Of course, Shanelle was above such petty concerns as earning a living; she had her father’s money to play with. Guchi the Merchant owned almost half the ships sailing out of Ethshar of the Rocks. Deyor’s family, though, was not so fortunate — their pedigree went back to the Great War, when her seven-times-great grandfather had served as General Gor’s quartermaster, but their wealth had dwindled over the centuries.
This piece of magical furniture might change all that, though.
“Timsez mekkitwerk,” Deyor murmured. “Timsez mekkitwerk, Timsez mekkitwerk, Timsez mekkitwerk.”
She had built a fair-sized pile on the bed when she was startled by Shanelle’s voice calling, “Deyor! Aren’t you coming?”
Deyor started. “Just a moment!” she answered. She looked around, but saw no alternative; she gathered up her various acquisitions and stuffed them back into the wardrobe, then turned and hurried down the stairs.
A moment later the two young women were trotting down the hill, crossing the East Road from Highside into Center City and making their way to Manolo the Blank’s shop on Wizard Street.
Shanelle babbled as they walked, waving the hideous gown around, telling Deyor again how unacceptable the spell was, and how much she wanted to impress the still-unmarried Lord Wulran, because after all, the overlord wasn’t actually required to marry a princess or another overlord’s daughter, and wasn’t Shanelle’s own family suitably noble? Deyor said very little; she was trying to think how she might convince her wealthy friend to let her have the defective magical wardrobe. She certainly couldn’t afford to pay fifteen gold rounds, but if Shanelle could somehow be made to discard it...
Then they were at Manolo’s door, and Shanelle was ringing the bell, and Deyor had not thought of any way to get her hands on the wardrobe.
Manolo’s apprentice Armani opened the door. “Yes?” she asked.
“We want to see the wizard,” Shanelle told her.
“The wizard? But nobody can see the wizard just now.”
“I have to see him!” Shanelle insisted.
“My orders are, nobody can see the great Manolo, not nobody, not no how.”
“Why not?”
Armani’s shoulders sank. “He didn’t tell me that.”
“Where is he? In his workshop?”
“No, he’s... I don’t think I should tell you.”
“He’s out in the garden, isn’t he?” Shanelle said. “Trying to animate that statue?”
“He... he might be,” Armani admitted.
“Does he really think it’s a woman someone petrified?”
“He says he does,” Armani said, somewhat defensively.
“That statue is stark naked,” Shanelle said. “Who would petrify someone when she was naked?”
Armani blinked. “I... I never thought about that. Maybe whoever petrified her did it from a distance and didn’t know she was naked?”
“I think that statue was carved by someone from ordinary stone. Someone with a dirty mind.”
“Or maybe smooth skin is easier to carve than clothing,” Deyor suggested.
“Maybe,” Shanelle said, clearly unconvinced. “He went into plenty of detail, though.”
“My master thinks it’s a real woman who got petrified,” Armani said. “Turning her back would be a great kindness!”
“You think he’s doing it out of kindness?” Shanelle asked.
“Yes, of course!” Armani replied.
“Does he have any clothes ready for her, if he succeeds?”
“Uh...”
“Just show us to the garden,” Shanelle said. “We won’t interrupt his spell.”
“He told me — ”
“We aren’t leaving until I see him,” Shanelle interrupted.
Armani gave in. “This way,” she said. She swung the door wide to let the two visitors into the wizard’s home, and led them through the passage from the front parlor to the back gate.
They emerged into the sunny garden behind the house, where a tall iron fence separated the property from the neighbors’ courtyard, and a line of statuary stood in front of the fence. There were two life-sized marble statues of handsome young men and one of a bearded patriarch dressed in the styles of a century earlier; one of a full-grown dragon was nowhere near life-sized, or it wouldn’t have fit in the rather small yard. A rather overpowering wooden carving appeared to represent the goddess Piskor somewhat larger than life — or perhaps, for all Shanelle and Deyor knew, she really was nine feet tall.
At the far end of the row, beyond these and a handful of others, the wizard Manolo knelt before the next-to-last statue, a beautiful white marble female nude posed with one hand raised to her breast, fingers spread. The statue’s expression was one of mild startlement, and the figure was, excluding its granite pedestal, an inch or two shorter than Shanelle.
The very last statue was of some mythological beast Shanelle and Deyor could not identify; it was vaguely catlike, but with exaggeratedly-muscular chest and forelegs, and narrow, underdeveloped hips. It had a mane of almost human-appearing hair around its face, intricately carved.
Manolo had set up a brazier between the beast and the woman, and a small cauldron hung above it, spewing forth a thick cloud of steam. Cones of incense were burning at the nude statue’s feet, and an assortment of herbs and astonishingly-large feathers were elaborately arranged there, as well. The wizard’s entire attention was focused on these items as he chanted something incomprehensible and waved a silver dagger through the air in intricate patterns.
Deyor held back, knowing it could be dangerous to interrupt a wizard at his work, but Shanelle strode across the garden, greenish gown in hand. “Hai!” she called. “Wizard!”
Manolo paid no attention as he plunged the blade of his knife into the pot of boiling water, then brought it up and flung several drops on the statue. “Pyrzqxgl!” he shouted.
There was a shimmer, and the air seemed to change color for an instant; then the statue’s white surface began to melt away, revealing black hair and light brown skin.
“Ha!” Manolo exclaimed. “I told them it was too accurate for a mere carving!”
Deyor stared in amazement as the woman who had been a statue a moment before gradually returned to life, blinking in surprise and turning to look at her surroundings.
Shanelle, however, paid no attention as she stamped up to the wizard. “Hai!” she said, waving the gown. “I’m talking to you! Unhappy customer here!”
“What?” Manolo turned, startled, as he finally realized he was not alone in the garden — or rather, that he and the former statue were not alone.
“That wardrobe you sold me!” Shanelle shouted. “Do you have any idea how hideous the stuff it’s making is?”
The former statue turned to stare at the wizard and his angry customer. “Where am I?” she asked. “Who are you people?”
Manolo smiled at her, and bowed. “I am Manolo the Blank, master wizard,” he said. “I have just reversed a petrifaction spell someone cast on you long ago.”
“Wizard!” Shanelle demanded.
Annoyed, Manolo turned to her. “Could you wait for just a moment, please? I have just rescued this lovely woman from a fate worse than death, by means of a very dangerous eighth-order spell, and I would like to have a few words with her. I will attend to your complaint shortly.”