Margaret Weis - Heroes And Fools

Palak handed him all the money.

Samael passed the notebook to Kela, who stared at him open-mouthed.

“Nicely read,” Daev conceded. “Clear, loud enough- didn’t drop the ends of your lines-and very passionate.” Somehow he had hoped Samael would need more coaching at love lines.

“Perfect,” Kela breathed. She shook her head hastily. “Oops, I’m sorry. Now you want me to do my lines?”

Daev murmured, “That would be nice.”

She glanced down, closed the book and held it out to Samael as Sharmaen was to hold the prop book. “No, sir, I beg you, read more carefully,

But you have skimmed the matter here, and missed

The subject I have worshipfully kissed

Whenever I discerned him-”

The scene went on until they kissed passionately over the book, then let the book slide to the stage floor. Samael, being taller, practically wrapped himself around Kela.

Daev, as the jealous father Stormtower, rushed in and pulled the lovers apart. Samael staggered as Daev read his angry lines with surprising force.

Getting into the action, Frenni, as Old Staffling the grand-father, burst in and verbally abused Daev/Stormtower, thwacking him with a hoopak/staff. The first blow knocked the wind out of Daev; the second, on his shin, set him dancing.

Frenni leaned on his staff and said critically, “You could dance funnier, but that’s not bad.”

When he finally found his tongue, Daev said with a tremor in his voice, “How would you like to have your entire throat ripped out and pulped with a rock?”

“No idea,” Frenni said. “Does it hurt?”

“Excruciatingly.”

“Have you had it done?”

Daev looked disconcerted. “Well, no-”

“Then how do you know?”

“Never threaten a kender,” Samael said. “It only encourages them.”

“All right,” Daev said through clenched teeth. “No more improvising. No more making up lines and movements, and no more real hitting, or you can’t be in the play. Do you understand?”

It was an empty threat, since they needed Frenni badly, but the kender went along. “All right,” he said sullenly. “We’ll do it the same boring way every time.”

“That,” Samael said with great satisfaction, “is how my potions work.”

After the rehearsal he produced a small balance scale and a system of weights from his cart. “Precise amounts of ingredients-salts, herbs, dried animal parts-produce the same results every time,” he said.

Frenni said indignantly, “Who wants that?”

Samael put a small amount of salt on the scale and checked it, grain by grain, against the weight on the other tray. “People who want the same thing to happen every time.”

“Do you want the same meal every night?” Frenni argued. “Of course not. Variety is adventure. Why, when I cook, even though it’s the same dish, it’s different every time. A dash of this, a pinch of that, and it’s completely different.”

Daev shuddered. “It’s true. Some of his meals are excellent. Some taste like badly sauteed rocks.”

Frenni, still smarting from the “no improvising” rule, put his hands on his chin. “Plays should be like that: different every time. In fact, you should write a new play that makes sure it’s different for the audience every time.”

“What kind of play, O great kender director?”

Frenni missed the sarcasm. “I think we should do a play with explosions, and dragons, and a village burning, and a battle, and magic.”

“I see,” Daev said caustically. “A play about a dragon that explodes over a village and sets it on fire, killing the wizard he was battling.”

Frenni looked at him in awe. “Is that what it’s like to be a real writer?”

“Of course. Do you want anything else?”

“Well, I think it should be funny.”

Daev threw up his hands. “Can’t we do the play we’ve got?”

“It’s awfully good,” Samael said.

Kela, looking at him, said, “It’s perfect.”

Daev watched her staring at the alchemist. Nettled, he said, “Perfect.”

“All the love lines.”

“They just came to me,” he said dryly.

She clapped her hands. “The romance is so tender.”

Daev was beginning to be unhappy with the play, though he had written it to feature Kela. “Can we just go over the set and effects design?”

Kela passed her notebook to Daev, pointing to some sketches of which she was particularly proud.

Daev reviewed Kela’s set designs, choked, and explained briefly about minimalism, imagination, and money. All in all she took criticism much better than Frenni had. She sat back down and sketched quickly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be done tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful. That leaves us one whole day to build and sew everything.” Daev ran his hands through his hair, wondering how soon it would turn gray. He added irritably, “Are you going to keep that beast?” Kela had adopted a stray dog, rangy and brown, which clearly adored her.

“I’ll name him Tasslehoff.”

“Everybody names dogs Tasslehoff.” But Daev scratched the dog under the chin. “Maybe we can work him into the play.”

The dog grinned. So did Samael. “Why not?” said the youth. “She worked me in.”

“Very true,” Daev conceded, but it didn’t help his mood.

That afternoon, as he had for the past four days, Samael carefully weighed out ingredients and folded them into paper packets for his customers. An attractive but pinched-looking young woman watched him carefully.

“Thank you for buying this-um, Elayna,” Samael said mechanically. “You’ll receive your copy of the book the night before the play performance.”

Elayna clutched the package as though it contained jewels, “This will make me attractive?”

“You will be attractive,” he assured her. “Mix the ingredients as described in the book and drink them with water. Avoid leading military skirmishes while on this prescription.” He looked up to see that she understood that was a joke, saw that she didn’t, and looked down indifferently.

Kela, completing a sketch with a flourish, offered it to Elayna. She stared at it, pleased. “I don’t really look like this.”

“You do,” Kela said earnestly. “You just need the potion.”

Elayna, vastly pleased, bought the sketch as well as the ingredients and the book.

Daev stopped by, drenched in sweat. Without looking up, Kela ladled him a dipper of water. He drank half of it and poured the rest over his head. “The stage is finished.” He added heavily, “Thanks so much for helping.”

“I helped,” Frenni pointed out and poured water all over himself from the bucket. Kela and Samael shielded the items on the table protectively.

“You were a great help,” Daev rumbled, “as my bruises testify. As for you other two. .”

Kela held up a purse. “Doesn’t this help?”

Daev weighed it on his palm, impressed but trying to hide it.

Samael, tired though he was, grinned. “We sold some ingredients to a fat man named Mikel who wants to get thinner. We sold two doses of powders to thin women who want to get fatter. We sold powders and a portrait to a short man named Vaencent who wants to feel tall and powerful. We sold five or six packets with partial ingredients for love potions. The customers’ll use home ingredients to finish them out.” He laughed his demented laugh. “That’s a surprise, right? Oh-we sold four potions to make the drinkers fall out of love. There are a few broken hearts in this town.”

“They all bought books,” said Kela, “and tickets to the play.”

Daev rubbed his palms together. “I hope they like the play.”

“They’re dying for the play,”‘ Kela said frankly. “The way people talk, you’d swear that nothing new has happened in this town since the Cataclysm. Anyway, it’s a wonderful play, your best so far.” She added, starry-eyed, “Amandor’s lines-”