The Spriggan Mirror Read online

  But that wasn’t entirely fair, he told himself. Dina had told him that if a spell went wrong, there was no way to predict what it would do. It might just do nothing, like her ruined spell of the night before, or it might do a variant of the intended spell, or it might do something completely different, and the effect might be utterly out of proportion. The famous Tower of Flame in the Small Kingdoms had supposedly been created when someone sneezed while performing a simple fire-lighting spell, after all. Perhaps this spriggan-generating mirror was the result of just as innocent a mistake.

  “When did this happen?” he asked.

  “5221,” Karanissa replied. “Some time in Leafcolor, or possibly at the very end of Harvest.”

  “Six and a half years ago, going on seven.” That was well before Gresh had ever heard of spriggans, so that fit the facts. “Why are you only looking for the mirror now?”

  “We were busy.” She turned up an empty palm. “And we thought the spriggans were harmless. And we didn’t know the mirror would produce so many. At first we didn’t think it would produce any, once it was out of the castle.”

  “Just who is ‘we’? You and your husband, or are others involved?”

  “My husband and his other wife and I.”

  Other wife? The husband staying with the baby while Karanissa saw to business suddenly made sense. “And your husband is this wizard named Tobas of Telven, then?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You hadn’t mentioned that he had another wife.”

  “It wasn’t relevant.”

  “She wasn’t involved in creating the mirror?”

  “No. She’s not a magician.”

  Gresh nodded and inquired no further about that, although he was curious. Other people’s family arrangements were not his business.

  Magical objects sometimes were, though. “And you want me to find this spriggan- generating mirror for you.”

  “Yes. You come highly recommended; Telurinon and Kaligir both spoke well of you.”

  Once again Gresh found himself staring silently at the woman for a moment before he spoke. Telurinon was one of the most powerful wizards in Ethshar of the Sands and was rumored to be a high official in the Wizards’ Guild. He had reportedly supervised the Guild’s efforts to remove a usurper from the overlord’s throne last year, though of course no one would admit to telling Gresh anything of the sort. And Kaligir, here in Ethshar of the Rocks, was definitely a high official in the Guild—when his name and the question of his status came up a year or so back Dina had admitted he was a Guildmaster and had hinted that he was perhaps the city’s senior Guildmaster.

  “You know them?” he asked.

  “We know Telurinon. We helped him dispose of poor Tabaea. We’ve met Kaligir once or twice; he was the one who directed us here, at Telurinon’s suggestion.”

  The mere fact that this woman knew those two names made it much less likely that she was mad, but her story was more outlandish than ever. She and her husband had helped defeat the self-proclaimed Empress of Ethshar who had briefly taken power in Ethshar of the Sands last year? And it seemed she and her husband got their shopping suggestions from the upper echelons of the Wizards’ Guild.

  Add that to a magic castle, eternal youth, the accidental creation of the spriggans that plagued the World, and it was a little much to accept.

  “How did you come to be asking their advice?”

  Karanissa frowned—the first time Gresh had seen her do so. “They weren’t advising us as much as ordering us,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “The Wizards’ Guild holds my husband responsible for the spriggans,” Karanissa explained. “They summoned us to a meeting, back in Snowfall, and told us as much. A good many wizards have been complaining about the silly things and demanding the Guild do something. They’ve caused a lot of trouble. There’s a man named Ithanalin who got turned to stone or something when he tripped over a spriggan, and was petrified until his apprentice taught herself enough magic to cure him....”

  “Kilisha,” Gresh said. “I know Ithanalin and Kilisha.” That was a mild exaggeration; he had met them, even sold them a few things, but no more than that. He remembered the fuss about Ithanalin’s accident; he hadn’t been petrified, exactly, but Gresh supposed the exact details didn’t matter.

  “Yes, well, that was one instance,” Karanissa said. “Ithanalin has been very persistent in demanding Kaligir do something about the spriggans. There have been any number of other ruined spells and spilled potions and wasted ingredients....”

  Gresh remembered Dina’s precious blood, spilled on her cat. “Yes,” he said.

  “No one’s been killed yet, so far as we know, but it seems almost as if it’s just a matter of time, and the Guild wants Tobas to do something about the spriggans before it comes to that. He created them, Telurinon says, so it’s his responsibility to stop them. And that starts with destroying the mirror—if we don’t do that, it’ll just make more.”

  “But first you need to find it.”

  “Yes. The spriggans hid it, and we need to find it.”

  “So you came to me.”

  “When nothing else worked, yes.”

  Gresh did not like the sound of that—but then, if the Guild had ordered them to do something about the spriggans back in Snowfall of last year, and they had already been working on the problem for five months, then coming to him had clearly not been their first idea. “What else did you try?” he asked.

