Calling on Dragons (12 page)

“Yes, that might do.” Hastily, Morwen picked up the bucket, barely in time to keep Trouble from setting his paws on the rim to peer in and collapsing it. “What do you think, Telemain?”

“Between the metallic surfaces and the water, the reflective properties appear to be adequate,” Telemain said after a moment's inspection. “As long as there is no previous enchantment, it should do.”

“Does carrying it in my sleeve count?”

“Since the bucket is no longer inside the spell's sphere of influence, it should have no impact on the application of a transitory enchantment.”

“What does he mean?” Killer asked.

“It doesn't count—as long as the bucket isn't in my sleeve when he tries to enchant it,” Morwen said. “How long will the spell last, Telemain?”

“About a quarter of an hour.” Telemain set the bucket in front of him and began removing things from his pockets. “It should return to its base state by dawn tomorrow.”

Setting up the speaking spell did not take long. Morwen watched Telemain closely as he crouched over the bucket, for he still seemed unusually tired, but he had no difficulty in casting the enchantment.

“There,” he said finally, sitting back on his heels. “You can go ahead now, Cimorene. Just don't move the bucket.”

“All right, then,” Cimorene said, though she looked as if she felt a little silly.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

I would like to make a call.”

The water in the bucket turned white. “Tell it who to find,” Morwen said softly.

“I wish to speak to Mendanbar, the King of the Enchanted Forest,” Cimorene said.

With a swish and a gurgling noise, the milky color cleared. “Who's there?” snarled the wooden gargoyle. “Nobody's home and they can't be bothered, so—oh, hello, Your Majesty.”

“Hello.
Is
Mendanbar at home?” said Cimorene.

“Sure. Hey, King! There's somebody on the mirror you should talk to!” the gargoyle shouted.

“Tell him who it is,” Cimorene commanded.

“Aw, you spoil all my fun,” grumbled the gargoyle, but it yelled, “It's Queen Cimorene!”

An instant later, the picture in the water shifted rapidly, then steadied to show King Mendanbar. “Cim­orene! Is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine,” Cimorene said. “We're halfway to the Great Southern Desert—”

“About three-fifths of the way, actually,” said Telemain.

“—and we decided to stop for the night. How are things at home?”

“I caught a couple of wizards prowling around the forest right after you left,” Mendanbar said. “You can tell Telemain that his wizard-melting spell works just fine.”

“Kazul will be disappointed,” Cimorene said. “We haven't seen any traces of wizards, and I think she's been hoping for a good fight.”

“Well, tell her to be careful if you do run across them,” Mendanbar said. “One of the ones I melted was carrying dragonsbane.”

“Oh, dear. Maybe I should send Kazul home.”

“You can try.”

They both paused. In the brief silence, Morwen caught Telemain's eye and nodded toward the far side of the clearing. Telemain looked puzzled, then suddenly his expression changed and he rose hastily and joined her.

“We might as well give them a few moments' privacy,” said Morwen when they were out of earshot. “Unless you have to stay nearby to maintain the mirror spell?”

“No, the spell is self-maintaining once it's established,” Telemain said. “If someone wants to make another call, I'll have to reset everything, but she and Mendanbar can talk as long as they like without worrying about any sudden termination.”

Trouble appeared around the trunk of a pine and leaned against it, scratching his back against the bark. “Well, I hope they don't go on much longer. You wouldn't
believe
how mushy they're getting.”

“I don't want to hear about it,” Morwen said.

“What's that?” Telemain asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Only a cat's usual refusal to let morals interfere with satisfying his curiosity,” Morwen said. “Don't ask. It only encourages him.”

Fortunately, Cimorene and Mendanbar did not chat for very much longer. Later, when Cimorene reported the conversation to Kazul, the dragon refused to consider leaving.

“I want some wizards, and one way or another I am going to get them,” Kazul said. “If I don't go on to the central office of the Society of Wizards, I'll go back to the Enchanted Forest and hunt up a few of them there, dragonsbane or no dragonsbane.”

