"No," said Jim sincerely. Ecce flew to Carolinus' shoulder and tried to smooth out the grim lines in his cheeks with those tiny hands of hers, each no more than the size of a petal of a lily-of-the-valley flower, stroking his set forehead with her gauzy wings.
"I know you said you would want to consult with certain Eastern magicians," Jim went on. "But I don't know if you've had time to do that, what with everything that has been going on—"
Carolinus threw up both hands. Ecce began to sing to him in a sweet little voice, a singing that was all tune and no words.
"It's all right, Ecce. I'm all right," Carolinus' voice changed to a momentary tenderness. "I won't fly off the handle."
Ecce, looking happier, winged back to the scrying glass. Carolinus turned again to Jim.
"I believe I told you that after all these years—don't you know it's impossible to heal a scar that old? Impossible for you, for me, for… anybody!"
Jim concentrated on that slight pause before the word "anybody."
"But I thought you suggested there might be someone who could do it?"
"Of course. Certainly!" said Carolinus, cuttingly. "Why not try Merlin?"
"I'd ask him," said Jim stoutly. "Believe me, I'd ask him in this case. But you know as well as I do it'd be no use. He'd never stop his work to do anything so simple and having to do with the present, rather than the past or future. Besides, the last time I heard from him, he told me never to bother him again."
"Wise man. A very wise man!"
"And there's no one else, no other who could… ?"
Carolinus hesitated, and Jim knew he had him. Like Brian—but under an entirely different set of principles—Carolinus could not bring himself to tell a direct lie.
"There must be a magician somewhere who's looked into removing old scars," said Jim.
"Of course there are!" exploded Carolinus, and Ecce flew to him again. "Several! No, no. It's all right, Ecce." Carolinus' voice had become weary again. "I'm going to have to handle this first before we have any quiet time to ourselves. Will you forgive me?"
Ecce sang what was plainly a reassuring melody, and flew from his shoulder to the door, which opened considerately before her. In a small flash of wings she was gone, and it closed again behind her with a soft click of the latch.
"Go home!" said Carolinus to Jim. "I'll have to talk to several of my colleagues who've found an interest in that kind of magickal work. I'll be in touch with you as soon as I've found out if it's possible or not."
"Thank you," said Jim, humbly. He transferred himself back to Malencontri—absentmindedly, back to the foot of the tower stairs.
Luckily, there was no one approaching him on the level, or coming down the stairs. Not that his sudden materialization would have upset anyone, particularly not the servants. But it probably would have started a round of speculation. Where had he been? What had he been doing?
He hesitated.
What were the other matters he had wanted to look into down here, anyhow? They boiled down to seeing how the old Master Carpenter was standing up to all the work he had to do since he had risen from his sick bed, and finding how the Nursing Room had been getting along. He had the impression that the plague was fading away to some extent, at least from Malencontri.
Much as Jim had a fondness for the grumpy, aged carpenter, the Nursing Room—concerned with the well-doing of a number of people—took precedence over just one. He headed for it, accordingly.
At first glance, as he entered it, he saw that most of the beds were now empty. His spirits rose, just as a terrier who was certainly the mother of the pups he and Angie had brought from Tiverton came rushing up to him, tail going like a metronome run mad, and two other terriers—probably from the kennels of the Hunt Master—after a few warning barks at the intrusion of an obvious stranger, came rushing behind her, tails also awag, eager not to miss out on someone so very obviously a friend.
He patted, stroked and spoke to them all for a moment before going on toward the dais. It was empty, except for the tent that had been put up originally around his own sickbed when he was a patient there.
On the chance there might be someone inside it, he mounted the dais and pushed his way in thorough the untied front flaps. May Heather was inside, seated at her desk, evidently having moved herself there to minimize calls for attention from the invalids still in the room.
"M'lord!" she jumped up from the books she was working on. Clearly, she had not only mastered the numbers Angie had started her on some time since, but writing as well. She curtsied, very expertly now, he noticed.
