Frogkisser!

  “Oh,” said Anya. “I had no idea. I only know about sorcery, and its cost. Does wizarding take its toll, the same as sorcery? I mean, with sniffles and colds for little spells and coldness of the spirit for the big ones?”

  “It does not,” said the Good Wizard gravely. “But it is slow. It takes years to learn each craft, of course, and often decades to gather the magic to put into the crafting. This is too slow for many. And there is another thing that many consider a drawback.”

  “What is that?” asked Anya.

  “All things a wizard makes are flawed in some way. A Good Wizard, like myself, will do this intentionally. A Bad Wizard’s works will have some accidental flaw, derived from their nature. All our work has some weakness.”

  “But why?”

  “To limit the object’s power,” said the Good Wizard softly. “Power is always best limited. Now go and have your bath.”

  Ardent stood shivering in his bath, though it was perfectly warm. Anya, who had already had hers, stood next to it, encouraging him to get out. She was as warm as fresh-made toast, beautifully clean, wearing flannel pajamas that had been just ironed, and over them a silk dressing gown with a dragon’s head embroidered on the back. Her feet were graced with sheepskin slippers lined with fleece.

  The hot bath, liberally infused with rosemary, had also banished her cold, though perhaps only temporarily. At least her nose had stopped running and her chest felt clear.

  “I c-c-an’t get out,” said Ardent. “This bath has paralyzed me. Or the soap that invisible fiend used had some paralyzing properties.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Anya. She stepped away to avoid the expected splashing, looked to the hall door, and said, “Mmmm. I can smell dinner. I hope there’s some left for us.”

  Ardent sprang from the bathtub and took several tottering steps towards the hall before Anya hauled him back by his collar and wrapped him in the huge towels an invisible apprentice swiftly handed to her.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure the Good Wizard never runs out of food,” said Anya as she vigorously toweled the dog dry. “I wonder if her teachers will come to dinner? There were thirteen places set. The Wizard, seven teachers, you, me, Smoothie, and Shrub. That’s twelve … ”

  Ardent said something indistinct under the towel. Anya removed it. The dog crossed his paws in his best about-to-declaim-poetry posture and said:

  Seven dwarves, out of the west

  Seven makers, finest of the c-c-raft

  Snow White and the seven best

  I forget the rest.

  “What is that?” asked Anya.

  “The first three lines are from a poem story Tanitha tells the pups,” said Ardent. “I really do forget the rest, though. It’s all about Snow White the wizard, and the seven dwarves he worked with, and all the fabulous things they made together. Like the Magic Mirror and all that.”

  “Oh, I remember that too!” exclaimed Anya. As a very little toddler, she had often joined the great dog pile of puppies that writhed and wriggled about as the dog matriarch told them stories. But it had been many years since she had rolled and tumbled about with puppies on the floor, and she had forgotten most of Tanitha’s stories.

  “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves! No wonder they look so short and broad in the paintings on the doors. But surely it can’t be the same ones? Even if Snow White the former Good Wizard is still alive? I mean, I know wizards are long-lived, but—”

  “Dwarves are like rocks,” said Ardent. He was unusually sedate, possibly still bath-affected, and was not trying to chase his tail or speak too quickly. “Very long-lasting, unless something breaks them. Tanitha told us that too. But I’ve never met any before.”

  “I guess we’re going to meet some now,” said Anya. She had been awed enough by the Good Wizard, tempered somewhat by the woman seeming to be only a decade or so older than herself. But to meet the fabled Seven Dwarves and possibly even Snow White himself …

  “His must be the thirteenth place,” she said quietly. “Snow White.”

  “If he c-c-omes. The Wizard only said he might.” Ardent sniffed the air. “Mmm. Roast beef. You know his real name, don’t you?”

  “Whose real name?”

  “Snow White’s,” said Ardent, shrugging off the towel and heading for the door. “His real name.”

  “No,” said Anya, chasing after him.

  “Neither do I. C-c-an’t remember. Tanitha told us, though. There are stories about him under that name as well.”

