A Quest-Lover's Treasury of the Fantastic Page 12

  Her fingers were warm even through the cloth, and for a moment her smile drove the thought of unimportant bodily functions, like breathing, right out of Ciro's mind. He'd felt safer while she'd been threatening him. “I, uh, stole your mirror,” he said. It seemed important that she remember that.

  Magdelene waved off the reminder. “Now you're helping me find it.”

  “I broke into your home.”

  “I should've locked the door.”

  Wondering if he might not be better off finding a member of the city guard and turning himself in, Ciro escorted the wizard out into the Hub and around the civic fountain. “We're here.”

  “This is the government building.”

  “That's right.”

  “The mirror's in there?”

  “I can't tell you that.”

  “I guess it is, then.”

  The government had outgrown its building a number of times, adding larger and equally unattractive structures as needed. The result looked pretty much exactly like what it was, architecture by committee—or, more precisely, a series of committees.

  Shaking her head, Magdelene released Ciro's arm. “This is the ugliest pile of rock I've ever seen,” she told him, walking toward it. “And I saw Yamdazador before the desert sands engulfed it.”

  Around the Great Lake, time had downgraded that ancient city's sudden and inexplicable disappearance from legend to parental warning: “I swear by all the gods, if you don't stop stuffing beans up your brother's nose, I'm sending you to Yamdazador.”

  Running to catch up, Ciro gasped, “You were at Yamdazador?”

  “I don't care what you heard, it wasn't my fault.”

  After a moment, he decided he didn't really want to know.

  “So, now you're here, what's your plan?” he asked as they reached the stairs.

  “My plan?” Pausing by the entrance a more practical administration had cut into the huge, brass double doors, Magdelene turned to face the thief. “I plan on getting my mirror back before H'sak is either purposefully or inadvertently released, and then I plan on making your client very, very sorry he ever hired you.”

  Ciro winced. “Good plan.”

  “I thought so. Let's get going.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, he actually felt the blood drain from his face. It was an unpleasant feeling. “You want me to go with you.”

  “I might need your help.”

  “But I already told you, I won't be able to get near the mirror; it'll be too well guarded.”

  “You can't get near it on your own, but you don't know what you're capable of when you're with me.” She winked and led the way inside.

  While his mind was still busy trying to plan an escape route, his body happily followed. Oh, sure, he told it, as they crossed the atrium. One lousy double entendre and you're willing to walk into the lion's den. “Magdelene, this is a big place and I can't lead you any closer. If you can't scan for it, you'll never find the mirror.”

  “Of course I will. This is a government building, isn't it?” Slipping deftly between the constant stream of robed officials crossing and recrossing the atrium, Magdelene made her way to the desk at the center of all the activity. “Excuse me, could you please tell me if any of the senior officials has recently put him or herself incommunicado? Still in the building but not to be disturbed under any circumstances?”

  The clerk glanced up from the continual flow of parchment, papyrus, and wax tablets crossing his desk, pale features twisted into an impatient scowl. “Who are you?”

  “If you must know, I'm the most powerful wizard in the world.”

  He leaned far enough out to get a good look at her. “I find that highly unlikely,” he sniffed.

  “Why would he just give you that information?” Ciro demanded as they hurried through the halls.

  “Successful government employees survive by recognizing power and responding to it.”

  “You mean kissing up to it.”

  “If you like.”

  According to the clerk, Governor Andropof had spent the day conducting research in the old library and was so insistent on not being disturbed that he'd put guards on all the entrances. “He was in there this morning when I got to work, and he hasn't been out since. Please stop melting my wax. His assistant took him lunch, cold fish cakes and steamed dulce, but I don't know if he ate it.”

  Which was a little more information than Magdelene had required but, happily, it had segued into directions. “Go through that door, second right, past roads and public works, up the stairs, go right again, it's at the end of the long hall, and I'd be very grateful, Lady Wizard, if you could return my export documents to a recognizable language.“

  “Wait a minute! You can't go in there!”

