The Ship Who Won (21 page)

"Whoops!" Keffsaid, as Chaumel held out his hand and

a huge crockery vase appeared on the palm. "Alakazam,

indeed!"

With a small smile, Chaumel blew on the crock, sending it flying down the hall as if siddding on ice. He raised

the tube, aimed it, and squeezed lightly. The crock froze in

place, then, in delayed reaction, it burst apart into a

shower of jet-propelled sand, peppering the walls and the

two men.

"Marvelous!" Keff said, applauding. He spat out sand.

"Bravo! Do it again!"

Obligingly, Chaumel created a wide ceramic platter.

"My mother this belonged to. I do not ever like this," he

said. With a twist of his wrist, it followed the crock. Instead

of the tube, the silver magiman operated the ring. With a

crack, the platter exploded into fragments. A glass goblet,

then a pitcher appeared out of the air. Chaumel set them

dancing around one another, .then fused them into one

piece with a dash of scarlet lightning from his wand. They

dropped to the ground, spraying fragments of glass everywhere.

"And what do you do for an encore?" Keff asked, surveying the hall, now littered with debris.

"Hmmph!" Chaumel said. He waved the wand, and

three apron-clad domestics appeared, followed by brooms

and pails. Leaving the magical items floating on the air, he

clapped his hands together. The servers set hastily to work

cleaning up. Chaumel folded his arms together with satisfaction and turned a smug face to Keff.

"I see. You get all the fun, and they do all the nasty bits,"

Keffsaid, nodding. "Bravo anyway."

"I was following the energy buildup during that little

Wild West show," Carialle said in Keffs ear. 'There is no

connection between what Chaumel does with his toys, that

hum in the floors, and any energy source except a slight

response from that random mess in the sky. Geothermal is

148 Anne Mc^aJJrey u- ^oo.i/ i-ajiw iiyc

silent. And before you ask, he hasn't got a generator. Ask

him where they get their power from."

"Where do your magical talents come from?" Keff asked

the silver magiman. He imitated Potria's spell-casting technique, gathering in armfuls of air and thrusting his hands

forward. Chaumel ducked to one side. His face paled, and

he stared baletully at Keff.

"I guess it isn't just sign language," Keff said sheepishly.

"Genuine functionalism of symbols. Sorry for the breach in

etiquette, old fellow. But could the New Ones do that," he

started to make the gesture but pointedly held back from

finishing it, "when they came to Ozran?"

"Some. Most learned from Old Ones," Chaumel said,

not really caring. He flipped the wand into the air. It

twirled end over end, then vanished and reappeared in his

side-slung holster.

"Flying?" Keff said, imitating the way the silver magiman's chair swooped and turned. "Learned from Old

Ones?"

"Yes. Gave learning to us for giving to them."

"Incredible," Keff said, with awhisde. "What I wouldn't

give for magic lessons. But where does the power come

from?"

Chaumel looked beatific. "From the Core of Ozran," he

said, hands raised in a mystical gesture.

"What is that? Is it a physical thing, or a philosophical

center?"

"It is the Core," Chaumel said, impatiently, shaking his

head at Keffs denseness. The brawn shrugged.

'The Core is the Core," he said. "Of course.

Non-sequitur. Chaumel, my ship can't move from where it

landed. Does the Core of Ozran have something to do

with that?"

"Perhaps, perhaps."

Keff pressed him. "I'd really like an answer to that,

Chaumel. It's sort of important to me, in a strange sort of

way," he said, shrugging diffidently.

Chaumel irritably shook his head and waved his hands.

"I'll tackle him again later, Cari," Keff said under his

breath.

"Now is better . . . What's that sound?" Carialle said,

interrupting herself.

Keff looked around. "I didn't hear anything."

But Chaumel had. Like a hunting dog hearing a horn,

he turned his head. Keff felt a rise of static, raising the hair

on the back of his neck.

