"I know," said Jim grimly.
"Their upset doesn't concern me," said Carolinus. "They'll get used to the fact that your difference supports it. But you also remember that you used this drawing account quite freely at the Earl's Christmas party. You managed to get a number of things done with it. But still you were rather prodigal with its use."
"You think so?" said Jim.
"I'm very sure so," said Carolinus. "As I say, I'm not worried about the other magickians complaining about this. What does concern me is that you are not observing something that, as a magickian operating essentially on your own, you must never overlook."
"Oh?" said Jim. He had never heard a note this serious in Carolinus's voice before. He found himself suddenly alert. He and Angie had been in some danger because of other magicians' complaints about his handling of magic before this.
"I would like you to remember something always," said Carolinus in the same voice. "No matter how little energy you may draw to do a certain amount of magick, no matter how large your resources may be, it is always wise, at all times, to hoard those resources. In other words, do not use your magick if there is at all any other convenient way of getting done what you want to get done. I know, you've seen me hopping around hither and yon—and even taking you with me sometimes—magickally. But I am a much older man than you and, well, there are other reasons you'll understand when you've learned a little more. The rule remains: do not use magick unless you have to."
He looked severely at Jim, who looked suitably impressed in return.
"The simple reason is," Carolinus went on, "that you may have a sudden, unexpected demand on the most magickal energy you can command at that particular time and under those circumstances. You have no way of predicting either what that demand will be, nor what your circumstances will be; so be safe. Keep as much in reserve as possible. This is very, very important, James!"
Jim felt a slight coldness on the back of his neck. Carolinus was being so serious that he was suddenly and very deeply wary.
"There isn't something—some danger—you know about that I don't know about, for which I might need magic?" he asked.
"No!" said Carolinus emphatically. "None whatsoever! I give this to you as a general rule. But I emphasize that this rule is of the greatest possible importance, always; particularly when you are adventuring into magickal situations on your own."
"Well, I'll certainly remember it," said Jim soberly.
"Good!" said Carolinus. "Remember your encounter with the Dark Powers at the Loathly Tower; and how I told you I had to make a long journey to get the magick enclosed in that staff I held. Large magick is not easy. No magick is the answer to all situations. You must first rely on yourself, your own will and your own wits."
He broke off rather abruptly and coughed.
"Now," he said briskly in his normal tone, "was there something else you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Not at the moment," said Jim, feeling surprisingly relieved that they were back to ordinary, friendly words after the almost ominous tone of the advice Carolinus had been giving him. "We're all fine at the castle. We'll be in touch with you shortly as soon as the weather gets a little better."
"I'm glad to hear it," said Carolinus. "I assume you'll be flying back there now, rather than transporting yourself magickally?"
"I'd planned to anyway," said Jim. "I like flying. But, come to think of it, isn't turning myself into dragon shape or out of it a use of magic?"
"As a matter of fact, in your unusual, individual case, it isn't," said Carolinus. "You're different, insofar as that goes—rather like a Natural—you came into this world as a dragon; and as long as you're a dragon when you go out of it, all the energy involved cancels out."
"Good," said Jim. "I'll step outside then, to turn back into a dragon."
"Do," said Carolinus. "I'd much appreciate it."
Jim did.
Back at the castle, some twenty minutes later, Jim landed on the flat battlemented top of Malencontri's tower, under the flagpole, from which the banner bearing his coat of arms flapped in the somewhat active breeze.
He was greeted by the ritual short shout of alarm which was the male equivalent of the widow Tebbits's polite scream. He nodded an acknowledgment at the man-at-arms on sentry duty, changed to his human form, walked down the stairs, opened a door and stepped into the solar.
Angie was there, seated at a table with papers spread out before her, doing what no right-minded lady in the fourteenth century would want to be caught doing—keeping the accounts of the castle household.
Actually, John Steward should have been doing this. But Angie had discovered that John, entirely in accord with hallowed custom, had been skimming off for himself a certain amount of the funds necessary for the castle's maintenance. Shocked by this, she had checked with Geronde, who had looked into the accounts, and come to the conclusion that John was not being greedy at all in what he took. In fact, he was being rather sparing in making use of his skimming possibilities. She had strongly counseled that Angie leave the matter alone.
But Angie was determined that things should be done in a more reasonable twentieth-century manner. She had taken over the accounts herself, giving John Steward instead a twice-yearly fee, which was in fact a little more than he had been taking. Then, she herself kept the records and kept them rather more tightly than John had ever done.
"Jim!" she said, looking up from the table. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, I stopped at the widow Tebbits's—she needed some firewood," said Jim. "Then I saw Sir Hubert was having some trouble with a cow stuck in a hole; and I was so close to Carolinus's then, I thought I'd drop by and see if I couldn't mend our relationship. I was having some hard thoughts about him toward the latter part of our visit at the Earl's, you remember."
"And it's taken you until now?" said Angie. "The afternoon's almost gone!"
"Yes," said Jim, "I must have talked to Carolinus a little longer than I thought. But let me tell you—he started out by asking me if I was ready for my next adventure. I told him, 'Certainly not! Angie and I are going to live as ordinary people for the next few years.' "
"You told him that?" said Angie.