"Mistress Nurse," Jim replied. She almost gaped and did stammer in her response.
"Mistress… Nurse, m'lord? I be—I am still apprenticed to Mistress Plyseth in the Serving Room!"
"At present. Your Mistress there will have to agree to release you from that apprenticeship, of course, but I'll ask her to. In any case, are you not Mistress here?"
"Here I certainly be so, in a way, m'lord—" said May, throwing upper-class servant's English to the winds in her astonishment and gratitude. She had not done that in years. "But Mistress… I never thought."
It was understandable, thought Jim. As far as he knew she was not yet fifteen years old. But, as he and Angie had discovered, she was tough, brave, honest, unusually intelligent—and had a mind of her own.
"Don't think!" said Jim in his most authoritative, lordly voice. "I have said you are Mistress of this room, therefore you are its Mistress. Do you question me?"
"Oh no, m'lord!" cried May, delight in her voice. "Thank you ever so much, m'lord. Bless you, m'lord!"
"Come, come, enough of this. To important matters. Give me an account of things as they stand now here in the room. I seem to notice more empty beds."
"Yes, m'lord." She gestured towards the paper on which she had been writing. "Some sadly dead, m'lord, but less for our numbers of sick than other poor people elsewhere. A goodly number recovered. I have written down their names and the days of their death or leaving here in health—"
"Oh?" said Jim. "Did my lady tell you to do that?"
"No," confessed May, suddenly uncomfortable. "It just seemed the right thing, like. Did I do wrong?"
"It was well thought of, Mistress." May beamed. "And looking at your papers, I see it was well done."
"Oh, m'lord!"
"But go on. You must have other things to tell me."
She had. The extra opium and pipes the hobs had brought had worked a miracle in easing the patients' suffering. "—and it gave them strength to sleep, m'lord…" Five, actually five, had walked out well in one day! Almost no sick ones had come in this last week. The servants of the neighbors who had come with armor and horses to fight the goblins had said their lords had followed Malencontri's example, and had done well by their lights—but none so well as Malencontri in curing sick ones.
The terriers had been a blessing, too, being devils on any rats who dared show their selves in the room by night or day. "… But m'lord's little bitch was the best!" May had kept a tally of their kills, and the bitch was six rats ahead of the best of the other two. They would all insist, though, in carrying a dead rat proudly to show it off to the patients or her. Still, they were dear little things—hark, if m'lord listened, he could hear them now at the tent flaps.
May stopped talking, and in the silence, Jim could hear the faint scratch of clawed feet on the boards of the dais—and the almost as faint whimpers right outside the flaps.
"They wish to come in to m'lord, here," May said. "But of course I taught them never to stick nose inside. Oh, yes, and His Grace, the handsome young Prince, paid the room a visit once—"
"He did?" Jim stared at her. "But surely there were only servants and armsmen among the patients, once Master Carpenter was gone?"
"Yes, m'lord, not a Master or Mistress, let alone any gentlefolk—who in any case would be in the tent here! Our sick ones were main proud to see him—something to remember all their lives—and he spoke to t
hem, too!"
Jim was privately astonished. Young Edward had revealed another unexpected side to his character. The way he had of talking about the servants as if they had neither ears nor feelings, when they were standing less than ten feet from him, hardly signaled the sort of noble who would visit a roomful of sick commoners. It was a good mark for his character. Perhaps this was one reason why the Collegiate was so bent on keeping his father alive—at least until the Prince was adult enough to be King.
"Well," said Jim, "that's fine, May. You've done a great job here. I've got to go, Mistress."
"Thank you, m'lord," said May happily behind him.
He stepped out through the tent flaps, and the little female terrier, who had been waiting all this time for him, swarmed over him, wagging her tail as if she would wag it off, licking any reachable area of uncovered skin about him, and wriggling with the desire to convey how much she loved him. The two males, who probably had been waiting also, pressed forward, trying to shoulder the female aside in their eagerness to prove their own loyalty and affection for this human, who was certainly a pack-leader among all the other Masters, here in this great stone kennel.
