PRIDE AND PUPPETRY
by Christopher Stasheff
“I thought show business was going to be fun,” Cairn muttered as he eyed the gateway to the city—the gateway, and the two huge guards who stood by its pillars, their spears glittering in the late afternoon sunlight.
“We didn’t come to enjoy ourselves,” Prince Orlin hissed. He wasn’t visible at the moment. “The business of entertainment is nonetheless business.”
That was enough to remind Cairn of his duty to his prince—and to the king who paid him to keep his son out of trouble. He sighed, hitched his large rectangular pack high on his shoulders, and stepped forward to see how far through he could get by looking innocent. One step changed the angle of sight just enough to see around the right-hand guard to the pretty girl who sat just behind the gate on a folding stool, hands in her lap. Brown hair tumbled about her shoulders, framing an oval face with eyes that were large, brown, and gentle. Her nose was small, her lips full, and her robe tan. Cairn caught his breath; suddenly, brown was his favorite color. On the surface, she was only pretty—but there was something underneath that glimmered in her eyes and transformed her into a beauty.
She gave him a reassuring smile, and he plucked from it the confidence to go ahead through the gate as though he had every right to be there.
The guards took exception. One caught his shoulder with a wide, hard hand. “Your pack has an odd shape, stranger. What’s in it?”
“My stock in trade, sir.” Cairn shrugged out of the straps, lowered the pack to the ground, unbuckled the top flap and flipped it back. The guard scowled down. “I see nothing but red wooden slats.”
“Yes, sir—it’s a puppet stage, hinged and folded for traveling. The puppets and curtains are inside the frame now, but they’ll be outside it as soon as I set it up in your marketplace.”
“Puppets, eh?” The guard’s eye glinted, and the second stepped over to peek down, too. “Make the children happy for a few minutes, huh?”
“I certainly hope so, sir.” Cairn hoped even harder that they weren’t going to make him take out the puppets—but in the few weeks he’d been performing, he had already become used to everyone and anyone taking any excuse they could find to demand a free show.
“Clever stuff. Good for the little ones,” the second guard opined.
Yes, good for the children. All the fathers and mothers brought their little darlings to see the puppet show, because it was so right for children. Of course, the grown-ups laughed as loudly as any of the “little ones,” but that was just because they were happy that their children were happy, wasn’t it?
“Well, there’s no harm in dolls,” the first guard said with a smile. “No weapons, though, of course.”
Cairn smiled and spread his hands. “I haven’t any.”
The girl leaned forward. “Even the dirk in your boot is a weapon, young sir. Pray yield it to the guard.”
Cairn stared at her, his mouth open, as the guard reached down and slid the dagger from his boot. Now, how in the name of Hermes did she know I kept a blade there? More to the point, how had she known he had a right to be called “sir”?
The guard glanced at the girl; she nodded, and he stepped aside. “The marketplace is down the avenue and south of the palace. Our city is open to you.”
The girl seemed open, too—even friendly, in fact. Cairn shouldered his pack again and stepped past the guard, dragging his steps as he came even with the young woman, searching frantically for something to say. “Your pardon, lady. I don’t really think of a carving knife as a weapon.”
“Nevertheless, it might kill a man.” The words were firm, but the eyes were mischievous.
“I am called Cairn, and I am a puppeteer, as you know. Who are you, lady, and what is your office?”
“Well, you are forthright, at least. I am called Lira.”
“The lady is a magician, fellow,” one of the guards called. “If you think to court her, think again.”
Lira flashed him a glare. “I thank you for your concern, Hugo—but I am in no danger.”
To say the least! If she could work magic . . . “Are you really a magician, lady?”
Lira heaved a sigh. “I am, goodman, though not the greatest. Those few among us who own some skill must each take this post for three hours each week, to find hidden weapons, and be here in case of need.” The way she said it made it seem as though “need” could never happen, and with two human mountains guarding the gate, Cairn was tempted to agree. Still . . .
“I have heard that some merchants have sought to bring magicians of their own into this city.”
Lira nodded. “And they are welcome, if they are well-intentioned.”
Hugo shuddered, and Cairn remembered one or two tales he’d heard about magicians who weren’t so well-intentioned, and had tried to battle it out with the city’s wizards. A few had come close to winning, but the city wizards, never vindictive, had given them quick deaths anyhow. “And is it true, lady, that magicians like you can read a man’s heart?”
“Only if he wishes it read.” Lira lowered long lashes, turning her head to watch him out of the corners of her eyes. “Yet few have heard that rumor. You seem somewhat better informed than most.”
Cairn bowed. “We who live by the public’s pleasure, lady, must always know the news to tell them.”
Lira smiled. “Is your news truth or rumor like this?”
Cairn smiled back. “I, at least, am always careful to say which is rumor and which fact.”
“Then be welcome to our bazaar.” Lira gestured toward the interior. “And remember my name, if you have need of it.”
“Lady, I shall always have need of it.” Cairn bowed and turned away, hurrying so that he wouldn’t have to look at her face again after that last comment.
“Coward,” Prince Orlin’s voice chided. “Would you flee when you have finally plucked up the bravery for a compliment?”
“I would.” Cairn swallowed thickly. “Highness, I fear I may not be well; I feel somewhat light-headed.”
“I should think you would; the lady was beautiful. Yet even I would think twice ere I put out my hand to a magician.”
“You don’t mean I have fallen in love again!”
“Again? I didn’t know you had ever fallen in love before at all!”
“Only once,” Cairn confessed. “It was much more intense than this, though.”
“That only means that you are still in the early stages. Do not let it bother you—it happens to the best of us,” Orlin assured him. “Come to think of it, it happens to the worst of us, too. In fact, I suffer an attack of romance at least once a month.”
“I defer to your greater experience. Myself, I don’t quite know what to do about it.”
“Have at her, of course! What else is the urge for?”
“I had the notion that it had something to do with living together all your lives, and a side effect involving children . . .”
“Nonsense! Such bondage is for peasants! Have at her, and let her worry about the consequences!”
“Consequences, yes.” Cairn cleared his throat, striving for tact. “Isn’t your current . . . situation . . . one such consequence, Your Highness?”
“Well, if you’re going to quibble about the fine points, there’s no use talking to you,” Orlin grumbled, and subsided into muttering under his breath. Cairn sighed, reflecting that consequences for the prince were consequences for him—His Highness might have been able to get into trouble by himself, but he wasn’t much good at getting out of it.
Cairn only had to ask directions twice before he found the marketplace—oddly, right behind the temple. The place was a regular warren, rows of stalls forming a maze. They all had a very temporary look to them, but the wooden poles were so weathered that Cairn couldn’t help thinking they’d been there longer than he’d been alive.
