The Monsters of Stephen Enchanter (34 page)

He would not be able to remove this enchantment, would not have been able to remove it even with his powers at full and his protective magic in place; it was stronger than the wards on Robin’s Haven and upon Robin’s shed; it was the strongest magic he had felt anywhere, except in the presence of the Fairy Queen.

Inside each cage crouched a single small animal.  There were field mice and swallows and squirrels and a beetle or two.  When they saw Stephen watching them, they leapt to their feet and pressed their paws or claws or feelers against the bars of their cages, and chirped or squawked or chattered at him, in wordless but definite warning: Beware the Blue Lady!

On a side table of stone stood three empty cages, waiting for three new occupants.

“Enchanter?” Youngster asked tremulously, “if the Blue Lady were to die, what would happen to the spells she’s performed?”

“It depends on what kind of magic they are.  Some permanent magic will last decades after its creator’s death—like my enchantments on Dog, or those enhancing your weapons.  Temporary enchantments will fail soon after, and channeled magic will fail immediately.  Why?”

“I just had a thought,” said Youngster.  “I thought that if the Blue Lady’s specialty is transmogrification, then she probably wasn’t the one to enchant these cages to be indestructible.”

“A fair supposition.  These enchantments are permanent, and would almost certainly have been performed by a human enchanter—not a fairy creature.  But I don’t—oh, yes, I do see.  That would be very . . . messy.”

“If I had enough time,” said Youngster, “I could pick the locks on those cages.  But I couldn’t do it now, not with Letitia watching.”

“What are you talking about?” the witch demanded, turning to glare at them.  “Stop muttering over there.  If you want to say something, say it loudly so we can all hear.”

“We were just insulting you,” Stephen told her.  “Nothing to worry about.”

The witch snorted and returned to her cauldron.

“Manacles,” said Craggy.

“Yes—excellent!” Stephen exclaimed, fishing them out of this pockets and handing them to Youngster.  “Snap these on the Blue Lady’s wrists, and they’ll delay her, maybe long enough for you to open the cages.  It’s iffy—iron is inimical to all fairy creatures, and might burn through her wrists before you can finish—but it might work.”

Youngster took the manacles and thoughtfully tucked them in a pocket.

Abruptly, the noise stopped.  All the animals that had been clawing and head butting their cages to alert their visitors to danger hushed and fell back, huddling and quivering and terrified.

Stephen shoved his torch into a wide crack in the wall and gripped his shovel in both hands.  Craggy retrieved his broadsword and Youngster his short swords.  They stood back against the door, following the gazes of the terrified animals, to the deep drop in the far corner of the room, and waited.

The water bubbled.

“‘Oh no, no,’ said the Fly, ‘kind sir, that cannot be;

I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!’”

—Mary Howitt

The Blue Lady rose from the water, arms outstretched, claws upturned.  Stephen’s grip on his shovel tightened until his fingers tingled, and he consciously had to force himself to relax.

The Blue Lady lowered her arms and stood upon the surface of the water, her jellyfish umbrella skirt pulsing gently against the surface tension, aiding her balance.  She looked at them, one after the other: Craggy, Youngster, Stephen.  Her gazed halted on Stephen and she cocked her head cheerfully, mockingly.  “What dire enchantments have you created for me, Enchanter?”

“I’ve made many enchantments,” said Stephen, “and a few of them are dire.  Do you want me to list them?  I’m not sure I can remember them all.”

Youngster shot him an incredulous look.

The Blue Lady laughed.  “I mean, what dire enchantments have you created with the sole and unshared dual purposes of ensnaring and defeating me?  I have never killed an enchanter before.  I have killed enchantresses and sorcerers and sorceresses and witches and dozens of wizards, but never an enchanter—or at least not more than one or two.  It seems like all magic-users try the same thing: they pull out a magic sword or magical potion or magical pendant and believe the magical element alone will protect them.  Do you believe that your magic will protect you?”

“It never has before,” said Stephen.  “Why should I expect it to begin now?  Usually, it’s what I’ve done with the magic that protects me; I rely on my own immense and indubitable brilliance rather than the efficacy of so fluid and ineffable a substance as magic.  On the few times my unbelievably brilliant brilliance fails me, I hide behind people with big swords, which seems to work almost as well.”