'There it is again," Carialle said. "Approximately fifty

thousand cycles. Now I'm showing serious power fluctuations where you are. What Chaumel was doing in the

hallway was a spit in the ocean compared with this."

Chaumel grabbed Keffs arm and made a spiraling gesture upward with one finger.

'This way, in haste!" Chaumel said, pushing him

through the hallway toward the great room and the landing

pad beyond. His hand flew above his head, repeating the

spiral over and over. "Haste, haste!"

a CHAPTER EIGHT

Night had fallen over the mountains. The new arrivals

seemed to glow with their own ghostlight as they flew

through the purple-dark sky toward Chaumels balcony.

Keff, concealed with Chaumel behind a curtain in the tall

glass door, recognized Femgal, Nokias, Potria, and some of

the lesser magimen and magiwomen from that afternoon.

There were plenty of new faces, including some in chairs

as fancy as Chaumel s own.

'The big chaps and their circle of intimates, no doubt.

Wish I had a chance to put on my best bib and tucker,"

Keff murmured to Carialle. To his host, he said, "Shouldn't

we go out and greet mem, Chaumel?"

"Hutt!" Chaumel said, hurriedly putting a hand to his

lips, and raising the wand at his belt in threat to back up his

command. Silently, he pantomimed putting one object

after another in a row. "... (untranslatable)..."

"I think I understand you," Keff said, interrupting ITs

attempt to locate roots for the phrase. "Order of precedence. Protocol. You're waiting for everyone to land."

Pursing his lips, Chaumel nodded curtly and returned

to studying the scene. One at a time, like a flock of

enormous migratory birds, the chariots queued up beyond

the lip of the landing zone. Some jockeyed for better

position, then resumed their places as a sharp word came

from one of the occupants of the more elaborate chairs.

Keff sensed that adherence to protocol was strictly

enforced among the magifolk. Behave or get blasted, he

thought.

As soon as the last one was in place, Chaumel threw

open the great doors and stood to one side, bowing. Hastily, Keff followed suit. Five of the chairs flew forward and

set down all at once in the nearest squares. Their occupants rose and stepped majestically toward them.

"Zolaika, High Magess of the North," Chaumel said,

bowing deeply. "I greet you."

"Chaumel," the tiny, old woman of the leaf-green chariot said, with a slight inclination of her head. She sailed

regally into the center of the grand hall and stood there,

five feet above the ground as if fixed in glass.

"Ilnir, High Mage of the Isles." Chaumel bowed to a

lean man in purple with a hooked nose and a domed, bald

head. Nokias started forward, but Chaumel held up an

apologetic finger. "Femgal, High Mage of the East, I greet

you."

Nokias's face crimsoned in the reflected light from the

ballroom. He stepped forward after Femgal strode past

with a smug half-grin on his face. "I had forgotten, brother

Chaumel. Forgive my discourtesy."

"Forgive mine, high one," Chaumel said, suavely, holding his hands high and apart. "Ureth help me, but you

could never be less than courteous. Be greeted, Nokias,

High Mage of the South."

Gravely, the golden magiman entered and took his place

at the south point of the center ring. He was followed by

Omri of the West, a flamboyantly handsome man dressed

fittingly in peacock blue. Chaumel gave him an elaborate

salute.

With less ceremony and markedly less deference,

Chaumel greeted the rest of the visiting magi.

"He outranks these people," Carialle said in Kerfs

implant. "He's making it clear the/re lucky to get the time

of day out of him. I'm not sure where he stands in the society. He's probably not quite of the rank of the first five, but

he's got a lot of power."

"And me where he wants us," Keffsaid in a sour tone.

As Nokias had, a few of the lesser ones were compelled

to take an unexpected backseat to some of their fellows.

Chaumel was firm as he indicated demotions and ignored

those who conceded with bad grace. Keff wondered if the

order of precedence was liquid and altered frequently. He

saw a few exchanges of hot glares and curt gestures, but no

one spoke or swung a wand.