  About to follow Ciro into one of the older parts of the building, Magdelene turned to see a clerk, identical but for gender to the clerk in the atrium, hurrying toward them.

  “Tourists,” she forced the word through stiff lips, “are only permitted in the designated areas.”

  “I'm on my way to see the governor.”

  “Have you got an appointment?”

  “Have you got a desire to have a demon eat your liver?” Her tone made it clear that this was not a rhetorical question.

  “Another successful government employee?” Ciro asked as they trotted up the forbidden flight of stairs.

  Magdelene nodded. “I'm quite impressed by the state of your civil service, no wonder Talzabad-har runs so smoothly. I am a little disappointed in the governor, though.”

  “You're disappointed in the governor? Why?”

  “Why? He hired a thief, and he's planning to use a demon for political gain.”

  Ciro turned to stare at her in amazement, tripped over the top step, and would've fallen had she not caught him. “Magdelene, he's a politician!”

  “And?”

  “You don't get out much, do you? This is normal behavior for a politician. In fact,” he added as she set him back on his feet, “by Five Cities standards, he's a bit of an underachiever.”

  “I've never understood this obsessive power-seeking thing,” Magdelene mused as they turned the last corner and started down a long, narrow hall, barely lit by tiny windows up under the ceiling.

  “That's because you've got as much of it as you could ever want.” Ciro waved toward the pair of city guards standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a square, iron bound door. “This looks like the place. What are we going to do about them?”

  “Not a problem.”

  “I was hoping you'd say that.” Thankful that the light was so bad, the thief kept his head down as they approached. The last thing he needed was some bright boy in the guards remembering his face. He needn't have worried, they were both watching Magdelene.

  “Hi. Is this where the governor is?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” said the taller of the two.

  “But we can't let you go in,” added his companion.

  She smiled sympathetically up at them. “It sure must be boring guarding this old door. You look like you could use a nap.”

  There's just something about men in uniform. Attempting to put her finger on just what that something was, she watched the two topple over in a tangle of tanned, muscular legs and short uniform kilts. Oh, yeah, now I remember….

  The door wasn't warded, but it was locked. Blowing it off its hinges in a blast of eldritch fire, announcing her presence, as it were, with authority, had its merits, but she didn't want to startle the governor into doing something he'd regret. He'd only regret it for about fifteen or twenty seconds depending on which end H'sak started with, but since she'd then be the one who had to deal with the demon there'd probably be less trauma all around if she merely …

  “Magdelene?” Ciro straightened, slipped his lock pick back into the seam of his trousers, and pulled the door open a finger's width. “We can go in now.”

  The door opened onto a second floor balcony about eight fe
et long by six feet wide in one end of a large rectangular room. To both the left and the right, curved stairs led down to the floor. The library shelves had been emptied of books, and any lingering odors of paper and dust had surrendered to the swirling clouds of smoke that rose from a dozen incense burners. Motioning for Ciro to be quiet, Magdelene crept forward, peered over the balcony railing, and stiffened.

  In the center of the floor was a multicolored pentagram. In the center of the pentagram, suspended horizontally some four feet above ground was an unconscious, seven-foot-tall, green-scaled demon. Standing beside the demon was a short, slight, balding man wearing what were traditionally thought of as wizard's robes.

  As Magdelene's jaw dropped, he raised his arms into the air with a flourish worthy of a stage magician. In his right hand he held a dagger and in his left, an ebony bowl. Something green and moist coated the edge of the dagger blade.

  “Oh, shit!”

  Governor Andropof's head jerked up and around toward the balcony. “Whoever you are, you're too late!” Laughing maniacally, he bent to hold the bowl under the demon's throat, then vanished.

  The chime of the dagger hitting the floor hadn't quite faded when Magdelene reached the edge of the pentagram, Ciro, fighting every instinct, close behind her.

  “Where's the governor?” he panted.