Behind him, Youngster stifled a half-laugh, half-sob. 
Must be stress
, Stephen thought. 
I’m funny, but not that funny
.

“In keeping with this,” Stephen went on, “I have considered a few enchantments that might have positive efficacy upon your fishy self.  I’ve considered enchanting your living flesh to burn and crumple; I’ve considered raising the water against you, or evaporating it from around you; I’ve considered forcing your cages to explode so that their inhabitants might spring forth and attack you with tooth and claw; I’ve considered lighting your pretty dress on fire; I’ve even considered levitating you to the ceiling and seeing how long you can survive without water, and whether you flop and gasp for air like a fish.”

“Silly boy,” said the Blue Lady.  “I have both lungs and gills; you cannot suffocate me.”

“You would say that.”

The Blue Lady had no eyelids, yet Stephen got the distinct feeling that she was narrowing her eyes at him.  “I grow weary of this conversation,” she announced.  “I have decided that, far from a welcome change, enchanters are in fact the least interesting of all magic folk.”

The Blue Lady lunged forward without further warning, but Stephen was ready for her.  He ducked away, leaping over her tendrils, swinging the shovel.  His blow was glancing at best, but where the iron blade touched the Blue Lady’s scales, they sizzled and burned.  The Blue Lady hissed and flinched away, claws outstretched.  Craggy was waiting for that: he snatched the red-hot iron poker from the fire and thrust it into the delicate material of her jellyfish skirt.  The Blue Lady shrieked and swiped her clawed hand at Craggy’s face.  It caught the scarring and ripped his cheek away.

Craggy didn’t make a sound, but his eyes filled with tears as he thrust again with the poker, parrying her next swipe and swinging his sword at her with his other hand.  It connecting, scraping against her scales, raising sparks, and bounced away, chipped.

“Aim for the skirt!” Stephen yelled.  “Or the gills!”  He didn’t think Craggy heard him, however, for halfway through his shout the clamor of animals began again, louder than before, excited and dreadful—for regardless of which side won, their deaths were imminent.  

Stephen swung his shovel again, missed, and had to jump to avoid the creeping tendrils of the Blue Lady’s skirt.  He plunged the blade of the shovel down upon the tendrils, and severed several—but then they caught on, and were swifter than he, darting at him and withdrawing, recoiling and striking and recoiling before he could again harm them.  Stephen backed up further, nearer to the fire, and bumped into the witch.  She lifted her gaze from her cauldron long enough to glare at him, but didn’t say anything and didn’t stop stirring.

It must be volatile, Stephen thought, dazed.  She can’t leave it or lose concentration.

Youngster snatched the torch from its gap in the wall and swung it at the Blue Lady, but her hand caught it and threw it, sizzling, into the water, nearly taking Youngster’s hand with it.  The house dimmed slightly, now that the only source of light originated from the fire, but Youngster didn’t hesitate: he drew his swords and struck and parried.  But the Blue Lady’s reach was longer, and she had an armor of scales, and Youngster lost ground with every step.  The Blue Lady was pushing him to the deep pool—where he’d be helpless!

Stephen ran forward, meaning to distract her, but the tendrils weren’t done with him, and he had to leap onto the table to escape.

Then Craggy was there, sword in one hand, poker in the other.  He slashed the sword and opened a long gap in her skirt and, in the same moment, struck at her gills with the poker—but the Blue Lady ducked under his guard and clawed him, pressing him back, back toward the fire, against the wall.  Craggy jumped and ducked and struck at her, but he was off balance and his blows went wide.

In that moment, the witch moved.  She ladled her spoon full and flung its foul potion at Craggy’s face.

Craggy fell back, knocking his head against the wall, roaring in pain.  He dropped his sword in his rush to scrape the potion off his face, and only barely managed to keep a hold of his poker.  Where the potion hit unbroken flesh, it hardened harmlessly; but where it hit the cheek that the Blue Lady had torn away, it sizzled and smoked and stank.

The Blue Lady screeched her victory, surging forward to finish him off—but Youngster was there, swords flashing with enormous speed, driving her away from Craggy—and toward Stephen.  Stephen sung his shovel at the Blue Lady, then ducked past her—only to find himself next to the witch.  She sneered at him and plunged her spoon back into the potion to retrieve more of it—no!

