Stolen Magic(26)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE



Masteress Meenore had interviewed the bees who guarded the Replica when High Brunka Marya discovered the theft. Both had been at the Oase for more than fifteen years, and they’d sworn that their post had never been abandoned. If true—and IT had found no reason to doubt them—then the most likely time for the theft was near the end of Ursa-bee and Johan-bee’s turn guarding, when he’d been in the privy and she’d gone to investigate the weeping.

IT had also already interrogated Johan-bee and Ludda-bee. The conversation with the cook left IT wishing to scrub ITs earholes. Johan-bee’s brief answers had revealed little. He’d talked at length only about his digestive difficulties.

IT chose Dror-bee to interview next.

“Please find the Replica, Masteress.” Dror-bee looked hopeful and eager to help.

“I intend to. You are from Zertrum, are you not?”

“How did you guess?”

ITs smoke spiraled. “I never guess. You are not permitted to guard the Replica, correct?”

Dror-bee shook his head. “Yes. I’ve only been a bee for three months.”

“Just so. Who do you think may have stolen it?”

The bee shrugged, raising his shoulders to his ears.

“Speculate.”

He clapped his hands, then wrung them. “Mistress Sirka.”

“Ah. Is she avaricious?”

Silence. He shifted from foot to foot.

Masteress Meenore wished to hold him in place. The man was never still. But why wouldn’t he answer? Ah. “Avaricious means greedy.”

“She doesn’t mind being poor.”

“Why then?”

“She’s reckless.”

“Mmm. How would she have done it?”

Dror-bee put his index finger on his chin, the image of someone thinking. “I don’t know where it was kept, so it’s hard to guess. She’s a night owl. She would do it when others are sleeping.”

“Mmm.” How did this youth know the barber’s ways—her recklessness, her tardiness to bed? “You became a bee rather than a soldier. How did that choice come about?”

“My father said I couldn’t stay on our farm, and I could be only one or the other. I’m happy as a bee.”

Masteress Meenore’s internal flame flared. Here was a reason for anger against someone on Zertrum. “A farmer always needs more help. Why then did your father have no use for you?”

Dror-bee nodded twice. “I had too many ideas, which often failed. Father said I made him tired. Mother said, ‘The sheep with too much wool gets caught in the brambles.’”

Masteress Meenore thought that Lahnt had as many proverbs as sheep. “Are you enraged at your parents for sending you away?”

“No!”

“Were you angry at the time?”

His shoulders slumped. “I was sad. But Marya doesn’t mind my ideas, and a month ago when I found two lost goslings for a farmer, he thanked me. He said”—Dror-bee’s chest expanded—“that Lahnt was lucky to have bees like me.”

“You called Mistress Sirka reckless. Why?”

Dror-bee flung out his arms. “You’d think so, too, if you watched her cut hair. It’s a wonder she hasn’t chopped off an ear, and yet the result is always pleasing.”

“Is it reckless of her to court a bee?”

Softly, so IT had to strain to hear, he said, “It is hopeless.”

“Please tell the alleged thief to come to me. I will speak with her next.”

But a reckless thief would snatch and run. If Mistress Sirka were the thief, she would have to be cunning, too. Perhaps she was.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO



Fear and hatred had almost killed Count Jonty Um in Two Castles town. Lahnt, he thought, may finish me off. His teeth chattered, and he’d lost feeling in his feet. At a safe distance, the hunters had cleared snow and built a fire, fetching branches from the woods below, but when it was roaring, they held burning brands to keep him from approaching, until he half wished they’d thrust one at him. Fee fi! Roasting might be preferable to freezing.

He could shape-shift into a bear and have fur to warm him; however, he feared what the men would do to it or it would do to them.

Brunka Arnulf arrived at last on a mule. He jumped off, crying, “You’ll kill our rescuer! Let him warm himself!”


The men backed away, and His Lordship, who was usually graceful, lumbered to the fire. When he stopped, Brunka Arnulf flashed rainbows at his half-frozen feet.

“My rainbows have no other medicinal use, but they’re good for this.”

His Lordship’s feet tingled agonizingly, but agony was better than no feeling at all. And being touched by rainbows made the pain worth having.

“How bad is your wound, Master Count?”

His Lordship boomed, “Not so bad for me. Dreadful for a bird. I can’t fly.”

Brunka Arnulf stepped back from the sound. “Otto, you chose the wrong swift to shoot. We’re lucky your aim was off.”

“He really is a count?” Goodman Otto said. “A count?”

“I believe him when he says he is.”

“Oh.” Goodman Otto touched his cap. “I’m s-sorry. Er . . . p-pleased to make your acquaintance. Brunka Arnulf, is it true? The Replica was stolen?”