Calling on Dragons (20 page)

“We'll need you when we test our work,” Morwen said to Brandel, “but that won't be until we're finished. You'll have plenty of time for your calls; this will take at least half an hour, possibly more.”

Brandel nodded and left. Morwen turned back to Telemain. “I don't see the point of adding interrupt vectors. All we really need is a temporary change in the definition section so that it includes fire-witches.”

Telemain's face went blank for a moment as he considered the idea. Then his nose wrinkled and his mouth twisted as if he had bitten into something very sour. “Temporary changes. How inelegant.”

“As long as it's effective, who cares? Think of it as a trial run. You can study the ways all the various pieces interact, and do a permanent redesign later.”

“True.” The magician began to look more cheerful. “In that case, where do
you
suggest we start?”

Changing the transportation spell was simple, compared to keeping Telemain from putting in various extra things he wanted to test. Morwen insisted on doing the last few checks, since she was still a little worried about Telemain's condition. When they were sure everything worked properly, they called Cimorene, who had vanished down the stairwell while they were working.

“Coming.” A moment later, Cimorene appeared at the head of the stairs, carrying her pack over her left shoulder and a long-handled straw broom in her right hand. “Morwen, have you got any of that flying ointment left? Because if you do, I think you should use it on this. We'll get to Vamist's house a lot faster if we don't have to slog through all that mud.”

“I am
not
riding on that thing,” Telemain said. “Mud or no mud.”

“He wouldn't say that if
he'd
spent most of yesterday wading through the stuff,” Scorn observed.

“You should talk,” said Trouble. “Between riding on Morwen's shoulder and riding on Kazul's back, you never even got your paws dirty.”

“I was going to suggest that you and Brandel ride in the laundry basket anyway,” Cimorene said to Telemain. “There isn't room for all of us on the broomstick.”

“There's a flying mortar and pestle in the basement,” Brandel offered. “It's too heavy to use every day, and it's a little small, but if you'll help me haul it upstairs you can use it.”

“It sounds nearly as uncomfortable as a broomstick,” Telemain said. “No, thank you. I'll take the laundry basket.”

“What about
us?
” Trouble demanded.

“You will come on the broomstick, where I can keep an eye on you,” Morwen told him as she fished in her sleeve for the jar of flying ointment. “Scorn and Horatio should probably go in the laundry basket, or possibly on Killer's back. We don't want to overload anything.”

“I don't know,” Killer said, ruffling his wings nervously. “I still don't like cats. And they've got
claws.
”

“You bet we do.” Trouble held up a paw and flexed it, displaying five wickedly curved and sharply pointed claws.

Killer shuddered. “Couldn't I go by myself?”

“No,” Cimorene said firmly. “We all have to do what we can, and what you can do is carry the cats.”

“Well, I'm not doing any more flying,” Killer said, planting his feet for emphasis. “It's too hard, and it scares me.”

“I bet he gets airsick, too,” said Scorn. “Rabbits!”

While Morwen enchanted the broomstick, Brandel picked up the laundry basket and shoved it through the open window. Cimorene set it hovering and helped steady it as the two men climbed in. Then she sent Killer and the two cats out after the basket and turned to Morwen and Trouble.

“All done,” Morwen said. “I hope the laundry basket holds together, because that was the last of the flying ointment.”

“Then let's go. We don't want Telemain and Brandel to get too far ahead of us.”

“Not to mention that rabbit,” Trouble said.

They climbed onto the broomstick and took off. Cim­orene had to duck as they went through the window.

“Excuse me, Cimorene,” Morwen said as they swooped out and down. “I forgot how tall you are.”

“Better watch for low branches,” Trouble said.

“There aren't any low branches,” Morwen told him, setting the broomstick to fly about ten feet off the ground.

A moment later, they caught up with Killer and the laundry basket, and the whole group continued on together. Their speed was limited to Killer's trotting pace, but with all the trees to dodge they could not have traveled much faster, even without him. Following Brandel's directions, they reached the edge of the swamp in fifteen minutes.