He followed the twists and turns of one lane until he came to a large open space in the center. Breathing a sigh of relief, he dropped his pack and began to set up his stage.
“Laboring like any slave!” Prince Orlin sniffed, still invisible. “Is this charade really necessary?”
“I’m afraid it is, Your Highness,” Cairn sighed. “After all, how are we to pose as puppeteers if we never perform?”
“Are you sure you know how to make the dolls dance?”
“Well, not dance, really, no,” Cairn demurred, “but to make them walk about and move well enough to act out their tale? Yes—I made the old puppetman train me that well, at least, before I gave him his money. You forget that we have had to perform several times in the last two weeks.”
“No, I don’t,” Orlin grumbled. “That’s why I asked.”
Cairn wisely declined comment. He finished hanging the curtains, then went inside the booth to take two exquisitely carved marionettes out of their cloth bags. “It cost us a small fortune to buy this whole show from the old fellow!”
“My father will reimburse you as soon as we see him again,” Orlin grumbled.
“When we can,” Cairn amended.
Cairn unwound the strings, hung the puppets up, and checked for tangles or breaks, but there were none—the old puppeteer had trained him well. “I’m ready, then. Are you, Your Highness?”
“As ready as may be,” the prince growled. “How demeaning! That a man of royal blood should have to stoop to entertaining in the marketplace!”
“Clean living would help,” Cairn said dryly. Before the prince could answer, he took the tambour and went outside the curtains. He began to beat a tattoo, shouting “Hola! Come one! Come all! The tragical farce of Pyramus and Thisbe is here enacted for your enjoyment! Come one! Come all! Come see!”
Strollers looked up, then strolled over, looking interested. Children turned eagerly, then set up a clamor, begging their stall-keeper parents for a penny, pestering their customer-parents for a few minutes to watch. When a dozen people had gathered, Cairn turned his tambour over and passed it around. The spectators grudgingly dropped in their coppers. “Thank you, one and all!” Cairn managed a bow without spilling the change. “Wait just a moment, and you shall see Pyramus in miniature!” He dodged around inside the booth before anyone could protest the delay, hopped up on the bridge and called, “Ready, Your Highness!” Then he pulled the cord. The curtains opened to show a garden at the height of summer. Pyramus stepped out onto the stage; the children oohed and aahed, and one mother said to another, “He moves so naturally!”
A wall stretched down the middle of the stage—a wall with a rather large (by puppet standards) hole. Pyramus went right to that chink in the wall and called, “Thisbe! Oh, Thi-i-i-i-sbe!” in a voice remarkably like Prince Orlin’s.
And there she came, fluttering out onto the stage, skirts touching the ground (for of course she had no legs), calling in a falsetto, “Oh Pyramus, my love!”
Some of the men grumbled and began to move away. “Give it a chance!” their wives hissed, and insisted on watching as the lovers set an appointment to meet at Ninus’s tomb.
For a love story, it had quite a few humorous lines in it—in fact, it was quite witty; but all the wit and amusement were lost on this particular audience. The children laughed and clapped with delight, but they would have applauded anything the marionettes did. They protested loudly when the curtains closed, but Cairn called out, “No, it’s not done! Only a moment, to change the scene!” He pulled the backdrop up and flipped it over the leaning rail, then pulled the cord again.
There it was, Ninus’s tomb—or somebody’s, under a sky painted dark blue to show that it was supposed to be night—for after all, the scene was lighted by the late afternoon sun. But there was noise outside the booth, some loud guffawing and belching, and young drunken voices sneering, “Hey, puppets!” “Come on, that’s for tads!” “No, I wanna shee!”
Just what Cairn needed—a group of drunken apprentices! But he gritted his teeth and brought Thisbe on, to proclaim her fear and worry because her Pyramus wasn’t there yet. Then the lion bounded onto the stage—nowhere nearly as well as the people walked, if the truth be told, but Cairn had only been a puppeteer for a few weeks—and pounced on Thisbe, who screamed and bolted. This was tricky—managing to drop the lion onto the trailing end of her cape before Cairn yanked her off the stage—but it worked, and the cape fell. The lion buried his nose in it while he roared and bellowed, and Pyramus came on in time to see the beast worrying the cloth. He gave a dreadful cry, and the lion bounded offstage (to hoots of drunken laughter and some angry growling in more mature voices). Pyramus rushed to catch up the fabric and weep and wail at the sight of the rips in it. He announced to the audience that Thisbe was dead, so he might as well kill himself. The young drunks agreed loudly, and the older voices snarled at them, whereupon the youngsters began to heap abuse. Pyramus turned his back on them, gave a dreadful cry, and fell with sword point sticking up between his arm and his side. Thisbe came on, gave a cry of horror, and announced that if Pyramus was dead, she had to leave this earth.
“On the mark!” a drunken apprentice laughed, and scooped her up in a hard hand. Cairn gave a shout of dismay, but had the sense to let go of the control stick, so that the thief didn’t break the strings as he turned, laughing—but sure enough, he tripped on those strings, and the older men gave a shout of anger at having their show interrupted. The younger men answered with a shout of defiance, and Cairn hung Pyramus’s control stick over the backdrop while he jumped down and dashed out of the booth to see older men squaring off against younger. So far, no fists were flying, only abuse . . .
“Peace!” a voice thundered, and a watchman appeared from nowhere, half as wide as any of the men and a head taller. “Stop this brawling!”
Actually, it hadn’t started yet, but Cairn wasn’t about to quibble. The watchman took in the stage and the stolen puppet in a glance, then glared at the thief and said, in a voice of doom, “Is that yours?”
“Wh . . . yes!” The young man—a teenager, really—straightened up, looking as truculent as he could while weaving on his feet. He blinked bleary eyes and said, “ ’Tis now!”
“And whose was it a minute ago?” The watchman looked over at Cairn.
“His, watchman!” One of the older men pointed to Cairn. “The boy yanked it right off the stage!”
The watchman didn’t say anything, just held out a hand. The boy glared at him, then slapped the puppet into the broad palm and turned away, grumbling—but the watchman stopped him with a broad hand. “I told you boys not to drink so much! Home with you, now, and don’t come back to this marketplace today!”
Looking sullen, the teenagers retreated, leaning on one another. The watchman turned to give the puppet back to Cairn. “Drunken apprentices! They’re my biggest trial. They’ll grow to be good men, though, so we must put up with their antics and not be too harsh on them.”
“Very true,” Cairn said, surprised at the man’s understanding.
The audience members were moving away, with exclamations of disappointment. “No, wait!” Cairn called. “I’ll finish . . .”
“No, you won’t.” The watchman clapped his other hand on Cairn’s shoulder. He gave the puppet back, but demanded, “Where’s your license?”
