In the previous volumes I have reprinted two of John Morressy’s stories featuring the wizard Kedrigern and his odd retinue of acquaintances – “Alaska” and “A Hedge Against Alchemy”. Here’s a third. If you want to sample further stories you can check out the five Kedrigern books: A Voice for Princes (1986), The Questing of Kedrigern (1987), Kedrigern in Wanderland (1988), Kedrigern and the Charming Couple (1990) and A Remembrance for Kedrigern (1990).
Midnight had come and passed. Princess had nodded off to sleep over her spelling book. Spot was working at something in the cellar, from which thumps and clinking sounds arose at intervals, interspersed with clatters and clanks. Kedrigern was struggling against weariness as he reached the last pages of a spectacularly gory chronicle. All without the house, and all within – save Spot’s muted industry and Kedrigern’s turned pages and smothered yawns – was silent.
Suddenly, without preamble of any kind, three knocks sounded at the door, and Kedrigern was alert at once. Princess stirred and sighed, but did not wake. The knocking had been no peremptory battering, but a soft, almost surreptitious, series of taps. Kedrigern waited a moment, listening, and it came again, no louder than before, but this time doubled: three quick taps, a pause, and then three more.
Spot’s huge head appeared at knee level in the doorway. “Yah?” it enquired softly.
“Good troll, Spot,” said the wizard, rising. “I’ll get the door. You stay close, just in case.”
“Yah, yah!” the house-troll whispered.
There had been no heavy footsteps or flapping of wings; the caller was most likely an ordinary mortal, then. But neither had there been hoof-beats – and what ordinary mortal would walk up Silent Thunder Mountain in the dead of night? And who, having the courage and determination to find his way to a wizard’s abode, would tap so timidly at the door? A thief or assassin would not knock at all; a lost traveller would pound and shout in mortal terror; a friend would rap with assurance. As he made his silent way from the cosiness of the hearthside, Kedrigern pondered the mystery, but could not puzzle out a solution. The only thing to do was to answer the door and ascertain the visitor’s identity by ocular evidence. He worked a short-term security spell on himself, the cottage, and all within. That, plus Spot’s formidable strength, he deemed sufficient protection.
Directing the house-troll to a handy place of concealment, Kedrigern drew the latch and eased the door open. He saw no one. In his most authoritative voice, he demanded, “Who knocks? Answer, or I close the door!”
“Master Kedrigern?” whispered a voice near at hand.
“I am Kedrigern. Who speaks?”
“A messenger from Tarpash, King of the Valley of Misgivings. I come on a matter of utmost urgency,” said the voice.
“Where are you?” Kedrigern asked. The night was overcast. He could see nothing more than the vague outline of the treetops, dark against a lesser darkness.
“Here,” whispered the messenger.
“Are you invisible?”
“I am veiled, masked, and cloaked. My horse is shod in felt. Mine is a mission of the utmost secrecy as well as the utmost urgency.”
Kedrigern raised his medallion to his eye and peered through the Aperture of True Vision in the direction of the voice. He saw a human form, lithe but sturdy, clad head to foot in black. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was no magic in any of this, nothing out of the ordinary, only typical royal self-importance. That was kings for you: a splinter in the royal thumb, and everyone for leagues around was expected to drop what they were doing and weep over His Majesty’s injured digit. With a gesture, Kedrigern said, “Come inside.”
The figure did not stir. “You really are a wizard, aren’t you? I can deal only with the wizard Kedrigern.”
“I told you who I am. What do you want for proof – shall I turn you into a toad?”
“Oh, no, no! That will not be necessary. I believe you. It’s just that . . . well, you don’t look like a wizard,” said the messenger.
Kedrigern sighed. He heard this from everyone, including Princess, and had grown accustomed to it without growing to like it. He had no long white beard; he dressed in ordinary homespun tunic and breeches and comfortable, well-worn boots, and did not look to be anywhere near his 170th year. He did not look young, except when he laughed; nor did he look old, except when he was deep in memory and a certain look came into his eyes. He looked like a merchant, a scholar, a great man’s steward, perhaps a goldsmith or a carver of delicate designs in ivory. He looked like anything but a wizard, and was content with the situation. It made his life simpler.
“I am Kedrigern the wizard,” he said slowly and distinctly. “Take my word for it, or leave my door.”
“I believe you, Master Kedrigern! Truly, I do!”
With an impatient, grumbling grunt, Kedrigern stepped inside and dismissed Spot with a silent gesture. The troll bounded off to the cellar, to resume its exertions.
“Well, come in,” said the wizard.
Once inside, the messenger doffed his cloak and broad-brimmed hat. He retained the mask that covered his face. A veil depended from the mask, but did not conceal the reddish gold beard of the wearer. He was a tall man, well formed, and he spoke with assurance in a mild, cultured voice.
