Bedtime Stories_ A Collection of Erotic Fairy Tales Part 21

The intensity backed off, allowing her to unclench her hands from the bedcovers. It didn't fade completely, but it wasn't quite so strong. "How . . . how high does it go?"

"Five plus plus five five . . . but I won't say the exact number just yet," he added. He waited until she stopped arching her back before continuing. "You're not quite ready for that." . . . but I won't say the exact number just yet," he added. He waited until she stopped arching her back before continuing. "You're not quite ready for that."

"G.o.ds, no!" she breathed, panting through the pleasure stirred by the vibrations. Then she reconsidered when he curled himself around so that he lay the same way, allowing him to ma.s.sage her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He rotated them in time with the restless circling of her hips, until Siona panted, "Well . . . maybe . . ."

"Did you know that most people consider mathematics-the plain, non-magical kind-to be quite boring?" he asked. His tone was idle, but his fingers were not. They toyed with the peaks of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"No, really?" she managed to pant.

"Oh, yes. I consider it one one of my missions in life to instruct people in all the joys of counting." As she relaxed under the lessened sensations, he smiled, abandoning her b.r.e.a.s.t.s for her thighs. Nudging them apart, he stroked through her now palpably slick folds for a few moments, then probed into her depths. "Ah, yes . . . I do believe you are now receptive enough to learn all about of my missions in life to instruct people in all the joys of counting." As she relaxed under the lessened sensations, he smiled, abandoning her b.r.e.a.s.t.s for her thighs. Nudging them apart, he stroked through her now palpably slick folds for a few moments, then probed into her depths. "Ah, yes . . . I do believe you are now receptive enough to learn all about three three of my favorite numbers." of my favorite numbers."

Shifting over her, Marc settled between her thighs. Ready and willing, Siona lifted her knees, giving him more room to find the right spot. But he didn't do more than prod.

"My first favorite number is zero zero." He waited a moment, allowing her to absorb the lack of vibration. "Before it was 'invented,' math was sometimes awkward to calculate. And if I say it twice-since I'm the one one who cast the spell-it'll end the magic. But I won't. Not just yet." who cast the spell-it'll end the magic. But I won't. Not just yet."

Siona sighed, glad the buzzing had come back. She tried to coax him closer with her hands and her heels, but he didn't move. Giving up, she raked her fingers lightly through the manly fur on his chest. "What's the next number?"

"My next favorite number is pi pi," he added, bracing his weight comfortably on his elbows and knees. "Three . . ."

He pushed in a little. Moaning, Siona arched her hips up into his. "Mmm, yess . . ."

"Point one one . . ." He backed out a little, then pushed in again. . . ." He backed out a little, then pushed in again. "Four . . ." "Four . . ." He pressed in a little deeper than before, accompanying the increase in tremors. He pressed in a little deeper than before, accompanying the increase in tremors. "One . . . Five . . ." "One . . . Five . . ." Out and in again, matching penetration to vibration-then a sudden thrust of word and flesh, Out and in again, matching penetration to vibration-then a sudden thrust of word and flesh, "Nine!" "Nine!"

Siona gasped. Fingers clutching at the bedding, she waited for him to move, to match the intense pleasure buzzing madly through her flesh. She tried lifting her hips into his to encourage him to continue, but he shifted with her, avoiding all but the smallest of frictions. Frustrated, she finally growled, "Move!"

"Move? Like this?" Marc asked, lifting his hand and wriggling his fingers in an aimless flutter.

"Spike me!" Siona ordered, not caring if the term was crude and beneath her station. "Spike me me!" Siona ordered, not caring if the term was crude and beneath her station. "Spike me hard hard !" !"

Flashing her a grin, he complied. Vigorously. Even better, he leaned down close enough to tell her what she could only presume were the decimal numbers a.s.sociated with pi pi, given how randomly they were placed. With each flex of his hips, he matched the strength and depth of his thrusts to the value of each number growled.

