The most important man in the universe sat at ease behind his desk-counter while a pair of leather-clad mercenaries moved toward him, bags in hand. He shook his head, and was annoyed when they continued forward. The effrontery of such creatures, he thought, moving his foot toward the pedal that would summon Security, expecting to be rented a room in his hyatt!
"You've got a suite reserved for us," said the woman, dropping a bag onto the polished countertop. "Name's Robertson."
Secure in the knowledge that no one on Staff was stupid enough to have taken such a reservation, he replied coolly.
"I am certain you must be mistaken. Of course we have no --" For effect, he let his eyes touch the reservation board -- and stopped in mid-sentence.
It was there: ROBERTSON, in cheery yellow letters and -- the deskmaster barely contained his rage: They'd rented the most expensive suite for an entire week! He'd not have his hyatt turned into a rowdy, drunken love-nest for --
"Hey, not today fella, OK?" said the red-haired woman in her low-class Terran accent. "Just give us the card."
"I am sorry -- madam," he said in his most condescending voice; "but it is my policy not to permit mercenaries here. Our illustrious patrons..."
"Will be honored by our presence," said the startlingly mannered voice of the man. "Please, our card."
The manager's toe touched the silent switch; in seconds Security would rid him of this nuisance.
The woman's hand moved, and a coin landed, spinning, on the counter.
The deskmaster gulped.
On many worlds a Liaden cantra is equivalent to an average yearly income. Settling slowly before him was a one twelve cantra piece.
"We won't mess up your playground, pal. And if we do, we got enough to cover the damage." She swept the coin up. "Now. My name's Robertson and I got a reservation. Card, accazi?"
Security arrived then and was summarily waved back by the deskmaster.
Hastily, he produced the card in question; pressed a key to summon busbots.
"We'll carry our own," said the woman and the pair hefted their belongings, leaving the mechanicals scurrying in bewildered circles.
The most important man in the universe was still staring at the spot where the coin had been when his shift relief arrived.
#
Red-haired Miri Robertson sighed deeply as she walked into the center of the suite's parlor. Behind her, she heard the door slide shut and a faint chime as Val Con coded the lock.
She turned and grinned.
"Ain't every day you meet somebody that important."
"True," he said, lips twitching. "I hope you were impressed."
"I hope he gets fired. Almost worth buying the hyatt for the pleasure of doing it myself." She yawned suddenly. "I'm beat. Next time we go off to save somebody else's bacon we'll have to put in a shut-eye requisition. Gonna sleep for a month. You coming?"
"On your heels," he murmured, reaching to his belt and unhooking the pellet gun. "Though perhaps not an entire month -- ?"
"Yeah, well, if you wake up first, order breakfast and call me when it gets here. Just don't -- Val Con."
He glanced up. "Yes?"
"You're fading."
His dark brows pulled together. "Fading, cha'trez?"
But she was moving at a dead run from across the room and he braced himself to absorb the shock of impact --
He did not hear her scream his name, nor see her brake to a stop, eyes wide and disbelieving on the pellet gun that lay abandoned on the rich dark carpet.
* * *
There was a poof! of displaced air and an instant when the world seemed to slip slightly out of focus. Kinzel blinked at the sudden person before him.
Who stared back, green eyes very bright, face wearing a look of wary outrage, body braced like a warrior about to engage.
The magician became aware of his staff, which was purring quite loudly while its moist leaves swayed in an unfelt breeze.
"Hello," said Kinzel to the man the staff had Summoned. "Are you the King of the Cats?"
One straight brow slid upward. "Do I look like the King of the Cats?" he asked, his quiet voice carrying an undertone of power.
"I don't know," said Kinzel truthfully. "I've never seen him. I'd hoped he existed -- There is so much trouble for the cats and I remembered a story and thought how useful the King of the Cats would be. I'll help, of course."
"Will you, indeed? I am honored." Val Con stared at his unlikely captor, taking in the worn jerkin and the general air of disheveled pudginess, then moved his gaze to the woods at the man's back. Primal forest, the part of him that had been a Scout judged. He glanced back at the man and produced a preliminary judgement there, as well: Class Four Society, Sixth Sub-level: Pre-tech. He hesitated, then added a footnote: Apparent ability to activate and utilize interstellar transport.
"What is your name, friend?" he asked with careful gentleness.
"Oh! I beg your pardon." The other bowed as low as his plumpness would allow.
"My name is Kinzel. I'm a wizard -- though not a very good one, I'm afraid. That's why the cats are in such trouble."
"Ah, yes, the cats..." Val Con paused. "Friend Kinzel, that the cats are in need grieves me. I've a fondness for the creatures, troublesome though they are. But they must take charge of their own affairs. It is a weak people who look to their King to solve every small problem. Now, if you will have the goodness to -- return -- me to my wife's side. I feel my departure has distressed her."
