Thorolf explained the need for a safe hiding place for the object. Bardi agreed to give it, too, a magical disguise and keep it in his custody until a more lasting arrangement could be made.
An hour and a half later, they watched as the old iatromage puttered about a pentacle drawn in charcoal on the floor. Five black candles had been set in the corners of the pentagram, casting a shimmery, greenish light around the otherwise darkened room.
"There!" said the magus, wiping his charcoal-stained hands on his black, symbol-spangled robe. "If ye'll take yon seats, my dears, we shall commence." He put away his spectacles, fumbled for another pair, and opened a volume.
The next hour was, for Thorolf, the mixture of tedium and apprehension that every lengthy magical operation aroused in him, much like the sensations of a soldier awaiting the command to advance. Bardi chanted in unknown tongues, made passes with a wand, and shouted names to summon unseen presences. The lighting dimmed; the space within the pentacle was filled with fog or smoke.
Thorolf thought he could discern substantial forms-colored russet, rose, yellow, and aquamarine—moving within. There were momentary hints of faces, limbs, and tentacles; but they shifted, dissolved, and reassembled in different configurations before he could perceive a substantial shape. He felt a prickling at the roots of his hair, as if an army of ants were crawling over him. A sidelong glance showed Yvette leaning back with her eyes closed, breathing heavily.
After what seemed hours, Bardi cried a dismissal. The fog in the pentacle faded. One candle guttered. The iatromage scuffed a couple of lines of the pentacle.
"That is it," he croaked. "My dears, ye may now go about your affairs. Remember that, about midnight, the lady will swiftly become short, dark, and dumpy. And now good night, for so powerful a spell doth tax one of my years."
Leading Salnia with one hand and supporting Yvette's arm with the other, Thorolf walked along the rounded cobbles, slippery with drizzle. Darkness had fallen; the watchfires at the main crossings gave a nickering, rubescent light. Two men of the Constabulary, with halberds on their shoulders, greeted Thorolf. One called: "Hey, be this our virtuous sergeant on a tryst at last?"
"Nay," growled Thorolf. "Know, knaves, that this be the rightful Queen of Armoria, and we plot to oust the usurper."
Thorolf stopped before the Green Dragon Inn, where he was known. In the light of the lantern over the door, Yvette looked puzzled. Then her face cleared. "Oh, I see! You did but jest about my rank. I thank you for the promotion." She giggled.
"Better late than never," said Thorolf. "I'll essay to get you a private room."
"Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! Where mean you to sleep?"
"Back at the barracks."
"Rubbish, my good Sergeant! Think you, when I'm fleeing Gondomar the Tedious and have by good hap found a lusty bodyguard, that I'd let him go off leaving me defenseless? You shall spend the night with me, and that is that. Sleep on the floor if you will, but you shall stay within sight and call. The Queen of Armoria commands it!"
Thus they found themselves in what, Thorolf thought, must be the room that Vasco the innkeeper reserved for nobility. The bed was big enough for three, and there was plenty of room besides. There was a dressing table and a mirror, a dressing chair, and a settee, as well as a writing desk with another chair. Such splendor, Thorolf thought, had resulted from Yvette's queenly demand:
"Your very best, Master Taverner!"
Thorolf left the room to Yvette while he washed off the grime of travel in the common bathtub. Escorting her to dinner, he found himself unconsciously assuming the toplofty air of a nobleman to match her born-to-command manner. That and her courtly accent had reduced even the experienced Vasco to subservience despite Yvette's proletarian costume. When they were seated, Vasco produced a dusty bottle, saying:
"Firanzian, third year of Consul Rudolf. Will it suit your Ladyship?"
"Belike it will," she said. "Let's have a trial."
When the wine was poured, Yvette took a sizable mouthful. "Aha!" she said. "This is an improvement over Goodman Vulfilac's small beer—not that I scorn the honest fellow's hospitality."
Over dinner, Yvette entertained Thorolf with tales of courtly scandals in the New Neapolitan Empire. She rattled out as much in a minute as most folk did in five. Thorolf found her talk fascinating, though he sometimes wished he could get a word in edgewise.
He also noted, with rising alarm, her execution on the bottle of costly wine. By the end of the repast it was all gone, and Thorolf was sure that she had drunk more of it than he.
He noted another thing. There were two other tables of diners in the common room. These had somehow gotten wind of the fact that Thorolf was with a noble lady. They turned in their seats to stare until Thorolf scowled them into averting their gaze.
The other diners had departed; Thorolf was wiping his mouth and preparing to rise when Yvette said: "Oh, linger an instant, Thorolf! Master Taverner, hast some water-of-life in stock?"
"Aye, your Ladyship," said Vasco.
"Then fetch a noggin apiece, pray."
"Countess," said Thorolf, "think you not that you've had enough?"
"My good Sergeant, I have been on the run for days, and this is my first chance to take my ease in a duck's age! Thank you, Mashter—Master Taverner."
She tossed down the colorless schnapps with a single gulp, while Thorolf drank his by sips. Then she fixed him with a purposeful stare. "Tell me, dear rescuer, what meant those yokels of the nightwatch, chaffing you about their virtuous sergeant? I mean, when you clept me Queen of Armoria." She giggled.
"Merely," said Thorolf uncomfortably, "that they have not seen me strolling with the strumpets of the town, as they have many of mine unwed soldier lads."
Yvette's glance became sharp. "Are you one of those unlucky ones whose passions veer toward their own sex?"
"Kernun forbid! I am as avid for womankind as any."
"Well, then, an you roll not the local trollops, hast a regular light o' love whom you visit for a bout betwixt sheets?"
"Nay, none." Thorolf stared at his noggin, increasingly embarrassed by the direction of the questions.
"Then whom have you fuf-futtered?"
Thorolf gulped, his wits slowed by drink. The question appalled him; it was certainly not what he had been brought up to consider ladylike. On the other hand, with this masterful woman, he feared he could never get away with the pretense of ever having been a great lover. He barter!:
"Well—in sooth—I haven't."
"What? How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine."
"Three more years than I, a man of normal urgings— or so you say—and a virgin? 'Tis a thing incredible. In Carinthia they'd put you in a curio cabinet." She beckoned Vasco and ordered another round of aqua vitae.
"Really, Countess," said Thorolf, "you will rue your overindulgence—"
"No one tells the daughter of a hundred kings and nobles what to do! But back to your case. What's the caush of your unwonted abstinence?"
Thorolf gulped again. "Well, if you must know, I promised my mother on her deathbed not to fornicate before marriage. I once got as far as betrothal to the daughter of our senior sergeant; but she forsook me for one who, I ween, was less scrupulous."
She drank more schnapps and giggled. "Sh—serves you right! What a pity that yours be a lower-class organ! I could give you lessons—break you in—were not plebian organs forbidden my c—c—" She fell into a spell of hiccups.
Thorolf said, "Mean you—ah—that you've had much experience of such things?"