Witch Doctor - Wiz in Rhyme-3 (46 page)

"Naught could command my attention for long while you are with me, lovely one-nor is any company lacking. Yet novelty is always pleasant, and new company stimulating."

She flushed with pleasure and lowered her gaze. I had to give him points for gallantry-and for diplomacy. That mention of "stimulation" ought to win him her willing cooperation in having a chat with us. Poor thing, she didn't realize that the stimulation he meant was purely mental.

"Sit down, sit down!" He gestured toward the low table. "They may, may they not, mine hostess"' "Aye," she said unwillingly, "though not for overlong-for there are matters I wish to speak of with you, the two of us alone."

Which was, no doubt, the topic she always wished to speak about-the two of them being alone together. Very much together.

"To be sure, to be sure!" he climbed down off his stool and joined us as we folded ourselves tailor-fashion around the taboret. Gruesome slouched in the doorway, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other and blocking the view.

I glanced at the writing desk-current research was always a good conversation topic, even if you didn't understand the answer. "What are you working on there?"

"Only copying out my breviary," he said, and must have seen the look of blank incomprehension on my face, because he went on to explain, " 'Tis the book that contains my office-the prayers that I must read every day, and which I must contemplate."

"Really," I said. "How long does that take you? Per day, I mean?"

He shrugged. "Scarcely an hour."

An hour? A full hour of prayer every day? I tried to hide a shudder and thought up another question. "Why are you copying it out?"

"Why, for that I fear I will wear it out, if fair Thyme keeps me here overlong.

"I shall." She made a face. "You have ever your nose thrust in that small dusty volume!"

"Alas!" he agreed, almost meeting her eyes-and suddenly, I understood. Saying his office was about all that was keeping him from giving in to her temptations. I figured he was probably reading a lot more than one hour each day.

"Drink, my guest," Thyme putted, setting a flask of amber liquid on the low table. Gold glinted within its depths, and the light shimmered on its surface. If it wasn't an aphrodisiac, it should have been, just by its looks.

"How good of you," the monk said. "Will you pour, pretty one?" Thyme leaned forward with the bottle-which brought a gasp from Gilbert, as he quickly averted his eyes, and a whine of agony from Frisson-and poured with ill grace. "They shall have to share one cup, good man, whiles you and I share the other-for I have only the two. "

"Oh, we'll manage," I assured her, and lifted the cup for a sip. It hit my stomach with a jolt, bounced, and felt as if it blew the back of my head off. Coconut milk? Sure! Fermented coconut milk, to the point where it must have been a hundred proof at least. Sort of a natural pifia colada-and come to think of it, there was an overtone of citrus to it.

Frisson reached for the cup, but just in time, I remembered what any beverage in Thyme's house might do, and covered the cup with a palm. "No, pal, you've got it bad enough already." That won me a dirty look from Thyme.

The monk ignored it. "What brings you to this island "An ill wind," I quipped, "but I made it blow good." I expected puzzlement and a suspicious glance, but the monk only nodded, as if he understood. "You are a wizard, then." I felt a chill down my back; this guy understood too much, too quickly. "No, not really. In fact, I don't even believe in magic. I just pretend when I have to, toss out a few rhymes when I've run out of any other way out."

He smiled, amused. I felt a flash of irritation, but I had to admit it was mostly shame-it sounded pretty hollow, even to me.

"You may equivocate with yourself, Sir," the monk said softly,

"but you cannot equivocate between God and Satan."

"Now, hold on!" I bridled. "You trying to say there's no middle way? That you're either a hundred percent good, or a hundred percent evil? Well, I don't buy it, brother! " His gaze stilled totally, and he looked so intently into my eyes that

I thought he was trying to see into my brain. "Why would you think

I had not taken my final vows?"

Now it was my turn to go on the ropes. I stared at him, thinking fast, churning up what I could from my medieval history course. It didn't help that I wasn't Catholic-but I did seem to remember something about the difference between a monk and a priest. I'd said "brother," and held thought I was using his title-or what I thought was his title. Or what he wanted Thyme to think was his title.

That's right, a brother hadn't taken his final vows yet. Maybe that included the vow of celibacy?

