regular shimmering of Shtasith’s
magic around Cluny became hot as flame, the firedrake leaping into the air
above Crocker’s bed, his translucent wings beating so fast, they looked more
like smoke than anything else. “You would denigrate the noble profession to
which we have both been summoned?? You would insult our mistress, the most
powerful sorceress in this or any other plane of existence??”

“She’s a
squirrel
!” The sudden
contempt in the word hit Cluny like a physical blow, startled her back a step,
Crocker’s white face turning red. He focused a gaze sharp as shattered glass on
Shtasith and jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “
I’m
the human here!
I’m
s’pposed to be the wizard!”

Cold gripped her like the time she’d
fallen into a barely thawed stream back home, and the squeak she couldn’t keep
from escaping her tightening throat drew Crocker’s attention, his anger
vanishing, his mouth falling open, his eyes bugging out. “I...I didn’t...didn’t
mean—!” He spun, dashed for the wall, slammed into it with a shower of sparks,
and Cluny felt the surge of the teleportation spell she’d designed for him.

A whoosh, and Shtasith landed on the
desk beside her. “Ungrateful simian!” His long neck snaked his head around, his
eyes whirling fire directly in front of her. “Shall I hunt him down, my Cluny,
and teach him the error of his—?”

“No.” It took some effort to keep her
voice from shaking. “We’ll both go, and when we find him,
I’ll
do the
talking.”

He nodded, and Cluny reached out,
touched a paw to his shoulder, let herself slip sideways with him between the
layers of existence, the bakery-hot air of their room dappling into a certain
green and shady glade deep within Eldritch Park, the semi-wild woodland that
sprawled through the center of the Huxley campus. Ferns sprouted between the
rocks, the stream trickling behind them, a shimmery little breeze whisking
around the branches above, and sitting among the roots of the old tangled
willow, Crocker in his grayish robes looked more like an oversized mushroom
than anything else, his legs drawn up, his arms wrapped around them, his face
pressed against his knees.

Discomfort jabbed Cluny like a pawful of
splintery wood. She’d always thought Crocker
liked
being her familiar...

He sighed. “I need a better hiding
place.”

At least he sounded more like himself.
Cluny tried to keep her own voice light. “You just need one that isn’t mine.” A
realization struck her. “Is...is that it, Crocker? Do you need your own space?
One you don’t share with—?”

“No!” His arms and legs shot out, and he
tumbled forward, his scent spicy with panic. “We’re partners, Cluny—you, me,
and the Teakettle—and I don’t want anything that isn’t yours, too! It’s just—”
He waved a hand vaguely behind him. “Dad’s the architect who designed Pearlhome
Palace, and Mom’s the dressage instructor to ev’ry high-born family between here
and the Dove River! There’s no
way
they’d understand what you guys mean
to me!” Sighing, he subsided against the willow again.

With a gust of steam, Shtasith swooped
over, hovered in front of him, his front legs folded across his narrow chest. “I
still find it inconceivable that you should be related to Sir Lawrence and Lady
Miranda! The only child of theirs the tabloids ever mention is Lt. Lionel
Crocker, second officer aboard Her Majesty’s frigate
Undaunted
and often
seen keeping company with Crown Princess Alison!”

Scurrying to join her familiars, Cluny
had to stop and stare. “Shtasith? You read the gossip rags?”

“Of course!” He settled across Crocker’s
knees. “The first lesson one learns in the Realms of Fire, my Cluny, is the
vital importance of minutiae where those in power are concerned. Such knowledge
impresses should you meet them in peace and can often become a weapon should
you meet them in battle.” He swiveled his head to glare at Crocker again. “That
this simian of ours should be invited to the social event of the season,
therefore, the party at which it is rumored the sovereign-designate will
announce her formal courtship of Lt. Crocker—” His neck ridges folded open and
closed like a tiny umbrella. “I find myself floundering in complete consternation!”

Crocker poked the firedrake’s side. “How
d’you think
I
feel? I mean, my folks were as glad as me when Huxley took
me in so we’d never hafta see each other again. But now—”

“Crocker!” Cluny grabbed the hem of his
robes and scrambled up, Shtasith scooting to his right knee so she could stand
on his left. “That’s a
terrible
thing to say about yourself! And about
your parents, too!”

“And yet—” Shtasith made a little
rumbling sound. “This behavior corresponds to the impression of the Crockers I’ve
gathered from the popular press: they work very hard and are very good at what
they do, but their lives are focused a great deal more on appearance than on
reality.”

