Witch Doctor - Wiz in Rhyme-3 (28 page)

"Aye. Being of the royal household, the clerk would pay no heed to the wishes of the townsfolk, or their mayor and reeve. He would be answerable only to the queen."

"Which meant, of course, to his bureau chief," I murmured, "which would have been you."

Aye," the bald man spat. "Fool that I was, I did not realize the extent of the power this would have given me."

"But the queen did. "Oh, aye! Therefore did she set out the clerks as I had suggestedbut kept their governance to herself."

"And threw you into the dungeon."

The bald man nodded, bitter as a London pint.

"The reward of the capable man," I sympathized, "but of the man who is more capable of doing the work than of currying favor. " "I was a fool," the bald man spat. "A talented fool, mayhap, but a fool nonetheless."

"Quite talented," I agreed, "though not at the sorcery you wished for. " "Aye." The bald man's eyes brightened with bitter satisfaction.

"Yet here, at the end of my course, I have discovered that I did have some modicum of a true and most singular talent-much good may it do me in this place!"

"Oh?" I asked softly. "What's that?"

"I have befriended the rats," the bald man hissed, "so well that they come when I call. Nay, I could raise up a hundred of them now and tell them to overwhelm you!"

Gilbert growled with menace, but Frisson asked, "Would they do what you bade them?"

"They would." The bald man showed his long yellow teeth.

"Aught that I told them, even to running headlong into death, so long as they could do it in a body."

"Lord of the rat pack," I mused. "Frisson, do you 'remember' that verse about cats?"

"Nay, but I will bring it to mind most quickly."

"And I know one about terriers." I gazed thoughtfully at the Rat Raiser. "A very considerable power. With them at your command, why do you languish here?"

"What should I gain by their use?" the Rat Raiser countered. "It would appear that even you, at a thought, can summon up creatures to oppose them! What, then, could my sovereign Suettay do?"

"Annihilate them," I answered, "probably by calling up a demon or two."

"And would annihilate myself with them," the Rat Raiser an swered. "Nay, I've no wish to die, or to see my pets fry. An I wished it, I could have bade them slay me long ago."

"And you've thought about it, eh?"

"Who would not?" the Rat Raiser returned. "Yet I abide. Why, I know not-but I abide."

"No doubt just waiting for us to come help you out," I said breezily, and turned to Gilbert. "How long do you think those locks can hold you?" Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Rat Raiser sit up straight-but he slumped again, glowering. Of course, I realized.

Who knows better than a bureaucrat, to distrust promises?

"I have tried them," Gilbert answered. "There is a spell to hold us here; the locks will not budge, nor the bars bend, and the wood is like armor. 'Tis you who must take us forth from here, Wizard, or we will rot with the rats and their friend! Nay, bend thy talent to its utmost and bring us forth from here quickly! For with every moment that passes, the lovely maiden comes closer to torment!" The Rat Raiser laughed, a shrill, high stuttering of breath.

"Fool!

Do you think you can prevail 'gainst the vile, twisted power of the queen?"

"It's possible," I said slowly. "I seem to be in a state of grace, at the moment." More thanks to my guardian angel than to myself, I had a notion. "Let's start by trying to get out of this cellar." Not easy, for a guy who claimed not to believe in magic-so I relayed it to one who did. "Frisson, if I sing you a couple of songs, can you craft them into a spell that will get us back to the torture chamber?"

"Why would you wish to go there?" the Rat Raiser gasped.

"Because the queen is about to visit a friend of ours with a fate worse than death-it must be worse, because she's going to bring her back to life just for the occasion. How about it, Frisson?"

"If you wish it, Master Wizard, I shall essay it," the vagabond said slowly.

Before they could talk, I recited,

"Over his parchment the musing hard, Beginning doubtfully and far away, First lets his quill wander afar, As he draws on his muse for his layThen as his point drinks up sable ink, So his heart takes fervor, feeling his theme, Rising in flashes, in darkness to sink, To make realize that are as they seem."

I shuddered to think what I'd done to Lowell's verse, then consoled myself with the thought that there was so little of it left, he'd never have noticed.

A pen, an inkwell, and a sheet of foolscap appeared, hovering in the air. I took them and handed them to Frisson. "Write it down-I taught you how! That way, I can check to make sure it'll work before it gets said aloud."

