Charming Sharra, page 4
“Of course I can! And I’ve been meaning to try out a petrifaction spell I found that I’ve never used – I was thinking I might try it on a stray cat, but if you volunteer…” He shook his head. “But I would much rather you pay me on time.”
“I will! You’ll get your money!” Sharra snapped.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure! Dulzan will pay you, if I can’t!”
“And if this Dulzan gets eaten by a dragon?”
“Then my mother will pay it! Or somebody will. I have friends, wizard, friends and family. Now, can we get on with it?”
Poldrian turned up a hand, clearly unhappy but not willing to abandon the project. He signaled to the girl at the podium, who pulled a roll of parchment from somewhere. “Give my apprentice the money, and sign the contract.”
Sharra obeyed, setting the heavy bag on the podium with a thump and a snort, and accepting the parchment in exchange. She unrolled it and glanced at it, saw that it seemed straightforward – she would be made physically twenty years younger, in exchange for seventy-five rounds of coined gold, paid in full by the eighth of Harvest, YS 5208. If the spell did not work as promised, all her money would be refunded except one round to defray the cost of materials. If she failed to pay in full on time, Poldrian would be free to inflict any non-fatal and at least theoretically reversible penalty he chose.
“Count the money,” Poldrian instructed the apprentice.
“I don’t…” Sharra began, looking up from the contract, clearly offended.
“Silence!” the wizard thundered, and Sharra fell silent. She snatched up the pen that lay on the podium and dashed off her signature at the bottom of the contract.
The apprentice quickly stacked the big gold coins on the podium, ten to each stack, then announced, “It’s all here. Fifty rounds.”
“Good,” Poldrian said, as Sharra glared. The wizard beckoned to her. “This way,” he said.
Sharra followed him into the back, but instead of along the corridor or into a workshop as she had expected, Poldrian led her around a corner and down a stairway into a windowless stone room.
Most houses in Ethshar of the Sands did not have basements; the soft soil was sufficiently unstable to make them difficult to build and maintain, and the water table high enough to make them prone to flooding. Poldrian had apparently installed one anyway. The walls were some rough-hewn gray stone, and the floor was slate – obviously either imported from somewhere or conjured up, since there was no slate to be found anywhere near the city. Four oil lamps provided some light, but the room was still very dim compared to the bright daylight above.
The room was perhaps twenty feet square, and mostly empty, but a large copper tub stood in the center. Sharra hesitated at the sight of it.
“I made most of the preparations already,” Poldrian said, crossing to a large cabinet on the far side of the room. “It took hours, and I didn’t want to keep you waiting around that long – especially since I couldn’t be sure it would work on the first try. The magic is surprisingly stable, though, so if you hadn’t come I’m sure I’d have found a use for it eventually. Perhaps I would have used it on myself.” He opened the cabinet to reveal several shelves of large earthenware jugs. He took one of them from the top row and carried it to the waiting tub, then pulled the stopper and began pouring.
Sharra had expected water, but instead saw silvery liquid pour from the jug, not quite like anything she had ever seen before. It seemed to shine in the dim lamplight, and a strange scent, a little like the air before a thunderstorm, reached her.
He paused, the jug still at least half full. “This is your last chance to change your mind and save your money. If you have fifty rounds of gold, do you really need a man who preferred to leave you?”
“I want my husband back!” Sharra exclaimed. “I want everything back the way it was, and if it costs me all the money in the World, I don’t care!”
“You don’t have all the money in the World, remember. You still need another twenty-five rounds.”
“You’ll get your money!”
“Then you’re sure you want to continue?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
Poldrian shook his head, then resumed pouring.
When the first jug was empty the wizard returned to the cabinet and fetched the next. He made several trips, pouring jug after jug into the copper tub, and placing each empty container on the floor beside the cabinet. He ignored his waiting customer throughout this process; he had offered her a last chance.
Sharra wondered why he didn’t have some magical servant, or at least his apprentice, handle this task. Perhaps the spell required the wizard do it himself. She looked more closely and saw his lips moving; perhaps he was reciting an incantation.
At last the tub was almost full, and all the jugs were empty and lined up along the wall. Satisfied, Poldrian turned to Sharra and said, “Now, if you will remove your clothing and step into the tub, the spell will begin.”
“Remove my clothing?” Sharra turned to glare at him.
“Well, yes. You can’t take anything into the bath with you; it would be ruined, and depending on its composition it might be dangerous.”
Sharra frowned. She had not expected this, but she had to admit it made some sense. “Turn away,” she said.
Poldrian started to say something, then thought better of it. He turned his back on his annoying customer and waited until he heard splashing, and then heard the splashing stop. He turned back.
Sharra was sitting in the tub, looking uncomfortable. She was bent down, her back arched so that the liquid covered her from the shoulders down. Her clothes were folded on the floor beside the tub.
“Don’t sit hunched over like that,” Poldrian told her. “Lie back. Relax. Get your hair wet. In fact, it would help if you got your face wet, as well.”