A smile touched Crocker’s lips. “The
phrase you’re looking for, Shtasith, is ‘big fat phonies.’“ The sour smell of
guilt wafted from him, and his smile sagged. “OK, that’s not fair. It’s
more...more that they don’t ever cut anyone any slack, not even themselves, and
I just never measured up.”

“But you
do
!” Cluny’s fur
bristled. “I mean, you were instrumental in saving the lives of everyone on
this campus last semester and my whole family just last month!” And for all
that she wanted to start a storm cloud brewing, wanted to stoke its lightning
with the grumbling in her gut, she instead took a slow breath, let it partway
out. “Fine! If they’re gonna be that way about it, let’s
not
go!”

He shifted against the willow. “Thanks,
Cluny, but—”

“Not go??” Shtasith burst into the air,
all four legs flailing. “But the princess! The pageantry! The romance!”

Cluny did some more staring, and Crocker
coughed a laugh. “And don’t forget the invitation! I mean, did you ever read
anything more threatening in your life?”

That made Cluny laugh as well, and she
sliced the air with her claws, opened a rift to their room, grabbed the note
and pulled it to her, the parchment stiff and as big as a beach towel in her
paws. “You mean how it says, ‘Your presence is expected’ rather than ‘requested?’“

“Yeah.” Crocker sighed. “So unless we
can convince the Magisterium to declare me evil again and restrict us to
campus, we...we’d better go. I mean, sure, my folks don’t like me much, but I
don’t want them
hating
me...”

Opening her mouth to tell him it was
entirely up to him, Cluny blinked at a sudden scent of roses wafting over her.
Honey-colored light shimmered through the clearing, a sweet and familiar voice
saying, “Well,
here
you all are!” And out onto the mossy bank of the
stream stepped a golden-white unicorn, as small and delicate as a newborn
gazelle. “And good morning!”

Still a little dazed around Hesper,
Cluny managed to nod. One of only three unicorns active in the Mortal Realm,
she was running Huxley’s School of Healing Arts now since Cluny had been forced
to disable the previous dean, Hesper’s insane mistress. All in all, Cluny
couldn’t quite understand why she continued to seek out their company.

Shtasith swooshed through the air to
settle in front of her, his scales suddenly gleaming. “My Lady!” he bugled. “Only
your presence could make this day more radiant!”

OK, so maybe Cluny could understand
some
of it....

Hesper’s smile became even more
dazzling. “That’s ever so kind, Shtasith. I just hope my asking a rather large
favor of you all won’t dampen the mood.”

Despite the unicorn’s breezy manner,
Cluny caught the ozone scent of uneasiness about her. “Hesper? What’s wrong?”

Her horn flickered, and settling back
onto her haunches, she seemed to deflate a bit, her next words coming out quiet
but as cutting as a pair of hedge clippers. “Perhaps you know, Sophomore Cluny,
how tenuous my position is here at Huxley? How a large percentage of the
faculty opposes me succeeding Evantrue as dean of Healing Arts? How the thought
of a mere familiar holding authority over humanoids has caused an outbreak of
apoplexy the likes of which this campus has not seen in over a century?” Hesper
shook her head. “Given the way you’re forced to hide
your
true nature, I
mean....”

She sounded so tired, Cluny couldn’t
keep her ears up, couldn’t think of a single thing to say; it was Crocker
behind her who asked, “But Master Gollantz wants you to be in charge over
there, doesn’t he?”

“He does.” Hesper’s smile sent light
rippling through the grove again, but it faded just as quickly. “Unfortunately,
the academic senate is beginning to rumble in ways that even the magister
magistrorum might soon be unable to ignore. Which is why—” She took a breath,
closed her eyes. “I was hoping you might allow me to accompany you this
weekend.”

Even the trickling of the stream and the
breeze in the branches overhead seemed to go silent. “Of course,” Shtasith
muttered. He bowed to Hesper. “A bold move, my Lady, but more than justified
under the circumstances.”

“What?” Cluny heard herself asking. “I...I
don’t—”

“The Crown Princess.” Hesper looked like
a statue in someone’s garden, her voice just as quiet but even harder than
before. “If I can gain her patronage, these slack-jawed gray beards won’t
dare
throw me out.” She raised her head, her eyes shimmering. “I...it’s the only way
I can think of.”

Cluny looked back at Crocker. He was
nodding.