“I will be brief, Master Kedrigern: the king is sore afflicted. Only a wizard can help him.”
“What is it? A curse? A spell? Did he open something he shouldn’t have opened? Provoke a witch? Insult a fairy?”
“The details are obscure, and even the little I know, I cannot reveal.”
“Then how do you know that King Tarpash needs the services of a wizard and not a physician?” snapped Kedrigern irritably.
“The Royal Physician was summoned immediately. He examined His Majesty and declared that only a wizard or an alchemist could—”
“An alchemist?” Kedrigern cried. “What is he trying to do to the poor man? An alchemist couldn’t help a sick rat!”
“We are desperate, Master Kedrigern.”
“You must be, if you can consider calling in an alchemist. Tarpash always had a good head on his shoulders. He would never have—”
A sob burst from the messenger, silencing Kedrigern. When the man had composed himself, he said in a subdued, but no less urgent, voice, “The king must be helped at once. If he is not, the marriage cannot take place!”
“What marriage? Tarpash is happily married – has been for thirty years.”
“His son’s marriage. Prince Middry is to marry Belserena of the Dappled Dales, the sweetest, loveliest, most adorable woman in all the world. Her hair is spun gold, her eyes twin pools of violet, her lips a rosebud, her form divine. Flowers of indescribable fragrance spring up where her dainty foot caresses the ground – oh, happy ground! – and her very voice perfumes the air,” the messenger rhapsodized. He paused to draw breath so that he might continue his litany of adoration, but Kedrigern raised a hand to silence him.
“It’s all right, Prince Middry. You can take off the mask and tell me the whole story,” he said.
The messenger stood thunderstruck for a moment, then tore away mask and veil to reveal a reasonably handsome, rather pallid face and red-rimmed eyes. “How did you know? My disguise was impenetrable!”
Kedrigern smiled inscrutably. “I am a wizard, my son. I know all sorts of things.”
“Then you must help my father! The wedding is set for nine days hence!”
“Come in by the fire, Prince Middry. Sit down, put your feet up, and tell me everything.”
By this time, Princess had been awakened by the sound of voices. She welcomed the visitor, and listened with profound attention to his account. It was depressingly short. The King of the Valley of Misgivings had lost his wits. No one knew how, or why, or precisely when or where the tragedy had occurred, and no one had the faintest idea of a remedy. The approaching wedding added urgency to the gravity of the situation. It would be socially unacceptable, and politically disastrous, to have the father of the groom insist on a game of pat-a-cake, or pull off his boots and start playing with his toes, in the middle of the ceremony; and yet to postpone the wedding, or call it off entirely, would create a diplomatic crisis, as well as desolate the betrothed couple.
Much as he abominated travel, Kedrigern recognized his obligations as a wizard and an old acquaintance of the royal family. Princess was pleased by the prospects of a visit to a royal court, albeit a distraught one. She spoke cheerfully of a nice little trip, as Kedrigern had known she would. “A nice little trip,” he reflected unhappily, was Princess’s term for any journey short of a decades-long mass migration fraught with perils beyond imagining.
* * *
This trip, if not exactly nice, was at least short and free of mishap. They left Silent Thunder Mountain at first light, yawning and uncommunicative, and covered the distance in less than four days’ hard riding.
Dusty, travel-sore, weary, and faint with hunger, they were conducted at once to the presence of Queen Yulda. In her youth she had been known as Yulda of the Dovelike Voice, and praised in the conventional forms for her beauty; but her youth was now a remote memory. Yulda had changed. She was now a large frowning woman with hair the colour of wood ash and a jaw like a nutcracker.
Her manner suited her appearance. Without so much as a glance at her exhausted son, she speared Kedrigern with an angry question. “Who is this woman?” she demanded of him in a voice more corvine than dovelike.
Princess had concealed her wings under her cloak. Though as tired as the others, she was still spectacularly beautiful, perhaps too much so to be taken for a wizard or a wife. Her black hair gleamed; her blue eyes glowed; and at Yulda’s question, her white teeth clenched.
“This is my wife. She is a woman of royal blood and my fellow adept. We work together,” Kedrigern replied.
“I require your services only,” said the queen.
With a low bow, Kedrigern said, “We work together, Your Majesty, or we do not work at all.”
Queen Yulda glowered on them both, and cast a quick, angry scowl at her son. “You are presumptuous in your speech, wizard,” she said.
“Those are my conditions, Your Majesty.”
She pondered for a time, frowning mightily, then said, “Only five days remain before the wedding. Can you help Tarpash? Be truthful, wizard.”