Somewhere in there, at a depth of mathematical understanding only a mathemagician would bother to memorize and recite, she shattered in bliss. Thankfully, he gasped out a zero zero between thrusts and shuddered a few strokes later in his own o.r.g.a.s.m. Sagging gently onto her, considerate enough to brace some of his weight on his elbows, he pressed soft kisses to her shoulder and collarbone. between thrusts and shuddered a few strokes later in his own o.r.g.a.s.m. Sagging gently onto her, considerate enough to brace some of his weight on his elbows, he pressed soft kisses to her shoulder and collarbone.

As her breathing recovered, a stray thought floated through Siona's sated mind. "So . . . ?"

"Mmm?" he asked, placing another kiss on the upper slope of one breast.

"So . . . what's your third third favorite number?" she clarified, arching one of her brows. favorite number?" she clarified, arching one of her brows.

Her husband laughed, delighted by her query, until she lifted her head from the bedding and claimed his parted lips for a kiss.

"SO . . . we're supposed to say say 'Marquis of Calabas' . . . while 'Marquis of Calabas' . . . while looking looking at this Baron Odious . . . and it's at this Baron Odious . . . and it's not not going to be a lie?" Errick, the manor's farrier, asked dubiously. going to be a lie?" Errick, the manor's farrier, asked dubiously.

Siona-or rather, Boots, since she was in her cat form-nodded. Marc had remembered to charge her translation amulet earlier that morning, after she had hissed at him and pawed at her throat. But it was working, and it was very handy. Having introduced herself as an "agent of the new marquis" to explain her authority, she was using Errick as a test subject. The farrier was phlegmatic enough to accept a talking cat, but smart and skeptical enough to poke holes in her logic. "Yes. Just think of the real marquis and answer as if you are addressing him, even though you're not actually looking at him."

The farrier rubbed at his chin, though he didn't tug on his ear like her husband did. "I don't know if I can can . . . Maybe if the real one was right there? Or at least in hearing range?" . . . Maybe if the real one was right there? Or at least in hearing range?"

Cats could sigh, even if they couldn't shrug. She nodded patiently and mewed mewed, letting her necklace translate her words. "I'll see what I can do. But I am am asking you to indulge the baron in his little whims to spare yourselves further harm. You'll have to decide on your own what that requires doing. Spread word to the others when you can, but do it discreetly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to run down to the miller's house and tell Marla about all of this. She'll spread the news of this across the west half of the marque." asking you to indulge the baron in his little whims to spare yourselves further harm. You'll have to decide on your own what that requires doing. Spread word to the others when you can, but do it discreetly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to run down to the miller's house and tell Marla about all of this. She'll spread the news of this across the west half of the marque."

"How do you, a mere cat, know so much about Marla and her gossiping habits?" Errick asked "Magic," she mrraued mrraued, flicking her tail. He laughed as she scampered away, heading for the edge of the manor grounds. Pausing briefly to look back at the house, Siona fancied she could see Marc through one of the upper windows, but knew it was unlikely. He was stuck inside for the next few days, going through all the estate records.

At least his diligence would have a twofold effect. One, it would allow her to spread the word about appearing appearing to call Baron Oger by the t.i.tle of marquis, even if they might only be able to do it when Marc was alongside the odious, overgrown man. And two, it would be good to have a proper mathemagical a.n.a.lysis of the Calabas accounts and properties. Her family had always done well enough with basic accounting practices, the sort that didn't require a mage to compute, but it wouldn't hurt to have the books gone over by an expert. to call Baron Oger by the t.i.tle of marquis, even if they might only be able to do it when Marc was alongside the odious, overgrown man. And two, it would be good to have a proper mathemagical a.n.a.lysis of the Calabas accounts and properties. Her family had always done well enough with basic accounting practices, the sort that didn't require a mage to compute, but it wouldn't hurt to have the books gone over by an expert.

An expert who had taught her a deeper appreciation for mere numbers mere numbers just last night . . . just last night . . .

