Upon reaching the houses of the city, Willen turned and made his way to the loft of a stable attached to an inn where he had passed many a night in twitching wakefulness lying on the straw and keeping an ear out for the city guards. On this night, however, neither the guards nor the neighing of the horses nor the raucous singing of the men passing the small hours at the inn’s tavern could disturb him, wrapped up as he was in dreams of Nasoumi, all covered in starlight.
After awakening, however, a sudden apprehension seized Willen, for he knew that the leader of the Starlings would be expecting him to tell the gang of what he had done at the palace, and how they might find their way inside. It was on this problem that he was thinking, half-inside his head while walking through the city as was his usual wont, when Rafaello cuffed him and dragged him off the street into a nearby alleyway where he found himself surrounded by the other members of the gang.
“Did the little bird think to fly from the nest and not return with news of his adventure?” Rafaello asked, danger glittering in his eyes, his hand still gripping hard around Willen’s collar.
“No, no,” Willen assured him. “I was on my way to you when you found me.”
“And never forget that I will always find you,” Rafaello said, grinning his cunning smile. He let go of Willen, and Willen stumbled backwards. “Now tell us what you have found.”
Willen thought quickly, and came up with a lie that had the ring of truth.
“The gates are all impassable,” he said, and Rafaello made an impatient motion, for this was a fact they all knew. “The walls are doubly so, for they are smooth as the spinning of a silkworm all the way round, with nary a crack.” At this Rafaello looked displeased, and the gang crowded in closer around Willen. He swallowed, and told the lie. “There is a way in,” he continued, “through the water-gate, but it is guarded by a spirit, a water nymph, who will let none pass.”
Rafaello spat, one corner of his mouth turned up in amused contempt. “A nymph is no guard to the Starlings,” he declared. “We shall fly over the wench’s head quick as a wink, and steal a kiss into the bargain.” The rest of the gang laughed at this, and Willen felt a blush, remembering the shape of Nasoumi’s lips.
“Indeed, that is what I told her, when she said none could pass her to breach the gate,” Willen said, forcinig his voice to grow more animated as he told the tale. “She rose up tall as ten leagues in her fury, but I scoffed that the Starlings could fly eleven. It was then that she sent a great wave to crash over me. I went under, not knowing which way was up, and was like to drown, when suddenly a great fish came and swallowed me up whole. I slid down the beast’s throat into its stomach, where amazed I found a table set for dinner, a fire, and a bed besides! The dinner was an amazing thing, fit for King Cameilen himself. There was a soup starter, and vegetables all the colors of the rainbow, and roast beasts of the most fantastic sort. Dragon, there was, and gryphon, and basilisk and whale-eel! And the pies, ah, the pies of every description. Spiced and minced and sticky and sweet.” The rest of the gang listened, mouths open and drooling. “I filled my stomach and had just laid myself down to rest when at once there was a great commotion and thrashing about, and all – the table, bed, and I – went topsy-turvy.”
At this, Willen sprung himself into the air and performed somersault, to the claps and hoots of the assembled Starlings.
“I was so full, I could hardly pull myself up, but rolled around until I could see what was the matter. It was a fisherman, who had caught the great fish on his lure, and the fish was fighting and struggling against him for its very life, for indeed that was what was at stake for the poor creature should it fail. The contest proceeded all night, and the fish fought valiantly. I confess, I felt partisan to it for all that it had swallowed me up, for it had provided for me most kindly. In the end, however, the mighty beast gave one last shudder and was still, and the fisherman hauled it up on his line. I felt the thump and rocking as it was brought on to the boat, and the cry of surprise and alarm that it was so heavy and large, with such a great bump in the middle.”
Willen rounded his arms over his belly and puffed out his cheeks, and the Starlings laughed.
“Just then, I heard the sound of a knife being drawn, and I knew that the fisherman meant to cut into the beast. I needed to act quickly. I went to the table and found the fat and drippings left from the meat, and smeared it over me as best I could. Then, I tore open the pillows, and shook out the feathers upon myself, until I looked, I daresay, more like a starling than a Starling. The knife flashed through the fish’s belly, and out I popped to the amazement of the fisherman and his crew. I gave a whistle and flapped my wings, running and cawing until I got up enough speed that I lifted up, up, and up! I flew off the boat!”
“You did not!” “That’s impossible, that is!” the Starlings protested.
“I swear, ’tis true!” Willen insisted My feathers lifted me over the harbor – but sadly, only just. The dripping failed, the feathers fell, and I was left a stinking mess. It was only through the rude use of a horse trough that I was able to clean myself to be in a fit state to be seen by you today. Alas,” Willen said, “I fear my feat has set tongues wagging too much for our comfort. Perhaps it would be best if the Starlings fly to their nests for a while, and wait for a time when the city guards are not looking for feathers falling from the sky.”
Rafaello considered this for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said, reluctantly agreeing.
“Meanwhile,” Willen said, “I will work on the problem of the nymph.”
“You?” Rafaello spat back. “What would a green boy know of a water spirit’s wiles?”