  As the door swung open ahead of them, doubtless pushed by an invisible apprentice, Anya wondered where Shrub had gone. He’d climbed out of his bath earlier, protesting that the water was too clean for a newt. The last she’d seen of him was as a lump underneath a rapidly moving towel that an apprentice had thrown over him. The towel had been heading this way, so hopefully he was already at the dinner table. And Smoothie too, if she had managed to tear herself away from the eels.

  Anya had spent her time in the bath thinking very deep and hard. Her hunger pangs had receded with warmth and the prospect of an imminent meal, so she had been able to think clearly for what felt like the first time in ages.

  Her thoughts had naturally enough been about the recipe for Transmogrification Reversal Lip Balm, and the ingredients she needed for it, and where she might get them. But she had found her mind also inexorably drawn to the conversation she’d had with Bert the Responsible Robber and the ancient raven Dehlia, last of the wardens of the High Kingdom of Yarrow.

  This in turn led to thoughts about the All-Encompassing Bill of Rights and Wrongs, and those thoughts led to the common people of Trallonia and what they deserved as opposed to what they generally got. This made her think about Morven as queen, and indeed about rulers in general and what Duke Rikard might do if he became king, which in turn led to thinking about the perils of sorcery and her own ambitions in this direction, and the curiosity that was wizardry, and back again to the problem of Duke Rikard, and thus the lip balm and finally, at long last, to a number of drawn-out sighs she hastily curtailed when she realized she was sighing them.

  No matter which way she looked at it, Anya had the distinct feeling that her Quest was going to get a lot more complicated than she wanted. But short of giving up, that’s the way it was going to be.

  She was not going to give up.

  This reminded her about the only other thing she remembered from her mother. As well as the comfort of the red woolly, she remembered the sound of her mother’s voice, that soft voice telling her how much she was loved.

  And she remembered one conversation between her parents in detail, though she was not absolutely sure whether she remembered it or had made it up. But it was true either way.

  Her mother had been talking to her father. They had thought Anya was asleep, but actually she’d been nestled in her mother’s lap, listening intently with her eyes shut.

  “I will not give up. It is the right thing to do, no matter the consequences.”

  Anya wondered what it was that her mother had decided to do, and whether it had played some part in her early and untimely death.

  “It is the right thing to do, no matter the consequences.”

  Now that she knew about the All-Encompassing Bill of Rights and Wrongs, she wondered if her mother’s words had something to do with that. It would have been just like her mother to want to bring back the old laws and make things fairer for the people.

  Anya sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye.

  “Makes me c-c-ry too,” said Ardent. He was staring at the table through the open door, nose up and sniffing, inhaling the scent from the platters of roast beef and roast lamb and roast pork with roast potatoes and roast sprouts and roast pumpkin and roast whole cloves of garlic, intermingled with the somewhat lesser scents (to a dog) of a salad of pungent summer herbs and watercress, a huge bowl of steamed green beans, and several long platters stacked high with fresh-baked, crusty bread.

  “Come on,” said Anya. “Let’s e
at.”

  She was extremely hungry, but even so she stopped short as they went through the door, and Ardent ran into the back of her legs yet again. She stopped because the Seven Dwarves were standing by the long table. Four male and three female dwarves, all of them wearing pajamas and silk dressing gowns like Anya’s. They were no more than four feet six inches tall, but far broader in the shoulders, and their arms and legs were much more muscular.

  They didn’t look particularly old in face or features, but there was a quality about them that suggested great age indeed. Though each had different colored skin, in all of them that skin gave the sense of ancient, weathered stone; the deep blackness of obsidian, the pale gray of slate, the gold-red of granite, the translucence of limestone, and many shades in between.

  Two of the male dwarves had long beards, neatly tied. The third had a kind of long goatee, and the fourth no beard, only a long, waxed moustache. Two of the female dwarves had short hair, beautifully cut, and one had very, very long plaited hair under a soft velvet cap that Anya immediately wanted for herself, because it was so perfect.

  “Ah, the little maid and the puppy!” exclaimed the dwarf with the waxed moustache. He held up one large hand, heavy with rings, and waved them closer. “Come, let us greet you properly to these halls!”