Going out the entrance to the Nursing Room, Jim found the little terrier leaving with him. Sternly, he ordered her back. Ears wilting, she obeyed.
He went to the Master Carpenter's shop, in the castle's unroofed courtyard, noticing with approval that the great gates were once more closed and barred. He stepped inside, gratefully escaping the chilly wind that was finding its way here, even inside the castle walls. There would be a hard freeze tonight. He hoped the weather would not worsen for the wedding, due to be held on the steps to the chapel, which had its only entrance also on the courtyard.
He glanced at the chapel's closed door as he passed. There was no fireplace in it. No heat inside there, either.
Going back through the carpentry, he heard the hoarse, angry voice of the carpenter raised.
"—and don't touch the end of the chair arms until I can get to them, myself, d'ye hear! The grain in the wood needs to be dealt with properly. You hear me?"
The old man was plainly in a temper. He was standing by a thronelike chair, plainly being constructed for the King to observe the wedding. Enduring the tirade patiently were two men in their twenties, whom Jim recognized as his top journeymen, whom the old man had once recommended to Jim as perfectly capable to take his place.
The carpenter was still going on.
"… The grain is everything. The grain is all!" Still shouting, he turned enough to catch sight of Jim. "—and if you don't believe that," he went on in exactly the same tone of voice, "ask your archer friend. There's a man who knows the grain in a piece of wood—" His voice dropped suddenly to a more proper tone in which to address his overlord, though anger still rang in it. "M'lord! May I be of service to you?"
"I just dropped by to see how you're getting on," said Jim.
"As well as I can with short time, dull tools, with—it'll be Heaven's mercy if I can get it done properly in time. I can't work as fast as I used to—but I'll have it done, I'll have it done—m'lord. It's the leopard heads to be carved on the ends of the armrests that have to be done just right. The grain—"
"Did someone say the King had to have leopard heads on the ends of the arm rests?" said Jim. "I can look into it, and maybe, with the time so short, I can have them changed to plain ends." The leopard, Jim knew, was a necessary part of the royal arms.
"No one had to say there had to be leopard heads. Of course there must be. Flog me if you will, m'lord, but I would not shame this castle and you by giving the King a chair having plain ends to his arm rests!"
The idea of flogging the elderly, highly respected carpenter, or anyone of the Master or Mistress level, was so far-fetched—let alone the fact that Jim had all but successfully dodged the necessity to flog anyone since he and Angie took possession of Malencontri—that he merely stared at the carpenter.
"—And your coming down, and coming down, to ask how the chair is coming won't finish it a whit sooner, if I do say so right out, my lord!"
This was going too far, even for the carpenter. Jim had to stop it before it damaged his authority among the servants. The ears of the two journeymen were plainly wide open, even if their faces remained studiously without expression.
"Master Carpenter!" he said, in a deliberately hard voice. "This is the first time I've seen you since I visited you in your sickbed in the Nursing Room, and I only came by now to make sure you were on your feet. Keep your voice down and speak to your lord properly!"
Long years of training took over in the carpenter.
"Forgive me, my lord!" he said in almost meek tones, as far as his ordinary rasping voice would permit it. "I beg on banded knee the mercy of your forgiveness. I was angry with these two here, and forgot myself. It should never be said I failed in my proper service to my lord—"
"That's enough!" said Jim, embarrassed to hear the old man grovel. "I know you have troubles, and you bravely rose from your sickbed to do your duty here. For that you have my forgiveness. But this must not happen again."
"I promise my lord it will not. It would be ill if I failed to honor the King properly, but worse if I failed to honor my lord."
"We will forget it," said Jim. "Now, how are you feeling?"
"Quite well, m'lord. Thank you."
"How are you feeling, I said?"
"I have some small pains from age, and stiffness of the hands, but no sign of sickness, since your lordship reminded me of my duty in the Nursing Room. I bless your lordship for doing so. I am happy to be back among my tools and wood."
The last words came with an earnest ring of truth.
"I am satisfied to hear so. Continue with your work."