"WHAT are you doing doing in there?" Marc hissed two days later. Scooping her off the threshold of the partially open door, he hurried both of them down the length of the balcony to his suite of rooms. Siona barely had time to paw the air, closing the doorway where he had found her. Shutting the door to his own rooms, he cradled her in one arm while he fished out a sc.r.a.p of chalk. Marking the panel with a quickly scribbled silencing ward, he glared at the black cat in his arms. "Do you know what he would have in there?" Marc hissed two days later. Scooping her off the threshold of the partially open door, he hurried both of them down the length of the balcony to his suite of rooms. Siona barely had time to paw the air, closing the doorway where he had found her. Shutting the door to his own rooms, he cradled her in one arm while he fished out a sc.r.a.p of chalk. Marking the panel with a quickly scribbled silencing ward, he glared at the black cat in his arms. "Do you know what he would have done done to you if he'd found you snooping around in his bedchambers? Or one of his guards?" to you if he'd found you snooping around in his bedchambers? Or one of his guards?"

Siona flattened her ears and hissed back. The wire and crystal necklace translated her intent. "They aren't his his quarters! They're my parents' quarters! And he's quarters! They're my parents' quarters! And he's gutted gutted their things! Most of their clothes have been tossed into sacks like they were rags, and I have no clue where my mother's jewelry casket went! That their things! Most of their clothes have been tossed into sacks like they were rags, and I have no clue where my mother's jewelry casket went! That thief thief is ruining is ruining everything everything he touches!" he touches!"

He shook her. Gently, but he shook her. "This is not not a game! He's pressuring me to find some way to increase the rents off the tenants and hide the extra income in the record books." a game! He's pressuring me to find some way to increase the rents off the tenants and hide the extra income in the record books."

She growled wordlessly for a moment, then mrraowled mrraowled in a way that the translator spell could actually use. "I in a way that the translator spell could actually use. "I know know it isn't a game. I also know he went down to the solar to have a few drinks before dinner, so I thought I had plenty of time! Why aren't you down there with him?" it isn't a game. I also know he went down to the solar to have a few drinks before dinner, so I thought I had plenty of time! Why aren't you down there with him?"

"I had to use the refreshing room. Don't Don't go doing things like that while he's actually in the manor house," Marc admonished her. "The risk of being caught is too great!" go doing things like that while he's actually in the manor house," Marc admonished her. "The risk of being caught is too great!"

"I can't do it when he leaves the manor because he spell-locks his quarters!" she shot back, tail flicking rapidly. "Besides, I think think I've found evidence against him." I've found evidence against him."

"You have?" he asked. "What? How?"

"He brought a writing desk with him. One of the legs smelled rather strongly of sweat and body oil at about the midpoint, indicating it had been touched a lot more than normal. Handled Handled a lot more than normal. It wasn't easy, but I managed to sniff out a couple of other spots along the underside which he's also touched a lot more than would normally be touched. I a lot more than normal. It wasn't easy, but I managed to sniff out a couple of other spots along the underside which he's also touched a lot more than would normally be touched. I think think there's a hidden compartment in his desk." Seeing he was paying attention to her, she calmed the thrashing of her tail and flicked her ears. "I intend to find out. there's a hidden compartment in his desk." Seeing he was paying attention to her, she calmed the thrashing of her tail and flicked her ears. "I intend to find out.

"My plan is to craft a couple of recording crystals tonight and position them around the room, very small and subtle ones which individually won't record very much, and which won't give off enough of an aura to be detected since they'll be scattered separately. But once they're gathered back up and a.s.sembled into an illusion projector, we should be able to re-create how he gets into the desk, without risking an ignorant-and thus potentially dangerous-attempt ourselves."

He considered her suggestion. "All right. But if if we're going to do this, it'll have to be carefully timed. And I'll want to do a test run of these recording Artifacts, to see if they are indeed as subtle as you claim-you do realize that if you're going to work on crafting them tonight, we're not going to be able to make love?" we're going to do this, it'll have to be carefully timed. And I'll want to do a test run of these recording Artifacts, to see if they are indeed as subtle as you claim-you do realize that if you're going to work on crafting them tonight, we're not going to be able to make love?"

His reminder lowered her ears. In just three short nights, she had grown rather fond of his inventive lovemaking. Sighing, Siona flicked her tail. "I guess it's a sacrifice we'll just have to make. At least the artificing can be done in a single night, though I'll have to stay here to catch up on my sleep in the morning."