“I’ll have to see His Majesty before I can answer that.”
“You’re supposed to be a great wizard – can’t you work a spell, or a counterspell, or something like that? Something quick?”
“I am a great wizard, Your Majesty. And precisely because I am, I do nothing in haste. A great wizard never disenchants or despells until he knows what kind of enchantment or spell he’s dealing with. May I see the king?” Kedrigern replied patiently.
“His Majesty is asleep, and I do not wish to have him disturbed. He played very hard today, and missed his nap,” said the queen.
“Then perhaps you will provide what information you can. I must know precisely what happened.”
Queen Yulda glanced surreptitiously around the chamber, then beckoned Kedrigern closer. Lowering her voice, she said, “We don’t know. His Majesty was fine at breakfast. By midday he had lost his wits.”
“Where did His Majesty spend the morning?” Kedrigern asked.
“The king was in the countinghouse.”
“Counting out his money?”
“Certainly not. The Treasurer’s men do that. The king goes to the countinghouse to relax.”
“Was anyone with him?”
“He never takes anyone with him. He likes his privacy. He stayed in the countinghouse for a time, then went out to sit under his favourite tree. It was a beautiful sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky.”
“I see,” Kedrigern murmured, stroking his chin in a thoughtful gesture. In truth, he saw nothing. A thick mist of fatigue lay over his mind. His stomach felt like an abyss, his bones ached, and he was ready to collapse from exhaustion; but he did his best to preserve a wizardly façade. “Where were you and the prince?” he asked.
“I was in the parlour when I received word of the tragedy. I had just finished a light repast,” said the queen.
“Bread and honey, I presume,” Kedrigern said confidently.
“Currant cake and sweet wine,” Yulda corrected him, with an expression of genteel disgust. “Bread and honey is not a suitable snack for one of royal blood. It is very common.”
Princess, who enjoyed the occasional bit of bread and honey, gave the queen a black glance, but said nothing, being too bone-weary to dispute over any matter less than life-threatening. She merely yawned.
“And where were you, Prince Middry?”
“I spent the morning with my tailors. It was such a lovely morning, too. Perfect for riding. But they insisted on a fitting,” said the prince, pouting.
“And how did you learn of . . . the incident?”
“Mother sent the messenger directly to me.”
“Yes, of course,” said the wizard, nodding. He turned to the queen. “Do you recall the messenger’s exact words?”
“No. He babbled. When I finally got him to pull himself together, he told me that the king was sitting under the oak tree near the counting-house, eating a worm. I perceived at once that something was amiss. When I arrived at the scene, Tarpash had pulled a boot over his head and was trying to put his gloves on his feet. I was greatly distressed.”
Middry, after a wide, audible yawn, said, “Mother, one must not overtax oneself. Let’s continue this in the morning.”
“I am not overtaxed. Every minute is precious.”
“But, Mother, I am overtaxed. I’ve been travelling hard for days. I’ve been in the saddle since dawn.”
“Think of the kingdom, boy! Think of the wedding. Think of your father. Pull yourself together,” said Yulda severely.
“Your Majesty, we are all overtaxed. Disenchantments always work best when one is fully rested and one’s mind is keen. Fatigue can be hazardous to the enchantee,” said Kedrigern. He emphasized his words with a yawn.
“Delay can be hazardous to the kingdom, wizard,” Queen Yulda growled.
“We still have five days, Your Majesty.”
“If you wait until morning, we will have only four days.”
“Trust me, Your Majesty,” Kedrigern said. After a great yawn, which was immediately reprised by Princess and Prince Middry, he went on, “I will confer with the Royal Physician first thing in the morning, and then examine His Majesty – if he is awake.”
Yulda glowered at all three of them in turn. At last, grudgingly, she said, “Very well. You are dismissed. I will have you roused at the first crowing of the cock, wizard – you and your fellow adept.”
Princess did not speak until they were alone in their chamber, to which she strode with lips compressed and eyes narrowed. When the door was closed, she rounded on Kedrigern, saying, “That woman deserves a curse on her own head, and I’m ready to provide it! I never met such a surly virago in my life! If she thinks I’ll lift a finger to help—”
“My dear, Yulda’s upset. We’re not seeing her best side,” Kedrigern said in his most soothing voice. He opened his arms to embrace and comfort Princess, but she would have none of it. Taking wing, she flew to the mantelpiece, where she perched with cold eye and folded arms. “Best side? Hah!” she said with a contemptuous toss of her head.
“Think of the strain she’s under. Her husband’s wits gone, her son’s happiness in jeopardy, her kingdom—”
“A lot she cares about Middry’s happiness. Did you see the way she treated him?”