Cairn stared blankly. “License?”
“Surely, a license,” the watchman said. “None can vend their wares in this marketplace without permission from the temple, whose land this is! Go and get one straightaway, or I’ll shut you down myself!” Then he frowned. “What’s that growling?”
“Only my stomach,” Cairn said quickly. “I’ll go for that license right now, sir, and thank you!” He turned away, spinning the marionette to twist its strings, then wound them around the control stick. As he dropped it into its bag and pulled the drawstring, Orlin snapped, “Your stomach indeed! You knew I was about to give that watchman the tongue lashing he deserved!”
“Yes, and that’s why I went out of there so quickly,” Cairn told him. “Besides, he didn’t deserve it—he was just doing his job, part of which was getting my puppet back! How could we do the play with no Thisber.”
“We shouldn’t do it at all! You wooden-headed lunk! How dare you endanger my royal person!”
“I didn’t endanger you.” Cairn began to take down the curtains. “Only Thisbe.”
“But it could have been me! You’ll have to be a great deal more careful in the future, Cairn! What will you tell my father if I’ve been kidnapped?”
That you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, Cairn thought, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he packed up the stage and went to find a monk.
He found two, and they insisted on seeing his play to make sure it contained nothing immoral. Cairn went along with it philosophically—just two more people trying to sneak a free performance. The monks seemed rather disappointed to find the play so completely moral, but they made a valiant try. “Kissing, right there in front of the audience? No, doll man, that will never do!”
“Well, I suppose the play can manage without the kiss . . .”
“And the word ‘bloody’ when Pyramus picked up her cloak! In fact, the blood itself! Obscenity, Master Cairn, obscenity!”
Cairn stared. He had heard that “bloody” was an obscenity in a land far away, but certainly not here. “Without the bloo—excuse me, the mauled mantle, though, there is no reason for Pyramus to slay himself!”
“You really shouldn’t show that onstage,” the other monk sniffed.
“But without it, I’d have no show!”
“Don’t be an ass, Cairn,” Prince Orlin whispered. “Grease their palms!”
Cairn stared at the monks, shocked. Bribes for holy men?
“There is also the matter of the license fee for our holy temple,” the older monk said stiffly. “Do you truly have a single gold piece to your name?”
“No gold, but several silvers.” Cairn pulled them from his purse and counted twelve into the monk’s palm, accidentally letting two more drop in. “Twelve silvers is equal to one gold in value.”
“Very true, very true,” the monk sniffed, and the money vanished up his sleeve. “Well, if you’re careful to keep all obscenities from your little farce, Master Cairn, you may perform in our marketplace.”
The younger monk nodded, made a flourish with his pen, and handed Cairn the finished scrap of paper. “Show that to the watchman if he asks. You may have the fourth space in the second row—the carpet seller who had his stall there died last week, without an heir. You should do good business just from customers who come looking for him.”
Cairn thanked them and turned away, somewhat shaken. In fact, he was so unnerved that he didn’t even notice his surroundings until a gentle voice asked, “What troubles you, puppetman?”
“Whuh!” Cairn looked up, startled—and saw the pretty magician at his elbow. “Oh! Your pardon, lady. I had not seen you come up.”
“No, nor seen me watching that performance you gave the monks just now, either—had you?”
“I had not,” Cairn confessed. “I was too much concerned with their carping.”
“They will bend many rules for the good of their temple. Does that bother you so badly?”
“I’m afraid it does. Still, it’s not for themselves, I suppose . . .”
“For themselves, they have very little concern, which makes them all the more intent on the good of the temple.”
Cairn nodded. “Certainly they don’t look as though they’re wasting any great sum of money on themselves—even their robes are threadbare, though I have to admit they’re scrupulously clean.”
“Their robes, or themselves?” Lira asked with a smile.
“Both.” Cairn found himself returning her smile—and wishing he could stare at it all day; it was certainly the best thing that had happened to him since he had become Prince Orlin’s companion.
“But I could see, by watching your performance, that you are not very skilled,” Lira told him. “You haven’t been a puppeteer very long, have you?”
“Not at all,” Cairn admitted. Alarm coursed through him.
“In fact, you bought this show only a few weeks ago, and learned barely enough to pretend to your craft, didn’t you?”
Cairn stared, appalled.
“Come, I will not betray you,” Lira’s voice sank low. “You certainly didn’t come to this city to make money, when there are many puppeteers here, and all of them much better than yourself. Why have you come?”
Cairn gave her a long look, deep into her eyes, and felt his heart turn over. Trustworthy or not, he knew he was going to confide in her. Still, he hedged it as much as he could. “You have found me out, lady. I have come to the city to find a magician who can break a spell cast by another of his profession.”
Her face didn’t change, but somehow Cairn knew she was disappointed, massively disappointed. Amazed, he wondered why. She forced a smile, though. “Breaking another’s spell requires a rather powerful magician, puppetman. In fact, those who have gained that much knowledge and skill have usually retired from commerce, and work only by special arrangement.”
“Which means very expensively.” Cairn felt his stomach sink.
“Very,” Lira agreed. “I doubt that a simple puppeteer could afford the services of such a one.”
Despair struck. “Then what am I to do?”
“Seek out a middle-ranking magician with a very different kind of magic,” Lira counseled.
Cairn frowned. “What kind would that be? And where could I find such a one?”
“I may be able to arrange a meeting,” Lira told him. “Do you need to counter a love philtre, or an anti-love philtre?”
Cairn gazed at her for a moment, impressed by her insight but also by how far she was from the mark. “It does have to do with love,” he admitted.
“So I had thought,” Lira sighed. “Well, if you will excuse me, I must go back to the temple, for it is in their hostel for single women that I lodge.”
“Oh, of course!” Cairn said. “I’m sorry for having taken you so far out of your way.”
“I hope you are lying,” she said, with one last half-hearted attempt at a smile, then turned and was gone.
Cairn stared after her, wondering, “How did I offend?”
“By saying you needed a counterspell for love, you ass!” Prince Orlin’s voice hissed. “Can’t you see the woman’s intrigued with you?”
“Intrigued?” Cairn stared at the retreating, slender back. “A magician, a beautiful magician, intrigued with me?”
“There’s no accounting for taste,” Prince Orlin grunted. “Still, I would have said the lady was pretty, but scarcely beautiful.”
“Oh, no! A beauty, surely!”
“Perhaps to you,” the prince grumbled, “and you seem to have some magic of your own, for her to be interested in your ugly countenance. Take my advice, lad, and exploit that interest while you may. Who knows? Perhaps you can exploit it all the way into her bed before you leave this city.”
Cairn recoiled from the suggestion, and hot words sprang to his tongue—but he swallowed them, reflecting that he would surely have indigestion as a result, and ignored the prince’s cynical advice, saying only, “The sun is low. We had better seek an inn.”
