“There could be fewer guards who would be more effective,” Prester John admitted.
“Except my own magic spells,” Matt reminded him. “I've gotten rather good at crafting passive defenses—they don't hurt anybody unless I'm attacked.”
“Then how much pain do they inflict?”
Matt shrugged. “As much as my attacker is trying to inflict on me. Sometimes more, if I'm feeling nasty. Depends on what I set 'em for.”
Prester John managed a smile—faltering, but a smile. “Well thought, Lord Wizard. Very well, we will try your style of investigation for a few days. But where will you search, and where shall Prince Tashih march with his army?”
“Give me a few minutes alone with Sikander, then with Corundel,” Matt told him. “Then I'll need a quick trip to the apothecary's shop. After that I should have some idea of direction.”
The world whirled, a myriad of colors that swirled around her. Balkis had been through this before when Matthew had taken them magically from one place to another, but had never been suffering from being drugged at the time. Nausea churned within her, clambering up farther and farther. She held it down by a frantic effort of will, afraid that in this kaleidoscopic whirlwind it would drown her.
Then the rainbow kaleidoscope stopped whirling, a solid surface steadied beneath her knees, and the malaise would be contained no longer. Balkis was violently sick. Even in the throes of regurgitating, she remembered to lean forward, to keep her robes clean.
The spasm passed, and she sat back on her heels, gasping for air. Now she could look about her, and years of fending for herself as a cat made her put aside her misery long enough to learn her surroundings. She obviously wasn't completely steady yet—the ground still seemed to be tilting.
Then she realized that it really was tilting. She was on a hillside, kneeling in brown frost-covered grass—and those huge four-legged shapes coming to investigate her were cows.
But the smell of her must have been alien to them, for they began lowing to one another in a more and more urgent tone. Her stomach sank as she realized they were egging one another on, working themselves into a herd frenzy to attack the intruder. They were coming faster and faster, and here and there one broke into an ungainly run, then more, then all, charging at her in a thunder of hooves, heads down, horns aimed at this strange and somehow threatening human.
Balkis' every instinct told her to flee, but she knew that in her weakened condition she couldn't possibly outrun a stampede. One thought struggled up through the dizziness of her concussed brain, though—smaller objects were harder to hit. She fought down panic and tried to imagine what these cows would look like if they were six times taller, if the meadow grass about her ankles were up to her shoulders, if the meadow were alive with scents, if she stood on four legs instead of kneeling on two …
The old, familiar sensations claimed her, and the cows swelled to become ten times larger, the grass shot up shoulder-high about her, the world became a wonderful symphony of smells, but bleached of most of its color. She knew she had become a cat again—and, wonder of wonders, her headache was gone!
The cows slowed and bawled to one another, confused by the strange human's shrinking away and disappearing—but their momentum carried them to her and beyond. Trotting hooves still flashed around her, and she danced, trying to avoid them, head whipping from side to side as she tried to keep track of each, but there were too many moving too fast, and the lowing and bawling all about her was too confusing. A hoof cracked into her head, making her wobble; then another hoof lifted her high, to carom off the side of another cow, who promptly turned, bawling, to see what had hit her, and trod on Balkis' tail. She yowled. The sound surprised the cows enough so that they pulled back and away from her a little.
Head whirling, Balkis nonetheless recognized opportunity when she saw it. She streaked through the suddenly open space, zigzagged between hooves, and darted into the shelter of a clump of small twisted pines.
The cows ignored her; they milled about, lowing to one another in confusion, trying to find the woman whose appearance had startled them.
Under a pine tree, Balkis curled herself into a fluffy ball of misery. The blow from the hoof had brought her headache back, pounding at the inside of her skull until unconsciousness mercifully claimed her. She didn't even notice the long rip in her side that a sharp-edged hoof had opened, nor the blood flowing from it that began to clot in her fiir.
The key groaned in the lock, and Sikander looked up dull-eyed to see the jailer ushering in a man with a face so pale that he wondered what illness had beset him. Then he saw the prominent nose and round eyes, and stared.
The stranger gave him a sardonic smile. “Where I come from, it's rude to stare.”
Sikander blinked and tore his gaze away. “Your pardon. It is only that I have never seen a Frank before.”
“Only part French ” Matt corrected. “The rest is Spanish and Cuban. Mind if I sit down?”
Sikander stiffened with sudden anger. The man was only a commoner! Oh, his buflf-and-brown traveling clothes were of stout cloth and excellent cut, but a single glance showed they were certainly not those of a courtier.
The man seemed to read his thoughts. “I'm traveling incognito, but I'm really Matthew Mantrell, Lord Wizard of Merovence and consort to the queen of that land.”
Sikander stared, then leaped to his feet. “Sit, certainly, my lord, and forgive my impertinence!”
The stranger sat down on the cell's only stool, then frowned up at Sikander. “I didn't mean to reverse things. Sit down, courtier!”
“You—You do not mind?”
“Hey, it's your cell.”
Sikander sat slowly on the edge of the bunk, his mind in a whirl. Had this wizard come out of mercy, or to make him suffer for his wrongs? He could think of no other reason for his presence.
“I need to know everything I can about the night you stole Princess Balkis away,” the Lord Wizard explained.
The mention of the princess' name linked with that of the Lord Wizard, and Sikander blurted, “You were her master!”
“Teacher, maybe,” Matt qualified. “Traveling companion, certainly—but don't worry, I haven't come to skin you alive. I'll leave that for her to do, when she gets back.”
Sikander's heart sank at the thought of confronting an enraged wizard-princess. Then it bounced back up as he realized that for Balkis to seek him out, he would have to be alive when she returned. “Am… am I to live?”
CHAPTER 4
“Oh, you'll go on living for a while,” Matt said, “at least ten minutes, probably ten days, maybe ten years—possibly even the rest of your life. Exactly how long I can't say—that's up to Prester John. But I have a notion it will have something to do with how helpful you are about finding the princess.”
“I shall help! Ask me what you will!”
“Fair enough.” Matt grinned. “Now, we know you had help from a lady named Corundel…”
Sikander's face closed.
“Don't worry, I'm not trying to trap you,” Matt said. “A lady named Chrynsis happened to mention that Corundel had filled in for her on the bedtime committee, and the other courtiers put two and two together.”
“Have they indeed!” Sikander's face was still a mask at the thought that Corundel might yet betray him and paint herself as his victim and unwilling dupe. “How interesting. What fable has she told you?”
Matt smiled, amused. If courtiers knew one thing better than any, it was how to lie—but this one wasn't very intelligent. After all, you had to be pretty dumb to commit a kidnapping on spec. “All Corundel told us was the name of the shaman who arranged the kidnapping with you—but for her to know that much, she had to have been in on the whole operation. In fact, she had to have been the one who set the whole thing up.”