"Nay, my lady," said the soldier. "It's above an hour hence to town. All doors are already latched and barred. We must tarry here till dawn on a patch of floor with, perchance, a mattress and a coverlet from our friend."
"Better yet," said Vulfilac. "Your Ladyship shall have my bed!"
"A generous offer," she said, patting a yawn. "I am fordone. May I see this bed?"
"Up this ladder, madam."
Yvette, carrying her coronet, and Thorolf climbed into the loft, the smith following with a candle. Yvette said: "A vasty bed, Goodman Vulfilac."
"My wife's and mine. Now I sleep with the lad; but he shall make do elsewhere, as shall I."
"So huge a bed with but one small occupant were wasteful and ridiculous. One of you shall take the other half."
Thorolf and Vulfilac exchanged glances. Thorolf said: "It would grieve me to oust a friend from's bed. I'll take the floor."
"Nay!" boomed the smith. "As host I have the final say, and I assign myself to the floor."
They argued until Yvette said: "A pox upon your courtesies! I've camped in the field with my soldiers, so bed sharing is nought new to me. My judgment is that you shall flip a coin."
The coin gave Thorolf the bed. Yvette stripped off her garments and pulled the coronet firmly down on her head.
Vulfilac, blushing above his beard, looked away. Thorolf exclaimed: "Countess! That's how I first met you. Do you sleep with that thing on?"
"Certes, as do many nobles and royals, to be sure their baubles be not stolen whilst they snore."
"Is it not uncomfortable?"
"One gets used to it, as you are accustomed to strutting about with a sword banging your shins ... Thorolf! You shall not get into my bed with those dirty clothes! Strip down like a man of sense!"
"You mean—ah—"
"Nay, silly, I make no lewd advances; my person is off-limits to commoners. Lend me that great knife of yours!"
"Not to stab me asleep, I hope?"
"Nay; but if I feel something poking me in the midsection, I shall know what to do. Good night!"
II – The Senescent Sorcerer
Tired though he was, Thorolf found sleep hard to come by. It seemed to him that he was just dropping off when he was aware of light and motion. He found Yvette already dressed, winding cloths around the coronet. He said: "Sleep well, Countess?"
"Not so well as sometimes, with you tossing and turning all night."
The soldier reddened. "Your pardon. I fear the contiguity of one so fair ..."
"No need to apologize; at least it proves you no effeminate. Vulfilac yonder snores like a sawmill. Do not folk of his class rise early?"
Thorolf smiled. "Not when they've spent half the night rescuing penniless damsels from their pursuers!"
Breakfasted and mounted again, Thorolf turned his horse toward Zurshnitt. Clad in the smith's wife's feast-day finery, Yvette sat pillion behind him on the mare. On her head she wore her coronet so wrapped in cloth as to seem a turban. Out of sight of the smithy, Thorolf said:
"We must needs deposit that golden hoop safely and descend upon Doctor Bardi. But first I have my duties—"
"Not so, Sergeant! The care of me and my small treasure should come first."
"Sorry, my dear, but I cannot—"
"And what preempts my orders, sirrah?"
"First I must needs report to barracks and get leave for the day. Then I must visit the Constabulary about last night's fracas and the corpses we left at the smithy."
"Marry come up! The wishes of one of my rank—"
"Mean nought in Rhaetia, since you are but one more titled refugee, entitled to kind treatment but no mastership."
"But I insist—"
"It's a long walk to Zurshnitt," growled Thorolf. Yvette subsided. After a while she burst out:
"It is so unfair that I, a descendant of a hundred kings and princes, should have to beg and wheedle for what is mine by right! Means it nought that I am a direct, legitimate descendant of the hero-king, Ricolf the Third?"
Thorolf grinned. "But if you claim credit for the good deeds of King Ricolf, then you must accept blame for the crimes of the mad King Leodast, who murdered his parents and then burned all those people. Certes, if we hanged everyone with a murderer in's pedigree, not enough would survive to bury the bodies!"
"Master Thorolf, I wish no more of your irksome speech!"
"Aye-aye, your Highness!" With his most irritating chuckle, Thorolf fell silent.
Smelling of decades' accumulation of dust, Doctor Bardi's sanctum resembled a small-town museum into which heterogeneous objects had been crowded far beyond the room's capacity. A human skeleton grinned whitely from a corner. Shelves were jam-packed with books. Atop these volumes lay others on their sides; and on this makeshift shelving reposed skulls, limb bones, mineral specimens, the stuffed or dried remains of various creatures, and dusty bottles, jars, and jugs. More flotsam from the past hung from the ceiling; as he entered, Thorolf hit his head on a small stuffed crocodile.
After introductions, Yvette turned on her formidable charm. "Thorolf has told me much of you," she said to Bardi with a winning smile."Do you live here all alone?"
"Aye, save for a woman who comes in betimes to clean and cook. Every moon or so she is seized by a passion to tidy up my house. After such a purification, I can never find the book or scroll I need. And now, my dears, if ye would not have me add the time spent in polite persiflage to my fee, let us to business."
"Dear me!" wheezed the ancient iatromage after learning his visitors' problems. " 'Tis a bit out of my line; I do not command deltas nor yet give rubbish the semblance of gold. But whereas Thorolf asks, I will do what I can. Ye say ye wish the look of a short, dark, dumpy female, eh? Dear me. Shall this be merely an illusion or glamor? Or would ye that I truly change your nature?"
"What are the virtues and faults of each proceeding?" Yvette asked.
"The illusion is easily cast and cheap; but it is banished as easily. A drop of wine or beer in the eyes were enough to reveal the true appearance of the ensorcelled one, as will a view of the subject in a mirror. The true change requires a more difficult and costly spell, and it will not soon reverse itself without an additional operation. Moreover, those who undergo it complain that it causes pain during the actual change."
"I choose the true change," said Yvette. "How long can I count upon its endurance?"
"For six months to a year, unless ye cause me or another to cast the reversing spell sooner. For, I must add, the usual fee."
"Charge the cost to Master Thorolf," said Yvette airily. "He knows I shall repay him when I recover my land." She smiled at Thorolf. "That's understood, is it not?"
Thorolf understood nothing of the kind; in fact he had been wondering how Bardi's services were to be paid for. He opened his mouth to protest, but so regal was Yvette's demeanor that nothing came out but a feeble, "Well—ah—"
"Good! That's settled," said the Countess. "When shall we begin, learned Doctor?"
"Forthwith; but the preparations will take—dear me—above an hour." Bardi stepped to a set of bookshelves, moved a dried human head encumbering the books, and pulled out an ancient folio. He blew dust off it, causing Thorolf to sneeze; put it back, and fumbled for another.
"Can we be done by dinner time?" asked Thorolf.
"Assuredly." The mage pulled out another volume.
"One other matter, Doctor," said Thorolf when he had blown his nose. "Show him the coronet, Countess."