Potria and Asedow had had time to change clothes and

freshen up after their battle. Potria undulated off her pink-gold chariot swathed in an opaque gown of a cloth so fine it

pulsed at wrists and throat with her heartbeat. Her perfume should have been illegal. Asedow, still in dark green,

wore several chains and wristlets of hammered and

pierced metal that clanked together as he walked. The two

elbowed one another as they approached Chaumel, striv-ing to be admitted first. Chaumel broke the deadlock by

bowing over Potrias hand, but waving Asedow through

behind her back. Potria smirked for receiving extra attention from the host, but Asedow had preceded her into the

hall, dark green robes aswirl. As Carialle and Keff had

observed before, Chaumel was a diplomat.

"How does one get promoted?" he asked Chaumel, who

bowed the last of the magifolk, a slender girl in a primrose

robe, into the ballroom. "What criteria do you use to tell

whos on first?"

"I will explain in time," the silver mage said. "Come."

Taking Keff firmly by the upper arm, he went forth to

make small talk with his many visitors. He brought Keff to

bow to Zolaika who began an incomprehensible conversation with Chaumel literally over Keffs head because the

host rose several feet to float on the same level as die lady.

Keff stood, staring up at the verbal Ping-Pong match, wishing the IT was faster at simultaneous translation. He heard

his name several times, but caught little of the context.

Most of it was in the alternate, alien-flavored dialect, peppered with a few hand gestures. Keff only recognized the

signs for "help" and "honor."

"I hope you're taking all this down so I can work on it

later," he said in a subvocal mutter to Carialle. Hands

behind his back, he twisted to survey the rest of the hall.

"With my tongue out," Carialle said. "My, you certainly

brought out the numbers. Everyone wants a peep at you.

What would you be willing to bet that everyone who could

reasonably expect admittance is here. I wonder how many

are sitting home, trying to think up a good excuse to call?"

"No bet," Keffsaid cheerfully. "Oh, look, the decorators

been in."

The big room, which had been empty until the guests

arrived, was beginning to fill in with appropriate pieces of

furniture. Two rows of sconces bearing burning torches

appeared at intervals along the walls. Three magifolk chatting near the double doors discovered a couch behind

them and sat down. Spider-legged chairs chased mages

through the room, only to place themselves in a correct

and timely manner, for the mages never once looked

behind to see if there was something there to be sat on: a

seat was assumed. Fat, ferny plants in huge crockery pots

grew up around two magimen who huddled against one

wall, talking in furtive undertones.

A wing chair nudged the back of Zolaikas knees while

an ottoman insinuated itself lovingly under the old

woman's feet. She made herself comfortable as several of

the junior magifolk came to pay their respects. A small

table with a round, rimmed top appeared in their midst.

Several set down their magical items, initiating an apparent truce for the duration.

After kissing Zolaikas hand, Chaumel detached himself

from the group and steered Keff toward the next of the

high magimen in the room. Engrossed in a conversation,

Ilnir barely glanced at Keff, but accorded Chaumel a courteous nod as he made an important point using his

wrist-thick magic mace for emphasis. A carved pedestal

appeared under Ilnir's elbow and he leaned upon it.

Each of the higher magimen had a number of syco-phants, male and female, as escort. Potria, gorgeous in her

floating, low-cut peach gown, was among the number surrounding Nokias. Asedow was right beside her. They

glared at Chaumel, evidently taking personally the slight

done to their chief. As Chaumel and Keff passed by, they

raised their voices with the complaint that they had been

wrongly prevented from finishing their contest.

Femgal and Noldas were standing together near the

crystal windows beyond their individual circles. The two

were exchanging pleasantries with one another, but not

really communicating. Keff, boosting the gain of his audio

pickup with a pressure of his jaw muscles, actually heard

one of them pass a remark about the weather.

Chaumel stopped equidistant between the two high

mages. His hand concealed in a fold of his silver robe, he

used sharp pokes to direct Keff to bow first to Femgal,