Robert Hughes - The Wizard in Waiting

“Go well,” she husked, “but return swiftly! You know there’s nothing to do in this castle when you’re gone!” She kissed him, and Tahli-Damen then charged out of the room, calling for his seconds and for his horse.

About the time Jagd’s messenger bird delivered its tiny epistle, Pelmen slipped away to the roof of the Imperial House to send one of his own.

He’d spent the rest of the previous night amusing the Queen with perhaps too much success. She’d insisted on him spending this entire morning with her as well. Pelmen was learning that the best way to entertain Ligne was not to dazzle her with his own wit, but to appear dazzled by hers. It was his lot to laugh apprecia lively as she drilled barb after barb into the members of her court. Thus far, she’d seemed thoroughly pleased with his presence. If she had any idea of who he really was, she hadn’t revealed it. Perhaps she hadn’t seen the troupe perform enough in the past to be able to know him by sight Pelmen hoped that was the case. But there were many other courtiers who would recognize him so his face would keep its white coating.

Pelmen waited in vain for Ligne to explain why she’d expected him. He didn’t press the issue, and she seemed to forget about it. But her chance remark had created a powerful curiosity within him. He longed to be about his business, to get on to the dungeon and investigate it but she wouldn’t let him loose. Only by pleading for time to take care of private matters had he won this small respite.

He did not enter the hut where the platoons of blue-flyers gathered. He stopped a few feet behind it instead and gave a silent, mental summons.

Here now! What are you doing? asked the Imperial House, for this soundless call, if not an actual act of shaping, was certainly prelude to one.

In answer, several blue-feathered birds fluttered out the open roof of their crowded coop and landed on his shoulders and outstretched arms.

Pelmen looked at each one of them in turn, then with a thought dismissed all but one. The chosen flyer hopped onto his palm, and its black eyes studied the clown intelligently.

What cheek! Talking to birds, but ignoring the Imperial House.

Pelmen could have sent a rolled note, as Jagd had done, but he had much to say, and security was essential. la-stead, he planted his message in the little bird’s mind:

“To Erri, the Prophet of Lamath. Hello, my friend. I am within the castle, as we’d planned hut events have conspired to obstruct me. I’ve not been able yet to check the dungeon there’s a curious power here, quite unknown to me, that’s inhibited my abilities somewhat. Bronwynn may yet be beneath me but, if so, her presence is a closely guarded secret. Worse news Rosha is here, and is a captive of the Queen.”

Here Pelmen paused, and briefly held a picture of the hooded Rosha in his mind. The blue-flyer looked at him curiously. Then Pelmen began forming mental sentences again:

“As we guessed, this land is suffering from a lack of leadership. The Queen spends her time seeking diversion from her responsibilites, while the common people starve. In the wake of last year’s crippling of the Golden Throng, there’s a sense of defenselessness among the peasants.

There is a void here that needs to be filled. And I need help. Send someone to me someone you trust. Don’t dispatch a flyer I’d rather not arouse the suspicions of the Lord of Security any more than necessary.

Send the one of your choice to ‘a fool’ in the Imperial House. One thing more where is Serphimera? Pelmen.”

Pelmen held the bird away from him and looked at it inquiringly. The flyer patiently awaited its directions. Once again, Pelmen held the bird close to his head and imagined a route of flight that would take the magical little creature due north across the peaks of the Spinal Range, over the desert in southern Lamath, past the lower river to the capital city itself. Then he imagined the layout of the city, the location of the old dungeon of the King, and a certain window of that dungeon. Erri had taken the place over and made it his new monastery.

Pelmen imagined the tiny cell beyond that window Erri’s office.

Finally, he held in his mind an image of Erri’s face and tossed the bird into the sky. In seconds, it had disappeared toward the north.

He glanced around to see if he’d been noticed. No one was in sight, and he sighed with relief.

Down here! Look down here! growled the Imperial House from its roof tiles.

Pelmen happend to look at his feet. He was startled to see that the roof had suddenly become slick. “Has it rained?” he mumbled, glancing skyward.

No, it has not rained! Would you pay attention?

But Pelmen’s thoughts had already travelled back downstairs, as he prepared himself for his next performance in the throne room.

You will gain nothing by ignoring this House! the castle theatened, but it gave up when Pelmen turned to walk briskly into the aviary. One thing was clear this painted fool could shape, for dispatching a thought message by flyer demanded a confidence in one’s mental abilities common only to power shapers But the castle grew more suspicious of this character with each day. Why such secretiveness?

Why not openly display his abilities, and help the House? Was he in league with the hideous thief who had robbed the castle’s dungeons?

Why will you not reply!?

Pelmen was trotting down the garden ramp when he chanced upon a sight he had to stop and look at. On a stone bench beside a beautiful fountain sat Gerrig, in ardent pursuit of a giggling lady of the court.

He wore a costume so flagrantly colored and so incredibly tight that he most resembled a fat flamingo. Carnelian sequins glistened in the light, calling most unflattering attention to the actor’s chubby backside. Pelmen chuckled.

Gerrig wheeled angrily around to see who laughed. His face flushed when he saw Pelmen and, with words as immodestly passionate as the color of his pants, he begged his lady friend to excuse him momentarily.

A peacock joined Pelmen on the walkway as Gerrig started toward him, and the fool leaned over and asked the bird, “Do you think those are sewn on, or painted on?”

“Where have you been?” Gerrig demanded in a fierce whisper. “We had a rehearsal last night, and another this morning or do you think you’re too good for rehearsals?”

“Calm down, my friend. I’ve been entertaining the Queen.”

“Doesn’t it matter to you that Ligne said you’ve been what?”

“Entertaining the Queen.”

“Are you crazy?” Gerrig spat quietly. “What if she recognizes you?”

“I’ve always wanted to be buried by a stream ”

“Be serious!”

Pelmen grinned. “You’re wearing that, and expect me to be serious?”

“I thought you were avoiding the Queen!”

“I’d intended to. But she seems to have taken a liking to me, so my services are in demand.”

“Doesn’t she know you?”

“Evidently not. Though I wouldn’t be surprised to have Ligne play with me, as a cat plays with a mouse…”

“I hope not for my sakel Listen, this Maythorm fellow is combing the castle for you. You’ve offended him, somehow ”

“Take care you don’t steal his ladies.” Pelmen winked, nodding toward the pouting woman on the bench. “Or he’ll be after you instead.”

Gerrig glowered. “I try to help you, and all you do is joke!”

“I’m a fool, remember?”

“Yes, well, don’t fool yourself into thinking you can perform without rehearsing even if you did write the play

“I*m surprised you’ve had time to rehearse. How long did it take to stitch those onto you? Did a tailor do it, or a magician?”

“Get out of here!” Gerrig bellowed, and his lady friend twisted around to stare at him. “Not you, my dear,” he soothed, as he minced his way back toward the fountain.