“Yes, but—”
“No wonder he’s so fearful of the wedding’s being called off. He can’t wait to escape from this place and that monstrous woman!”
“I’m sure Middry really loves Belserena. He spoke glowingly of her at every opportunity.”
“Talk. Nothing but talk. He only wants to get away. It’s hard to blame him, actually,” said Princess. She flew down and stood by the open window.
“Then we must do all we can to help King Tarpash. To help him is to help Middry.”
Princess paced up and down before the window, fluttering a short distance every now and then as was her habit when deep in thought. She stopped abruptly and said, “What about the poor girl? It’s all very well to help Middry, but Belserena will wind up with that gimlet-eyed fishwife for a mother-in-law. And no great prize for a husband, either.”
“Presumably the young lady knows what she’s getting herself into, my dear. She may be in love. Perhaps she’s doing it for her kingdom. I don’t think we ought to meddle in private affairs.”
Princess was unconvinced, but she and Kedrigern were by this time too weary to dispute further. A servant brought them a tray of bread, cheese, and fruit, which they consumed with great appetite before turning in, to fall asleep at once.
A pounding at the door awoke them just as the first light appeared in the eastern sky. A cock crowed near by.
“All right, all right! We’re getting up! We’re up!” Kedrigern groaned. “Stop hammering!”
“The Royal Physician attends in his chamber,” a voice outside the door announced. “I will conduct you to him.”
Peevish and puffy-eyed, Kedrigern and Princess dressed in haste and followed the servant up several broad staircases, down three long corridors, and along a gloomy passageway until, having climbed one final narrow, winding staircase, they came to a tower room. A portly, bald man with a bushy, grizzled beard stood in the doorway, yawning.
“The wizard Kedrigern,” the servant announced.
Princess gave a flutter of her wings, hovered before the servant at eye level, and said sternly, “Announce us properly, young man. It’s the wizards Kedrigern and Princess, and don’t you forget it.”
“My lady flies!” the servant whispered, hoarse with astonishment.
“That’s not all she does,” said Princess, gliding to Kedrigern’s side. “Well, go ahead. Announce.”
“The wizards Kedrigern and Princess,” said the servant, his voice cracking slightly on her name. Dismissed, he sped off.
“Very nice. So you’re the wizards. Mind if I have a look at those wings?” said the physician.
“I am not here to be examined,” Princess said with dignity.
“Just a quick look, my lady. I want to see how they’re attached.”
“They are not attached; they are mine. It was all done by magic.”
“Look, about the king . . .,” Kedrigern said.
“Can’t help you there, I’m afraid,” said the physician, not taking his eyes off Princess. “Yours, you say? Growing right out of your back?”
“We have to learn what’s happened to King Tarpash!” Kedrigern cried in exasperation.
“Well, don’t look at me. I’m not going to make a fool out of myself.”
“How can you make a fool out of yourself by telling us what you found?”
“I didn’t find anything. It’s none of my business, anyway. You’re the wizards – you help him.”
“If you didn’t find anything, why did you tell the queen to send for a wizard?” Kedrigern demanded.
“Because it’s all magic, that’s why! It has to be! If you tell them what happened, they’ll believe you, but if I – Never mind. Just leave me out of this.”
With a little flirt of her wings that captured the physician’s attention at once, Princess said, “If the king doesn’t recover, Queen Yulda will rule. Won’t that be nice?”
The physician’s expression clouded. He licked his lips nervously, but said nothing.
“She’ll make a wonderful ruler. So strong-willed. So determined,” Princess said, smiling.
Taking a cue, Kedrigern said, “She’ll stand for no nonsense, that’s certain. She’ll make people toe the mark. Heads will roll.”
“You must promise not to tell anyone I said this,” the physician blurted.
“My dear fellow! Of course we promise,” Kedrigern warmly assured him.
Lowering his voice, looking furtively around the room, the physician said, “Lightning. The king was struck by lightning.”
“Lightning?” Princess repeated in disbelief.
“But it was a lovely day. Everyone said so!” Kedrigern objected.
“It was a gorgeous day. Best all year. I know. I sat by the window, looking out over that very oak tree, for a full two hours. I heard no thunder. I saw no lightning.”
“Yet you say His Majesty was struck by lightning.”
“Definitely. I know the signs.”
“So you suspect magic.”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“It certainly looks that way.”
“I’ve never been comfortable about lightning. It comes out of the heavens, after all. That puts it outside my line. And when it comes out of a clear blue sky . . . well, I just don’t want to get involved,” said the physician. He appeared to be uneasy even talking about the subject.
“Understandable. Can you tell us anything more?”
The physician shook his head and spread his hands in a gesture of utter helplessness. “The king was struck by lightning. Only, he couldn’t have been struck by lightning. There was no lightning. What more can I say?”