“Nothing, I agree,” Willen replied, “but there is one who would know, and I intend to seek him out.”
“Who is that?” Rafaello asked.
“Janaith the Sorcerer.”
At that answer the rest of the Starlings gasped, and even Rafaello went pale at the mention of the dread man’s name.
“You would do this? You would seek out the sorcerer Janaith?” Rafaello asked him, seeming impressed.
“For the good of the Starlings, I would climb up seven times seven and seventy-seven steps, and face the terror of ten Janaiths,” Willen declared, standing with his legs wide apart and his hands on his hips. “What is a mere sorcerer, after all, to those of us who have known the horror of being caught hiding beneath a blanket with Andrede after he’s had a bowl of beans?”
At this the rest of the Starlings laughed, save Andrede, who went red and stomped and protested that his delicate digestion was not a source of mirth. Rafaello, pleased with Willen’s answer, clapped him on the back and sent him on his way with a penny’s worth of bread for his troubles, and Willen felt briefly relieved as he left the gang and proceeded through the city, cheered that he was closer to helping free the beautiful Nasoumi, and that his belly was full into the bargain.
Despite his show of bravery in front of the Starlings, however, Willen’s nerve began to fail and he trembled as he approached the tower of the seven and seventy-seven steps. It lay at the edge of the oldest quarter of the city, and even the crumbling houses around it seemed to huddle and cower away from its shadow. A group of children, dirt smeared across their faces and clothing, playing at sticks and spins in the street, laughed and jeered at him as he passed, but their jeers stopped and their faces turned cold as they saw to where he was headed. Quickly they picked up their toys and scurried away into doorways, and the street became empty and still.
Gulping, Willen screwed up his courage, memories of Nasoumi’s perfect, pleading face spurring him on and up the first straight set of seven steps before the winding seventy-seven began along the precipitous outside of the tower. As he went up, the steps became narrower and shallower, his footing precarious on the smooth ivory of the long-dead beast’s tusk that formed the tower. The winds whipped at him as he ascended further, and even for one as used to heights as Willen, the lack of purchase and sheer drop to the ground below made his stomach lurch a little with fear. Still, Nasoumi’s need nestled in his heart, and drove him ever upwards, until at last he reached the top of the tower, and the door that led to the dread sorcerer’s abode.
Upon arriving, Willen realized he had not thought this far ahead to know what he should do in the event of arriving at Janiath’s door. Should he knock? The thought seemed silly, to merely knock on the door of as great a wizard as Janaith and meekly ask for entry. But at the same time, it was all Willen knew to do, for the door had no lock visible that he could pick, and the windows were all inaccessible from the stairs. He reached up a tentative fist, and made a small knock on the wood.
With a creak, it opened. Willen nearly fell backwards off the tower in surprise. Swinging his arms, he brought himself back to a standing position. The air from inside the tower blew out towards him, warm and musty, with hints of scents Willen could not name.
A gray blur caught Willen’s eye. His mind conjured up all manner of demons, djinn and devils, before the blur resolved into the more mundane but no less malevolent form of a cat sitting just inside the door, its green eyes looking up at him with what he could only describe as distaste. It meowed at him sharply, almost impatiently, and quick as a wink turned on its haunches and disappeared into the tower.
Was that….? Willen wondered. But no, it was a ridiculous thought. Or was it? The old man was a sorcerer, after all, and given to many strange whims and wiles. Perhaps it was his fancy to greet all his visitors in the form of a cat. Certainly, the creature had the haughty air of the greatest wizard of the land, and seemed appropriately disdainful of Willen. Anyway, Willen considered, he had stood at the precipice long enough.
Stepping over the threshold, Willen entered a jumble of stacks and ladders and jars and books, crammed in so tightly that at first he could not make out the room in which he had entered and in which, as the door slammed shut behind him, it seemed he would remain for the foreseeable future. Strange lights glowed from whence Willen could not say, and he heard bubblings from places he thought he would perhaps rather not discover. He walked forward, raising up a great cloud of dust, when suddenly the gray cat leapt from out of the gloom, raking Willen’s forearm with its claws. Willen yelped with pain and stumbled backwards, tripping and falling on his hindquarters. As he pulled himself up, clutching at his bleeding arm, he saw that he had been perilously close to stepping into an abyss. Willen inched forward and peered over the edge. The abyss turned out to be no abyss at all, but a staircase, steep, winding and narrow, that spiraled away into darkness. It seemed to go down the very length of the tower. It would have been, Willen considered, a nasty fall.
He turned his head towards the cat, which was sitting and licking at its paws.
“I…I thank you for your warning, sharp as it may have been,” Willen said, rubbing a little at the stinging scratches. He scrambled up, not without some difficulty. “I thank you, too, for your leave in allowing me entry to your…” Willen looked around at the collection of dust and unnameable objects that cluttered the room. “Ah, wondrous abode,” he decided finally. “If I may beg your indulgence, oh most dread, most supreme, most malicious sorcerer, to request an audience with you in a more conversant form -“
“Eh? Speak up boy, these old ears aren’t what they used to be.”
