“Phew!” said Kazul. “I’m glad that’s over. From here on, it should be easy.”
“Good,” said Cimorene. She dropped the pebble into her pocket to look at more closely later and followed Kazul down the narrow, winding tunnel.
8
In Which Cimorene and Kazul Pay a Call, and Cimorene Gets into a Fight
A FEW MINUTES LATER THEY CAME OUT of the Caves of Fire and Night into bright sunlight. Cimorene had to shade her eyes against the sudden glare. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a large clearing around the mouth of the cave. The ground was covered with short grass, so lush and dense that it made Cimorene think of green fur. Here and there a tiny flower twinkled among the blades of grass. At the edge of the clearing the forest began, but Cimorene could only make out the first row of trees. They were enormous, so large that they dwarfed even Kazul.
“Leave the lamp here,” Kazul said. “There’s no sense in carting it around the forest when we won’t need it until we come back.”
Cimorene set the lamp on the ground just inside the mouth of the cave. “Now what?” she said.
“Now we go to Morwen’s,” Kazul said. “And we’ll get there more quickly if you ride. If you climb up on that rock over there, you ought to be able to get on my back without too much trouble.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Cimorene said, scrambling up onto the rock Kazul had indicated.
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded,” Kazul said. “Right there will be fine. You can hang on to the spike in front of you and you won’t foul my wings if I have to take off suddenly.”
Cimorene did not like the implication that there were things in the Enchanted Forest that were nasty enough to make a dragon want to take off suddenly, but she did not say so. It was too late to back out, and she certainly wasn’t going to wait at the mouth of the cave all alone while Kazul went off to visit Morwen. There was no reason to think that waiting would be any safer than going along.
As soon as Cimorene was settled, Kazul set off in to the forest at a rapid pace. At first Cimorene had to concentrate on holding on, but after a while she began to get the hang of it. Soon she was able to look at some of the things they were passing. The trees were huge; Cimorene guessed that even if there were four of her, holding hands, she would not be able to reach all the way around one of the trunks. The ground was carpeted with bright green moss that looked even thicker than the grass in the clearing. Cimorene saw no flowers in it, but she spotted several bushes and a vine with three different colors of fruit.
Kazul changed course several times for no reason that Cimorene could see, but she did not like to distract the dragon by asking questions. They passed a mansion guarded by a fence made of gold and a short tower without any windows or doors. Then Kazul splashed through a shallow stream and made a sharp turn. The trees thinned a little, and Kazul stopped in front of a neat gray house with a wide porch and a red roof. Over the door was a black-and-gold sign in large block letters reading, “NONE OF THIS NONSENSE, PLEASE.”
There were several cats of various sizes and colors perched on the porch railing or lying in the sun. As Cimorene dismounted, Kazul said to one of them, “Would you be good enough to tell Morwen that I’m here and would like to talk to her?”
The cat, a large gray tom, blinked its yellow eyes at Kazul. Then he jumped down from the porch rail and sauntered into the house, his tail held high as if to say, “I’m doing this as a particular favor, mind, and don’t you forget it.”
“He doesn’t seem very impressed,” Cimorene commented in some amusement.
“Why should he be?” Kazul said.
“Well, you’re a dragon,” Cimorene answered, a little taken aback.
“What difference does that make to a cat?”
Fortunately, Cimorene did not have to find an answer, for at that moment Morwen appeared in the doorway. She was wearing the same black robe she had worn when she visited Cimorene, or another one exactly like it, and she peered through her glasses with the air of someone studying an unexpected and rather peculiar puzzle.
“Good morning, Kazul,” she said after a moment. “This is a surprise.”
“Good,” said Kazul. “If you aren’t expecting us to be here, no one else is, either.”
“That’s the way of things, is it?” Morwen commented thoughtfully. “How much of a hurry are you in?”
“Not much of one, as long as no one knows we’re here,” Kazul replied.