  Anya walked across the soft carpets towards the dwarves, with Ardent at her heels. She couldn’t see Shrub or Smoothie, nor the Good Wizard. The dwarves were all watching her, and she felt shy and anxious, and very young all of a sudden.

  “I am oldest, so I speak for us all,” said the moustached dwarf. “As far as greetings go, in any case. My name is Sygror, and we welcome you younglings to this place.”

  He bowed carefully, from the waist, his head back, and deep brown eyes never leaving Anya’s. The other dwarves did likewise. None spilled their drinks, their movements so precise that hands holding glasses or tankards remained as steady as … rock.

  Anya did not bow back. She just stared.

  “We wore night attire like yourself in the hope that it would make you more comfortable,” said one of the female dwarves. “Yet you seem disturbed? My name is Tinya, which I believe is close to your own?”

  Anya blinked several times, blushed as she remembered her manners, and bowed. Ardent followed, bending his head low over his crossed paws, getting slightly off balance as he uncrossed them to straighten up.

  “Yes,” said the princess. “My name is Anya, so it is similar. Thank you, pajamas are good—I mean comfortable … I’m sorry, it is just … you are the Seven Dwarves of legend, and I … I am a little overwhelmed.”

  “And hungry,” added Ardent. “I am Ardent. Royal Dog. Not a puppy.”

  “We see few younglings here,” said another dwarf. “And even a much, much older dog would seem but a puppy to us. Yet we do not wish to offend you, Ardent. Let me offer my name in return. I am Gramel.”

  “And I, Sleipjir.”

  “Danash, at your service.”

  “Holkern.”

  “And last, youngest and least of my fellows, I am Erzefezonim,” said the seventh dwarf, the one with the velvet cap Anya so admired. She laughed a deep, rolling laugh, and added, “Being the youngest, I must have by far the longest name. But you may call me Erzef. Come, let us sit and eat. If we wait for the Wizard, we might all become as starved as you are already.”

  Ardent needed no further encouragement. He jumped to a chair and looked back at Anya for permission to eat, his tongue working overtime to hold back the drool sliding from his jaws.

  “Eat!” repeated Erzef. “We do not stand on ceremony.”

  Anya nodded to Ardent. He whipped around, forced himself to go slow, and gently leaned forward to pick up a huge slab of meat from a central platter and drop it on his own plate. From there, it vanished so quickly Anya could only just believe he’d eaten it. Already, the dog was reaching for more.

  But there was plenty. More than plenty, with an additional dozen huge dishes arriving, borne on invisible hands. As Anya watched, she saw the briefest flash of a youngish man’s face while one dish was descending to the table, as if a curtain had twitched aside and back again.

  “Jeremy, your nose is showing! Adjust your cloak, please.”

  That was the Good Wizard talking, suddenly at the head of the table. She was also now in pajamas, red-and-yellow-striped pajamas, and over them a black silk dressing gown dotted with golden stars. Her hair had been newly brushed and was enmeshed in a net of silver set with diamonds and moonstones. She still wore the huge white beard, though it had been tied back with golden ribbons to make it easier for her to eat.

  “Won’t come off,” muttered the Wizard, catching Anya’s eye. “Could be worse. At least I managed to spit out the voice-changing lolly. If I’d swallowed it, the effect would last for days. Come, eat.”

  “Thank you,” said Anya. “But I should make sure Shrub and Smoothie—”

  “I’m here!” said Shrub, his voice emanating from under the table. He popped his head out. “I still only like bugs and worms and such. They’ve given me some under here, so as not to put you lot off.”

  “And your otter friend is eating by … or in … the pool,” said the Good Wizard. “But it is as well that you should check. That is the mark of a leader.”

  “Is it?” asked Anya. She sat down. Now that there was finally all this food in front of her, she felt sort of faint and not at all hungry.

  “Take it slow,” said Sygror, looking at her with kindly eyes. “Small pieces to start. Chew carefully.”

  Anya followed this advice, and soon felt better. Well enough to take larger bites, and fill first her plate and then her stomach with food that was at least the equal of, if not better than, anything she had ever had back home.