  “The middle of the Great Lake.”

  “What's he doing there?”

  “Probably treading water.” Circling the pentagram, Magdelene frowned down at the design.

  “Why would he send himself …?”

  “He didn't. I did. In another minute he'd have completed the sacrifice, and we don't want that.”

  “We don't?”

  “Trust me.” Inspecting the last of the five points, she nodded in satisfaction and stepped over to H'sak's side.

  Magdelene!” Ciro spun around searching, unsuccessfully, for something to hide behind.

  “Relax. This is an exact copy of one of the great pentagrams from The Booke of Demonkind.” She had to admit that the governor had done impressive research for, as far as Magdelene knew, there were only two copies of that book still in existence, and she had one of them—it had been rather drastically overdue when the library'd burned down, so she'd kept it. “Unfortunately, the author had a tendency to choose art over craft, and all of her illustrations are completely inaccurate—but then what else can you expect from someone who spells book with an ‘e’?”

  “Well if the pentagram isn't holding the demon, what is?” He couldn't prevent his voice from rising rather dramatically on the last word although, when he noticed he was doing it, he did manage to stop wringing his hands.

  “This.”

  This, was a glowing length of delicate silver chain.

  “That's the Blazing Chain of Halla Hunta,” the wizard explained as Ciro cautiously approached, drawn by the glint of a precious metal.

  “Halla who?”

  “Ancient warrior; nice buns, no manners. He had the chain forged, link by link, in volcanic fire, specifically to hold demons. It's why I didn't realize H'sak was out of the mirror; the chain's working the same way.”

  “Is it holding him up as well?” Ciro wondered, leaning closer.

  “No. There's a Lombardi Floating Disk under his head and another under his feet, and I'd love to know how Governor Andropof got a pair away from Vince. You didn't …?”

  “No.”

  “Then it looks like you weren't the only thief he employed.” Her eyes narrowed as she bent and scooped the dagger off the floor. “This is the Fell Dagger of Connackron, also called Demonsbane. And this …” With her free hand, she removed a cross section of bone from a hollow between the short horns extending out of the demon's forehead. “… is a piece of the thighbone of Mighty Manderkew. You haven't seen the sacrificial bowl from the destroyed Temple of the Darkest Night, have you?”

  “It's under …” Ciro waved a hand more or less up and down the length of H'sak's body. “… him.”

  “Could you get it?”

  Common sense suggested he point-blank refuse to crawl under an unconscious demon confined by no more than two ounces of silver chain and held off the floor in the center of an inoperative pentagram by artifacts he couldn't see. Unfortunately, common sense got overruled by a desire not to look like a wuss in front of an attractive woman. It didn't help that green slime had dripped all over the floor from a wound in the demon's throat.

  When he emerged, bowl clasped between sweaty hands, Magdelene took a quick look inside it, sighed with relief, and shook her head. “I don't know whether to be impressed or appalled. Governor Andropof must've been gathering this crap for years.”

  “Not quite.” Recognition steadying his nerves, Ciro managed a matter-of-fact tone. “I stole this last summer from an inn in the Fourth City. They were using it as a serving bowl.”

  “They have much business?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Can't say as I'm surprised.”

  “Was the governor a wizard then?”

  “No. Just a cheap opportunist. The power's intrinsic to the artifacts. Demon blood shed with this knife into that bowl will open the way for one of the Demon Princes to leave the Netherhells. Once he gets here, the piece of thighbone's a promissory note.”

  Mouth suddenly dry, Ciro stared into the bowl.

  “Relax, I stopped him in time and H'sak's almost healed.” Magdelene rapped the demon almost fondly on the chest with the knuckles of the hand holding the bone. “Of course, after the note's redeemed, there'd be a Demon Prince loose in the world.”

  “He wouldn't just go home?”

  “Not likely; demons gain rank through slaughter.”

  “I didn't know that,” he said, wishing he'd never had the opportunity to find out. “Now what?”

