Enchanted Forests (2 page)

Enchanted Forest was discovered, so it had everything. Each tree

bad been carefully numbered and coded with the year it was

Katherine Lawrence

16

found, since there were occasionally new trees, and the year it

was cut down-

It took days, but I copied the section of the map that covered

the meadow behind the old cottage.

Then I look the map and walked the burned meadow. I had to

put in for several replacement pairs of boots before I was

through, but I finally found which tree was the one that had dis-

integrated.

Next day it was back to the Palace, and the records. After sev-

eral hours, I found the file for that particular tree.

I flipped through the pages and found not only confirmation of

the date the tree was first noticed and the date the tree was cut,

but what I really needed—what the cut tree was used for. The

tree had been sold to Sorcerers Publishing, along with a couple

of other trees.

Next morning, I headed to the publishing company. The

Sorcerer-in-charge handed me off to his Apprentice, who threat-

ened to turn me into a toad if I didn't go away. I informed him

of the identity of my client. He went to check the files.

He came back with the dustiest book I'd ever seen, and

plopped it on the desk. Naturally, or more likely magically, all

the dust blew in my direction-

1 decided to ignore him, for now, and opened the book. For

some reason best known to Sorcerers, each magic spellbook has

to be made from one and only one tree. So each book requires

a separate tree. No wonder there were so few spellbooks!

Anyway, this particular tree. assuming the numbering was ac-

curate, was turned into a spellbook for the Wizard Mendip. I

looked up and caught the Apprentice making some rather spec-

tacular passes in the air, in my direction.

One nice thing about those wizard robes—there are lots of

places to grab. Once I bounced his head on the floor a couple of

times, emptying his pockets of not just various spell components

but some of my gold pieces, he agreed to look up an address for

Wizard Mendip.

Unfortunately, Wizard Mendip had disappeared fifteen years

ago. No body was ever found, so his record had a question mark

next to it. That was a great help.

I didn't know whether the tree and book had anything to do

with the fire, but it was the only lead I had. and now it hit a dead

end. I was not a happy Investigator.

I looked up, and slowly smiled at the Apprentice. He backed

away, his face pale. He backed up so quickly, he fell through the

THE FOREST'S NOT FOR BURNING     17

doorway behind him, and down the stairs. I figured it was a good

time to find my own way out.

I went back to my quickly rebuilt cottage and stared at the as-

sorted lists. I refused to fail on my very first case. There had to

be another way to come up with the data I needed. But what?

No brilliant ideas had occurred during the night. They rarely

do, despite "common wisdom." I needed help, and there was

only one person I trusted on this sort of case.

Thomas was not just my favorite teacher at Investigators'

School, but he was also a private investigator himself. I took my

notes and went around The Corner to visit him.

I explained the situation, and he reminded me of the very first

lesson he'd tried to beat into our heads in class: never make as-

sumptions. Everyone assumes wizards stay in the Enchanted For-

est. What if he'd come around The Corner and was living in the

Real World?

So with Thomas' help, we checked the databases. These are

the lists of everyone in the Real World. It's amazing how much

one can leam about them- That's what made it so difficult for

me; until Thomas "adjusted" things, I wasn't on the lists.

Anyway, there he was—Magnus Mendip, right in the same

city, too. Like me, he must have stayed just around The Corner,

so he could get home if he wanted to. But if that's the case, why

didn't he?

I took the bus and found the Wizard's house. It looked like ev-

ery other house on the street, except for the boy on a skateboard

gliding down the front walk. I asked the lad if Mr. Mendip was

home, and the kid punched me and took off.

I'd taken the required self-defense classes, but I hadn't ex-

pected to be punched by a twelve-year-old. I ended up on my

rear end, on the grass.

A woman, whom I at first took to be the boy's mother, rushed

out of the house and helped me to my feet. She apologized pro-

fusely as she helped me brush myself off. Apparently Kevan was

going through "a stage" and was very difficult to deal with.

I kept my thoughts to myself, and asked if she was Mrs.

Mendip.

She tittered, a sound I'd only heard a mouse make before, and

one hand covered her mouth. Around the hand she informed me

she was Mrs. Hodgson, the baby-sitter, and Mrs. Mendip was at

work. Mrs. Mendip was expected to be home shortly, however.

Well, at least I knew I had the right household. I asked for Mr.

Mendip, and was told that he had died in a car accident less than

18 Katharine Lawrence

a year ago. A drunk driver, you know. I expressed the proper

sympathy while thinking there went my lead.

Mrs. Hodgson asked me in, and naturally, I accepted.

By the time tea was served, Mrs. Mendip arrived home. On

the off chance that she might know something, I asked if she

knew of any rare books her husband had owned.

Turns out he had several. I explained that I'd been sent to find

one book in particular, as it was worth quite a bit both sentimen-

tally and in a monetary sense. She told me the special books

were kept in his study, and offered to show them to me.

The study was immediate confirmation that he was the wizard

I was searching for, in case there'd been any doubt. It wasn't a

matter of dead animals, or that sort of thing, just the general at-

mosphere. When you live as close to the Enchanted Forest as I

do, you develop a sensitivity to magic.

The books were in a cabinet behind his desk, and to Mrs.

Mendip's surprise, the lock had been jimmied. The doors opened

at a touch, showing an empty shelf.

Mrs. Mendip was horrified, and ready to call the police to re-

port a burglary when the skateboarder, Kevan, walked in. Mrs.

Mendip told him to get washed for dinner, but he ignored her. He

headed straight for me.