  “Well, since the Guild wanted us to do it, we thought it was only fair to ask them to help us, so we did. We had Mereth of the Golden Door use every divination in her book, and half a dozen other wizards, as well, but none of them could locate the mirror. We consulted three or four theurgists and even a demonologist, to no avail—the gods apparently can’t even perceive spriggans, let alone identify their source, no matter how roundabout you make the questions, and there don’t seem to be any demons who deal with this sort of thing. Witches don’t have the range—I could have told them that, but Tobas talked to a couple of others just to be sure no one had found a way during the four hundred years I was gone. Warlocks had no idea of how to even begin looking, and the scientists and ritual dancers didn’t do much better.” She sighed wearily at the memory. “So when magic failed us, we decided to try other methods. Lady Sarai can’t leave her duties as the overlord’s investigator and didn’t have any clever ideas, but Telurinon said you were the best in the World at finding hard-to-find things without magic—so here I am.”

  “Indeed,” Gresh said. He leaned back, keeping his eyes on his guest.

  This was, at least potentially, a problem—and an opportunity.

  He made an excellent living supplying wizards with the ingredients for their spells; he had been doing it since boyhood. He had started out running errands for his older sisters—mostly Dina, since wizards used so many odd ingredients in their spells, but also occasionally Tira and Chira and Shesta. Witches used herbs and other tools; sorcerers sometimes wanted particular metals or gems for their talismans and were always looking for leftover bits of old sorcery; and demonologists sometimes needed specific things to pay demons for their services. His business was never entirely for wizards, but wizards certainly made up the bulk of his business.

  He had started with his sisters, but then he had begun to fetch things for their friends, and then friends of friends, and then people with no connection he knew of who had heard his name somewhere. Word had spread; by the time he finished his apprenticeship and opened his own shop, he had developed a reputation for being fast, efficient, honest, and discreet.

  He had also developed a reputation for being able to get anything, given time.

  This reputation let him charge high prices—higher, in fact, than any other supplier in the city. Even so, he had never lacked for business. There were always people willing to pay more for the best.

  The problem was that he had to stay the best. He had to maintain his reputation as the man who
could get anything a wizard needed. He could never admit that there was something he couldn’t find, or couldn’t obtain once it was found.

  So far, no such admission had been necessary; sooner or later he had gotten everything he went after, or else had been able to give good, sound reasons why he would not seek certain things. As he explained to anyone who asked: he would not kill or maim anyone to obtain an item; he would not violate Wizards’ Guild rules, and he tried to obey the overlords’ laws; and some of the things people had attempted to buy simply didn’t exist.

  Or at least, he said they didn’t exist, and no one had ever proved him wrong.

  This spriggan mirror, though, apparently did exist. If Karanissa was telling the truth, she knew it existed. Fetching it would not break any Guild rules; in fact, the Guild wanted it found. He wouldn’t be stealing it, or breaking any other laws so far as he could see, and he could see no reason anyone would be killed or maimed if he acquired it. By his own rules, therefore, he should have no objection to going after it. Unless he could find a new and convincing excuse, refusing the task would severely damage his reputation.

  Finding it, of course, would enhance his reputation. If he could become known as the man who eliminated the nuisance of the spriggans once and for all, he could crank his prices up even higher. He would be a minor hero throughout the Hegemony.

  The problem was that if he agreed to get it and failed to do so, his reputation would be not merely damaged, but ruined—and he had no idea how to find the thing! By Karanissa’s account, most of his usual methods would not work.

  Of course, no one outside the family knew what his usual methods were—and he liked it that way. Keeping his trade secrets secret added to his aura of mystery and kept the competition down.

  “Will you get it for us?” Karanissa asked, interrupting his train of thought.

  He really had no choice. “Of course,” he said. “But it may take some time, and it will be very expensive.”

  “The Guild has agreed to cover the cost,” she replied. “We will pay any price.”

  Gresh blinked at that. Any price?

  He had thought he might scare her away; given his reputation for charging high prices, he had thought that when he said “very expensive” she might reconsider and save him the trouble of actually finding the mirror. But the Guild would pay?

  When the Wizards’ Guild said “any price,” that meant rather more than when anyone else said it. The Wizards’ Guild had entire worlds at their disposal.

  But of course, the witch might not have meant it literally. She could not be a member of the Guild herself and might have misinterpreted what the Guildmasters had actually said. There might be limitations of which she was unaware.

  Still, to have access to the Guild’s own coffers—he would be rich! Really rich, not just as well off as he was now. Or perhaps he might be paid with more than money....

  That assumed, of course, that Karanissa was telling the truth. Twilfa had not yet returned with Tira, so he had no way of verifying the story.

  It also assumed he could indeed retrieve the missing mirror, but he had confidence in his own abilities—far more confidence than he had in Karanissa’s account of herself.

  He considered trying to stall Karanissa, by asking her questions until Tira arrived— after all, he would need more information from her before setting out to find this mirror—but he decided against it. This was probably not going to be a quick and easy errand. He would undoubtedly talk to her a good many times, with and without Tira.

  He would probably need to talk to her husband, as well, but first he wanted to do a little preliminary planning.

  “It will take me some time to make preparations,” he said. “I will need to speak with your husband and to do some research.”

  “Of course,” Karanissa said. “Whatever is necessary.” She rose.

  “Bring your husband and his other wife here this afternoon, and we will settle the details,” Gresh said, rising as well.

  She bowed an acknowledgment.

  He showed her to the door, then stood in the doorway watching her walk away down the street toward Eastgate Market.

