Piers Anthony: On a Pale Horse

"The Love stone takes account of all that, sir. It orients on the right one, taking all factors into consideration. Left to your own devices, you are very likely to make a mistake, and suffer an unfortunate liaison, perhaps one that will become a grief to you. With this stone, that will never happen."

"But there could be many excellent combinations," Zane protested. "Many right women. How can a mere gem select among them?"

"Circumstances alter cases, sir. Some women are ideal for any man, with qualities of beauty, talent, and loyalty that make them highly desirable regardless of the variations in the males. But most of them are already married, as these qualities are readily perceived by the boy next door, lucky fellow. Others may be destined for some devaluing development, like a disfiguring illness or serious problems among their relatives. The Love stone knows; it orients on the most suitable, most reliable, most available individual. It is unerring. Simply turn it to obtain the brightest glow and follow where it leads. You will not be disappointed." He held forth the blue sapphire. "One demonstration trial, sir."

"I don't know. If it's like the last one — "

"This is romance! How can you lose?"

Zane sighed and took the stone. It was certainly pretty and twice the size of the Deathstone, and its theoretical power intrigued him strongly. A really good romance — what more could a man ask for?

As the ring touched his hand, the stone brightened, turning a lighter blue, becoming translucent. Again his mind faded to memory. Love — it was a second leg of his guilt. There had been a woman, nice enough, pretty enough, and she had wanted to marry him. But she had lacked the one thing he had to have. He had liked her, perhaps loved her, and she had certainly loved him — too much.

"The perfect romance — within the hour!" the proprietor exclaimed, seeming genuinely amazed. His voice snapped Zane out of his reverie. "You are a remarkably fortunate man, sir! I have never seen the Love stone so bright! So clearly directional!"

The perfect romance. He had, really, had that before. How could the stone know his particular needs? He returned it to the proprietor. "I can't afford it."

"You can't afford love within the hour?" the man affected astonishment.

"Romance won't pay my rent."

The proprietor nodded with sudden understanding. Something unscrupulous passed fleetingly through his expression. "So it is finance you lack!"

Zane took a deep breath. "Yes. I suppose I've been wasting my time here — and yours." He turned to go.

The proprietor grabbed his arm, in his eagerness forgetting his savoir-faire. "Wait, sir! I do have a stone for you!"

"How can I pay for it?" Zane demanded sourly.

"You can pay for it, sir!"

Zane shrugged him off. "You know why the Deathstone turned black for me? Because I'll soon starve to death! I have no money. I don't know why I came in here; it was a completely irrational act. I can't afford the least of your magic gems. I apologize for deceiving you."

"On the contrary, sir! I have a Sale stone set above my door; it glowed when you entered. You will purchase something here!" He snatched a stone from the display. "This is the one you want."

"Don't you understand? I'm broke!"

"This is a Wealth stone!"

Zane paused. "A what?"

The proprietor held it out. "It brings money! Try it!"

"But — " Zane's protest was cut off by the thrust of the stone into his hand. This one was not set into a ring. It was an enormous star sapphire, well over a hundred carats, but of very poor quality. The color varied from cloudy gray to muddy brown, and there were concentric rings crossing the material and several black inclusions or imperfections. But the star was impressive; its six rays reached right around the polished hemisphere, and their intersection floated just above the surface. Zane blinked, but the effect remained; the star was not in, but above the stone. There was magic here, certainly!

"Not pretty, I admit, but my stones aren't marketed primarily for their appearance," the proprietor said. "They are valued for their magic. This is as potent a spell stone as the others, but of a different nature. This is the one you want. It is virtually priceless."

"I keep trying to tell you! I can't — "

"Priceless, I said. You can not purchase this jewel for money."

"Not if it generates wealth!" Zane agreed, intrigued.

"That's right, sir. It produces wealth — all you'll ever need. Potentially thousands of dollars at a time."

"But this is paradox again! How can you afford to sell such a stone? You should keep it for yourself!"

The proprietor frowned. "I confess the temptation. But there would be a prohibitive penalty. If I were to use any of these fine spellstones myself, none of the other stones would work for me. Not reliably. Their enchantments tend to cancel one another out. So I use very little of the magic, apart from the Sale stone, which actually facilitates business. I earn my living on commissions, using no other magic gems myself."

Zane considered. The man could be concealing the fact that his stones were enchanted by black magic, helping to damn the person who used them. Drug dealers often did not use the drugs themselves, lest they be destroyed by their own product, and black magic was more insidious than drugs. Still, it was an answer. There were sellers, and there were users. "Then, what price?"

"Note the clarity of the star," the proprietor said. "When you invoke the magic, the star floats right off the stone and does not return until the spell is complete. That way you know exactly when it is operating."

This person was being evasive. "Assuming that it works," Zane said.

"A demonstration!" the proprietor said, sensing a sale that would hold. "Gaze on the Wealth stone and concentrate on money. That is all it takes to invoke it."

Zane held the stone and looked and concentrated. In a moment the star floated right off the stone, its rays dangling like legs, and cruised slowly through the air. It was working!

Then Zane's awareness faded to a dismal memory — the gaming table, compulsive gambling, the losses mounting — he had been such a fool with money! No wonder he was broke! If only it had stopped there…

The star dropped low, going toward Zane's foot. He stepped back, but it followed as if pursuing him. "Watch wherever it leads," the proprietor said.

"Suppose it leads me to someone else's wallet? To a bank vault?"

"No, it only discovers legitimate, available wealth. Never anything illegal. That's part of the spell. There are laws about enchantment, after all. The Federal Bureau of Enchantment investigates complaints about abuse."

"Complaints about the practice of black magic?" Zane asked alertly.

The proprietor affected shock. "Sir, I would not handle black magic! All my spells are genuine white magic."

"Black magic knows no law except its own," Zane muttered.

"White magic!" the proprietor insisted. "My wares are certified genuine white."

But such certificates, Zane knew, were only as good as the person who made them. White magic was always honest, for it stemmed from God, but black magic often masqueraded as white. Naturally Satan, the Father of Lies, sought to deceive people about his wares. It was hard for an amateur to distinguish reliably between magics. Of course, he could have this stone separately appraised, and the appraisal would include a determination of its magical status — but that would be expensive, and he would have to buy it first. If the verdict turned out negative, he would still be stuck.

The star hovered at Zane's shoe. "Lift your foot, sir," the proprietor suggested. Zane raised his foot, and the star slipped under like a scurrying insect.

Surprised, Zane angled his foot so he could see the worn sole. There was a penny stuck to it. The star had settled on this, clasping it.