He demanded to know what I was doing there, what I wanted

with his father, and in the same breath cursed me more ways

than most of the witches know, for daring to enter his father's

study.

I carefully stayed out of reach as I explained that I was search-

ing for a particular book mat his father owned.

With great pride and belligerence, Kevan informed me that if

it was one of the books his dad kept in that cabinet, then he'd

burned them all.

My brain started making connections immediately, so I almost

missed what he added—that the magic spells in them didn't

work anyway.

Now, you and I know that only wizards can read magic spells

in a Wizard's book. I looked at the boy more closely, the back

of my brain solving the arson case.

His mother looked at him sadly and told him to stop lying.

There was no such thing as magic. And those books were empty

anyway. The pages were all blank. She'd had to look when the

lawyers came in to check everything after he'd died.

The boy glared at his mother, calling her a stupid cow. For just

THE FOREST'S NOT FOR BURNING     19

a moment, I thought I saw her pink dress tarn black and white.

Kevan was untrained, but pretty powerful.

I asked his mother if I could have a private chat with Kevan,

and she reluctantly agreed. Fortunately I at least look harmless.

Kevan refused to sit down when I suggested it. He stood in

front of me, arms crossed defensively.

I asked him how badly he wanted the magic to be real.

He turned away from me, but I could read the combined pain

and longing in the hunch of his shoulders and the way his arms

wrapped further around, to hug himself.

I told him about the Enchanted Forest, his father being miss-

ing for fifteen years, which told me, at any rate, that he must

have had very good reasons, quite likely his family, for not re-

turning home in all that time.

A small voice muttered that this was his dad's home, which at

least meant Kevan was listening to me.

I then offered, if he would consider leaving home, the chance

to become a wizard like his father. I admitted it would be diffi-

cult, and he'd have to lie to his mother about where the "board-

ing school" was, but he could come home anytime for vacations,

if he wanted.

He turned around and the fierceness of his glare as he

searched my face for falsehood made the gold I'd earned seem

an insignificant reward. This was the real reason I had become

an investigator. Hope is the most difficult, and the most reward-

ing thing anyone can search for.

It took some time, and he wasn't able to come with me

immediately, but I started his mother thinking about the idea of

sending him off to a special school. And I promised Kevan I'd

be back, with someone who*d worked with his father.

When I turned The Corner back home, after telling Thomas

what happened, my eyes were more than a bit teary. I adore

happy beginnings.

I still had to report to the King, but that was the easiest part

of the day.

It took some time for me to explain, but the Court Wizard un-

derstood immediately, and was abashed at not having realized it

sooner. One of the founding principles of magic is that a piece

of a thing is the same as the whole thing. It's called sympathetic

magic. What a wizard does to a single stone, affects all the

stones in the castle, if the spell is properly cast.

So when an extremely talented, though untrained, young wiz-

ard bums a book made from a tree on the edge of the Enchanted

20 Katharine Lawrence

Forest, the remains of that tree incinerated. The fire simply

spread from there. Sympathetic magic.

Arson by accident.

The King happily paid me the remainder of what I was owed,

and I had my first reference- Not bad, for the Woodcutter's eldest

daughter. Beats marrying a prince any day.

It's not so bad having one for a brother-in-law, however, or a

Duke. The Duke heard of my success, and sent me a message

that he needs to see me, at my soonest convenience. Wonder

what he wants?

TU Give You Three Wkes...."

by Kevin Andrew Murphy

Kevin Andrew Murphy's last exploration into the realm of

faerie was in The King Is Dead, wherein he had Elvis sto-

len by the elves. He also has stories in I, Vampire, Weird

Tales from Shakespeare and several other anthologies.

'Oood morrow, young man, and pleasant journeys," said a voice

from the roadside. "What brings you so far, this sunny mom, and

why so dour a face? It doesn't suit you by half, and the look in

your eyes suits you even less. So take off that tired and world-

weary look and tell me how you came to be wearing it."

Conrad looked to the roadside, and there, between the dande-

lions and the boundary stone, sat a witch.

Conrad knew she was a witch. The rats* nest hair was one

sign, artfully arranged with just the right number of dead leaves

and twigs, as if the old woman had once been a young maid who

put flowers in her hair, then had forgotten to ever take them out.

Then there were the clothes: layers of skirts and shawls

patched over and over again, stained with berry juice and with

mice peeking out of the pockets—making him wonder if the

woman's hair actually had been done by rats, instead of just

looking that way. If a couple popped their noses out then and

there, he wouldn't have been surprised.

The dead giveaway, however, was the dialogue. No peasant

woman spoke like that. Being a peasant himself, Conrad had

been around enough to know. Peasant women Just said, "Mor-

nin', boy. What's the problem?" then spat on the ground for

punctuation.

22                Kevin Andrew Mm-pky

He tried to remember his grandmother's tales and recall the

proper form of address for a witch: "Prithee, good dame ..."

The witch looked at him expectantly.

"Grandame ..." he tried.

The witch continued to look at him, smiling.

Conrad kicked a rock off into the grass at the side of the road.

"Listen, lady, why don't you just turn me into a toad and get it

over with, okay? I'm in no mood for this."

The witch smiled. "My, the world has shat upon you, young

sir. Shat upon you most mightily. Tell me, child, what has tran-

spired, and how for did you come to this sorry pass of circum-

stance."

Conrad looked at her and sighed. "You obviously don't listen

to the Royal Proclamations, grandma. I'm a woodcutter. This,"

he said, taking the ax from his belt and flourishing it, "is a