Marc groaned. "Ugh. I was hoping to have you along. I'm supposed to be taking a tour of the exact extent of the Calabas estate boundaries with His Excellency on the morrow. Several hours of being stuck in a carriage with Baron Odious isn't exactly my idea of fun."

"As you yourself said," Siona mrrewled mrrewled, "this isn't a game. We both have to take some risks and make some sacrifices. At least with you along, he shouldn't have any excuse to flog the oath-bound peasants he runs across."

"Yes, whatever you said to the stable hands, the way they addressed me while looking at him him cheered him up when we were outside earlier," Marc agreed. Moving away from the door, he set her on the bed, pausing just long enough to stroke her spine a couple of times before heading for the refreshing room. "We'll have to figure out how to get you into that other suite without getting caught. Maybe when the servants clean it?" cheered him up when we were outside earlier," Marc agreed. Moving away from the door, he set her on the bed, pausing just long enough to stroke her spine a couple of times before heading for the refreshing room. "We'll have to figure out how to get you into that other suite without getting caught. Maybe when the servants clean it?"

"How about when you go in there to make an inventory of the previous owners' wealth?" she mraowled mraowled after his retreating form, glad he had restored the sound-dampening ward. So long as the door wasn't opened, she could talk to him openly like this. Leaping down to the floor, she trotted over to the refreshing room door, not wanting to after his retreating form, glad he had restored the sound-dampening ward. So long as the door wasn't opened, she could talk to him openly like this. Leaping down to the floor, she trotted over to the refreshing room door, not wanting to meow meow too loudly, since that would stress her shape-shifted throat. "His attention will be on too loudly, since that would stress her shape-shifted throat. "His attention will be on you you, not on me. He'll be watching your aura to see what magics you cast, if any. If you do nothing but Arithmancy in his presence, but do enough of it, that could mask me placing the crystals."

"Perhaps, but if you do it while the maids are in there," Marc countered through the door, "he won't be watching watching for magic, because he'll be elsewhere." for magic, because he'll be elsewhere."

"But what if he's paranoid enough to do a thorough scrying sweep after each cleaning?" she retorted. "If you're there and he doesn't see you casting any untoward spells, then he'll probably not feel the need to recast any detection spells immediately after. I am a mere cat, after all, and thus hardly noticeable."

"To everyone but me. I'd notice you anywhere." Having washed his hands, Marc emerged after a few more moments, brow pinched in thought. "That might might work, but we'd have to give him a reason to access his secret compartment before the next thorough cleaning. I suppose I could draw up a contract that, work, but we'd have to give him a reason to access his secret compartment before the next thorough cleaning. I suppose I could draw up a contract that, if if I come up with a way to hide the extra income he wants to squeeze out of the Calabas tenants so that it can't be a.s.sessed and taxed by the government, I come up with a way to hide the extra income he wants to squeeze out of the Calabas tenants so that it can't be a.s.sessed and taxed by the government, I I can't be held liable for his illegalities should they be uncovered. A magically binding paper of a nature he'd want to keep hidden from all other prying eyes." can't be held liable for his illegalities should they be uncovered. A magically binding paper of a nature he'd want to keep hidden from all other prying eyes."

Siona purred. The translator necklace surprised her, for it spoke up in its approximation of her natural voice. "I knew knew you were brilliant . . ." you were brilliant . . ."

Smiling, he scooped her off the floor and nuzzled her with his bearded face. "Thank you, my dear, for the lovely compliment."

She squirmed a little in feline instinct, then licked his cheek.

"HURRY!" Siona hissed as Marc worked his fingers into the hole at the back of the drawer slot, trying to find and activate the last puzzle tumbler. "I don't know how much longer the manor servants can keep him occupied with one fiddly little crisis after the next."

"I've got it, I've got . . . there!" Bending his arm sideways in the drawer slot, he pulled out a book, two scrolls, and several papers. He set the papers on the floor for her to read, quickly unbound the scrolls and laid those next to the papers, then pulled out the larger blank book, pen, and jar of ink he had prepared for this moment.