“You already have an in—with her,” Orlin chuckled, “and if you aren’t a total fool . . .”
Cairn did the best he could to ignore the very detailed advice that followed.
* * *
If there was one thing to be said for Orlin’s father, it was that he had given the two young men plenty of money—and knowing them both, he had given most of it to Cairn. “Let your knight-companion be your beast of burden, boy,” he had told Orlin. “Why should you be vexed with keeping watch over your own purse?” The prince could accept that, so even though Sir Cairn now masqueraded as Cairn the Commoner, he was a very well-heeled commoner indeed.
Nonetheless, they had to keep up appearances, so Cairn set up his stage one more time that evening and beat his tambour as the sun was setting. This time he attracted a very different sort of crowd, if a dozen people can be called that—all adult, all well-dressed: merchants and master artisans, out to enjoy the evening air and buy a few trinkets if they found anything to their fancies. But when Pyramus set foot on the stage, one of the “merchants” raised a tipsy cry of delight. “Orlin! Surely that puppet is a caricature of Prince Orlin!”
The puppet froze in place.
“Oh, well done, puppetman! You have caught him perfectly—the perpetual leer, the effeminate gestures, even the mincing gait that we see as he comes into the Great Hall!”
“It is Lord Natherby,” Prince Orlin’s voice hissed.
“What is he doing here, dressed like a merchant?” Cairn hissed back.
“Slumming,” the prince grated.
Lord Natherby didn’t hear, of course—he was having much too much fun ridiculing his prince. “You have shown him for what he is—the quintessential fop! Your puppet lacks only the sneer he gives at the slightest hint of disagreement!”
The puppet turned slowly, as though searching for its tormentor beyond the stage, and the unseen nobleman gave a shout of delight. “There it is, the very sneer! Oh, bravely done, showman! But how? What magic is this, that you can make a puppet’s face change its expression?”
The other audience members began to grumble, and one said, “Ask him after the show, graybeard! We want to see how it ends!”
“For that matter, we want to see how it begins,” said another.
The aristocrat turned to face them, drawing himself up to his full height and looking down his nose at them in haughty disdain. “I am Mosaht Lord Natherby, and you will hold your tongues until my curiosity is satisfied!”
A couple of other men stepped up beside him, drawing back their cloaks to show the swords at their hips. The commoners muttered in surprise and drew away. Lord Natherby gave a bark of laughter and turned back to the stage. “Now, puppeteer! How did you bring about this change of expression?”
Cairn had hung up the control sticks and come down, leaving the puppets sitting limp and lifeless on the stage. “It is an old trick, sir.” He thanked heaven that the old puppeteer had told him about it. “One side of the face is carved into a smile.” He held up Pyramus’s head in profile. “The other side is carved into a frown. To make the puppet change expressions, you merely turn him around.” Gently, he rotated Pyramus’s head, and sure enough, the puppet was no longer smiling, but frowning.
“And when you look at him from the front, he sneers!” Lord Natherby clapped his hands like a child. “How wonderful, puppeteer! And how simple! Come now, finish your show! The audience is waiting.”
“Uh—no longer, Your Lordship.” Cairn looked up to find that the spectators, bored or frightened, had faded away.
“No matter! I wish to see it!” Natherby declared imperiously. “On with it, puppetman! Show me a show!”
What choice did Cairn have?
Natherby applauded and hooted all the way through, so loudly that Cairn was amazed the man could hear the dialogue—but when it was done, the lord’s silver in his pocket, and the man himself gone away, Cairn wasted no time in dismantling his stage. “You were the very picture of self-control, Your Highness! Not a line missed, not a word out of place!”
“The old puppeteer told us that the show must go on,” Orlin grated, “though he didn’t say why. Still, I knew I would be in danger if I gave away the whole imposture. I wonder how the puppets can stand it!”
Cairn wondered how the puppeteers did. “How did you make it through?”
“By imagining all the revenges I’ll heap on Lord Natherby when I’ve regained my rightful place in the world! Hurry, Cairn—I wish to be safe in our room at the inn, where I may swear and rage in peace!”
Peace, however, they were not about to have. As Cairn trudged back to the inn, his steps dragging with weariness and the weight of his pack, a hulking form stepped out from behind a booth to block his path. “There’s gold in your purse, puppetman,” the thug snarled. “I want it.”
Cairn looked up with a thrill of fear—but with it came the knight’s savage delight in a fight fully justified. “I have no gold.”
“Silver, then! There must be a lot of that, for we saw all those rich merchants around your stage! Give it here!”
A fighting grin tugged at Cairn’s lips. “Come and take it.”
“You heard him, boys,” the thug said, and footsteps sounded behind Cairn. Adrenaline rushed through his veins; he pivoted aside and caught up a stick of firewood lying beside a food vendor’s stall. As the first thug bore down on him, Cairn feinted at the man’s head, then shoved the club into his stomach. The man doubled over with pain, but his mate came in low and swinging hard, left-right-left. Cairn met the first two blows with his club, trying to pivot aside, cursing his heavy and cumbersome pack—and the third blow caught him square in the chest. Breathless for a moment, he swung his club high anyway—and felt hands on his back, felt the straps abruptly give way and the pack’s weight vanish. He spun about, shouting in anger—a double shout, for the unseen prince howled, too. Cairn leaped after the third thug, seeing the whetted knife, the cleanly cut straps—and a mallet seemed to hit him from behind. He clutched at the nearest stall, trying to do nothing but hold himself upright while the world swam around him. Confused shouting filtered through the pain with the sound of running feet, and another blow doubled him over with pain.
Then a fireball exploded, clearing his head amazingly. He saw the thugs fleeing and started after them, knowing he could never catch them when he was still hobbled by pain—but they suddenly stopped to swat at something unseen, howling with agony and pressing hands to their faces, their bellies, their buttocks.
“Bees!”
“Draw their stingers! Kill them!”
“I can’t see them! They’re not there!”
Invisible bees?
Never mind! Cairn sprinted, caught up with them, and wrenched the pack out of the hands of the biggest thug. The man turned to him in a rage, then arched backward with a howl of pain. “My feet! What’s wrong with my feet?” He fell, and his two comrades followed him, holding their feet and bellowing.
Cairn stared in amazement, leaning against the pack and heaving deep breaths.
“Kick them! Club them!” Prince Orlin raged. “Hurt them while you can, for what they would have done to me!”
Cairn only shook his head, still gasping.
“Can’t you protect me any better than that, idiot?” the prince raged.
“With all . . . due respect, Your Highness,” Cairn panted, “you can drop . . .”
“Now, now! Is that any way to thank me?”