"Oh!" said Kinzel again. "I didn't mean to disturb you or your wife. Is she Queen of the Cats?"
Val Con felt his lips twitch and raised both brows.
"As much as I am King, she is Queen. Now, if you would return me --"
"I..." Kinzel hesitated. His staff had stopped purring.
"I think it might be better if you helped the cats first," he said slowly. "In fact, it may be required that you help them first. It is the staff that brought you, acting on my thought of how Right it would be --"
"Were there a King of the Cats," the other finished. "I see. So it is this instrument here which effects the transfer?"
He had moved, so quickly and so silently that Kinzel had not noticed until here he was, one slender hand reaching --
The staff buzzed angrily, green sparks sparking. Kinzel drew it back, smiling in apology.
#
The King of the Cats stood very still. Kinzel thought his tail would certainly have twitched, had he possessed such an appendage.
"Friend Kinzel," the soft voice began again; "my lady is distraught. If you will not return me, at least you must let me speak with her."
Kinzel thought, and as he did the leaves about the old wooden staff once more became full, and swayed. The green eyes of the King of the Cats widened slightly.
"Bring the image of your wife to mind," Kinzel said slowly. "Then touch my hand."
His hand was immediately gripped in strong, slender fingers and the thought that passed through him on its way to the Power was a thing of searing brightness.
Kinzel felt the thought snatched away; there was a vast silence, a feel of distance uncountable -- then, from the clearing before them, a voice:
"Val Con!"
"Here, cha'trez." The King's answer was clear and calm, though Kinzel fancied he felt a tremor in the hand that held his.
"Where's -- oh." This as the image of a woman formed, ghostly, in the air before them. "So what's the gag?"
"My friend here believes I am King of the Cats. It seems that the cats are in dire trouble, and require my aid. I will not be returned to you until they are rescued."
"Right," said the woman. Her image had solidified; Kinzel could no longer see the trees on the other side of the clearing through her thin body, and her feet seemed to rest upon the ground.
"Cats are a raucous bunch," she commented. "Always in scrapes."
"True," agreed their sovereign. "Miri, I am anxious to come to you."
"And I'm anxious to have you," she responded, extending her hands.
Kinzel cried out as the man leapt toward the woman; watched in foreknowing sorrow as their hands met, melded and slid each through the other's. The woman's image snapped into nothing and she was gone, leaving behind the echoing desolation of her cry.
"Miri!"
The word echoed desolation and with wizard's eyes Kinzel saw a bright blade of will loosed from the man kneeling on the clearing floor, hurtling naked and unprotected toward the maelstrom of the Forces.
He brought the staff up, crying out in a voice meant to command that which is not seen with outer eyes.
"Hold!"
The blade of will hesitated before reversing and dropping earthward. The kneeling King gasped, as though his will did cut, returning, then he was on his feet, green eyes blazing, slim body taut with purpose.
Cat, indeed, thought Kinzel: Tiger! He moved the staff again, bringing it upright between them.
The advancing predator stopped, face wary, and Kinzel spoke quickly, seeking to explain; to comfort.
"She was not really here. It was only -- only a thought of her -- her image, taking shape from your thought. Your desire. But she heard you, because of staff and Power, and knows that you are safe."
If there was an expression on the golden face before him, Kinzel could not read it, and so he rushed on.
"You can't touch a thought, you know. And you can't send your spirit against all the Forces of Power -- not without protection, a staff, a charm, a Word! You are not a mage! Best your will stays within your heart..." He blinked and glanced down.
The awful purpose had left the other man. He pushed the dark hair off his forehead, crossed his legs and sat on the ground; looked up, green eyes glinting.
"That she is alive -- and well -- I know. That she is worried, I know. But where is she? In former days I would have known this, if she stood on one end of the galaxy and I on the other. Now, I ask your indulgence."
Kinzel blinked. "Where? Where you left her, I suppose..." He, too, sat on the ground, though he arrived there with less grace and crossed his legs after he was seated.
"I see," murmured the King of the Cats. "And where might that be -- from here?"
"Well..." Kinzel screwed his eyes shut, then opened them, pointing. "The other continent is in that direction."
The other man shook his head. "Am I to surmise from this that you do not know the name of the world from which you -- borrowed -- me?"
"World?" Kinzel's face lit. "That's wonderful! A person from another of the worlds! I've heard of such things -- people crossing from one of the worlds to another. After all, if the Clock governs all --"
"No." One slim hand rose, commanding silence. "Kinzel, please. Indulge me further. How did you happen to get me from where I was to where I am?"
