Gresh smiled. Returning the powders and potions was not ideal, but otherwise he appeared to have won on all points. “Excellent!” he said. “Thank you!” He lifted a hand in salute, regretting that he had given Esmera his mug.
Tobas, Esmera, and Kaligir all drank in response. Kaligir wiped foam from his beard and said, “I do have a few questions, though. You said you have ensured the mirror would not produce any more spriggans. How did you do that?”
“That’s a long story.”
“And Tobas, you said in your message that you were not bringing your wives—it’s of no consequence, but in that case, why is Karanissa here?”
Tobas had been caught with his mug to his lips; he spluttered. “That’s not Karanissa,” he said.
“It’s not?” He turned to Esmera.
“My name is Esmera,” she said, and curtsied.
Kaligir stared at her for a moment. Then he looked at Gresh. “Is she part of your long story?”
“Yes, she is,” Gresh said.
“Then I think I would like to hear the tale now.”
“Of course; if you would join me?” He gestured at the velvet chairs.
There were not enough seats for all four of them. Esmera said, “Shall I go help Twilfa?”
“If you would,” Gresh agreed.
Then he sat down with the two wizards and began explaining everything that had happened over the past several days.
By the time he finished, all three of them had consumed a mug or two of beer, as well as a modest amount of the bread, cheese, and fruit the two women had delivered. From what Gresh saw of them, Twilfa and Esmera appeared to be becoming fast friends—they were laughing happily at each other’s jokes as they brought out the food and drink.
He also noticed that a spriggan had slipped into the shop and was listening from a nearby shelf.
“So you believe that there is a corresponding mirror in another reality,” Kaligir said thoughtfully. “And you’ve convinced the inhabitants to seal it away in a box.”
“Yes.”
“And what happens if it is taken out of that box?”
“Then we would once again have reflected spriggans emerging into the World,” Gresh said. “Which is why I did not leave the mirror in the spriggans’ possession—I wanted it somewhere we could keep a watch on it.”
Kaligir nodded. “You would send messages by writing them on spriggans, and using the Spell of Reversal, reflect those into the spriggans’ realm.”
“That’s one approach,” Gresh said. “After seeing what happened to Esmera, though, I can suggest another—cast Lirrim’s Rectification on a spriggan, and it should become a part of its original in that other realm, providing a direct and more efficient means of communication. This would also, incidentally, render the spriggan vulnerable to ordinary weapons and magic; it might be a suitable punishment for troublemakers.” He looked up at the spriggan on the shelf. “You might want to spread the word about that.”
The spriggan squealed and ducked out of sight behind a stuffed owl.
“That’s a very interesting possibility,” Kaligir remarked, as he glanced at the now-empty bit of shelf.
“There are a good many other possibilities here, as well,” Gresh said. “It seems to me that it should be possible to put the spriggans to use—yes, they’re stupid and clumsy and absent-minded, but they can be made to cooperate. I think they might be very handy as messengers, for example.”
“Or spies,” Kaligir murmured thoughtfully.
Gresh did not comment on that; he had thought of it himself, but had doubts about how well it would work.
“Then the outcome is satisfactory?” Tobas asked. “Even though there are still half a million spriggans in the World?”
“We’ve survived them this long,” Kaligir said. “Now that we know more of their true nature—assuming that Gresh is correct—I think we ought to be able to manage them.”
“Then might I ask about my fee, for services rendered? The tapestry?”
Kaligir blinked. “Oh, that’s between you and Telurinon. I don’t see any reason that it shouldn’t be started, though.”
“Oh.” Tobas looked annoyed, but said nothing more.
“And Esmera?” Gresh asked. “Does the Guild have any interest in her?”
“The reflection of Tobas’s wife? No—as far as I can see, she’s just another animation, like Lady Nuvielle’s miniature dragon, or those teapots so many people like. She’s none of the Guild’s concern unless she starts casting spells herself.”
“She’s a witch,” Gresh pointed out. “She does cast spells.”
“But not wizardry. Witchcraft is the Sisterhood’s problem, not the Guild’s.” He stood and held out a hand. “I believe we’re done here, then.”
Gresh rose, as well, and took the wizard’s hand.
“Thank you for your services,” Kaligir said. “Send me the bill for expenses at your earliest convenience, and I’ll see that it’s paid. Give me the unused powders and potions; I’ll take those with me. Then I’ll see about having Enral’s Eternal Youth cast.”
Gresh nodded. He crossed to the bottomless bag to retrieve the rather battered box that held the remaining jars.
Five minutes later the doorbell jingled as Kaligir departed, box in hand.
“That went more smoothly than I feared it might,” Gresh remarked.
“Yes, it did,” Tobas agreed, picking up the flying carpet. “I suspect that there’s been discussion within the Guild we weren’t privy to, and that worked out in our favor. If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to go now and see if I can get back to Ethshar of the Sands before dark. I want to get that tapestry started!”
“Of course,” Gresh said. “Shall I call Esmera, so you can say goodbye?”
Tobas glanced uneasily at the passage to the kitchen; soft feminine laughter could be heard from it.
“No,” he said, grabbing the handle of his case. “She’s not my wife, after all—just someone I met a few days ago.”
“As you please,” Gresh said. He did not offer to shake hands; Tobas’s hands were full. He did hold the door for the wizard, though, and watch as he unrolled the carpet and set his chest and himself securely aboard it.
Gresh waved a farewell as the carpet rose. Tobas waved back as it glided away with a faint whoosh, rising as it went.
Gresh stood in the familiar street for a moment, watching as the people of Ethshar went about their everyday business. Then he turned and walked back into his shop. He paused there, as well, taking in the tidy but heavily laden shelves, the locked cabinets, the vault door, the velvet chairs, and all the rest of it.
This comfortable and familiar shop was his and would be his as long as it lasted. He had just earned himself a way out of aging and eventual inevitable death. Oh, he could still die, certainly, but it was no longer guaranteed.
That was a very pleasant thought.
And all in all, the errand had not been so very difficult or time-consuming.
And there might be other benefits, besides his official pay. He ambled down the passage to the kitchen.
“Oh, there you are!” Twilfa said, looking up at his entrance. “We were just discussing where Esmera would sleep.”
“Anywhere she likes, I suppose,” Gresh said. He smiled. “She’s certainly welcome in my bed!”
Twilfa made a disgusted noise, but before she could say anything more, Esmera said, “Then I won’t be needing that cot made up after all.”
Twilfa stopped and stared at her, then turned her astonished gaze on Gresh.
He was struggling to hide his own pleased surprise. He hadn’t expected it to be quite that easy. He turned up an empty palm.