  The silence of deeply contented eating reigned for the next fifteen minutes or more, until Anya put down her knife and fork and took a deep draft of water, and Ardent slid from his chair to lie on his stomach on the floor, with a glazed expression.

  The Good Wizard took a sip of her wine, set it down, and spoke to the princess.

  “So, you have come to visit me, knowing almost nothing of wizards. What did you hope to find?”

  “Help,” said Anya. “Tanitha, the matriarch of the royal dogs, suggested you might help us. And so did Bert, the leader of the Association of Responsible Robbers.”

  “They are both known to us,” said the Good Wizard. The dwarves around the table nodded in agreement. Most of them were still eating, though in a desultory way, picking at the dates and apricots that had replaced the main courses, and topping up their wine or beer. “Let me tell you about the help you may find here.”

  “Please,” said Anya. The thoughts she’d had in the bath had coalesced further as she ate, and she even had the beginning, or more than the beginning, of a plan.

  “First, you should know that Good Wizards never interfere directly with matters in the wider realm,” said the Wizard.

  “Never,” said Sleipjir. He sounded a touch ironic. Anya noticed the other dwarves were hiding smiles.

  “Never interfere directly,” repeated the Wizard, waving her finger for emphasis. “But we freely give advice to those who ask. And we may give gifts. Occasionally. If we feel like it, or there’s a recent birthday or something significant of the sort.”

  “You forgot letting visitors look in the mirror,” said Erzefezonim.

  “I didn’t forget,” said the Wizard. “I just hadn’t got to that part yet. We may also allow guests to gaze into the reflecting pool, the Magic Mirror, and see what transpires far afield. Or not, depending.”

  “Depending?” asked Anya.

  “Depending on whether it works or not,” said the Wizard. “Very tricky things, reflecting pools. Got to balance the light just right, the fall of shadow. Highly technical business. I’m still getting the hang of it.”

  “I would very much like your advice,” said Anya politely.

  “Certainly,” replied the Wizard. “Ask aw??
?”

  She was interrupted by the sudden harsh alarm of a rapidly struck bell, followed by a single rather muffled bark from Ardent, whose stomach was so full it was squishing his bark-making innards.

  “Front door,” said Tinya.

  “Without an appointment,” said the Wizard, her eyes narrowing.

  “Very rude,” rumbled Sygror, pushing back his chair.

  Suddenly all the dwarves were getting up … and they had much bigger and sharper knives in their hands than anything that had been laid on the table.

  The Wizard had her head tilted to one side, in the characteristic pose that Anya recognized as her listening to one of her invisible apprentices. She raised a hand and gestured to the dwarves.

  “It’s only a Gerald the Herald,” she said. The knives disappeared and the dwarves sat back down. Anya detected a general air of disappointment, as if they’d actually looked forward to some greater trouble.

  “Bring him in,” said the Wizard to the empty air. She turned to Anya. “Go on.”

  “I’ll wait,” said Anya. “I don’t want a Gerald the Herald to know what I’m asking.”

  “Sensible,” said the Wizard. “More wine?”

  “I don’t drink wine,” said Anya. “I’m too young.”

  “You are wise. Ever thought of becoming a wizard?”

  “Not before now,” said Anya. “I’ve always wanted to be a sorcerer … ”

  Her voice trailed off as the Good Wizard raised her eyebrows.

  “But not so much anymore,” continued Anya.

  This was true. She’d always loved reading about sorcery, and learning the small spells she had mastered so far. The sneezing and the twitches and the occasional rash that came with the sorcery had seemed a small price to pay, and she had never really looked ahead to what would come of wielding greater sorcery, denying the connection between herself and Duke Rikard. He must have started in just the same small way, many years ago.

  Now she had finally realized that the path she had put her feet on would inexorably lead either to becoming something essentially inhuman like the Duke, or to being someone like Gotfried. Much as she loved her friend, she had to admit he had been badly damaged by sorcery, and not just because he kept turning into an owl. The librarian was both deathly afraid of sorcery and fascinated by it, which was not a good combination.