C. Brittain - A Bad Spell in Yurt

I recognized him at once, not him personally, because I had never seen him before, but as a type. He was a magician, the sort of fellow who might have, in the youth of Yurt’s old wizard, picked up a little magic in an abortive apprenticeship. Nowadays he most likely had studied for a year or two at the wizards’ school. He was appreciably older than I; he would have left there before I arrived.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know they’re hard to make. But it was so convincing you scared me.”

He smiled at that, a slightly gap-toothed grin over a scraggly beard in which the grey was real. “Not bad to be able to scare a real wizard,” he said with a chuckle.

He would have known of course that I was a wizard. I had tried to explain once to the manager in the emporium how wizards can always recognize each other. He had thought it was some magic impress put on us at the same time we received our diplomas, but I had argued that that couldn’t be the case, as many young wizards appeared to be wizards long before the eight years were up, and old wizards who had never gone to the school were always recognizable.

“Shall I help you make a replacement?” I said to the magician, then realized it was tactless as soon as I said it. I had been spending too much time with the chaplain.

The grin disappeared. “This is my corner. If you want to do some illusions of your own, go somewhere else, but don’t interfere with my business.”

I stepped back without saying anything, watching as he set to work on a new magic bubble. This one he made green, and instead of a demon he put a dragon inside. He was good, I had to admit. In a few moments he had it finished and launched it into the air. A crowd started to gather, and several people tossed him coins, which he snatched up while continuing to concentrate on the next bubble.

“Did you make the eyes for those people in the dragon costume?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said with a quick glance in my direction, as though doubting my motives for asking.

“I just wanted to say that they’re excellent dragon eyes.”

“Well, thanks for your exalted opinion.”

I wandered off through the crowd without saying anything more. I should have known better that to risk appearing to be condescending. Wizards fight all the time with each anyway, and it’s even worse with magicians, who are constantly imagining an insult or a joke at their expense.

I was walking more or less in the direction of the castle when I was surprised but highly pleased to see two familiar forms coming toward me, the king and queen. I was delighted not to be a carnival magician. There was nothing I could imagine better than being the Royal Wizard of Yurt. I would have to ask the chaplain to teach me a proper prayer of gratitude.

The king seemed rested from the journey and was looking around with enjoyment, while the queen’s emerald eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to the harvest carnival for a few years,” the king said as we met. “It’s even more fun than I remembered. The king of this kingdom never comes, preferring to go to the big carnival at the City by the sea, but I think he’s missing something. You must have seen them both-what do you think?”

“I think this is a marvelous carnival,” I said. “But it’s getting late, and the crowd will be getting wild soon. Do you think it’s quite, well, safe to be out?”

They both laughed. “No one will bother the King of Yurt,” he said. “Not knowing the swift retribution that would follow from both my nephew and my Royal Wizard! And besides,” to the queen, “you know a few tricks, don’t you, my dear?”

She laughed in agreement. I was sure she did.

“We’re going to see some of the costumes and maybe have something to eat,” she said. “Do you want to join us?”

“I’ve already eaten quite a bit,” I said. “Go ahead-I may go back to the castle and rest a little myself.” I watched them as they proceeded down the street, arm in arm, both pointing and laughing as they went. When they disappeared around the corner, I continued to the castle.

None of the knights were back, though I could hear the voices of several of the ladies down the hall from the chamber where I was staying. I was delighted to see the king so well. What I couldn’t decide was whether he was just improved by the pleasure of the queen’s company, something I had already seen happening, or whether he was further helped by leaving Yurt. I hoped it was not the latter. Yurt was his kingdom, and I didn’t see how I could tell him there was a malignant influence there that I couldn’t find, but that meant he would have to leave.

The carnival continued all the next day, but I surprised myself by becoming bored. Maybe it was because I was there for pleasure alone, and pleasure seemed to pall faster than I remembered. The lords and ladies were busy buying supplies, new saddles and harnesses, shoes and boots, bolts of cloth for winter outfits, decorative tapestries, jewelry and chests. The servants too were busy at the merchants’ tables. The constable had sent a purse and a long list with them, and they were comparing, pricing, and buying everything from fabric for new curtains, to tea and spices, to flagons, to bed linens, to pots and pans, to a new volley-ball net. The pack horses, I thought, would be heavily-laden when we started for home.

I myself bought a new red velvet jacket. I had originally planned to wear my red pullover to the carnival, but after looking at it critically in the light of my predecessor’s magic lamps, I had decided it really did look like an old Father Noel outfit. I also searched for, but did not see, anyone selling books that would interest me.

The king and queen didn’t seem at all bored, even though they made no purchases. But they had each other, and that seemed to keep them happily occupied.

I didn’t see the magician again, though I was sure he was still at the carnival; one time I thought I saw a cascade of glistening stars rising from further down the street, and turned and went another way. I kept thinking about him, however. If I had done only a little worse in my studies, if Zahlfast had not given me a passing grade on the transformation practical in spite of my problem with the frogs (and I still did not know why he had), then I too would be working the corner for coins at carnivals.

The next morning, after the carnival was over, Joachim came to the castle very early, as the servants were packing the horses. I saw him from my window, walking down the narrow street with a much older priest, who paused, his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, to give him what appeared to be last-minute advice before turning back toward the cathedral. Joachim came in looking serious, as always, but did not look like I imagined someone would who had been accused of evil.

I wanted to talk to him about the magician, but was not sure he would understand. He, for his part, seemed unwilling to say anything about the last two days. As we mounted and rode through the empty and littered city streets toward the gates, I thought that I might send Zahlfast a letter.

The king was ill. He took to his bed the night we got back to Yurt, saying he was exhausted, and he did not get up again, not for chapel service, not for meals, not to work in his rose garden.

The queen seemed driven to new levels of energy. She was constantly in motion, and from the windows of my chambers I kept seeing her cross the courtyard, from the king’s room to the kitchen, where she herself tried to concoct a soup that would tempt him, back to his room again and then to the chapel to pray, to his room and then out to confer privately with the doctors she had sent for from the next kingdom. Although she did not say anything, I knew she was thinking that the doctors would have come more quickly if she had been able to telephone rather than relying on the pigeons. The pigeons were rapid, being able to carry a message to any of the nearby kingdoms in an afternoon, but not as fast as a telephone.