"I told you."
"No doubt you did. Perhaps I was not attending. Will you tell me again?"
Kinzel sighed. "I was thinking of Fallan and how he was taking revenge on me by harming cats. I remembered the story Siljan told about the King of the Cats -- how wise and strong and clever he was. And I thought how I am none of those things, yet the cats must be helped. Then I thought how -- how much I needed help -- from someone like the -- the King of the Cats. I Called, and the staff purred, as it does, and then you were here."
The Suzerain of Felines had closed his eyes. Now he opened them and sighed.
"And thus it is that the staff will not let me go back to my wife until I have aided you in this task?" He did not wait for an answer but swept regally on.
"Friend Kinzel, I am a man, not a cat. Might this be mentioned to your staff? It could make a difference."
"It might," said Kinzel doubtfully; "but -- the staff chose you, after all. The story never made clear whether the King of the Cats was man or cat -- or a bit of both." He frowned. "What do I call you? I've never met a King before."
"Nor have you now. Val Con, you should call me."
"Val Con," said Kinzel, finding he liked the crisp sound of the name. "Well, Val Con, think: If the staff chose you out of the countless numbers of people there must be on all the worlds that Clock and Branch encompass, then --"
"I'm stuck," said the other, and it seemed that the red-haired woman's voice glittered through the man's own in that phrase. He shifted then, touching wrist, ankle, back of neck in quick succession, as if performing a ritual dance. When the movement was done, the staff allowed Kinzel to feel the sharpening of purpose about the man; almost tasting of mage-power.
"Very well, friend Kinzel," the King said softly. "Who is this Fallan and what is he doing that causes you -- and the cats -- so much distress?"
* * *
"Dammit, Robertson, can't you hold onto anything?"
Miri curled her hands into fists, spinning slowly on her heel in the hyatt's parlor.
"Val Con?" she asked the room.
There was no answer. She hadn't really expected one.
Frowning, she reached within herself to the pattern-place where glowed the warm and lovely thing that was her knowledge of her husband's life.
Alive and well, the pattern reported.
She brought her attention more closely on the pattern; fought down a surge of panic and tried again.
Val Con alive, Val Con well, the pattern sang.
In all bloody directions at once.
Generations of breeding by Liaden psychics had produced the link between lifemates -- and it had never failed her since the first time she'd seen it dancing in her head.
Abruptly, she folded her legs and sat on the floor; glared at the pellet gun reposing on the carpet and closed her eyes.
King of the Cats? Obviously, the fat man with the stick was a lunatic. Just as obviously, the lush glade in which he and Val Con had been standing was not on the world of Panore, where Miri was. Panore was a world of oceans -- or, more exactly, ocean. The hyatt in which she sat was part of a vast city built on titanium girders sunk deep into the ocean floor.
No natural green glades here.
Miri sighed and opened her eyes, reaching up to unpin her copper-colored braid.
The galaxy was wide. Green worlds, while not all that common, existed in sufficient plentitude that it would take a lifetime as long as a Clutch Turtle's to search them all.
She sighed again, and tried to look at the other side of the problem.
How had the snatch been done? Instantaneous transfer? Through vacuum? Miri shook her head. The fading effect was similar to the effects she and Val Con had experienced aboard a Clutch "rock-ship" years before. But where had the fat man's power source been hidden?
"Instantaneous transfer within the world I'll buy," she decided, shaking the kinks out of her long hair. "Through space ain't gonna hack it. That'd be like Jumping without a ship..."
Liaden and Terran math took dimensional shifts into consideration -- that was how spaceships got from here to there without going in-between. "Hyperspace": A mumbo-jumbo word without any real meaning, purporting to explain itself with its own name.
Suppose the fat man had worked hyperspatial math within the world, Miri thought, then groaned as her imaginatiion conjured an image of Panore upon Panore, stretching away into unthought-of distance, one edge of each superimposed on the next.
The may-be worlds of alternate chance would run smack into the problem of time: Each mainline of When would have its aurora of alternate Whats.
"Sort of thing a lunatic would do."
She rolled to her feet, tossing her hair behind her back.
"Gods, I hate math," she grumped, moving across the room to the discreetly screened-off workstation.
She sat on the edge of the soft chair, fingers already on the board, calling up equations -- Liaden math, not Terran. This was one of those things it was going to be easier to think about in Liaden, she just knew it.
* * *
The King of the Cats had closed his bright eyes, giving Kinzel the opportunity to study him more closely.
The black leather leggings and vest marked him a fighting man, though he wore no sword. The wide belt with its built-on pouch was certainly capable of supporting a weapon. There was, in fact, a sense of edges about him: That he carried knives on his person Kinzel didn't doubt.