“It's straightforward from here,” Brandel said. “Head west, toward those hills. At this rate, we should be there within half an hour.”

“Half an hour!” Killer shook his mane, drawing yowls of protest from Scorn and Horatio. “You want me to keep running like this for another half an
hour?
I can't do it. And don't ask me to fly. That's even more work.”

“Maybe if you didn't eat so much you'd be in better shape,” Scorn said.

“Hrmrrrr,” agreed Horatio.

“I do not!” said Killer. “It's all very well for the rest of you.
You
all get to ride. I want a rest and a drink and a snack to keep my strength up.”

Morwen landed the broomstick. “That sounds reasonable enough, if you don't take too long. Five minutes now, and we'll stop again halfway there.” She looked at Cimorene, who was frowning impatiently.

“I suppose we don't have much choice,” Cimorene said. “And it really isn't fair to make Killer work so hard when it's so easy for the rest of us. But I do wish there were some way to—to speed things up. I'm worried about what those wizards might be doing at home.”

“I'll think about it,” Morwen said. “Now, as long as we're stopping for a few minutes . . . Killer, are there any invisible dusk-blooming chokevines around?”

“I can see two of them right over there.” Killer pointed with his right ear. “Are you going to let me eat one?”

“No, I'm going to collect them for my garden,” Morwen said. “Goodness knows when I'll get another chance.” She began rummaging in her sleeves for a trowel and some specimen bags.

“Is this an appropriate time to be gathering plants?” Telemain said.

“We've promised Killer a five-minute rest. I may as well use the time constructively. You're going to analyze Brandel's magic again, aren't you?”

Telemain glanced at Brandel and shifted uncomfortably. “Given the necessity of a transportation spell and the possibility of unpredictable interactions between it and fire-witch magic, it seems wise to repeat—”

“Then don't fuss about my plants.” Morwen turned to Killer. “Show me exactly where the vines are, and I'll give you the last bottle of cider. Don't get too close; they're dangerous, remember.”

“How are you going to collect them, then?” Killer asked.

“Watch.”

Puzzled but willing, Killer described the exact positions of the two chokevines. Cautiously, Morwen edged closer, until Killer said she was just within three feet of the plants. Then she stopped and took a spray bottle and a paper packet of powdered slowstone from her right sleeve.

“What's that?” Cimorene asked, interested in spite of herself.

“The bottle is plain water.” Morwen pumped the top to get the spray working, then aimed it at the tree in front of her and covered as much as she could reach with a fine mist. Shining drops of water collected in midair, outlining invisible leaves and stems that shifted restlessly as if trying to reach Morwen and her friends.

“That's pretty,” said Killer.

“That's wet,” growled Trouble, shaking his fur as if he were the one who had been sprayed.

Morwen slipped the spray bottle back into her sleeve, then carefully opened one corner of the packet. Checking the direction of the wind, she shifted position until the slight breeze came from behind her, blowing toward the invisible dusk-blooming chokevines. “Everyone else, stay back,” she said, and sprinkled the slowstone over the vines.

The gray powder settled over the dampened leaves, outlining them even more clearly than before. Slowly, the restless movement of the plants died down, until it was only a sluggish tremor. Morwen smiled in satisfaction. She hadn't been altogether certain that slowstone would work the same way on plants as it did on animals and people.

“What was that?” Telemain asked, breaking off his conversation with Brandel in midsentence.

“Powdered slowstone,” Morwen said.

“It smells good,” Killer said. “Like fresh dandelion greens with cinnamon bark.”

“You wasted powdered slowstone on a couple of
plants?
” Telemain sounded completely outraged.

“I had to do something to calm them down,” Morwen said. “This should keep them quiet for a day or two—long enough to transplant them in my garden, at any rate.”

“Does that mean they're safe now?” Killer asked.

“Temporarily,” Morwen replied, reaching for her trowel. “That is, they won't bother you if you get close, but I wouldn't eat them if I were you.”

“Oh.” Killer's ears drooped. “Why not? They smell awfully good, especially with that powdered stuff all over them.”