“Then Cimorene had better get down and have something to drink,” Morwen said in a tone that forbade contradiction. “There’s cider, or goat’s milk, though if you want that, you’ll have the cats after you, or I can put a kettle on for tea. Good gracious, what have you done to your hand?”
While Morwen had been talking, Cimorene had turned and slid carefully down Kazul’s side. It was a long slide, and when her feet hit the ground, she had to put out a hand to keep from falling. Morwen’s exclamation made her blink in surprise, and she looked down. The palm of her right hand was covered with blood from half a dozen deep slashes and as many scrapes.
“Oh, dear,” Cimorene said. “It must have happened in the caves, when it was so dark. I didn’t realize. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
“Hurting or not, it needs attention,” Morwen said firmly. “Come inside, and I’ll see to it while Kazul tells me why you’re here. You’ll have to go around back this time,” she added, turning to Kazul. “The front steps won’t take the weight. A gnome stole one of the supports, and I haven’t had time to get it fixed yet. Pesky creatures—they’re worse than mice.”
“Don’t the cats keep the mice away?” Cimorene asked, mildly puzzled.
“Yes, but they don’t do a thing about gnomes, which is why gnomes are worse. Mind the step.”
Kazul started walking while Morwen shooed Cimorene up the wooden steps and into the house. Several of the cats eyed Cimorene curiously as she passed, and a tortoiseshell kitten got up and followed her in.
The front door led into a large, airy room with an iron stove in one corner. There was a good deal of furniture, but everything except the table and the stove had at least one cat on top of it. Morwen frowned at a fat and fluffy Persian that was sitting on one of the chairs. The cat stood up, yawned, gave its front paws a cursory lick or two just to show that this was all his own idea, and jumped down onto the floor. As Cimorene sat down in the vacated chair, there was a knock at the wooden door on the opposite side of the room.
“That’ll be Kazul,” Morwen said. She crossed to the door and opened it. “Come in. I’ll get you some cider as soon as I’ve seen to Cimorene’s hand.”
Morwen’s back door did not seem to get any larger, and Kazul certainly did not get any smaller, but when she put her head through the doorway, her scales did not even scrape the sides. The rest of her followed with no apparent difficulty, and somehow there was plenty of room in the kitchen even after she got inside.
Kazul settled down along the far wall, where she would be out of the way, and as soon as she stopped moving, six cats jumped onto various portions of her tail, back, and shoulders. Neither Kazul nor Morwen seemed to notice. Morwen took a small tin box from a shelf beside the stove and sat down at the table beside Cimorene. “Now, tell me what you’re here for,” she said, taking a roll of linen and two jars of ointment out of the box. “Apart from my cider, I mean.”
“Cimorene had some interesting visitors yesterday,” Kazul said.
“If they were interesting, they can’t have been knights,” Morwen commented.
“They weren’t,” Kazul said. “They were wizards, and they went to a lot of trouble to get a look at my copy of the Historia Dracorum. The part that describes the Caves of Fire and Night.”
“And you think that’s why they’ve been sniffing around the Mountains of Morning for the past six months,” Morwen said. “How did you find out what they were looking at? Or did they ask permission?”
“I don’t think Zemenar would ask permission for
anything even if he was sure he’d get it,” Cimorene said. “He’d consider it beneath him. No, I saw him shut the book, and he was only a little further along from where I’d left my bookmark. Ow! That stings.”
“Good,” Morwen said. “It’s supposed to.” She closed the jar of salve she had been smearing on Cimorene’s palm and began wrapping the injured hand in the linen bandage. “Did Zemenar get what he was after?”
“I don’t think so,” Cimorene said. “He said he wanted to come back for another visit, and I don’t think he’d have done that if he’d found whatever he was looking for.”
“That seems like a reasonable assumption,” Morwen said. “Though wizards aren’t always reasonable. There, that should take care of things. Don’t take the bandage off for at least four days, and if you’re going to cook anything that has fennel in it, stir it left-handed.”