His dark shirt was of fine, soft cloth -- surely the sort of garment a nobleman would wear next to his skin. It was loosely laced with black cord, leaving the slender throat bare. Kinzel looked more closely, eyes caught by something that shone there, suspended by a dusky velvet riband.
"So, friend Kinzel," murmured the King. "You say you do not know what Fallan does with the cats, once they are captured, only that he threatens to leave nothing cat-like in the world."
"Isn't that enough?" asked Kinzel. "Think of the upset to the Balance! There is a reason for cats to be as they are. Fallan is only thinking of vengeance, not of the harm done the whole world, if cats are no longer cats!"
He sighed suddenly, and continued in a much younger voice.
"It is true that Fallan is a very learned wizard. He may be able to do what he threatens and not endanger Balance."
"Or he may be lying to you," said the other briskly; "with no intention of harming further cats, or, indeed, the ones he now holds. If he holds any."
"He does," said Kinzel with certainty. "And he doesn't make idle threats. He has a reputation for never threatening to do what he won't -- or can't -- perform."
"Useful," murmured the King. He did not seem disposed to speak further and silence grew between them.
It had stretched a time when Kinzel stirred and, typically, spoke what first popped into his head.
"I was admiring your amulet. The work is very fine. Of silver, too, so it is Moon-potent. I'm sorry I hadn't noticed it before, for it's true that you might have hurled your will against the Forces to good purpose, possessing such a thing."
"Might I have, indeed?" He touched the shining thing at his throat with a light fingertip. "But this is not a -- magical --thing, friend Kinzel. It is a gift from my lady, given with laughter and love, to commemorate a dragon I once slew."
"A potent charm," said the pudgy wizard admiringly. Then, in awe: "Dragons are very rare -- at least on this continent. Unicorns, now... But did it really need to be slain, this dragon?"
The King of the Cats smiled. "Alas, it was determined to eat my friend. I did attempt to -- dissuade -- it, but it would not be turned away."
"In that case," said Kinzel, with a touch of sadness. "Still, it might have been better, had you been able to find another way to save your friend, and let the creature go with its life."
Almost, the King laughed. "I agree with you. However, I was very young and very frightened, so that I clutched the first means to hand. Perhaps now things would go differently." He shrugged, in cat indifference. "But who can know?"
Suddenly, he was not indifferent at all, his eyes were intent, lithe body tipped forward, one hand out -- perhaps in supplication.
"Friend Kinzel, return me to my lady."
Kinzel sighed, pity warring with -- was it envy?
And why should I be envious, he wondered. Because he has seen a dragon? Becaues he loves his wife so well? Or because he wears a thing of dreadful Power and is wise enough to honor it for the love it was given with, rather than the Force it might command?
He was jerked from these thoughts by the brightness of the gaze upon his face and shook his head sadly.
"I am sorry, my friend. The cats are in danger. The staff chose you to aid them. After the Right has been served, then I am certain the staff will send you home."
"So." The King came fluidly to his feet. "If I may not return until the task is done, then it is best we begin at once."
Kinzel nodded and climbed awkwardly to his feet. Closing his eyes, he rubbed the old wood of the staff lightly, listening, feeling. Eventually, he opened his eyes and struck off in a northerly direction, the King of the Cats walking silent at his side.
* * *
The manager arrived with the carpenters.
Miri ignored him while she pointed out the exact spot, elucidated the precise dimensions and the deadline. The job-boss nodded, barked orders in his turn and the crew set to work.
"Stop!" yelled the manager.
One of the carpenters hesitated. The boss snapped two words and she went back to work.
Miri turned to the manager. "Get out. You're in the way. You're holding up construction. You're annoying me."
"You," said the manager, "are in violation of the law. Guests are not allowed to construct things in the room. The owner --"
"Shut up," said Miri, without raising her voice. He blinked, words dying. "I ain't interested in the law. Or in the owner. How much is this place worth? In cantra."
"What!" The manager stared, feeling absurdly vulnerable without his desk-counter between them. The woman stared back, gray eyes as warm as fog off the ocean.
"You will," she stated clearly, "tell me the purchase price of this building. If you don't know, get the company lawyer on the talkie. Or the owner. Or whoever else I gotta talk at to buy this hyatt. I intend to own it by local sundown." Then, with some snap to it, since he just stood there, staring: "Now!"
The manager jumped a foot and left, nearly colliding with the candlemaker and the glassblower, who were arriving together.
* * *
Fallan's keep loomed like a ship of stone and steel, full Moon just visible beyond the tip of the eastern tower.
The King of the Cats sighed.
"So then," he murmured. "Where do you think Fallan holds the cats?"