“Nothing, obviously. Thank you for your help,” said Kedrigern.
“I want to see the king recover. We all love His Majesty. But if I tried to tell them . . .” The physician shrugged. Brightening, he asked, “Now can I look at those wings?”
Lifting out of reach, Princess called down, “We’ll talk about that when the king has his wits.”
Unaccompanied, undirected, Kedrigern and Princess made their way down to the kitchen, where they beguiled the cook into preparing them a quick breakfast. Afterward they inspected the oak tree under which Tarpash had been found witless. Princess flew up into the branches and examined everything carefully while Kedrigern studied the ground and lower trunk. They found no traces of a lightning strike.
“That physician is up to something,” Kedrigern said grimly.
“He’s harmless,” Princess said, dismissing the suggestion with a smile.
“Don’t be so sure. He had alchemic equipment in his workroom. I saw a cupel and a flask and a very pretty set of balances.”
“That doesn’t make him an alchemist. Physicians use those things, too.”
“He had alchemic texts on his bookshelf,” Kedrigern said, with the air of one clinching an argument.
“So do you,” Princess pointed out.
“But I need them! I have to know what the competition is up to.”
“Maybe he does, too.”
They sat under the tree in deep and thoughtful silence for a time, and at length, Princess said, “I don’t trust Middry. What if he doesn’t really want to marry Belserena? This could be his way of getting out of it.”
“He sounded very sincere to me,” Kedrigern said.
“Men always do.”
Silence returned. After a time, Princess said glumly, “I just can’t figure out how. I wouldn’t put anything past Yulda, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Middry had some plot going, but neither one seems capable of magic.”
“They’re not. I checked them out,” Kedrigern said, holding up his medallion and displaying the Aperture of True Vision at its centre. “The physician, too. But he could still be an alchemist.”
“Alchemists can’t work magic. That’s why they’re only alchemists,” Princess reminded him.
Silence once again. Then Kedrigern snapped his fingers and gave a little laugh. He sprang to his feet and held out his hand. “Come. We’re going to ask the queen a few questions,” he said, smiling with anticipation.
Princess bounded up. “So you agree with me; that stringy-haired shrew is behind the king’s affliction!”
“I think it’s something far more subtle than that, my dear, but Yulda may be able to help us clear it up.”
The queen received them without delay, but before they could speak, she raised a peremptory hand and said, “His Majesty is playing in the royal sandbox and cannot be disturbed.”
“Is His Majesty wearing the same clothing he wore on the fateful day?” Kedrigern asked.
“Certainly not. If you must know, he is wearing a yellow sunsuit and a broad-brimmed straw hat – to keep the sun off his head.”
“Then we may not have to trouble His Majesty at all. May we see everything the king was wearing when he was found?”
The queen gave a command. Two servants hurried from the chamber. Yulda drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair, frowning impatiently.
“Had His Majesty any enemies?” Kedrigern asked.
“What a ridiculous question! Of course he had enemies. He was a king!”
“Have any of the king’s enemies been seen near the castle recently?”
“No. Things have been quiet. Very quiet.” Yulda heaved a deep, nostalgic sigh and shook her head sadly. “We’re all getting too old for feuding. We’re not enemies any more, not really. We’re all survivors now.”
“Have you been reconciled with all your old enemies?”
She nodded. “Nothing official. No pacts or treaties or anything of that nature. We’ve lost interest in the old quarrels, that’s all. Half the time we can’t remember why we quarrelled in the first place. We’re content to stay in our castles and keep warm and dry. Leave the bashing and the glory to the young, if they care for that sort of thing.” She glanced sourly at her son, who sat by the window fingering a lute. “Some do, and some don’t,” she concluded.
“Then there’s no visiting back and forth?”
“Can’t spare the time, wizard. We have our kingdoms to run. Besides, it’s too uncomfortable. But they’ve all been invited to the wedding, and they’ve all sent lovely presents. Three-quarters of them can’t attend, but they all sent presents.”
“Aren’t presents usually sent to the bride’s residence?” Princess asked.
“Not when she marries my boy,” snapped the queen.
“These presents are all in the countinghouse, I presume,” Kedrigern said.
Yulda and Princess both looked at him with sudden curiosity. Before either woman could speak, the servants returned bearing a pile of royal clothing. Under Kedrigern’s direction, they laid it out in orderly arrangement on the floor. Yulda and Middry joined the two wizards around the display.
“Is this exactly what the king was wearing when he was discovered under the oak?” Kedrigern asked.
“Yes. I remember very clearly,” said the queen, and the prince nodded in agreement.
“Nothing missing? No rings, amulets, brooch, torque, or other bit of jewellery?”