On instinct, Stephen swung the shovel.  The blade cracked against her skull, knocking her forward into the fire.  She slumped limp into her boiling potion and collapsed, taking the cauldron with her, so that it tipped over her head and flowed over her and into the water around her.

The scent of burning human flesh rushed into the air.

The Blue Lady noticed Stephen’s momentary distraction and sent her tendrils at him, but he was already moving, sprinting at her and swinging his shovel.  He caught her side, and the iron of the blade burned her scales, but did not pierce them.

Stephen’s momentum carried him on past the Blue Lady and Youngster, to the far end of the room—and into the pool!  Before he knew it, water was covering his head and sucking at his heavy robes.  He thrashed, kicking the water, seeking air.  His shovel fell from his grip, and Stephen let it go.  It was his only iron and his best weapon against the Blue Lady, but it wouldn’t do him any good if he drowned.

Stephen broke air.  “Manacles!” he gasped, but Youngster didn’t hear him.  The Blue Lady had Youngster against a wall, next to Craggy—but Craggy was hardly moving; he was on his knees, one hand to his face, the other feebly twitching on the poker.

Stephen hauled himself, choking and spitting water, over the edge of the pool and onto the floor.  He knelt there a moment, gasping.  The Blue Lady didn’t look in his direction, but Youngster spotted him over her shoulder and redoubled his defense.

My knife
, Stephen thought. 
I’ve enchanted it to cut through anything
.  He staggered to his feet and tried not to look at the cages around him. 
I’m sorry
, Stephen thought to the creatures, knowing they couldn’t hear him. 
I had hoped to save you
.  He drew his knife and leapt forward.

Finally, the Blue Lady heard him, and began to turn—too late!  The enchanted knife was in her neck, slashing through her gills, slicing through her trachea.  The Blue Lady twitched and grasped at him, but he kept cutting, kept cutting until he had separated the vertebrae and the Blue Lady’s head splashed gently into the water.

In the moment of the Blue Lady’s death, all her enchantments ended.  Hundreds of tiny animals, locked in their unbreakable cages, abruptly recalled their true forms: human, fairy, and things stranger still.  All of them, however, significantly larger than their prisons.

The room exploded into billows of blood and brain and slices of unidentified organs.  A bone fragment sliced Stephen’s arm and another cut his cheek.  He dropped to the floor, protecting his face and neck, but it was already over; nothing more flew at him.

The human and fairy remains coated the floor eight inches thick.  Around the deep pool, chunks gently slid in and sank down.  Eventually, the entire floor would be cleared in this manner—but it would take a long, long time for this room to be clean again.

“Enchanter!” Youngster called, and Stephen realized Youngster had been saying it for some time.  He shook his head, and managed to stagger to his feet.

“Yes?”  He was swaying gently, he was sure of it—either that, or the house was swaying.  Did houses sway?

“We have to get out of here; the house is collapsing!  Help me with Craggy.”

Stephen blinked a few times and nodded.  He waded over to Youngster and grabbed one of Craggy’s arms.  The arm was slick and the man was heavy, but together Stephen and Youngster managed to drag him out of the house to the edge of the water.

The house creaked behind them, and fell down into a heap of old waterlogged timber, no longer supported by magic.

Youngster was crouched over Craggy.  “What’s happening to him?  Is it that potion?  Did Letitia do this?”

Craggy was turning a gentle shade of blue and gasping, fishlike, for air.

“No,” said Stephen.  “Look!”  He pointed at Craggy’s ankles, where bare skin showed through his torn trousers.  There was something sticky and bluish clinging to his skin.  “Don’t touch it!” Stephen shouted, when Youngster reached forward.  “That’s from the Blue Lady’s tendrils.  It’s poisonous.”

They waited by Craggy’s side until he breathed his last.  Then they both jumped into the perfect, unsullied water of the cavern and swam to shore, ignoring the ferry.  The shore wasn’t far, and both felt a pressing need to wash away the proof of their victory.  They left a trail of blood in the serene waters of the cavern, but emerged at the far end clean and cold.

The sun had reached its zenith when Stephen and Youngster saw it once more.  It burned against their eyes, vivid and terrible and wonderful after the gentle, faint glow of the cavern.  They lifted their faces to it, basking in its light, letting it warm their skin and dry their clothing.

A low, chittering noise startled them from their reverie and, together, they looked out.

Encircling the cave entrance were thousands of spit-mud creatures.