“I don’t…” She did not finish the sentence, but just looked down at the strange liquid. It felt odd on her skin, as if it was not wet at all, but drying her, and that sharp smell was much stronger now.
“If you want to complete the spell, you must do as I say,” the wizard said sternly.
Reluctantly, Sharra leaned her head back against the side of the tub and stretched her legs out, heels bumping against copper. She closed her eyes.
The liquid did not feel like liquid. It felt like a…a motionless wind, if such a thing were possible. And the smell had something minty about it, as well as that impending-storm quality.
The wizard chanted something that hardly sounded like a human language at all, much more loudly and clearly than the muttering he had been doing while filling the tub. Sharra also heard odd little noises, clicks and thumps and splashes, but then they stopped, and the liquid began to churn gently around her, which felt as if smooth cloth was brushing lightly against her all over. She tried to relax and enjoy it, but all in all it was not a pleasant sensation.
After a moment she opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling beams. “How long do I need to stay in this stuff?” she asked.
“Twenty hours,” the wizard replied. “The spell is fully active now, and if you leave the tub before it’s complete I can guarantee neither the results nor your safety.”
“Twenty hours,” she repeated. “That’s a long time.”
“You’re free to sleep whenever you choose, or eat – did you bring food, as I suggested? I can even bring you a book to read, if you allow me time to place a protective spell on it first.”
“I brought food,” she said, sitting up and looking at Poldrian. “It’s in my bag.”
“I’ll put it where you can reach it. A book?”
Sharra snorted derisively. “I’m not a scholar,” she said. “I don’t read books. What about a chamber pot?”
“You won’t need one.”
“In twenty hours? I don’t know about you, wizard – “
”It’s part of the magic,” he said, interrupting her. “You won’t need it, I promise.”
Sharra hoped he was right; she did not like the idea of staying in the tub if he was wrong. Annoyed, she lay back down, trying to ignore the liquid’s constant churning.
She heard footsteps departing, and when she looked up again, the wizard was gone. She hesitated, then reached for her bag and the cakes and fruit she had packed.
She had finished all the food within an hour. The boredom seemed completely unbearable, but she forced herself to tolerate it. She slept as much as she could, and woke with no idea how long it had been. She tried to distract herself by thinking about what she would do when Dulzan came crawling back to her, desperate to get into her bed again. She would hold back at first, let him beg a little, but then she would take him back, and they would buy a bigger house in Morningside, just across from the Palace. She would insist he talk to the overlord about redecorating the entire Palace. Everyone would marvel at his work, and at how fortunate he was to have such a clever and beautiful wife.
After a time, though, even these glorious fantasies began to pall. She felt as if she had been sitting in this infernal tub, feeling the magical liquid swirling and pulling at her, for months – though she still felt dry.
She had not seen the wizard since she began eating. She wondered where he was, and when he would return, and how long she had been soaking. She wished he had left a mirror, so she could check on any change in her appearance.
She began to wonder just what would happen if she climbed out of the tub. Would it really ruin the spell? Most magic happened almost instantaneously; why did this spell take so long? Or was the wizard playing a trick on her? He did seem to have taken a dislike to her, as so many arrogant men did; she supposed it was because they saw her strength and independence as a challenge to their authority. She put a hand on the tub’s rim.
But she had paid so very much for this spell, almost everything she had – how could she risk disrupting it? And she really did not know how long it had been; she might only need another few minutes.
Or she might already have been in here for twenty hours, or even more – suppose the wizard had forgotten about her? Or what if one of his spells had gone wrong, and killed him, or turned him into a tree squid or something?
“Hai!” she called. “Is anyone there?”
There was no answer. The silvery-white liquid continued to bubble and swirl.
“How long have I been in here?” she demanded. “I’m getting hungry; can someone bring me more food?”
She shifted her position, waiting for a reply, but none came.
She frowned, and sat up, just as one of the oil lamps flickered and went out.
She did not like that. It was bad enough sitting in this stuff in the dim lamplight, but sitting down here in the dark – that would be unbearable.
“What’s going on?” she shouted as loudly as she could.
The liquid whirled about her, and seemed to be speeding up. There had been bubbles all along, but now they seemed to be larger and more numerous.
Then she heard footsteps, and the wizard reappeared at the foot of the stairs. He looked at her, and noticed the more vigorous activity in the tub.
“Ah,” he said. “I think it may be done soon.”
“The lamp went out,” Sharra said, pointing.
The wizard barely glanced at it. “It must have run out of oil,” he said. “I’ll have my apprentice refill it when she’s finished her breakfast.”
“It’s not magic?” Sharra asked.
“No, it’s not magic,” Poldrian replied. “It’s just a lamp.”
“How long have I been in here?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You started around midday, correct?”
“Yes!”
“Well, it’s morning. You’re almost done. How do you feel?”
“I don’t…” Sharra stopped, and considered the question.
She was desperately bored, eager to be anywhere except this copper tub, but in fact, she felt good otherwise. She wasn’t especially hungry, despite how long it had been since she ate, and as the wizard had predicted she felt no need of a privy or chamberpot. Her skin was not wrinkled, despite soaking overnight, and she was not stiff or sore anywhere, despite the lack of any padding.
