The Pixilated Peeress (5 page)

             
"Marry come up! The wishes of one of my rank
—
"

             
"Mean nought in Rhaetia, since you are but one more titled refugee, entitled to kind treatment but no master
ship."

             
"But I insist
—
"

             
"It's a long walk to Zurshnitt," growl
ed Thorolf. Yvette subsided. After a while she burst out:

             
"It is so unfair that I, a descendant of a hundred kings and princes, should have to beg and wheedle for what is mine by right! Means it nought that I am a direct, legitimate descendant of the her
o-king, Ricolf the Third?"

             
Thorolf grinned. "But if you claim credit for the good deeds of King Ricolf, then you must accept blame for the crimes of the mad King Leodast, who murdered his parents and then burned all those people. Certes, if we hanged eve
ryone with a murderer in's pedigree, not enough would survive to bury the bodies!"

             
"Master Thorolf, I wish no more of your irksome speech!"

             
"Aye-aye, your Highness!" With his most irritating chuckle, Thorolf fell silent.

-

             
Smelling of decades' accum
ulation of dust, Doctor Bar
di's sanctum resembled a small-town museum into which heterogeneous objects had been crowded far be
yond the room's capacity. A human skeleton grinned whitely from a corner. Shelves were jam-packed with books. Atop these volume
s
lay others on their sides; and on this makeshift shelving reposed skulls, limb bones, mineral specimens, the stuffed or dried remains of various creatures, and dusty bottles, jars, and jugs. More flotsam fr
o
m the past hung from the ceiling; as he entered,
Thorolf hit his head on a small stuffed crocodile.

             
After introductions, Yvette turned on her formidable charm. "Thorolf has told me much of you," she said to Bardi with a winning smile."Do you live here all alone?"

             
"Aye, save for a woman who comes in
betimes to clean and cook. Every moon or so she is seized by a passion to tidy up my house. After such a purification, I can never find the book or scroll I need. And now, my dears, if ye would not have me add the time spent in polite persiflage to my fee,
let us to business."

-

             
"Dear me!" wheezed the ancient iatromage after learning his visitors' problems. " 'Tis a bit out of my line; I do not command deltas nor yet give rubbish the semblance of gold. But whereas Thorolf asks, I will do what I can. Ye s
ay ye wish the look of a short, dark, dumpy female, eh? Dear me. Shall this be merely an illusion or glamor? Or would ye that I truly change your nature?"

             
"What are the virtues and faults of each proceed
ing?" Yvette asked.

             
"The illusion is easily cast
and cheap; but it is ban
ished as easily. A drop of wine or beer in the eyes were enough to reveal the true appearance of the ensorcelled one, as will a view of the subject in a mirror. The true change requires a more difficult and costly spell, and it w
i
ll not soon reverse itself without an additional oper
ation. Moreover, those who undergo it complain that it causes pain during the actual change."

             
"I choose the true change," said Yvette. "How long can I count upon its endurance?"

             
"For six months to a
year, unless ye cause me or another to cast the reversing spell sooner. For, I must add, the usual fee."

             
"Charge the cost to Master Thorolf," said Yvette air
ily. "He knows I shall repay him when I recover my land." She smiled at Thorolf. "That's understood, is it not?"

             
Thorolf understood nothing of the kind; in fact he had been wondering how Bardi's services were to be paid for. He opened his mouth to protes
t, but so regal was Yvette's demeanor that nothing came out but a fee
ble, "Well
—
ah
—
"

             
"Good! That's settled," said the Countess. "When shall we begin, learned Doctor?"

             
"Forthwith; but the preparations will take
—
dear me
—
above an hour." Bardi stepped to
a set of book
shelves, moved a dried human head encumbering the books, and pulled out an ancient folio. He blew dust off it, causing Thorolf to sneeze; put it back, and fum
bled for another.

             
"Can we be done by dinner time?" asked Thorolf.

             
"Assuredly."
The mage pulled out another volume.

             
"One other matter, Doctor," said Thorolf when he had blown his nose. "Show him the coronet, Countess."

             
Thorolf explained the need for a safe hiding place for the object. Bardi agreed to give it, too, a magical dis
gu
ise and keep it in his custody until a more lasting arrangement could be made.

-

             
An hour and a half later, they watched as the old iatromage puttered about a pentacle drawn in charcoal on the floor. Five black candles had been set in the corners of the
pentagram, casting a shimmery, greenish light around the otherwise darkened room.

             
"There!" said the magus, wiping his charcoal-stained hands on his black, symbol-spangled robe. "If ye'll take yon seats, my dears, we shall commence." He put away his spect
acles, fumbled for another pair, and opened a volume.