Frisson took the pen with a show of reluctance, which I didn't believe for a moment. "If you say to, Lord Wizard. Natheless, I am yet slow to form my letters."

I had to admire how well he took a cue. "Try," I urged. "Do you know an old song called 'The Castle of Dramouye'?"

"From the Isle of Doctors and Saints? Aye, I have heard it."

"You might try a variation on that, to get us into her dungeon. Then we'll need one to get us out of this castle; have you ever heard a song that goes like this?" I hummed the first eight bars of

"Greensleeves."

The poet nodded. "I have heard them. Must I hold to their limits, though?"

"Of course not! If the muse visits, wear her out! Write what comes to you; I'm just giving you a starting point-call it muse bait." But Frisson was already sitting down cross-legged, gazing off into space. After a moment, he dipped his quill and scratched a few words, gazed off into space again, then dipped his quill once more and started scribbling furiously.

Slow to form his letters. Right. Well, I had known the man was a genius-I wasn't surprised that he'd learned so quickly. The Rat Raiser was, though. He was staring, though the rest of his face was immobile. He didn't say a word, of course-too experienced a bureaucrat to give anything away-but from the way he watched, I knew he was reassessing our skill as wizards. Admittedly, Frisson was too ragged to look like much, and my clothing was too outlandish-but if the

"spells" we used were so potent that we had to write them down and check them before we read them aloud to cast them, we must be mighty indeed.

I didn't argue.

Frisson looked up and held out the page, looking very anxious.

"Will it sail, Lord Wizard?"

I took the parchment and studied it. My eyes widened. Could this really be as excellent an adaptation of a folk verse as I thought it was?

it could. After all, I had just finished reminding myself that Frisson was a genius. "This is very good, Frisson," I said slowly.

"Almost too good to be used as a spell."

Disappointment shadowed the poet's face.

I1 'Almost,' I said! if I weaken it a bit, it should work stronger magic than anything I've ever made up. Brace yourselves, men-and join hands."

Gilbert seized my right hand, and Frisson seized my left as I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and began to recite.

"Summer winds turn chill around The Royal Keep of Doom. Cries of pain and fear resound Within its torture room. There let us be transported all, Its anguish to subsume!" The cell darkened, the light went out, and the Rat Raiser cried in the darkness. A wave of nausea swept through me and was gone;then the light came back, and I saw Angelique, still stretched out on the torture bench, eyes wide and unseeing, chest still.

Beyond her, Suettay was just taking the cork out of the bottle, intoning a chant. The torturer, restored, was chuckling as he tightened the thumbscrews on the corpse.

The ghost rose from the bottle, trembling with apprehension. Then Suettay saw us, and stared at us in amazement and alarm. The assistant torturer held the corpse's leg, stroking it lasciviously, as the chief torturer paused to make a last adjustment to the iron boot. He looked up, saw the expression on his queen's face, spun about, and smashed a fist into my face.

I saw it coming just in time to roll with the punch-but I saw stars, and pain racked my head, stirring up anger. I was too slow, though-the squire beat me to it Gilbert roared and leapt forward; the torturer was just beginning to turn when the squire's fist caught him under the jaw. I heard something snap, but all I saw was the torturer sailing over the table in a perfect parabola. He crashed into the wall just above the floor, but by that time, his first assistant was in midair heading for the south wall, and Gilbert's fist was in the second apprentice's midriff. Then he picked up the man like a javelin and sent him after the first; he almost had all three in midair at the same time. I hadn't known the squire was a juggler-or such a strong one, either.

It only took him a few seconds, but that was long enough. Suettay whirled about, teeth bared in a snarl, and began to shout a verse. I rose up from the floor, trying to forget that my momma had taught me never to hit a lady, and slammed a fist into her jawbone. She slumped, out cold, and the bottle hit the floor, shattering. The ghost drifted free with a cry of relief.

Two guardsmen shook off their stupors and stepped forward. One drew a sword; the other hefted his pike, then realized it wasn't there. I leapt forward, shouting, "Go down!"

