The Pixilated Peeress (12 page)

-

             
As they entered the G
reen Dragon, Vasco said: "Ser
geant Thorolf, some men were here asking after you this afternoon."

             
"What sort of men?"

             
"Six or seven, clad as traveling merchants; but be
neath their outer garments I espied the gleam of mail. The sword one wore was long
enough to expose the chape below the hem of's cloak. They also inquired after your Countess
."

             
"What did you tell them?"

             
"That I'd seen neither hide nor hair of you, or the Countess either, for above a sennight."

             
Thorolf exchanged glances with Bardi.
"Did their speech betray their origin?"

             
Vasco chewed his lip before answering. "Meseems their speech bore the soft accents of Carinthia, albeit I'm no savant in such matters."

             
"Duke Gondomar's men, or I'm a Saracen," mut
tered Thorolf. To the innkeeper
he said: "What is your choicest tonight, Vasco?"

             
At table, Thorolf discussed Duke Gondomar's persis
tent efforts to recapture his recreant betrothed. Bardi said: "If another magical menace threatened you, I might do something to
protect you; but I am long past the age for swordplay. Belike ye could persuade a stout comrade-in-arms to accompany you in the city streets."

-

             
Back at Bardi's house, Thorolf was watching the iatromage putter among his books and paraphernalia when a f
ist assaulted the door.

             
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Bardi. "What I had for
got was that the Executive Committee of the Magical Guild meets here tonight."

             
"Who are they?"

             
"There's Sordamor, the Chief Executive Officer; he's the showy one. There's Gant. t
he drug-ridden one, who looks like a disheveled crow. And there's that smiling little villain Avain, our treasurer. But ye are not sup
posed to be here!" Bardi looked around. "Hide behind the curtain in yon alcove, and yarely!"

             
The alcove was dark save f
or the pale sheet of light that came through the crack in the curtain. Thorolf had to force himself in, since he had a buried fear of dark enclosures. When the soldier's eyes adjusted to the gloom, he looked around and almost jumped out of his skin. On a
s
helf at the back of the alcove, silhouetted against the oiled-paper window, crouched an enormous spider, with a body the size of Thorolf's two fists and hairy legs an ell in length.

             
Thorolf had snatched out his dagger when the sound of persons entering t
he sanctum made him freeze, glar
ing at the spider. It reminded him of the giant arach
nids, with bodies the size of casks, said to dwell in the Forest of Bricken.

             
When the spider on the shelf remained immobile, Thorolf essayed a cautious approach and ob
served no response. Eventually, by touching one of the legs with the point of his knife, he satisfied himself that what he saw was either a dead spider mounted by a taxidermist or a statue.

             
He put his eye to the crack between the curtains. Three of Bardi
's fellow magicians were taking seats while Bardi set out goblets and a bottle. Thorolf sur
veyed the Executive Committee.

             
The tall, thin, shabby man who faced him must, he thought, be Gant the drug addict. His garb was that of a common workman: a rusty
black tunic and hose be
neath a shapeless black hat. The fellow might have been a grave digger
—
or, from his unnatural pallor, one of a grave digger's clients.

             
Seated in profile to Thorolf was a big, handsome, clean-shaven man in gaudy raiment. Thorolf kn
ew him by sight as Sordamor, who collected the fattest fees of any magician in Zurshnitt. His hose bore loud check
ered patterns, red and black on one leg and yellow and blue on the other. When he moved his head, the jewels in his emerald earrings winked
i
n the lamplight.

             
By elimination, the remaining mage, facing Sorda
mor, must be Avain. He was older than the other two but younger than Bardi; short, bald, rotund, and radi
ating bluff honesty and sterling worth.

             
Bardi pulled the cork and poured. As they solemnly took their first sips, their host asked: "Well, Sorda
mor? "

             
"Marvelous!" said the loudly clad man. "Whence gat ye it?"

             
"From Kolos, in the Helladic Isles."

             
Thorolf's nose felt out of joint. During a
ll his many visits to the iatromage's sanctum, Bardi had never of
fered him a treat of this rare vintage. Evidently it was saved for Bardi's fellow wizards.

             
The meeting was called to order. After tedious or
ganizational preliminaries
—
reading minutes, lis
tening to the report of Avain as treasurer
—
the four engaged in a long wrangle over admission of one Alberic, a ma
gician recently settled in Zurshnitt after fleeing perse
cution in Locania.

             
"First thing ye know," said Bardi, "every one of these damned Lo
canian refugees will wish to join, even if they command spells no more puissant than one for finding a lost penny. Is competition not severe enough already?"

             
"But if we admit them not," said Avain, "soon or late they'll assemble to form their own rival g
uild."