  She was a handsome woman, no question about it, and if her story was true, she was a woman with an incredible history. The task she had set him was going to be a challenge—stupendously profitable, he hoped,—but a challenge.

  In fact, he had no idea at all, as yet, of how he would do it.

  That did not worry him. He would find a way. Various possibilities were already stirring in the back of his mind.

  Chapter Three

  Gresh sat at his kitchen table across from Twilfa and Tira, stroking his short-trimmed beard. “She said they’d tried wizardry, theurgy, demonology, warlockry, science, and ritual dance. She didn’t mention witchcraft, but since she’s a witch herself I think we can take that for granted.”

  “Then why did you want me here?” Tira asked.

  “To see whether she was telling the truth,” Gresh replied. “Whether she’s really a witch and really as old as she claims.”

  “But you let her go!”

  “She’ll be back this afternoon.”

  “You want me to stay here all day? Gresh, Dar and I have our own customers to attend to.”

  Gresh sighed. “Are any of them coming today?”

  “I’m not going to tell you my entire schedule.”

  “I won’t keep you, then, but can you please come by this afternoon? Naturally, I will pay you for your time.”

  Tira frowned.

  “Tira, I’m sorry I dragged you over here for nothing, but I didn’t know how the conversation was going to go, and this way you’ll know what I want when you come back, and I won’t need to try to signal you surreptitiously. And you can tell me if you’ve ever heard of this Karanissa of the Mountains, or her husband Tobas of Telven, or a mirror that makes spriggans.”

  Tira considered that for a moment, then relented. “Fine, I’ll be here this afternoon and will tell you whether they’re lying,” she said. “And I never heard of Karanissa or Tobas, but didn’t you say they were from the Small Kingdoms? I don’t know anyone there. The Sisterhood doesn’t operate openly there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you will indeed pay me my full consultation rate this afternoon.”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t want you thinking you can get a discount just because you’re my brother, or because you’re the famous Gresh the Supplier.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’ll be back this afternoon. If I have a chance, I might talk to a few people about this Karanissa.”

  “Thank you,” Gresh replied. He and Twilfa watched silently as Tira straightened her shawl and marched out the back door. Except for Dina, his sisters almost always used the back door, at his request. He didn’t want anyone wondering why all these non-wizards were coming to his shop.

  And they did come fairly often. His sisters were his most important trade secret. Oh, he had plenty of other sources and contacts, a network of agents scattered across the western half of the World, but his family was at the heart of his unique ability to acquire the things his customers sought. He had based his entire business on sisterly affection and sibling rivalry—what one sister could not find, another could, and would, because to refuse would be to disappoint their only brother and miss a chance to crow.

  Gresh was only eight when he first realized he could play off Dina, who was then a freshly accredited journeyman wizard, against Difa, then an apprentice warlock, to his own benefit. He had known all along that Difa had originally intended to be a wizard and had only become a warlock because the possibility was new and exciting and as a warlock she would not be once again following in her older sister’s footsteps. Still, it was not until Dina made journeyman that Gresh had discovered he could exploit this rivalry, challenging each sister to show that she could do more with her magic than the other. Warlockr
y was still relatively new and unfamiliar at the time, which had helped— questions of which sort of magic was better at what had not yet all been settled.

  Tira was already in her third year of apprenticeship then, and she, too, had joined the competition quickly enough. Chira and Pyata and Shesta joined in their turn. No two of Keshan the Merchant’s daughters chose the same school of magic—that would have been copying—but all were determined to demonstrate that their magic was best.

  Then Gresh had reached apprenticeship age himself and faced the prospect of learning his own magic. Dina had not yet been ready for master’s rank, but she could have found him a place with a wizard somewhere.

  Or Difa could have found a master warlock. Tira could probably have found a witch. The others were still apprentices themselves, but....

  But it didn’t matter, because Gresh had decided he didn’t want to be a magician. It would have meant choosing one sort of magic—and one of his sisters—over all the others. Whichever school of magic he chose, the sister in that school would have deemed it a victory and the others a defeat; factional lines within the family that had always been fluid would become fixed.

  He might have chosen a variety of magic that none of them had studied, which would have avoided choosing sides by rejecting all of them, but even at twelve he had been able to foresee a lifetime of being told, “You chose your magic instead of mine, so I can see you won’t want my help!” Although finding a magic none of his older sisters had chosen would have worked as far as not choosing sides at first, it ignored the question of what might happen when his younger sisters began choosing their apprenticeships.

  No, there were too many potential complications with any school of magic. Appealing as learning magic might have seemed, he did not want to alienate any of his sisters, or choose one over the others. He liked being able to call on all of them.

  So he had apprenticed to their father, which had made both their parents happy, and he had learned the merchant’s trade, learned bookkeeping and bargaining, buying and bartering—and he had made use of all his twelve sisters in his business, older and younger, from Dina the wizard to Ekava the seamstress, and had eventually taken on Twilfa, the youngest, as his assistant. Because of the family’s competitiveness no two had pursued exactly the same occupation, even after their contacts could no longer find new varieties of magic, and he now had available for consultation representatives of eight different schools of magic, as well as a seamstress, a sailor, and a guardswoman.