             
The next hour was, for Thorolf, the mixture of te
dium and apprehension that every lengthy magical op
eration aroused in him, much like the sensations of a soldier awaiting the command to advance. Bar
di chanted in unknown tongues, made passes with a wand, and shouted names to summon unseen presences. The light
ing dimmed; the space within the pentacle was filled with fog or smoke.

             
Thorolf thought he could discern substantial forms-colored russet, rose, yellow, and aquamarine
—
moving within. There were momentary hints of faces, limbs, and tentacles; but they shifted, dissolved, and reassem
bled in different configurations before he c
o
uld perceive a substantial shape. He felt a prickling at the roots of his hair, as if an army of ants were crawling over him. A sidelong glance showed Yvette leaning back with her eyes closed, breathing heavily.

             
After what seemed hours, Bardi cried a dis
missal. The fog in the pentacle faded. One candle guttered. The iatromage scuffed a couple of lines of the pentacle.

             
"That is it," he croaked. "My dears, ye may now go about your affairs. Remember that, about midnight, the lady will swiftly become short,
dark, and dumpy. And now good night, for so powerful a spell doth tax one of my years."

-

             
Leading Salnia with one hand and supporting Yvette's arm with the other, Thorolf walked along the rounded cobbles, slippery with drizzle. Darkness had fallen; the
watchfires at the main crossings gave a nickering, rubescent light. Two men of the Constabulary, with hal
berds on their shoulders, greeted Thorolf. One called: "Hey, be this our virtuous sergeant on a tryst at last?
"

             
"
Nay," growled Thorolf. "Know, knav
es, that this be the rightful Queen of Armoria, and we plot to oust the usurper."

             
Thorolf stopped before the Green Dragon Inn, where he was known. In the light of the lantern over the door,
Yvette looked puzzled. Then her face cleared. "Oh,
I
see! You di
d but jest about my rank. I thank you for the promotion." She giggled.

             
"Better late than never," said Thorolf. "I'll essay to get you a private room."

             
"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! Where mean you to sleep?"

             
"Back at the barracks."

             
"Rubbish, my good Sergeant
! Think you, when I'm fleeing Gondomar the Tedious and have by good hap found a lusty bodyguard, that I'd let him go off leaving me de
fenseless? You shall spend the night with me, and that is that. Sleep on the floor if you will, but you shall stay withi
n
sight and call. The Queen of Armoria commands it!"

             
Thus they found themselves in what, Thorolf thought, must be the room that Vasco the innkeeper reserved for nobility. The bed was big enough for three, and there was plenty of room besides. There was a
dressing table and a mirror, a dressing chair, and a settee, as well as a writing desk with another chair. Such splendor, Thorolf thought, had resulted from Yvette's queenly demand:

             
"Your very best, Master Taverner!"

             
Thorolf left the room to Yvette while he washed off the grime of travel in the common bathtub. Escorting her to dinner, he found himself unconsciously assuming the toplofty air of a nobleman to match her born-to-command manner. That and her courtly accent
had reduced even the experienced Vasco to subservience de
spite Yvette's proletarian costume. When they were seated, Vasco produced a dusty bottle, saying:

             
"Firanzian, third year of Consul Rudolf. Will it suit your Ladyship?"

             
"Belike it will," she said
. "Let's have a trial."

             
When the wine was poured, Yvette took a sizable mouthful. "Aha!" she said. "This is an improvement over Goodman Vulfilac's small beer
—
not that I scorn the honest fellow's hospitality."

             
Over dinner, Yvette entertained Thorolf wit
h tales of courtly scandals in the New Neapolitan Empire. She rattled out as much in a minute as most folk did in five. Thorolf found her talk fascinating, though he some
times wished he could get a word in edgewise.

             
He also noted, with rising alarm, her
execution on the bottle of costly wine. By the end of the repast it was all gone, and Thorolf was sure that she had drunk more of it than he.

             
He noted another thing. There were two other tables of diners in the common room. These had somehow gotten wind
of the fact that Thorolf was with a noble lady. They turned in their seats to stare until Thorolf scowled them into averting their gaze.

-

             
The other diners had departed; Thorolf was wiping his mouth and preparing to rise when Yvette said: "Oh, linger a
n instant, Thorolf! Master Taverner, hast some water-of-life in stock?"

             
"Aye, your Ladyship," said Vasco.

             
"Then fetch a noggin apiece, pray."

             
"Countess," said Thorolf, "think you not that you've had enough?"