Siona pounced on the scrolls, unrolling them and scanning their contents. She hissed at the contents of the second one. "Here! This one is a missive granting Oger the rights to the Marque of Calabas . . . and it's dated two weeks before before we were attacked. Is this evidence enough for you?" we were attacked. Is this evidence enough for you?"

"I have even more evidence right here," Marc murmured, flipping page by page through the blank book and the book he had pulled from the niche in the writing desk. He dipped his pen in the inkwell and drew a straight line across the next blank page, his gaze on the text of the Baron's book, then let the copying spell spill that line of ink into a duplicate of the pages he was speed-reading. "Calabas isn't the first crime he's committed, though it's the biggest. This is his . . . his brag brag book, for lack of a better word. Everything from drowning the prized puppies of a rival cousin back near the beginning of this thing," he flipped over the next pair of pages, "to blackmailing a certain marquess into having an affair with him . . . He's a real piece of work." book, for lack of a better word. Everything from drowning the prized puppies of a rival cousin back near the beginning of this thing," he flipped over the next pair of pages, "to blackmailing a certain marquess into having an affair with him . . . He's a real piece of work."

"Master-crafted in a Netherh.e.l.l," she agreed. "Make sure you get a copy of this scroll. Once we take down Oger, I want to keep it as evidence to blackmail His Majesty into dropping all further pursuit toward taking over our lands."

Marc smiled, though he didn't stop his rapid spellcopying. "Our lands. I like the sound of that. We work rather well together, don't we?" lands. I like the sound of that. We work rather well together, don't we?"

Sitting on her haunches, Siona curled her tail around her paws. "Yes, we do. Getting married as quickly as we did was indeed a bit hasty, I'll admit, but I wouldn't say it was a mistake. At least so far." That earned her a sharp look. Siona smirked and added, "I'll have to give it another twenty years before I can be absolutely sure. So . . . what would you think of sticking around for a while, of trying this marriage thing for real, if and when we take out the Odious Oger?"

His smile broadened. "I'm game if you are-why, Boots, are you purring at me?"

She flicked her ears. "No, I'm playing the harp. Of course course I'm purring!" I'm purring!"

"Shh," he admonished. "Unless you can jump up here and wield this pen for me, I'll need to concentrate. As you said, we don't have much time, and you can't do this for me."

Not for the first time in her life, Siona wondered why her ancestress had to have been granted the shape of a four-toed cat, rather than the six- or seven-toed kind that had a sort of awkward opposable thumb. Instead of bothering Marc with more comments, she contemplated a much more important question: How to kill a mage more powerful and dangerous than both of them combined.

By the time he shooed her off of the second scroll so that he could copy it, she was reduced to thinking up wilder and wilder ideas. Most of the plausible ones weren't all that feasible, given the disparity in their power levels. Even combined, Marc and I could barely take him on in a straightfoward fight. But we can't neutralize his magic with, either; his aura reeks of self-protective spells against all manner of outside forces. Even combined, Marc and I could barely take him on in a straightfoward fight. But we can't neutralize his magic with, either; his aura reeks of self-protective spells against all manner of outside forces.

The only way it would work is if he he limited his powers, and limited his powers, and then then we ambushed him. But even without his magic, he's still physically powerful-one of those mages who doesn't believe in letting his magic do all of his fighting for him. And I can see why. Magically or physically, he's a tough opponent. we ambushed him. But even without his magic, he's still physically powerful-one of those mages who doesn't believe in letting his magic do all of his fighting for him. And I can see why. Magically or physically, he's a tough opponent.

Outside, she could hear birds twittering; their high-pitched chirps were annoying. Not just for the way they made her sensitive, pointed ears twitch, but because they plucked at her feline instincts. Part of her wanted to go outside and stalk those birds, but she couldn't do that just . . . yet.

Oh! "Marc? Can you shift your shape?" "Marc? Can you shift your shape?"