“Tarpash didn’t like such things. The only jewellery he wore was a gold ring that had been handed down in his family for generations,” said the queen.
“And his crown, mother,” Middry pointed out. “Father liked to wear a crown. He said it made him feel kingly.”
Pointing to the display, Kedrigern said, “The ring and the crown are not here.”
“The ring is on his finger. Hasn’t been off it since before we were married. The crown . . .” Yulda paused, scowling fiercely in the effort to remember.
Cautiously, Middry said, “He was wearing it at breakfast that morning. I’m sure he was.”
“Yes! Yes, he was,” said the queen. “The little openwork crown he always wore around the castle. I remember now.”
“But when you saw His Majesty, Your Majesty, he had a boot on his head. Was the crown lying nearby?”
“No. In fact . . . I don’t believe I’ve seen that crown since. I’m sure I haven’t.”
“As I suspected,” Kedrigern murmured, nodding and stroking his chin. “Your Majesty, we must visit the countinghouse.”
“You shall have free access, wizard.”
“Both of us, Your Majesty.”
Yulda’s formidable jaw set firmly. Her nostrils dilated. After a pause, she said, “Very well. Both of you.”
“All we require is access to the room where the wedding presents are kept. There is a list of items, with the names of the senders, is there not?”
“The Treasurer will provide it,” said the queen. She turned to a servant and commanded, “Summon the Lord Treasurer!”
Once they were inside the room of gifts, with torches burning brightly in all the sockets on the wall, the Lord Treasurer dismissed the servants and excused himself. Word had somehow spread that the king’s affliction was now definitely known to be the result of magic, and a degree of uneasiness was perceptible in everyone about the castle. Kedrigern and Princess were left to themselves: exactly the working conditions they preferred.
Kedrigern surveyed the jumble of ornate objects and said, “This could take some time.”
“Why don’t we just go down the list?” Princess suggested.
“No need, my dear. I know exactly what I’m looking for: a crown, coronet, or diadem, with a certain jewel set in a certain position.”
“There’s a crown! See it, right there, hanging from the trunk of the silver elephant with the emerald tusks?!” Princess cried excitedly, pointing to a figure standing on a chest before them.
Kedrigern took up the crown and examined it. He shook his head. “Wrong type. This is probably the one Tarpash was wearing when he entered. He took it off when he tried on the other.”
“What other? Why the sudden interest in crowns?” Princess asked.
“Because Tarpash wasn’t wearing one when he was found, and that’s completely out of character for him. I haven’t seen Tarpash for over thirty years, but even as a young king, he was a great believer in wearing a crown. He had summer and winter crowns, indoor and outdoor crowns, crowns for hunting, dancing, affairs of state, hawking, riding – anything and everything Tarpash did, he had a special crown to go with it. Even his nightcap was embroidered to resemble a crown.”
“Kings do have their eccentricities,” Princess said.
“Indeed they do. And his was well known. Anyone nursing an old grudge against Tarpash would know that crowns were his weakness. He couldn’t see one without wanting to try it on.“
“But wouldn’t an enemy be more likely to employ a poisoned crown?”
Kedrigern shook his head. “Too obvious. Also easily traced. There’d be war in no time. No, we’re dealing with a subtle enemy. A man might lose his wits for any number of reasons. Who would suspect a crown sent as a wedding present? And if the wedding has to be called off—”
“The present would be returned, and no one would ever know! That’s absolutely brilliant!” Princess exclaimed.
“Thank you, my dear,” Kedrigern said humbly.
“I meant the plot. But it was also a nice piece of deduction on your part.”
“I like it myself. But unless we find the crown, it’s all hot air.”
“Let’s get to work, then. I’ll take the right side of the room; you take the left,” said Princess, rolling back her sleeves.
Smiling placidly, Kedrigern reached into his tunic and drew out his medallion. “There’s a much easier way,” he said, raising it to his eye. He surveyed the chamber, moving his gaze slowly across the piles of gaudy, the heaps of ostentatious, the isolated beautiful, pausing now and then to lower the medallion and rub his eye. “A lot of interference in here,” he explained. “Some of these objects were once enchanted, spelled, or cursed, and the residual magic fogs up my reception.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Princess asked.
Kedrigern resumed his slow search, his gaze ascending a great mound of baubles in a corner of the room. “Ah,” he said softly. “Yes, my dear, you can be a great help. At the top of that heap – flung there by Tarpash in his frenzy – is a golden crown with a cloudy stone on top. Would you mind . . .?
Princess lifted off with a soft hum of wings. She hovered over the pile for a moment, searching, then snatched up the crown and flourished it overhead before returning to Kedrigern’s side.