“Zemenar’s interest in the Historia Dracorum isn’t the only thing that points to his curiosity about the Caves of Fire and Night,” Kazul said, and explained about the book that had been stolen. “There have been other incidents as well, and nearly all the wizards we’ve caught poking around have been somewhere in or near the caves. That’s why no one thought much about it at first. Ever since King Tokoz made that agreement with the Society of Wizards, they’ve been claiming they’re supposed to have more time in the caves than we’re willing to give them. Everyone thought this was more of the same.”
“Not everyone,” Morwen said, giving Kazul a sharp look.
“I am widely considered to be unduly suspicious of everyone and everything,” Kazul said in a dry tone. “Particularly wizards.”
“And what do your suspicions make of this business?”
“I think Zemenar is trying to find out something about the Caves of Fire and Night,” Kazul said. “Something he hasn’t been able to learn from visiting the caves in person, hence his recent interest in histories that describe the caves, however briefly.”
“And you’re hoping I have something in my library that will help you figure out what it is,” Morwen concluded.
“I don’t hope,” Kazul said. “I know. Unless someone has run off with your copy of DeMontmorency’s A Journey Through the Caves of Fire and Night.”
“If someone has, he’ll regret it,” Morwen said. “Wait here, and I’ll check.” She rose and went out. Through the doorway Cimorene could see a room full of tall, dark-stained shelves.
Cimorene blinked. “Isn’t that the door you came in through?” she asked Kazul.
Kazul nodded. “Of course.”
“I thought it led out into Morwen’s yard.”
“It leads wherever Morwen wants it to lead,” Kazul said.
“I see,” said Cimorene, wishing her father’s court philosopher were there. He was very pompous and stuffy, particularly about magic, which he claimed was 90 percent trickery and the rest illusion. Cimorene had found him very trying. Dealing with Morwen’s door would probably have given him a headache.
Morwen came back into the kitchen holding a thin red book. “Here it is. I’m sorry it took me so long to find it, but the nonfiction isn’t organized as well as it should be yet.”
Kazul surged to her feet, shedding cats in all directions. The cats gave her reproachful looks and then stalked out the front door with affronted dignity. Kazul paid no attention. She curled her head around to peer at the book over Morwen’s shoulder.
“I suppose you’ll want to borrow it?” Morwen said.
“I certainly do,” Kazul said. “Is there a problem?”
“Only if it gets stolen,” Morwen said. “There are very few of these around, and I’m not sure I could replace it.”
“I’ll keep it in the vault with the treasure,” Kazul promised. “Zemenar won’t think to look for it there, and even if he does, he won’t get in. I’ve got enough anti-wizard spells on the door to stop the whole Society. They can’t get in unless someone invites them.”
“All right,” Morwen said, handing the book to Kazul. “Is that everything you came for?”
“No,” said Kazul. She looked at Morwen with limpid eyes and went on in a plaintive tone, “I still haven’t had any cider.”
Morwen laughed and went to one of the cupboards. She pulled out two mugs and a large mixing bowl and filled them with an amber-colored liquid she poured from a heavy-looking pottery jug. She set the mixing bowl in front of Kazul and gave one of the mugs to Cimorene, then sat down with the second mug herself.
They were in Morwen’s kitchen for over an hour, drinking cider and speculating about what the wizards were up to. After a while several of the cats came back, and Morwen gave them a dish of goat’s milk, which soothed their ruffled feelings somewhat.
“How is that fireproofing spell of yours coming?” Morwen asked as she returned to the table.
“I have everything I need except the powdered hens’ teeth, and I’m beginning to think I’m never going to find any,” Cimorene said. “Kazul has offered to let me look through the jars in the treasury, but if there isn’t any there, I don’t know where I’ll look next.”
“Really,” Morwen said, giving Kazul a sharp look. “Well, if you can’t find any hens’ teeth, you could try substituting snake fingernails or the hair from a turtle’s egg. I wouldn’t try it except as a last resort, though. Altering spells is a very tricky business.”
At last they had to leave. Kazul went out the same way she had come in while Cimorene watched in fascination. Then Cimorene and Morwen went on to the front porch. Kazul sidled up to the house, and Cimorene stood on the porch railing to climb onto her back. The cats were seriously affronted by this maneuver and expressed their displeasure in reproachful glances and low yowls.