Jim left the carpentry with mixed feelings—satisfaction that he had handled the situation right and unhappiness that he had been forced to lower the boom on the carpenter, whom he admired. He suspected the "little pains" and "stiff hands" were a great deal more than that, and his railing at his journeymen was simply a way of denying the limitations. Servants, Jim thought, were growing old around him. The carpenter with his troubles, Plyseth with what was undoubtedly severe arthritis in her legs.
James! said the voice of Carolinus unexpectedly in his head. Go right to the Solar. I have a Magickian who may he able to help you with a scar removal. We will meet you there at once!
An uneasiness he could not push away woke in Jim. Carolinus, Kineteté, Barron—all invariably addressed anyone, even Kings, by their most private names. Carolinus had almost never called him James, since the first moment they had met.
Chapter Forty-Three
Who—Jim began to ask Carolinus.
Son Won Phon. He made an unusual effort to come with me quickly because of the urgency of the matter. The least you can do is come quickly, yourself.
Then Carolinus was no more in mental contact with him. The uneasiness in Jim deepened. Carolinus had known he must contact Son Won Phon. That explained his earlier hesitation.
Son Won Phon was the Magickian who some years back had challenged Carolinus—very much his superior—to a Magickian's duel over Jim's use of Oriental magic which had not been taught to him by a qualified Oriental Magickian. Since then, Jim had heard Son Won Phon had advanced rapidly in rank, also that he would be the Observer for the Collegiate in its determination of whether to admit Jim from the apprentice ranks into Collegiate membership as a fully qualified Magickian. Son Won Phon was at least three fully qualified ranks above Jim by now.
Jim translated to the Solar. Angie, he saw, was not there, which was a relief. If things got rough or sticky, he would just as soon tell her about it later, than have her present and required to listen. Carolinus and Son Won Phon were there, though.
He turned his gaze on Carolinus and the brilliantly red-robed Magickian with him. It was, Jim recognized almost against his will, the most remarkably happy red he had ever seen. Carolinus was, as usual, wearing one of his ol
d robes, looking as if it had been rescued from the trash basket.
But the red robe of the Oriental Magickian clothed a man with a face of no particular age, strongly boned and with something close to a stern look about it. And now that Jim saw the man up close, Son Won Phon's body struck him as being unusual for that of a Magickian. The man was a good inch or so shorter than Jim—who had been above average height even in his own future world—but his body was heavy and very powerful in appearance. A physically strong body, that at the same time gave the impression of being a remarkably controlled one.
There was no sign of impatience or tension about him. The kind of man who was unlikely to be disturbed by any challenge or threat, secure in his own faith that he could handle whatever came. The face from which his gaze met Jim's was serene.
"Son Won Phon, my apprentice, of whom you know," said Carolinus. "James, you have the pleasure of being named to Son Won Phon, an A-plus member of the Collegiate."
"I'm honored," said Jim, "to meet a Mag—"
Carolinus suddenly went into a coughing fit. Standing a little behind Son Won Phon, he glared at Jim.
"—honored to meet a Magickian of your reputation and rank," Jim hastily corrected the word "Magician" before it could escape him. He made his best formal bow to the visitor.
"Do not offer any obeisance to me," said Son Won Phon, in a startlingly deep and resonant voice. "I agree strongly with the reply given one of your earlier English Kings, Richard the First, commonly called the Lionheart. At a council of fellow Kings on one of your early crusades, he so forgot himself that he began to issue orders, rather than offering counsel to those with him. I believe it was the aged King of Hungary who rebuked him, saying, 'You know, we are all equals here.' We in the Collegiate, which you may join one day, know that no one of us is above the others."
"I understand,' said Jim.
"As of now, of course, you are only an apprentice. I believe your Master-in-Magick addresses you as Jim, and in tribute to the several remarkable accomplishments in the magickal realm, I shall do the same. I understand there is someone with an old scar on her face, and you have a great desire to see it removed before her wedding—the day after tomorrow, I believe?"