The Wizardry Consulted (Wiz, #4)(50)

To Wiz it sounded like both parties needed a good talking to and he couldn’t for the life of him see what whiffleberries had to do with magic or curses. Of course, he admitted, he’d never heard of whiffleberries before and maybe they had some magic property and . . . Then something Llewllyn said, or rather the way he said it, jerked his attention back to the conversation.

“So you expected him to steal the berries when you weren’t looking?”

Llewllyn asked in a carefully neutral voice.

“Stayed in the back of the house the whole day to watch the bush,” their client confirmed. “Only came into the shop in front when a customer called. Even watched most of that first night, expecting him to come sneaking over the wall.”

“And you still think he will plunder your whiffleberry bush?” Llewllyn prompted in the same tone.

“The berries are still there, ain’t they? As soon as his miserable curse has me worn down I expect he’ll come creeping over the wall some night and make off with the whole lot of them.”

“Hmm,” Llewllyn said, and rubbed his chin. “Hmm,” he said again.

Their client leaned forward anxiously. “Can you help me?”

“Oh, of course,” Llewllyn said with an airy wave of his hand. “Not that it is not a difficult problem, mind you, but you have come to the right place. I have the perfect answer for you.” He leaned over the table toward the man.

“First, I shall place a curse on the whiffleberries. By magic or by stealth the thief may make off with them, but they will do him no good. For if he should partake of the stolen fruit, his bowels shall loosen, his intestines shall bloat and he shall pass the night in the most intense suffering. Fear not, for your berries shall be guarded by the most puissant magic.”

Llewllyn held up a finger. “But understand, such curses are most powerful. To protect yourself you must not go into your garden, nay, even look into your garden for the next fortnight.”

The man shifted uneasily. “That might be hard. The privy’s back there.”

“Oh, for that, of course. But do not linger and do not so much as look out your back window at the whiffleberry bush for fourteen days, you understand? I’d suggest you spend your time in your shop as much as you can. Fear not, business will pick up as soon as I lift the curse.”

The man nodded.

“Now as for the curse on you, I must lift it gradually lest the powers invoked rend you limb from limb.” The man went slightly pale and nodded again.

“You must stuff your pillow with catnip and place a sprig of tansy under it. This evening I will perform certain mystical operations to banish the invisible demons which are plaguing you. You must drink a cup of wine each night and go to bed at your accustomed time. Over the next two or three nights the curse will dissipate.”

“That’s all?”

“For you, yes. My part will be much more difficult, but never fear, it will be accomplished.”

The man stood and reached for the purse on his belt. “Wonderful! What do I owe you?”

Wiz cleared his throat again.

“Oh, nothing,” Llewllyn told him. “Our fees are paid by the town council.”

“Then may Fortuna smile upon the honorable council!” the man exclaimed and hurried out.

“Okay,” Wiz said after the man was out of earshot. “I understand about the pillow. Catnip’s good for helping you sleep. I understand why you told him to spend time in his shop, to get his business back, and I understand why you told him not to keep watching that bush, to relieve his anxiety . . .”

Llewllyn arched an eyebrow. “Do you not believe in the Sparrow’s magic?”

“What I just saw was another branch of magic, what I call applied psychology-which by the way you have a talent for-“ Llewllyn acknowledged the compliment with a gracious nod, “-but what was that business about a curse on anyone who steals those whiffleberries? The bloating, suffering and stuff?”

“Those are the usual effects of eating green whiffleberries,” Llewllyn said dryly. “And if you were from these parts, and if you were not distracted by some stupid neighborhood feud, you would know that whiffleberries will not ripen for another moon or so.”

Wiz looked at his assistant. “You may have more talent for this than I thought.”

Next, not at all to Wiz’s surprise, was the chicken man. He strutted through the door, neck out like a bantam rooster, and two chickens clutched in his skinny hand. He nodded to the two consultants and plunked the two birds down on the table. The birds squawked and shifted and tried to stand up, something they couldn’t quite manage with their feet tied together. So they settled for sitting on the table and complaining in an undertone.

“I’m here about my chickens,” he announced. “They still won’t lay eggs.” He jabbed a bony finger at Wiz, “And don’t give me none of your lip about dragons, boy, the mayor hisself says you’re to help me.”

I’ll bet the mayor loved having someone to palm you off on, Wiz thought, but he only nodded pleasantly. “I wouldn’t dream of it now that the council has renegotiated the contract. My associate here will take care of your problem.”

The man scowled at Llewllyn. “He’s younger than you are,” he grumbled.

“Prettier too.”