“Is this the fiendish device?” she asked.
“It is,” he said, studying the milky stone through the Aperture of True Vision. “Subtle, indeed. Diabolically so.”
“But lovely. That’s a magnificent opal.”
“Enchanted crystal,” he corrected her.
“Oh, surely an opal,” she protested. “Look at that vague, fuzzy, clouded interior.”
“A perceptive description, my dear. You’re looking at the king’s wits.”
The process of reversal was simple, but not without an element of risk. Kedrigern pried the cloudy crystal free, turned it upside down, and reinserted it in its setting. He then recited a long and complicated spell over it. This done, he held it out to Tarpash, shaking it gently to attract the king’s attention.
The monarch, who had been roused from his nap, hurriedly dressed, and plopped down in his throne, was in a cranky state. But at the sight of the crown, his face lit up. He screamed, “I want! I want!”, and made a grab for it. With Yulda assisting, and Middry close at hand, under Kedrigern’s watchful eye – it would have been disastrous to put it on upside down – the king settled the crown on his head.
A wink of bright light flickered through the room, like lightning from nowhere. Tarpash twitched and blinked his eyes. He reached up to remove the crown, and studied the clear crystal stone at its centre. “A pretty thing, but uncomfortable,” he said. “Where is my regular Wednesday crown?” Noticing Kedrigern, he cried, “Who are you? I know you, don’t I? And who is that lovely lady with the wings? How did you get in here? Am I enchanted?”
“Not any more, Your Majesty,” Kedrigern said.
“But I have been, haven’t I? My head feels as if it’s been squeezed,” said the king, rubbing his temples.
“In a sense, that’s exactly what happened. Your Majesty’s wits were stolen and locked in that crystal on the crown,” Kedrigern explained.
“They were? For how long? What of my son’s wedding?”
Middry, beaming, said, “It’s still four days off, father. Kedrigern hurried here and removed the spell.”
“Kedrigern! Of course. I didn’t recognize you at first. It’s been a long time. And this lovely lady – a fairy princess?”
“A very human princess, Your Majesty. This is my wife and fellow wizard, Princess.”
“My thanks to you both. All our thanks. You will be generously rewarded,” said the king, signalling to the Treasurer. “But would you mind telling me what happened? I remember going to the countinghouse and looking over the wedding gifts, and then . . .” Tarpash gestured in a manner expressive of bewilderment.
“Your eye fell on that crown, a gift from Zilfric of the Long Hand,” said Kedrigern. “You liked it. You took off the crown you were wearing, hung it on the trunk of the elephant figure given by Inuri the Footloose, and put on the new crown. The crystal, an object of great potency and heavily enchanted, drew forth your wits in a single dazzling instant. In distraction, you ran from the countinghouse and collapsed under the oak tree, where you were found soon after with nothing to indicate the cause of your affliction. You had the symptoms of a man struck by lightning. In the purely magical sense, that’s what happened. But there was no lightning from the sky that day. Your condition was a profound mystery.”
Tarpash smiled benignly on Kedrigern and Princess. “But you solved it. And you will be rewarded. And Zilfric will be punished, as soon as I can think of something nasty enough.”
“If I may make a suggestion . . .” Kedrigern said.
“Please do.”
“Hoist him with his own petard.”
“We’ll hoist him any way we can,” snapped Yulda, her large jaw jutting forward.
“Tell us your recommendation, Kedrigern, and if it likes us well, we will leave the details in your hands,” said Tarpash.
“It will take no more than a day to arrange – two at the most – if I may enlist the royal goldsmith.”
“He is at your service,” said the king with a wave of his hand. “Tell us your plan.”
With a smile of anticipation, Kedrigern said, “First we will remove all traces of enchantment from the crystal and the crown.”
“The crown is enchanted, too! Oh, villainy!” cried the queen.
“This was a very thorough piece of work, Your Majesties. It is the doing of one Gargumfius, an exceptionally malicious sorcerer known to be in the employ of Zilfric. The Gargumfius touch is unmistakable.”
“Get the sorcerer, too!” said the king with a grim scowl.
“I plan to, Your Majesty. Once everything is completely disenchanted, I will have the goldsmith replace the stone in its original position. It will then be returned to Zilfric, accompanied by a letter.”
“A letter? Is that all? I thought you were going to string the blackguard up!” said Tarpash angrily.
“I will, Your Majesty, but I will do it with subtlety,” Kedrigern assured him. “Your Majesty will inform him that the entire royal family has worn the crown for lengthy periods of time, and has benefited in innumerable ways, mental and physical: deeper understanding of affairs of state, mastery of economic theories, improved memory, keener eyesight, better digestion, and greater sympathy for fellow rulers, which latter quality has moved you to return the crown, which you consider too precious to keep to yourselves. I leave it to Your Majesties to imagine the effect this communication will have on Zilfric, and his stratagems of revenge, and his dealings with Gargumfius.”
