"Don't feel too bad," Kazul said perceptively. "If it had succeeded in carrying you off, it would have fed you to its nestlings."
"Fed me to its nestlings?" Cimorene discovered that she had lost her sympathy for the dead bird. "What a horrid thing to do!" She hesitated.
"Won't the nestlings starve, now that the bird is dead?"
"No, one of the other birds will take over the chore of feeding them for a few weeks until they're big enough to catch their own food," Kazul said.
"Now, clean that sword and take your feathers, and let's get going. I want to have a look at that book of Morwen's."
Cimorene nodded and did as she was told. The three black feathers were right where the bird had said they would be, and she put them in her pocket with Morwen's book and the black pebble from the Caves of Fire and Night. She wiped the sword on the grass several times, then finished cleaning it with her handkerchief. When she finished, she left the handkerchief beside the dead bird and followed Kazul into the Caves of Fire and Night.
9
In Which Therandil Is a Dreadful Nuisance, and Cimorene Casts a Spell
The rest of the trip home was uneventful. Passing through the King's Cave seemed easier going in the opposite direction, and the impenetrable darkness only descended once. As soon as they arrived, Kazul took the book Morwen had lent them and curled herself around a rock just outside the mouth of the cave to study it while Cimorene made dinner. She pored over the book all evening, and Cimorene found it fascinating to watch the dragon delicately turning pages with her claws. Early the next day Kazul went off to consult with Roxim.
Cimorene was rather stiff from all the dragon-riding she had done the previous day, so she decided not to do any more cleaning. Instead, she spent the morning in Kazul's treasure room, sorting through likely looking bottles and jars for those that might possibly contain powdered hens' teeth. Remembering Kazul's advice, she started by setting aside all the bottles she could find that had lead stoppers. Since the light was not very good, she took the jars and bottles that looked as if they might be worth investigating and piled them in her apron, so as to carry them outside more easily.
She had nearly finished sorting when she heard a voice calling faintly in the distance.
"Bother!" she said. "I did hope they'd leave me alone a little longer."
She bundled the last five bottles into her apron without looking at them and, not forgetting to lock the door behind her, hurried out through the maze to see who was shouting for her this time.
It was Therandil.
"What are you doing here?" Cimorene said crossly. "I told you I wasn't going to be ready to be rescued for at least a month!"
"I was worried," Therandil said. "I heard that you'd broken a leg, but you look fine to me."
"Of course I haven't broken a leg," Cimorene said. "Where did you get that idea?"
"Some knight at the inn at the foot of the mountain," Therandil replied.
"He was up yesterday, talking to the princess he's trying to rescue, and he came back and warned everybody not to bother with the princess that was captured by the dragon Kazul. Well, I knew that was you, so I asked why, and he said his princess told him you'd broken your leg and wouldn't be able to walk for months."
Cimorene smiled slightly. Alianora had apparently gone through with her plan to tell Hallanna about Cimorene's "twisted ankle," and Hallanna had decided to improve the story a little in hopes of reducing the competition.
"Somebody must have gotten mixed up," Cimorene said gently. "You can stop worrying. I'm fine. Is that all you came for? These jars are getting heavy, and I've got work to do."
"Cimorene, we have to talk," Therandil said in a heavy, deep voice.
"Then we'll have to do it while I work," Cimorene declared. She turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen, full of annoyance. She had been feeling almost friendly toward Therandil-he had been worried about her, after all-until he said he wanted to talk. Cimorene was quite sure that what he wanted to talk about was rescuing her, and she was annoyed with him for being so stupidly stubborn and annoyed with herself for being annoyed when he was only trying to do the best he could.
Therandil followed her into the kitchen. "What's all that?" he asked as Cimorene put the apron full of jars on the kitchen table and began lining them up.
"Some things I'm checking for Kazul," Cimorene said. She picked up a small jar made of carved jade and pried the lid off. It was half full of green salve. Cimorene put the lid back on and set the jar aside.
"What was it you wanted to talk about?" she asked, reaching for another jar.
"You. Dragons. Us. That looks interesting. Can I help?"
"As long as you don't break anything," Cimorene said. "Some of these are very fragile." Maybe opening jars would make him forget about You.
Dragons. Us, for a while.
"I'll be very careful," Therandil assured her. "This one looks like metal. I'll start with that, shall I?" He picked up one of the larger jars, made of beaten copper with two handles. He frowned at the top, then reached for his dagger, and as he tilted the jar, Cimorene saw that the neck was stopped up with lead.
"Not that one!" she said quickly. She didn't remember picking out that particular jar. It must have been one of the last four or five that she'd scooped up when she heard Therandil calling.
"Why not?" Therandil said, sounding rather hurt. "I said I'd be careful."
The tip of his dagger was already embedded in the lead.
"Kazul said to leave the ones with lead stoppers alone," Cimorene said.
"So put it back."
"If you insist," Therandil said, shrugging. He pulled on his dagger, but it was stuck fast in the lead. "Drat!" he said, and twisted the handle. The dagger came free, and the lead stopper came along with it.
"I should have known," Cimorene said in a resigned tone.
A black cloud of smoke poured out of the jar. As Cimorene and Therandil watched, it condensed into a dark-skinned giant wearing only a turban and a loincloth. He was more than twice as tall as Therandil, and the corners of his mouth were turned down in a stern frown.
"What is it?" whispered Therandil.
"Trouble," said Cimorene.
"Thou speakest truly, O Daughter of Wisdom," said the giant in a booming voice that filled the cave. "For I am a jinn, who was imprisoned in that jar, and I am the instrument of thy death and that of thy paramour."
"My what?" Cimorene said, outraged.
"Thy lover," the jinn said uncomfortably. "The man who stands beside thee."
"I know what you meant," Cimorene said. "But he isn't my lover, or my fiance, or my boyfriend or anything, and I refuse to be killed with him."
"But Cimorene, you know perfectly well-" Therandil started.
"You hush," Cimorene said. "You've made enough of a mess already."
"If he is not thy paramour, nor any of those other things, then what is he?" the jinn asked suspiciously.
"A nuisance," Cimorene said succinctly.
"Cimorene, you're not being very kind," Therandil said.
"What he is matters not," the jinn said grandly after a moment's heavy thought. "It is enough that thou and he shall die."
"Enough for whom?" Cimorene said.
The jinn blinked at her. "For me. "Tis my will that thou and he shall die by my hand. Thou hast but to choose the manner of thy death."
"Old age," Cimorene said promptly.
"Mock me not! Thou and he shall die, and by my hand, ere this day draws to its close!" the jinn cried.
"Do you suppose he means it?" Therandil said nervously.
"Why would he keep bellowing it at us if he didn't mean it?"
Cimorene said. "Do be quiet, Therandil."
Therandil lowered his voice. "Should I offer to fight him, do you think?"
"Don't be silly," Cimorene said. She saw that Therandil was distressed, so she added, "You came up here to fight a dragon. You aren't prepared for a jinn, and nobody could reasonably expect you to challenge "If you say so," Therandil said, looking relieved.