Cairn turned, staring. A chubby, graying man stood at his elbow, nodding toward the thugs. “Their feet are full of the jabbing of pins and needles, puppeteer. It might be a good time for you to make your escape.”
“Good idea!” Cairn hefted the pack by the remains of its straps and hurried off into the night—or at least, hurried as much as a man can with a pack that’s both large and heavy. Cursing under his breath, he reminded himself to invest in a barrow.
When he was sure he had put enough space between himself and the thugs, he dropped the stage and leaned on it to regain his wind and tell the chubby graying man, “I can’t thank you enough. You are the one who saved us?”
“The same,” the man said, with a slight bow. “I am Yakob. My young friend Lira told me that you were in need of magical assistance.” He chuckled. “I see that she was right.”
“Yes, well, I hadn’t been thinking of those three baboons when I told her that,” Cairn said. “Thank you from the depths of my heart, Master Yakob.”
Yakob waved away the thanks. “It was nothing—or at least, very little. Lira tells me you have a far more challenging task for me, eh?”
“I do,” Cairn admitted, “if you’re willing to undertake it.”
“Ah! So I had hoped!” Yakob nodded briskly, his eyes gleaming. “Therefore I came looking for you, and seem to have found you at the right time.”
“Right time indeed,” Cairn agreed fervently, “and very grateful I am, too.” He reached for his purse. “May I show you gratitude in more tangible form, Master Yakob?”
Yakob laughed and pressed his hand away. “It is little enough, Master Cairn. I will include it in the price of whatever more exotic spell you need, for it’s sure to be far more costly—if it works. If it does not, then I will charge you for this minor bit of warding. But come, let us discuss it at my house!” He clapped Cairn on the shoulder and led him away.
His house was quite modest, but it was close to the temple and the marketplace, and radiated a feeling of warmth and security even as he closed the door behind them. He led Cairn into the big central room, then laid out bread, cheese, and wine. “Dine, young fellow! For surely, youth has keen appetites, and you have the look of one who has not fed well in some time.”
“Thank you, Master Yakob!” Cairn set down the puppet stage and fell to. Yakob sat by, sipping wine and watching him eat with a pleased smile. When Cairn sat back with a sigh, Yakob said, “Now, about this spell you are needing . . .”
“Yes, the spell.” Cairn got up, went to the pack, and opened it. “It’s a rather unusual situation, Master Yakob.” He took out the puppet Pyramus and brought him back to the table. “Your Highness, somewhere we must trust someone, and you’ll just have to take the risk of trusting Master Yakob.”
“Well, if I must, I must,” Orlin’s voice grumbled. The puppet sat up, slipped the bracelets that were attached to the strings off its ankles and wrists, and stood up, hands on hips, to face Yakob, giving him an imperious glare.
“You see, Master Yakob,” Cairn said, “we need to break a spell that shrank a tall man down to a height of a foot and a half.”
Yakob simply stared.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” the diminutive Prince Orlin commanded.
“I assure you that I never laugh at magic,” Yakob said, recovering from his surprise. “May I ask your name?”
“Master Yakob,” said Cairn, “may I present His Highness, Prince Orlin of Vagratin, Knight of the Anklet and heir to the throne.”
Yakob went back to staring. Finally, he said, “A prince under so doughty a spell! This will be a weighty business indeed!”
“He does weigh considerably more than most puppets,” Cairn admitted, “though nowhere nearly as much as a grown man, thank heaven!”
Getting down to cases seemed to revive Yakob a bit. “Are you stronger than your size would lead you to expect, Your Highness? Do you seem to have boundless energy?”
“Oh, yes!” Prince Orlin balled a diminutive fist. “And my muscles have never been so hard!”
“It is to be expected.” Yakob nodded. “When you cram all the mass of a grown man into a body the size of an infant’s, the flesh will be compacted, growing much harder. Even then most of it will evaporate, though, and take the form of energy. I take it there was pain?”
“Pain! It was sheer agony!” The prince shuddered at the memory.
Yakob nodded. “He may weigh only a fifth as much as he used to, Master Cairn, but I dare say he could carry his own weight, and the whole stage, too!”
“Sir Cairn,” Prince Orlin corrected, just to be difficult.
“Sir?” Master Yakob looked up at Cairn. “Well, well! A prince and a knight both! I am honored!”
“We will be more honored,” Cairn told him, “if you can break the spell that binds His Highness.”
“Well. As to that, I must know more about it.” Suddenly Yakob became all business again. “You must tell me how you came to this predicament, Your Highness, for I cannot treat you if I do not know all I can about the spell, and the conditions under which it was cast.”
“Must I really?” Orlin demanded pettishly. He looked up at Cairn. “It’s bad enough having you know about it, but a stranger?”
“I don’t see how he can possibly help if he doesn’t know the whole story,” Cairn sighed. “We had better tell him, Your Highness.”
“Well, if I must, I must.” Prince Orlin turned back to the magician. “You see, I made overtures to Lord Thraik’s daughter—”
“Lord Thraik!” Yakob’s eyebrows tried to climb into his vanished hairline. “The most powerful magician in the kingdom? He whose power is so great that he defended the realm from an attacking navy all by himself? He who was born the son of a knight but ennobled because of his services to the Crown? He who has become the most powerful lord in the land, whom none dare defy?”
“Yes, that Lord Thraik,” Prince Orlin admitted. He actually had the grace to look embarrassed.
“You’re very right,” Cairn told him. “None dare defy him.”
“So I see! And what form did this defiance take? Surely not mere overtures!”
“I’m afraid my prince went well beyond the overture,” Cairn said. “He was past the intermission and almost to the finale when Lord Thraik walked in.”
Prince Orlin grumbled. “I should have expected a wizard to put some sort of watchdog spell on his daughter! I’ll wager that when I touched her knee, it started alarms clanging inside Lord Thraik’s head. He came on the run and waved his hand, changing me to the size of a doll just as I was about to make a woman of her!”
“To break her heart, you mean!” Cairn couldn’t keep his tongue still any longer. “Just as you were about to finalize your seduction of her, you told her that this would be all there would be to your romance!”
Yakob stared, aghast. “Why?”
Prince Orlin shrugged impatiently. “It is the final sauce to the banquet of seduction.”
“A sauce of great cruelty! Can you have pleasure only by another’s pain?”
“Pain? What mattered her pain? She was being honored by a prince!”
Yakob’s face settled into stern, forbidding lines. “I doubt that she thought of it as an honor.”
“The maiden burst into tears,” Cairn said grimly.
Yakob nodded. “Tears which were the alarm that brought her father, I doubt not.” He looked up at Cairn. “How do you know such details?’