“I feel good,” she admitted. “But I’m bored.”
“It won’t be much longer. I put a secondary spell on the tub’s contents from upstairs last night, to make sure it didn’t take you back too far and turn you into a child; it will stop the magic at twenty years, no more. From the activity in the fluid, I’d say you’re getting very close.”
“Why is it getting so bubbly?”
“Well, you’re back to an age when you were still growing; that means there’s more change required, and the magic must be more energetic.”
“I wasn’t still growing when I was eighteen! You’re going too far!”
“Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure you had reached your adult height, but most people are still filling out at that age – bones thickening, muscles growing, that sort of thing.”
“I don’t…” She was interrupted by a loud crack; the copper tub had split open at the end, right between her feet. The silvery fluid began spilling out, but never touched the floor; instead as soon as it emerged from the copper it turned to vapor and quickly dissipated. The liquid remaining in the tub began to evaporate, as well. In a matter of seconds Sharra was sitting naked in an empty tub.
“That’s the secondary spell,” Poldrian said.
Sharra clutched her arms around herself and shrieked, “Get me a towel!”
“What for?” the wizard asked. “You’re perfectly dry.”
“To…to cover myself!”
“Your clothes are right there,” Poldrian said. “I’ll look away.” He turned, suiting his actions to his words.
Spitting with fury, Sharra stepped out of the ruined, empty tub and began dressing. The wizard was absolutely right; she was not wet at all.
But she was hungry, she realized, and now she needed a chamberpot. And her clothes did not feel quite right. She looked down at herself.
A lock of long black hair slipped past her shoulder and hung down where she could see it. It was glossier than her hair had been the day before, and the breast it draped across was…not bigger, but higher.
She had never consciously noticed any changes in her hair or bosom, but having twenty years reversed in a single day and night made a visible difference.
“Oh,” she said. She looked up at the wizard. “I’m hungry,” she said. “And I need a privy.” She looked down again.
“And a mirror,” she said.
Chapter Five
The wizard’s apprentice directed her to the privy behind the house, then went to fetch her a slab of bread, a mug of watered wine, and a fine silvered glass. While she waited in the parlor for the food Sharra studied her hands, arms, legs, and feet.
At thirty-eight she was not an old woman, by any means, and her skin had not been spotted or wrinkled, but now it practically glowed with health and vitality. Her hair was longer and fuller, and kept falling in her way.
When the apprentice finally delivered the promised items Sharra snatched the mirror from her hands and stared into it.
The face that looked back at her was familiar, certainly, but it was not the face she was accustomed to seeing. It was how she had always pictured herself, yes; it was a face remembered in her dreams, both waking and sleeping. It was not, however, the face she had seen every day in recent years.
It was the face Dulzan had fallen in love with twenty years ago. It was the face she had once had, but had gradually grown out of without realizing it.
But now she had it back. Now Dulzan would be hers once more. She smiled.
She snatched the bread and wine from the girl and stuffed the bread into her mouth, still staring at the glass, its handle tight against the mug. Even with her mouth full of food, even chewing eagerly, she was beautiful.
“Satisfied?” The wizard’s voice came from behind her, and she whirled to face him, wine sloshing over the rim of the mug and down the back of her hand.
“I think so,” she admitted.
“Then remember, I want the rest of my fee in no more than two sixnights. Twenty-five rounds of gold.”
“I remember,” she said. “You’ll get your money.” She looked into the glass again. “I don’t think Dulzan can resist this.”
She was staring at her own image, but from the corner of her eye she thought she saw Poldrian grimace. She looked up, but his face was impassive and unreadable.
“Then I believe we are done, until you can pay me,” he said.
“Yes,” Sharra agreed. She swallowed the mouthful of bread, gulped the rest of the wine, then handed the apprentice the mirror and the empty mug. “I’ll be back with your money,” she said, as she headed for the street.
Outside the front door she paused, blinking in the bright morning sunlight, debating where to go first. It did not take long to decide; why delay? It was time to go to Dulzan’s shop and get her husband back.
She made her way to South Street, and followed that from Eastside to Crafton, where she turned onto Carpenter Street. A cool breeze was blowing up from the sea, and she wished she had a jacket, but then she caught herself. She did not want to conceal her restored charms. As long as she was not actually shivering or displaying gooseflesh, the more bare skin, the better – not that her clothing was indecent, by any means! She wore a very respectable blue satin tunic, with a gold-embroidered square neckline cut just slightly too low to be called modest, and three-quarter sleeves with oversize cuffs that she thought were charming. She had not worn a hat, since she had not been certain what the magic would involve, and that sea-breeze ruffled her hair gently without really mussing it.
She remembered what she had seen in the mirror. Dulzan would not be able to resist her, she was sure!
And then she was at the door of his shop. She did not hesitate, but flung it open and walked right in, her hips swinging just a little more than necessary.
Dulzan was bent down behind a chest of drawers, fitting something in place; he heard the tinkle of the bell and called, “I’ll be right with you!” without looking up.
