Adventures Of Myhr Part 13

"Ask what?" He carefully adjusted the hang of the cloak. It looked a little threadbare around the hem.

"Is Lady Filima allergic to purple and green? I was wondering why you wanted to be incognito."

He frowned. "It's more like she's allergic to Lord Cadmus. Just the sight of these colors can put her in a bad mood, so it seemed best not to distract her with them." "Oh, yeah?"

"Well, it's no secret that he admires her a great deal. If she'd give him even half a chance she might see what a fine man he is, but she's not interested in him."

"No accounting for a woman's taste, but if a lady says no, it's the smart thing to listen."

"More's the pity. They'd make a good match. A great match. Shankey and I were talking about it today." An idea visibly appeared on his face. "Mr. Myhr, with you being a wizard and all . . ."

Uh-oh.

" . . . perhaps you can help us out in this matter-after you're done helping Lady Filima, I mean."

"Help you out in what?"

"With the things you know you must have a really good love spell or potion or charm or something."

I shook my head. "Listen, if I knew of one that worked I wouldn't have to sing for my supper at Clem's inn. I'd have that money-machine patented in one minute, on the street in two, and retire a zillionaire about an hour later. Everyone wants love. But you can't get it that way. Sorry."

The poor guy looked pretty disappointed. "Don't you have anything that might get my lord and Lady Filima together? He already likes her a lot; it would only have to work on her."

"Nope. If they're supposed to fall in love it'll happen if and when it happens. Trying to bend the will of one person to match the desires of another is unethical. That goes on often enough without using magic. It never turns out well."

"Even if it would be for that person's own best good?"

"Lemme ask you this: when you were growing up, how many times did you hear 'I'm only doing this for your own good'?"

He shuddered. "Too many."

"How would you feel if you heard it now?"

"I see your point, but this is different. Itreally would be doing them both a favor."

Jeez, I'd get a dozen a day exactly like him in the magic shop, twice as many on weekends, ten times more girls than guys. They all seemed to have a killer crush on some geek, deciding that he was their soul mate, and they wanted him right then and there. They didn't want to hear their symptoms were hormones, not destiny. A few I was able to persuade to sense, but most didn't want to listen. They all thought they were the exception to the rule. I'd sell the really stubborn ones neutralized love charms to wear and off they'd go, happy.

Then there were the new Talents, most without a real teacher to guide them. They had the magic, which was what drew them to the shop, but some were getting into it because it was cool, it would freak their parents, or they'd watchedThe Craft one too many times and wanted the power trip. They'd read-make that skim-one book about magic and decide they were ready to alter the whole Multiverse according to their desires. I was grateful about the Multiverse being mostly tolerant toward such neos until they learned better, but had seen a few mess themselves up by not thinking things through.

You've heard the stories, someone wishing for a ton of wealth, and they get it via an insurance company paying off a claim on their broken leg or trashed car. Or a gal throwing a love spell on some guy and ending up with an obsessed stalker or an emotional leech. Or both.

Youdo have to be careful about what you wish for; it's true, true, true, true, true, true, true, true.

"Nope," I said again to Debreban. "Let nature take its course. Trust me on this, it's a lot safer." I went to look at the bra.s.s inscription of the portrait painting. Good grief. It was the late husband himself, Botello Darmo. What was he doing out in the house boonies this soon after his demise? Maybe Filima didn't want any reminders of him peering down from the walls at her. That or she just had good taste in art. This depiction of his kisser was on the gloomy side. There was also something familiar about him in a creep-out sort of way. . . .

Shankey came back just then. "I don't believe this," he announced. "Overduke Anton sent that whole lot over here to invite him"-he jerked a thumb at me-"to the palace."

"I always wanted to play the Palace," I said brightly. They gave me a blank look. Okay, for a joke that creaky I could forgive them for not getting it. "Is there a problem?"

Debreban made a kind of mournful growling sound. "Lord Perdle must have told him. I knew he would.

But why would he want to see him?"

"You're talking about Anton wanting to see me or Perdle?" I knew what he meant, but they'd slipped back to referring to me in the third person and needed to be jogged out of it.

"He means Lord Anton wants to seeyou ," Shankey answered.

"So this is a bad thing? Why would he want to see me?"

"Look in a mirror," he grumbled.

"I do, as often as possible, and the view gets better with every pa.s.sing day."

"I better tell my lady about this. She might prefer you to avoid the invitation for now."

"She's got something against my making new friends?"

"It's not that, but if you go making side trips to Lord Anton's palace you won't be able to do what you need to do and get back here in time for the sunset curfew."

Yeah, and maybe Filima wanted to keep me for herself. Pleasant thought, if that was all there was to it. I came up with my own reservations, as well. This Lord Anton was also into magic; he could have been scrying around, asking the same questions she'd asked and getting my face in his mirror. I'd have to do the same song and dance with him, explaining myself and including a side trip to my life story. Once a day was more than enough, and anyway, I was still full from lunch.

"Okay, you won me over," I said. "You didn't tell them I was still here, did you?" "No, but they're certain you're inside."

"Is this going to cause Filima any trouble?"

"I don't think so. They all seemed friendly enough, just another errand for their lord."

"If this is all so friendly, then why send so many men after little ol' me?"

"Good point. They wouldn't say. Maybe it's an honor guard."

Yeah, sure. "Well, they can't 'invite' me over until I come out, but I do need to get back to the inn. Is there a back door out of this pile?"

"They'll have it covered. I would."

"What about the secret pa.s.sage?"

Shankey's eyes widened. "How'd you know about that?"

"I read a lot." Places like thisalways came equipped. I looked at Debreban. "You got a secret pa.s.sage in your clan house, too?"