“Weren't you listening at all?” Scorn said with a superior sniff. “‘That powdered stuff' is slowstone. It's magical, and it does just what it sounds like it ought to do. We'd be lucky to get to Vamist's house by tomorrow night if you ate any of it.”

Killer looked at Morwen. “You mean it would slow me down? I thought you said it made those plants safe!”

“Safe to walk near, not safe to eat.” Morwen knelt next to the chokevines and began to dig. “And I don't know whether you'd slow down or not. So far, you haven't reacted with any particular consistency to any of the things you've eaten.”

“It's possible that the slowstone would inhibit the onset of any alteration resulting from the consumption of invisible dusk-blooming chokevines,” Telemain said. “There is precedent for such an eventuality in Killer's response to the growth-enhancing qualities of MacDonald's fertilizer, although the parallel is not perfect.”

“What did he say?” Killer asked anxiously.

“That the slowstone might slow down your reaction to the invisible dusk-blooming chokevines, instead of slowing
you
down.” Having dug all the way around the roots of both plants, Morwen slid her trowel under the clump of dirt and carefully lifted the first paralyzed chokevine into a sample bag. “Unfortunately, the only way to tell for certain would be to try it and see what happens.”

“You mean the vines might do something to me, too, if I ate them? Why didn't you warn me?”

“I did.”

“You told me they were dangerous! You didn't say they were magical.”

Trouble gave Killer a look of deep disgust. “You think normal plants get named
invisible
dusk-blooming chokevines?”

“But they aren't invisible!” Killer protested. “Not to me.”

“Then maybe nothing would happen to you if you ate one,” Cimorene said. “You can experiment later. Morwen, are you finished? We've been longer than five minutes, and I'd like to get going again.”

“I'm done.” Climbing to her feet, Morwen tucked the sample bags and trowel into her sleeve and smiled. “And I believe I've thought of a way to speed up the rest of the trip. Have you got any rope in your pack?”

C
IMORENE LOOKED AT MORWEN
, frowning. “Rope? I think so. Why?”

“So we can tow Killer,” Morwen said. “Between the laundry basket and the broomstick, we should have plenty of power, and we'll be able to go a lot faster, now that we're out of the trees.”

“Good idea,” Brandel said. “It's a pity you didn't think of it sooner. I've got plenty of rope back at the tower.”

“I don't know about this,” Killer said. “It doesn't sound very comfortable.”

“Do you want to run all the way to Vamist's house?” Morwen said. “That's your other choice. Take it or leave it.”

Killer took it, but not without grumbling the whole time they spent rigging a harness for him and tying it to the laundry basket and broomstick.

“This is undignified,” he complained as they prepared to start off once more.

“What's so dignified about a six-foot floating blue donkey with oversized wings?” said Scorn.

“I'm very . . . very . . . Eee-augh! Help! Slow down! Oh, I knew this was a bad idea. Rabbits weren't meant to go this fast.”

Morwen glanced back and almost laughed. Killer hung at the end of the tow ropes, all four feet braced against the air (which did him no good whatsoever). His wings and ears streamed behind him in the wind. On his back, barely visible between the blue ears and feathers, Scorn and Horatio lay flat with their front claws dug into the rope harness.

Smiling, Morwen turned back to concentrate on flying the broomstick. Despite Killer's loud complaints, by her standards they were not traveling particularly fast. Between the extra weight on both broom and basket and the energy it took to pull Killer, Morwen estimated their speed at about a third of her usual rate. Still, it was much faster than walking, especially over the open meadows that stretched ahead of them.

They had gone several miles and Killer's objections had degenerated into occasional terrified brays when Brandel slowed the laundry basket. Morwen matched his reduction in speed, and a moment later they landed in a small stand of trees near the top of a hill.

“That's enough of that!” Killer said. “I don't care if you want to get there quickly, I don't care if I have to run, I don't care if those wizards turn me into a pancake and eat me for breakfast. I'm
not
doing that again.”