"Absolutely!" said Jim. "That's what I said to him, flat out."
"Then nothing is going to take you away for a long while yet," said Angie.
"Absolutely!" said Jim. "You can count on it."
"Good. I will," said Angie. "Brian is downstairs."
"Brian?" said Jim. "What brings him over?"
"He wanted to tell the two of us at the same tune, so he's been waiting for you to get back," said Angie. She got up from the table. "Let's go down to the hall now. He's been perfectly happy sitting down there, talking to your squire."
Jim's squire was Theoluf, a former man-at-arms who had been elevated to squire rank for Jim, when there was no one else available. He had at least a dozen, possibly more, years of experience in the same sort of martial activities that Brian lived for. Brian could hardly have sat down and chatted with him if he had been still a man-at-arms, even the Chief man-at-arms—which he had been. But now that Theoluf was a squire, he was advanced enough in rank to be someone to chat with; although Jim was ready to bet that while Brian was still sitting at the table, Theoluf was standing.
Jim, of course, could not break himself of the twentieth-century habit of inviting everybody to sit down. Angie had adapted to the business of having inferiors stand when they talked to her; and she as well as Brian and Geronde de Chaney, Brian's betrothed, had tried to break Jim of the bad habit of inviting them to sit.
Jim was better at it now, but he still slipped occasionally. His own servants, having gotten instructions from Angie, passed down through John Steward, were in the habit of simply ignoring the offer when Jim suggested they take a seat.
They had been relieved to be ordered to do that. The truth was they felt uncomfortable sitting in Jim's presence—it was as someone might feel five hundred years later, not kn
owing if they were using the right fork at an ultra-formal dinner.
When Angie and Jim came into the Great Hall through the serving room, next to the high table, Theoluf was standing, just as Jim had expected, before the dais on which the high table stood. Brian was sitting, in his usual upright horseman's posture, but with one elbow on the table and a forefinger emphasizing a point he was making to Theoluf at the moment.
"…But one thing you must always train them to do," Brian was saying emphatically. "A man down does not mean a man slain!"
"And so I do tell them, Sir Brian," said Theoluf earnestly. "But getting them to remember it and believe it until after they've had a close 'scape from a man they thought was dead, is something else again. When I was at Warwick Castle I had one lad, searching for money in what he thought was a corpse, gutted by it; though it had been on its feet and fighting like the devil himself, a moment before—"
Theoluf broke off and bowed, as Jim and Angie appeared by the high table. His hat was already in his hand, since he was talking to Sir Brian, so he could not take that off. But the bow was becoming a rather smooth and practiced gesture for the ex-man-at-arms, Jim noticed. It was a far cry from the awkward way Theoluf had jerked his upper body when he had first been promoted to squire.
"Theoluf," said Angie, as she and Jim took seats behind the high table, flanking the end of it at which Brian was seated, "run see about some food for your Lord. What would you like, Jim?"
"Oh, cheese, bread, some cold meat—and some small beer," said Jim. He was actually almost coming to like the small beer. Wine would taste infinitely better; but he was trying hard to resist the fourteenth-century habit of drinking it on any and all occasions that gave the slightest excuse for it.
"Yes, m'lady," said Theoluf. He bowed apologetically to Sir Brian, and ran off through the serving room in search of table servants.
"Brian!" said Jim. "It's really good to see you. I didn't expect to have you come in this weather, though. You look fine. And Geronde's fine?"
Brian and his betrothed, Geronde de Chaney, traded homing pigeons so Castle Malvern and Castle Smythe could stay in touch when the weather was bad like this, or in any emergency. Castle Malvern boasted a priest in residence. Brian had no such luxury, but he did have a former monk among his retainers, who could read and write a limited form of Latin. So messages went back and forth in that language.
"Never finer," said Brian. "Wondrous things have occurred—but before I get into that, I must tell you before I forget, it was a great sorrow to Sir Giles not to be able to see you after the tourney."
"I'm sorry, myself," said Jim. "He came all that way to the Earl's from up near the Scottish border, and we really never had a chance to talk. I thought he might come home with us here for a short stay; but when I looked for him later that day I couldn't find him. I'd heard he'd left already. I hope it was nothing I did or said."
"Not at all," said Sir Brian. "You remember that since he could not ride in the tourney himself, he acted squire for the other Northumbrian knight there, Sir Reginald Burgh; whom, if you remember, was the third to ride against Mnrogar?"
"Yes, I was told that," said Jim. "That's why I didn't go looking for Giles until after it was all over. But do you know why he left so soon?"
"It seems Sir Reginald had planned to leave early," said Brian. "He had some matter up along the border that would require his being back as soon as possible. But because be had taken some small hurt in his spear running with Mnrogar—oh, nothing serious, a few ribs cracked, or a shoulder displaced for a moment—he was in no fit shape to fight, in case he and his men ran into the same sort of outlaws that Giles encountered on his way down. Giles, therefore, being a fellow Northumbrian, felt it his duty to ride with Sir Reginald; and he had barely time to pass this word to me before he was off to do so."
