Stolen Magic(43)

That was possible.

“Good fortune for Mistress Sirka,” Master Robbie said. “She may have years to spend with Dror-bee.”

The two were at the north-wall fireplace, talking. Or Mistress Sirka was talking and Dror-bee was nodding ardently.

Elodie said, “Could she have taken the Replica to make the high brunka imprison them?”

This seemed unlikely to both of them. Master Robbie said, “She couldn’t guess what High Brunka Marya would do.”

Albin, who had been deducing on his own, joined them. “Lady El, the lowly helper, foresees . . .” He abandoned the role of narrator. “Someone is likely to act rashly, perhaps violently, to get out of this jail. It may be the thief or anyone. Keep your distance from them all.”

“In danger from me?” Master Robbie sounded almost as outraged as Master Tuomo.

“From everyone.”

“Not from Master Robbie,” Elodie hastened to say. “My masteress trusts him. And I can’t keep my distance. IT asked us to investigate together.”

“Then I’ll remain with you both. Lady El, sit with me at meals.”

She nodded. She could do that much.

If harm came to her, Masteress Meenore would certainly find the thief and would show ITs rage in heat and fire. This idea gave little comfort.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT



In early afternoon, His Lordship-as-a-horse swam the icy Fluce River with Widow Fridda and her daughters on his back. The donkey stood on the bank, brayed once, and plunged in, too.

On the other side, they climbed, crossed the road from Zee, and climbed again. After half an hour, a quarter mile above the Fluce, the horse knelt so his charges could dismount on a ledge in front of the caves of Svye Mountain. As they did so, the donkey arrived and began to munch snow a yard from where Goodman Otto and another man stood looking down over the river.

“How lucky you found a horse,” Goodman Otto said. “That ogre didn’t help after all. I’m not surprised.”

The oldest girl began, “He—”

“Hush!” The widow handed her baby to the girl and unloaded the pile of His Lordship’s clothes from the horse’s back. “Girls, close your eyes.”

The horse vibrated. After a minute, Count Jonty Um donned his homespun tunic, cloak, and boots. Goodman Otto had the grace to blush.

The twins and the three-year-old hurried to him and hugged his legs.

The older girl smiled shyly. “He saved us.”

Fee fi! His Lordship thought of becoming the monkey for happiness.

“I’m sure we’re grateful, Your Countship.” Goodman Otto touched the hood of his cloak in a gesture of respect.

“Grateful!” Widow Fridda picked up her satchels. “Grateful is a pebble. We owe him a boulder, a mountain all to himself.” Her grim face softened; her lip trembled; her eyes were wet. “Arnulf’s bees are nothing to him for aid.”

The bolder twin added, “There never was a nicer horse.”

“Are any bees in the nearest cave?” His Lordship tilted his head at it. The opening draped too low for him to enter without crawling.

“They went back to help others.”

The man who hadn’t spoken blurted out, “My brother! Sir . . . I couldn’t bring him. He’s mad and fought me off. The bees won’t be able to handle him. He’ll die unless you can get him.”

“Where is he?”

“It’s not far, not even a quarter way up the mountain.” The man gave him detailed instructions. “You’ll know him. He’s raving.”

His Lordship didn’t hesitate. Too late now, with the mountain so close to exploding, to fly to the Oase. Meenore, he thought, it’s all up to you.

“Wait!” The widow rummaged in one of her sacks. “Here.” She held a loaf of bread out to him. “Take care!”


His Lordship took the loaf and smiled his sweet smile, which caused the widow to blush. He began the descent to the river, devouring the bread as he went. On the riverbank, he stripped and waded in, holding his clothing over his head. Fee fi! The water was cold.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE



Masteress Meenore found Brunka Arnulf helping an aged couple into a sledge harnessed to an underfed donkey. Zertrum rumbled steadily beneath ITs claws.

The old people cried out in terror at the sight of IT, and the frightened donkey strained against its traces, beginning its slow progress downhill, the skis of the sledge scraping, bumping, and only occasionally gliding.

Brunka Arnulf pushed through the snow to IT. When he came close, he put his hand over his nose.

ITs smoke blued, an embarrassed dragon. “You are unsurprised and not much afraid at the sight of me.”

“It’s a time of marvels. A kindly ogre and now you.”

“What do you know of His Lordship’s whereabouts?”

“You are called Masteress . . .?”

“Meenore. What took place during his visit?”

“I answered his questions, and he flew away. Oh, and I gave him food.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“I repeat: He flew away.”

IT scratched ITs earhole. “You evaded my question, and thus I deduce you have seen him since.”