             
" 'Twere not legal," protested Gant.

             
"Not now, true." said Avain. "But in concert they can suborn
—
or convert, if ye prefer
—
sufficient senators to force a change in the law, to recognize them as a legitimate guild."

             
"If we admit a horde of Loca
nians," mused Sorda
mor, "we shall be hard put to it to keep out Orlandus and his minions. I shudder at that prospect. If we flatly refuse him, he'll act like the bad fairy who wasn't bid to the naming of the royal infant."

             
"Ye, my friend," said Avain. "
have a phobia anent Master Orlandus. Methinks he'd be an ornament to our assembly."

             
"An ornament who'd soon control us all, as a pup
peteer governs his marionettes on strings," croaked Gant. "He's a man of infinite ambition, not a magician of the first r
ank, and of no character whatsoever. His second, that ruffian Parthenius, is no magician at all but a mere bully-rook without a single familiar at his beck."

             
Bardi wheezed: "In my judgment, Orlandus began as a mere mundane mountebank, who added a few sle
ights of true magic to's repertory. Then he found he could make a fortune by peddling a fantastical tale. Ac
cording to this, supposed to be known only by holders of his bogus advanced degrees, a million million years ago the body his soul then indwelt wi
t
nessed the de
struction of reptilian man by the evil wizard Zong. A few million years later, Orlandus, in another incarna
tion, by a mighty spell caused the homeless spirits of these massacred folk to be incarnated in apes, of whom we are the descendants.
For aught I know, he may have told that silly tale so oft that he's come to believe it himself."

             
Sordamor added: "From what I hear, Orlandus is somewhat of an idealist in his own ominous way. Since he thinks
he knows what is best for all human beings, it's but right that he should become their universal, ab
solute ruler, to lead them whither they should go."

             
"Anyone can rob or murder and claim he did it for idealistic reasons," snorted Bardi.

             
"I'm sure Pa
rthenius, at least, be no idealist," growled Gant. "but a common, sensual mundane, out for what he can get by force or fraud
...
"

             
The argument went round and round inconclusively. Then e
nsued a discussion of Sordamor's project, to offer an annual prize, a golden medal, for the wizard who made the year's outstanding magical advance. A wran
gle over a proposal to establish a class of associate membership followed, and then a discussion of
w
hether to raise dues.

             
This in turn was succeeded by a proposal to hold a magical convention in Zurshnitt, inviting wizards from near and far. All favored the idea enthusiastically until it came to apportioning the actual work of organizing, soliciting, c
ontracting, publishing, and record-keeping. Then each magus proved too busy, or too infirm, or too often out of town to do the task justice. Bardi finally said:

             
"Let us push off these tasks on our younger mem
bers, who'll embrace them as a chance to inna
te their self-importance."

             
After three hours the meeting broke up. Nothing much had been decided save to place Alberic's appli
cation for membership before the next general meeting. When Bardi, having dismissed his guests, flung back the curtains before
the alcove, he found Thorolf sitting on the floor with his back to the wall and sound asleep.

-

             
Six days later, Thorolf again approached the gate on Castle Hill. This time a gate guard said: "Master Tho
rolf Zigramson? Ye are expected. Pray wait here."

             
After a wait, the scarlet-robed, gold-capped person of Orlandus appeared. Smiling broadly, the Psycho-mage came up to Thorolf and warmly grasped his hand, cooing: "Thrice welcome, dear friend! You will be happy to hear that the lady be wholly restored. H
ast the promised sum?"

             
Thorolf produced a heavy bag of coin and handed it over. Orlandus hefted the bag and tossed it to a guard. "Give this to Master Cadolant to count." He turned back to the gate and called: "Lady Yvette!"

             
The Countess appeared from
the far end of the gate passage; Thorolf thought that she must have been stand
ing just out of sight inside the gate, awaiting Orlandus' call. Thorolf's eyes widened. Instead of the peasant blouse and skirt given her by the smith, she now wore a dove-gray
cloak over a golden gown of ladylike qual
ity. A little round azure bonnet topped her golden hair, and her feet were clad in silken slippers suitable for a ballroom. Thorolf cast a questioning glance at Orlan
dus, who purred:

             
"Certes, good my Sergeant, you cannot expect me to turn my choicest diaphane out into the rough, rude world appearing like unto a beggar lass, now could you? It is a matter of honor. The cost shall come out of the emolument from Doctor Bardi and your este
e
med self."

             
"But
...
" said Thorolf, nonplused. "I under
stood
...
"

             
"That I should keep her locked up here until the last penny were paid? Not so. She'll gladly go forth with her trusty friend and come back hither in due course. Won't you, my dear?" he a
dded, turning toward Yvette.