He went stone-faced. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Thought so. Let's use it to get me out and back again. Filima can take me around to visit this Anton dude later when it's more convenient for everyone."

"That's duke. OverdukeAnton," corrected Shankey. "And I can't take just anyone through the secret pa.s.sage."

"Or it won't be a secret anymore, yeah, yeah, I've heard that one, but it's only the three of us. Unless these murky catacombs are guarded by hordes of rats and alligators flushed down the drain in centuries past-"

"There's no such things there!"

"Then let's get moving. If you're worried about security, just remember that Debreban's your good friend, and I'm a pa.s.sing tourist. With any luck I'll be gone before too long, never to return."

"Maybe I should blindfold you . . ."

Debreban came in on my side. "Aw, Shank, let's just go. I don't want them seeing my leaving here, either."

Shankey grumbled and rumbled, but gave in, and led off back into the house. "Why are you so against Lord Anton?"

"I'm not, but he might ask Lady Filima why the captain of the guard for House Burkus was here, and she'll ask you, and it'll get back to my lord in some way, and he might not be pleased that you and I got to talking." "He wants to keep things simple," I translated.

"Should have said so in the first place." Shankey shook his head.

We returned to the door leading to the bas.e.m.e.nt facilities, but struck off in a different direction once downstairs. No windows, just a lot of dark, but a couple of lanterns stood ready on a table, along with candles and a tinderbox. Shankey struck some sparks, made a flame, and lighted things up. Debreban got a lantern, I didn't, but that was fine with me. Shankey raised his own lantern high and forged ahead through dusty storage areas, threading past old furniture, trunks, and what looked to be party decorations. Compared to the stuffy interior of the pavilion it was positively cheerful.

But the creeps began to sneak up on me, nonetheless.

They began when we left the flotsam and jetsam of the household and entered a real tunnel. About five or six feet wide, seven feet high with an arched ceiling carved, apparently, out of solid rock, its rough, dust-coated floor slanted down at a gentle slope. Everything was dead quiet except for the noise we made walking along. I couldn't see the end of it; the lantern light didn't reach that far. Facing the overduke's honor guard seemed the lesser of two evils right now.

The air was dank at first, then got drier.

"We walking away from the river?" I asked.

"River?" Shankey said, alarmed.

"The Rumpock, not that h.e.l.l-river."

"Oh. Yeah, we're moving away from it. Makes sense not to dig a tunnel through a river, you know."

Or even a river I didn't know. "Where does this one come out?"

"The Darmo stables across the grounds."

"Must be some big grounds."

"They are, but the stables have to be a distance from the house what with the smell and the horseflies."

I could agree with that. If I didn't keep myself squeaky clean all the time flies tended to buzz me mercilessly. They love the fur. And you thought having a piece of spinach stuck in your teeth was a social embarra.s.sment.

"The tunnel's about eight hundred feet long," Shankey added. "Seems longer."

"Yeah," Debreban agreed. "Who built it and why?"

"About two centuries ago one of the Darmo House heads decided walking across to the stables in winter was a pain in the a.s.s, so he started digging. Legend has it he began with a teaspoon, but I don't believe that because those kind of spoons hadn't been invented back then. Cook told me so. She collects them." "She collects teaspoons?"

"Yeah. Has them all over her room in little display cases."

"Really?"

"Yeah, nice ones with gla.s.s covers. They're on the walls like paintings."

Debreban didn't seem the type to have much interest in the history of household utensils but it was something to get our minds off our surroundings. The farther we went down the tunnel the more the darkness piled up behind. Maybe this worked for moles, digging forward with the dirt closing in their wake, but not for me. I wanted out. I wanted air. I wanted more light than just two tiny little flames that could vanish at any given importune instant.

"Shankey . . . ?" said Debreban.

"Yeah?"

"Just how is it you know what the cook's room looks like?"

"Debreban?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut the h.e.l.l up."

Debreban snickered. I felt a half-hearted grin come and go on my face. We needed more jokes. Okay,I needed more jokes. Cracking them was usually my job; it was first nature to me, but I just couldn't work into the mood. All the hilarious stuff I'd ever heard or invented wasn't the least bit hilarious down here.

The only thing that kept popping into my head was some line Lon Chaney, Sr., once said about a clown not being funny in the moonlight. That clown would be a laugh-riot for me now, though; moonlight would mean we were in open air and free of this pit.

I'd been in dark, tight places before; this one shouldn't have bothered me so much, but there was something nervous-making about the atmosphere. When my whiskers started quivering on their own I recognized the feeling.

"Shankey? Did Lady Filima's husband do a lot of magic work?"

"I guess so. He kept quiet about it. Didn't want to scare people, I guess. Some don't like it much; I don't care one way or another so long as it doesn't hurt anyone."

"Just where did he set up shop? He had to have a workplace."

"In his private chambers. He had a room set aside for it. Nothing much to it, just a table, lots of books and papers, that kind of junk."

"Think he might have had more than one retreat?"

Shankey paused. "Why would you ask that?" "Becauseall my back fur is up and to do that for a guy like me takes a humongous amount of magical energy."

"You canfeel that stuff?"

"Like an itch you can't scratch. I think we're close to some source. Is this the only secret tunnel for the whole joint?"

"There might be one or two others," he reluctantly admitted. "But we don't have time for them."

"Um, we may not have a choice." My ears perked forward. "You hear that?"

They didn't, at first. The sound was too deep for human ears to pick up. It was like a subwoofer on a really good quadraphonic system; you don't hear it so much as feel it thrumming through your body. They suddenly flinched and drew their swords.

"What is it?" Shankey asked. "Sounds like a dragon breathing."

"You got dragons here?" It was an honest fear. I'd been on worlds that had them. They're not always fun.

"Figure of speech," he explained. "It's getting closer, isn't it?"