Kinzel tipped his head, listening to the soft purring of his staff. He nodded and walked forward, at a slight angle to the wall.
"There's a door," he said to the shadow at his side. "Then a long corridor, then another door. Beyond that is -- I am sorry, my friend -- a cage. The cats are in the cage."
"Are they indeed?" It was too dark for Kinzel to see the ironic lift of the eyebrow. "Are there watchers? Men and women with weapons? Alarms?"
Kinzel took further counsel from his staff. "No watchers. Fallan and his 'prentice are the only men in the keep and they are both far from the cage."
"Alarms?" insisted Val Con, keeping pace with the wizard, though the wall loomed close.
"I don't --" began Kinzel -- and stopped.
Half a pace beyond, Val Con spun to face him, both brows up and clearly visible in the Moon's light.
"Friend Kinzel?"
The mage frowned, moved back two steps and cast about, as if looking for a way around a wall perceived, yet unseen. He shrugged gracelessly and walked forward again, gripping his staff with its green vines tightly.
Two paces underway, he stopped. Sharply. Almost, Val Con thought he heard a thump, as if wizardly nose had brought up against invisible barrier.
"Alarms?" he guessed, glancing over his shoulder at the keep.
"Wards," corrected Kinzel, bringing his hand up and rubbing his nose. He smiled sheepishly. "I don't seem to be able to come any further."
Val Con pushed his hair from his eyes, stepped to Kinzel's side, turned and walked toward the wall, one-two-three paces. He turned back, hands on hips.
"The way is clear. I discover no barrier."
"For you, no barrier," Kinzel said, eyes half-closed as the staff hummed in his hand. "The wards are set to keep out anything -- anyone -- born to the world."
"Ah. I begin to see the why behind your staff's actions." He sighed. "I go on alone, then?"
"It will be easier for you that way, won't it? Even if I weren't warded away? You are silent -- and so quick. I'm clumsy, and you would have to wait for me." He gestured with the staff.
"That clump of rock and scrub we passed?" Val Con nodded. "I will wait for you and the cats there. The staff will re-Balance and then it will send you home to your wife."
"So? And how many cats are in this cage? Does your staff know that? And how shall I bring them away? In my pouch?"
Kinzel thought. "There are one hundred and forty-seven cats in the cage," he said slowly. "And as to how you'll bring them out -- you're the King of the Cats. Surely they'll follow you?"
Suddenly, surprisingly, the King laughed, flinging his hands Moonward; then he was leaning forward, speaking with earnest briskness.
"In all my experience of cats, never have I seen anything that leads me to suppose that they will follow anyone -- King or no. Especially, perhaps, would they fail to follow their King. Who, if he is truly that, would not ask it of them. Another way, I implore you. Some assurance that the task is not wholly the errand of a fool."
Kinzel was already reaching into his pouch, pulling out a twist of paper tied with yellow string. Bracing the staff against his shoulder, he untied the string.
"Come here."
The other man stepped forward until their noses nearly touched and Kinzel could smell old leather and new cloth and another scent, which was that of the King himself.
Kinzel paused, blinking into the green eyes. "Are you a man, my friend?"
"Yes." said Val Con softly. "I will tell you this: Cats are not found on all worlds. But on the worlds on which they are found, they are -- cats. Other creatures change. Including men. Especially men. It is a mystery, is it not? A wonder. But I am a man -- human -- as much as you are."
"All right," said Kinzel, pulling the string free and stashing it in his pouch. "It is only that, if you were a cat, the herb might make you a little drunk."
He untwisted the parchment and took out a pinch of dried leaf, which he sprinkled over the King's head. He liberally treated hair, shirt, belt and boot-tops, repeating the process until the leaf was gone.
Val Con stepped back, nose wrinkling. "What is it?"
"An herb cats find enjoyable. I think they'll follow you now."
"Behold me delighted," murmured the King and sighed.
"Friend Kinzel. This I lay upon you. Should I not return -- you will go to my lady and explain what has transpired. You will tell her how you were able to call me here, so she may guard herself from like attack." He sighed again.
"She will know, should I die. So ward yourself well before you go to her. Her temper is not overgentle, and her way with weapons nearly equals my own."
Kinzel bowed and brought the staff between them, so the other could see the Power glittering there. "This thing I do swear, should you fall in the service of the Right."
"A mighty oath, friend Kinzel..." And the King was gone, one shadow among many, fading toward the steel and stone walls.
The outer door was locked -- the work of a moment. Val Con slid into the corridor beyond, making sure that the door did not relock itself.
Empty, the hallway; lit sporadically by three smoky torches. The shadows were deep and plentiful.
The second door stood wide open.
Val Con paused in a pool of shadow, glaring. He bent and located two stones on the floor. Straightening, he tossed one through the door.