The guard looked up, startled, just long enough for Gilbert's fist to connect with his cheekbone. As he was crumpling, his mate was looking around for his pike when he tripped over its butt, fell sprawling, rolled over, and found himself staring at its blade. Gilbert spared him confusion by clouting him neatly on the crown, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Then Frisson whirled and stabbed down with the pike he'd used to trip the guard. He plunged it straight into the queen's chest. It was a good move, and one Gilbert couldn't have forced himself to do, since it was in cold blood, and therefore without honor-but Frisson wasn't a knight, or a squire. I just didn't have the heart to tell the poor vagabond it wouldn't do any good.

Gilbert whirled to Angelique's body, unscrewing the boot. "Be consoled, maiden! It shall not hurt you any longer, even if you are reincorporated! Nay, fear not-your tormentors shall harry you no more!

He wasn't even panting.

I turned to Frisson. "Thought you were a poor, law-abiding victim.

"What-this?" The poet looked at the pike as if he'd never seen it before. "Well, I have learned some knack of separating people from objects, aye."

"Valuable objects, right? And without their ever noticing it." Frisson shrugged. "The mammon of wickedness can be turned to a good purpose, Lord Wizard."

"Oh, I don't dispute your use of the techniques-just wondering how'd you'd learned them."

Then Angelique's ghost gave a cry of horror.

Gilbert was at her side in an instant. "Be assured, fair maid,

'tis only us, who are your friends."

"But who is he?" Angelique gasped.

Frisson followed her glance and said quietly, "We came accompanied, gentles."

"Aye," Angelique said. "Who is yonder old coil?"

"Old coil!" a voice behind me cried. "I'll have you know, lady, that I am scarcely into the middle of my years."

I turned slowly. "That's right. It's just that a lot of those years passed while you were in a dark dungeon. That aged you a bit." Then, to Angelique, "Milady, may I present to you a former star of Suettay's administration, fallen upon evil days-the Rat Raiser."

"A henchman of Suettay's?" she cried. "How came he to accompany you?"

"Why, by seizing hold of the wizard's hand, when he bethought him

'twas that of one of his comrades," the Rat Raiser cackled. I turned to Frisson. "I thought it was you holding my left hand."

"Nay," the vagabond said, "I did seize the squire's fist." I turned back to the Rat Raiser with a face like an iceberg. "You definitely were not invited."

The bureaucrat glared up at me with vindictive malice. "You would have gone off and left me no better than you had found me, would you not?"

I cocked my head to the side, considering. "Maybe not, if you had asked. But of course, if you were going to continue working for Suettay "Wherefore should I do that?" The Rat Raiser stared, appalled.

"To try to get back into her good graces."

"Wherefore? So that she might turn me out again? Faugh!" The Rat Raiser glared at the unconscious queen, gloating. "Let her look to her own!

"She cannot look to anything!" Frisson stared, frightened at his own accomplishment. "She is dead!"

"I fear so small a stroke as steel through the chest will not kill so puissant a witch," the Rat Raiser said bitterly. "We should have some few minutes ere she wakes-but waken she shall." Frisson backed away from Suettay, trembling.

"Would she would not," the Rat Raiser said, lips tight. "Nay, if I find any way to injure her at no risk to myself, I shall do it!"

"Even if it means repenting your sins and adhering to God?" The cell was very quiet as the two of us stared at each other across a gulf of tension.

"Aye," the Rat Raiser breathed. "Even that."

"Even if it means devoting yourself to the good of your fellow man? Becoming the servant of the poor and weak?"

The silence was even longer this time, but I saw the Rat Raiser's countenance begin to lighten, eyes widening at a new concept. "Aye, even that," he breathed. " 'Twould hurt the queen grievously, would it not? So that is the meaning of the 'coals of fire upon his head'!"

"I can think of better motives for taking up a life of goodness," I said "but I'll take what I can get. Who knows? Maybe it'll grow on you, after a while."

"You do not mean he shall accompany us!" Gilbert protested. Angelique touched his arm and said, "Aye, he must. Ask me not why, but I feel the rightness of it."

Gilbert opened his mouth to protest further, but saw her face and fell silent.

"Shall I swear?" the Rat Raiser demanded.

"What good would that do? If you're secretly holding fast to a life of evil, you'll break an oath without even thinking. No, I can feel the rightness' Angelique is speaking of. I'll take a chance on you, Rat Raiser."