Prince Orlin grumbled, “I was rattled enough right after the event to tell it all, and Cairn was the one to talk to, since he is a knight by rank, and paid to be my drinking companion besides.”
Yakob nodded, eyes still on Carin’s. “If I were you, I would consider a change of occupation.”
“So I shall, when this is ended—but I cannot leave my charge in such a predicament.”
“Even if it is the consequence of his own crimes?”
“It was not I who did it, but Lord Thraik!” Prince Orlin shouted.
Yakob fixed him with a penetrating stare. “I know Lord Thraik by reputation, at least. The man is said to be hard, but fair. Has he set no term to your punishment?
“Well—yes,” the prince admitted. “I am to stay this size until I marry one of the women I have seduced—and I would rather die than wed!”
“But not stay small?” Yakob asked.
“Well—no,” Prince Orlin admitted. “Marriage can’t be worse than this!”
Yakob looked up at Cairn. “Is there no alternative?”
“Oh, yes,” Cairn said. “He can stay a mannikin until he has learned enough of the pain of the weak and lowly so that Thraik can be sure he won’t commit so calloused a crime again!”
“From which pain you seek to shield him,” Yakob pointed out.
“Well . . . yes. But I don’t succeed completely.”
Yakob gave him a bleak smile, then transferred his gaze to the puppet prince again. “I’m surprised that your father the king has not commanded Lord Thraik to undo the spell.”
“Well—he hasn’t,” Orlin grumbled. Yakob raised a questioning glance to Cairn, who admitted, “His Majesty hasn’t been told; my prince feared that his father too would insist his son marry.”
“Yes, I had thought the king was just,” Yakob said, with a grim nod. “So that is why you have no bodyguards, no other royal train, and are going about in disguise?”
“Yes,” Cairn confirmed. “It was a stroke of great good fortune to find an old puppeteer who was seeking to sell his show—it’s the ideal hiding place for a man of Prince Orlin’s new size, especially since his flesh has become as hard as wood. Can you help us, Master Yakob? Or must my prince suffer humiliation and poverty to earn his proper size again?”
“I should say that he must,” Yakob growled, “for I am most inclined to agree with Lord Thraik. But I told Lira that I would help if I could, so I will try—though why she would wish to aid such a reprobate as this is more than I can understand!”
Cairn’s pulse quickened as he remembered that it was he whom the lady had wished to help, not the prince of whom she knew nothing—but under the circumstances, he didn’t think it politic to mention it.
Yakob stood up and beckoned, leading the way into a back room—but what a room! It was easily as large as the rest of the ground floor put together, and the walls were filled with shelves crowded with jars and bottles of liquids and powders in all manners of colors and textures. A long workbench stood at one side of the room, filled with bowls of metal and stone, mortars and pestles, and other items of metal and glass of which Cairn couldn’t possibly have guessed the purposes. The floor, surprisingly, was sand, except for a narrow wooden walkway around the edges.
Yakob took a staff and began to pace around the large open area in the middle, jabbing the foot of the pole into the sand. “If my magic were based on inborn gifts alone, Your Highness, a very ordinary, middling magus like me would never be able to dream of breaking a spell cast by a master like Lord Thraik.”
“But your magic is of another kind?” Cairn remembered what Lira had told him.
“A very different kind,” Yakob confirmed. “A little bit of talent, but a great deal of knowledge—yes, I have studied all my life—knowledge of numbers and figures, geometrical figures, of the harmony underlying all of creation and the ways of expressing that harmony in sums and differences . . . well, there is a chance. If your diminutive size is out of harmony with the rest of the universe, Your Highness, then perhaps I can restore you to your true size. If not, well . . .”
“You mean if my present size is my proper size?” Prince Orlin cried, outraged.
“I did not say that,” Yakob hedged, “and certainly the size of a person’s body very rarely has anything to do with the size of his soul. Still, there is a chance, however slight—but mind you, it is only slight in any case, for Lord Thraik is a magician of formidable power.” He strode out into the center of the floor and inscribed a circle with the foot of his staff. “Now! Stand there, Your Highness, while I light the brazier.”
“What for?’ the prince asked, taking his place with trepidation.
“To establish the proper mood, the ambiance that will render the fluidity of the dynamics of the universe more apparent, more open to adjustment . . . You said there was pain when you shrank to your present size, Your Highness?”
“Pain? Agony! Agony unbearable! I would have gone mad from it, if it had endured much longer!”
Yakob nodded, seeming satisfied somehow. “Then be prepared for such pain again, for as you shrank, so must you grow . . . Now!”
Flame sprang up from the brazier with a whoosh, and the room seemed to darken. Yakob held up his hands, the staff level between them, and began to recite an incantation, one that went on and on in a language that seemed to be spoken straight from his throat, filled with l’s and gutturals. The room continued to darken, and Cairn held tight to the nearest bookshelf. Surely it was only his imagination that a feeling of tension was building in the room, building and growing; surely it was his imagination that Yakob seemed to be having greater and greater difficulty holding that staff above his head, as though it were growing heavier and heavier . . .
Sparks jumped from the sand all about the room and met above the prince’s head in a soundless explosion—but Cairn felt the impact of their meeting even though he didn’t hear it: a crack like the breaking of a staff, but Yakob’s pole remained intact. He staggered under the sudden release of weight, though, as light returned to the room and the flames in the brazier died.
The magician leaned on his staff, panting and trembling. Cairn rushed to his side, but Yakob waved him away. “Not me—him! Be sure the prince is well!”
Cairn whirled and rushed out into the sand. Prince Orlin still stood, but was shaking so hard that Cairn thought he might come apart. The knight dropped to his knees. “Highness! Are you well?”
Orlin moved trembling lips, but no sound came out. Cairn felt panic surge, but Yakob’s weary voice stilled it. “He is badly shaken, but nothing more—as any of us would be, with an implosion like that right over our heads.”
Cairn turned slowly. “The universe likes him this size?”
“No,” Yakob sighed. “A larger prince would be more harmonious, though I can’t think why. It is simply that Lord Thraik’s spell is too strong. Even approaching it from the different orientation of my numerology, I have succeeded only in disrupting the fringe of the spell—for which, praise heaven! If that was the power unleashed by the edge, spare me from thinking what the center would be!”
“It is hopeless, then?” Oddly, Cairn felt a sense of relief—a relief that died as the magician said, “No. It is only that my magic is not strong enough. There is one magician who might help us, however—a senior cleric in the temple, who has been studying magic for a lifetime. I will take you there—but I promise nothing. The cleric may not choose to help you—or may not be able to. Lord Thraik is, after all, a most powerful adversary indeed!”
“Nonetheless, we are grateful,” Cairn assured him. “Especially after you have worn yourself out for us already! However can I thank you, Master Yakob?”