Nothing.
He faded closer, and threw the second stone.
A lance fell point-first from high up and buried itself solidly in the granite floor just beyond the doorway.
"Ah," breathed Val Con. Then he was through, hugging the wall and pretending himself invisibly weightless.
#
The cage was not large.
Cats had been piled within it like lengths of furry firewood. The smell was very bad.
Wrinkling his nose, Val Con had recourse to the lockpick once more. The hinges groaned when he pulled the door open and he froze in a half-crouch, eyes and ears straining.
Nothing.
Your luck is either very good or very bad, he told himself, frowning at the curiously still pile of bodies. It occurred to him to wonder if the prisoners were dead.
But the scrawny tortoise-shell he plucked from the top opened its eyes sufficiently to glare, though it did not offer battle. It closed its eyes and sighed.
Val Con held it by the scruff of the neck and shook.
Eyes open and ears back, the cat hissed, claws reaching. Val Con tossed the outraged feline into the cageful of its kin.
There was a flurry of activity, dying quickly out. The man thrust his arms into the heap, shifting cats, sweeping them out of the cage and onto the floor, stirring things around as best he could.
Suddenly, they were everywhere: Twining about his legs; clinging to his hands; trying to climb his leathers. One enterprising individual actually leapt to his shoulders and began a barrage of purrs upon discovering the herb-dosed hair.
Cage empty, Val Con swung the door closed and locked it, and started back the way he had come, one hundred and forty-seven -- forty-six the acrobat was still draped about his shoulders -- cats grouped close around.
#
Val Con stood in the center of the protected clearing, though he would have liked to sit down. The prospect of being immediately engulfed by cats checked the urge; instead he reached up an absent hand to scratch his newly-acquired fur piece under the chin.
"All of them! And so quickly!" Kinzel was saying, reaching down and capturing one fine orange-and-white fellow. "You will be with your wife before dawn," he continued, sitting on a rock and restraining the cat by main force. "We only need -- oh."
Val Con stirred. "What is wrong?"
"Nothing. It is only that I am stupid." Kinzel looked up. "He took their curiosity away."
Val Con raised a brow. "Not too bad a notion," he murmured. "They will live longer so. And be less troublesome."
"But they won't be cats!" cried the wizard. "It's the same as taking away their instinct to hunt. Or their purr. Or --"
"Yes, of course," soothed the King, drifting closer. "And I am certain that, since it is Right that cats be curious, your staff will now put all in order and I will speedily be on my way."
"That's right," agreed Kinzel, standing and releasing his prisoner. "If you will just put that person on your shoulder down with the others... Good. Now stand away." He closed his eyes and opened his arms.
Val Con watched the proceedings with interest. The leaves twisted about the old wooden staff were full and green and new; they swayed slightly, though there was no breeze. Kinzel himself seemed to grow taller by a few inches, to become less portly; and the ginger hair took on a glow.
The cats milled about, not much impressed with the spectacle. Several began to move in Val Con's direction.
There was a sheen of sweat on the wizard's round face; he seemed to be straining toward something just out of reach. Val Con clamped down on his feeling of impending disaster; forced himself to wait quietly.
Kinzel opened his eyes, shook his head and made his way unsteadily to the nearest rock, where he sat with a bump.
The King of the Cats was immediately at his side, on one knee, eyes sharp with concern.
"What is wrong?"
The wizard winced at the snap in the smooth voice. "I -- there's a disturbance -- in the Power. The staff -- I -- can't work for the Right when there is another unBalancing force in the world..."
The green eyes had widened. "I beg your pardon?"
Kinzel swallowed, remembering the tiger held at bay earlier. "It's that I'm stupid," he repeated. "Of course, you will have to be sent back first. Then I will be able to restore the cats."
"So." The King bowed his head. "I am ready, friend Kinzel. Do it quickly."
Kinzel levered himself up, took a firmer grip on the staff and looked into the eyes of the man kneeling before him.
Miri! Val Con sent his awareness to the place where the song of her glowed bright within him --
The wizard lowered his arms, eyes awash with tears.
"No." Val Con was on his feet, felt his hands moving with deadly purpose -- and stopped.
"Another way, then" he said sharply. "What else might be done?"
The mage sank again to his rock. "The cats are -- not Right. UnBalance. You don't belong here. UnBalance. I cannot work for the Right without Balance."
"So I must be sent back or the cats may not be mended. But I may not be sent back until the cats are mended." He moved his head sharply, sending dark hair into bright eyes.
"Friend Kinzel, I do not wish to remain here. You -- or your staff -- are foresworn. There -- wait." He tipped his head. "You spoke of my -- amulet. That was -- Moon-potent? That wearing it I might, myself, return to Miri. How? There is the Moon, already high. Here I am, with my desire and my will. What else is required? Tell me what I must do."