“Don’t take any notice,” Morwen said. “It only encourages them.”
Cimorene nodded. “Thank you for everything.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Morwen answered. “Don’t wait too long to come again.”
“You’d better take this, Princess,” Kazul said, reaching back over her shoulder to hand Morwen’s book to Cimorene. “I can’t carry it and run at the same time.”
Cimorene took the book and tucked it into her pocket. “I’m all set,” she said, and they started off.
Cimorene enjoyed the ride back to the Mountains of Morning. She was now sufficiently accustomed to riding on a dragon to be able to concentrate on looking at the forest as it flashed past. The trees seemed almost identical to one another, but Cimorene spotted quite a few odd-looking bushes and vines, and twice she thought she saw small faces staring out at her from among leafy branches.
They reached the threshold of the caves much sooner than Cimorene expected. Kazul waited while she slid to the ground, then said, “The entrance is a little narrow. I’ll go first and make sure there’s nothing unpleasant waiting for us.”
Cimorene nodded, and Kazul vanished into the cave. Before Cimorene could follow, she heard a shrill cry above her. She looked up and saw an enormous white bird plummeting toward her, its clawed feet extended to attack. For an instant, Cimorene was frozen by surprise and fear. Then she ducked and reached for her sword.
She was almost too slow. The bird was on top of her, shrieking and slashing, before she had done more than grasp the hilt of her weapon. But the sword seemed to leap out of the scabbard as soon as she touched it, and she swung clumsily as she rolled aside. She did not expect to do any damage, just to force the bird to back away a little, but she felt the sword connect and heard a wail of pain from the bird. Thanking all her lucky stars individually and by name, Cimorene twisted and scrambled to her feet, sword ready.
There was nothing for her to guard against. The sword stroke had been more effective than she realized. The bird was dying. As she stared at it, it raised its head.
“You killed me?” the bird said incredulously. “But you’re a maiden.”
“Actually, she’s a princess,” Kazul’s voice said from behind Cimorene. “My princess, so you’d have been in even bigger troub
le if you’d succeeded in carrying her off.”
“I don’t think I could have done it if I hadn’t had a magic sword,” said Cimorene, who was beginning to wish she hadn’t. She had never hurt anyone before, and she didn’t like it.
“Just my luck,” the bird said disgustedly. “Oh, well, fair’s fair. You killed me, so you get my forfeit.”
“You’re not dead yet,” Cimorene said. “If you’ll let me near, I can try to stop the bleeding—”
“Not a chance,” the bird said. It was beginning to sound rather faint. “Do you want the forfeit or don’t you?”
“Take it,” Kazul advised.
Cimorene said nothing, and after a moment the bird said, “All right, then. Under my left wing, you’ll find three black feathers. If you drop one and wish to be somewhere else, you’ll find yourself there in the twinkling of an eye. Any questions?”
“Can I take anyone else with me?” Cimorene asked, thinking that if the bird was so determined to give her the feathers, she might as well cooperate with it.
The bird looked at her with respect. “Will wonders never cease. For once a human with sense is getting the forfeit. Yes, you can take someone with you, as long as you’re touching him. Same for objects; if you can carry it, you can take it with you. You get one trip per feather. That’s all.”
“But—” said Cimorene, and stopped. The bird’s head had fallen back, and it was clearly quite dead.
“Don’t feel too bad,” Kazul said perceptively. “If it had succeeded in carrying you off, it would have fed you to its nestlings.”
“Fed me to its nestlings?” Cimorene discovered that she had lost her sympathy for the dead bird. “What a horrid thing to do!” She hesitated. “Won’t the nestlings starve, now that the bird is dead?”
“No, one of the other birds will take over the chore of feeding them for a few weeks until they’re big enough to catch their own food,” Kazul said. “Now, clean that sword and take your feathers, and let’s get going. I want to have a look at that book of Morwen’s.”