The two intruders skulked toward the great house. There was no chance of Bileworm's gossamer footfalls making any noise, but he tiptoed anyway, burlesquing stealth like a clown in a pantomime, purely for his own amusement.
Then a low shape, more than seven feet long from the tip of its snout to the end of its scaly tail, lumbered out from behind a wrought-iron bench. The eight-legged watch beast swung its crocodilian head in their direction, and Bileworm discerned the sheen of a luminous emerald eye.
"Hide!" Master whispered, lunging behind a tree. Bile-worm sprang after him. "Don't even peek at it."
"Why not?" the spirit asked.
"It's a basilisk."
"What?" Few powers in this mortal sphere were capable of harming Bileworm, but the gaze of a basilisk was one of them. It could turn the flesh of even an insubstantial creature to stone. "Kill it, Master!"
"I can't, or people will know we were here. Be silent and I'll try something else."
Master whispered the rhymed couplets of an incantation and rotated the knobbed head of his staff counterclockwise. Worms of phosphorescence crawled on the black wood. Meanwhile, Bileworm listened to the basilisk's hissing breath and its tail dragging and bumping along the frozen ground. The sounds were growing louder. He didn't think the monster had spotted him or Master. Otherwise, it would be more excited. But, just his luck, it was coming toward them anyway, and if it looked at him squarely, it wouldn't much matter whether it had been intentionally pursuing them or not.
In his present form, Bileworm couldn't even strike a blow in his own defense, and fervently wished he could bolt. But he didn't, for he was far more afraid of Master than of any watch beast.
The reptile grunted, sounding as if it was just on the other side of their tree. Bileworm trembled. Then, at last, Master completed his spell.
Off to the left, bubbles of golden light swelled and burst. The soft brassy notes of a glaur rippled through a fanfare. Then a white stallion, its bridle encrusted with silver and pearl, appeared in the center of the illusion. The horse whinnied, turned, and trotted into the night, whereupon the basilisk gave chase, waddling as fast as it was able.
"I hope no one in the house noticed that," Master said, "but I had to divert the creature somehow."
"Do you think there are any more of them?" Bileworm asked.
"It's possible," the wizard replied, "so perhaps you might try keeping an eye out instead of cutting capers and playing the fool."
In fact, they reached the donjon without encountering any more trouble. Turning, his mantle sweeping outward, Master cast a second abjuration, wiping away another set of wards. Sparks danced and sizzled on the facade of the mansion.
The spellcaster had already decided that they wouldn't attempt to enter at ground level. Despite the lateness of the hour, there might well be a porter tending the front door, or other servants laboring behind any of the lesser entries. So Master floated to a dark second-story window, and Bileworm stretched up beside him.
The casement's lead cames ran diagonally, dividing the glass into diamond-shaped panes. Most of the quarrels were clear, a couple, bottle green. Master spoke a word of power and inside the frame, the fastener unlatched itself. The window swung silently open.
Master climbed inside through the drawn velvet curtains, and Bileworm followed. On the other side was a gentleman's bedchamber, and the sharp-nosed, yellow-bearded young aristocrat himself snoring beneath a heap of eiderdowns. The handle of a warming pan protruded from beneath the bed, and a crystal decanter lay on its side on the carpet. The scent of the spilled brandy tinged the air.
Just as Bileworm had wished to poison a rose, so now he would have liked to crouch atop the sleeper and swirl his shadowy fingers through his brain. He knew he could give the human nightmares. Indeed, given sufficient time, and sufficient susceptibility on the part of his victim, he might even drive the fellow insane.
But he knew Master wouldn't allow him to linger and enjoy that pastime, either. The wizard closed the casement once again, then beckoned Bileworm to follow him through the door.
Beyond the bedchamber was a sitting room where a lackey slumbered tangled in a coarse blanket on the floor. From there the intruders passed into a shadowy corridor. Oil lamps, most of which had been extinguished, reposed in brazen fixtures along the wall.
"Do you know which way to go?" Bileworm whispered.
"Possibly," Master replied. "In the old days, I visited this house on occasion. I believe I've got my bearings, but it all depends on whether our friend is still occupying the same suite."
The pair skulked on and eventually found a door with a cockatrice carved on the keystone of the surrounding arch. Master tried the knob and the portal opened.
Across the threshold were the lavish apartments of a great nobleman. A suit of gilded tourney armor stood in the corner, the helm crowned with the withered brown chaplet the wearer had won for his jousting. A red silk cover embroidered with songbirds shrouded a large gold cage. Paintings and tapestries crowded the walls.
The bedchamber was a spacious room currently lit by a single candle in a red glass bowl. On the high domed ceiling was a faded fresco depicting the gods at play. Another covered birdcage stood by the window, and a green velvet cord hung beside the enormous bed. No doubt the occupant had only to pull it to ring a bell and summon his valet.
That occupant was a withered old man with a prominent beak of a nose. He lay slumbering on his back, and a gurgling sound rose from his open, toothless mouth. He wore an embroidered cambric nightshirt and a striped woolen nightcap as well. His flesh smelled of liniment and sickness.
"That's our man," whispered Master. He stalked toward the sleeper in a way that conveyed to Bileworm that he meant to take care of his business as expedi-tiously as possible.
"You said you know him," the spirit said. "Don't you even want to wake him up and say hello?"
"You just want to see him cower," the wizard replied, a thread of distaste in his voice.
"I hail from a cruel realm, Master, as do you, now. Besides," Bileworm added, "it might help me to see how he moves and hear how he speaks."
"Indeed," said Master skeptically. "Well, I suppose it won't hurt to indulge you. Briefly." He leaned down, took hold of the old man's bony shoulder, and gave him a gentle shake. The sleeper merely mumbled and tried to roll over. Master shook him again, more vigorously. "Wake up, Lindrian Karn."
The old man's rheumy gray eyes fluttered open. When he took in the masked figure standing over him, he yelped and groped frantically for the bell pull. Master held him flat on his back with one hand and poised the head of his staff in front of the old man's face with the other. Motes of magenta light danced and sizzled on the polished surface of the wood.
"Stop struggling," advised the mage. "Otherwise I'll have to hurt you."
Lindrian obeyed. From the looks of him, he was afraid but trying hard not to show it. "What do you want?" he quavered.
"You'll find out presently," Master replied.
The old man suddenly jerked in surprise. "I know those eyes! Marance Talendar!"
Master stiffened. He hated giving up any secret or advantage, no matter how slight, but on this occasion, he must have reckoned it could do no harm to confirm his prisoner's guess. For he lifted off the Man in the Moon mask, revealing an ashen, patrician face with a high, broad forehead, narrow nose, thin lips, and a pointed chin, handsome in a cold, intellectual sort of way. Lindrian gaped in horror and astonishment.
"My compliments," the wizard said, setting the mask on the table beside the candle. "You're sharp. I never dreamed you'd recognize me after so many years, and disguised in dim light, no less."
"But you're dead!" Lindrian whispered.