Willen jumped at the sound of an elderly man’s voice. His eyes wide, he regarded the cat more intently. How was it possible for the sorcerer’s voice to come from this beast? He bent down and reached a hand out to the cat, which hissed loudly at him before skittering away through jars and scrolls up the nearest set of shelves.
“What by all the devils of Shoshkarnoth do you think you’re doing?” The end of a cane poked harshly at Willen’s nethers and sent him sprawling on the floor once more. He looked back, amazed, to see the figure of an old man, tall, berobed in costly but threadbare dark blue silk, with a wiry white beard and patches of silver curls tufting out from a mottled and weathered bronze head, watching him with black eyes beneath a furrowed brow. The gray cat was still on the top of the shelves above him, licking its paws and regarding him with what Willen could only describe as amused contempt.
“And why are you bleeding on the floor?” the old man queried, gesturing towards Willen’s injured arm with his cane. “You’re meant to be cleaning it, not making more of a mess. And where’s my tea? Oh, never mind, I’ll fetch it myself.” He snapped his fingers, and to Willen’s astonishment a tea set floated through the air from where he knew not as Janaith – for surely this was Janaith – sat back into a pile of cloth and scrolls that resolved itself into a chair. “Fine apprentice you are! I wouldn’t have got by with such sloth in my day, I tell you that! Oh ho, no indeed!”
Willen watched, wide-eyed, as the floating teapot tipped itself over into a hovering cup, while a teaspoon waited patiently with two lumps of sugar.
“What’s the matter, boy? You’ve never seen a man make tea before? Ah, youth!” The sorcerer shook his head with a mixture of impatience and despair. The teapot finished with its task, it righted itself and zipped back across the room, barely missing Willen’s head, while the teaspoon happily jumped up and into the cup, stirring the sugar in vigorously. Finally the spoon finished its task, lifting itself up and tapping itself on the rim of the cup twice before it, too, sped off across the room. This time Willen knew well enough to duck.
The cup delivered itself to the sorcerer, who raised the cup to his lips, his eyes sinking closed as he tasted the steaming brew.
“Ah,” he said, letting out a breath of contentment. “That’s the tonic, that is.” He continued to sip, eyes closed, taking no more notice of Willen, it seemed to the boy. In fact, it looked very well as if the sorcerer might fall asleep. Willen felt his spirits cast into despair. He had come all this way, and for what? For the help of a doddering old man who even now was dribbling tea down his beard in his sleep? Great power the sorcerer might command, Willen considered, but the man’s hold over his wits was in some doubt. Defeated, he got up and began slowly picking his way back to the door. He would have to come to Nasoumi’s aid some other way. Perhaps one of the magickers traveling in with the spice caravans could…
“I know what you seek, Willen of Five Door Alley.” The sound of the sorcerer’s voice stopped Willen cold. He had opened his eyes, all cloudiness and confusion gone. “Or should I call you Willen of the Starlings? Don’t tell Familiar, now,” Janaith said, tapping a finger to the side of his nose while looking at the cat, still grooming itself on the shelf, “or he’ll be wanting to make a meal of you, even more than he already has. He’s rather partial to birds.”
“H-how did you – how do you -?” Willen stammered.
“I’m a sorcerer, my dear boy. Most dread, most supreme, most…malicious, was it?” Janaith laughed, not unkindly, though Willen still smarted from the gentle insult. The sorcerer smiled as he sipped the last of his tea, then with a wave of his hand sent the teacup whizzing away down the staircase and into the darkness as he rose from his chair, silk rustling. Willen moved back involuntarily, his fear of the great man returned. Janaith noted this, and his face softened.
“You have no need to fear me, boy,” the sorcerer told him. “Well, no more need than you have to fear most things in this world, and a great deal less than some others – ah, but that can wait, all in good time, all in good time.” He fixed Willen with a curious stare, as if seeking something inside him. “Time, however, grows shorter and shorter. If you had come sooner…but no matter. Your apprenticeship begins now.” He raised his hand, into which a broom bristled with straw flew with a clap like a thunderbolt. “Your first task is to tidy. I assume you at least observed some houses being cleaned before you burgled them?” He held the broom out to Willen, who looked at it as if it were an object out of one of the bubbling jars in the corners of the room.
“But, but…but sir, the reason I traveled all this way, climbed your seven and seventy-seven steps to seek you out, is that I need your assistance. You see, o great Janaith, I have to save -“
“A princess?” Janaith grinned. “Don’t they always.” He reached out and ruffled Willen’s hair. Willen shook his head and scratched at the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the gesture. “You will find your princess rather more helpful in saving herself than you realize, and you will be of more help when you learn how to let her. Until then,” he said, pointing to the floor as he sat back in the chair, “you sweep.”
Willen in vain attempted to make another protest, but the mighty sorcerer’s eyes were once again closed, and he was already snoring. Sighing, Willen leaned on his broom and began to sweep. Familiar looked on, and if Willen did not know better he would have sworn the cat was laughing at him.
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