But suppose, said a cold doubting voice in the back of my mind, a voice that remembered all the times over the years that my absolute convictions had been absolutely wrong, that the reason my best spells could now find no direct sign of evil about him was because there was nothing to find?
Wizardry could reveal nothing about the state of a man’s soul, and might not reveal a demon who was carefully hiding, but it should certainly indicate if someone was practicing black magic in my face. “Let me ask him something,” I said brusquely, striding over to where the other two sat.
“Ask me no more questions about wizardry,” said Cyrus in a meek tone, his eyes lowered. “I already told you I have left all that behind.”
“But,” I said, clenching my fists so I wouldn’t grab him by the throat and shake him, “you yourself may not be working magic, Cyrus, but you’ve sold your soul to the devil!” The bishop went very stiff but did not interrupt-maybe he was too shocked to do so. Or maybe he was preparing himself to spring on me if I showed signs of trying to murder Cyrus as I had threatened to murder him. “Admit it!” I said, just below a shout. “You’re working with a demon!”
Echoes ran up and down the aisles, then for a long moment there was silence in the church, while I wondered if the bishop would ever speak to me again. At this rate he might still decide to go become an apprentice hermit, just so that in leaving the affairs of the world he would never have to see another wizard.
Cyrus lifted his head, looking not at me but at Joachim. “I have not despaired of my soul or abandoned it to the powers of darkness,” he said, quietly but very firmly. This sounded like prevarication to me. “I can swear on whatever saints’ relics you like, Holy Father.”
Joachim rose abruptly, not looking at me either. “That will not be necessary. Forgive us, my son. I hope you realize that with a miracle this spectacular it is the duty of an officer of the Church to investigate it fully. And I’m sure you realize that you must acknowledge this miracle with abject humility of soul. You may return now to your studies and devotions.” He started rapidly down the nave, scarlet vestments flying behind him, and I almost had to run to keep up.
But the bishop slowed and turned his deep-set eyes on me as we reached the door. “Weren’t you saying, Daimbert,” he said coldly, “that you needed to get home to Yurt tonight?”
IV
After leaving a message at the little castle for the twins and the Lady Maria, saying I hoped to see them in a day or two back in Yurt, I flew homeward through the twilight, trying to cheer myself up by reminding myself that at last I would be back with Antonia again. It didn’t work.
“It’s just not fair,” I said as though I was presenting someone a logical argument-perhaps Theodora? “Joachim forgave me for trying to kill him. Why should he now be furious with me for being maybe just the tiniest bit harsh with one of his seminary students, when all I was trying to do was protect his cathedral? You’d think he wanted to have a demonic acolyte developing a cult following right under his nose.
“Well,” I continued, “I just don’t care! If Cyrus has sold his soul, that certainly doesn’t bother me. And since what he apparently wants in return for his soul is to be thought a holy miracle-worker, then there should be no danger to anyone else. And why should a wizard care if some priests are misled? They’re confused most of the time anyway.”
Whoever I was addressing had no good answers, except to point out that I seemed to be protesting quite a bit for someone who didn’t care at all. And I didn’t even want to raise the point that an experienced wizard, one whom the masters of the school trusted to be able to deal with a demon, could not find one in spite of being convinced that it was there.
The drawbridge was up when I reached Yurt, just as dusk was darkening at last into night. I was pleased to be challenged immediately as I flew over the wall, although the knight excused himself when he recognized me.
Antonia would have been asleep for some time, I thought, heading toward the kitchens, remembering that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast with Theodora. There I found Gwennie, disconsolately eating leftover strawberry shortcake straight out of the serving bowl. There was still enough in it for at least four people.
The fires were banked for the night, and she ate by the flickering light of a single candle. I took the bowl from her and pulled it toward me. “Did anything interesting happen in Caelrhon?” she asked with complete indifference.
I didn’t answer, my mouth full of strawberries and whipped cream.
“It looks like the fine Lady Justinia is planning to stay all summer,” Gwennie said after a minute. At least, then, she and Paul had not eloped. “The stable boys tell me her elephant is eating like a dozen horses. I tried to find out, politely of course, how long she planned to stay in our best guest rooms, and she said she could not say until she had word from Xantium that things were safe there again.”
I made myself recall the situation here in Yurt. If I was completely wrong about Cyrus-and even if I was right-I was still responsible for defending both those who lived here and the lady who had been entrusted to my protection.
Gwennie sighed and played with her spoon. “Paul is teaching Justinia to ride a horse. Can you believe she’d never learned? She said at dinner today that she could captain a sailing ship, but what good will that do her in Yurt?”
“None,” I said, scraping the bowl.
Gwennie looked at me properly at last and started to smile even through her glum mood. “You’re very hungry, Wizard,” she said, with the recognition of the obvious which any good castle constable had to have, “or else you’re depressed. Or both.”
I didn’t ask which of these explanations accounted for her sitting by herself, polishing off the leftovers after the cook and the kitchen maids had all retired. She found me some cold meat and salad from dinner.
“Could you contact that mage in Xantium?” she asked with more of her accustomed energy, sitting across the table from me again while I ate. “It seems a shame for the lady to have to wait without any word from home.”
I wasn’t fooled by her concern for Justinia’s peace of mind, but it was a good idea. “I don’t think there are any telephones in Xantium, Gwendolyn,” I said thoughtfully. It was a different experience eating dinner at the kitchen table, in a room usually full of bustle and activity but now dark and quiet-and also different to have the dessert before the meat course. “Telephones work by western, not eastern magic. But I can try to find out tomorrow how the merchants in the great City manage to get important messages through to their representatives there.”
I rose and stretched. It seemed much more than two days since I had left. “Is Elerius still in my chambers? And is Antonia still in with you?”
“The wizard is still in your chambers,” said Gwennie in a neutral voice. “But,” with more animation, “your niece is in the Princess Margareta’s room-did you see her down in Caelrhon, by the way? The princess decided she wanted the little girl with her after she’d broken that precious doll of hers, and Antonia stayed when she left.”
I supposed wearily that a good wizard should protect those he served from their own folly as well as from undead creatures. Maybe it would be a relief to worry about whether the princess whom everyone (except of course Paul himself) expected the king to marry still liked playing with dolls rather than about whether a demon was loose in Caelrhon with Theodora.
“I’m glad you’re back, Wizard,” said Gwennie with almost her usual good spirits as we left the kitchens together. “If you’d let me eat all the strawberries by myself I probably would have gotten sick-and a castle can’t function with a sick constable!”