  “Now, I think you'd better hold these for me.” She held out the dagger and the bone. “H'sak seems to be waking up.”

  “I thought the chain was holding him?”

  “It is. But he was unconscious because he'd had his throat slit.” A waggle of the dagger she was still holding out toward him, directed Ciro's attention to the demon blood staining the blade. “It takes a lot to kill the demonkind and unsuccessful attempts make them cranky. Now, if you don't mind, I may need both hands free.”

  On cue, H'sak's lips drew back off his teeth. A shudder ran the length of his body like a small wave.

  “Both hands free,” Ciro repeated. “Good idea.” Sacrificial bowl from the destroyed Temple of the Darkest Night in his left hand, the Fell Dagger of Connackron and the thighbone of Mighty Manderkew in his right, he backed out of the pentagram and continued moving back until his shoulder blades hit the wall.

  Magdelene glanced up at the impact. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

  “I'm a thief,” Ciro reminded her. “I'm not good at confrontation.”

  “Whatever. Just hang onto that stuff until I get time to destroy it.”

  “Couldn't you just, you know, poof? Like the governor?”

  “The governor wasn't a magical artifact. Wizardry doesn't affect them, it's why I had to come after the mirror myself.”

  “Then how?”

  “I was thinking of using a hammer. Now, if you don't mind …” She turned her attention back to the demon.

  Ciro watched the eight-inch claws flexing at the end of arms that no longer looked quite so limp and decided that being able to raise even one hand in his own defense was better than nothing at all. He dropped the bone and the dagger into the bowl.

  A barely viscous drop of demon blood rolled off the blade.

  H'sak jerked. His eyes blazed red. “The way is open!”

  In the silence that followed, Ciro was pretty sure he heard his heart stop beating.

  “You know,” Magdelene told him, “I had pretty much decided that bringing me here and opening the door made up for stealing my mirror.”

  The demon turned toward her. “You!”

  “Who else?�
��

  “There was a man … Oh, wait,” he snorted, “if there was a man, I should've expected you to show up.”

  “You're in no position to make smart-ass comments. A Prince approaches, compelled to answer a summons from the mortal world, and your blood was the instrument of his summoning. He's going to be royally pissed.”

  H'sak struggled impotently within the chain. “Your death will follow mine, Wizard,” he growled. “And I will die happy knowing you are about to be torn limb from limb!”

  “Suppose neither of us has to die?”

  Ciro, who'd been watching a speck of darkness grow to the size of a dinner plate, cleared his throat as a cold wind began to blow from the center of it. “Uh, Magdelene, you'd better hurry.”

  “H'sak?”

  “You're the most powerful wizard in the world,” he sniffed, “you close the way.”

  “I can't close the way against the Prince's power.”

  “So?”

  “So this is no time to sulk about being stuck in that mirror!”

  The demon's lips drew back, exposing a double row of fangs. “I've been forced to endure your singing for almost two hundred years. I think this is a fine time to sulk.”

  “Suit yourself. Ciro, find the mirror, it has to be in the library.” She smiled down at the demon as the thief began to search. “I'm thinking of studying opera.”

  H'sak cringed. “You win. What's the plan?”

  “I release you from the chain so I can use it on his Highness, and you don't attack me from behind until I've finished with him.”

  “And what if he finishes you?”

  “Then at least you're facing him on your feet.”

  “Deal.”

  Grasping one end of the chain, Magdelene began to unwind it.

  With one eye on the circle of darkness, now the size of a wagon wheel, Ciro sidled toward the pentagram. “I found the mirror,” he muttered, lips close to Magdelene's ear. “It's in pieces.”

  She leaned closer. “Don't tell H'sak.”

  “Hadn't planned on it.” He took a deep breath and lightly gripped her shoulders. “Magdelene, in case I don't get a chance to say this later, I'm sorry I took your mirror. I'm sorry about putting the bloody dagger in the bowl.”