Well, I wasn't about to blow his cover. "All right, so you're a father. But not my father, Reverend!"

"Certainly any priest is your father in faith."

"Only if I belong to your church-and I don't." Gilbert recoiled. "Paynim!"

The monk held up his hand, eyes never leaving mine. "Nay, good brother-for so I see you are, by your tonsure. Nay, our friend may be a Christian indeed, but of an eastern church. Is that not so, Wizard?" I thought fast again. How far east did he want? After all, my parents' church had sort of started out in New England-well, England, really,

and that was plenty far east from where I was living just now-if you went all the way around the globe. "Another sect," I said.

"Another branch of Christianity. That's what I was raised in. Sure." He frowned, catching the equivocation again, but all he said was,

"I cannot continue to call you naught but 'wizard.' I am Friar Ignatius. And yourself?"

"He is the Wizard Saul." Thyme leaned forward, taking the opportunity to intrude herself into the conversation-far more of herself than was good for Friar Ignatius' peace of mind. "His comrades are Squire Gilbert and the madcap Frisson-and that huge monster who lurks in the doorway, he calls 'Gruesome.' "Rightly, too." The monk took the excuse to glance away from Thyme and the primrose path, and look up at the troll. "How comes he to your service?"

"He tried to ambush me when I was crossing a bridge," I said.

"Being new to your country, I didn't know any better. By accident, I called on the fairies, and they enchanted him so that he no longer wants to eat people, and they bound him to my service."

"I thought I had detected some such unseen bonds upon him. Thyme frowned prettily. "Yet I thought I had untied them. How comes he to be so bound again' Can you explain this, Friar?"

It was no accident that she h. ad switched the question from me to him; in all courtesy, Ignatius couldn't help but look at her. His glance dipped to her decolletage for just a split second, then leapt to her face and held there with frantic intensity. His face tightened, and I realized where the strain lines had come from-he was bound and determined to be true to his vows, but he wanted her so badly that it was physical pain.

She knew it, too, the witch. Her smile heated up several degrees; her eyelids drooped more, and her lips seemed to grow fuller and more moist even as I watched. She leaned a little further forward to offer a better view-but Friar Ignatius, gaze stayed fixed on her face. I was awed by such iron self-control.

Behind me, Frisson whimpered.

"I can only guess, pretty hostess," Friar Ignatius said calmly, though his voice cracked a bit, "that Wizard Saul knitted up those bonds again."

"Yet how could he do so?" she murmured, deep in her throat, reaching out to touch his hand. "On my isle, my magic must needs be supreme."

The hand didn't move, but the monk's whole body shivered.

"There are some magics that are of great force no matter in whose domain they are said, sweet hostess." His voice seemed to roll and caress over that word "sweet," but he kept his gaze glued to her face. His voice cracked, though, and his whole body was tense.

"Yet there are some enchantments that must needs be stronger in my presence." Her touch moved up to his chest. "Must they not be supreme in my own garden?"

His voice was almost a groan of torment. "Nay, sweet lady. The object of an enchantment can strengthen any magic. If the troll wished the spells to be reestablished, his own will would aid the wizard's weaving."

And, by inference, if Friar Ignatius was determined to resist Thyme's charms, they couldn't bind him, whereas Frisson's will went

hand-in-glove with Thyme's. No wonder he was so completely spell bound.

I couldn't help wondering about Friar Ignatius, though-either he had the will to virtue of a saint, or he was something of a wizard in his own right. I decided to give him an out. "That's right. it seems Gruesome has taken a liking to me during our travels. He asked me to reestablish the spells."

It gave him an excuse to look away from Thyme; it broke her charm. She looked daggers at me, and I felt them stab through my nervous system all the way to my groin; but Friar Ignatius was saying, "Even so. His will reinforced your spells. it was not one who worked against the strength of Thyme and her island, but two." Did I detect a plea for help there? "You seem to know quite a lot about magic, Friar. You must be a wizard, too."

But he shook his head. "I am but a student, Master Wizard-"

"Anything but a master. Scarcely an apprentice." That won me a smile. "I but study the ways of magic and the workings of it. I can tell you much, but I lack the talent."

"Talent?" I stared. "It requires a talent?"