"Not naturally. No grateful G.o.ds in my my family history." His attention was more on his copying efforts still, but he did give her question consideration. "If you mean via a spell . . . I did take the basic course in Anthromancy and I pa.s.sed it with a reasonable grade. But I didn't pursue it as an elective. I didn't have the apt.i.tude." family history." His attention was more on his copying efforts still, but he did give her question consideration. "If you mean via a spell . . . I did take the basic course in Anthromancy and I pa.s.sed it with a reasonable grade. But I didn't pursue it as an elective. I didn't have the apt.i.tude."

"Could you . . . you know . . . steer him him into a discussion of shape-shifting magics?" she asked. into a discussion of shape-shifting magics?" she asked.

"There, done," he murmured, quickly rolling up the scroll and retying it. He cast a delayed cleaning spell on the scroll and stooped, tucking it into the niche with the other scroll, the letters-which included his contract of non-liability-and the bragging diary. Having carefully replaced the puzzle locks, he fitted the drawer back into place and packed away his copying materials. "So . . . you want me to engage him in a discourse of applied metamorphism. Why?"

"Because I'm wondering if you could not only get into a discussion of it, but, say, challenge him to a demonstration demonstration? Flatter his power and abilities, encourage him to try large shapes, that sort of thing?" Siona asked.

She let him scoop her up after he cast another cleaning charm on the floor and the door so that he could carry her back out of her parents' former quarters. Falling silent, she waited with bated breath while he checked to make sure no one could see them entering the upper balcony, and stayed silent until they were back in the guest quarters with a freshly applied silencing rune.

"More to the point, Marc, after challenging him to take on a large form, since that's easy enough for a large man to do . . . could you trick him into taking on a small small form?" she asked, looking up into his green eyes. "A form?" she asked, looking up into his green eyes. "A very very small form?" small form?"

Catching on to her idea, he nodded slowly. "Yes . . . yes, I could. But that would place the burden on you. He'd expect an attack from me, just as he would be checking for untoward magic from me. Could you you . . . well . . . ? Fast enough that he couldn't . . . ?" . . . well . . . ? Fast enough that he couldn't . . . ?"

She nodded solemnly. "I'll do my best. I have done it before, though only with actual rodents. It is is the G.o.d-wrought duty of the women in my family to learn how to kill rats, after all. We certainly can't take this to the king. Not when that scroll implicates him, too. All we can do is use it to blackmail him to stay off of Calabas lands. We can't do that to the baron, too, now that he's been formally declared the new marquis. He's too firmly ensconced. But the G.o.d-wrought duty of the women in my family to learn how to kill rats, after all. We certainly can't take this to the king. Not when that scroll implicates him, too. All we can do is use it to blackmail him to stay off of Calabas lands. We can't do that to the baron, too, now that he's been formally declared the new marquis. He's too firmly ensconced. But that that means . . ." means . . ."

He sighed and rubbed behind her ears. "Yes. Morally repugnant, but I guess there really is only one thing left for us to do."

IT wasn't quite as simple as engaging the odious baron in a conversation about magic. Though her husband did manage to confirm Baron Oger knew several shape-shifting spells, he couldn't get the man to actually display any of them. So, as Siona watched from her "pampered pet" position on a chair cushion, Marc decided to get the two of them drunk.

Normally, mages didn't overindulge. Alcohol lowered inhibitions and weakened willpower, which could make a mage lose common sense and self-control-untrained mages were forbidden to drink until they had pa.s.sed a certain level of control and competency at the very least. But by using the same distract-and-conquer tactics, and by playing the part of an increasingly tiddly court gossipper, Marc egged Oger onward, both in increasingly salacious conversation and in refilling each other's drinks. He was witty, charming, wicked, and over the top.

Listening to the two men getting into a belching contest, Siona flattened her ears against her skull and lowered her chin to her paws. Men . . . No refinement, no sensibility . . . Wow, that's an impressive burp . . . but . . . ewwww! Oger has now Men . . . No refinement, no sensibility . . . Wow, that's an impressive burp . . . but . . . ewwww! Oger has now completely completely earned the t.i.tle "Odious." I didn't even know it was possible to pa.s.s gas simultaneously from both ends, on command! Disgusting! earned the t.i.tle "Odious." I didn't even know it was possible to pa.s.s gas simultaneously from both ends, on command! Disgusting!