“I don't think that's necessary,” Cimorene said quickly. “Mendanbar seems to have everything under control.”

“For now,” said Scorn.

Not for the first time, Morwen was glad that Cim­orene and Telemain, at least, could not understand what her cats were saying.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, much to Morwen's relief, Telemain appeared to have recovered: Without tiring, he walked briskly to and from the stream to wash up, and his color was nearly normal. After breakfast, he arranged everyone to his satisfaction and muttered the transportation spell.

They materialized on a sunny, grass-covered hillside, and as soon as their feet were firmly planted, Telemain sat down.

“Telemain?” Morwen said with concern. The magician looked a little gray.

“I'm all right,” Telemain said. “I just need a minute to catch my breath.”

Killer's long blue ears pricked up. “How long a minute? Have I got time for a snack? Because I think I smell a patch of clover off to the left there, and I'm hungry.”

“I don't know what you're complaining about,” Kazul said. “
You
had plenty of breakfast. Four cheese sandwiches aren't much of a meal for a dragon.”

“Five,” said Trouble.

“Pine needles are not very filling,” Killer said with dignity. “Besides, I want to see what the clover is like outside the Enchanted Forest. I may not get the chance again.”

Flicking a look at Telemain, Morwen said, “Go ahead, Killer. Just don't get out of sight.”

Killer ambled off, his hooves just grazing the tips of the waving grasses. “What a good thing you got him stabilized,” Morwen said to Telemain. “Otherwise he'd be walking around Kazul's head by now.”

“It would serve him right,” Scorn said, switching her tail. “That idiot rabbit is worse than Fiddlesticks.”

“Nobody's worse than Fiddlesticks,” said Trouble.

Scorn gave him a green glare, then bounded over to Kazul. Two seconds later, both cats were perched on the dragon's back, basking in the sun. Smiling slightly, Morwen found a sun-warmed rock and sat down. Cimorene joined her at once, and though Telemain gave them both a suspicious frown, he did not comment.

“It's so nice to be able to just sit down, without worrying about what you're sitting on,” Cimorene said. “In the Enchanted Forest, you have to be careful that you don't land on someone who's been transformed into a flower or a rock.”

“Or sit on something that will transform
you
into a flower or a rock,” Telemain added. He appeared to have his breath back, but he still looked a little pale, so Morwen did not suggest that they continue.

The drowsy silence was broken by an earsplitting bray. “Eee-augh! Go away!” yelled Killer. “Morwen said I could eat this, and I'm going to. Leave me alone!”

Morwen looked up. The curve of the hill hid the donkey from sight, along with whatever he was shouting at.

“Blast that creature,” Morwen muttered, getting to her feet. “I told him to stay in sight. No, you stay here, Telemain,” she added as the magician started to follow. “There's no need to let him inconvenience both of us.”

Nodding, Telemain settled back.

He must really be tired, or he'd disagree,
Morwen thought.
Perhaps I can get Kazul or Cimorene to override his objections to staying here, or—no, it will be better if Trouble gets conveniently lost for a few hours. I'll have to speak to him as soon as I'm done with Killer.

As she came around the hill, she saw a tall, gray-haired man in baggy blue overalls with a length of rope in one hand and an empty bucket in the other. Standing at the far edge of the clover patch, he stared expressionlessly at Killer and Morwen.

“This your donkey, ma'am?” the man asked.

“Not exactly,” Morwen said. “What seems to be the problem?”

“He says I can't eat any more,” Killer complained. “And I'd only just figured out how to get at it, too.”

Morwen glanced down. Below Killer's front hooves, a double handspan of grass and clover had been trimmed several inches below the surrounding meadow. “So I see. How did you manage it?”

“Well, if I kneel down and stretch way out—”

“Excuse me, ma'am,” said the man in the overalls, setting his bucket at his feet, “but if this ain't your donkey, whose is it?”

“He doesn't belong to anyone in particular,” Morwen said. “And he's not actually a donkey. Why?”

The man in the overalls, who had begun uncoiling the length of rope, paused. “Not a donkey, eh?” He studied Killer intently for a moment. “Blue
is
kind of an unusual color for a donkey.”