Kinzel frowned and shifted on his rock. "Your will is very strong, and the amulet is powerful. The Moon is full. But you are not a mage! It might be possible -- but you would be working against the Power, not with it. You could harm yourself. You could die..."
"A bad solution. Is there another? If not, I shall attempt this one."
Kinzel thought. And, from the staff purring in his hand or from the cats purring at their feet, or, indeed, from the Moon itself came -- an idea.
He looked up at the King of the Cats and spoke, slowly. "You must remember that I am not learned, that I am stupid with spells and not clever or subtle. But it does seem that if you were able to -- trick -- a mighty wizard into commanding you, in Power, to begone, your will is sufficient to hold and shape that command into -- into an arrow of desire, sending yourself wherever you wish to be." He shrugged. "It is worth the effort, and you will be further aided, if your wife desires your return as much as you desire to return."
An eyebrow slid upward. "I believe the stipulation may be met." He sighed. "I infer that you are not the wizard best -- tricked?"
"Fallan is," admitted Kinzel, "a mighty mage. He's learned and subtle and -- quick to anger."
"And thus it might be possible." The King of the Cats looked over his shoulder at the keep. "Very well, friend Kinzel; where is Fallan now?"
* * *
Miri lit the candles north to south and stood back to survey the arrangements. The long glass rods were placed on the wooden platform in a faintly familiar pattern. She groped after the image and found it in her memory of Zhena Trelu's kitchen, worlds away.
A funnel.
* * *
Fallan jumped out of bed like a cat with its tail afire, snatched up his staff, caused a robe to wrap him and willed himself from here to there.
A heartbeat later he stood blinking in the center of the tower laboratory, half-blinded by the Moonlight streaming in through the unshuttered window.
In addition to Moonlight, all the candles were burning, as were the spirit lamp and the meldfire. His books were piled in zig-zagged heaps on the normally immaculate work tables. Bottles and jars containing elixirs, potions and drugs had been shifted about.
Fallan felt his stomach sink at the thought of so much work gone -- and was assured by his staff that nothing was lost, only rearranged.
But by what agent? The keep was warded. The tower was warded. It had, in fact, been one of the wards that had awakened --
"Boo!"
The mage jumped and spun, staff up to hold at bay whatever demon had made that sound --
Who only laughed from his crosslegged perch atop the poisons cupboard and tossed a glittering object from hand to casual hand.
Fallan sputtered, staff sparking.
The little man in black leather grinned, green eyes very bright.
"Were you looking for me?" he asked gently.
"I am looking for the intruder in my laboratory," snapped Fallan.
"Well, then," said the little man amiably, "you have found him. Your luck is good."
"And yours," replied the wizard, "is bad." He brought his staff up, Words forming on his tongue -- and swallowed them, eye caught by the glitter of the intruder's toy.
"Put that down!"
"What, this?" The man held up the faceted ball, closed one eye and looked through it with the other before opening both and grinning at the outraged magician.
"I'd prefer not to, thank you."
"You will put that down," Fallan informed him, voice scintillant with Power.
The little man's hands slowed for the barest of instants. Then he moved his head sharply and smiled.
"You are in error."
Fallan felt anger and Power surge together, and exercised control. He stepped back a pace and, keeping his staff between them, surveyed his visitor.
Thin, dark hair, green eyes; the gold of his skin named him a foreigner. The leather clothing argued a warrior, as did the paler gold of an old scar across the high line of one cheek. At his throat hung something that shone with the light of the Moon. His staff reported Power there.
"Who are you?" Fallan barked, staff reinforcing demand.
The little man raised an eyebrow. "I might ask the same of you."
"You ask the name of a mage when you stand within his keep -- uninvited, nay! Warded away! I, since you need to ask, am Fallan. The Ferocious. The Mighty."
The little man yawned and tossed his toy upward. Fallan felt his heart lodge in his throat. The ball dropped floorward and was caught, as a seeming afterthought, by a golden hand that looked too frail to support the weight.
Fallan the Ferocious swallowed a sigh of relief and snapped again: "Who are you?"
"Have you told me all of your name, then? But perhaps you only give the shortest form." The intruder smiled. "I am called, in the short form: Val Con yos'Phelium, Scout, Artist of the Ephemeral, Slayer of the Eldest Dragon, Knife Clan of Middle River's Spring Spawn of Farmer Greentree's of The Spearmaker's Den, Tough Guy, Miri-mated --" He bowed from his perch atop the cabinet, cupping the faceted ball close against his heart, "King of the Cats."