"Maybe he can come down again," said Jim.
"Possibly next year—" began Brian; and they were suddenly surrounded by servants, putting down a fresh tablecloth and a napkin, plus trencher, beer, cheese and meat as ordered. They were gone again in a moment, but the thread of conversation had been interrupted.
"Well, we'll hope so," said Jim, privately wondering whether it would be much of a journey for him, in his dragon body, to fly up to see Giles for just a few days at the Castle de Mer of his family. "But you were saying that wondrous things had been happening?"
"So I did; and so they have," said Sir Brian. "You will hardly credit two such chances falling together so happily at the same time. You will recall what none of us expected, the capful of gold pieces that King Edward sent down with the Prince as his gift to the winner of the tourney? None of us, of course, were hoping for such a kingly guerdon."
That would certainly be true, thought Jim. The King of England did not usually favor the winners of any but royal tourneys with gifts.
"But, as you know," Sir Brian went on, "it ended in my keeping. I had been counting on only the horses and armor of my opponents; and indeed both horse and armor that I gained from my opponents were of noble worth—particularly Sir Harimore's. However, he wished to ransom these back, the horse being as dear to him as Blanchard of Tours is to me; and the armor being such a cunning fit that he was fearful he would not find as good again. I could not deny him, of course, though I did allow him to force payment on me, which was not the best of chivalric manners. But then, you know how it is with me and Castle Smythe."
Jim and Angie knew. Castle Smythe was perennially teetering on the edge of becoming a ruin; and while Brian won a tourney from time to time, most of the money had to go to supporting those in the castle who were retainers of Brian's and would not leave him, but stayed on merely for a roof over their heads and the poorest of food. But even these simple needs ate up most of his winnings, so that there was usually little left for much-needed repairs of his small castle—even though it was little more than a tower keep, with outbuildings and a curtain wall enclosing all.
"Well, I had done so well this last Christmas," Brian went on, "that I was in high hopes of at least mending the roof of my Great Hall; and still having enough to feed us all until the first spring crops come in and some of my herd of cattle"—(there were only six of them, Jim knew)—"would give birth. But then, on top of all else, came this marvelous rain of gold pieces. I counted them when I got home; and could not believe my eyes."
He paused to let Jim and Angie both murmur polite agreement with his astonishment at that moment.
"There was enough there to mend all of Castle Smythe," Brian went on, "and keep us well for more than a year—and in a year I would have won other tourneys. For the first time, I would begin to get ahead of my necessary spendings. From that point, who knows what richness of lands and buildings I might not produce? I could clear the scrub wood from my southwest corner and put it to pasture; but, in any case, the King's gift was a gift from God. In fact I was tempted to go to Windom Priory to ask counsel of the good priests there as to how to thank Him. But it came to me that they might well say that I should give all or most of it to them for churchly uses; and I am sinner enough not to want to lose that much of it. Oh, I will make them a handsome present; but I shall decide myself how large shall be the gift."
"Well, you were the one who earned it," said Angie.
"No," said Brian, shaking his head, "fortune favored me—no more. But, though little I knew it then, this wealth was already destined for better use—" He sat back in his chair, beaming at them.
"A much better use!" he said. "For, within a few days of my return, a message came by pigeon from Geronde, summoning me over to see her. I had been intending to go in a day or so anyway; but I went right away. When she saw me, she flung her arms around me; for the best of news had come. An aged knight, returning from the Holy Land, had brought word and passed it on to a King's Justice, on regular circuit through Devon to hold his court; and he had passed it on to another gentle knight, of name Sir Matthew Holmes; who, on his way back to Gloucestershire, kindly came by Malvern Castl
e and told her. Her father has been seen living in the city of Palmyra, in the Holy Land—but, beyond the fact that he was recognized there, we have no word of how he is living, only that he is in good health for his age, which by now must be close to fifty."
"Then you don't know whether he's planning to come home or not?" said Angie.
"No. And it was exactly that, that showed both Geronde and I the miracle involved in my gaining the King's gift," answered Brian. "With the amount of moneys I now have in hand, I can travel swiftly to this Palmyra, find him and bring him back. Bring him back, I will, by force if necessary; because he must consent to Geronde's marriage to me."
He broke off and turned to Jim.
"Will you come with me, James?" he said. "It will be something to see the Holy Lands, of course. But, more important, I can be certain sure of bringing him back if I have you with me!"
Jim had been expecting it for the last few seconds; but the request still hit him like a fist between the eyes. He was conscious of Angie watching him.
"Brian—" he began and hesitated. "Well, you see, much as I'd like to go, I couldn't get away now if I wanted, Sir John Chandos kindly offered to see if he could not speed up matters at the King's court—whatever legal matters there are involved in our getting the wardship of young Robert Falon. But until that is actually given to us by the King, I have to be here, in readiness to go up to London myself, if necessary. You understand?"
"But, James," said Brian, "with the help of good Sir John, it should not take too long. Now, I was planning to leave as soon as possible, so as to make the trip, find Geronde's father and get back before the terrible heat of the summer season down there strikes. But I could wait for some weeks, say—"