Tarpash considered the proposal for a time, then laughed aloud and clapped his hands. “Capital! Much better than a punitive expedition. Those things are always such a bother. And so expensive, too.”
“But will they suffer enough? We want them to suffer!” Yulda said fiercely. “Why don’t we just go after them and string them up?”
“Because I don’t feel like going to war. Besides, this will keep Zilfric so busy, suspecting and accusing and fighting with his sorcerer, that he won’t have time to bother us or anyone else. Get to it at once, Kedrigern. But first,” said the king, summoning the Treasurer to his side, bearing a small carven ebony casket, “your reward.”
Opening the casket, Tarpash withdrew a delicate necklace of gold-set rubies, which he placed around Princess’s neck. To Kedrigern, he gave the black casket, saying, “Since we know of your dislike for personal adornment of any kind, we will reward you simply.” The wizard smiled when he heard the clink of coins within, and felt the unmistakable weight of gold in his hands.
“And we invite you to be honoured guests at our son’s wedding,” Tarpash concluded, beaming.
“We accept with deep gratitude, Your Majesty,” said Princess before Kedrigern could come up with a reason to duck out of the invitation and hurry home to Silent Thunder Mountain.
“We are honoured indeed,” said Kedrigern, with a deep bow and a sigh of resignation.
The wedding of Belserena and Middry was a splendid spectacle. The feasting was elaborate, the tournament a great butchery, the entertainment elegant, the revelry ebullient. When the wizards set out for home after a ten days’ stay, even Princess had to admit to satiety as far as her social needs were concerned. Kedrigern was desperate for peace, quiet, and solitude; so much so that he spoke scarcely a word until they had travelled half a day. Only when they stopped by a brook for a midday rest and a light snack did he relax a bit.
“It’s wonderful to be going home at last,” he said, sprawling on the cool grass.
“The past two weeks have been quite eventful,” said Princess wistfully.
“Horribly so. All those people, and the noise . . . not a minute to ourselves . . . always something going on.” He shuddered at the memory.
“It was grand,” she sighed.
“It was a vision of Hell,” he murmured.
They reclined on the grass in silence for a time, until Kedrigern propped himself on his elbows, gazed up at the sky, and, apropos of nothing, observed, “The best part is that I solved the problem without using magic.”
In an instant, Princess, too, was sitting up. “What about the reversing spell on the crystal?”
“That was an afterthought. The important things were achieved by sheer intelligence and reasoning,” he said, tapping his forehead meaningfully.
“Isn’t magic the reason people summon a wizard? Isn’t it what they pay for?”
Irritably, Kedrigern said, “They pay me for what I know, not what I do. I’m not an entertainer; I’m a wizard.”
“And wizards do magic,” Princess said, as if that settled everything.
“When they must,” Kedrigern added.
Princess moved closer and patted him on the hand. When he remained silent, she kissed him sweetly and said, “Never mind. It was a very impressive piece of reasoning. I don’t believe there’s another wizard who could have worked it out without resorting to magic.”
Mollified, Kedrigern sought a way to respond to her gracious gesture. Taking her hand, he said, “It was truly regal of you, my dear, to treat Yulda so well. You were downright friendly. I know she’s a difficult woman, but—”
“Difficult? I’ve known trolls with better manners! And that voice of hers . . .” Princess shook her head and made a little moue of distaste.
“All the more credit to you for treating her so nicely.”
“I was thinking of Belserena. Sweet child. I didn’t want to do anything to spoil her wedding.”
“You were extremely generous to Belserena. That was a lovely pendant you gave her.”
“Well, we were honoured guests. That sort of thing is expected of us.”
“It is? I’m never sure about those things.”
“I know,” said Princess resignedly.
“It all seems so unnecessary. All this passing back and forth of gaudy baubles and trinkets. Like that necklace Tarpash gave you. It’s a beautiful thing, and exquisitely made, but when will you actually wear it?”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
He cast a dubious glance at her. “Then why don’t kings and princes and that lot just think well of each other, and stop exchanging plundered jewellery? It’s all plunder, in one way or another, you know.”
“It has its practical uses,” Princess said with a sly, knowing smile.
“Oh?”
“You don’t think I’d give that dear girl a mere trinket. Surely you know I placed a spell on it for her.”
“My dear—”
“A simple spell for tenacity in disputation.” Princess stood and made a gay and graceful pirouette on the grass, fairly glowing with the satisfaction of work well done. “Just what Belserena needs – and Yulda deserves.”