"Aye. Do not any of the arts?"

"Well ... sure." I swallowed, collecting my wits. "It's just that I thought it was a ... uh ... more of a science."

"Odd choice of word." Friar Ignatius frowned. "However,

'science' means 'knowledge,' and surely the practice of magic requires that, too-at least, if it is not to bring disaster."

"Well, where I come from, 'science' means more than just a collection of facts. It organizes them and generalizes-it works out

rules for using forces."

Friar Ignatius lifted his head slowly. "Fascinating! That is the very approach I attempt!"

I began to see why the Spider'King had sent us to him. "But if you've worked out those kinds of rules and methods, anybody should be able to work magic-they shouldn't need talent!"

"Any practice requires talent, Master Wizard," Friar Ignatius countered. "We may not realize some of them, for they are so common-there are few indeed who cannot cook, though there are a few who fail in so much as frying an egg, no matter how much they learn nor how hard they try. There are few men who cannot wield hammer and chisel to craft things of wood-yet again, there are some who fail. There are some who lack those talents, and whose efforts come to naught, even at tasks that most of us regard as simple. I remembered my own attempts to fix my car, and held my peace-especially since he had mentioned cooking; I remembered what had happened the last time I had tried to boil rice. "And you lack the talent to work magic?"

"Oh, not completely." He waved the notion away. "By long and arduous practice, I have mastered a few simple spells-and any peasant can mix a few herbs while muttering a charm to mend a sprain, or cure a cold."

"Oh, really?" The pharmaceutical companies back home would have loved to get that one.

"You did not know?" Friar Ignatius looked more closely at me.

"Yet you walk boldly through the worst of Thyme's spells." How had he known that? Probably one of those "little spells" he had mentioned.

"You are surely a wizard of power," the Friar summarized. "You must have great talent, Master Saul."

"Aw, shucks." I dropped my gaze, putting on my bashful act.

'Twarn't nothin'."

"Nay, 'twas a great deal." Friar Ignatius frowned. "Do you truly know so little of the craft you practice, Master Saul,"' He stiffened, suddenly becoming aware of something, and peered more closely at me.

"Whence come you?"

I just stared at him for a second while I weighed alternatives. Then I decided I had nothing to lose and said, "Another world."

"Do you truly?" he breathed. "And does magic work so differently there? " "Scarcely at all," I admitted. "In fact, we've managed to do without, by studying the world around us and organizing that knowledge into the science I told you of. I suppose we've had to replace magical strength with knowledge and skill-but we've found ways to work some wonders, anyway."

"And with that method of thought, coupled with a strong talent, in a world in which magic does work ... Nay, small wonder you are a master wizard, though you know so little of it!" The monk glanced at Thyme and glanced away, lowering his eyes and flushing; but she stiffened, eyes widening in alarm.

He didn't have to say it; it was plain for all of us to see: Can you get me out of here?

"Why, how is this?" Thyme demanded. "In all this world, there's scarce a man who would not give all he had to be where you are, and to taste of my charms! As would you yourself! Admit it, shavepate-do you not burn to embrace me?" Her voice deepened, growing husky. "To stroke and caress me, to let your hands taste of my body while your mouth tastes of my lips, and then to-" "Why, to dwell in sadness, so sorely afflicted?" the monk groaned.

"Cease to torment me, fair one! I beg of you!"

"I will grant your wish when you grant mine." Her voice was a silken caress, unrelenting. "Speak truly, Ignatius! Do you not wish to learn the pleasures of my body?"

"Alack-a-day, how shrewdly I do!" he moaned. "When you are near, my mind seeks only to fill itself with the sight and sound and scent of you-but my soul yearns yet toward Heaven! Do not tempt me, beauteous one, for your charms are torment to me, who cannot have them!"

"Yet you can," she breathed, reaching out to turn a soft hand across his. "They are yours whenever you wish it!"

"Nay, for I must needs be true to my vows!"

"As you wish," she teased, brushing against him. Ignatius shuddered, and cried, "Nay, not as I wish, but as I will!

Oh, how cruel you are to me, fair nymph, to torment me with pleasures I have forsworn! Cease this sweet torture, I beg of you!"