“What's he getting at, Morwen?” Killer's ears waggled nervously.

“Quiet, Killer,” Morwen said.

“And I got to admit that donkeys don't normally talk much,” the man added. “So what is he? Enchanted prince? Knight? Circus sideshow performer?”

“Rabbit,” Morwen said. “Judging from his behavior, a permanently hungry rabbit.”

“Huh.” The man in the overalls eyed Killer speculatively. “A rabbit named Killer. Amazing, the things people come up with. How'd he end up a blue donkey?”

“It's a long story,” Morwen said. “Killer, why don't you go back to the others?”

“But what about the clover? I was just getting started. And it
is
different—not so crunchy, and not as sweet, and there's sort of a cinnamon undertaste that—”

“Not now, Killer. Go let the others know what's happening.”

“Oh, all right.” Muttering sullenly, Killer started back around the hill.

“What's this about others?” demanded the man in the overalls as Morwen turned back to him. “How many of you are there?”

“Seven, altogether,” Morwen said.

“There are
seven
of you trampling across my fields and ruining the harvest?” the farmer asked, plainly appalled.

“Not exactly. Killer couldn't trample anything right now if he tried, and the rest of us haven't moved around much.”

The farmer shook his head. “It was bad enough having that donkey or rabbit or whatever eating up my crops, but this! I want the lot of you out, right now.”

“Crops?” Morwen looked pointedly to the left, then to the right, then raised her chin and stared directly at the man in the overalls. “Grass and clover?”

“Hay,” the man said, unperturbed.

“Hey what?” said Cimorene's voice. “Morwen, who is this and what is going on? Killer said something about trespassers, but then he got into an argument with your cats, and it's a little hard to follow when you can't understand half of the conversation.”

“This appears to be the man who owns this hill,” Morwen said.

“Name of MacDonald, ma'am,” the man said, nodding politely. “And this is my farm, and I'd appreciate it if you'd take your friend and your donkey and your cats elsewhere.”

“I'm Cimorene, the Queen of the Enchanted Forest,” Cimorene said. “Pleased to meet you, Farmer MacDonald. And we'll be leaving just as soon as our magician recovers a bit more. I'm sorry if we've caused a problem.”

“Queen, eh?” MacDonald's eyes narrowed speculatively. “Little unusual to find a queen out adventuring. Mostly it's princes and younger sons, and once in a while a princess.”

“So I'm unusual,” Cimorene said.

“I wasn't criticizing,” MacDonald said peaceably. “I just wondered if you'd be in the market for some vegetables.”

“Vegetables? Why would I—”

“I got a full line of specialty crops,” the farmer went on. “My peas are perfectly round, and hard as rock. I sell 'em by the bag if you want to scatter them on the floor for maidens disguised as huntsmen to walk on, or you can buy one at a time for sticking under the mattress of a visiting princess.”

“I don't think I—”

“Then there's straw, first quality, for spinning into gold. I can deliver as much as you want, on a regular schedule. I grow four kinds of grain—oats, barley, millet, and wheat—on the same plants, so it's harvested premixed. I sell it by the bushel, to people who want to test someone by making them sort out the different kinds. And beans, naturally. I got the kind that jump and the kind that grow giant stalks. I've got apples, poisoned or gold, in several varieties; extra-large pumpkins for turning into coaches; and walnuts with anything you want inside, from a miniature dog to a dress as shining as the stars.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Cimorene said, “but I don't think I need any of those things.”

“You wouldn't happen to have any invisible dusk-blooming chokevines, would you?” Morwen asked.

“No, I don't grow ornamentals,” MacDonald replied. “I stick to vegetables, fruit, and nuts. Farm things. I'm hoping to branch out into livestock soon.”

Cimorene blinked. “What sort of livestock?”

“Oh, little dogs that laugh, winged horses, geese that lay golden eggs, that sort of thing. That's why I'm growing hay.” The farmer waved at the hillside. “I want to have it on hand when the horses arrive.”