Jorian and Karadur remained in the Philosophy Building. As Abacams was showing them to the lounge where they would pass the rest of the night, Jorian asked:
"Pray tell me something, Doctor Abacarus. In Iraz, a savant of the House of Learning explained that a flying being the size of a man were impossible. Something about the relation of its weight to the area of its wings and the power of its thews. How, then, can Ruakh fly in his material form on this plane?"
Abacarus shrugged. "It has compensating advantages. Its muscles are not made of the same stuff as ours. They are stronger in proportion to their bulk."
"What's this," said Jorian, "about the demons complaining of being enslaved by us Prime Planers? I thought the Novarian nations had agreed to end slavery."
Abacarus chuckled. "The Treaty of Metouro, which will not become effective until all twelve governments sign it, refers only to the enslavement of human beings. Demons, from whatever other plane, are not human and hence do not qualify, any more than would your horse."
"How about the ape-men of Komilakh? Will they count as human beings?"
"That depends on which of the twelve nations you are in. The courts of some have held them human; of others, not. The Novarian nations should establish a supreme court over all twelve systems to reconcile these discrepancies. I belong to a society devoted to this ideal; I must give you one of our broadsheets. But to return to the Treaty of Metouro, only five of the nations have signed it, and do not try to hold your breath whilst awaiting the signatures of the rest."
"What about the demons' threat to organize against exploitation by Prime Planers?"
"Never fear. They will make a start and then fall into internal bickering as they always have. Now I am going home. I shall return an hour before dawn. By then, if all go well, our demon should be well on its way hither. Good night!"
It seemed to Jorian that he had barely fallen asleep on his couch, when he felt his shoulder shaken. "It is time," said Abacarus.
Jorian stood yawning in the oratory for half an hour. Then, just as the east began to lighten, something moved against the star-strewn western sky. Abacarus threw open the doors that unfolded on the small balcony encircling the tower, letting in a wave of frigid air. The flying object took shape, growing from the likeness of a bat to the demon Ruakh with a bulky burden in its arms.
With a muffled thunder of wings, the demon settled upon the railing of the balcony, grasping it with clawed feet as a bird does a branch. Then, wings folded, it hopped down to the balcony and walked into the oratory, bearing a blanket-wrapped body. Octamon shut the door.
"Here you are!" growled the demon. The musky smell returned.
"Had you trouble getting in?" asked Jorian.
"Nay. I materialized outside the dungeon, thinking to get the keys. But I found the barred door at the head of the stair open, and a guard sitting beside it. I frightened him away, descended the stair, and found the cell whereof you told me, also unlocked. So I discovered this woman therein. When I approached her to explain my mission, she fainted. I wrapped her as you see and bore her out. The palace folk scattered shrieking before me, so I had no difficulty in leaving the building and taking to the air."
"Well done!" said Abacarus. "You are dismissed, Master Ruakh."
Ruakh gave a bubbling growl. "Ere I return to my own plane, let me tell you Prime Planers, we demons will not forever submit to being kidnapped and forced to run your errands for you! We shall unite to end this injustice! We shall overcome!"
"For now, be satisfied with your dismissal," said Abacarus. "Begone; we do not find your odor pleasing."
Standing in the center of the floor, Ruakh went into its spin. The towering scarlet form whirled, blurred, and vanished with a rush of displaced air.
Jorian drew a long breath. "I confess that Ruakh's proximity gave me some uneasy moments."
"It is all in knowing how to handle them," said Abacarus. "My last apprentice got himself slain by a demon whom he improperly evoked."
"Jorian is forever deprecating himself," said Karadur. "I have sought to break him of the habit, since modesty is a poor weapon for making one's way in this sinful world; but I fear I have not utterly succeeded."
Jorian was kneeling by the blanket-wrapped form on the floor. As he began unwrapping it, he was struck by the horrible thought that his Estrildis might have perished from mountain sickness at the altitude to which Ruakh had borne her.
Then the form began to wriggle, and it threw off the blanket and sat up.
"By Imbal's brazen balls!" cried Jorian. "You're not Estrildis!"
"Whoever said I was?" said the woman, rising. "I am Queen Estrildis's lady-in-waiting, Lady Margalit of Totens. And you, and I mistake not, are the fugitive King Jorian. Where am I, and why have I been brought on this horrible journey?"
The woman was of about the same age as Estrildis; but there the resemblance ended. Where Estrildis was short and blond, Margalit of Totens was almost as tall as Jorian and dark, with a mop of curly hair tumbling over her forehead. Jorian would not quite have called her beautiful, as he would have said of some of the five wives he had enjoyed as king. But she was handsome in a bold, sharp-featured way, and strongly built. She was fast recovering from the shock of her experience.
Jorian bowed. "I am honored, Lady Margalit. You are in Othomae City, and it was not intended that you be brought hither. I sent Ruakh —that's the demon—to fetch my wife, but he seems to have caught you by mistake. How did it happen?"
"My Queen had gone up to the battlements to walk and look at the heavens, leaving me in our dungeon apartment."
"They don't keep her locked in that cell, then?"
"Nay, though they make sure she leaves not the palace. She may issue from the cell when she pleases, but they send an armed escort with her, lest you have another try at abducting her."
"Was it you who gave the alarm, when I fell over that chair and roused the watchdog?"
"Aye. How was I to know it was you?"
"Why told you not the demon who you were?"
"How could I? I was tidying up the apartment in Estrildis's absence —as you doubtless know, neatness was never her strong point—and the first thing I knew, there was the demon in the doorway, crouching to get his wings through, and mumbling something in that gargly voice with its unintelligible accent. Twas then that I fainted for the only time in my life. The next I knew, I was borne aloft, wrapped in this blanket, notwithstanding which I well-nigh froze to death. When I struggled, the demon warned me to lie still, lest he drop me from a height. What an experience!"
Jorian turned to Abacarus. "How could Ruakh have made such a stupid mistake? I told him to look for a small, blond woman."
The sorcerer spread his hands. "By and large, demons are not very intelligent. Belike it forgot your instructions, or got them confused, and when it saw one woman alone in the chamber reasoned that this must be she whom it sought."
"Can you call Ruakh back to rectify his error?" asked Jorian.
"Nay. A demon once dismissed is exempt for years thereafter."
"Why did you dismiss him so hastily?"
"Because it stank, and you did not object."
"I had no time to object; but let's not start apportioning blame. Could you invoke another demon in Ruakh's place?"
Abacarus frowled. "Not for months. Imprimus, these evocations are exhausting, and I must be able to meet my classes. I also find the odor of Fifth Plane demons unbearable. Secundus, it would cost you an additional fifteen hundred nobles. And tertius, you have not yet paid all you owe me for evoking Ruakh."
"What!" cried Jorian. "I owe you not a copper penny! We agreed that your demon should fetch my wife, Estrildis the Kortolian; and that he has not done."
"Young man, you had better watch your tongue. I say you owe me seven hundred and fifty. My expenses have been just as heavy as if the demon had succeeded, and I warned you that I did not guarantee success."