“You cannot.” The magician mustered hidden reserves and straightened, pointing at the miniature prince. “He can!”
The trembling lips moved; a sort of cawing came out, that modulated into words. “I . . . I thank . . . you, Master . . . Yakob.”
The magician nodded slowly, a gleam of approval in his eye. “And you are welcome, Your Highness. However, the senior cleric will choose thanks that must be expressed in deeds, not words alone. Come, to the temple!”
* * *
Yakob led them to the temple, the prince in a large pouch that Cairn slung over his shoulder; Orlin complained about the bumping, but it was certainly a load off Cairn’s back. They joined the line of worshippers who were filing in for evening prayers—but once inside, Yakob split off from the stream and moved toward a small stairway that led downward. A bald-headed guard who wore a breastplate over his monk’s robe came alert and raised his spear, frowning, but Yakob only smiled and waved at the man, and he lowered his weapon, though he still looked unsure as Cairn went past him.
“You’re known here,” the knight commented.
Yakob nodded. “As I say, my magic is different from that which the clerics know, and I come to discuss metaphysics with them from time to time.”
He led his charges though an inconspicuous passageway to a chamber whose door stood ajar. Nonetheless, Yakob knocked, and a female voice called, “Who is it?”
“Yakob, lady,” the magician answered, but Cairn’s blood was already thrilling at the sound of her voice. “Enter,” she called, and Yakob pushed the door open, leading him into a small room lighted by several tiny windows and lined with books. Under a lamp sat Lira, with a volume in front of her. Cairn’s heart leaped, but he managed to keep his smile from growing too broad and said only, “I thank you, lady, for sending your friend to my aid.”
“Cairn! How delightful to see you again!” Lira laid down her book and rose, almost seeming to float as she went to meet him, hand outstretched. He caught it; he couldn’t help himself, he had to kiss it, and the skin was marvelously soft. So was her laughter. “You are quite the courtier, sir!”
Cairn released her hand and couldn’t keep the grin from growing. “I think you know more about me than I would like, lady.”
“Do I indeed! And what would you want me not to know?”
Prince Orlin saved Cairn from answering by clearing his throat loudly. Lira frowned. “Your pouch seems to have a touch of catarrh, Sir Cairn.”
How had she known he was a knight? “I fear it holds a burden of impatience, lady.”
“Burden of impatience indeed!” Orlin snapped. “Will you cease your blithering and let me out of this lightless hole?”
“Yes, do release him, whatever he is.” Lira was frowning as she resumed her seat. “What have you brought me, puppetman?”
“I would not thrust my burdens upon you, lady,” Cairn began, but she cut him off with a gesture. “Would or not, you have. Let him out.” Cairn sighed, set his pouch on the desktop, and opened the flap.
Prince Orlin leaped out and stood glowering at Lira, hands on his hips, nodding at her start of surprise. “Aye, Prince Orlin himself, the victim of a villainous spell! Be so good as to summon your master, girl, for I have important matters to discuss with him.”
Anger flashed in Lira’s eyes, but only for an instant before she became all puzzled innocence. “My master? But why would a prince want to speak to the Chief Priest? Are you thinking of making a huge donation? If you aren’t, surely he would be as likely to auction you off as a curiosity, as to talk with you!”
“Girl, you speak to the Prince of Vagratin!” Orlin thundered.
“Of Vagratin, perhaps,” Lira responded coolly, “but not of myself, or of my city.”
Orlin began to swell with rage, but Yakob interrupted quickly. “The Lady Lira is herself one of the senior clerics, Your Highness.”
“A senior cleric?” Orlin stared. “This slip of a girl?”
Lira smiled at his discomfiture. “This ‘slip of a girl,’ Prince, could turn you to a toad in an instant—aye, and conjure up a snake to eat you, too.”
Prince Orlin paled. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Again, Yakob interrupted smoothly. “Lady Lira was raised in the temple precincts, due to her piety—and her dying father’s huge donation. She began serious study of magic before she was twelve. Accordingly, she has been learning for fifteen years, and has gained so much knowledge, and controls so much power, that the senior clerics were forced to count her among their number.”
Cairn suspected that lira had also inherited her father’s wealth when she turned twenty-one—but surely that could have had no bearing on the clerics’ decision!
Prince Orlin stared, quite taken aback and, for a wonder, silenced—but Lira demanded, “Why have you come to me, Prince?” Cairn started to explain, but she silenced him with a raised hand. “No. He must tell me himself, or I’ll not aid him in any way.”
Anger brought Orlin out of his trance, but he needed Lira’s help, so he throttled the emotion and began to explain. She held his gaze with her own, and as the tale progressed, Cairn could see that the prince began to try to glance away, but somehow couldn’t—he had to look straight into the lady’s eyes even as he told her what he had done to Lord Thraik’s daughter. Then, somehow, he was telling her what he had done to other women before the lord’s daughter, and others, and others, until his tale began to take on much more the tone of a shamed confession than a history. Lira only listened, asking a question from time to time—but at the end of it all, demanding, “And are these deeds to boast of, Prince?”
Orlin admitted, “No. I see now that in every case, I preyed upon one far weaker than myself, who was really within my power, and could scarcely say ‘nay’ even if she wanted to.”
Lira nodded slowly. “Is this the way a monarch protects his people?”
“No.” Finally, Prince Orlin hung his head. “I see that now—that these were not conquests, but exploitations. There is nothing to be proud of in this.” His mouth twisted, and Cairn realized with a shock that the prince was filled with self-contempt. The lady really did have powerful magic!
“You should indeed be ashamed,” Lira agreed, “and Lord Thraik’s punishment is just. Why should I help you escape it?”
“Because I am a prince?” But it was a very half-hearted attempt at an excuse.
“Because you shall someday inherit the crown of Vagratin? But your conduct thus far makes me doubt that your people will be well governed by so selfish a prince. Still, I shall try to help you for Cairn’s sake, and Yakob’s.”
“Will you truly?” The prince looked up, amazed, then glanced at Cairn and Yakob as though wondering what magic they possessed.
“As to Lord Thraik’s daughter,” Lira went on, “and the other women you have debauched, I suspect they are probably better off free of you. They may know anguish for a few months, but if you wed any one of them, I am sure you would give her far more grief in the rest of her life than pleasure or even relief now.”
Prince Orlin winced.
“Yes, I will try to break Lord Thraik’s spell after all,” Lira sighed, “but there is grave risk in it. Even if I succeed, you will feel great pain—and if I fail, the magic may kill you. Do you still want me to try?”
Orlin’s face showed inner turmoil as he debated the matter briefly within himself. Finally, he said slowly, “All I have ever wanted from life is pleasure, and there is a great deal of that even for one who is only eighteen inches high.”
