It didn't, of course-hallucinations don't usually come on demand. But I did feel a surprising surge of confidence, almost reassurance.
Shouldn't have surprised me, I suppose-the mind plays funny tricks on itself, and this was just my subconscious' way of getting itself to believe it could cope with whatever was coming. I suppose. But I happened to notice a tickling in my thumbs.
The dust cloud died down, and there sat an ancient crone in a gown of charcoal gray.
That, I could live with, given the milieu-I had seen her before, in my extreme youth, in dozens of illustrations in books of fairy tales.
What threw me, though, was that she was sitting at a desk, with papers strewn all over it, and a quill pen in an inkwell.
"You have cast two unauthorized spells in the space of half an hour."
Two?
Spells?
The crone wheezed on. " 'Sobaka,' said I to meself, 'there's nothing for it but to come hither and gaze-and aye, there he be! Yonder he stands, flaming with zeal to oust the palsied old witch-woman from her bailiwick and take her peasants for his own! If there's aught I cannot abide, 'tis a bursting new magus!"
"Hey now, wait a minute!" I was beginning to get angry again. "I don't want anybody's 'bailiwick'-and you can't own people!"
"Blasphemy!" she cried. "Not only a magus, but also a liar! As if 'tweren't a plentitude of folk in the art one must struggle with as 'tis!
Aye, a body's no sooner believing she's secure in her place, to lord it over her own trembling churls in easy breath, when, whoosh! Another young'un crops up, with cheek and with challenge, to be put in his place. It's no wonder the land's going to the pigs, with half the peasants turning to bandits, and a good number of them trying to out-evil their own township witch! And all from letting delinquents get out of hand! Abe, for the auld days! When younglings knew their places, or we had leave to fry them!"
"Leave?" I glanced at the desk again. "Who gives you leave to blast people or not?"
"Why, my master, fool, Queen Suettay!"
"Sweaty?" I stared; it struck me as an odd name for royalty.
"Nay, fool - Suettay! And be sure you do not take her name in vain, or she will surely appear to blast you!"
That gave me back some composure. I smiled, not too nicely; I'd heard that before, though usually about a personality a bit higher than an earthly monarch-that you have to talk nicely about Him, or He'll strike you with a lightning bolt. But I've seen and heard an awful lot of people saying nasty things about God, and I've never noticed any of them running afoul of large doses of electricity-except for the one who was working on a live wire at the time, and he didn't start cursing until after he got zapped. "Okay, so she's Queen Suet-ty." I had a mental image of a very, very fat lady looking like an awning pavilion with a crown on top.
"Suettay!" the old witch snapped. "Speak her name properly, crack-pate, or she will wish you ill indeed!"
Now I had it - the French word for wishes, intentions, as in, "I wish you a good day." The pronunciation had thrown me off, that was all. "Whatever. And this Queen Suettay will zap you, if you zap me?"
"Without showing you the error of your ways, aye. I am the bailiff of this bailiwick, given authority to see to its taxes and enforce the queen's laws o'erit! 'Tis for me to see you are noted in its book, and deal you work to do that will give the queen crops-or, if I have no need of you, to another."
I bridled instantly. I mean, had I left my own civilized universe, with running water and modern medicine, just to come to a godforsaken medieval backwater that still made me cope with a bureaucracy? "Okay," I snapped, "so you've got the authority to issue me a travel pass, or whatever, because you're the witch in charge of the local parish ..."
"Bailiwick!" she screamed. "Speak not in the words of the Flock!"
I frowned. Flock? Then I remembered the parable of the Good Shepherd, and that "ecclesia" literally means "flock," and I understood. So anything having to do with Christianity was anathema to her, huh? Maybe I could use that-but I kept it in reserve. After all, calling on the saints, or making the Sign of the Cross, or anything like that, kind of rankled; I hadn't been about to cop out to religion back home, and I didn't intend to here. Besides which, it might require conviction, which I definitely did not have.
She must have seen that in my eyes, because she gave me a gaptoothed grin. "Ah, then! You shy from those words yourself, eh? Well, then, come! Prick your finger, write your name in my book, and swear to serve the queen and her master, or I'll call upon his power, and you'll writhe in flames!"
Outrage kindled. "No way!" I snapped. "I've heard about that book-and I'd end up writhing in flames either way, until this hallucination wears off! I won't be a slave, and I won't accept any master! " She answered with an evil grin. "Excellent," she crooned, "most excellent! For if you'll serve no master, then you cannot be protected by any-and the Other Side will not ward you!" I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck.
"I felt your first use of a spell and said to myself, 'Sobaka, what bother is this?' and began to tidy up my work to spare time for a visit-but ere I departed, I felt the nerve-grating shimmer that could only have come from an agent of the Other Side, and withheld my visit till that grinding had ceased . . ."
Translation: she'd sensed the visit from my guardian angel and had been so scared that she'd burrowed under the bedclothes. I felt a little more confident.
"Yet cease it did," she crowed, "and totally - there was no shred of it left! Therefore did I come here, and sure enough, I see no particle of the aura of the Other Side about you! You have not aligned yourself with them, and have not their protection!"
The temperature of my precious bodily fluids began to fall again.
" "Tis an idiot, surely,' I said to myself, 'an idiot who doth think to gather magic as if he were a windmill, gathering power from the gale and wielding it to grind what he will! Ay, such a fool I can twist right easily!' So come, addle-pate, and sign in my master's book, or die in agony!"
Somehow, for a second, I didn't doubt that she could do as she'd said, and my heart sank down to join the caterpillars that were trying to turn into butterflies in my belly-but mostly, I felt the hot anger of indignation. How dare this old witch try to push me around! "No way will I get on your hook!" I snapped. "Keep the fire for your blasted book!"
She let out an outraged squawk, just about three-quarters of a second before her book burst into flames. She screamed, jumping back. All I could do was stand there and stare.
That was too bad; it gave her a chance to recover from her surprise.
"Vile recreant!" she screamed. "The records of all who owe my master are destroyed!" Then she hooked her fingers into claws, chanting, "By the most vile of obscene names, Follow that book into the flames!"
And she threw a whammy at me.
Only this whammy took form very fast, some unseen energy gathering itself together until it materialized about halfway between us as a roaring globe of fire. I shouted and leapt out of the way, but it swerved to follow me. I jumped again, in a forward somersault, but came up to see it still following.
I ran.
Behind me, the hag's cackling almost drowned out the roar of the fireball-and it was gaining. In a rush of adrenaline, I suddenly realized I should be trying verbal acrobatics, not physical-she had brought this phenomenon into being by versifying; I sure hadn't seen her pulling the pin on a grenade. I ducked behind a boulder; it followed me, and it was roaring, but so was I, tapping myself on the chest and chanting,