[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 3: A Spell of Technology
Grimm stood before a full-length mirror in the tiled bathroom of his Haven room. With a minimum of fuss, he selected a red-and-black robe from his travelling-bag, along with a random handful of rings and pendants with which to adorn himself. Although he found great satisfaction in the wearing of fine clothes, he did not really care for baubles and gewgaws; however, his friend Dalquist had told him during Grimm's first Quest that Seculars seemed more impressed by a mage who wore such trappings.
He donned the robe and the gaudy jewels with an air of glum resignation; even the opulence of his expensive silk robe could not lift Grimm's encroaching melancholy.
Grimm had first encountered Drex when the girl attempted to steal his purse in the town of Griven. On learning that the penalty for theft in Griven was a period of slavery, he bribed the guard to sell Drex to him, whereupon he freed her. When the girl declared a solemn obligation and refused to leave him, Xylox became enraged, and Grimm defied his senior. The older mage allowed Drex to remain in the group, as Grimm's responsibility, but he vowed to recommend that the younger Questor be stricken from the rolls of the Guild.
Whatever else Grimm might think of the acerbic Questor, he had no reason to think Xylox a liar or an emotional blusterer.
Once deprived of his hard-won status as Mage Questor, all that would remain of Grimm's years of struggle would be the Barony of Crar, and he doubted he would retain that position for long, once the Crarian Council discovered that he was a disgraced sorcerer, stripped of all power. In all probability, he would have to sell his fine wardrobe just to be able to live, until he could find a suitable trade. He was too old to be taken on as an apprentice, and he had no skills suitable for life in the Secular world.
Of course, Grimm knew, his grandparents, Loras and Drima, would take him in, but he could not bear to face the anger of his only known relatives at throwing away the wonderful chance he had been given to wash away the stains that tainted the name of Afelnor. Infinitely worse than harsh anger would be a reaction of bitter disappointment, or one of pity.
Once again, he cursed himself for his stupidity in opposing the proud Xylox.
With almost mechanical efficiency, Grimm dressed himself and began to arrange his hair and his beard, a living automaton going through a predetermined sequence of actions. As he withdrew a small pair of scissors from his bag, he felt the slightest shifting of weight in the leather receptacle. He stood back, arms akimbo, with a dark frown on his face.
A tiny, grey, bullet-like head slowly came into view. Wearing a sheepish expression, the minuscule demon drew himself from the bag and onto the slick tiles.
"Thribble!" Grimm crowed "Have you been following me yet again, in defiance of my strict instructions?"
"I am sorry, Questor Grimm," Thribble squeaked. "You lead such an interesting life that I could not bear to be left behind."
"I checked this bag three times before I left the House," the Questor said, shaking his head in disbelief. "How did you manage to sneak on board?"
Thribble gave a squeaky snort, as if Grimm's question were nothing more than an insult to a mighty intellect.
"I may be small, human, but I am still a demon, with a demon's powers. As you searched the bag, I just shifted myself an inch or so into my native dimension. I cannot completely break the inter-dimensional veil, but I can extend into it sufficiently to hide myself from crude human sight. I did think that, since I once saved your life, you might show me a little more respect."
Grimm rubbed his brow to ease the dull, throbbing pain residing there. "I'm sorry, Thribble," he said, finding a welcome laugh escaping his mouth. "Of course you're welcome to join me, although I should warn you that this interesting phase of my life may soon be at an end. I made a dreadful mistake, one that will cost me my status as a Guild Mage."
The minute demon's thread-like brows lifted.
"Really, human?" Thribble did not sound at all concerned at this revelation. "You must tell me all about it. I have been suffocating in that stifling little bag since we left Arnor, and I suffered much on the mountain. I do think you owe me a full report of what has occurred since."
The young mage sighed. Xylox would probably be furious if he ever found out about the miniature netherworld mimic and storyteller, but would a diminution of his senior colleague's already low opinion worsen Grimm's eventual fate?
Probably not, but it would be better not to take too many chances; with luck, I may still be able to convince Xylox I'm worth something, if I can do well in this Quest.
"Very well, Thribble," he said. "I only ask one thing: the senior Questor, Xylox, holds my fate in his hands, so I order you… no, I beg you, not to reveal yourself to him, and to listen with your mouth shut. In return, I'll tell you everything that's happened on the Quest so far, and you may ride in my pocket for its remainder."
The Questor sat on the edge of the bath and told Thribble all he could about the Quest. He spoke of what he knew of General Q; how he, Grimm, had ransomed Drexelica; his subsequent, fulminating argument with Xylox and the trip to Haven. In truth, he found that telling the demon about his actions was a blessed catharsis and release, and he felt surprised at his growing eagerness to recount every detail.
As he finished his account, he heard a sharp rap at the door to the chamber. "Quickly; inside, now, Thribble," he said, opening wide a pocket in his robe. Obligingly, the demon hopped inside and lay still.
Grimm opened the door to see a sour-faced Xylox. "So, Questor Grimm, you think my summons beneath you? Let me remind you that you have sworn to commit yourself to my authority for the remainder of this Quest in return for simple dismissal from the Guild. Have you forgotten that the alternative is banishment to the nether regions of the House for an unspecified period? You seem determined on the latter course."
Grimm felt his anger at Xylox's didactic manner rise within him, like lava welling up inside a volcano, but he held it in check. "Questor Xylox; on my honour, I have received no summons of any kind from you. My aura will reveal to your Sight that I speak the truth."
Xylox's gaze bore down into Grimm's eyes, but the younger man did not flinch. "I have been competent in Telepathy for some fifteen years now," the senior Questor growled. "Are you trying to tell me that my efforts to contact you for the last ten minutes have been to no avail?"
Grimm fought to contain his fierce, roiling emotions, but a hot tinge of ire licked though his body at Xylox's contemptuous, dismissive tone.
"Xylox the Mighty," Grimm said, his eyes narrowed, "you may be proficient in a thousand spells, but the simple truth of the matter is that I have received no contact from you. You may well decide to call me irresponsible and feckless, unfit to bear the Guild Ring; indeed, you have already done so. But I will accept from you no imputation of deceit. I have never lied to you or any other Guildbrother, and I will never do so. My offer remains. Look within my soul, and you will see within me emotions aplenty, but no deception."
His voice rose to an impassioned shout. "You have destroyed me, Questor Xylox; I may not find that palatable, but I must accept it. Thoughtless I may be, but a teller of falsehoods I am not, and I resent the implication with all my heart."
Grimm folded his arms across his chest, and his eyes remained locked upon those of Xylox. For a few moments more, the older man stood impassive before his junior, but he then looked away and nodded.
"I apologise for doubting your word, Questor Grimm," the senior mage said. "I shall not inspect your aura, since you have never given me the slightest cause for doubting your veracity, despite all your other faults.