"King of the Cats!" It was Fallan's turn to laugh, which he did with an ineptitude that spoke of long unfamiliarity. "The King of the Cats is a tale for children -- or wood wizards!" And he -- laughed -- again.
"Ah," said the little man, "that explains much. I was summoned by a wood wizard."
Fallan stopped laughing.
"This wood wizard -- his name?"
The -- King of the Cats -- shrugged, tossing the glittering ball from hand to hand. "Kinzel, was it? Yes, I believe it may have been Kinzel."
"And he summoned you? Why?"
"Did I not say? To free the cats, of course."
"Of course," agreed Fallan smoothly. "And why have you not done so?"
The King of the Cats blinked his bright eyes. "But I have."
"What!" Fallan sent his awareness away, downward; touched upon the empty cage, the sprung trap, the vigilant wards -- and returned to the tower room.
"This is the second time I have been here tonight," the little man said. "Really, friend Fallan, if you mean to call this keep your own, you had best guard it more closely. As it is, anyone might walk in to surprise you at your dinner. Or in your bed..."
But Fallan was no longer listening. "Not of this world. You are not born into this world!"
"You have not listened to what your ears have heard," the King of the Cats chided. "Of course I am not of this world."
Fallan gripped his staff with both hands, murmuring the Words that came to his tongue, foreknowing the power that this entrapment would afford him. To have such an one obey his commands! What might a man born of another world not accomplish for his master in this one!
The King of the Cats was holding something out. Something that glittered and fair cried aloud with Power. A raven's egg crystal, faceted with geometrical precision -- a mighty focusing tool for a mighty magician.
Fallan closed his mouth around the Words, his face showing white against the black beard.
"What will you give, friend Fallan, for this object?"
"Your life." Fallan forced a smile. "Lay it down and go free."
The little man laughed. "Come now, am I a fool? Holding this, I think I might walk with impunity anywhere in this keep. Name another price."
"What might any man -- wizard or no -- give the King of the Cats?"
"Fair words. Perhaps you do not value it as highly as I had thought."
Fallan shrugged. "It has some small worth. Approximately equal to your life, as I have said. But another may always be crafted."
"So?" Both brows were raised. "It seems I chose a poor hostage. Forgive me." He let the crystal go.
Fallan cried out, Words forming of themselves. The crystal's descent was arrested a scant inch from the slate floor. Sweating heavily, the mage caused it to waft to safety and wedge itself between two jewel-encrusted spell books.
Shaking, he turned to deal with the King of the Cats.
But the small man had slid from his perch and was busily pulling jars from the poisons cupboard, mixing the contents of one with another, indiscriminately, disastrously.
"Begone, you misbegotten creature!" screamed Fallan, lost to all but his rage. "Begone from here and never come again! I ward you from this world forever. Begone, begone, be--"
Val Con saw the balled lightning leap from the magician's staff, and stilled his impulse to dodge. He felt heat enter him, expand him, begin to unravel him --
Miri!
* * *
"Val Con!"
He blinked, felt the heat of that which pursued him and jumped, slamming into Miri, covering her with his body as they rolled, shielding her from the --
FLASH! Poof...BOOM!!
After a time he moved, cautiously, and heard the tinkle and crunching of glass.
"Val Con?" a small voice murmured in the vicinity of his left ear.
"Yes."
"Can we get up now?"
"I think so." He shifted; knelt. "Yes."
"Good." She knelt as well, combing fingers through wild red hair as she surveyed the room. "Some party. Wish I remembered more of it."
He grinned and waved a hand at the remnants of the platform. "What was that?"
"A funnel. To get you back. I can show you the math." She cocked a suspicious gray eye. "Worked."
"So it did," he said, and reached out to touch her face.
#
Some time later, when they were both on the edge of sleep, Miri shifted next to him and murmured.
"Val Con-husband?"
"Yes, cha'trez."
"I bought the hyatt."
"So? Did you fire the manager?"
She grinned. "Naw. I thought about it. Then I thought that one of the changes I'll be making is to open up a wing especially for mercenaries. Figured I'd put him in charge of that."
"Not too bad a notion," conceded her husband, curling closer and nestling his cheek against her hair. "I'm sure he'll learn quite rapidly."
* * *
Kinzel stretched and smiled at the setting Moon. Cats, curious about surroundings, about sounds, about glitters and gleamings in the pre-dawn sky, had wandered off, by ones, twos and sevens. His staff purred contentedly in his hand.
From the west, a breeze arose, telling tales of the ocean, hinting of the further shore; of dragons, perhaps, or of a King reunited with his Queen.
Kinzel smiled and stepped out -- westward, for lack of a reason to walk in another direction, and whistling.
All was Right with the world.