“There is some truth in that,” Lira said, her voice colorless. “A prince does, after all, have many privileges.”
“But pleasured or not, I would always be at other men’s mercy,” the prince went on. “My words, my commands, would never be taken seriously even if I did inherit the throne. My courtiers would fight for possession of me, then terrorize me into ruling as they wished . . .” He shuddered. “Death is surely better than being a slave king!”
“And?” Lira said inexorably.
“And . . .” Orlin continued reluctantly, “. . . besides . . . I now begin to feel that there might be something more to life than mere pleasure—or, rather, pleasures other than those of the flesh.”
“Such as the satisfaction of a wise decision, or of governing well?” Lira nodded, satisfied. “Yes, I will try to break Lord Thraik’s spell. Come, I shall lead you to the inner sanctum.”
She rose—and above them, they heard a sudden, tremendous groaning. In the distance, voices shouted in alarm and terror; huge piles of masonry crashed. Prince Orlin screamed as his puppet costume ripped asunder, torn by ballooning muscles as he swelled, growing fantastically right before their eyes. He howled, he bellowed, “Make it stop! Please make it stop!”
Yakob and Lira were both sawing the air with their hands, shouting incantations, but Cairn couldn’t hear them over the prince’s wailing. “My finest spell for easing pain!” Yakob shouted. “It doesn’t work!”
“Nor mine!” Lira cried. “The magic has gone away! I feel it! There is no longer any power for me to draw on! Quick, massage him! Lessen his pain! I must go to see what I can do to help protect the temple!”
She ran from the room; Yakob and Cairn set themselves to massaging. “You are whole; you are not injured!” Yakob cried. “The pain is only the soreness of muscles suddenly grown!” He kept exhorting and reassuring as he kneaded limbs shuddering with spasms, and the prince’s screams began to lessen, finally ceasing, and he was able to tell them to stop. “You can do no more! Your pummeling hurts now!” They stopped, and the prince lay inert, groaning.
Yakob rose and went to a little worktable at the side of Lira’s chamber, where he gathered up herbs and mixed them with water. He brought it back to the moaning prince. “Drink!”
“What good will it do?” Orlin groaned. “There’s no more magic to ease my pain!”
“This doesn’t require magic!” Yakob snapped. “Only knowledge of herbs! Drink!”
Any chance was worth taking. Orlin drank, and began to relax as the potion soaked into him. He was almost able to sit up when Lira finally came back, disheveled and exhausted—but she held out her hands, making passes over the prince’s inert body and muttering a brief incantation before she collapsed into her chair.
“What good can your spell do,” Cairn asked, “if magic no longer works?”
“We don’t know why it stopped—so it might come back at any moment,” Lira told him. She raised her head at the distant clash of arms. “Robbers seek to loot the temple, but the guards are stopping them. Let us hope the magic comes back before the robbers triumph!”
“I don’t,” Prince Orlin groaned.
“Oh, don’t worry, Your Highness,” Lira said, with a flash of anger. “Even if the magic comes back, the spell I cast should hold you in your present form.”
“Should?” Orlin asked in a hollow tone.
“Should,” Lira repeated firmly. “There is no certainty—but when the magic went away, it broke Lord Thraik’s spell, and he will probably have to recast it—if he deems you worth the trouble.”
Prince Orlin looked up indignantly, but just then, the clash of arms stopped, and even more distant shouts and cries began. Lira stiffened, staring, then ran from the room without a word.
“What’s the matter with her?” Prince Orlin groaned.
“I think the magic has come back,” Cairn answered.
The prince stiffened, braced against pain, then stared in amazement. “It’s true, even as she said! The spell’s broken!”
“Let’s hope Lord Thraik doesn’t remember you,” Cairn said.
Lira came back, her smile radiant through her exhaustion. “The magic has begun again! There has been much damage and many lives lost, but the city will return to its normal self!”
“I hope that’s good,” Orlin said with apprehension.
“If it weren’t, your father would have no power; his rank depends on the strength of the city.” Lira looked him over as though just noticing him, and the prince, unclothed, blushed and turned away. “My spell is holding,” Lira said, “which means that the purpose of Lord Thraik’s spell is fulfilled. Yakob, will you assist the prince out to find some sort of clothing? I must have a few words with his companion.”
Against all logic, Cairn’s heartbeat increased. He knew she only wished to discuss the prince, but a man could hope . . .
Lira saw the prince go out the door and nodded with satisfaction, then turned to Cairn. “Do you think he has learned anything?”
“Something,” Cairn said slowly—more slowly still, due to disappointment, “but respect for the poor, or for women? No, lady, I cannot be sure of that.”
“He has gained a little,” she told him, “by feeling the pain he used to cause others, and by experiencing their humiliation. He has gained that much at least, or Lord Thraik’s spell would have returned.”
She spoke with the authority of one who knows magic, but Cairn knew his prince. “I hope you are right,” he said slowly, “but I doubt Orlin can ever be anything but self-centered, even with the example of your compassion and selflessness before him.”
Her smile was radiant, but she assured him, “I want things for myself, too, Sir Cairn.” Her eyelids drooped, and the way her gaze seemed to pierce through to his core made Cairn’s pulse quicken with hope again. “Then you are human after all, lady—but surely a mere knight should not aspire to the hand of a lady who is so powerful that she could obliterate him with a word and a gesture.”
“Very true,” Lira said, her voice low and husky, “but a knight who has kept a prince safe through such misadventures as Orlin has had, and even found a way to save him from the revenge of Lord Thraik, must surely be raised to the nobility. Come back to me when you have been given your nobleman’s coronet, Sir Cairn.”
Cairn felt her gaze almost physically; suddenly her presence overwhelmed his senses, and he knew she was doing it by magic. His mind whirled, his brain was in turmoil, but he dared to reach out toward her hand . . .
And was saved by Prince Orlin’s limping appearance, cloaked in the rough robe of a novice and attended by Yakob.
“Have you recovered, Prince?” Lira’s voice was suddenly severe again.
“I will live, at least,” Orlin groaned, “which may be painful, but is very satisfying.” Then, with massive reluctance, “I thank you, lady.”
“Well. That is quite pleasant,” Lira said with a curt nod. “But the thanks I wish, Prince, is for you to treat every woman you meet with respect, from this day forth—every woman, no matter how high or low her station.”
The prince stared at her for a long minute, then said, “Well, I can do that much.”
“Can you indeed,” she said, with icy sarcasm.
“Oh, yes.” Prince Orlin grinned wickedly. “After all, I still have the great satisfaction of knowing that I have thwarted Lord Thraik’s plans for me.”
“Really?” Lira said, with a smile of amusement. “I thought they had succeeded remarkably well.”