Evidently her husband agreed. Marc flapped his hand in front of his bearded face. "G.o.ds . . . I can't even top that . . . S'ppose I'll hafta challenge you to shape-shifting, now."

"You still on 'bout that?" Oger asked. He tipped his gla.s.s up to his lips. Marc leaned over and poured more rum into it. "Thanks . . . What is it wi' you an' shpellshifting?"

"I think I've found somthi-hic-ink I can beat you at, magicamally. You're You're all talk," Marc added, waving the decanter around before topping off his own gla.s.s, "but no acshun. I don' think you all talk," Marc added, waving the decanter around before topping off his own gla.s.s, "but no acshun. I don' think you can can . . . you know. Shift-spell . . . shift." . . . you know. Shift-spell . . . shift."

"Course, I can!" He belched and scratched his ribs. "I can shift sheveral sheveral . . . . . . several several animal forms." animal forms."

"Okay . . . what is your largest largest spellshape?" Marc asked. spellshape?" Marc asked.

Oger tapped his lips with his finger. "Dromid."

"A what-id?"

"Dromid! Dromid! Aren't you educated?" the baron snapped, picking up his gla.s.s for another sip. He waved the small goblet around as he gestured, not quite slopping the drink. "One of those . . . desert-y things. Sundaran animal. Looks like a . . . a s.h.a.ggy overgrown sheep with a really long neck an' a really bad back."

"Ah." Marc frowned in thought. "But . . . if it's a sheeplike thing . . . well, that inn't very fierce, is it?"

"It's big big. And unusual in these parts. They like deserts, an' we live in a lush foresht. Or something. Good rum."

Marc grunted and offered the decanter again. "Good enough, it's running out-hey!" He paused mid-pour and gestured, tilting the decanter up to keep from spilling the dregs of the amber liquid. "What's your fiercest fiercest shape? We c'n call in th' maid to fetch up 'nother bottle for the decanter, an' shape? We c'n call in th' maid to fetch up 'nother bottle for the decanter, an' you you can scare her!" can scare her!"

Siona reminded herself this was an act. If she hadn't been keeping an eye on the difference in how much he refilled each of their cups, she might have thought Marc was indeed inebriated beyond good sense. His tactic worked, though.

Baron Oger laughed heartily at the idea. Setting down his cup, he grabbed for the bell on the small, six-sided table set between their lounging chairs. Ringing it fiercely, Oger stood up, settled his shoulders, muttered the words of the spell, and transformed himself.

A few seconds later, the door to the parlor opened-and the middle-aged woman summoned by the bell screeched at the sight of the huge lion lurking just beyond the door. The lion roared roared, making her scream again, before shifting back into his normal, odious baron-self. Oger laughed heartily at her fright.

"Rum, woman!" Marc shouted, waving the decanter. "Rum! Fetch us more rum! And be quick about it!"

Trembling, the woman staggered back out onto the balcony, letting the door swing shut behind her. Still laughing, Oger stumbled back to his chair and plopped down onto it. "Priceless! That'll That'll put th' fear a' me into her. Bet you can't do better'n that!" put th' fear a' me into her. Bet you can't do better'n that!"

"Oh, well, large large forms are easy," Marc dismissed, flipping his free hand airily. "The . . . um, whatsits. The forms are easy," Marc dismissed, flipping his free hand airily. "The . . . um, whatsits. The conversion conversion rate of magic to matter in the art of Anthromancy is forty to one! Any idiot can make hemshelf . . . himself . . . into something of a . . . a comparable size or even something larger. It takes a rate of magic to matter in the art of Anthromancy is forty to one! Any idiot can make hemshelf . . . himself . . . into something of a . . . a comparable size or even something larger. It takes a true true spellshifter, an' a great deal of power an' control, to spellshifter, an' a great deal of power an' control, to redushe redushe your shize. If you your shize. If you really really want to impress me . . . what's the want to impress me . . . what's the smallest smallest animal you c'n shift into?" animal you c'n shift into?"

Baron Oger scratched and belched, thinking about it.

"A rabbit?" Marc prompted. "A . . . rat?"

Oger smirked. "A shrew shrew."